Sol Crafter's Blog, page 5
March 13, 2014
Disabling CloudFlare took down my whole site
I disabled CloudFlare, and as a result it’s taken my whole site down. Now it’s unhappy times in my house, though I’m hoping adding a new post will get things back up. Foolish hope? Probably.
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Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
March 12, 2014
Why is PeerBlock blocking CloudFlare all of a sudden?
Okay, so I run PeerBlock all the time. Not because I download a bunch of stuff off torrents or anything, but because I don’t want to end up going to the wrong site and having my world wrecked. It works for me, and whenever there’s a problem loading a page I can take a quick look and see what’s going on.
Well, today I couldn’t load my own site because I use CloudFlare and all of a sudden PeerBlock has decided to see it as the enemy. What’s up with that?
I’ve run all kinds of Google searches trying to see what’s going on, but the only ones that seem to have had a problem with CloudFlare was Malwarebytes, and that was back in 2012.
This is incredibly frustrating to me because I’m a big PeerBlock fan. It, along with WOT, has saved me from going to some truly skeazy sites because of reckless clicking. And now, if it’s not even going to let me go to MY OWN SITE, then I guess I can’t use it anymore. But what makes me worried is that other people won’t be able to reach my site.
I have no idea what I’m supposed to do :/
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
March 6, 2014
Thursday, March 6th: Locks of Love; exercise; Arunachalam Muruganantham
Locks of Love -
It’s that time of year again. My hair is getting long and once I have 12-inches I will be chopping 10-inches off and sending it away to Locks of Love.
What is Locks of Love?
Locks of Love is a public non-profit organization that provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children in the United States and Canada under age 21 suffering from long-term medical hair loss from any diagnosis. We meet a unique need for children by using donated hair to create the highest quality hair prosthetics. Most of the children helped by Locks of Love have lost their hair due to a medical condition called alopecia areata, which has no known cause or cure. The prostheses we provide help to restore their self-esteem and their confidence, enabling them to face the world and their peers.
How to donate:
10 inches measured tip to tip is the minimum length needed for a hairpiece.
Hair must be in a ponytail or braid before it is cut.
Hair must be clean and completely dry before it is mailed in.
Place the ponytail or braid inside of a plastic bag, and then inside of a padded envelope.
If you wish to receive an acknowledgment for your hair donation, please fill out the hair donation form, or write your name and e-mail address or mailing address on a full size separate sheet of paper and include inside the envelope. We cannot acknowledge donors who do not send their name and address according to these instructions.
All hair donations must be mailed to Locks of Love at:
234 Southern Blvd.
West Palm Beach, FL 33405-2701
**IMPORTANT** When mailing your donation, please make sure that you are sending it with adequate postage. The U.S. Postal Service has notified Locks of Love that many donations are being sent without enough postage, and these packages will be returned to sender! To ensure adequate postage, please take your donation to your local post office.
Go check out Locks of Love: http://www.locksoflove.org.
It’s a great organization that helps kids, and if you’re giving a hair donation it doesn’t cost anything more than postage. So why not help someone out?
Exercise -
I spend a lot of time on my computer, and as everyone knows, that’s a good way to become flabby around the middle and thighs. Type, type, typing for hours at a time doesn’t exactly build the muscles and get your heart pumping.
I run around the yard with my dog and I walk a lot, which goes well with my calorie counting to keep my weight in check. It’s unfortunate, but while my sister was gifted with the body of a sylph, I got a healthy dose of my grandmothers’ genes — both sides of my family had a tendency for heavyset ladies — so I know I have to keep an eye on myself or I could be looking at diabetes and heart problems in the future.
Exercise is something I need to fit into my schedule, but I’m lazy. All the walking and running are great for the legs, but I want to tone my arm muscles. So whenever I make tea I’ve started doing jumping jacks until the water boils, then I do push-ups against the kitchen counter while my tea steeps.
I can see the benefits in my arms already, which are losing the hanging flab, and I’m very pleased with my decision to start working out a little. Not too much (as I’m still very lazy) but enough that I can known I’m doing something beneficial for my health above cutting back on sweets and eating more veggies.
* For jumping jacks I alternate between the regular slap my hands over my head kind, and the kind where my arms go straight out, up, straight out, and back to my sides while my feet go out, back together, out, and back together in four jumps.
* For push-ups I do table presses against the kitchen counter, as I don’t relish my dog jumping on my back when he gets too excited. A table push-up involves pushing away from a table or chair that’s secure against the floor.
Arunachalam Muruganantham -
This guy is an amazing man. Seriously. I heard about him from Dear Author, who gave this link to the BBC article.
A school dropout from a poor family in southern India has revolutionised menstrual health for rural women in developing countries by inventing a simple machine they can use to make cheap sanitary pads.
and …
There are still many taboos around menstruation in India. Women can’t visit temples or public places, they’re not allowed to cook or touch the water supply – essentially they are considered untouchable.
TL;DR, this man loved his wife so much that he wanted to make her life better once he discovered how terrible conditions are for ladies on the rag in India. They’re not allowed in a lot of places and a lot of women have died due to the unhygienic way they have to deal with their periods since sanitary napkins are so expensive.
Being a cool guy, he came up with a framework machine that is being used in over 1300 villages in 23 different states. And instead of using his machines to make a bunch of money for himself, he teaches women how to use the machine and make their own sanitary napkins — which has led to them creating their own businesses and brands.
He keeps to a humble life and doesn’t believe in being wealthy, while at the same time he makes the lives of others better.
This man is a hero. Go read the article: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-26260978
Muruganantham seemed set for fame and fortune, but he was not interested in profit. “Imagine, I got patent rights to the only machine in the world to make low-cost sanitary napkins – a hot-cake product,” he says. “Anyone with an MBA would immediately accumulate the maximum money. But I did not want to. Why? Because from childhood I know no human being died because of poverty – everything happens because of ignorance.”
He believes that big business is parasitic, like a mosquito, whereas he prefers the lighter touch, like that of a butterfly. “A butterfly can suck honey from the flower without damaging it,” he says.
I wish more people dreamed of being butterflies, versus settling on being mosquitoes.
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
March 2, 2014
Beatrice the Biologist shared some links to science comics
Beatrice the Biologist, in her awesomeness, has decided to share some links to science-based comics. I’ve already found some comics that I really like and that I’ve subscribed to, because at my core I am a follower of all things awesome.
I led a session at a conference called Science Online about comics, and I featured a bunch of different science and science-ish comics from around the interwebs. I promised those in the session I’d make a list of them, but rather that put it on the conference forum, I figured this should be shared with everyone. So here is a rather mighty (although by no means definitive) list of science comics. If you know of anyone who isn’t on here, feel free to tweet me and I’ll add them. And there are some here that are not always science-y, but do sometimes touch on science, health, or nature topics.
- Beatrice the Biologist
Go check out the link to her blog here: http://www.beatricebiologist.com/2014/03/science-comics.html
XKCD – A webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language.
Who doesn’t love stick people? And if you don’t, then I probably don’t want to know you 
The post Beatrice the Biologist shared some links to science comics appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
March 1, 2014
What am I doing, you didn’t ask? Well, let me tell you …
I am readying Chapter Nineteen of The Panic Pure for posting. It’s all hospital, coping, love-love feelings, and h/c.
I’m working on my BtVS crossovers, my Draco/Charlus thing, and my Riddick/PacRim fics — I am so far behind that it’s not even funny and I get pings near every day begging me for updates. “I love this story so much. Please write more!” And then I get to feel like a tool for not having updated in forever.
I’ve been writing on Tuesday Night, which is set in an AU of the Heroes & Villains universe. I’ll be giving you all a taste of Part Three of Tuesday Night. Final manuscript should be around 40k, if not more.
*
Title: Tuesday Night
Genre: superhero, mm
Excerpt length: 5000
Character: Sunfire
EXCERPT –
Being on call had never felt like torture before, but he couldn’t help wishing he could at least leave for the night. The thought of going home to his own place appealed, where Tony and Henry were waiting for him. Instead he lounged in the common room playing first-person shooters and wishing some action would start happening.
At least if he was kicking criminal ass he could tell himself his time wasn’t being wasted. Plus there was something cathartic about punching supervillains. Instead he was hanging out in the Lair waiting for something exciting to happen. It was frustrating.
There was the clatter of footsteps and Powergirl came in with their two new trial recruits, Saint Kloude and WarSong. They still had that faintly shocked look about them, that “I must be dreaming” expression of newbie superheroes everywhere.
“Hey Sunfire, can you do me a favor and take these guys out on a patrol?”
Seth was tempted to say No, but he could feel the walls closing in on him and the idea of getting out for a while really did appeal. He tossed his controller on the coffee table and stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah sure, why not? Come on noobs, gear up and let’s get out of here.”
From the exposed portions of WarSong’s face he could tell that she was surprised he had agreed to take them out, which called into question what people thought of him. Maybe he needed to spend more time bonding with the team, they were the ones he was depending on to watch his back after all.
How could he count on a team that didn’t trust him to be there for them? How could Tony count on them?
When a split second could mean living or dying, there was no room for doubt or distrust. There was training and discipline, teamwork and camaraderie. They depended on him and he depended on them, and funerals were never very much fun.
Seth went to the gear room and pulled on his cape and strapped his matching yellow utility belt around his waist. He glanced at himself in the full-length mirror and once again had to wonder at his costume choice. White bodysuit, yellow cape and belt, a mask that covered most of his face while leaving his mouth exposed.
He’d chosen his Sunfire uniform when he was fourteen years old. A young and idealistic kid, he’d never imagined a time when he wouldn’t have six-pack abs and the muscular physique of a young god. It wasn’t a problem yet — he looked damn good and he knew it — but in ten or fifteen years when his metabolism started slowing down he could be looking at embarrassing bulges and unflattering angles if he didn’t keep to his workout routine.
Glancing at WarSong and Saint Kloude he knew WarSong at least would be regretting her outfit. Skintight red leather that hugged every curve and made her breasts look at least three times too large for her slender build. If she gained five pounds she wouldn’t just be uncomfortable in her outfit, she would be looking at a bunch of magazines and blogs pointing out the weight-gain
Being in the public eye was one of the drawbacks of being a superhero. It could be brutal.
Seth pursed his lips, swallowing any comment he wanted to make. WarSong might better appreciate costume advice from another woman. He would talk to Powergirl and Queen Midnight later.
Saint Kloude, who had a stocky build garbed in black fatigue pants, a faux-muscled chest plate, and a black jacket, had left himself room to grow or contract in his uniform. He looked bigger and more muscled than he was, which would have the less serious criminals leery of facing him head on.
“You guys ready?” Seth asked.
WarSong shared a look with Saint Kloude. “We’re ready,” she said.
Seth nodded. “Let’s go.”
Flying over the city was one of those things that never lost its appeal. There was something about being able to look down and see the world spread out below, the people tiny ants crawling around, that brought a sense of being in control of one’s own life.
WarSong flew on currents of elemental wind, her hair whipping around seductively. Saint Kloude was held aloft by a puffy white cloud that had appeared with a snap of his fingers. They followed Seth as he pointed out various features of the city below, the coms giving the three of them the same intimacy as if they were alone in a room.
“You don’t have to shout,” Seth said. “I can hear you perfectly fine.”
“Oh, sorry,” Saint Kloude blurted. “We just got the coms and …”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it. Just remember that even if I’m a mile away, I’m still really close on the coms. Speak normally and I’ll hear you perfectly fine.”
“Yes sir.”
“Ugh,” Seth groaned, “it’s Sunfire, not sir. I actually work for a living.”
“Yes s– … Yes Sunfire.”
“Smooth, real smooth.” Seth drew in a deep breath. “How you doing over there Song? Holding it together?”
“That’s WarSong, and yes I am.”
“I can see how Saint Kloude got his name, but what about you? Some kind of vocal control like the Whirling Dervish? Can you get people to dance until they die too?”
“No. I’ve got strength, flight, and a bit of empathy. With some concentration I can sow discord in enemies, but there’s no singing involved.”
“So why the name?” Seth asked.
She sounded defensive, “Because I like it and it’s the name I wanted to use.”
“Okay.” He was glad to spot something below. He needed to change the subject before things got any more uncomfortable. “I see happenings at six o’clock. Let’s check it out.”
There was an instinct every superhero got after they’d been on the job a while. It was an ability to spot metahuman happenings even when powers weren’t being tossed around.
Everyday crime was outside of his purview and was handled by the local authorities. Unless his stepping in could stop an immediate threat to a citizen’s life or safety, it was better to leave things to the police. Otherwise there started being bad blood and situations like New Stanwyck happened — the police came to resent the superheroes so much that there were riots and forty-six people were vaporized when someone threw a grenade at The Time-Keeper. Unable to stop the blast, he projected it outward, right into the crowd of his attackers. Mostly off-duty cops, it had been a bad scene all around.
Seth was happy to leave mundane crimes to the police. It meant less paperwork for him as well as a clear divide between what was and wasn’t his responsibility.
“We’ll come in low near that yellow building and move in on foot. Keep your powers holstered and don’t do anything until I say. Understand?”
The noobs hurriedly agreed and he barely kept from rolling his eyes. There was a more than good chance they were going to screw things up, but that was the fundamental part of handling noobs. He was here to keep the damage to a minimum and make sure they didn’t get themselves killed.
“WarSong, take point. Saint Kloude, you’re in the support position. I will observe to see how you both handle things.”
“Yes, Sunfire.”
He hung back as WarSong dove toward the yellow building and dropped down to the street. He noticed she stumbled a little before catching her balance on her fashionably high-heeled boots. Saint Kloude dissipated his cloud when he was a few inches off the ground and drew his pistol, taking up a guard position at her back. Seth noted the way he kept a wary eye out even behind himself.
Good eye, Seth thought. I’m not going to step in unless things go pear-shaped.
He let them get a bit ahead, then followed after. He didn’t want them to get too far away. If things turned serious he didn’t want to have to explain to Overwatch how he’d let two new superheroes get themselves hurt or killed. It wouldn’t turn out well.
He watched as WarSong and Saint Kloude cased the suspicious activity, their chatter on the coms making it clear that they didn’t know what had twigged his danger sense. Which didn’t stop them from charging headfirst into danger. And neither one of them bothered to ask him what he thought was happening.
Seth kept his expression blank as he followed them through the delivery entrance of Bill’s Discount Computer and Electronic Component Emporium. The place was supposed to be closed, yet several people moved in and out, loading boxes into a van that was hidden from the view of people on the street.
To an inexperienced eye it might have looked like a simple off hour delivery of supplies, most likely to a large company considering the amounts being loaded onto the van. Except Seth had recognized one of the women as Baby Calypso in an ill-fitting coverall. She was a small-time criminal, but recently she had been tied to Jericho Slim’s operation, which upped her danger quotient.
Jericho Slim and his collection of suit wearing killers was quickly gaining ground in the city’s underworld. Not just drugs and prostitution anymore, there were rumors that he was dabbling in superscience. Which made it likely that his people robbing an electronics supply depot wasn’t because they innocently wanted to sell the parts.
This was the biggest part of a superhero’s job — preventing the major events from happening. Or at the least getting a much needed heads up about trouble before it appeared.
Seth ghosted after WarSong and Saint Kloude. He took a few seconds to send a text to Powergirl letting her know what was going on. He was a bit disappointed that neither one of the noobs had bothered to call in before blindly heading into what might be a dangerous situation. They were showing a foolish level of confidence.
He wasn’t sure what they were expecting to happen, but he got to have a ringside seat as they stumbled nearly directly into the path of a guy that had to be close to eight feet of solid muscle and bad attitude. And from the way he managed to grab WarSong by the arm and fling her, he had to be packing the superstrength.
Saint Kloude stood protection on his downed teammate until she was back on her feet. Then he was smart enough to stand aside as she went on the offensive.
Seth might have made a comment on how it wasn’t a good idea to fight mad, but WarSong was showing a remarkable ability to handle a fight. Especially when three of the guy’s buddies stepped out and immediately attacked her. Saint Kloude chose the wise course of guarding her back as she went to town with punches, kicks, and painful whacks with the baton she’d produced from her belt. Seth was duly impressed.
She’d gotten all four guys down and was zip-tying the wrists of the first one when Calypso popped out of the store to see what was going on. There was barely a second of frozen surprise before Calypso jolted into action with a whizz-crack! of her energy shield snapping into place. She didn’t look as if she planned to go down easy.
Calypso was a mostly small time criminal, but she packed a decent powerbase. If she had wanted to put some superheroes in the grave, she could have done it on multiple occasions, but she always held back in her fights. As a result there was an unspoken rule that no superhero test her triggers. Which included her mother and the embarrassing scene where DocTorious publicly humiliated her before breaking up with her during their joint heist.
“Hey, I know you. You’re that Calypso chick. Didn’t DocTorious shoot you in the stomach and throw you over Niagara Falls?” Seth winced and wanted to tell Saint Kloude to shut the hell up. But it was already too late.
Calypso’s bright purple mask hid her expression, but every line of her body bespoke of killing rage. Seth wanted to tell Saint Kloude to run, but it was already too late.
Calypso struck him with a blast of yellow-orange force, sending him tumbling feet over head until he slammed his shoulder against the wall and collapsed to his knees. “You shut your mouth! Or I’m going to rip your voice box out through your throat.”
Seth stepped forward, ready to involve himself, but WarSong got in front of Saint Kloude with an aggressive stance. Her fists were raised and her red painted lips were a firm slash.
“Back off, bitch!” WarSong growled.
Calypso gave her a disbelieving look. Then she laughed. “And what are you supposed to be? Did the baby hero decide to visit an S&M shop for her first costume? Take some advice, little girl: go home. I’m outta your league.”
“Guess we’re going to have to find that out,” WarSong said. “When I kick your ass.”
“Tough talk from the baby cape.” Calypso brought her own fists up. “Physical offense only. If you bring on the powers, then I’m going to crack you open and suck out your juicy center.”
“Mm, meaty.” WarSong lunged forward to grapple Calypso, her right knee coming up to slam against Calypso’s spine with cracking impacts against her armor.
Seth watched the fight and was duly impressed with WarSong’s skill, though he would have told her physically fighting someone like Calypso was a bad idea. Because while WarSong had middle of the road superstrength, Calypso had alpha levels. It was a mismatched fight, and WarSong didn’t know how out of her league she was.
He winced at a particularly nasty strike of WarSong’s fist against Calypso’s face. It sounded like a mallet pounding a slab of meat. “Ugh.”
There was no way he could let these two keep going at it. Least because WarSong already had a bloody nose and blackened eye while Calypso was unmarked, and more because it was a waste of time.
He stepped forward and clapped his hands to gather attention. “All right, break it up. WarSong, what the hell are you doing? We’re here to arrest lawbreakers, not start a brawl on company time.”
He kept a lookout for any surprise visitors and used his cape to hide the tension in his shoulders. Looking confident was 80% of the job.
Still, it was always hair-raising to do a walk-up on a possibly deadly situation. Most villains were looking to make some quick cash and stay out of prison, but there were always exceptions. The villains that were looking to make a name and gain supervillain status. The crazies that didn’t care about consequences, just about fighting the strongest heroes and seeing blood splash concrete.
Seth was fully aware of his own mortality. He wasn’t a foolishly overconfident kid anymore. He’d seen too many superheroes die, their screams the last sounds heard from them. He’d made promises to himself about all the ways he didn’t plan on dying.
“Sunfire,” Calypso sounded surprised. She’d thought she was only facing a couple of new superheroes. She hadn’t expected him.
“By order of the Central Metahuman Policing Force, you are under arrest. Stop resisting and come quietly or I will use force against you.”
“Wow, I never expected you to be so serious.” She pushed WarSong away with contemptuous ease, proving that she’d only been playing before.
“You’re really handsome,” she said. “I thought all those pictures had to be touched up, but you’re really very good looking. Have you ever thought about being a model? The world would pay tons of money for pics of your stunning man breasts.”
Seth was feeling a bit sexually harassed, which happened more often than he was really comfortable with. “My breasts are my own and I choose not to expose them in photographs. It’s part of my strong sense of self-worth,” he said, touching his chest.
“Now, are you going to come quietly, or are we going to add resisting arrest to the charges against you?” he asked. He wasn’t going to let her take over the situation. She was the criminal and he was here to arrest her.
“And what does resisting arrest get me? An extra six month in the slam?” She cocked her hip provocatively, her hair falling across her shoulder.
He kept his expression professionally stern. “Due to the recent passing of the McLaughlin-Hewett Metahuman Defense Bill, if you are deemed to be a serious threat to others through purposeful use of your metability, I am required by law to use lethal force.” At her shocked look, he shrugged. “People are tired of good men and women being killed in prison breakouts. When you have the power of a god, people don’t have it in them to be so lenient toward you.
“Give yourself up, Calypso. I don’t want to have to kill you. But I will if you push it.”
She took two stumbling steps back, raking her hands through her purple wig. “Oh god. I thought it was one of those crazy rumors. There’s no way they could really pass deadly force as a law. Superheroes don’t kill. They lock us up.”
“Not anymore,” Seth said. “You have a long criminal history. People could have died during some of your crimes.”
“You mean normals could have died,” she sneered. “Like I’m some kind of freak.”
“It is what it is,” Seth said. “You’ve misused your metabilities for years and now the law isn’t on your side anymore. So wise up and turn yourself over.”
“And then what? Are they going to send me to Butcher Bay?” She was starting to look scared and that made him nervous. The last thing he needed was to have her go berserk.
“You’re looking at Super Max and full dampeners,” he said. He always tried to be straight with the villains he put away. The last thing he needed was to earn the reputation of a jackal. It would make it harder for him to arrest criminals in the future.
Seth ran a visual check on the newbies. They’d taken up ready stances and were watching the perimeter. It looked like they’d finally remembered their training.
“You won’t be going to Butcher Bay, but you will be doing community service. I’ve heard that the two situations are comparable.” He let his lips twitch up in a smile and turned the Charm up a few notches, only enough that she would think her sudden interest in him was natural.
“How can I trust you? You’re going to lock me up or kill me if I fight. The law is wrong. So how can I trust someone that’s said he’ll follow the law and kill people? Me? How could you kill me?”
Seth kept himself from rolling his eyes and sighing. A little bit of Charm, and everyone turned into a drama queen. All sweeping soliloquies and the deep rooted idea that they were the center of his world. Instant obsessive love that switched gears on higher brain function and turned even the smartest of people into momentary fools.
The slight bit of Charm resistance Tony had was one of the first things that had drawn Seth to him. Tony had enough that Seth could let his guard down and not worry about accidentally ensnaring him. There was a reason why Tony’s room at the Demi Liar was the closest to his. No one else had been willing to sleep next to a Charmer. There were too many disturbing stories around for them to feel comfortable.
He only had to look at Calypso to see why people were scared. He barely gave her a taste and she looked at him with the defiance already defeated in her eyes, the strength swamped and absorbed by her overwhelming desire to please him.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” More than I already have. “Turn yourself in, do your time. It shouldn’t be too long,” he said.
She wavered, he could see it, the brief reluctance as her mind fought back. But it barely lasted a few breaths before she relaxed and held her wrists out invitingly. She smiled coyly. “Are you going to cuff me, officer? Do you want to give me a strip search?”
“WarSong will put the cuffs on you. You’re going to let her do it, aren’t you?” He didn’t want to get close to her. If he put her down too deep the result would be a permanent obsession on her part. And he wasn’t too keen on receiving hanks of hair in the mail or having her kill a President in his honor. It seemed like too much.
Calypso turned toward WarSong with a seemingly benign expression, her wrists extended. Credit to WarSong, she didn’t relax her guard even when the suppression cuffs were snapped in place. She’d obviously realized how overmatched she’d been, which was an uncomfortable wake up call for every young superhero. Seth still remembered meeting the Inevitable Imogenia for the first time, and the sheer horror when he’d realized how helpless he was before her.
“Thank you for coming with us,” he said, giving Calypso a smile. She practically glowed under his attention and he pushed away the sense of unease.
Charm had a low risk, and high yield of success. It was a subtle effect with a lasting result, and it scared the hell out of him. The gift he was the least likely to use in a fight. Except he’d been given his orders and he was signed on for another six years.
“Saint Kloude, call the wagon for a pick up. WarSong, make sure the prisoner is thoroughly secured.” He gave Calypso a smile and lightened his tone. “I know you would never betray my trust by escaping. Everyone always says that you’re an honorable criminal. But the guys upstairs have gotten a bit paranoid and all these memos were sent around. You understand, don’t you?”
The tension that had been bunching Calypso’s shoulders slipped away. He could practically see her brain tuning itself to his frequency. It left a bad taste in his mouth and made him not want to see her.
“Of course I understand. I will behave so well, you’ll see. They’ll give you awards for handling prisoners,” she said. Her face turned toward him, a blossom to the sun, and she followed him with her eyes even as WarSong gagged her and immobilized her on the ground. She near burned a hole through him with her focused interest.
Seth shuddered at the creepy sensation and pulled his ePad out of his utility belt. It had an application that worked with the added sensors tech-support had installed to let it look through walls. The details weren’t great, but it let him tell where people were.
He was disappointed by the image quality. There were a lot of blocked spots due to electronics parts and EMP shielded alcoves. But he was able to make out six people inside moving around, and a mass of warm bodies all piled up in one room.
He glanced at Calypso, knowing she’d happily tell him anything she knew. But that was the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do.
Charm could be used to make criminals more receptive to turning themselves in peacefully, but they could not be questioned by the Charmer. He wasn’t even going to be allowed to speak to her after her Representative arrived. Not that he wanted to.
Sure, it would be great to ask her what exactly was going on here and have her spill everything. There’d be a lot less danger entering the building and they’d know everything waiting for them. Good intel all the way as she tried to impress him.
And right there was the problem for him. The fact that she would try to impress him. That every second of attention he gave her would reinforce the psychosis building in her brain. It wouldn’t take much for him to become the center of her world.
Humans were surprisingly fragile creatures, their minds malleable to whims and suggestions. Even the most stable of people were susceptible to Charm-obsession, and there was no cure. Only distance.
He kept in Calypso’s line of sight, but he did not look at her and he focused on the building before him. From what he’d learned at Charm School, he’d become an icon for her, an unattainable goal that would still keep her moving forward with her life.
To speak to her or give her further attention was to risk accidentally giving her a command suggestion. One wrong look and she might latch on to some passing notion. A worm of thought would burrow through her brain, unleashing the worst form of obsession and zealotry.
School had taught him that being an icon was a powerful and lasting impression. To introduce the idea of a behavior change and offer no other feedback — the criminal would come to their own decision to follow the laws. It was a legal method to use a Charm metability without being charged with misuse.
Iconography was a quickly growing field of study. It made logic out of Charm phenoms like Darkstar and Masque.
Seth wasn’t a strong Charmer, or he had enough control on it to keep from affecting everyone around. He was able to pretend most times that he was a normal guy. Being a superhero was his job, and in his off time he ate pizza and played video games. Except — he risked a corner of the eye glance at Calypso — he had it in him to turn someone into a slave to his will.
He hated that he’d been ordered to use his Charm on prisoners. Being the icon and impetus that made people live better was a great thing, but he didn’t like the way it made him feel.
He’d met plenty of other Charmers that shared his distaste. The power felt unpleasant to use. It was like crawling naked through a room full of slugs, that instinctive gagging cringe as slime coated every surface and bodies burst beneath his hands and knees. Only it was all in his head and his superiors insisted that he use his ability again and again.
He’d heard there were some Charmers blessed with a fantastic biofeedback response. They enjoyed focusing their Charm on people and received a burst of pleasure in response. It was said that they could literally feed off of their victims, psychic vampires of the creepiest kind. Secret life thieves.
Seth hated every second he consciously used his Charm. It did not like being focused and used. If he could get away with it he would never use it again, but orders were orders.
Seth turned away from Calypso and did what he usually did when his morals started twinging away at him — buried the discomfort down deep. He’d already used his Charm, there was no taking it back. The best thing he could do for Calypso was to make sure they never met again.
Was it weird that he hoped prison therapists would be able to break through his Charm on her? He didn’t want her to go back to her criminal life, but he didn’t want to forever be buried in her mind either. A ghost looming so large that she gave up being herself and lived for him instead. He hated it.
“Backup should be arriving in ten,” Saint Kloude said through the com.
“Roger that. I’ll take some more sensor grabs, but it looks like they’re doing a long-term project inside. We wait for backup.”
“But sir …” It was WarSong.
“Negative,” Seth said firmly. “There’s too much blockage to get a clear image inside and you’re both rookies. We wait for proper scanning gear and we follow protocols. Clear?”
“Yes sir.” They both sounded disappointed. He’d tell Powergirl that they needed to learn how to hide their emotions better.
“Live and grow stronger,” he said. “Backup is always the best thing to have. We’re not a bunch of cowboys going it alone. We’re a team, which means there’s always someone to watch our backs.”
Their agreement was lackluster at best, but he didn’t care. Gone were the days when superheroes headed into danger by themselves. As a result, the stories of dead heroes had gone down significantly. At least the CMPF had done that much.
Seth ran his ePad scanner over the building, careful to stay away from windows as he flew around it. The scanner was taking constant snapshots and the app would be compiling them all together to create a complete 3D image.
He remembered a time before imaging tech existed where he would have crashed his way into the building alone. The idea was to get in and surprise the bad guys before they had a chance to respond. It was an idea that mostly worked, though there had been times when the bad guys were ready and waiting. It was then that he was grateful to have an Alpha-class offensive metability. He was able to burn his way through most trouble. Other heroes had died for the sin of going in without a plan. Capes that he had known or admired, but who just didn’t possess the powerbase to claim the title of superhero.
He hoped that new heroes like WarSong and Saint Kloude would understand how lucky they were to have imaging technology and backup to call when there was trouble. Because as boring as it was to kids raised on stories of legendary heroes like The Deliverer and Blue Ice, the new ways were safer and had a higher success rate. The time of lone superheroes battling to stop the apocalypse was over.
There were way too many metahumans needing to be policed for single heroes to handle the job. There had been studies done about the veritable explosion of metahumans that had emerged from the population of normals since the late 1800s. From single digit beta-class to millions of alphas worldwide.
In the last ten years the metahuman-to-human ratio had risen twelve percent. There was talk that 46% of humans possessed some form of metability, though most were completely useless. Still, that was a massive shift in the human genome. There was talk about normals becoming extinct within the next one hundred years.
Seth shook his head to clear it. He was only thinking about that population study because he was trying not to think about giving Tony a call. He’d only watched that Capes and Cowls documentary because Tony was into that kind of thing. The same with the ancient alien stuff.
He sighed and kept his eye on the ePad, making certain that each scene was complete before moving on to the next. The software was still a bit buggy and not giving a scan time to process was a way to spoil the whole image. It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way.
His senses were alert to anyone spotting him, but he wasn’t too worried. From the infrared readings, there was no one close enough to see him through the windows and there were no hot spots in the closet-sized room he was 98% sure was the surveillance room.
Whoever was inside wasn’t expecting interference.
He thought about calling Tony and seeing how Henry was doing, but he knew better. Personal calls during an operation was one of the biggest no-nos out there. He didn’t want to be called to the carpet by Overwatch, who monitored all of the team phones with the obsessive detail of a bunch of retired capes.
A personal call had gotten Katmandu’s family killed. She’d called the babysitter to ask about her kid’s cold, and the call had been traced right to her house.
Sunfire might scoff in the face of danger, but Seth refused to be the one to get Henry killed. Even with Tony there to save the day, a “Hey, I miss you” phone call wasn’t worth sacrificing safety.
He sighed and got back to work. Unless the situation blew up, he’d be seeing Tony and Henry in a few hours.
/EXCERPT
The post What am I doing, you didn’t ask? Well, let me tell you … appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
February 27, 2014
NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Eighteen
Title: The Panic Pure
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: mm suspense thriller
Rating: mature
Summary: Daniel Worth, billionaire and CEO of Worth Enterprises is questioned by FBI agent Marshal Newman about the disappearance of one of his employees. They strike up a conversation and soon are regularly meeting and begin dating. However neither realizes just how close danger is lurking.
Read earlier chapters: http://www.harperkingsley.net/blog/free-reads/the-panic-pure/
WARNING: This chapter contains disturbing, possibly triggery events.
*
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
His mouth was horribly dry and he moaned as he tried to move his stiff limbs. He felt confused when he realized he couldn’t bring his arms down from where they were positioned above his head. Danny shivered, his skin prickling from the surrounding cold. His eyes fluttered open with another moan. His brain felt slow and it took a moment for him to put together what he was seeing.
A whine escaped his throat and he was horrified to realize that he was naked. Naked and tied to some kind of table, his wrists and ankles secured to the corners by wide manacles.
He turned his head back and forth, but the angle was bad and all he could tell was that it looked and smelt like a basement. Dusty and dingy, with the nose-curling scent of mushrooms growing. There was a heavily curtained window near the ceiling on the wall to his left, and there were workbenches and bookcases filled with glass jars and what looked like tools everywhere.
“I see you’re finally awake.”
Danny turned his head to his right and found a blond man kneeling next to the table, looking at him. He jerked his head back, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. The man laughed.
The man spoke like they were already in the middle of a conversation, “He likes the meat fresh and tender, but he doesn’t care what I do to the carcass before it’s slaughtered.” He slowly reached out his hand and traced his fingers across Danny’s cringing face, brushing against the tears Danny couldn’t help.
“Don’t be afraid, pretty. I’ll take good care of you.”
“Please,” Danny rasped. “Please, no.”
The man “tsked” and picked something up off the floor. “You’re really going to beg? I thought you were better than that.”
Danny tried to turn his face away, but the man clamped his free hand on his jaw to force his mouth open as he jammed the ball-gag past Danny’s teeth.
“I’ll be back soon. I wouldn’t want to rush with you.”
The man walked away, his footsteps retreating across the room and up what sounded like creaky stairs. There was the sound of a door opening and the click of a switch; the overhead light went out.
Danny’s world shrunk down to total darkness, then there was the flooding light of an open door, but it only lasted a few seconds before the door swung shut with a heavy sound.
Everything went dark.
Danny shivered in the blackness and tears streamed down his cheeks. He prayed that someone would come to rescue him soon. Before the fun began. Because he knew the man was going to kill him afterward. It was the only reason why he wouldn’t have bothered with a mask.
Danny was going to be raped and murdered and no one would ever know what had happened to him. The earth would swallow him whole. He would disappear without a single trace.
He lay in the darkness and wept, the sound muffled by the gag.
* * *
Marshal was losing his mind. Danny had been kidnapped and who knew what was happening to him, and it didn’t seem like anyone was doing anything. Sure, there were FBI agents, police, and men and women wearing the uniform of Worth Enterprises swarming the property, but it didn’t feel like enough was being done. Not enough for Danny.
“I think we’ve got it.”
He turned to Arthur. They’d moved inside and were using the library as a planning post for the Worth Enterprises security people. He hadn’t wanted to get too far away from Arthur and his tablet. He’d decided that the microchip was Danny’s best chance of being rescued before it was too late.
“Have you found him?” Marshal asked.
“I just got a message from Mr. Bleeks himself. They’ve managed to narrow down Danny’s location.” Arthur wrote quickly on a yellow sticky note and held it out. “GPS coordinates.”
Marshal snatched the note. “Thank you!” He ran to get it to Supervisory Agent Greg Martin, who was handling the FBI’s end of things from the dining room. They were going to need a little time to gather a SWAT, but he had hope that Danny could be rescued. Just as soon as they got an address.
While he waited, he prayed that Danny could hold on until they got to him. Prayed that Danny was okay. Because he didn’t know what he would do if Danny wasn’t all right.
A tiny voice whispered, “Murder.”
Forcing himself to be patient was torture. He was nearly vibrating through his skin with the need to be out and about, dragging Danny home, and kicking the ass out of anyone that got in his way.
Marshal leaned against the wall with his arms crossed to hide the way his fingers twitched incessantly. They wanted to form tight fists of fear and rage. He tried not to think about poor Andrea stuffed into a recycle bin by whoever had abducted Danny. Tried not to imagine Danny’s body turning up in a garbage dump someway, skin rotted away, but the signs of depravity all too clear.
He held himself still as he watched the activity of the room as Martin’s agents trawled various networks for information. Though he itched to do the research himself, he wasn’t allowed to be involved in the investigation itself.
“Got it, sir,” the serious young agent announced, looking up from her computer. “The signal is coming from a property belonging to an Alison Burk, though she’s currently renting the house to her great nephew. His name is Adam York.” She rattled off the address, but Marshal’s head was spinning.
“Coffee Shop Guy?” he blurted out. They’d questioned Adam York about Janeane Brooks. He’d had the man right in front of him, and now it turned out that Coffee Shop Guy might have been the one to kidnap Danny?
“Who’s Coffee Shop Guy?” Martin had incredibly black eyes, inky and somewhat eerie to meet.
“Adam York works at Katerina’s Coffee, a coffee shop across the street from Worth Enterprise’s corporate office. Agent Starkweather and I questioned him during the Brooks case.” Marshal rubbed his hand across his chin with a rasp of stubble. “The guy was strange, but we didn’t find anything tying him to any crime.”
“And yet, here he is, and he’s got Daniel Worth.” Martin shook his head and Marshal fought not to hunch his shoulders under the attention of the room. Now was not the time to let recriminations get to him. Not even his own.
He focused on what was going on around him as a raid was swiftly scrambled. It would be a while yet before anyone would be moving in to save Danny, but things were clicking into place.
He begged Crane, nearly going to his knees in front of the man, but it was worth it when he was allowed to ride in the back of the van. He would have to stay out of the way and there wasn’t a chance that he was going to be brought into the same room with Adam York, but he would be there.
When they found Danny, Marshal would be there. And he wouldn’t let himself contemplate the possibility that Danny might already be dead.
He held onto the hope that Danny would be coming home where he belonged. A traumatized Danny was going to need someone that offered support, not someone that had already given in to despair.
* * *
Darkness, darkness, everywhere. Not a single drop to drink. It wasn’t very funny.
Danny squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried to pretend that he was in the dark of his own volition. That he wasn’t currently tied down and helpless with his mouth getting cottony around the ball gag. His face itched where the tears had dried against his skin and there was nothing he could do.
He was scared. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew it was going to be bad. Rape, violence, and death. That was his future.
He’d tried to get out of the manacles, but they were tight against his skin and his hands wouldn’t bend enough to touch the locks. He felt horribly exposed even with the lights off, imagining someone watching him through a night vision lens. He flinched from the idea that someone might be in the room with him, close enough to touch.
His imagination kept tormenting him with the sound of breathing in the darkness. The creak of a floorboard. The rasp of a hand over a saw blade. Even knowing that it wasn’t real, his skin prickled with gooseflesh and more than anything he wanted to curl around himself.
And he couldn’t.
He shivered, but he’d run out of tears. He felt so helpless, like anything could happen.
Oh God, please get me out of here. I don’t like it. I don’t like it. Oh please, oh please, oh please…
He blocked out the sound of his own terrified thoughts. He focused on better memories, of candlelight and laughter. Of Arthur’s hugs and Olivia’s cinnamon rolls. Of Marshal giving him a loving look as a smiling Andrea slipped a plate in front of him while Beatrice poured the coffee.
He’d nearly reached some kind of serenity when the door opened and the light clicked on.
Danny squeezed his eyes shut to block out the brightness. He’d been in the dark so long that it burned.
“Sorry I was gone, beautiful, you know how it is.” There was no creak of the stairs, just the voice close enough to touch. Danny cringed away, biting down on the gag.
There was the brush of fingers across his stomach. His eyes popped open and the man was right there, smiling dreamily as he extended his hand.
No no no no no no…
The man pulled his hand back with an odd jerk of the chin, then hitched himself up on the table, the nylon of his jacket brushing against Danny’s leg. “I had quite the night, let me tell you. And then I’ve spent most of the day running errands and getting things ready. I got a little careless and I think it’s about time I left town. You wanna go with me?”
Danny was breathing through his nose so hard that it burned.
“Haha, I’m not taking you anywhere. You make good eye candy, but not that good. I don’t need a bunch of dead weight. Besides, he’s going to be here soon to pick you up.”
Fingers brushed down Danny’s leg before darting up to pinch his cheek hard and twist. Danny squealed behind the gag and pain tears flooded his eyes.
“Ooh, you are a responsive one, aren’t you? We’re going to have so much fun together.” As he spoke, the man pinched and twisted at the flesh of Danny’s chest, arms, and legs. Harder and harder until it felt like burns and Danny was sobbing helplessly behind the gag, his voice hurting the back of his throat until he thought it was going to tear.
When the man ran his hand down the middle of Danny’s face, it left finger streaks of blood. His nails were too sharp and he was having fun making patterns of blood and bruises.
And when he grew bored of finger pinches, he got out the pliers and the alligator clamps.
Danny screamed as the toes of his left foot were tormented one by one. The sound of bone being crushed vibrated up his leg, through his whole body and out the top of his brain. His mouth opened wide around the gag and he could barely breathe as he writhed and twisted, his back arching up and slapping against the table.
He sniffled and quivered when the man stepped around the table away from his foot and stood next to his shoulder. There was blood on the man’s tee shirt and jacket, a bright happiness to his eyes.
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
Danny’s body shook with his sobs as he snuffled air through his nose. His foot hurt–Oh God, did it hurt–but he stared at the man, unable to look away from the demon’s face.
“You make me want to take the gag off and let you get loud. Too bad my mom’s sleeping upstairs. She might get upset to find you here with me,” the man said conversationally. He drew aimless shapes against Danny’s thigh, fingers twitching up and down.
“I think that I could fall in love with you. Too bad we don’t have the time.” He began stripping out of his clothes, tossing his shirt and pants behind him. He stepped out of his boxer briefs and fisted his erection.
Danny closed his eyes and turned his face away.
“Nuh uh, you don’t get to do that.” Fingers under Danny’s chin forced his head around. “Open your eyes or I’ll cut your eyelids off.”
Danny squeezed his eyelids tighter together. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home.
“Open your motherfucking eyes, or I will cut them open.” That snarl was breathed hotly into Danny’s ear. He received a vicious nipple pinch for emphasis.
Danny shuddered, but forced his eyes open. The man smiled at him, so close that Danny could feel his every breath hot against him.
“Good boy.” The man climbed up onto the table, maneuvering himself so his knees were between Danny’s spread legs. He seemed giant against the backdrop of the light, threateningly nude, erection aggressively out thrust. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”
The man lowered himself against Danny and was just beginning to move when there was a shatter of wood and a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. “FBI! Freeze!”
Danny’s heart leapt at the thought of being rescued. He screamed as loud as he could behind the gag and tried to buck the man off of him.
“Bitch!” Stars flashed behind Danny’s eyes as he was slapped hard across the face.
The man flung himself off the table and disappeared from Danny’s view to appear a minute later on Danny’s other side, a filleting knife in his hand. “I’ll need you so I can get out of here.”
Danny held still as the blade was pressed against the skin of his neck, tight enough that he feared breathing too hard. He thought he could feel his skin being split open in a single line of pain-pressure. He quivered with dread.
He was going to die. Help was right there, yet he was going to die.
“FBI! Don’t move, motherfucker!”
The knife twitched.
A hole appeared in the man’s head with a splash of liquid heat against Danny’s bare thighs. Danny fought not to panic as the full weight of the man’s body fell across him, chin smashing hard against his shoulder.
An older man wearing black body armor and a helmet hauled the already cooling body off of Danny. “It’s gonna be all right, son. We’ll get you out of here.”
His touch was firm but gentle as he pulled the ball gag away. Danny breathed in a big gasp of air and shuddered.
“Please, please…” Danny bit his tongue hard to silence himself. He was shaking in reaction and more than anything he wanted out of this terrible place. He wanted to feel safe again.
A wide bandage was pressed against his neck and someone slung a blanket over him while the others searched for the manacle keys.
Danny couldn’t help flinching from the hands getting too close. He knew they were trying to help him, but he didn’t feel safe. The world was whirling around him and he was naked and STILL TIED DOWN.
“Hold on, son. Get that body out of here. What? Well, let him through!”
Danny stared up at the ceiling, afraid to close his eyes around so many strangers, so many hands. He wanted Arthur. He wanted Olivia. He wanted safety and warmth. He didn’t want to be in this place anymore.
“Oh God, Danny!” A hand clasped with his and Marshal shoved his way close. His eyes were wild and his nostrils were flared. He looked like he hadn’t shaved or slept, but he was wearing his own body armor and helmet. He looked like an action hero.
Even through the pain of his ruined foot and his own near mindless terror about the people all around, breathing on him, crawling into his skin; Danny smiled. It hurt, but he had to smile and show Marshal that he would be okay. Because Marshal looked so shattered.
“It’s all right, Captain,” Danny breathed.
Marshal froze, his eyes locked on Danny’s, his mouth tilting downward. Then he huffed and his mouth quivered before firming and his shoulders straightened. “Well then. Let’s get you out of here and to the hospital.” He turned to look over at someone else. “How are you coming with those manacle keys?”
“We’re still searching and…”
“Got ‘em!”
A female SWAT member appeared with the key. She was stolidly professional, her eyes not lingering on him as she moved around the table unlocking the manacles. It let Danny hold himself together as her fingers brushed his ankles and wrists. She wasn’t trying to touch him.
The minute he was free he pulled himself to a seated position on the table, his knees curling against his chest. He shivered and refused to look at his left foot after that first horrified glimpse. It didn’t look like a part of him.
“They’re getting the gurney. We’ll have you out of here in a few minutes, I promise. We’ll get you right to the hospital.” Marshal grabbed the blanket and swept it around Danny’s shoulders.
…
And Danny found himself firmly back in his skin and he pulled the blanket tight around himself. He felt cold and his foot hurt and there wasn’t nearly enough pain killer to make whatever the medic was doing not agonizing. He wanted to kick her away, but he clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth instead.
“This whole night has sucked,” he said. He huffed a laugh and it was only a little hysterical. He was pushing his fear away. Trying to be as brave as Kaylee or as stoic as Jayne. Because if he didn’t, he was going to lose it and just start screaming and he didn’t want to have a public freak out.
“I want Arthur.”
“We couldn’t have him on the scene with us because it was too dangerous. He’s on his way to meet us at the hospital,” Marshal said.
Danny jerked a nod. “Okay.” He chewed on his fingers and his lip. Finally he turned to Marshal and stared at his chest. He needed something to ground him. “Will you hug me?”
“Of course,” Marshal said. He held his arms open and Danny wrapped himself around him, squeezed him as tight as he could. Danny pressed his cheek against Marshal’s chest and held on. Marshal’s hand fell on his shoulders softly, holding without trapping.
“Talk to me,” Danny said. He winced and cried out when the medic did something painful. His fingers dug into Marshal’s back, but the man didn’t complain.
Marshal cleared his throat. “I was outside. I would have been here, but they made me stay out until you were safe.”
“You’re here now,” Danny said.
“Yeah. And I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Okay.”
“All right, that’s packed up good. Get that gurney over here!” The medic closed her case and stood. “You’re going to be okay, sir. It looks a lot worse than it is.”
Marshal helped lift Danny onto the gurney, and he stayed in Danny’s line of sight all the way to the ambulance. He gripped Danny’s hand on the drive to the hospital. He promised Danny that Arthur and Sophia were there waiting for him.
And Danny was able to close his eyes and rest. Marshal was taking him to Arthur, and he trusted Marshal to keep him safe.
He wanted to be safe.
/CHAPTER
The post NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Eighteen appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Seventeen
Title: The Panic Pure
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: mm suspense thriller
Rating: mature
Summary: Daniel Worth, billionaire and CEO of Worth Enterprises is questioned by FBI agent Marshal Newman about the disappearance of one of his employees. They strike up a conversation and soon are regularly meeting and begin dating. However neither realizes just how close danger is lurking.
Read earlier chapters: http://www.harperkingsley.net/blog/free-reads/the-panic-pure/
*
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The hospital would never be one of Marshal’s favorite places. The smell stung his nose and there was a creepy vibe that never completely went away. Plus there were all the sick people.
He’d waited for several hours before the surgeon came out to say Joanna was in stable condition. She was going to live.
Merina, Joanna’s mom, burst into tears and soaked the side of Marshal’s shirt. “My baby, thank God, my baby.”
He awkwardly patted her on the back. Her bones felt fragile beneath her skin, like those of a bird. It scared him that he might hurt her.
Joanna’s two sisters, who looked more like her than their dark haired and fragile mother, hugged each other joyously. Then, once she’d regained control of herself, Tara pried Merina off him and led her out of the room. “Let’s go get something to eat. It will be a while yet before they let us see Jojo.”
Marshal felt guilty about being relieved when they left. It had been stressful with them in the room, their worry digging into his own and making it even worse.
From what Crane told him before the Director left for the night, Joanna had been shot coming home. Her neighbors had called it in, and it was only the prompt arrival of police and paramedics that saved her life.
“Bastard even locked the door behind himself,” Crane had said, shaking his head. “The police had to break the door down. It’s only luck they spotted her legs through the window or they might have waited. She would have bled out.”
It was a hurried conversation they’d held in a corner away from Joanna’s family. Not wanting to add to their worry, Marshal had had to sit on the info of how close Joanna had come to dying.
But now it looked like she was going to be all right.
Marshal slumped on the uncomfortable plastic chair. He scrubbed a hand over his stubbly cheeks and thought about getting another cup of terrible vending machine coffee. His stomach tightened in warning and he decided not.
He glanced at his watch. It was still early yet and he figured he’d give Danny another hour before calling. There was no reason they should both be sleep-deprived and miserable.
Joanna was going to be okay.
* * *
Arthur was putting his watch on when he remembered he was out of milk. He’d indulged in a strawberry-pomegranate smoothie the night before and used the last of the milk and yogurt both. He would have to pick some groceries up later.
Until then, he grabbed a travel mug and left the guesthouse.
The sun was just peeking through the trees and the air was fresh with morning dew. He could see slug trails across the stone walkway, but there were no live ones in sight. He still watched where he was putting his feet just to be safe.
He let himself into the kitchen through the back door and breathed in the scent of delicious food. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Olivia looked up from where she was rolling out cinnamon rolls. “Look at you, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed. What brings you over so early?”
Arthur held up his mug with his best waifish look. “Please miss, might I trouble you for some milk?”
She laughed. “Well, don’t expect me to get it for you.”
Arthur unscrewed the lid on the mug and went to the fridge to fill it up. If he didn’t make it to the store tonight, he at least wouldn’t have to deal with plain black coffee. “Thank you, milady.”
“Hm,” she scoffed. “Make sure you stop back in later and have some of these rolls. Otherwise they’ll just go to waste.”
Making sure the lid was tight on his mug, Arthur sketched her a quick bow. “I shall return, dear Olivia. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, and call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love and sing them loud even in the dead of night; Halloo your name to the reverberate hills and make the babbling gossip of the air cry out ‘Olivia!’ Oh, you should not rest between the elements of air and earth, but you should pity me. Olivia!”
She swung a dish towel at him, but she was laughing, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “You boys. I still can’t believe you watched that movie just to tease me.”
Arthur clutched his free hand to his chest as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. “I would watch a million Shakespeare movies for you, dear Olivia. For my heart shall never belong to another woman as luminous and enticing as you. Plus you can cook and that’s like five points extra right there.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, he saw the towel hit the rectangular window and laughed.
He whistled through his teeth as he hopped down the four stone steps. He had a feeling it was going to be a glorious day.
When he’d come over to the big house, all he’d been thinking about was getting the milk for his coffee. But now he wasn’t so task-oriented and his eyes passing over the garbage cans were caught by a bit of dark gray ribbon trailing from under the lid of the large blue recycle bin.
Danny was very serious about his recycling. He’d throw a fit if he knew that someone had stuck something in the wrong bin.
Curious because Olivia and the maids were always careful, Arthur lifted the lid to see what had been mis-binned.
The travel mug slipped from his hand and struck the sidewalk with a sharp crack of the lid. Milk splashed across his shoe and up his pant leg.
The ribbon was from Andrea’s dress, the one she was still wearing. Blood had run down from the large gash dug out of the side of her head to stain the collar and front of her dress. Her feet nearly touched her ears from the way she’d been folded in half to fit into the bin. Her eyes were wide and staring, the lenses gray with death.
Arthur’s hand shook as he pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket. He had to draw in deep breaths as he dialed the police, the three numbers impossibly hard to remember.
He desperately needed to pee.
“Hello, this is Arthur Conway. I need to report a murder.”
* * *
It had gotten to the point where he’d had to tell himself, “No more coffee.”
Marshal rubbed his gritty-feeling eyes and slouched down in the uncomfortable chair. He was exhausted, but he wanted to wait a little longer before going home. Just until he could be sure there weren’t going to be any surprise updates about Joanna’s condition.
He thought wistfully about a sleep-warmed Danny still curled up in bed. His body ached to curl up next to him, to get just a few hours of rest. Never mind that it was almost time for Danny’s hellacious alarm to start making its awful racket.
I’m so tired.
He scratched his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes, tipping his head back. There was no getting comfortable in this torture device of a chair–the hard plastic back curved like one of those egg-chairs so the top lip jammed into the back of his neck. He’d tried lying down across the row of chairs, but they were molded to cup a person’s buttocks, which meant they weren’t a flat surface and there was always some part of him kept uncomfortable by hard jabs.
He thought about slipping down onto the floor, screw germs anyway, and using his jacket for a pillow. Except the hospital was cold and he was wearing a tee shirt and even with his jacket zipped up he felt unpleasantly chilled.
Hospitals were not and would never be his favorite of places.
“Marshal.”
He jumped and opened his eyes, surprised that his boss had managed to come right in front of him without his noticing. “Director,” he said, using his hand to cover the yawn that tried to escape. His back cracked unpleasantly when he pulled himself upright and he groaned softly.
“Marshal,” Kevin Crane said again, and there was something in his voice that made Marshal’s whole body tense as though for a blow. “I have some news. It’s bad.”
“Joanna?” Marshal glanced toward where Joanna’s mother and sisters had set up camp. It didn’t look like they were reeling from any kind of emotional bombs being dropped.
“No, Marshal.” Crane shook his head. There was a deep furrow between his brows and his mouth was a thin line. “It’s about Daniel.”
There was no air in the room. It felt like he’d been buried in Jell-o while the whole world slowed down, sound distorting into a rush of “bwah-wah wah-wah” sound that made his ears ache to hear.
He couldn’t understand the sound of Crane’s words, but he could see them writing themselves on the man’s lips. He couldn’t look away.
“Andrea Lindley, one of Daniel’s maids was found dead this morning. A short time after that it was discovered that Daniel is missing. There are signs that an intruder broke into the house at around three a.m., where he killed the maid and took Daniel. There were some signs of a struggle, but he’d been gone hours before anyone noticed.”
Marshal shook his head. “No.”
Crane pursed his lips. His eyes were tender with sorrow. “Yes, Marshal. We have agents going over the scene as we speak, but as of now, Daniel Worth has been kidnapped and we don’t know where he is.”
To fear something so much and have it come true… It was numb agony, frozen just beyond his limits to feel, waiting to ruin him forever. He didn’t think he could breathe, the air was so thick in his throat. His eyes burned with acid.
“Danny,” he whimpered once, then squeezed his lips tight together, forcing himself under control. “I need to be there.”
“I will drive you myself,” Crane said. He looked like he wanted to reach out and give Marshal’s shoulder a comforting squeeze, but he saw something in Marshal’s expression and refrained. “You can’t be an active part of the investigation, but maybe you saw something or you know something that can help.”
“I don’t need to be handled.” Marshal stood up, forcing his shoulders not to slump. “We’re going to get Danny back.”
Crane didn’t argue, just walked with him toward the door. Marshal kept his eyes focused straight ahead and kept moving.
Danny was going to be okay. They were going to get him back.
The driveway and yard were crawling with FBI and police. There were so many flashing lights that Marshal had to blink and look away. The coroner van was there already, poking out from around the corner of the house.
He tried not to imagine Danny wrapped up in a sheet and loaded into the van on a gurney. The very idea made him want to vomit.
And one of the maids was dead. The pretty brown haired girl that brought him popcorn with a smile. He hadn’t really known her, yet she was dead and Danny had been taken by her killer.
“Are you going to be okay?” Crane asked, resting his hand on Marshal’s elbow.
Marshal jerked a nod. “I’m not going to fall apart.” Not until we find Danny, he thought. Because if Danny was dead, he would lose it for awhile. He knew himself well enough to know he would be destroyed.
It made him feel worse to speculate on a life after Danny. He didn’t even know if Danny was dead, but his brain insisted on going to the worst scenario first. He was bracing himself for the emotional blow.
Marshal spotted Arthur and he pulled himself together and strode across the lawn. He needed to know what had happened and Arthur was his best source. Even if Arthur looked stressed and nervy.
There was a relief in knowing he wasn’t the only one that would be destroyed if something happened to Danny. Marshal needed the support and solidarity and whatever information Arthur could provide.
“Before you run off,” Director Crane’s voice called him back. He turned to face the man with impatient intensity. “You cannot be part of this investigation. We will get Daniel Worth back, but you can only watch. Do you understand?”
Marshal wanted to throw a fit like they always seemed to do in movies, but he knew how things worked in real life. “I understand. Just please sir, let me be there when you find him.”
“As long as you don’t inappropriately involve yourself with the investigation, you can keep watch.” Crane’s look was sympathetic. “We will do everything we can to get him back alive. I’m assigning the best we have to the case.”
“Thank you, sir.” The words were barely out before Marshal found himself in front of Arthur. He’d crossed the lawn without noticing.
Arthur gave him a bleak look. “I found Andrea in the recycle bin. It took us another quarter-hour to realize that Danny was gone. Oh God.” He rubbed his face. “Who knows what’s happening to him?”
Marshal didn’t think. He just drew Arthur against him and hugged him tightly. Arthur looked near to destroyed. “We’ll find him. We’ve got the whole of the FBI to help us get him back.”
Arthur leaned against him for a long moment, then drew back to tug his jacket straight. “I’m scared that it was Dr. Green that had him taken.”
“What do you mean? Dr. Green?”
“Daniel’s maternal aunt. The FBI’s arrested her. I was going to tell Danny today.” Arthur ran his hand through his hair, straightening it. “What if she hired someone to have him kidnapped?”
“Would she have had time to arrange anything if she’s locked up? Did she know she was going to be arrested?” Marshal asked. He felt off-balance. Danny hadn’t said a whole lot about his Aunt Lauren, but he’d said enough that Marshal felt justified in his fear.
“I don’t know if she knew she was going to be arrested,” Arthur said. “I didn’t have a whole lot to do with the case. I just answered some questions and Agent Assanti handled the rest.”
“Hammy? Hammy was involved?” Marshal had the sudden desire to punch his old friend and he knew they were going to be having some serious words.
“Arthur!” Sophia dashed toward them, her feet lifting high to keep her heels from sticking. She had a tablet clutched to her chest.
“Sophia, did someone call for a ransom?” Arthur asked hopefully.
“No, sorry.” She came to his side and held out the tablet. “I’ve already contacted the company, but we’re trying to get a signal from Mr. Worth’s chip.”
“Chip?” Marshal asked.
Arthur was already flicking his fingers across the tablet screen, but he said, “Microchip. The security department had a subcutaneous microchip embedded in Danny’s shoulder. But as I can see here, it doesn’t work.”
“They suspect that Mr. Worth is being kept somewhere that is blocking the signal. They lost him about four hours ago,” Sophia said.
“Four hours? You’ve known he’s been missing for four hours?” Marshal clenched his teeth.
“No, of course not,” Arthur said. “She means we’ve been backtracking him through the logs and his transmitter went dark four hours ago. His trail disappeared and we don’t have any clear records since.”
“I spoke to Mr. Bleeks himself. He assured me they will do whatever necessary to retrieve Mr. Worth’s tracking data and pinpoint his location.”
Marshal wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel about Danny having been chipped. Should he be outraged that Danny had been embedded with a microchip like a pet? Because all he felt was grateful.
“Do you think they’ll be able to find him?” he asked.
“I have trust in Mr. Bleeks,” Arthur said. “It will just take a little time.”
But what if we don’t have any time? Marshal pushed the thought away. He was not going to give up on Danny.
/CHAPTER
The post NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Seventeen appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
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Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
February 26, 2014
I am writing. I promise.
Editing The Panic Pure while watching The Venture Bros.
I write in Scrivener, edit in OpenOffice with Changes on, update my Scrivener file, then create a mobi to read on my Kindle where I can note minor changes still to make. In all, I read through each section 3-4 times before I do the final read through.
*
I have plans for The Panic Pure in the near future, which is why I need to clean it up and get it ready. As a result, I’m reading through it again and doing some editing work. As you can see, there’s a lot that goes in to making a manuscript truly readable.
By the time I’m done, every single paragraph will be coated in red and blue. There’s something oddly satisfying about seeing how much has been made different from one stage to the next.
The post I am writing. I promise. appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
February 20, 2014
Friday, February 20th: The End Times whiteboard; excerpt f/m; season 5 of The Venture Bros
I’ve been writing on the whiteboard and I’ve taken lots of pics.
My New Year’s resolution was to share more and be more open to people. So I’ll be sharing my whiteboard pics. It seems a lot friendlier than dropping a chapter every now and again with no accompanying explanation.
Here’s from The End Times:
The Armada of the Zerlking. I kind of picture an Invader Zim-type claw ship and that same attitude of “Mine!” The baddies claim everything in the universe in the name of the Zerlking.
* * *
For the hop, most people asked for f/m story, so I’m getting that one ready first. Here’s an excerpt:
Driven by the beat-heavy music, Tara was panicking. She stared at her reflection in the broad bathroom mirror. She’d screwed up her makeup, and the stuff she’d used didn’t want to be washed off. Her skin had a definite orange hue even after facial scrubbing three times.
“My god, I’m hideous!” She patted her skin dry with a washcloth and smoothed on some lotion.
There was a tug against her pant leg and she looked down at Scrappy-Doo, her sister’s chihuahua-terrier mixed breed. He barked at her, a single demand. She glared back at him. “Mind yourself, little dog. Go eat your food. And stop pouting. It makes you look pathetic.”
He whined a little, but spun around three times before lying on the floor, his chin resting on her slipper. He was so small she couldn’t even feel him on her foot.
“Stupid dog,” she muttered fondly. Looking at him had given her something else to focus on and she could feel some of the tension releasing from her shoulders. She’d have to remember to give him a snack before she left.
Tara drew in a deep breath and leaned forward to use the smaller, round beautician’s mirror she’d set up next to her makeup box. She had a lot of work to do and not much time to do it in.
Tonight was her anniversary with Edgar. They’d been going out for a year and he’d promised her a night of romance. They had reservations at the best restaurant in town and tickets to a musical theater show. She’d been excited for weeks.
* * *
Season 5 of The Venture Bros is coming out March 4, 2014 on DVD and Blu-Ray. I’ve gotta scrape up some bones to buy my copy. I love this show.
The post Friday, February 20th: The End Times whiteboard; excerpt f/m; season 5 of The Venture Bros appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
February 15, 2014
Saturday stuff: happenings; hop; new stove; Harvey Birdman
Okay. Hopefully I’ve managed to wrangle all the commenters and everything. A couple of people didn’t give me their preferred format, so I’m going to have to hunt them down (full on safari style).
Other than that, this hop has been going great. Thank you to everyone that has entered. I love you!
Btw, I found out I could export my feedback for various posts as a .csv file, which has been extremely helpful.
* * *
Cool shizz: my dad bought me a brand new electric cook stove with a glass range top and a self-cleaning, coil-free oven. It’s so beautiful that I want to marry it and have its stovey babies.
I may have cried a bit when I saw it. Wonderful gift.
* * *
I’ve broken out my old Harvey Birdman DVDs and I’ve been enjoying rewatching them. They really are very good. Especially since Harvey Birdman is voiced by Gary Cole (not Gary Coleman, but the guy from Brady Bunch and Office Space) and the other man star is Stephen Colbert. That’s right. The man hisself
* * *
Title: Faizel 02
Author: Harper Kingsley
World: Deacon
Genre: mm paranormal romance
EXCERPT –
He could feel dawn approaching, an encroaching unease across his every nerve, and wrapped himself closer against Faizel, never wanting to let go. He had never loved another as much as he did Faizel.
He fretted that someone would discover his secret and Faizel would be taken from him. To be used and abused, or worse, killed as an Abomination.
For once Charlemagne wished that he was stronger. He finally had something worth protecting, and he was weak. It had never bothered him that he was the meat of stronger Masters until now. Until Faizel had given to him his love.
“I will protect you,” he whispered. He let his hands make promises against Faizel’s bare skin.
“Or perhaps I will protect you.”
Once again Charlemagne swallowed back his instinctive fear. Faizel did not understand how dangerous and subversive their enemies could be. Charlemagne had protected him from the world outside, had watered down the horrors that existed outside of the apartment’s safety.
“I think that you would try and that frightens me,” Charlemagne said. “I could not bear to see you hurt for my sake.”
Faizel propped himself up on his elbows so he was above Charlemagne looking down. “And I don’t like you being hurt at all. I don’t like how Isadore or the others treat you. I don’t like that you let them abuse you and you don’t even imagine a world where things could be better.” He leaned close, his nose almost touching Charlemagne’s, his eyes fervent. “You are beautiful and gentle, yes, but you are also stronger than you dare to show.”
Charlemagne was humbled. “You have such faith in me.”
“Because you have none in yourself. You don’t see what I see when I look at you: the strength, the spirit, the fact that you could be so much more than you allow yourself to be. If you would only fight for what should be yours, you could be great.”
Charlemagne felt hypnotized by the fire in Faizel’s eyes, the pure conviction. He had never had so much faith focused on him, raw belief that he could be greater if he only wanted it enough.”
“I look at you and I don’t see a lesser master Made to serve others,” Faizel said. “I see an uncrowned king.”
Charlemagne gasped and flipped them over on the bed, pressing the fingers of one hand against Faizel’s lips to silence him. “Do not say such a thing. If anyone were to hear …”
Faizel pushed his hand away. “You are the only one here to listen and I hope that you do. Take my words to heart: you are so much more than you’ve let yourself be. you have greatness in you if you would only accept it.”
“You think too much of me.”
“And you don’t think about yourself enough,” Faizel said. “It makes me sad.”
Charlemagne wanted to tell Faizel that he was being foolish. He prepared himself to destroy the illusions Faizel had about his strength. But dawn was no longer approaching.
“It’s here,” Charlemagne whispered.
He slumped against the bed, shifting himself so he lay alongside Faizel as his body turned to dead-weight.
Dimly he felt a kiss pressed against his forehead and a brush of fingers through his hair. “I wish that you could see what I see when I look at you. If only you could believe in yourself a little bit.”
Charlemagne hated that hint of despair in Faizel’s voice. Hated that he had disappointed his only love by not being the well of strength he desired.
Then he knew nothing at all.
/EXCERPT
The post Saturday stuff: happenings; hop; new stove; Harvey Birdman appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
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