Deleted

Deleted is a novel about a vampire named Ember who wakes up one morning to find her husband no longer exists and no one but her remembers him.


Prologue and first chapter:

Prologue

Grab Fate by the throat – Ludwig van Beethoven


2080 A.D.

When the moon rose, full and luminous, its soft silver rays glanced off the various windows of the steal monster that was the city’s second biggest skyscraper. In the front corners, the building boasted bay windows, some covered in blackout curtains. The moonlight hit one of these special windows and caused the curtains to slip open, not making a sound, on their light-sensitive track. In through the bay window, past the blackout burgundy velvet curtains, the moonlight poured a silver glow over the whole room.

A small, female, lithe figure, with wavy chocolate brown locks and soft pale skin, lay curled up on the left side of a lavish four-poster bed draped in gauzy fabric in shades of cerulean. She looked like a delicate little faerie covered by dark cerulean sheets.

Ember’s dark eyes with long lashes fluttered open. She yawned wide, her dainty curved fangs bared, and stretched her arms over her head. The simple symbol of her clan was tattooed on her left wrist. She was from the Sidhean clan, clan of vampires who have mixed blood from the sidhe.

She rolled over; a dreamy smile on her cupid-bow lips, only to find the bed to her right was empty. She quirked an eyebrow in confusion and shook her head to clear some of the muddled effect the death-like sleep vampires succumb to had had on her. She then furrowed her forehead when she realized the bed beside her looked unwrinkled as if no one had slept in it.

 There was an almost eerie hush in the house. She listened with her extraordinary hearing and could not detect even the faintest sound of any other person in the house.

“Rowan?” She called out uncertain. She got no answer. Rowan. A tentative mental call to him answered in silence.

She stumbled out of bed, twisted in the sheets, tripped and fell. “Rowan!” She yelled out louder, still to no avail. Her voice seemed to echo back at her, taunting her with merciless glee as she sat there. She jerked the sheets free, untangling herself, then pulled the sheet over her naked form and got up to head to the closet, feet silent over the maple hardwood floor. Recessed lights in the ceiling blinked on over her head as she walked and shut off behind her conserving light.

She opened the sliding door walk-in closet with a push of a button on the touch screen next to it, to put on a robe and search the house. She let out a startled cry, dropping the sheet. Her things stretch on and on with no sight of anything belonging to anyone else.

She spun to the rest of the room; getting dizzy as she twirled and twirled, not finding a trace of anyone but her.

The knickknacks she’d collected over the years, the paintings she bought-everything- was hers.

Her heart raced as she threw on a black silk robe and fled the room.

The hallway seemed to go on forever; the walls were bare of paintings by Rowan.

Everything looked the same in the living room at first glance, until she looked to the large computerized fireplace.  It should have had pictures of her and Rowan on the mantle, including their wedding pictures. There were only pictures of her, her friends, and her family.

She turned to the living room wall, which, up until yesterday, had a large mural TV, which rotated between screens and featured things painted by Rowan, and saw it was just a blank blue wall. She went from room to room finding no trace of Rowan.

Using the touch screen wall phone, she tried calling his cell phone and his work number but she was told by the automated voice that she’d reached numbers that had been disconnected or were otherwise no longer working. This usually meant the numbers didn’t exist. It was if he didn’t exist.

Her mind reeled.

A ball of panic built in the pit of her stomach- the kind of panic that caused hysterics.

Chapter One 

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired – Robert Frost

The phone rang out, merely a clear and soft chiming of bells, but it caused Ember to scream at the unexpected noise.  Ember turned in slow motion to the digital monitor beside her to see who was calling.

Sunday’s name showed in a funky orange font across the screen. Ember felt a sudden sharp pain and realized she’d been clenching her fist so tight her nails were slicing the meat of her palm. She relaxed her hand; the small crescent wounds that had filled with blood closed in seconds.  She spoke. “Answer visually.”  The phone stopped ringing and the screen lit up as Ember shook a little and closed the robe tighter over her small-endowed figure.

Sunday looked out at Ember from the monitor, looking so clear and perfect it was like she was actually sitting in the room with Ember.  With strawberry blonde loose curls that fell to kiss pale freckled shoulders and big emerald eyes, Sunday looked even more like a faerie than Ember did. She wore a black shredded tank with silver stars dotting it and offbeat dangling star earrings.   A ring with a black bead on it pierced the center of her full lower lip and a black bead was nestled in her tongue.

“Good morning, Emmie!” Sunday squealed. Then her face fell a bit as she saw the panicked looked on Ember’s face.  “What’s wrong?”

“Sunnie, he’s gone.” Ember responded, a tremor starting in her lower lip.

“Who’s gone, sweetheart?” She questioned.  “Is it Jack?” She probed, referring to the large white and black mutt that Ember owned.

As if on cue, he padded into the room and looked up at his mistress, looking a little worried himself as he could sense something was wrong.

Ember looked down at Jack, the dog she named after a character in one of her favorite fantasy movies about a princess, a forest boy, unicorns and a demon wanting the powers of their horns to cause ever-lasting night.  She patted him on the head in an absent manner.  She looked back up at Sunday’s expectant face and shook her head. “No, he’s fine; it’s Ro.”

A perplexed look took over Sunday’s face. “Who?”

“Rowan, Sunnie, \Rowan.” She emphasized.

Sunday still looked confused.

That is when Ember lifted her hand, waggled it at Sunday to show off her ring and she noticed there was nothing on her finger.  It became clear at that moment that Rowan no longer was real or at least not in her world. Ember could almost hear the world as she knew it shattering into billions of tiny fragments and then there was a strange whooshing noise and she fainted, her body crumpling in a heap on the hard wood floor.

*****
The moon seeped through the open bay window, streaming in and bathing the room in silver. It lit the two sleeping forms intertwined together on the lavish four-poster bed.

Her wavy chocolate locks spread out over his tanned chest and pooled on the cerulean comforter beside him. She had one pale and delicately formed arm flung over his stomach and a long leg intertwined in his.

The cerulean comforter lay over their legs, showing only their outline, and revealed part of the Celtic inspired tattoo across her lower back. A white gold Claddaugh ring with diamonds encircling a blue diamond heart, tiny diamonds decorating the crown and a matching band with tiny inlaid diamonds fit against it graced her left ring finger. There was a dreamy smile across her cupid bow lips and her dark eyelashes fluttered against her pale cheeks.

His long golden locks were tousled and spread across the cerulean pillow behind his head.  His chiseled face was slack with deep sleep, but long blonde eyelashes fluttered, foretelling of dreams.  A white gold, but much more masculine, Claddaugh ring sat on his left ring finger. The smile twitching at his full lips hinted that the dreams were pleasant. He’d one strong arm curled around her, dark against her pale figure.  It contained an intricate dragon tattooed in black across his shoulder, its tail trailed down to the bottom of his bicep.
The moonlight beamed in and seemed to brush across his eyes.

He opened deep hazel, almost cat-like eyes and looked down at her, a look of such devotion and passionate un-faltering love shown out of his handsome face.

Sleeping, he thought she looked like a nymph or maybe a faerie.

Sensing something, she stirred, opened her dark eyes, and looked up at him. A glow came to her face that was so bright it could have rivaled the moonlight streaming into their window.

“Good morning, Emmie.” He said, his voice gruff with sleep, but still very pleasant. It always reminded Ember of a certain bald action hero, typecast often as a lover of fast cars with a badass attitude, from the early 21st century. Ember loved to watch his movies.

“Morning, Ro” Ember responded. Rowan told her a few times he thought she sounded like what a faerie should sound like.

Rowan beamed down at her and said, “Stay right there, I will go make breakfast.” He disentangled himself from her and then leaned in to kiss her; he lingered against her lips.  Sliding out from under the comforter, Rowan made a move to stand up.

Ember stopped him by trailing one finger down his muscular back.  She traced over the finely detailed Celtic knot between his shoulder blades that he’d done a couple weeks after they wed and then down the rest of his bare back.

He turned his head to smirk at her, bent over to ruffle her hair with affection and then stood up. Feet moving in silence over the gleaming maple wood floors, he walked toward their bathroom. As he walked, the recessed lights did their thing, coming on automatically in soft glow above him and then turning off behind him.

She watched him walk, admiring the way his muscles flexed and relaxed as he moved, especially his taught behind.  A naughty smile with delicious thoughts behind it fell across her lips as she watched.

Rowan went into the bathroom to clean up.  The bathroom was almost sterile it was so clean, but that was easy when tiny, spider-like robots routinely cleaned everything after any shower or use of the sink or toilet. He washed his face, brushed his teeth and even shaved. Pulling his shoulder-length hair back into a loose ponytail, he smiled at himself in the mirror and thought again how lucky he was to have Ember. He left the bathroom, pulled on a pair of boxers, and went to make breakfast.  That was one of the things he didn’t use much technology for.

In the kitchen he hummed a random tune as he made Belgian waffles with diligence and care. He poured two glasses of synthetic blood and put it all on one cedar wood tray with a blue rose picked fresh from the garden.

Ember lounged in bed, smiling at thoughts and memories of Rowan and his touch. She waited for his return with breakfast and then maybe some more loving. A giggle escaped at this thought.

They still acted liked newly weds.

*****
Sunday was shaking Ember, trying to wake her up. “Come on Emmie, please wake up.” She knelt by her in her black almost gravity defying pants as they seemed not to be connected to anything that would hold them up and were missing large chunks of material.  They showed off the orange stars tattooed at her pelvic bones and the swirls and stars across her lower back. One could also see she wasn’t wearing underwear as there were no straps. Sunday had pulled her hair back into pigtails, showing of her playful side and also the Tuathan symbol on the back of her neck. She curled her bare toes with their black polish up and then relaxed them over and over, which she did as a worried habit.

Embers eyes finally fluttered and opened. She was a bit groggy and confused. She saw Sunday sat up so fast the room swiveled a bit then righted it self.

“You ok, love?” Sunday asked with concern, brushing a few locks of Ember’s hair behind one of her ears
.
“Not exactly.” Ember’s voice cracked as she spoke.

“Now who’s this Rowan you got so upset about?”

“I-I don’t know.” Ember shook just a bit.

Sunday quirked an eyebrow and worry shown in her emerald eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, until yesterday, he was the love of my life.” She took in a shaky breath; vampires don’t need to breath but sometimes taking in a little air stilled Ember. “But he doesn’t exist anymore, I don’t even know if he ever did.” She looked into Sunday’s eyes.  “I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. Up until I woke up this morning I had spent the last three years with Rowan Sterling, heir to the Sterling genetics fortune. Him and I were even talking about kids. We met when I went on a much needed vacation after that horrendous break up with Indigo.” She paused. “Did I go out with an Indigo?”

Sunday looked at Ember a very serious look on her face. “Yes, of course.  He was that big CEO of that TV mural company that has those big rotating screened murals that showcase paintings and also turned out to be a big jerk. You’ve been dating here and there since then, but nothing serious. And it has been three years.”

Ember nodded, “Well at least that is still the same.” She also thought how odd it was that she remembered having one of those TV murals when she was with Rowan. She shook her head and continued.  “So, as I was saying, I met Rowan at a time in my life when I didn’t want anyone.  He told me later that he fell for me the moment he saw me, but I needed some convincing. Rowan was a hopeless romantic and made me laugh almost as much as you do.  After spending two weeks trying to get me to give him a chance, I gave in and I started to fall for him in no time.  He took me on a whirlwind trip around the globe for two months and I had never had that much fun or laughed that often. We were together a year before he proposed with a gorgeous Claddaugh ring in a piece of decadent home made, it was made by him because he owned a bakery, chocolate cake,” Ember paused at the memory with a small smile, then continued,  “and we got married in a small church in the Gaelic countryside, the only real countryside that exists, with a Celtic wedding ceremony.” Ember chewed her lower lip and looked at Sunday. “You were my maid of honor.”

“In one of the few church’s that still exists?” Sunday questioned. A political war in 2050 ended in the abolishment of most religious ideas and themes in hopes of a more harmonious existence. There had been too many religious wars and it had torn apart just apart every place around the world.

Ember nodded in agreement and then gave a shivering sigh.

Sunday looked a little lost as to what to do, and then she pulled Ember into a tight embrace. “We will figure this whole mess out together Emmie.  It will be ok.  Everything will work out for the best, you will see.”

Ember rested her head on Sunday’s shoulder and broke down into trembling tears. She didn’t think it would ever be ok again.

Shotgun Opera details

This novel isn't started yet, but I thought I'd share the characterizations and plot.  The title is temporary, but I really like it. It came from the Linkin Park song "Bleed it Out". The line is "Shotgun opera, lock and load." I just love the ring to it every time I hear it, haha.

Characters: Teagan Meadow, Amis Meadow, River De Wilde, Hugo Black

Teagan Meadow: ***Sidhean vampire with shoulder-length hair the color of ripe lemons and eyes a soft violet. Her skin is almost translucent.  She stands at 5.0 with very minimal curves. Teagan lives alone in a 2 bedroom romantic style apartment on the Chattahoochee River, down the street from her brother and River, which is minutes from downtown Atlanta, Ga. She works with Amis as a Death Teller in The Raven’s Shadow.  She spends most of her time reading psychological thrillers and writing poetry out on her patio. River drives Teagan crazy and would never deal with him again if she could as she agrees with her line’s view on weres. Teagan’s powers are stronger than her brother’s.

Amis Meadow: Sidhean vampire with hip length coffee brown hair he wears in a braid and soft violet eyes like his sister’s. His skin is closer to a human pale than translucent and covers a very muscular 6’4 frame. Amis lives in a modern styled condo on the Chattahoochee River down the street from Teagan Amis works with Teagan at The Raven’s Shadow. He spends most of his time partying with River downtown and in their house. Down time is spent fishing out on the river. River saved Amis’ life when he first became a vampire so he is the exception to the rule of Sidhean not associating with werewolves.

River De Wilde: Werewolf with short onyx hair that he never seems to style (just rolls out of bed and goes) and cool apple green eyes. His skin naturally looks like he spends all day every day at the beach. River towers over everyone at 6’7 and his muscular body could put Olympic swimmers to shame. He lives with Amis and works as a bartender at The Raven’s Shadow. River loves being Amis’ wingman.

Hugo Black: Mysterious Lamia vampire with blood red hair that falls to the middle of his back and eyes such a pale blue they could disappear. Hugo’s skin is bright white, humans would swear he glows. His 6’ frame is stretched so taut he looks like he’ll snap if touched just right, but unyielding power lies behind his eyes. He comes to Teagan with a deal: A stranger’s life for your brother’s.

Extra characters:

Rose female 22 bartender at The Raven’s Shadow

Tad male 28 bartender at The Raven’s Shadow

Amelyn 24 waitress at The Raven’s Shadow

9

Mr. Fenton male 45 client of the Meadows'

Mr. Meeks  male 27 client of the Meadows'

Ms. Callia female 21 client of the Meadows'

Info: The Raven’s Shadow is an exclusive vampire club. If you know someone –seriously important—as a human you can get in to dance with the vampires. A spell cast by the Sidhe shields the club from anyone seeing it that isn’t on the list. They play dubstep and other really grungy, dirty, dark music. There’s a secret back door that leads to a room Teagan and Amis work out of. A special password spell is needed to get in.

The whole novel is done in steam punk style. Teagan owns two steam punked sawed-off shot guns that she wears at her hips and River owns a self-made steam punked 6-barrel gun.

PLOT: Teagan Meadow is a vampire who works in The Raven’s Shadow night club with her brother Amis as a Death Teller. Because of their vampire line heritage as Sidheans (faerie mixed vampire line), they have touch induced visions about then when and how of people’s death. If you want to know your fate, you can pay them to tell you. Teagan and Amis have never seen their own.

One night Teagan sees her brother’s death for the first time and that it’s nothing short of barbarous. The next night she is visited by a mysterious Lamia vampire that tells her that he can change her brother’s fate. The catch? She has to agree to have a stranger take his place. She has three days to decide. Teagan decides to go on a mission to figure out who causes Amis’ death so she can stop them instead. She is joined by Amis’ best friend River.  Will she get the answers and stop them in time, or will she hold the death of someone else in her hands? 

***Sidhean vampires are a clan/race of vampires I made up among a few others.

Little write up on them:

SIDHEAN (SHEE-AN):

MEANING - underground dwelling faerie (Sidhe)

HISTORY- A group of Sidhe out to collect flowers and herbs for spell work stumbled upon an abandoned baby female vampire and took it in to raise. The vampire became family and any Sidhe she changed became more beautiful. She mated with many of the Sidhe to grow the bloodline. The Sidhe raised all of them to protect the Sidhe and to form symbiotic and family relationships.  Each generation of Sidhean vampires become breath-taking upon being Embraced and assist any Sidhe in need.

CALLED BY OTHERS – Bugs

KINDRED AND OTHER SPECIES – Sidhean would much rather just interact with their own kind and the Sidhe. They view the weres as “foul uncivilized creatures”. Goblins are only for making treaties and deals, not friends.

OUTER SHELL – Masters choose their progeny to be similar to the Sidhe they are descended from. They are always tall (at least 5’8) and leanly built. Sidhean females have minimal curves and tiny waists. The males are known to be described as “beautiful and awe-inspiring”.  Sidhean have pointed ears which they keep covered with long hair and/or elaborate hairdos. Most can shape shift into small pixies and are born with wings tattooed onto their backs that can come out for them to use. This is why they get called “bugs” (also because of them living underground). Sidhean also shape shift into other things so their clothing is usually handmade or cheap as they tend to forget where they put their clothes or otherwise lose them.

RESIDES – They make homes in caves and underground usually either with or near Sidhe. They protect the Sidhe and are known to work with the Slaugh (darker Sidhe that roam the halls of faerie mounds protecting Sidhe). If they choose to live in the human world, they must keep their homeland soil (where they “died”) with them to heal while they sleep.

POWERS- can shape shift and can foretell someone’s death

FLAWS – If they are badly injured –something that would kill a human- they must have their homeland soil. Most keep some in vials as jewelry (necklaces and belts) or vials in pockets.

COMBAT – Sidhean are known to borrow or trade for spells and other magic with their actual Sidhe counter parts. They like to fight without actual weapons, but will use knives and daggers in close combat if need be. They are best at the hypnotic eye powers of the Vampire and use that to put non-vampire enemies to sleep. When someone is going to die, they get a vision of themselves washing the person’s bloody clothes in a river and then they see when and how they die. They can induce this vision on others to scare them.

Affairs Lead to Dead Husbands

ALDH is about a ballerina named Lada that has a sordid affair with a guy named Nathanial and her husband winds up dead.


I have the prologue and first chapter here:

PROLOGUE

His lips were hot against her pale throat as his deft hands roamed her ample curves, right there in the open meadow, under the eyes of God and anyone who happened to pass by. She arched into him, letting a loud sigh of pleasure fall from her deep ruby lips.

There wasn’t a large risk of getting caught way out here, but even the slightest chance thrilled Nathanial to no end. He and his little Slovakian ballerina had decided to no longer care who caught them in their adulterous affair. Nathanial moved his mouth up to hers and devoured her mouth like he was dying and it was the cure.

Nails, natural like everything else about Lada, dug into his shoulders as she let him devour anything he wanted to with that mouth. That mouth, to have a mouth like that should be a felony.

Lada’s hair splayed around her head like spilled liquid honey and he fisted it in one strong hand.

She returned the favor, her hands clutching in onyx.

Clothes fell away as sunlight kissed their bare skin. Soon their bodies began to move as one and still they didn’t care about being caught.

CHAPTER ONE

The first time Nathanial laid eyes on Lada, he was on a date. Some bubbly blond number with too much hairspray and too little brains. He had a thing for blonds, but often found them living up to their stereotype, most coming from his podunk little farming town. This one in particular was determined to seem better educated by dragging him to a ballet performance in the city. So he sat, trying to tune out her endless hushed chatter in his left ear about God-only-knows-what and watched.

Lada floated, faerie-like, across the stage; her movements were dainty and smooth. Honey-hued hair pulled in a tight bun opened up her soft face and even from here he could see the bright pools of her aquamarine eyes. Deep ruby lips formed a wistful smile that stayed throughout the whole performance as if she were in her own world and in that world only experienced joy.

Nathanial sat entranced by her until after the last curtain fell and the house lights came up. The lights, interrupting his stare, left him blinking for a few moments.

The blond by his side tugged him up while prattling inanely on about the performance.

He followed in a sort of daze as she led him out like a puppy on a leash.

The rest of his week passed in a surreal blur until that fateful day he ran into her again.

*****

Lada used the tree trunk of one of the many slim maples as balance while she stretched her hamstrings, preparing for a quick run. Finished stretching, she turned, almost pirouetted, right into Nathanial.

“Oof!” Nathanial grunted. He stumbled back caught off guard.

“Oh! I’m so-“ Lada began her apology.

“Sorry!” Nathanial finished with her in unison.

Lada gave a soft giggle at that. “I swear I’m not this clumsy. I just get to daydreaming and forget to pay attention.”

Nathanial laughed. “Sure, sure.” Then it hit him. He knew that face. Those eyes were familiar. The ballerina! “I saw you perform like a week ago!” He almost shouted.

Lada quirked a brow, thrown off. “Oh?”

“Yeah, the play at the Performing Arts Center downtown. You were a ballerina.” He explained. “You were incredible!” He gushed. And then he fell in love right there because a soft pink blush crept up those cheeks.

“Thanks.” She glanced down and scuffed her black sneaker across the sidewalk.

“Sorry if I embarrassed you. I just was very impressed by you,” he said in a softer tone. “You wanna catch a bite to eat or a drink?” he offered.

She blushed a little harder as she looked up and squeaked, “Um, sure.”

*****

It was during coffee that he noticed her ring. They sat across the small round metal table from each other each with a green oversized ceramic coffee mug clutched in their hands. Black chairs with black cushions over metal were the darkest things in the cheerful shop.

Nathanial was taking her in from the top of her honey-hued head, past her lovely pale face with clear fresh skin and pools of aquamarine eyes, and continued down. When he got to the ring he almost choked on his coffee. “You’re married?”

She glanced down at her left hand and her face scrunched in displeasure. “Yes I am.” If possible, she sat up straighter, her posture always seeming to be perfect he noticed.

“Oh, uh, would he be upset if he saw us here?” Nathanial ventured, glancing around in suspicion.

Lada flicked her gaze back up at him. “We’re just having coffee, but I can’t stay too long.”

Nathanial looked defeated. “Oh, that’s cool.”

A quiet little melody sounded from her hip. “Better get that.” She stood up and headed for the door. “Be right back.”

Nathanial watched her through the shop front glass. He liked the way the black stretch pants, yoga pants he thought they were called, clung to her hips and the blue tank top seemed brighter against her pale skin. A frown furrowed his eyebrows as he noticed Lada get an angry set to her mouth and then she hung up.

Lada stormed back in, a fiery air around her. “Sorry.” A clipped word.

“You need to leave?” Nathanial probed, hoping-against-hope the answer was no.

“I guess I should.” She pouted slightly, the angry air around her deflating.

He snatched a napkin from the holder, fished a pen from the depths of his pocket, and scrawled out his number in a hurry. “Here,” he said as he handed it over. “In case you’d like to try this again.” A hopeful look came over his face.

She took it, a look in her eyes saying she felt flattered, and shoved it between her cleavage. “For safe keeping.” She cracked and then she turned and glided away.

Nathanial watched her leave, resisting the urge to chase her, not sure if his phone would ever ring or if he would ever see her again.

"JACK"

This novel is verry  work-in-progress. I'm still not sure who's going to be the protagonist or the title of this one. I have two main characters, "Jack" (he calls himself Jack) the serial killer and Delilah Winter the bookish coroner. I will have Jack killing and Delilah trying to help solve the murders.


An intro to Jack:


Blood sluiced down the drain of the eggshell colored sink as he washed his hands. The red jarred the senses as it moved over the white.

He liked to think of himself as "Jack". Jack's were always the best characters in the movies. He loved Jack the skeleton, Jack the pirate, Jack the crazed father of the special boy and Jack the defender of unicorns. There was also the real man: Jack the Ripper, which made him laugh.

Jack watched the swirl of light red with less fascination than he’d watch grass grow. To keep from getting caught gloves were the norm, but sometimes the thrill of getting dirty outweighed the need to be safe. A jugular slice here or a gutting there made the endorphins rush through him and put a smile on his gaunt face.

The water began to run clear, so he reached over to turn off the faucet. The handle still squeaked a little, and he shuddered at the piercing noise. He filed away a reminder to himself to get more lubricant.

Jack snuffled a little--a cold threatened his recent work-- and got a good whiff of the bleach the bathroom had been doused in. Jack couldn't recall the last time the bathroom hadn't smelled like bleach. He sneezed into his hand, the bleach smell aggravating his tender nose. Jack scrunched his nose at the snot and washed that hand again.

He dried his hands on a clean white towel. The cotton almost disappeared in the pristine white bathroom.  Jack opened the plain white wood cabinet above the sink and removed the antiseptic, surgical tape and gauze. He calmly avoided his reflection in the mirror.

Jack applied the antiseptic liberally over the cut on his knuckles and the bite mark on his left forearm. The cut didn't need stitches so it just received a Band-Aid. The bite mark he covered with gauze and surgical tape. This one fought back, but he never worried. Everything went back into its proper place.

The search of the room for any missed spots was quick. Nothing extra resided in inside the whole room but the bare necessities. No pictures, rugs or extra toiletries. There’d be a five minute rule if food dropped on the floor.

Jack stripped down out of his charcoal painter jumpsuit and bundled it up with great care not to get blood smears anywhere.

The A/C kicked on as he left the bathroom, sending a delicious chill over his bare skin. He smiled to himself in pride for fixing that too. The house had been practically free for a reason.

A trip to the basement incinerator was in order, so he walked across the cold hardwood floor, made a right, and opened the heavy steel door covered in locks. Jack spent much of his time in the dark, so he didn't bother with lights as he wandered down the wooden stairs. His descent had a bounce to it, and his footsteps echoed. He walked across the cement floor to the giant furnace reveling in the coolness against his bare feet.

After opening the door, he shoved the jumpsuit in, peeled off his underwear to throw them in, and stoked the fire. A forensic team would have a field day.

Jack slammed the door shut, shuffled across the room and headed back upstairs.

He took an intensely hot shower where he scrubbed his skin until it resembled a mild sunburn. Jack kept no dead skin on him. If it wouldn't be so noticeable, I'd love to burn off my finger prints too, he thought, as he turned off the water, for perhaps the tenth time.

After the shower, he stood naked in front of the mirror to shave his head clean. No hair could mean no DNA. His body hair was lasered off many years ago. He didn't look at his face much as he shaved. The wide grey eyes with metallic flecks in the mirror sometimes seemed depthless as they sat in his pale face. He didn't want to drown.

Finished, he went to nap naked on the chaise lounge on his balcony while his clothing burned. Killing made the best sleeping pill.

And one for Delilah:

Delilah Winter hated smelling like dead bodies. 

She sat alone on the bus, her nose shoved into a thick forensic thriller, trying to give others space. If I keep to myself, maybe they’ll ignore me. Delilah felt eyes on her. Too late. She nonchalantly glanced up through her silver framed glasses.

An older woman that just got on and sat two seats away from her wrinkled her nose. Her brown eyes bore into Delilah for a second as she gave her an once-over and then they flicked off. Her upper lip curled in disgust.  She got up and moved to another empty seat.

I’m not homeless I swear, she wanted to say. Delilah had changed clothes-a plain black tee and clean blue jeans--but it didn’t matter. The scent clung to Delilah’s freckled peach skin and infused her brunette hair. It took her two-three shampoos sometimes. Today might be one of those days. She sighed and willed the trip to go faster. I wish I didn’t repulse people after work. Smelling like formaldehyde didn’t help matters either, but such is the life of a coroner.  Mostly, she didn’t mind. Dead bodies are puzzles waiting for me to help solve.  

*****

She took a light shower before work the next day, put her hair in her signature double plaits and slid on her silver framed glasses, which brightened her green eyes further. Delilah wore no make-up.

After getting dressed, she stood in her bedroom a moment looking at herself in her full length mirror. The navy jump suits that made up her state issued uniform hung around her gangly frame and nearly swallowed her whole. Shopping in general was hard for her at 5’11 and naturally 130 pounds, but the jump suits that fit her height obviously wouldn’t fit her weight. If only I weren’t built so little.

She turned left and right as she studied her diminutive features. “I look like a teenage boy.” She sighed.

Delilah then turned away and went to make her four-poster bed with the lilac sheets. Her bare feet swished over the brown carpet as she moved to fluff her pillows. 

Delilah paused for a second to glance at the framed picture on her wooden night stand of her and Charlie. 

They smiled mega-watt smiles and held each other. Charlie’s black hair was disheveled as always. As an art student, he was perpetually ruffled and covered in either paint or chalk. A year and a half already, Delilah thought as she kissed the tips of her fingers and put them to the glass on his forehead above his deep brown eyes.

She slipped on a pair of black Crocs over her rainbow socks and grabbed her ID tag, phone and an energy bar as she headed out the door. Delilah never used a purse.

KISSING CLOVER

Kissing Clover is about an innocent young woman who is seduced by a fortune teller and ends up killing someone.

I have included the prologue and first chapter.

PROLOGUE

Hope killed someone.

Blood ran in bright red rivulets from her steady hands.

Her heart didn't race. No sweat beaded at the nape of her neck. Adrenaline didn't flow in a warm rush through her veins.

Hope felt calm.

She heard the faint sounds of tiny droplets hitting the oak wood floor and the fainter sound of her breathing.
Still calm. Still collected.

Careful not to mess up her pastel blue dress, she walked around the body and went to wash her hands. Just a body now. Nothing more.

She glanced back to notice she left a trail of blood drops and dainty red foot prints behind her. Need to clean that all up.

At the sink she cleaned her hands with great care. The water felt hot against her skin. The scent reminded her of the smell of cookies baking-- the same kind she baked with her mother.

She watched the water turn red as it swirled down the drain. The color reminded her of her favorite stilettos.

Hope found herself humming Zippity Do Da as she washed. She paused a moment to giggle. "It is a wonderful day!"

CHAPTER ONE

May 10th.

The front of the psychic shop reminded Hope of an old rundown firehouse--red crumbling brick sagged under the weight of the years it sat there- as it stood at the edge of a row of old shops. A butcher, a bakery, a tailor, a shoe repairer, and a thrift store lined the sidewalk.

She had wondered down from the far parking lot and peeked into each store’s window as she walked.

Hope stood a moment in front of the wooden door of the psychic’s store, admiring the intricate symbols carved down the center, when someone jostled her from behind. She stumbled forward.

“Stand much?”

Hope turned around and looked up.

Bridget-her best friend since they were in diapers- stood there grinning.

“Funny, Bree!” Hope said.

Bridget laughed again and tossed back her wild mane of inky black curls.

Hope shoved her.

Bridget yelled, “Hey!”

Hope put her hands on her hips.

Bridget bit her full lower lip, but her light blue eyes gave away her thoughts of smiling.

She glared a moment more, but then a smile spread across her face. It reached up to Hope’s mint green eyes.

Bridget smiled back.

 “Why did you drag me to a psychic’s store? We should be bowling.” Hope asked as she slipped a clear claw clip from her jean skirt pocket.

“Because, it’s something new to do.” Bridget said in a “well, DUH” voice. “You’re boring.”

Hope paused in the middle of pulling up her hair to stare at her friend. “Boring?”

“B-o-r-i-n-g. Boring.”

She finished clipping up half her hair and flicked an auburn end of it back over her shoulder. “How am I boring?”

Bridget ticked off on her fingers: “During the week you practice gymnastics for an hour and a half after school. Thursdays you skip practicing so we can go bowling. Fridays you do all your homework and call me to watch TV together over the phone and Saturdays you go to dinner and a movie with Dylan. Sundays you and I lie out at the pool if it’s sunny or stay inside and watch chick flicks.” Bridget paused and then continued, exasperated. “Every. Single. Week.”

“But, Bree,” She whined. “It’s nice to have a routine.”

“BORING.” Bridget declared. “C’mon! Let’s go in already.” She elbowed passed her.

Hope felt slighted and stared after her friend for a second. Oh well, that’s just Bree. Love her or leave her. She shook her head and then moved up right behind her.

Bridget opened the door to the shop.

They were both hit with a blast of cold air along with the scent of too many candles and incense.

Bridget pretended to be winded by the smell and fell against her with an, “oof!”

Hope pushed her friend up. “God, you cow! Get off.”

Bridget straightened up.

The girls chuckled.

They wandered around shuffling their feet over the burgundy carpet and trailed fingers along book shelves with subjects of spells, magic, herbs and tarot.

 “You should buy this to use for, Dylan!” Bridget said, handing Hope a bottle of pink liquid.

Hope read, Heated Love Oil. She gasped, “Bree!” She could feel a blush spread across her face.

Bridget laughed at her. “Your almost 18 now, you gotta lose it sometime.”

Hope rolled her eyes. They had that discussion a million-and-one times. She simply wasn’t ready.

They looked over costumes and weaponry.

Bridget chased Hope around with a “Dragon Foot” and Hope yelled at her to “knock it off before you get us kicked out!”

 “May I help you?” A deep crackled voice broke over them and sent the girls into silence.

A tiny pixie-like woman appeared to be swallowed by dark purple robes. Glittered silver runes ran along the edges. Tendrils of gray hair fell around her wrinkled face and down to her knees. She regarded them with eyes so faded Hope thought it looked like she had no iris at all.

Bridget cleared her throat. “We’re just browsing. Sorry for the disturbance.” She gave her sweetest smile which showed off her perfect white teeth.

I’ve known plenty of teachers who wouldn’t give her a detention for that smile.

The woman didn’t seem impressed. “You break, you buy. You don’t stop, I kick you out. Parents: maybe. Police: definitely.” She glared and walked away. When she reached the black curtain behind the checkout counter, she turned to them. The woman pointed at her left eye and then pointed up to the security camera there. She stared at them for a few seconds more and swirled away into the curtain.

The girls stared at each other for a moment.

“I’m so scared.” Bridget whispered.

“Bridget, we gotta behave.” Hope gave her a stern look.

Bridget had to eat her knuckles to keep from laughing.

“I mean it.”

They wandered in relative silence until they came to the back.

An opening covered by a ceiling-to-floor velvet teal curtain had a bright white sign next to it. Purple letters in a medieval looking font showed services and prices.

Hope read, “Palm Reading: $12, Rune Stone Reading: $15, Birth Charts: $18, Tarot Card Reading: $10.”

“Oo! Let’s get our cards read.” Bridget squealed.

Hope glanced at her with one brow raised in question. “Really, Bree? That’s so lame.”

“Come on, Po! It could be fun.”

Hope rolled her eyes.

 “We didn’t drive all the way down here to look.”

“We drove the thirty minutes down here because you insisted.”

“You didn’t have to agree.”

“Would you have left me alone about it if I said no?”

“Well…no.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll pay for both of us.”

Hope’s protest died on her lips when the curtain parted and a figure appeared in the shadows.

To say the girl standing there could rival any model on the catwalk underestimated her beauty. Porcelain skin almost glowed under a black corset dress and darkened her hazel eyes. Loose strawberry blond curls fell untamed to her bare shoulders. She towered over Hope-- which wasn’t hard as Hope is only 5 feet. Her full lips were covered with blood red gloss and they turned into a smoldering smile. “Looking for a reading?”

Wow. Hope didn’t know what to say. She looked over at Bridget in her hot pink halter dress and silver sandals and then back at the girl. She looked down at her own orange tank, denim skirt and white sneakers. I feel underdressed. 
Bridget --oblivious-- spoke up. “Definitely. Hope and I here want a Tarot reading please.”

The girl looked Hope over.

She looked at me the way Dylan does when we’re going to start fooling around. I’ve never had a girl look at me that way.  She felt heat in her cheeks and prayed the dim light back here hid it.

Bridget continued on, “So do we do this together or what?”

Maybe I imagined the look. Bridget hadn’t reacted.

“We can do it together,” She looked again at Hope. “Or one at a time…” she let the sentence linger a second. “Either way works for me.”

I’m not imagining this at all. Her face felt on fire.

“One at a time then I guess.” Bridget shrugged. “Me first?”

“Sure.” The girl held out a hand with long fingers and black nails. “Clover.”

Bridget shook it. “Bridget.”

“Nice to meet you.” Clover smiled. She held out a hand to Hope. “And you’re Hope?”

Hope needed to clear her throat. “Yes.”

Clover’s hand felt warm and extra soft in Hope’s. A rush of heat went straight from her hand to her lower belly.

I want to keep holding her hand. Weird.


Clover dragged her gaze off Hope and turned to Bridget with a slow smile. “Follow me in please.”

Hope watched Bridget and Clover’s receding backs. She took note of the elaborate butterfly on Clover’s back and that Bridget came to a head shorter than Clover.

Her skin is so light… Hope found herself thinking. She shook her head and stood there feeling not quite disturbed, but definitely confused.

CARPE NOCTUM

Carpe Noctum is a novel-in-progress about a vampire named Seraphim and her crazy love life.

This is the prologue and first chapter.

PROLOGUE

Blood splattered across a wall is a waste. It should flow from someone’s neck in a heated rush down the back of my throat instead.

I love the way blood satisfies like nothing else and leaves the most delectable after taste. Most humans say it reminds them of something metallic, but that is because they have such under-developed taste buds. My taste buds-my vampire taste buds-enjoy every nuance of meat-like flavor.

Blood can do some wonderful things. When someone is drunk, or high, a vampire can get a little flash of the same feelings. The healing process quickens when a vampire feeds (not that we heal that slow). A meal’s blood links you up to their mind if you let it. Blood pushes color into a vampire’s skin and air into their lungs.

 Yes, vampires can breathe and their hearts can beat.

I am sucking the life out of a belligerent drunk who beats his son into submission and murdered his wife “for cheating”.  I kill only those that are the underbelly of society. Have done that since my making.

I drink inside an old tavern, not minding who witnesses. I can cast a mind-erasing pulse. No other vampire I’ve met can do it without looking into the specific person’s eyes or touching them.

Someone in the tavern screams, others head for the doorway.  When they exit they will not remember what made them flee.

My victim’s gray eyes are wide with terror as they stare at me from under blonde curly hair. He cries out the best he can muster, screaming relentlessly as fast as he can draw in breath.

A vampire’s bite can be ecstasy or pain.

By then, the tavern neared emptiness, the only ones that remained either watched with amusement, or carried on with their business as if nothing were going on.

Finished, I let him drop to the floor like the discarded waste he was.  I wiped my mouth, licking the excess blood off my fangs, and turned to the door.

After reaching it, I looked over my shoulder to see him huddled on the floor in the fetal position making small mewling noises as his life continued to pool around him.

He would die.

I laughed again and swirled back towards the door, vanishing in a puff of black mist just before exiting.

CHAPTER ONE

There was a full moon in the starless, inky black sky.  Dark, yet peaceful, clouds rolled lazily on.  A cool breeze ruffled the silhouetted trees and brushed past my pale cheek, bringing with it the scent of flowers and the night.  Shadows were abundant, but I wasn't afraid of them; I could always be one of them if I wished. 

Night insects made a harmony with frogs in a distant pond, and the soft chatter of the few people in the park filled the air.

I sat on a bench, my ebony locks--loose tonight-- fell straight to my thin waist.  My fiery pale blues watched the passersby. People stared as they went by, some with fear, some with lust, and others with hatred.  My wild eyes showed no emotion, nor did the paleness of my face.  I had stilled myself in a way only my kind could, perfectly calm, perfectly at ease, and perfectly still.  Only the fire in my eyes remained full of life. 

Dressed as was customary to me, I wore a floor length black trench coat. A silky black halter top, with lace on the top edge that lay very darkly against the paleness of my revealed cleavage, held tightly to my curves, stopping just enough above my bellybutton to see the silver ring there. Black leather pants skimmed over my full hips and slid down my skin like another skin layer.  Black knee-high, combat boots and a silver choker completed the outfit. 

My name is Seraphim Dios.  I was born in Venice, Italy on October 27th, 1778. That makes me a Scorpio in modern terms. Which I’m told makes my life’s ambition to survive against all opposition and always have intense relationships. Sounds like all fun to me.

 I am half vampire, hailing from the Agron clan.  Agrons descend from a female leader named Agrona-named after the Brythonic goddess of war and death-and are known for our exceptional abilities in seduction and slaughter.

My only sister, Desdemona, and I are twins-identical only in looks. 

Dezzy takes after our father and is much more aggressive. Dezzy is also fond of red more than black.

We are half Nymph. My mother was Syrinx-the beautiful wood nymph of Arcadia and daughter of Zeus. 

My father was Zale-a mortal with a love of beauty and power.

Mother was a rare woman. Her natural grace and beauty rivaled the goddesses. She had curly brown hair that fell to her hips and bright blue almond-shaped eyes. 

Mother’s smile could warm even the darkest of hearts and her touch soothed more than a favorite fuzzy blanket or hot bowl of soup. Her generosity and kindness seemed to come from an endless well. 

Her life ended too short.

Pan, that amorous god with his panpipes, wanted mother to himself and when she turned him down, he promised father gold and power if father killed her.

Father couldn’t resist the deal.

Mother ran to the river nymphs and they made her reeds to save her. 

Pan, angered, cut her down and made her new form into the first panpipes.

 Desdemona and I damned father to hell because of it-- although we were only ten. 

Hades had a soft spot for Mother, and thus had one for us so he obliged with happiness.  

Soon after, Desdemona and I ran away from home and Grandfather came to us, to help.  

He sent me to live in America, where I would be safer, and kept Desdemona to train with a master of martial arts in Italy.

Grandfather taught me all I know: how to fight with swords, daggers, Katanas, and knives, how to kill someone in seconds and how to protect myself.  I became so good that for grandfather’s--and some of the other gods’ and goddesses’ amusement-- I went into taverns and killed all the people who had done something illegal or immoral. Grandfather got me started on killing those that lead criminal lives.

Turning 18 only made me legal to do the things I had been doing for years.  I killed, I seduced, and I drank-- though never to excess.

.

Grandfather came to visit me again when I turned 21 and thought it time I go back to Italy and see Dezzy.  

So off I went back to my home, a new woman, full of wicked cunning and a bag of new tricks.

Desdemona had been trained as well as I had, only she learned some different tricks, ones with quicksilver guns that I never cared for.  

So two sisters had joined again: a light-hearted one with slashing claws and dangerous curves and a dark-hearted one with quick bullets and deadly sarcasm.  The combo was sure to bring anyone to an early grave.

DEATH IN NEON

Death in Neon is a suspense novel about a woman name Lux Ilari whom is being stalked by a serial killer in Las Vegas. I have included diary entries from the serial killer throughout the novel as an interesting prospective.


Here is the prologue and first chapter so far:

PROLOGUE

Lux opened her eyes. Nothing.  I feel blinded.

The chair she sat up in felt cold pressed against her bare arms. They were strapped to her sides with thick, rough rope; the same rope seemed to pin her back. Lux tried to wiggle but the rope was too tight. Her ankles were bound together and it cut off some of her circulation. She had the sensation of pins and needles in her feet. Her feet. They were bare for no reason she could remember.

She closed her eyes and settled her head back to clear her thoughts. A violent throbbing sensation made her left eye twitch. She sat back up. That's better.

Her mouth felt like she hadn’t had a drink in days. There was no moisture to her tongue. She could taste her last cigarette.  How long ago was that?

She breathed as deeply as her restraints would allow and took in the scent of damp air. Damp? Was she in a basement or a cave? She dared not make a sound to test if there was an echo. Her ears strained to hear something… anything at all. Silence.

The stillness didn’t last. She could now hear the harsh rhythm of her heart. It beat like a frantic bird against the inside of her chest and echoed up through her ears drowning her in its rush.  Her breathing followed suit and became labored as if she were in a marathon. Hysterics.

CHAPTER ONE

Journal entry #319

Not even close to caught. They know I’m male. Hah. 

Clueless cops.

Lux leaned against her sleek, red motorcycle outside the hospital and brooded. The heat of midday shimmered above the Las Vegas asphalt. Lux took a deep drag of her cigarette. She let the smoke swirl across her tongue for a few seconds before blowing it out. One arm crossed under her chest. A scowl spread across her face.

Mother has terminal cancer.

Today it took her at least half an hour to work up the courage to face her mother, despite having seen her every day, since she entered the hospital four days ago.

Why today was so hard, she couldn’t explain, even to herself. Maybe it was the heat or possibly the weird nightmare she had last night of coming in and her mother being a zombie. She shook her head. Too many zombie flicks. She dropped her hands to her hips.

Lux remembered the day she found out. Her mother had sat her down and held her hands.

Lux crumpled there in her mother’s favorite stuffed chair and stayed silent for the longest time. Cancer? How could mom have cancer? She never smoked like me. Her ears rang and her heart made a dive to her stomach. Mom is going to die...

Her mother matched her silence

Lux stared at her. She took in the pained look in her mother’s eyes and then let her gaze fall away. Lux let herself be distracted by the swirling pattern in her mom’s blue and pink blouse.

Her other reached out and rubbed her hand over Lux’s hair in a soothing circle.

After a few moments, they embraced.

Lux found out later her mother told her about the cancer first. She recalled her siblings’ reactions. Her sister had cried, but not because their mother had cancer. Lux overheard her sister complaining to her boyfriend, “I’m the oldest-I should have known first!”

Her brother--upon finding out, he came last to the information--threw the medical textbook he had been studying at her.

She had a bruise across her lower back for weeks.

Lux threw down her cigarette in disgust and stomped it out with one combat boot. She tugged on the hem of her red plaid skirt out of habit even though this skirt hit her at almost her knees. Her usual skirts flashed more than a little thigh.

Lately, she had been feeling rebellious--as if she could defy the world and everything would just go back to normal.

A young man who looked as though he had walked out of a cookie-cutter goth store stopped in mid-stride across the street to stare at her. His eyes never left her voluptuous chest-fully covered for once-after arriving there from her long legs.

Lux glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

The youth blinked and looked up at her. Upon seeing her glare, he straightened, and jogged away.

“Fucking kids.” She raked her shaky hand through her black bob and sighed. What she wanted to do was go for a ride to nowhere. Just take her bike up to 120mph and weave through the busy city streets. She knew the lights, colors and sounds of the strip would stream by at that speed. What she had to do was head into the hospital and visit her mother.

Lux gathered up her courage, took a deep breath and straightened her spine. She glanced into one of her bike’s mirrors and saw that her eyeliner hadn’t run, but she still had circles under her dark green eyes. She sighed and then went up to the entrance of the hospital.

The drastic temperature drop made her shudder as she entered. Lux hated the smell of the hospital. Lemon scented cleaner tried to cover the stale air. She passed through security and got her sticker visitor badge, which contained her picture and her mother’s room for security purposes. The picture on it made her look like a ghost.

Lux made her way down the hall. The white walls blurred past her as she focused on nothing but getting to her mother’s door. Her boots squeaked over the pristine linoleum and she could vaguely hear the nurses chatting at the nurse’s station to her left.

She reached her mother’s room, took a deep breath and stepped in.

Mom has never looked her age. She had hair just as dark as her daughters’, a pixie cut, and eyes the same sea foam green. Not a wrinkle graced her pale face, except for when she laughed, which she did less and less often. Her body, with paper-thin skin and bruises, made her seem shrunken and frail. Her mother only had her fifty-eighth birthday a few months ago. She should still have plenty of life left.

Lux’s hard-shelled exterior protected her from everything but the sight of her mother so helpless. Her strength seeped from her with each step toward the bed.

A tube delivered oxygen into her mother’s nose and an IV dripped into her hand. Her eyes were closed and Lux couldn’t tell whether she was resting or sleeping. A starched white blanked was tucked up to her chest.

Lux had gotten used to all the monitors and their high-pitched beeps.  A large picture window with faded yellow curtains let in plenty of light, but the overhead lights were still blinding. The TV on the wall sat blank and silent.

 She stepped up to the bed. “Hey Mom,” she whispered.

Her mom’s eyes fluttered open. “Lulu.” Her voice barely reached Lux.

Lux slipped into Russian to ask how her mother felt.

Her mother sighed and responded in Russian as she said, "The pain is manageable, but I tire more easily."

Lux chewed her lower lip. One of these days she would chew right through it.

Her mother took in her appearance, and she frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t let this affect you so much.”

Lux knew she didn’t mean the dark circles, but the clothes. She kept her voice light and tried to be patient. 

“We’ve been over this, Mom. I just feel like wearing this stuff, OK?”

Her mother sighed and shook her head. She asked about work and Lux gave her a few meaningless updates. “Open that drawer please.” Her mother pointed with one shaking finger at her bedside table.

Lux slid open the drawer and looked inside. She found a long rectangular red box.

“Pull that out.”

Lux did as she asked and bumped the drawer closed with her hip. The box felt soft on the outside. She handed the box to her mother.

Her mother pushed it toward her. “My hands are too weak to open this.”

Lux frowned and opened the box. Inside laid a white gold locket with an intricate pattern of swirls across the front.  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Open it.” Lux opened it and found a picture of her and her mother when she was a little girl on one side and a single shot of her mother.

“To keep me close to your heart.” Her mother gave her a smile that filled her eyes with warmth and made her seem less frail.

Lux felt a tear slide down one cheek as she pulled it out to put on. “Thank you.” It settled right above her cleavage and felt cool against her skin. She chewed her lower lip. “I love it.”

Her mother smiled.

Lux smiled back.

Her mother asked her a few small talk questions and then, “You meet anyone new?”

Sometimes she hated coming. “No.”

“Oh,” Her mother’s eyes became downcast, and a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“I’m not really looking, Mom…”

“I know, Lulu, but I keep hoping you will.”

“I’m just enjoying the time to myself…I’m not ready to be tied down to one person.” Lux couldn’t remember the last relationship that lasted more than a week. She met guys in a club or a bar and then disposed of them like expired milk.

“Is that how you see love? That you’re tied down?”

Lux shrugged. “I guess I do. Love is complicated, and it demands too much.” She liked her men fast and bad.

“True love doesn’t demand anything except to embrace it, enjoy it, and that you’re true to it.”

Lux let her eyes drop to the bed, and she picked at a piece of lint fuzz. Her mother would never approve.

Her mother placed the hand without the IV over hers as if to still it.

Lux looked up at her mother.

“Just try to be open to it,” she said. “For me.”

“OK Mom, I’ll try for you.”

A small promise she couldn’t keep.

She left her mom to rest. Lux had to make a stop in the bathroom to wipe off her tear-stained face before she left the hospital. Twenty-six was too young to have your mother die.

WELCOME!!

Welcome to my writing blog! I will post all of my works in progress. I have several novels-in-progress and will be sharing them as I write them.

Feel free to leave comments and critiques on anything (although please remember they are not completed :D).