I am a writer. I wrote my first novel in 2011. I’ve started 14 more since then, finishing about half of those. One of these days I’ll actually try to find someone to publish them (or just do it myself). Onward!
(If anyone would like to be a beta reader, feel free to drop me a line).
PRESENT DAY Michael’s Jeep seemed to cut through what little traffic there was out and about so late as if it were nothing, cutting around vehicles where there shouldn’t have been room and avoiding pedestrians by hairs’ widths or less. Yet no one seemed surprised or angry to see us whizzing by; in fact, no one seemed to pay us any mind at all.
SEVERAL WEEKS AGO Mrs. Claire’s looked much the same as it had not so very long ago when I’d been there last. The burn marks on the floor had been cleaned up and the lights replaced, but other than that it still had the slightly overdone psychic’s feel to it with that ever comforting glow of the neon pink light coming in through the window.
SEVERAL YEARS AGO So what did that mean in the long run? I hadn’t the slightest idea. But in the short run, it meant that it was even less likely that the Sergent was going to believe that it had been Jackson that helped me out of … wherever I had been.
PRESENT DAY “And how are we going to find them?” I asked. Did Michael have some sort of angelic tracking powers?
He didn’t immediately answer, instead actually picking up his pace slightly. As I lengthened my stride to catch up with him, I realized that he was looking at something cradled in one hand.
SEVERAL WEEKS AGO It turned out that Mrs. Claire thought that Alex had taken to haunting her business. Either that or possessing it. She wasn’t exactly clear on the terminology but rather kept switching from one to the other. And I didn’t know that either particularly applied in this particular case.
SEVERAL YEARS AGO The next voice to drift into focus from out of site was equally unexpected. “Father Tom?” It was Amira’s voice. Shouldn’t she be sleeping by now? She’d just had major surgery after all. At least I was pretty sure that Amira wasn’t dead. The idea of things having gone so sideways that she could have been killed here in the base didn’t even bear thought.
SEVERAL YEARS AGO I can’t image how I could have looked more out of place, running through the streets of Baghdad late at night, wearing nothing more than that white, plain cotton pair of pants. I already didn’t look like I belonged, but this was just ridiculous. In all likelihood, that was what the people that had captured me had been hoping. Perhaps they’d thought that I’d just be too embarrassed to run away. Or something like that.
PRESENT DAY Despite threatening me with that particular bit of information about my immortal soul, he otherwise remained surprisingly close lipped on the subject. It did sound like a threat thought, the way that he said it, although I did doubt that was his original intention. To someone like him, it was probably no more than stating the way things were.
SEVERAL WEEKS AGO “You’ve seen him?” I could feel my heartbeat speeding up. I hadn’t realized how much hearing something like this would mean to me. It was validation. Someone else to share either the knowing or the madness with.
But she just shook her head. “No. So far as I can remember, I never have.”