End of an Era
I’ve got ANOTHER guest blog post this week. I know, what the heck? I almost never host guest blog posts. Well I’ll confess, these people are hosting blogs for me too. But there’s more than that, especially in this case. This post is written by J.E. Taylor, my friend and publishing partner. Taylor has also served as my editor in the past, but don’t worry, those wounds have healed.
Her post is about her Steve Williams novels, which I confess are worth checking out. I’ve read and enjoyed them. As I read through her guest post I found myself wanting to respond to it myself, but I had to refrain. Suffice to say it was easy for me to feel what she was saying and identify with it. I’ve felt it myself and struggled with many of the same problems. Read on, fellow writers and readers, and have a glimpse into one of the many peculiar problems that plagues writers.
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I just released the last book in my Steve Williams series and now I find myself at a loss as to where to go next. It’s not that I don’t have other story ideas, I do, but these characters are still clamoring in my head, but I’m not sure if that’s because I love them dearly, or if there is a bona fide story line in there that I can craft. I also am getting the “when is the next book coming” from a lot of faithful fans.
The serial killer ideas are endless, just look at the sustained power of Dexter and Criminal Minds.
However, I think my favorite G-man has run his course.
So where to now?
Does the clamor in my head along with the fandom requests dictate the continuation of the series?
This is the million dollar question.
When is it enough?
I would hate to continue it without the same level of passion for the characters that I have right now just to satisfy the fan base because the output would be crap. Case and point – look at the show Revenge – the first season was stellar but now the second season is awful. The writers don’t have a vision anymore and its floundering.
I don’t want the Steve Williams series to flounder and that’s why I chose to end it on a strong note with Saving Face.
Continuing that particular story line wouldn’t do justice to any of the characters and like all good things; this too must come to an end.
With that said, the end of one era always brings forth a new generation. A new series spun from the old. So, while Steve Williams will be retired, I believe there still is the appetite to find out what becomes of CJ and Tom Ryan.
I don’t have a date for the next release, but you can bet The Ryan Chronicles will be just as kick ass as the Steve Williams series.
In the meantime, check out Saving Face:
The Windwalker Serial Killer stalks the inlets of southern Maine for the next beauty to advance his collection and Special Agent Steve Williams is frustrated with always being a breath behind the slippery psychopath. Escalating the pressure, Steve’s adopted sons, CJ and Tom Ryan, take teenage rebellion to an entirely new level, leaving Steve in an explosive situation.
When the Windwalker slaughters Tom’s ex-girlfriend, taking her face as a macabre trinket, Tom is found on the scene covered in her blood, with her scalped body draped across his lap. Damning evidence against him is unearthed, his father’s secret identity is about to be exposed, and he’s charged with Tanya’s traumatic murder.
To prove his innocence, their only hope is the worst-case scenario; for the Windwalker to harvest a new face.
Buy Links:
Saving Face on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009XW5ZK6/ref=cm_sw_su_dp
Saving Face on Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/saving-face-je-taylor/1113658928?ean=2940015890563
Saving Face on Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/249103
Saving Face on Kobo books: http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Saving-Face/book-1RKkLjf9fkKE329IrmMBZQ/page1.html?s=Co_5SVgJSkGNap1QzFTFtw&r=5
EXCEPT:
Chapter 1
The trees swayed in the breeze, dry leaves rustled, and the stars disappeared behind a bank of clouds, drawing out the already dark shadows. Shadows he hid within, watching, waiting, frozen in place by his obsession, his bloodlust.
Testing the air with a sniff, he tried detecting a trace of her perfume but came away with only the distinct scent of fall. Crisp. Clean. Carnal.
His edgy hands begged for action and he clenched them, dropping his arms to his sides. Tilting his head, he caught a rhythmic pulse, like that of his heart, but accented with crunching leaves. She was coming and his hand shot to the worn handle of his hunting knife.
Patience.
His fingers stroked the soft wood like a lover and he stared at the jogger-beaten path. The bounce of her headlamp filtered through the thick brush and he blew a slow stream of air through his lips, calming his pounding heart.
Patience, he told himself again. He didn’t want to give her enough time to react, to bolt in the opposite direction. Instead, he counted her steps, watching as the light approached, bouncing with each of her long-legged strides.
It wasn’t her lithe frame he was after. It was her face, her scalp. She had passed by him at the store, catching his fancy and fueling his desire. A fine specimen. An excellent addition to his collection; with fragile features stretched into a scream—forever captured in his art.
He crept closer to the path, crouching and ready to pounce the moment she crossed. The light drew closer and now he could smell the mixture of Poison and sweat, a sweet concoction that aroused his hunger and almost uncoiled his predatory posture. He inhaled deeply, relishing the scent. Her footfalls brought her close enough to make out her dark form behind the bright light.
He waited, and when the twig he placed in the middle of the path snapped, he sprang. In one leap, he caught her, wrapping his arms around her as he tackled. The yelp of surprise brought a smile to his face and he unsheathed the knife, plunging it into her chest before she could regain enough oxygen to produce a blood curdling scream.
Her eyes widened, blinking at him in the light of her fallen headlamp.
The thrill of the hunt, of the capture, fueled his blood; pumping it frantically through his veins, throbbing in his temple, producing little spots of red in the edges of his eyesight. Ripping flesh accompanied each of his thrusts, along with muffled cries of pain that gave way to an airy wheeze.
He grabbed her hair, pulling her head forward and slicing the base of her hairline with surgical precision. Sliding his fingers under the gaping wound, he peeled the scalp from the back to the front, separating her skin from the bone.
She did scream then, a high gurgling wail that died moments later, when his knife separated the mass of skin and hair and lips that he peeled from her bones, severing her carotid artery in the process. With the prize pelt in his hands, he stood, sheathing the knife and taking off toward the river.
Chapter 2
Eight hours earlier…
“You are ruining my life!” C. J. Ryan bellowed.
Steve Williams crossed his arms and stood his ground. “I don’t care. You snuck out of the house after I said you couldn’t go to that party. You knew damn well I’d find out, and now both you and your brother are grounded until graduation.” His gaze traveled to CJ’s mute brother, Tom. “And you, what were you thinking, stealing that car?”
Tom thrust his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground.
Steve clenched his teeth together and glanced out the observation window at the Brooksfield police department pit.
“You can’t ground me. You’re not my father.”
His gaze snapped back to CJ and he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “I may not be your biological father, but don’t ever doubt my authority here.”
“It’s your fault my parents are dead.”
The mental shove made Steve stumble back a step and he caught himself. In two strides, he stood toe to toe with CJ, his gaze blazing into the azure blue of the seventeen-year-old’s equally furious eyes.
“You really want to play that game with me?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl, but the kid struck a chord. His father had been caught in the cross fire of one of his FBI investigations and his mother, his mother was a completely different story. He had led her right into the belly of the beast.
CJ dropped his gaze, his eyes traveling to Tom’s before he gave a slight shake of his head.
“Why’d you let him steal a car?”
CJ sighed and shrugged, all the hellfire burned out of him for the moment.
“Why?” Steve asked and stepped back, addressing Tom.
I wanted to see my dad. Tom thought, meeting his questioning stare.
“Bullshit.” Steve shook his head. You see him all the time. You probably can see him pacing the room behind me. Can’t you?
Tom’s gaze moved from Steve’s to the angry angel pacing the room behind him. Wings fluttered and a wealth of curses dropped from his lips, his iridescent blue eyes glaring at the two boys. Tom nodded. I wanted to talk with him.
“You could have asked me to bring you here.” Steve softened. It had been a couple months since they visited Paradise Cove. The magical portal where their father could speak to them, to see them, and where Tom had a ghost tongue along with the miraculous recovery of speech. It was the only place on earth that he could articulate his thoughts since the psycho in Georgia had cut his tongue out.
But neither boy had the same mental bond Steve had with their father. Their father was now his guardian angel, a constant presence intruding on his every thought. Steve could hear Ty Ryan any time of day or night, even times when he’d rather not have the voice of reason on his shoulder. Sometimes he wished for the blessed silence he knew before he met the Ryan family. The absolute cluelessness to the thoughts around him, to the ghost haunting his every waking minute, and to the powers he inherited when Ty died. Reading minds came in handy as an FBI agent, but the constant din in his head was maddening.
“You’ve been too wrapped up in that case to take us,” CJ answered.
That case. He almost laughed at the venom in CJ’s voice. That case shrouded his life, leaving time for nothing else and he missed more football games and nights of homework and family time his wife set aside, because of that stinking case.
Another killer was loose. The Windwalker eluded the police, eluded the FBI, and eluded him like he was made of smoke. They had gotten to the last victim minutes after she died. With her body still warm, they scoured the woods for clues, but the tracks disappeared at the bank of the river, just like every other dead, skinned body they found. Stealth, like fog rolling from the snow during strawberry spring, in and out quickly before the victim really knew what happened, and it burned him. Becoming a mission. An obsession.
CJ knew how frustrated he was and to bring it up here was just his attempt to get a rise out of him, to skirt the real issue.
He ignored the dig. “So you sneak out of the house, crash that party, have a few beers and decide it would be a great idea to steal a car?” Exasperated, he traded glances with the boys. “You crossed state lines. Do you have any idea how serious this is?”
CJ started to speak then closed his mouth. He sank into the chair, fidgeting with his parent’s wedding bands, which he wore on the chain around his neck. Tom followed suit taking the seat next to his brother.
I’m sorry. It was my idea, not CJ’s.
“Grand theft auto is serious and you two are close enough to eighteen for the courts to look at this as an opportunity to teach a hard lesson.” He slid into the chair on the other side of the table and leaned forward. “I had to pull a lot of strings to make this disappear, but this is the last time I will bail you out. You hear me?” He pounded his index finger on the table, punctuating his words. “The last time!”
