David R. Torres's Blog, page 2
September 17, 2014
Author Interview A.B. Whelan
I stumbled across a book titles Fields of Elysium a long time ago. At the time, I shrugged and said "Eh, I'll give it a shot."
And WOW! I got so much more than I was expecting. All you authors out there know how hard it is to create a whole new universe, but not just create one, but to make it damn good. It's something even Best Selling Authors have trouble doing. But A.B. Whelan, I must say, did an exceptional job.
This is an original book with original ideas and expertly crafted with creative and descriptive writing. Even though English is not her first language, she managed to write this amazing novel.
And now without further delay, here's the interview.
A. B. Whelan author of the Fields of Elysium series
What inspired you to write a novel and when was the exact moment you decided you were going to write a book?
I wrote my first novel in 2010. It was a memoir and I wrote it for my children, to leave them with the amazing story of how dad and mom fell in love against all odds. Though I was born and raised in Hungary and my primary language is Hungarian, I wrote the stories in English because that’s my husband and children’s language. Day after day I became increasingly involved with my stories and I looked forward to my baby girl’s naps so I could get back to my computer. I described scenes and stories that actually happened and my soaring imagination added extra details. After three months I ended up with a novel that was half true half fictional. I realized I was good at this and what was more important I enjoyed doing it. Now four years later I’ve finished four novels and two novellas, and I’m working on my fifth book right now.
What draws you to write a fantasy novel? The same goes for romance, young adult, dystopia, and sci-fi. What draws you to write them?
I write about what interests me. I see every chapter in my books as a scene in a movie. I like mesmerizing lights, magical animals, heroic action, weaknesses turning into strengths, characters overcoming their deepest fears and becoming heroes. These are the stories I enjoy the most.
Give us some insight on your main characters, Molly and Victor. What makes them so special and different?
Molly Bennett is a typical American teenager whose parents are well off so all she has to worry about is who her friends are, what she wears and which boy she dates. She dreams about adventures but is too scared to try anything new. Then one day she discovers a secluded cave with a wormhole passage to an earthlike planet and experiences hunger, danger, oppression, deep-rooted hatreds, and decade-old wars. She accepts the challenges life throws at her and does her best to handle them maturely.
Victor Sorren is an orphan, a trained warrior whose only interest is to avenge his parents’ death and bring long-awaited peace to his home. He is not much older than Molly, yet he doesn’t go to school dances or hang out at the mall after school. He trains every day as a Sentinel apprentice and Ecmentur Game contender. He also accepts the challenges life throws at him. Victor’s transformation – ignited by Molly’s presence - was a joy to write about.
Tell us about the cover and how it came about.
The cover of Fields of Elysium is widely loved and nominated for best cover. I designed it using a Russian photographer’s image. I fell in love with the picture the moment I saw it, though I didn’t jump the gun to reveal it. I designed seven covers and took votes on them from my circle of trusted friends. Most of them chose my favorite cover, too.
Designing the covers for the new installments in the series was easier because the first book’s cover had already set the mood and style.
How long did it take you to write your book?
Each book I write takes a bit longer. At the beginning I only wrote as a hobby with no thought of what people expected from me or that anybody would actually read my books. Since the publication of Fields of Elysium I’ve taken creative writing courses and educated myself in how to write better descriptions, sentences, scenes and much more. Now I write my books chapter by chapter, then I reread and edit it numerous times. Once I’m ready to let it out of my hands I email it to my proofreader/editor. He goes over it and sends it back to me. I check his changes and comments and make the necessary corrections. Then together we go over the chapter sentence by sentence.
Once we are finished with the entire manuscript, he reads it as a whole and afterwards we go over his findings. Then I send the ARC file to my recently hired professional editor and in the meantime I email copies to my beta readers. In about two months all the reviews and edits come back to me. I do the final polishing before the book goes into publication.
Lately the writing goes even slower because while I’m working on the new book using my advanced editing system I’m also polishing my previous books. So if I’m not pushing out a book every other month it’s not because I don’t work hard enough, but only that I’m determined to deliver a quality story and writing my readers expect of me.
Did you then let the book stew, leave it for a month and then come back to it to edit?
I usually work on promotional materials while I wait for my professional editor and beta readers to finish their jobs on my manuscript. So for a month or two I don’t touch my story at all.
Right before publishing I combine all the edited files I received from my editor and betas and make the final touches. By the time I hit ‘publish’ I love every word of my book.
How often do you write and for how long?
I write every day unless life’s events throw me off balance. In the past four years I’ve moved from Crete to California to Italy and back to California. Each move takes away three to four months from my writing and promoting.
What advice would you give to other aspiring writers?
Don’t rush into publishing. I know it’s hard to follow (mea culpa, mea maxima culpa) because Amazon makes it so easy nowadays. But publishing a book is like going to a job interview. If the first impression you make is not positive you won’t get the job.
If you could have been the original author of any book, what would it have been and why?
Any book of Jules Verne. His stories and inventions inspired generations of scientists, engineers and writers.
What is the hardest thing about writing?
To tell a story people actually want to read.
Do you ever experience writer's block and what do you do to combat it?
I think of my stories every day, rolling new ideas around in my head. By the time I have the opportunity to sit down and write I’m eager to do so. I don’t write because I have to. I do it because I want to and that’s why I don’t experience writer’s block.
Do you believe in love at first sight?
I do. I also believe that only time can tell whether your love at first sight was true love or only infatuation.
For more A.B. Whelan, check out her website and subscribe to her newsletter at http://abwhelan.blogspot.com/
And WOW! I got so much more than I was expecting. All you authors out there know how hard it is to create a whole new universe, but not just create one, but to make it damn good. It's something even Best Selling Authors have trouble doing. But A.B. Whelan, I must say, did an exceptional job.

This is an original book with original ideas and expertly crafted with creative and descriptive writing. Even though English is not her first language, she managed to write this amazing novel.
And now without further delay, here's the interview.
A. B. Whelan author of the Fields of Elysium series
What inspired you to write a novel and when was the exact moment you decided you were going to write a book?
I wrote my first novel in 2010. It was a memoir and I wrote it for my children, to leave them with the amazing story of how dad and mom fell in love against all odds. Though I was born and raised in Hungary and my primary language is Hungarian, I wrote the stories in English because that’s my husband and children’s language. Day after day I became increasingly involved with my stories and I looked forward to my baby girl’s naps so I could get back to my computer. I described scenes and stories that actually happened and my soaring imagination added extra details. After three months I ended up with a novel that was half true half fictional. I realized I was good at this and what was more important I enjoyed doing it. Now four years later I’ve finished four novels and two novellas, and I’m working on my fifth book right now.
What draws you to write a fantasy novel? The same goes for romance, young adult, dystopia, and sci-fi. What draws you to write them?
I write about what interests me. I see every chapter in my books as a scene in a movie. I like mesmerizing lights, magical animals, heroic action, weaknesses turning into strengths, characters overcoming their deepest fears and becoming heroes. These are the stories I enjoy the most.
Give us some insight on your main characters, Molly and Victor. What makes them so special and different?
Molly Bennett is a typical American teenager whose parents are well off so all she has to worry about is who her friends are, what she wears and which boy she dates. She dreams about adventures but is too scared to try anything new. Then one day she discovers a secluded cave with a wormhole passage to an earthlike planet and experiences hunger, danger, oppression, deep-rooted hatreds, and decade-old wars. She accepts the challenges life throws at her and does her best to handle them maturely.
Victor Sorren is an orphan, a trained warrior whose only interest is to avenge his parents’ death and bring long-awaited peace to his home. He is not much older than Molly, yet he doesn’t go to school dances or hang out at the mall after school. He trains every day as a Sentinel apprentice and Ecmentur Game contender. He also accepts the challenges life throws at him. Victor’s transformation – ignited by Molly’s presence - was a joy to write about.
Tell us about the cover and how it came about.
The cover of Fields of Elysium is widely loved and nominated for best cover. I designed it using a Russian photographer’s image. I fell in love with the picture the moment I saw it, though I didn’t jump the gun to reveal it. I designed seven covers and took votes on them from my circle of trusted friends. Most of them chose my favorite cover, too.
Designing the covers for the new installments in the series was easier because the first book’s cover had already set the mood and style.
How long did it take you to write your book?
Each book I write takes a bit longer. At the beginning I only wrote as a hobby with no thought of what people expected from me or that anybody would actually read my books. Since the publication of Fields of Elysium I’ve taken creative writing courses and educated myself in how to write better descriptions, sentences, scenes and much more. Now I write my books chapter by chapter, then I reread and edit it numerous times. Once I’m ready to let it out of my hands I email it to my proofreader/editor. He goes over it and sends it back to me. I check his changes and comments and make the necessary corrections. Then together we go over the chapter sentence by sentence.
Once we are finished with the entire manuscript, he reads it as a whole and afterwards we go over his findings. Then I send the ARC file to my recently hired professional editor and in the meantime I email copies to my beta readers. In about two months all the reviews and edits come back to me. I do the final polishing before the book goes into publication.
Lately the writing goes even slower because while I’m working on the new book using my advanced editing system I’m also polishing my previous books. So if I’m not pushing out a book every other month it’s not because I don’t work hard enough, but only that I’m determined to deliver a quality story and writing my readers expect of me.
Did you then let the book stew, leave it for a month and then come back to it to edit?
I usually work on promotional materials while I wait for my professional editor and beta readers to finish their jobs on my manuscript. So for a month or two I don’t touch my story at all.
Right before publishing I combine all the edited files I received from my editor and betas and make the final touches. By the time I hit ‘publish’ I love every word of my book.
How often do you write and for how long?
I write every day unless life’s events throw me off balance. In the past four years I’ve moved from Crete to California to Italy and back to California. Each move takes away three to four months from my writing and promoting.
What advice would you give to other aspiring writers?
Don’t rush into publishing. I know it’s hard to follow (mea culpa, mea maxima culpa) because Amazon makes it so easy nowadays. But publishing a book is like going to a job interview. If the first impression you make is not positive you won’t get the job.
If you could have been the original author of any book, what would it have been and why?
Any book of Jules Verne. His stories and inventions inspired generations of scientists, engineers and writers.
What is the hardest thing about writing?
To tell a story people actually want to read.
Do you ever experience writer's block and what do you do to combat it?
I think of my stories every day, rolling new ideas around in my head. By the time I have the opportunity to sit down and write I’m eager to do so. I don’t write because I have to. I do it because I want to and that’s why I don’t experience writer’s block.
Do you believe in love at first sight?
I do. I also believe that only time can tell whether your love at first sight was true love or only infatuation.
For more A.B. Whelan, check out her website and subscribe to her newsletter at http://abwhelan.blogspot.com/
Published on September 17, 2014 21:58
•
Tags:
a-b-whelan, action, fantasy, fields-of-elysium, romance
September 9, 2014
City of Shame (Fields of Elysium #3) Sneak Peek
Hello Everybody. Check out a Sneak Peek of City of Shame (Fields of Elysium #3). AND GUESS WHO'S IN IT?!!!! ME!!!! YUS!!!! The Fields of Elysium series is one of my favorite series ever. Feel free to check out my review of the book.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Follow A.B. Whelan's blog at http://abwhelan.blogspot.com/
I highly recommend you check out her books and subscribe to her blog for giveaways and updates on her books and author interviews. SPeaking of which, here is the interview of when she interviewed me. http://abwhelan.blogspot.com/p/author...
Now, for the Sneak Peak.
CITY OF SHAME
Prologue
“It’s me. Anna.”
“Look who’s crawled out of the foxhole. I was beginning to wonder if you were dead.”
“It’s getting harder to get hold of a secure line. I don’t have much time but I had to call you…. David, I’ve found it! I’ve found the Redeemer.”
The line went silent. The phone almost slipped from Anna’s hand. For a moment she thought the Terrakan rebel hung up on her.
“You know I don’t have time for old wives’ tales. I have a camp full of people to take care of,” David said at last, drawing in a deep breath. Anna could visualize his face twisting with irritation. “Did you get the medicine I asked for?”
“You didn’t hear what I said, David? The Redeemer has finally returned to us. It’s time.”
“Oh, come on, Anna. Spare me. I don’t understand how you can even believe this nonsense after so many years. After what we’ve been through?”
“I’ve never stopped believing. We must meet, David.”
His irritated mumble told Anna that David had no patience today with her beliefs; he never had.
“How do you know it’s him?” the young man asked, his tone screaming his disbelief.
“The signs. Twisted vines and thorns. As the prophecy foretold. I saw them, David. I’m so excited I can hardly breathe.”
A sigh of annoyance came through the receiver. “Fine. If it means so much to you bring him to me. I’ll have Ben take a look at the guy. And don’t forget to bring the medicine.”
Anna closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the day when men and women followed their hearts, when mothers raised their own children, when children played together, when men died from natural causes and not from beatings.
“Give me three days and I’ll meet you at our spot at the usual time. And David?”
“What?” David grunted.
“We were wrong. The Redeemer is not a he. It’s a she.”
1
Victor
The water splashed and ring waves rippled over the silvery surface of the lake as I pulled out the Revocator.
“Dammit, Pete,” I grumbled, shaking the water off the device. I was kneeling on the shore by the lake that ringed Terraka City, the same place I saw Molly last. The sun had already ducked behind the giant force field and lit up the city of shame. The sparkling reflections of the Emperor’s palaces were more visible now than at any other time of the day, yet the matter of the force field was thick and opaque and I couldn’t make out any specific shapes. The glistening wall stood between Molly and me like a supernatural, evil construction. I hated the Terrakas now more than ever.
I could picture her running through the woods, the bow she made with Tulliat and a set of arrows bouncing against her back; the small, oval-shaped bruise on her lower back where the bow smashed against her spine; the faint discoloration that always appeared on her skin after a day of hunting or training. I used to massage it with Ulka de Tino’s thick, herbal cream. It reeked of compost but took the pain away like a miracle. Did she have that bruise now?
It was getting dark. Perhaps she had a camp set up already. Maybe she was sitting by the fire she built, skinning a squirrel or rabbit for dinner. Three days were a long time inside the force field. She might have even made it into the inner city and found allies? Was she safe? Hungry? Scared?
I tore my eyes away from the enemy’s land, opened my bag and dropped in the Revocator. I pulled up Little Pete’s number on my AB. Little Pete was one of those ironic names people give to emphasize a physical deficiency, like calling a one-eyed man Eagle Eye Joe. Little Pete was anything but small.
Jenkins Industries rescued Terrakan children from Terraka City before the Prophet’s Sentinels initiated the force field. The impenetrable bubble ensnared everybody inside, invaders and slaves alike. Little Pete was one of those Terrakan children. He was a tech genius, a huge asset to the inventing company that specialized in new technology. After he moved into a small house slash office near the beach on the Jenkins family estate, he never left. He spent most of his free time in a virtual world he designed for himself. In spite of his antisocial behavior, he was funny and generous. Without his gadgets we’d never have had a chance to sneak into Terraka City via an underwater tunnel. I was grateful for Pete’s help at the time, but now that days had gone by since I heard from Molly, I wished he hadn’t been able to help us. Without proper equipment, Molly would never have embarked on this suicide mission.
Little Pete picked up after the second ring. “Victor, my man. What’s up?”
“This Revocator you gave me doesn’t work, Pete. The fish don’t come to me.”
“It has to work. I tested it a dozen times. Maybe there aren’t any messages from Molly yet.”
My jaws clenched hard and the air stuck in my lungs from the pain. “There have to be messages. She’d never leave me hanging like this.”
“Are you sure you’re using it right?” Pete’s voice was even, not a hint of panic.
“Can you just come out to the lake and check it out?” It was a long shot but I had to ask.
A munching noise with rhythmical huffing and puffing filled the next few seconds. I could imagine Pete sitting in his rotating chair in the dirty T-shirt he had been wearing for at least five days; jelly and chocolate stains on the once white but now yellowish grey fabric; crumbs falling from his pastry and landing on his bulging chest and fat belly; mice scattering around to vacuum up the leftovers off the dirty floor.
“Sorry, Victor. No can do. I’m allergic to fresh air. Just bring it back to me. I’ll take a look at it. But as I said, I’m sure it’s fine.” A weak burp punctuated the last sentence.
“Maybe there’s a glitch,” I fished, because any other option was better than thinking the unthinkable. I could never forgive myself if something bad happened to Molly.
“I got one more prototype I have to run some tests on for Jenkins, but drop by after sunset and I’ll open up that little baby.” The munching resumed. The sound made me hungry. The last thing I ate was a piece of meat and a baked sweet potato in Ulka de Tino’s hut last night.
“Will do. Thanks, Pete.”
“You bet.”
I almost hung up when Pete’s calling stopped me.
“Come again.”
“I said, What if there’s nothing wrong with my device?”
I didn’t need time to think the answer through. “Then I’ll go after Molly.”
I disconnected the call. With a disappointed heart, I looped my leg over the seat of the Ducati and pushed the crystal into the ignition. A gush of wind swept over me. The hair on my arms stood up in alarm. The feeling was familiar. Molly’s fingers used to cause the same sensation when they ran over my arm in a slow motion, barely touching my skin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I missed her so bad my mouth went dry and a scraping feeling developed in my throat, as if dark arms of my heartache were crawling out of my chest.
My mother died after giving birth to me. For almost eighteen years I believed that my father was dead. I grew up an orphan. The love of the Sesmars who raised me wasn’t enough for me to grow deep family or emotional ties. Then Molly came along and everything changed. She became my other half. My moral compass. My heroine. I loved everything about her. That crazy curly hair. The freckles. For so long she had been part of my daily life. I always knew where she was, what she was doing. This not knowing was killing me. Had she been captured? Killed? Tortured? The possibility of vicious Terrakan men touching her kept lingering in my mind and I couldn’t block the image. Every day, every minute I wasted, waiting for the metallic fish to show up in the lake with her message saying she was ok, seemed excruciating. Nothing mattered but hearing from her. I hadn’t been back at the Sentinel Academy since Molly dove under the force field and disappeared.
At the push of a button the protective field enclosed over me on the Ducati. I took one last look at Terraka City. With every passing minute the entire island grew more ominous and grey in the fading sunlight. My AB beeped, startling me. Roger’s name on the display made my stomach twitch. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I grunted, knowing exactly what I forgot.
“You’re an asshole. You know that, right?” Roger blurted out as soon as I answered his call. I had two choices now: pretend that I didn’t know what he was talking about and let him remind me, or admit that I forgot about him and apologize.
“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, brother. I completely forgot about your party. I’ve been so wrapped up in this …. this stuff.”
“What stuff? You’ve been saying the same thing for days now.”
“You know, with the academy and stuff. I can’t really tell you. By the way, happy birthday, man.”
“Don’t even try. Get your ass over here. Everybody else is here.”
“I can’t now, Roger. I’m sorry. But I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“What can be more important than your best friend’s birthday party?” Weston was my best friend.
“Okay, how about this. Next week I’ll take you to the Cheho. I’ll get you some girls. Just you and me. What do you say?”
“Not good enough. You’d never miss Weston’s party. It’s not cool, man,” Roger complained.
The sun was behind the mountains, dragging a wide spread of orange and pink color with it. Pete was expecting me in an hour. Maybe it gave me enough time to stop by the Jenkins family’s restaurant, The Tirus Kitchen, and join the boys for the celebration. I needed to grab a bite anyway. Besides, I could use a distraction. Until Pete checked the Revocator and confirmed that it worked I wasn’t going to go after Molly anyway. As a matter of fact, for me to enter Terraka City should be the last option. I was half Arkanian and half Terraka. My blood would set off the alarms in the city in a heartbeat and if Molly weren’t in trouble until now, then I would definitely bring heat on her. I needed a smart plan. Not one where I got myself executed before I had a chance to find her. All this pondering on an empty stomach lowered my blood sugar and my head started spinning.
“You’re right. I am an asshole. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Now that’s the Victor I like,” Roger chuckled, the nervous vibe gone from his voice. “But Victor, leave your Earthling words outside the door. My mother’s been scolding me almost every day for the slang I’ve been using thanks to you.”
“What words?”
“See, you don’t even notice it anymore. Maybe you should stop visiting the archives for a while. You’re starting to sound like an Earthling.”
“You think so? I didn’t notice.”
“As I said, stop watching those stupid Earthling footages. Don’t forget which side you’re on.”
A sudden surge of anger rose in my chest. “I don’t need you to remind me, Roger. I know where my loyalties lie.”
I pressed the off button so hard that the AB hit the bone on my wrist. Just because I was interested in Earth history didn’t mean I’ve forgotten who I was. I loved a girl from Earth, a trespassing alien on our planet, but our relationship hadn’t changed my allegiances. Those merciless Terrakas killed my mother and drove my father insane. I’d never forget that. I’ve dedicated my entire life to the Sentinels, the only military force we Arkanians had. We’ve been preparing to fight the invaders from Earth. For the love of the Almighty, I even allowed my girlfriend to help our cause with this extremely dangerous mission. How dare Roger doubt me! He cared about nothing else but his weights, diet and girls. He never gave a thought to what our race had to endure for centuries.
Irritated, I began ascending on the Ducati. The bright turquoise light turned on, shining off the pearl black body of my aircraft. There was a time when I loved to fly through the woods, testing my senses and feeling invincible. Now I only looked at this beauty as a mere tool to satisfy my needs, nothing more than a transportation device. I turned toward the woods to fly back to Tirus and join Roger’s party when I spotted the Prophet’s black Araneavi hovering over the forest line. The hatch dropped down with a hissing sound and a uniformed Sentinel Apprentice appeared in the doorway and beckoned me to move closer.
“Take her down,” he yelled, pointing at a small clearing. “The Prophet needs to talk to you.”
2
Molly
I woke to the relaxing strains of instrumental music. The air was pleasantly warm, scented with a hint of nature, not flowery really; more like tree bark and fresh leaves rubbed between fingers. I lay unmoving, with my eyes closed. My head was completely empty, no thoughts bouncing around inside my skull. I felt weird, out of character, so I tried to concentrate on my feelings. Why did my eyes refuse to open? Could I have been that exhausted, or was it depression keeping me in bed? Was I even in a bed? The scent of the air suggested that I was outdoors somewhere, but then shouldn’t I hear birds chirping and insects buzzing? Shouldn’t I feel the wind tickling my skin? Despite the calmness that kept me still, I longed to take back control over my body. My fingers tapped on the mattress and I wriggled my toes. My body seemed to be working just fine. I turned onto my side and a sharp pain blasted the back of my head. My sticky lips opened and my mouth let out a dull moan. I cramped up, letting the pain pass.
The music continued, though the piano playing started to pluck at my nerves. A second wave of pain rippled through me, the kind that knocks the air out of you. I snapped forward, gasping for air, my eyelids still paralyzed. I used my fingers to peel away my heavy lids. Bright light assaulted my eyes. My vision cleared and I made out a small boxlike room with white windowless walls. I was lying on a bed, a small, metal-framed nightstand beside me with a silver tray of medical instruments on top of it. My blood curdled. On the other side of my bed dangled the needle of an IV on the end of a plastic tube. A bloody bandage covered my vein. A few drops of red on the crisp white sheet gave me the impression that someone had removed the needle by force. A half-full, glass container with clear liquid hung from a metal cage. The throbbing in the back of my head intensified. My fingers found a thick bandage between the splits of my hair. I pressed on it gently and almost fainted from the pain.
I slipped my feet off the bed. My toes touched the solid floor. It was unexpectedly warm, a pleasant feeling. My head dropped forward and I started massaging the back of my neck. The skin on my bare legs was pale, almost transparent, as if it belonged to a corpse. I leaned back to see that I was completely naked. My heartbeat accelerated. I scooted closer to the inactive monitor, looking for a panic button to call for a nurse, but found none. After a few calming breaths I decided to walk to the closed door which without the brushed nickel bolts and handle would have blended into the wall.
Using the metal bed frame for support I slowly made my way to a dresser. I pulled out the top drawer, allowing my eyes to linger on a silver-framed picture of a man. He looked weird with a long black ponytail high on the back of his otherwise bald head. Golden lines enhanced his eyes. His chest bore a heavy load of gold necklaces. The image didn’t appeal to me.
I took out a pair of light canvas trousers, a white cotton tank top, and a knitted long-sleeve loose top. The bottom drawer was empty. I wriggled into the tops with painfully slow movements. When the fabric slipped over my nose, I could smell stale wood. A sharp pain accompanied my every movement, and I kept reaching for my wound, wondering what had happened to me.
I had just sat down on the bed to catch my breath when I heard footsteps outside my door. People were talking and laughing. I shuffled my way to the door. A framed advertisement was pinned at eyelevel to the panel.
THE PERFECT FAMILY IS FOUR. The statement in large, bold letters was spread out on the top part of the poster. A young, smiling couple stood under the headline, clinking golden goblets. They were dressed in expensive fabrics and adorned with jewels. A cute, clean-faced toddler sat at the woman’s feet and a bundled newborn lay in the man’s arms. The family was sitting in a room decorated with frescos, luxurious heavy drapes, and carved wooden furniture. Beside them were two skinny and scantily dressed men in canine poses. Their backs held up a set of silver platters and goblets on a tabletop. Property of Taronno’s Medical Center was inscribed in small letters on the bottom right. I found the image and the message odd and very disturbing.
I opened the door only a crack and peeked out at the long, lighted corridor. I waited and listened for a minute before I mustered the strength to take my first step. My hand brushed against the white wall as I dragged myself forward, toward the French doors. I looked up, searching for security cameras, but the walls were just as plain as they were in the room I woke up in. My head wanted to split open. I needed painkillers and I needed them now.
Every twenty feet or so stood a door on both sides. I reached the first one on my right. It had the same rectangular window as the one on my room’s door. I leaned against the cold metal and peeked in. Inside was a woman, hanging upside down from the ceiling, her ankles tied, her legs spread wide. Her head was shaved and her face red with the surge of blood. She, too, was naked. When her eyes met mine, she started to wriggle, like prey in a trap. Her lips moved, calling for me. “Help me. Please, help me.”
I pushed down the handle but the door didn’t budge. My fingers rolled into a tight fist. I was ready to break the glass when a scream rippled through the corridor. I jumped. I could feel warm urine trailing down my inner thighs.
I waited. The hallway remained vacant.
I put my hand on the window. The woman was crying, her eyes watching me desperately.
“I’ll be back. I’ll go and find someone,” I promised and shuffled toward the French doors as fast as I could. All the other rooms enclosed naked, hanging women. I stopped glancing at them after a while.
By the time I pushed the wings of the door open I was ready to collapse. My legs were weak, as if I had been in bed for a year. My muscles didn’t want to obey and every breath I took seemed to lack the oxygen I needed.
On the other side of the French doors, the hallway continued for fifty feet or so and then split into two long corridors. I took the one on the right. More rooms, more tiny windows. A whole section of bald, pregnant women in bedrooms. I tried to open doors randomly but they also were locked.
The last door on the right opened onto a staircase and I took the flight leading down. Holding onto the banister, I descended three levels, until I reached the ground floor. Between two doors, one marked EXIT, the other SURGERY ROOMS, a tall window allowed in the fading light of the sunset. I walked closer, mesmerized by the white limestone buildings nearby, the tall statues and ancient palaces in the far distance. Snow-covered mountains towered on the horizon. I rubbed my eyes, thinking that I dropped into a movie set. Then I looked down, rolling the words ‘movie set’ in my mind. What did they even mean? I had no idea.
I leaned closer to the window. My breath fogged up the glass. The outside seemed very depressing. Apart from the rows of young corn plants and the orange sky from the retiring sun, everything was shades of white. I saw movements ahead between the straight-roofed stone buildings. I was about to bang on the window and yell for help, when something red landed on the glass with a dampened thud. My head snapped back as I watched a tomato slide down in front of me. Two bald preteen boys jumped out of the cornfield and pointed at me laughing. Another tomato smashed against the window. I stepped back, completely mortified. Leaving the building didn’t seem such a good idea anymore. My head dizzy with baffling thoughts, I staggered through the entrance marked ‘Surgery Rooms.’
My back against the wall, my hand on my chest, I inched down the exceptionally clean, bleached passageway. Painful screams rippled through the air. They were loud and incoherent, chilling my blood.
A door only a few feet ahead of me opened and someone stepped out and walked down the hall without noticing me. A facemask and a white cloak with red stains concealed the person’s identity, but the way she was walking told me it was a woman. I came for help and answers, yet I shrunk as small as I could to make myself invisible. I held my breath as I watched her rushing all the way to the end and entering a room. The fetid smell, the screams of women, the metal scraping on tile: everything about this place assaulted my senses. I needed to get the hell out of there. That was what anyone with a shred of common sense would do, yet I couldn’t leave until I saw what was going on behind those walls. The room the woman had just stormed out of was vacant. There were a line of sinks and a cabinet full of medicine inside. The light from a wide and tall glass panel on the wall cast moving shadows on the tile floor. From the angle the door’s peek-through window allowed me, I couldn’t see who or what created those shadows. I slipped inside, bending low, my heart in my throat. In the middle of the room, I straightened up slowly. Then I just stood in front of the glass, petrified, looking at seven or eight surgery rooms, all separated by glass-paneled walls. I saw three women giving birth, and a doctor and two assistants, removing organs from a man. My mind kept telling me to move, run, take cover, but I just stood there, frozen. Until a nurse pointed at me, screaming, “Somebody grab her!” Suddenly all eyes were on me and I launched into a run and bolted through the door. The bright and uncharacteristic corridors confused me. I couldn’t identify which direction I came from. I heard yelling and scraping sounds. I ripped a door open to find shelter. Inside, cold air enveloped me. I wrapped my arms around myself, staggering in the dark. My hips smashed against something hard. A squeaky, whirring sound reverberated through the darkness, like rolling rubber wheels of a child’s toy car. I put my hand down to find my way to the back of the room. My fingers sank into something soft and moist. Angry voices filtered in from the corridor. Those crazy butchers were looking for me. On my way to the back wall, I pushed aside more wheeled furniture. In the corner I snuggled down, the pain in the back of my head stronger than ever. I felt tears rolling down on my cheeks. I wiped them off with my hands. They reeked of rotten meat. As a matter of fact, the entire room had a sickening stench. My breath came in short and irregular doses as I watched strangers through the rectangular window rushing up and down in the corridor. None of them even glanced toward my door, until one woman in a short white cap stopped and faced me.
“You checked the Disposal Room?” she yelled, her eyes fixed. A man answered but I didn’t catch what he said.
“I’ll do it then,” the woman in the window shouted back, and pushed the door open. She flipped a switch and just then in the overwhelming light I saw how exposed I was at the end of a clear row between lines of gurneys and dead people. The woman remained standing in the doorframe, her hand on the doorknob, looking straight at me. Her face appeared worn, wrinkled, not from age but from excessive exposure to the sun and lack of sleep. My brows creased as I pondered why this irrelevant and stupid thought came to me now. Why I even cared what she looked like. She was going to call the others any second now. I pictured myself tied down on a bed, my heart in the doctor’s hands.
“Anna, did you find her?” a man’s voice echoed from the distance.
“She’s not here,” the woman lied, and gave some sort of verbal sign to the man down the hall I assumed, turned the lights off, and shut the door.
In the darkness, I dropped to my side like a sack of potatoes. My head was full of vivid images of the bloody corpses with whom I shared the room. I started wiping my hands on my thighs real hard. The mere thought of having dead people’s blood and bodily fluids on my hands freaked me out. I plugged my nose to block out the smell, at a loss as to why the woman lied for me.
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Now, for the Sneak Peak.
CITY OF SHAME
Prologue
“It’s me. Anna.”
“Look who’s crawled out of the foxhole. I was beginning to wonder if you were dead.”
“It’s getting harder to get hold of a secure line. I don’t have much time but I had to call you…. David, I’ve found it! I’ve found the Redeemer.”
The line went silent. The phone almost slipped from Anna’s hand. For a moment she thought the Terrakan rebel hung up on her.
“You know I don’t have time for old wives’ tales. I have a camp full of people to take care of,” David said at last, drawing in a deep breath. Anna could visualize his face twisting with irritation. “Did you get the medicine I asked for?”
“You didn’t hear what I said, David? The Redeemer has finally returned to us. It’s time.”
“Oh, come on, Anna. Spare me. I don’t understand how you can even believe this nonsense after so many years. After what we’ve been through?”
“I’ve never stopped believing. We must meet, David.”
His irritated mumble told Anna that David had no patience today with her beliefs; he never had.
“How do you know it’s him?” the young man asked, his tone screaming his disbelief.
“The signs. Twisted vines and thorns. As the prophecy foretold. I saw them, David. I’m so excited I can hardly breathe.”
A sigh of annoyance came through the receiver. “Fine. If it means so much to you bring him to me. I’ll have Ben take a look at the guy. And don’t forget to bring the medicine.”
Anna closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the day when men and women followed their hearts, when mothers raised their own children, when children played together, when men died from natural causes and not from beatings.
“Give me three days and I’ll meet you at our spot at the usual time. And David?”
“What?” David grunted.
“We were wrong. The Redeemer is not a he. It’s a she.”
1
Victor
The water splashed and ring waves rippled over the silvery surface of the lake as I pulled out the Revocator.
“Dammit, Pete,” I grumbled, shaking the water off the device. I was kneeling on the shore by the lake that ringed Terraka City, the same place I saw Molly last. The sun had already ducked behind the giant force field and lit up the city of shame. The sparkling reflections of the Emperor’s palaces were more visible now than at any other time of the day, yet the matter of the force field was thick and opaque and I couldn’t make out any specific shapes. The glistening wall stood between Molly and me like a supernatural, evil construction. I hated the Terrakas now more than ever.
I could picture her running through the woods, the bow she made with Tulliat and a set of arrows bouncing against her back; the small, oval-shaped bruise on her lower back where the bow smashed against her spine; the faint discoloration that always appeared on her skin after a day of hunting or training. I used to massage it with Ulka de Tino’s thick, herbal cream. It reeked of compost but took the pain away like a miracle. Did she have that bruise now?
It was getting dark. Perhaps she had a camp set up already. Maybe she was sitting by the fire she built, skinning a squirrel or rabbit for dinner. Three days were a long time inside the force field. She might have even made it into the inner city and found allies? Was she safe? Hungry? Scared?
I tore my eyes away from the enemy’s land, opened my bag and dropped in the Revocator. I pulled up Little Pete’s number on my AB. Little Pete was one of those ironic names people give to emphasize a physical deficiency, like calling a one-eyed man Eagle Eye Joe. Little Pete was anything but small.
Jenkins Industries rescued Terrakan children from Terraka City before the Prophet’s Sentinels initiated the force field. The impenetrable bubble ensnared everybody inside, invaders and slaves alike. Little Pete was one of those Terrakan children. He was a tech genius, a huge asset to the inventing company that specialized in new technology. After he moved into a small house slash office near the beach on the Jenkins family estate, he never left. He spent most of his free time in a virtual world he designed for himself. In spite of his antisocial behavior, he was funny and generous. Without his gadgets we’d never have had a chance to sneak into Terraka City via an underwater tunnel. I was grateful for Pete’s help at the time, but now that days had gone by since I heard from Molly, I wished he hadn’t been able to help us. Without proper equipment, Molly would never have embarked on this suicide mission.
Little Pete picked up after the second ring. “Victor, my man. What’s up?”
“This Revocator you gave me doesn’t work, Pete. The fish don’t come to me.”
“It has to work. I tested it a dozen times. Maybe there aren’t any messages from Molly yet.”
My jaws clenched hard and the air stuck in my lungs from the pain. “There have to be messages. She’d never leave me hanging like this.”
“Are you sure you’re using it right?” Pete’s voice was even, not a hint of panic.
“Can you just come out to the lake and check it out?” It was a long shot but I had to ask.
A munching noise with rhythmical huffing and puffing filled the next few seconds. I could imagine Pete sitting in his rotating chair in the dirty T-shirt he had been wearing for at least five days; jelly and chocolate stains on the once white but now yellowish grey fabric; crumbs falling from his pastry and landing on his bulging chest and fat belly; mice scattering around to vacuum up the leftovers off the dirty floor.
“Sorry, Victor. No can do. I’m allergic to fresh air. Just bring it back to me. I’ll take a look at it. But as I said, I’m sure it’s fine.” A weak burp punctuated the last sentence.
“Maybe there’s a glitch,” I fished, because any other option was better than thinking the unthinkable. I could never forgive myself if something bad happened to Molly.
“I got one more prototype I have to run some tests on for Jenkins, but drop by after sunset and I’ll open up that little baby.” The munching resumed. The sound made me hungry. The last thing I ate was a piece of meat and a baked sweet potato in Ulka de Tino’s hut last night.
“Will do. Thanks, Pete.”
“You bet.”
I almost hung up when Pete’s calling stopped me.
“Come again.”
“I said, What if there’s nothing wrong with my device?”
I didn’t need time to think the answer through. “Then I’ll go after Molly.”
I disconnected the call. With a disappointed heart, I looped my leg over the seat of the Ducati and pushed the crystal into the ignition. A gush of wind swept over me. The hair on my arms stood up in alarm. The feeling was familiar. Molly’s fingers used to cause the same sensation when they ran over my arm in a slow motion, barely touching my skin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I missed her so bad my mouth went dry and a scraping feeling developed in my throat, as if dark arms of my heartache were crawling out of my chest.
My mother died after giving birth to me. For almost eighteen years I believed that my father was dead. I grew up an orphan. The love of the Sesmars who raised me wasn’t enough for me to grow deep family or emotional ties. Then Molly came along and everything changed. She became my other half. My moral compass. My heroine. I loved everything about her. That crazy curly hair. The freckles. For so long she had been part of my daily life. I always knew where she was, what she was doing. This not knowing was killing me. Had she been captured? Killed? Tortured? The possibility of vicious Terrakan men touching her kept lingering in my mind and I couldn’t block the image. Every day, every minute I wasted, waiting for the metallic fish to show up in the lake with her message saying she was ok, seemed excruciating. Nothing mattered but hearing from her. I hadn’t been back at the Sentinel Academy since Molly dove under the force field and disappeared.
At the push of a button the protective field enclosed over me on the Ducati. I took one last look at Terraka City. With every passing minute the entire island grew more ominous and grey in the fading sunlight. My AB beeped, startling me. Roger’s name on the display made my stomach twitch. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I grunted, knowing exactly what I forgot.
“You’re an asshole. You know that, right?” Roger blurted out as soon as I answered his call. I had two choices now: pretend that I didn’t know what he was talking about and let him remind me, or admit that I forgot about him and apologize.
“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, brother. I completely forgot about your party. I’ve been so wrapped up in this …. this stuff.”
“What stuff? You’ve been saying the same thing for days now.”
“You know, with the academy and stuff. I can’t really tell you. By the way, happy birthday, man.”
“Don’t even try. Get your ass over here. Everybody else is here.”
“I can’t now, Roger. I’m sorry. But I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“What can be more important than your best friend’s birthday party?” Weston was my best friend.
“Okay, how about this. Next week I’ll take you to the Cheho. I’ll get you some girls. Just you and me. What do you say?”
“Not good enough. You’d never miss Weston’s party. It’s not cool, man,” Roger complained.
The sun was behind the mountains, dragging a wide spread of orange and pink color with it. Pete was expecting me in an hour. Maybe it gave me enough time to stop by the Jenkins family’s restaurant, The Tirus Kitchen, and join the boys for the celebration. I needed to grab a bite anyway. Besides, I could use a distraction. Until Pete checked the Revocator and confirmed that it worked I wasn’t going to go after Molly anyway. As a matter of fact, for me to enter Terraka City should be the last option. I was half Arkanian and half Terraka. My blood would set off the alarms in the city in a heartbeat and if Molly weren’t in trouble until now, then I would definitely bring heat on her. I needed a smart plan. Not one where I got myself executed before I had a chance to find her. All this pondering on an empty stomach lowered my blood sugar and my head started spinning.
“You’re right. I am an asshole. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Now that’s the Victor I like,” Roger chuckled, the nervous vibe gone from his voice. “But Victor, leave your Earthling words outside the door. My mother’s been scolding me almost every day for the slang I’ve been using thanks to you.”
“What words?”
“See, you don’t even notice it anymore. Maybe you should stop visiting the archives for a while. You’re starting to sound like an Earthling.”
“You think so? I didn’t notice.”
“As I said, stop watching those stupid Earthling footages. Don’t forget which side you’re on.”
A sudden surge of anger rose in my chest. “I don’t need you to remind me, Roger. I know where my loyalties lie.”
I pressed the off button so hard that the AB hit the bone on my wrist. Just because I was interested in Earth history didn’t mean I’ve forgotten who I was. I loved a girl from Earth, a trespassing alien on our planet, but our relationship hadn’t changed my allegiances. Those merciless Terrakas killed my mother and drove my father insane. I’d never forget that. I’ve dedicated my entire life to the Sentinels, the only military force we Arkanians had. We’ve been preparing to fight the invaders from Earth. For the love of the Almighty, I even allowed my girlfriend to help our cause with this extremely dangerous mission. How dare Roger doubt me! He cared about nothing else but his weights, diet and girls. He never gave a thought to what our race had to endure for centuries.
Irritated, I began ascending on the Ducati. The bright turquoise light turned on, shining off the pearl black body of my aircraft. There was a time when I loved to fly through the woods, testing my senses and feeling invincible. Now I only looked at this beauty as a mere tool to satisfy my needs, nothing more than a transportation device. I turned toward the woods to fly back to Tirus and join Roger’s party when I spotted the Prophet’s black Araneavi hovering over the forest line. The hatch dropped down with a hissing sound and a uniformed Sentinel Apprentice appeared in the doorway and beckoned me to move closer.
“Take her down,” he yelled, pointing at a small clearing. “The Prophet needs to talk to you.”
2
Molly
I woke to the relaxing strains of instrumental music. The air was pleasantly warm, scented with a hint of nature, not flowery really; more like tree bark and fresh leaves rubbed between fingers. I lay unmoving, with my eyes closed. My head was completely empty, no thoughts bouncing around inside my skull. I felt weird, out of character, so I tried to concentrate on my feelings. Why did my eyes refuse to open? Could I have been that exhausted, or was it depression keeping me in bed? Was I even in a bed? The scent of the air suggested that I was outdoors somewhere, but then shouldn’t I hear birds chirping and insects buzzing? Shouldn’t I feel the wind tickling my skin? Despite the calmness that kept me still, I longed to take back control over my body. My fingers tapped on the mattress and I wriggled my toes. My body seemed to be working just fine. I turned onto my side and a sharp pain blasted the back of my head. My sticky lips opened and my mouth let out a dull moan. I cramped up, letting the pain pass.
The music continued, though the piano playing started to pluck at my nerves. A second wave of pain rippled through me, the kind that knocks the air out of you. I snapped forward, gasping for air, my eyelids still paralyzed. I used my fingers to peel away my heavy lids. Bright light assaulted my eyes. My vision cleared and I made out a small boxlike room with white windowless walls. I was lying on a bed, a small, metal-framed nightstand beside me with a silver tray of medical instruments on top of it. My blood curdled. On the other side of my bed dangled the needle of an IV on the end of a plastic tube. A bloody bandage covered my vein. A few drops of red on the crisp white sheet gave me the impression that someone had removed the needle by force. A half-full, glass container with clear liquid hung from a metal cage. The throbbing in the back of my head intensified. My fingers found a thick bandage between the splits of my hair. I pressed on it gently and almost fainted from the pain.
I slipped my feet off the bed. My toes touched the solid floor. It was unexpectedly warm, a pleasant feeling. My head dropped forward and I started massaging the back of my neck. The skin on my bare legs was pale, almost transparent, as if it belonged to a corpse. I leaned back to see that I was completely naked. My heartbeat accelerated. I scooted closer to the inactive monitor, looking for a panic button to call for a nurse, but found none. After a few calming breaths I decided to walk to the closed door which without the brushed nickel bolts and handle would have blended into the wall.
Using the metal bed frame for support I slowly made my way to a dresser. I pulled out the top drawer, allowing my eyes to linger on a silver-framed picture of a man. He looked weird with a long black ponytail high on the back of his otherwise bald head. Golden lines enhanced his eyes. His chest bore a heavy load of gold necklaces. The image didn’t appeal to me.
I took out a pair of light canvas trousers, a white cotton tank top, and a knitted long-sleeve loose top. The bottom drawer was empty. I wriggled into the tops with painfully slow movements. When the fabric slipped over my nose, I could smell stale wood. A sharp pain accompanied my every movement, and I kept reaching for my wound, wondering what had happened to me.
I had just sat down on the bed to catch my breath when I heard footsteps outside my door. People were talking and laughing. I shuffled my way to the door. A framed advertisement was pinned at eyelevel to the panel.
THE PERFECT FAMILY IS FOUR. The statement in large, bold letters was spread out on the top part of the poster. A young, smiling couple stood under the headline, clinking golden goblets. They were dressed in expensive fabrics and adorned with jewels. A cute, clean-faced toddler sat at the woman’s feet and a bundled newborn lay in the man’s arms. The family was sitting in a room decorated with frescos, luxurious heavy drapes, and carved wooden furniture. Beside them were two skinny and scantily dressed men in canine poses. Their backs held up a set of silver platters and goblets on a tabletop. Property of Taronno’s Medical Center was inscribed in small letters on the bottom right. I found the image and the message odd and very disturbing.
I opened the door only a crack and peeked out at the long, lighted corridor. I waited and listened for a minute before I mustered the strength to take my first step. My hand brushed against the white wall as I dragged myself forward, toward the French doors. I looked up, searching for security cameras, but the walls were just as plain as they were in the room I woke up in. My head wanted to split open. I needed painkillers and I needed them now.
Every twenty feet or so stood a door on both sides. I reached the first one on my right. It had the same rectangular window as the one on my room’s door. I leaned against the cold metal and peeked in. Inside was a woman, hanging upside down from the ceiling, her ankles tied, her legs spread wide. Her head was shaved and her face red with the surge of blood. She, too, was naked. When her eyes met mine, she started to wriggle, like prey in a trap. Her lips moved, calling for me. “Help me. Please, help me.”
I pushed down the handle but the door didn’t budge. My fingers rolled into a tight fist. I was ready to break the glass when a scream rippled through the corridor. I jumped. I could feel warm urine trailing down my inner thighs.
I waited. The hallway remained vacant.
I put my hand on the window. The woman was crying, her eyes watching me desperately.
“I’ll be back. I’ll go and find someone,” I promised and shuffled toward the French doors as fast as I could. All the other rooms enclosed naked, hanging women. I stopped glancing at them after a while.
By the time I pushed the wings of the door open I was ready to collapse. My legs were weak, as if I had been in bed for a year. My muscles didn’t want to obey and every breath I took seemed to lack the oxygen I needed.
On the other side of the French doors, the hallway continued for fifty feet or so and then split into two long corridors. I took the one on the right. More rooms, more tiny windows. A whole section of bald, pregnant women in bedrooms. I tried to open doors randomly but they also were locked.
The last door on the right opened onto a staircase and I took the flight leading down. Holding onto the banister, I descended three levels, until I reached the ground floor. Between two doors, one marked EXIT, the other SURGERY ROOMS, a tall window allowed in the fading light of the sunset. I walked closer, mesmerized by the white limestone buildings nearby, the tall statues and ancient palaces in the far distance. Snow-covered mountains towered on the horizon. I rubbed my eyes, thinking that I dropped into a movie set. Then I looked down, rolling the words ‘movie set’ in my mind. What did they even mean? I had no idea.
I leaned closer to the window. My breath fogged up the glass. The outside seemed very depressing. Apart from the rows of young corn plants and the orange sky from the retiring sun, everything was shades of white. I saw movements ahead between the straight-roofed stone buildings. I was about to bang on the window and yell for help, when something red landed on the glass with a dampened thud. My head snapped back as I watched a tomato slide down in front of me. Two bald preteen boys jumped out of the cornfield and pointed at me laughing. Another tomato smashed against the window. I stepped back, completely mortified. Leaving the building didn’t seem such a good idea anymore. My head dizzy with baffling thoughts, I staggered through the entrance marked ‘Surgery Rooms.’
My back against the wall, my hand on my chest, I inched down the exceptionally clean, bleached passageway. Painful screams rippled through the air. They were loud and incoherent, chilling my blood.
A door only a few feet ahead of me opened and someone stepped out and walked down the hall without noticing me. A facemask and a white cloak with red stains concealed the person’s identity, but the way she was walking told me it was a woman. I came for help and answers, yet I shrunk as small as I could to make myself invisible. I held my breath as I watched her rushing all the way to the end and entering a room. The fetid smell, the screams of women, the metal scraping on tile: everything about this place assaulted my senses. I needed to get the hell out of there. That was what anyone with a shred of common sense would do, yet I couldn’t leave until I saw what was going on behind those walls. The room the woman had just stormed out of was vacant. There were a line of sinks and a cabinet full of medicine inside. The light from a wide and tall glass panel on the wall cast moving shadows on the tile floor. From the angle the door’s peek-through window allowed me, I couldn’t see who or what created those shadows. I slipped inside, bending low, my heart in my throat. In the middle of the room, I straightened up slowly. Then I just stood in front of the glass, petrified, looking at seven or eight surgery rooms, all separated by glass-paneled walls. I saw three women giving birth, and a doctor and two assistants, removing organs from a man. My mind kept telling me to move, run, take cover, but I just stood there, frozen. Until a nurse pointed at me, screaming, “Somebody grab her!” Suddenly all eyes were on me and I launched into a run and bolted through the door. The bright and uncharacteristic corridors confused me. I couldn’t identify which direction I came from. I heard yelling and scraping sounds. I ripped a door open to find shelter. Inside, cold air enveloped me. I wrapped my arms around myself, staggering in the dark. My hips smashed against something hard. A squeaky, whirring sound reverberated through the darkness, like rolling rubber wheels of a child’s toy car. I put my hand down to find my way to the back of the room. My fingers sank into something soft and moist. Angry voices filtered in from the corridor. Those crazy butchers were looking for me. On my way to the back wall, I pushed aside more wheeled furniture. In the corner I snuggled down, the pain in the back of my head stronger than ever. I felt tears rolling down on my cheeks. I wiped them off with my hands. They reeked of rotten meat. As a matter of fact, the entire room had a sickening stench. My breath came in short and irregular doses as I watched strangers through the rectangular window rushing up and down in the corridor. None of them even glanced toward my door, until one woman in a short white cap stopped and faced me.
“You checked the Disposal Room?” she yelled, her eyes fixed. A man answered but I didn’t catch what he said.
“I’ll do it then,” the woman in the window shouted back, and pushed the door open. She flipped a switch and just then in the overwhelming light I saw how exposed I was at the end of a clear row between lines of gurneys and dead people. The woman remained standing in the doorframe, her hand on the doorknob, looking straight at me. Her face appeared worn, wrinkled, not from age but from excessive exposure to the sun and lack of sleep. My brows creased as I pondered why this irrelevant and stupid thought came to me now. Why I even cared what she looked like. She was going to call the others any second now. I pictured myself tied down on a bed, my heart in the doctor’s hands.
“Anna, did you find her?” a man’s voice echoed from the distance.
“She’s not here,” the woman lied, and gave some sort of verbal sign to the man down the hall I assumed, turned the lights off, and shut the door.
In the darkness, I dropped to my side like a sack of potatoes. My head was full of vivid images of the bloody corpses with whom I shared the room. I started wiping my hands on my thighs real hard. The mere thought of having dead people’s blood and bodily fluids on my hands freaked me out. I plugged my nose to block out the smell, at a loss as to why the woman lied for me.
Published on September 09, 2014 15:04
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Tags:
a-b-whelan, book-3, fields-of-elysium
July 12, 2014
Author Interview: Brian Bern
So, I read Sword of Damocles and I absolutely fell in love with the book. Ever wonder what two sibling teenage spies are like? It's awesome. So I had to interview my friend, Brian Bern. We may know his name, but his identity is a secret due to the highly sentitive subject matter of this novel. Therefore, I had to interview him through a message rather than interview him in person. His location is unknown.
Some say he's wanted by the CIA. Some say he uses his tongue to catch fish. Some say he naturally faces magnetic north and that his heart ticks like a watch. All we know is, he's called Brian Bern! ;)
By response of a coded email that I cracked, he has answered my questions. Sword of Damocles will be on sale for 99 cents up to July 17th on Amazon.
Now here is the Interview. My friends, we'll probably never have access to another interview by the secretive and mysterious Brian Bern!!!
What inspired you to write a young adult spy novel and when was the exact moment you decided you were going to write a book?
I dedicated Sword of Damocles to my nephew. He’s a big Alex Rider fan and he introduced me to the series. The funny thing is, my story came about because my Alex Rider reading experience got interrupted. I went to the beach with him one day and started reading his copy of Stormbreaker, but he pulled me away from it when I was halfway through the first chapter. I spent the rest of the day wondering what happened to Alex Rider and so I started to imagine the life of a teenage spy. I made the decision that day to write my own story before reading the rest of Stormbreaker.
What draws you to write a spy novel?
I love the deception and tradecraft and the action and adventure found in spy novels. I grew up reading Tom Clancy and Frederick Forsyth and was always intrigued by the characters that needed to be both creative and disciplined to achieve their goals.
Give us some insight on your main characters, Cade and Brooke. What makes them so special and different?
Cade and Brooke have been preparing their whole lives to go into the family business—spying for the United States of America. Cade helps his father design and build spy gadgets. Brooke follows in her mother’s footsteps and learns the tradecraft necessary to operate behind enemy lines. These skills make them special, but there are times when they face the same challenges that all teenagers face.
Tell us about the cover and how it came about.
I hired a great cover artist named Jeroen ten Berge. I selected him because he wanted to read part of the story to learn about the characters, the plot, and the setting. He wanted to understand the story before he did anything else. I couldn’t find anyone else willing to do that. He selected a specific scene from the story and ran with it. I love the end result. I think he did a great job.
How long did it take you to write your book?
I finished the first draft in five months.
Did you then let the book stew, leave it for a month and then come back to it to edit?
Yes. I sent the story to my editor and then waited six weeks before returning to it. The waiting was hard, but it was definitely worth it. I not only saw the story from a different perspective, I also built up a ton of creative energy that came in handy when I started working on it again.
How often do you write and for how long?
I make an effort to write every day. I don’t worry about how much time I put into it or how many words I produce. I simply want to make progress every day. I know if I do that, I’ll eventually finish.
What advice would you give to other aspiring writers?
Write. And then write some more. And then keep writing. It might be simple, but I think that’s the best advice—especially for beginners. You need to practice. You need to experiment. You need to finish the first draft and then focus on making improvements.
If you could have been the original author of any book, what would it have been and why?
Wow. That’s a good question. If I had to choose one book that I admire more than any other, I’d choose The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carre. It’s widely believed to be the best spy novel ever written. I have to agree.
What is the hardest thing about writing?
I have a hard time waiting so long for feedback. I don’t share what I’m working on until I finish the first draft. That leaves a lot of time for doubt to creep up on you.
Do you ever experience writer's block?
Yes, definitely. I think everyone does at some point in time.
What do you do to combat it?
It depends on the situation. Sometimes I find myself in the middle of a chapter struggling to move forward. When this happens, I’ll often print out that chapter, read it on paper, and then continue writing with pen and paper instead of working on a computer. That often gets me going again.
Are there any books on writing that you recommend?
Sure. I like Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Browne and Dave King. That’s the first book I reach for after finishing a first draft. I also like Stein on Writing by Sol Stein and The Art of Dramatic Writing by Lajos Egri.
Some say he's wanted by the CIA. Some say he uses his tongue to catch fish. Some say he naturally faces magnetic north and that his heart ticks like a watch. All we know is, he's called Brian Bern! ;)
By response of a coded email that I cracked, he has answered my questions. Sword of Damocles will be on sale for 99 cents up to July 17th on Amazon.

Now here is the Interview. My friends, we'll probably never have access to another interview by the secretive and mysterious Brian Bern!!!
What inspired you to write a young adult spy novel and when was the exact moment you decided you were going to write a book?
I dedicated Sword of Damocles to my nephew. He’s a big Alex Rider fan and he introduced me to the series. The funny thing is, my story came about because my Alex Rider reading experience got interrupted. I went to the beach with him one day and started reading his copy of Stormbreaker, but he pulled me away from it when I was halfway through the first chapter. I spent the rest of the day wondering what happened to Alex Rider and so I started to imagine the life of a teenage spy. I made the decision that day to write my own story before reading the rest of Stormbreaker.
What draws you to write a spy novel?
I love the deception and tradecraft and the action and adventure found in spy novels. I grew up reading Tom Clancy and Frederick Forsyth and was always intrigued by the characters that needed to be both creative and disciplined to achieve their goals.
Give us some insight on your main characters, Cade and Brooke. What makes them so special and different?
Cade and Brooke have been preparing their whole lives to go into the family business—spying for the United States of America. Cade helps his father design and build spy gadgets. Brooke follows in her mother’s footsteps and learns the tradecraft necessary to operate behind enemy lines. These skills make them special, but there are times when they face the same challenges that all teenagers face.
Tell us about the cover and how it came about.
I hired a great cover artist named Jeroen ten Berge. I selected him because he wanted to read part of the story to learn about the characters, the plot, and the setting. He wanted to understand the story before he did anything else. I couldn’t find anyone else willing to do that. He selected a specific scene from the story and ran with it. I love the end result. I think he did a great job.
How long did it take you to write your book?
I finished the first draft in five months.
Did you then let the book stew, leave it for a month and then come back to it to edit?
Yes. I sent the story to my editor and then waited six weeks before returning to it. The waiting was hard, but it was definitely worth it. I not only saw the story from a different perspective, I also built up a ton of creative energy that came in handy when I started working on it again.
How often do you write and for how long?
I make an effort to write every day. I don’t worry about how much time I put into it or how many words I produce. I simply want to make progress every day. I know if I do that, I’ll eventually finish.
What advice would you give to other aspiring writers?
Write. And then write some more. And then keep writing. It might be simple, but I think that’s the best advice—especially for beginners. You need to practice. You need to experiment. You need to finish the first draft and then focus on making improvements.
If you could have been the original author of any book, what would it have been and why?
Wow. That’s a good question. If I had to choose one book that I admire more than any other, I’d choose The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carre. It’s widely believed to be the best spy novel ever written. I have to agree.
What is the hardest thing about writing?
I have a hard time waiting so long for feedback. I don’t share what I’m working on until I finish the first draft. That leaves a lot of time for doubt to creep up on you.
Do you ever experience writer's block?
Yes, definitely. I think everyone does at some point in time.
What do you do to combat it?
It depends on the situation. Sometimes I find myself in the middle of a chapter struggling to move forward. When this happens, I’ll often print out that chapter, read it on paper, and then continue writing with pen and paper instead of working on a computer. That often gets me going again.
Are there any books on writing that you recommend?
Sure. I like Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Browne and Dave King. That’s the first book I reach for after finishing a first draft. I also like Stein on Writing by Sol Stein and The Art of Dramatic Writing by Lajos Egri.
Published on July 12, 2014 22:32
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Tags:
sword-of-damocles
June 13, 2014
Restricted Renegade Free!
Hello Everybody. Restricted Renegade is free on June 13 and 14 on amazon!! Go ahead and grab your free copy and share this with your friends!
http://www.amazon.com/Restricted-Rene...
http://www.amazon.com/Restricted-Rene...
Published on June 13, 2014 19:04
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Tags:
restricted-renegade
May 14, 2014
Interview
Hello everyone! Check out my author friend's blog to see an interview of me! :)
http://abwhelan.blogspot.com/2014/05/...
http://abwhelan.blogspot.com/2014/05/...
Published on May 14, 2014 06:41
May 13, 2014
Book 2 Sneak Peek
After a while, I can see David is anxious to leave. He hates being here as much as I do. Each couple pushes their way towards us. Each conversation is unbearably stilted. They are so obnoxious in their continuous talk about their new remodeled backyard and so on and so forth. People gather around the snacking area where they gather and prattle on about meaningless subjects. This is just as much a show of debauchery as it is to announce David’s inauguration to office.
He leans over to kiss me on the cheek. “God, you’re so gorgeous. I can hardly restrain myself.”
The same desire arises within me. “Let’s sneak away for a while, yeah?” I bite my lower lip and hide a blush. His eyes widen and his mouth creases into a childish smile.
He pulls me away from the crowd and once we are convinced that there is nobody around, he pins me against the wall, kissing the daylights out of me, teeth against teeth. His hands reach around my bare back, the chill of his fingers stimulate my nerves to fill me with sheer delight. The other hand rests softly over my hip. As our passions deepen, he tightens a fist over my dress and pulls me even closer than I thought possible, but there are no complaints from my end.
His fingers dig into my skin and I moan, enjoying the feel of contact. Relishing the richness of David’s stubble scratching at my sensitive skin as he trails kisses down my neck. An act that drives me mad with desire. I pull him back by the hair and bring him to my lips. I nip at his lower lip and give a gentle, playful tug. He sighs into my mouth and I sigh back, answering his call.
Unable to be satisfied, he lifts me up by my thighs and I wrap my legs around his back as he crushes me against the wall with amazing force. I want him to crush me with all his might. He pulls away and our foreheads press together. I nudge his nose with mine, breathing in his yummy scent. The scent the cologne cannot hope to cover. The smell of air, sweat, and his own element. I open my eyes to see his staring right back. I’ve never felt this close to someone. Bonded by something more than brotherhood or sisterhood. Bonded by something more than blood. Bonded by something more than loyalty. This is love… and this love is true.
Breathing heavily, he says. “I love you.”
I exhale sharply. That simple phrase is enough to take my breath away and never give it back. The warmth trails down my neck, to my chest, and settles in my stomach. My cheeks burn with want. No… want is such a weak word to describe this feel. Need. Need is a word better suited.
“I love you,” I respond and I lean in for a small, soft, gentle kiss. Unlike the previous ones, we take our time with this. Our lips meet each other and remain fixed in place. I feel his tongue barely manage to part my hot lips, and I open my mouth wider. His breaths are wet and husky, and I tremble as my body goes haywire from David’s electric touch.
A phone rings, and I feel something vibrate in David’s jacket pocket. “Miss Vandergeld is on the line. Would you like me to ignore?” Iris asks.
He releases me and presses his forehead against the cold wall of the building. “No. I’ll pick up.” David steadies himself and shuts his eyes. His nose whistles with every breath of the night air. “Just give me a minute.”
“As you wish,” Iris responds.
He looks to me with a pained and tormented face. “I should probably take this.”
He pulls out his phone and brings it to his ear.
“Are you here?” he pauses for a moment. “Yes, I did spend time socializing,” he nods and grunts. “I will be there shortly.”
“Come on,” I sigh. “Let’s go.” My fingers automatically intertwine with his, finding solace in his hand. As we walk closer to the lights, I see traces of my lipstick coloring his mouth. “You might want to wipe that off,” I say, pointing over to his lips.
“No way. I’m keeping that.” His eyes light up in the way only his dark irises can and dons a playful little smirk. “It’s a souvenir. It says that I kissed the notorious Rebel Heart and lived to tell the tale.”
I roll my eyes, laughing, and give a little shove. “Won’t people be offended?”
“If people manage to be offended by that, then they deserve to feel that way. This shows that I have someone who loves me. It’s not my fault that my girl loves me more than theirs does,” he kisses my temple as we walk hand in hand back to the banquet. “There is nothing wrong with kissing. If people find it wrong that I wear your kisses proudly, then this society is all kinds of fucked up. And I want to change that.”
“You’re amazing David… you know that, right?”
He sighs and frowns, gulping down his fear and becoming fearless, just like when we are in battle. His eyes narrow and his face hardens. He means business now. “Let’s hope they think that too.”
He leans over to kiss me on the cheek. “God, you’re so gorgeous. I can hardly restrain myself.”
The same desire arises within me. “Let’s sneak away for a while, yeah?” I bite my lower lip and hide a blush. His eyes widen and his mouth creases into a childish smile.
He pulls me away from the crowd and once we are convinced that there is nobody around, he pins me against the wall, kissing the daylights out of me, teeth against teeth. His hands reach around my bare back, the chill of his fingers stimulate my nerves to fill me with sheer delight. The other hand rests softly over my hip. As our passions deepen, he tightens a fist over my dress and pulls me even closer than I thought possible, but there are no complaints from my end.
His fingers dig into my skin and I moan, enjoying the feel of contact. Relishing the richness of David’s stubble scratching at my sensitive skin as he trails kisses down my neck. An act that drives me mad with desire. I pull him back by the hair and bring him to my lips. I nip at his lower lip and give a gentle, playful tug. He sighs into my mouth and I sigh back, answering his call.
Unable to be satisfied, he lifts me up by my thighs and I wrap my legs around his back as he crushes me against the wall with amazing force. I want him to crush me with all his might. He pulls away and our foreheads press together. I nudge his nose with mine, breathing in his yummy scent. The scent the cologne cannot hope to cover. The smell of air, sweat, and his own element. I open my eyes to see his staring right back. I’ve never felt this close to someone. Bonded by something more than brotherhood or sisterhood. Bonded by something more than blood. Bonded by something more than loyalty. This is love… and this love is true.
Breathing heavily, he says. “I love you.”
I exhale sharply. That simple phrase is enough to take my breath away and never give it back. The warmth trails down my neck, to my chest, and settles in my stomach. My cheeks burn with want. No… want is such a weak word to describe this feel. Need. Need is a word better suited.
“I love you,” I respond and I lean in for a small, soft, gentle kiss. Unlike the previous ones, we take our time with this. Our lips meet each other and remain fixed in place. I feel his tongue barely manage to part my hot lips, and I open my mouth wider. His breaths are wet and husky, and I tremble as my body goes haywire from David’s electric touch.
A phone rings, and I feel something vibrate in David’s jacket pocket. “Miss Vandergeld is on the line. Would you like me to ignore?” Iris asks.
He releases me and presses his forehead against the cold wall of the building. “No. I’ll pick up.” David steadies himself and shuts his eyes. His nose whistles with every breath of the night air. “Just give me a minute.”
“As you wish,” Iris responds.
He looks to me with a pained and tormented face. “I should probably take this.”
He pulls out his phone and brings it to his ear.
“Are you here?” he pauses for a moment. “Yes, I did spend time socializing,” he nods and grunts. “I will be there shortly.”
“Come on,” I sigh. “Let’s go.” My fingers automatically intertwine with his, finding solace in his hand. As we walk closer to the lights, I see traces of my lipstick coloring his mouth. “You might want to wipe that off,” I say, pointing over to his lips.
“No way. I’m keeping that.” His eyes light up in the way only his dark irises can and dons a playful little smirk. “It’s a souvenir. It says that I kissed the notorious Rebel Heart and lived to tell the tale.”
I roll my eyes, laughing, and give a little shove. “Won’t people be offended?”
“If people manage to be offended by that, then they deserve to feel that way. This shows that I have someone who loves me. It’s not my fault that my girl loves me more than theirs does,” he kisses my temple as we walk hand in hand back to the banquet. “There is nothing wrong with kissing. If people find it wrong that I wear your kisses proudly, then this society is all kinds of fucked up. And I want to change that.”
“You’re amazing David… you know that, right?”
He sighs and frowns, gulping down his fear and becoming fearless, just like when we are in battle. His eyes narrow and his face hardens. He means business now. “Let’s hope they think that too.”
Published on May 13, 2014 15:57
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Tags:
rising, unrestricted
May 1, 2014
Restricted Renegade Giveaway
Hello everyone! Just hit the big 100 entries for the giveaway! Keep it coming people! Thank you all!
https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/sh...
https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/sh...
Published on May 01, 2014 09:52
April 30, 2014
Restricted Renegade Audiobook Production
Hello Everybody! I have found the voice of Rachel Mercer and the book is in production. Go ahead and check out Anne Marie Susan Silvey as Rachel Mercer and let me know what you guys think! :)
http://d6kwxij4p6uvm.cloudfront.net/a...
http://d6kwxij4p6uvm.cloudfront.net/a...
Published on April 30, 2014 19:42
April 17, 2014
New Updates and Print!
New updates on Restricted Renegade! And I am proud to announce that the new Paperback Format has now been released! Order your copy now while it's on sale on Amazon!

Published on April 17, 2014 18:13
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Tags:
restricted-renegade