New Excerpt from Ghosters
Here’s another excerpt from my newly-published novel in ten stories, Ghosters:
Mia’s home was a sprawling pink brick house, circular driveway out front.
Inside, the double front doors opened onto a three-story foyer with marble floor tiling, different doorways disappearing into rear rooms, a dark walnut staircase winding in a curve up to the second floor.
It was supposed to look impressive, but it looked cold and empty.
Thorpe, back hunched, lead them into an elevator at the rear of the foyer. Clay watched as Thorpe slid the elevator’s black wrought-iron door across, the riveted compression expanding into diamond shapes. Thorpe forcefully tapped his middle finger against the 2 button. Probably having to forcefully hit the button because of arthritis. As the elevator shuddered, then rose, Clay caught Thorpe watching him out of the corner of his eye. This was a father impressed with his daughter’s material success.
“I’ve made arrangements for you to sleep in the room next to Mia.”
Clay took a chance, putting his hand on Thorpe’s shoulder. The man didn’t flinch, or pull away. That was good. “Thanks.”
When the elevator adjusted its level to the second floor, Clay didn’t help as Thorpe fumbled with unlatching the black wrought iron door, because he knew that would be taking power away from the father.
Thorpe, hunched over, led Clay down the red-carpeted hall to the white room at the end, pink and purple sunset in the windows.
A private duty nurse in a white cap stood up from the side of the bed, closing a crossword magazine. “No change.”
Thorpe stood by Mia’s pillow, hands hanging by his sides. “There’s my little girl.”
Clay stepped beside Thorpe.
Looked down.
Blonde hair, tall forehead, closed eyes, long nose, still lips.
Some women don’t become truly beautiful until they’re in their forties. Mia was one of those women.
White hospital gown, pink stripes. Like most patients, she showed more skin than she probably would have if she weren’t in a hospital bed. Her small hands were raised up around her white pillow in a sleeper’s position, exposing the pale undersides of her arms, all the way up to the hollows of her armpits.
“What I’d like to do is put my hand on her throat, and see what I can read.”
“Candice, you don’t have to stay for this.”
“Canady.”
Thorpe ducked his head impatiently, acknowledging the name correction. “You don’t have to stay.”
The nurse already had her crossword magazine in her hand. She walked out of the bedroom. She didn’t seem to have a lot of affection for Thorpe.
Thorpe stood back, facing his bed-bound daughter, glancing at Clay. “Do what you have to do. God help you if this is some kind of con.”
“I need a glass of cold water, for afterwards.”
Thorpe went into his daughter’s bathroom, came out, handed a glass of water to Clay.
After Clay placed the glass of cold water on Mia’s bed stand, he took off his shoes. Got in bed with Thorpe’s daughter, on top of the sheets, bending his knees so he didn’t disturb her body. He placed his right fingers on her throat, lightly. “Most people assume the soul resides in the chest, but the soul is actually in the throat.”
Thorpe said nothing. What could he say?
“Because she’s in a coma, I have to lightly squeeze her throat. I’m not strangling her. I’m just trying to get in.”
Thorpe looked skeptical. “I trust Jack Emory’s word, but boy oh boy, you’d better be careful.”
Clay placed his thumb on one side of Mia’s throat, four fingers on the other side.
The skin of her throat was warm. The warmth of the skin, her exposed armpits, the helplessness of her, aroused him.
His thumb and four fingers squeezed her throat.
He was looking down into a toilet. Red blood. He squeezed a little harder. She walked backwards, got into bed. He let up on his squeeze. She threw the sheet off her body, thinking about coffee. Looked down, saw the blood and tissue between her legs.
His face twisted. Sobbing, she ran to the bathroom.
Sat down on the toilet.
The blood and tissue dropped out of her, splashing up onto the undersides of her thighs.
“Was she pregnant recently?”
The question caught Thorpe by surprise. “Not that I know.”
--When someone you love dies, are they gone forever?
Meet the Ghosters, and the desperate people who hire them.
In our modern world, only Ghosters know what comes after death. What stays behind. And what dwells between.
Available in both Kindle and trade paperback editions.
In the UK the Kindle edition is only £1.92; the trade paperback is only £9.32.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ghosters-Ralp...
In the US the Kindle edition is only $2.99; the trade paperback is only $13.36.
http://www.amazon.com/Ghosters-Ralph-...
Mia’s home was a sprawling pink brick house, circular driveway out front.
Inside, the double front doors opened onto a three-story foyer with marble floor tiling, different doorways disappearing into rear rooms, a dark walnut staircase winding in a curve up to the second floor.
It was supposed to look impressive, but it looked cold and empty.
Thorpe, back hunched, lead them into an elevator at the rear of the foyer. Clay watched as Thorpe slid the elevator’s black wrought-iron door across, the riveted compression expanding into diamond shapes. Thorpe forcefully tapped his middle finger against the 2 button. Probably having to forcefully hit the button because of arthritis. As the elevator shuddered, then rose, Clay caught Thorpe watching him out of the corner of his eye. This was a father impressed with his daughter’s material success.
“I’ve made arrangements for you to sleep in the room next to Mia.”
Clay took a chance, putting his hand on Thorpe’s shoulder. The man didn’t flinch, or pull away. That was good. “Thanks.”
When the elevator adjusted its level to the second floor, Clay didn’t help as Thorpe fumbled with unlatching the black wrought iron door, because he knew that would be taking power away from the father.
Thorpe, hunched over, led Clay down the red-carpeted hall to the white room at the end, pink and purple sunset in the windows.
A private duty nurse in a white cap stood up from the side of the bed, closing a crossword magazine. “No change.”
Thorpe stood by Mia’s pillow, hands hanging by his sides. “There’s my little girl.”
Clay stepped beside Thorpe.
Looked down.
Blonde hair, tall forehead, closed eyes, long nose, still lips.
Some women don’t become truly beautiful until they’re in their forties. Mia was one of those women.
White hospital gown, pink stripes. Like most patients, she showed more skin than she probably would have if she weren’t in a hospital bed. Her small hands were raised up around her white pillow in a sleeper’s position, exposing the pale undersides of her arms, all the way up to the hollows of her armpits.
“What I’d like to do is put my hand on her throat, and see what I can read.”
“Candice, you don’t have to stay for this.”
“Canady.”
Thorpe ducked his head impatiently, acknowledging the name correction. “You don’t have to stay.”
The nurse already had her crossword magazine in her hand. She walked out of the bedroom. She didn’t seem to have a lot of affection for Thorpe.
Thorpe stood back, facing his bed-bound daughter, glancing at Clay. “Do what you have to do. God help you if this is some kind of con.”
“I need a glass of cold water, for afterwards.”
Thorpe went into his daughter’s bathroom, came out, handed a glass of water to Clay.
After Clay placed the glass of cold water on Mia’s bed stand, he took off his shoes. Got in bed with Thorpe’s daughter, on top of the sheets, bending his knees so he didn’t disturb her body. He placed his right fingers on her throat, lightly. “Most people assume the soul resides in the chest, but the soul is actually in the throat.”
Thorpe said nothing. What could he say?
“Because she’s in a coma, I have to lightly squeeze her throat. I’m not strangling her. I’m just trying to get in.”
Thorpe looked skeptical. “I trust Jack Emory’s word, but boy oh boy, you’d better be careful.”
Clay placed his thumb on one side of Mia’s throat, four fingers on the other side.
The skin of her throat was warm. The warmth of the skin, her exposed armpits, the helplessness of her, aroused him.
His thumb and four fingers squeezed her throat.
He was looking down into a toilet. Red blood. He squeezed a little harder. She walked backwards, got into bed. He let up on his squeeze. She threw the sheet off her body, thinking about coffee. Looked down, saw the blood and tissue between her legs.
His face twisted. Sobbing, she ran to the bathroom.
Sat down on the toilet.
The blood and tissue dropped out of her, splashing up onto the undersides of her thighs.
“Was she pregnant recently?”
The question caught Thorpe by surprise. “Not that I know.”
--When someone you love dies, are they gone forever?
Meet the Ghosters, and the desperate people who hire them.
In our modern world, only Ghosters know what comes after death. What stays behind. And what dwells between.
Available in both Kindle and trade paperback editions.
In the UK the Kindle edition is only £1.92; the trade paperback is only £9.32.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ghosters-Ralp...
In the US the Kindle edition is only $2.99; the trade paperback is only $13.36.
http://www.amazon.com/Ghosters-Ralph-...
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