"Yea, though I walk through the Valley. . .Excerpt - Bet you can't...FIND ME

PROLOGUE

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me…

But He wasn’t with her.

She leaned against the cold steel door, her eyes closed in prayer. “Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that you would punish me this way?”

When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.

“Fiank-o!” she screamed.

Her eyes flew open, and she spread her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed her manicured nails. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the blood-soaked blouse plastered to her chest. So much blood for such a tiny body.

Ripping at her blouse, she mewed like a wounded animal. “Then take my eyes, so I no longer see the blood of my child on my hands. Take my ears, so I no longer hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains.”

Silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. She sank to her knees and ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?

“You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diablo, and she has cursed you.”

For a moment, rage blocked the pain squeezing her heart. “You!” Her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. “You brought this upon us with your superstitions and your curses.”

“Mwen pòv zanj pèdi—you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life, her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows, so does the evil. They warned you this day would come.”

The old woman’s words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold, still emptiness.

“I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped through my fingers. I have served God, and I have served the spirits. But they have forsaken me.” She raised tortured eyes to beseech the old woman, her efforts met with stony silence and beady eyes filled with accusation. “I begged them!” Her voice tapered to a whimper. “She is only five. I have lost Catherine. Must I lose Mary also?”

The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand, she pried open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife. “You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down. You disobeyed. You have been punished. Now pick up your cross, and carry it.”

The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers; the old woman had left as quietly as she’d come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, just as the task before her lay heavy on her heart.

She rose and opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clang of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman’s words echoing inside her head: You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down.

Who Wants To Live Forever - Short Story

This story actually started out as something much different, but took a turn of its own. First draft, and I'm sure it needs some work, but I hope you enjoy it.

Who Wants To Live Forever

"I don't understand, Professor Crims, wouldn't it be better for you to make this assessment?"

Alexander Crims simply shook his head and patted me on the back. "You'll do fine. Just remember not to let him get too close. You're the best I've ever seen, Jamie. Get inside his mind. Find out what makes him tick, but most of all, find out where he put those poor girls."

I stared though the glass at Daniel Desario. It wasn't hard to understand why the girls went with him. The dark curly hair and deep blue eyes. That sexy smile with perfect white teeth. Not to mention a body that made even the oldest woman on the street stop and stare. He was an Adonis. The perfect male specimen. And he was a killer.

"Shouldn't I at least look over the file? Get a feel for his method and why he took these particular girls?"

Sergeant Ames stepped up beside us. "The less you know the more likely he is to open up to you. Talk about the girls and why he killed them. Where he put them."

I glanced back at Desario to find he was looking at me. Straight through the glass, right down to my soul. A shiver ran down my spine, quickly followed by guilt. It wasn't a shiver of fear, but instead a shiver of excitement. One of anticipation. Almost sexual in its intensity. Dear God, what was wrong with me. This man had killed six women, and five of the bodies were still missing.

Picking up my notebook, I took a deep breath and gave Crims and Ames my best "shame on you" look. I felt like a fly caught in the spider's web, waiting for the moment when the poison would enter my bloodstream and life as I knew it slip away. "I hope you know what you doing."

The sound of laughter filled the room when I stepped inside. "Now this is just too rich. I think I've died already and gone to heaven."

Desario's voice shocked me. It wasn't loud and boisterous as I'd expected. Instead it was soft and soothing, with a quiet melody I couldn't quite put my finger on. Much like the sound of birds on an early spring morning.

"Mr. Desario, I'm Dr. Jamie Worthington. I'll be doing your assessment for the court. "

"Have a seat, Jamie. "

My hands trembled slightly as I pulled out the chair. My name had rolled off his tongue with just a little emphasis on the "Ja". The way a lover whispers your name just before he pulls you close and claims your lips in a kiss to die for.

Shaking my head to clear the image that had already started my blood on a slow boil, I opened the notebook and quickly jotted down the date and time, conscious that although we appeared totally alone, at least two sets of eyes were watching our every move, listening to every word.

"They didn't tell you, did they?"

I glanced up from my notes, seemingly calm and in control. "Tell me what?"

"Why you were chosen."

"I assure you, Mr. Desario, I was chosen because of my skills. Nothing more. Nothing less." I spoke the words with a confidence I didn't feel. "Now, why don't you tell me about yourself."

The deep blue eyes darkened. "Why don't we skip the bullshit."

I met his gaze, swallowing hard. I was out of my league. I knew it, he knew it and I had a sneaky suspicion that Professor Crims and Sergeant Ames also knew it.

"So what would you like to talk about?"

Desario smiled, white teeth gleaming. "Ask me what you really want to know. I just might answer it."

The spider was getting closer. Breathing down my neck. "All right. Why did you kill Tabitha Mars?"

He sat back, fingers linked in front of him, eyes locked on my face. Totally at ease. His voice dropped an octave as his eyes darkened in memory.

"I liked to watch her sleep. I could sit for hours watching the soft rise and fall of her bosom as she breathed. The gentle curve of her hip under the sheet. The delicate shadows beneath those long eye lashes. She was an angel of perfection. And that's why I had to kill her."

Desario gave me a dazzling smile. "No one understands. Perfection lasts for such a short time. But I preserve it forever."

Jotting down "crazy, crazy, crazy" I kept my voice steady. "And the others?"
"They were all perfect. Their skin soft as silk beneath my fingers. Hair that smelled like roses. Lips that tasted like wine."

Every word was a caress, washing over me. His voice mesmerizing. His eyes tempting me to explore things I had only dreamed about. He leaned across the table. "I only took what they freely offered."

"You took their life. Was that freely offered?" I had to get back to the job. Back to control before I found myself forever lost inside those eyes, that voice. Before I begged him to take to me too.

"They will remain forever perfect. Forever beautiful. Forever loved. It's what they wanted. What they asked me for."

Closing my notebook I stood up. I'd heard and seen enough to know for sure, and to make my recommendation to the court. The rest was up to Desario. We still had no idea where the bodies of Stacy Newton, Amanda Scarsborough , Katherine James, Beth Turner and Jennifer Strange were. And I knew asking him was a waste of time. He'd never tell me. "Thank you, Mr. Desario. I think we're through."

I walked steadily toward the door, proud that my inner trembling seemed totally masked.

"I'd love to show them to you."

Startled I turned back to Desario. "You'd what?"

He smiled at me, eyes never leaving my face. "I can see you appreciate perfection. I'd like to show them to you. Perhaps then you'll understand why you were here."

I knew Sergeant Ames was watching through the two way mirror. I could almost feel the tension through the glass. Sitting back down I opened the notebook again. "All right. Tell me where they are."

Desario laughed. "I said I'd show them to you." He nodded toward the glass. "I'll even let them come along for the ride."

# # #

The road was long and winding, the house totally obscured by trees. It almost looked out of place, as if it had been transported here from another time. Old and beautiful in a classic Dark Shadows sort of way. No one had spoken since we left the jail. Professor Crims and Sergeant Ames now whispered from the back seat as a group of six armed officers exited the car behind us.

Desario looked at me, his blue eyes darkening to almost black. "Welcome to my home, Jamie."

It was clearly an invitation. One he expected me to smile and warmly acknowledge. His gaze lowered to my breasts, watching the gentle rise and fall setting off a tingling that quickly consumed me. Damn him. He knew his attraction, and he knew how to use it.

"Gentlemen, would you like to come in and meet my family? Perhaps you'll grace us with your presence for dinner."

Crims and Ames exchanged looks before exiting the car. "You try anything funny and the only dinner you'll be having is dirt." Ames slapped the pistol on his hip. "Nothing would make me happier than putting one right between your eyes."

Turning to his officers he signaled them to spread out and start searching the area. "Stay close together. This psycho may not have worked alone."

The night grew quiet. Too quiet. No birds. No crickets. We were in the country, there should have been crickets. Desario turned to me, his voice a mere whisper. "I'd love for you to be a part of my family, Jamie. Stay with me. You'll be loved as you've never been loved before. You'll never grow old. Never wrinkle. You can stay as perfect as you are right now, forever."

I found myself whispering as I answered him. "What do you mean? No one can stay young forever."

He turned his gaze toward the old mansion. "They will."

I followed his gaze as five of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen walked out of the mansion. They could have been sisters, but I knew they weren't. And each of them could have been my sister.

Desario chuckled. "Now you know why they chose you."

They'd used me as bait hoping that Desario wouldn't be able to resist seeing me beside the others. Mentally adding me to his collection. "They're not dead. You said you killed them."

"I took their life and gave them a new one. One where they'll always be perfect."

"You're. . ." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"It isn't what you think, Jamie. If they had left us alone Tabitha would have joined my family, and we would have left with no one the wiser. They interrupted us before the process was finished." He gazed out the window, watching the women approach. "I didn't force any of them to stay with me. I merely gave them a choice."

Ames had pulled his gun. Crims was cowering behind him. "You kill people. What kind of life would that be?"

"We kill in self-defense. They threatened my family. Wouldn't you kill to protect your family?"

I watched as the women disposed of Ames and Crims. I'd expected an eating frenzy or something horrible like I'd seen on the movies. Instead with two swift twists of the neck they dropped the bodies beside the car and stepped back waiting. His hand touched mine sending sparks up my forearm. "You can leave, live out your life, grow old and die." He cupped my chin, his lips close to mine. "Or you can stay with me and never grow old."

My hands moved slightly, one quickly blinking the car lights on and off, as the other reached for the wooden stake just inside my jacket. The sounds of swishing arrows filled the night as I stabbed the stake just below his rib cage and up into his heart. "Yes, Daniel, I would kill to protect my family."

The car door opened behind me and Matthew pulled me out running his hands over my neck, checking for wounds. "You scared the hell out of us."

"I had to be sure she wasn't here." I turned watching as my three younger brothers walked slowly out of the forest. Twins share a bond few people understood, and I could feel Jasmine's pull. For just a moment I'd wanted to join her. Share the world she lived in now. For just a moment.

"Okay, guys, let's clean it up. I heard there were some strange disappearances in Kentucky."

Casseroles and The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery - Meet the Characters

Shoepeg Corn Casserole

1/2 C. chopped onion
1/3 C. green pepper
1/2 C. Celery
1 C. French green beans - drained
1 C. shoepeg corn
1 C. celery soup
1 8 oz. sour cream
1/2 C. cheese - grated
Salt and pepper to taste
1 stack Ritz crackers
1 stick oleo - melted

Sauté onion, green pepper, and celery. Add remaining ingredients except crackers and butter. Crumble crackers as a topping. Dribble melted butter over all. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

English Pea Casserole

1 sm. Onion - chopped
1 green bell pepper - chopped
1 stick butter
2 cans English peas - drained
1 C. water chestnuts chopped (with liquid)
1 can mushroom soup

Sauté onion and pepper in butter. Add peas, water chestnuts and mushroom soup. Put in square baking dish and top with buttered crumbs. Brown until bubbly and crumbs are brown.

Sweet Potato Casserole

1 lg. can sweet potatoes
1/2 stick margarine
1/2 t. apple pie spice
1 1/2 C. sugar
3 eggs
3/4 C. condensed milk
2/3 C. potato juice
1/4 t. vanilla

Heat potatoes and juice. Drain and save 3/4 cup juice. Mash margarine with potatoes. Add apple pie spice, sugar, eggs, condensed milk, potato juice, and vanilla. Beat all together in mixer. Bake 1 hour at 350 degrees. Put mixed topping on baked casserole. Place under broiler until brown.


Topping
1/4 stick oleo
1/2 C. sugar
2 T. milk
1/4 t. salt
1 t. vanilla
1/2 C. pecan halves


Hamburger Casserole

1 pound ground beef
2 tablespoons butter
4 medium sized potatoes
2 onions
1 teaspoon salt
dash pepper
1 cup tomato soup

Brown the beef in skillet with butter. Cut potatoes in 1/2 inch cubes and spread in a baking dish. Cover with half the meat. Add half the soup and a sliced onion. Season with salt and pepper. Repeat, using remaining ingredients. Bake 1 1/2 hours in a 350 degree oven. More soup may be added during baking if needed.




Gavin The nightmares were getting stronger, the screams louder, closer. And this time there had been blood and pain. The knot in his stomach still hurt, and there was a strange ache in his chest. An eerie sadness. “What the hell have I done?” he whispered.

Sarah She hated the dreams. Hated the feeling of helplessness they created inside her as the dying reached out, sending messages to loved ones, or crying out for vengeance against their attacker. Only this time the dream had been different. This time the message was for Sarah.

Carl “Didn’t expect an old biddy like you to hit a man so hard.” He groaned, opening his eyes and glaring at Millie. Clarence stepped next to Millie, placing an arm protectively around her shoulders. “I’m afraid I hit you, Mr. Jackson. Saw you skulking around and followed you.” Carl turned his fierce gaze on Clarence, but held his tongue. The old fart looked pretty tough, even barefoot. Besides, he wasn’t in any shape to take on the two of them.

Rob The words cleared the remaining fog from Rob’s brain. Taking the mug of steaming coffee from Carl’s hand, he sat down at the table. His head still pounded, but his eyes were sharp and clear, his voice strong, “I’ve got your back, Carl.”

Nikki
A heartbreaking smile lit up the small face. Gavin found himself entranced, images flowing through his mind. He could see himself teaching her to play ball, pacing the floor while she was out on her first date, walking her down the aisle. He mentally shook himself, dispelling the images as he concentrated on what she was saying. “I’m going to write books some day about a beautiful ballerina who travels all over the world and solves crimes and helps people.”

Millie Millie couldn’t stop herself from lifting the blinds and taking a quick peek to see if he was still there. A slight pang of disappointment filled her when she saw he had already entered the flower shop. “Flirtatious old coot,” she muttered to herself as she opened the bookstore for business. Always calling me Millicent. She stopped her muttering as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the counter. The slight flush on her cheeks and sparkle in her eyes belied her age, as did the spring in her walk. The old fool had her feeling like a teenager. Maybe she’d just take a walk over there and see those new roses. He could probably use a good cup of coffee. Might even ask him over for dinner one night. Possibilities. The old coot had definite possibilities.

Joshua Taking the mike, Joshua lowered his voice. “Listen, Sarah, get everybody you can out to the old mill on Elliott Pike. I’m sending Gavin back with Nikki. I’ll stay here and watch Cooper until backup arrives.” Joshua clicked off, his eyes meeting Gavin’s over Nikki’s head. “That’s the way it’s gonna be, partner." Gavin nodded. He knew somebody had to stay. “No heroes?” Joshua grinned, popping a fresh toothpick between his teeth. “I ain’t the hero type.”

Clarence Millie smiled, still running her hand over the smooth surface. “She’s a real classic.” “Yep.” Clarence moved in, putting his arm around her. “Classics are hard to find today. When I find one, I tend to hold onto it.”

Tuesday's Tease - The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

“That’s Cooper,” Joshua whispered, crouching lower and signaling Gavin to do the same. They watched as he dumped something on the ground and proceeded to dig. Gavin glanced at Joshua, fear taking his breath, clutching at his heart. They couldn’t be too late. Not this time. Joshua shook his head and motioned for Gavin to follow him into the forest.

Joshua waited until he was sure they were out of hearing distance. He’d read the fear reflected in Gavin’s eyes. “Too large to be Nikki.”

“Who then?”

“Well, since that’s the good Reverend Cooper, I’d say maybe Mrs. Cooper.”

Gavin was horrified at the thought. “You think he killed his wife?”

Joshua shrugged. “Maybe she wasn’t his wife.”

“You know, you’re beginning to freak me out just a little,” Gavin stated. “My psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing you.”

Joshua grinned, placing a toothpick between his teeth. “That’s why they burned Joan of Arc. Just didn’t understand. Let’s go.”

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The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery - Excerpt

My son wrote most of the poetry used in Sacred Secrets, but I did manage--with his help, to write one. It was my feelings and emotions related to Father Michael's struggle. I hope you enjoy the poem, as well as the excerpt.





Your plangent cries permeate my dreams
Lest I forget
That which I have become
Slipping into the verisimiltude
I have created
A myrmidon of evil
Panoply of secrets
Pulling me down
Into the brackish water of my dreams
‘Tis but a simple deed
To expiate my sins
Simple as life
Or death
I chose this cup
Now I must drink.


Father Michael felt the chasm widen. A vast wasteland of emptiness. Nothingness. He had nothing. He was nothing.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Father Michael?”

Father Peter’s words were a mere whisper, his hands longing to caress the parchment stored beneath the thick glass.

“Where . . .”

Father Peter turned to him excitedly. “A gift from your sister, Claire.”

Father Michael nodded. He’d recognized the painting immediately as one of John’s beautiful fakes. The Revelations of St. Bridget of Sweden. Two beams of light shone down from the hands of the Virgin and Christ, enthroned on the heavenly plane, joining into one single stream entering the eyes of the seated saint. Images were powerful in medieval times.

Father Michael lowered his head, closed his eyes. “Please . . .,” she whispered.

Images were still powerful.

Father Peter gushed on, his excitement uncontainable. “Of course, I know it’s a reproduction, but its beauty, its message is invaluable.”

A beautiful fake, just like me. Father Michael thought, the riving pain opening, surging. A raging river in which he was going to drown.

The words came from the midst of the chasm. Words he’d not intended to say. “I’ve lost all hope, Father.”

The words echoed in the small study, coming from all four corners, dowsing the sun streaming from the window, fading the colors of the parchment. Gripping the heart of Father Peter with pain.

He turned, excitement of the gift still etched upon his wrinkled face. Gasping as he gazed into open wounds, vivid pools reflecting suffering. Never before had he seen such agony. His hands fluttered in front of him, mind sifting through eighty years of life, searching for words to breach the chasm. Words of comfort.

“There is always hope, Father Michael. God is our hope.”

“I no longer hear His voice, Father.” He glanced at the painting. “No longer feel His light.”

“We must pray, my son.” Father Peter walked around the desk, placing his hand on the young priest’s shoulder. “We must pray that God will guide you in your hour of need.”

Father Michael sighed, placing his hand over the knotted arthritic joints of Father Peter’s fingers. “I have prayed, Father. I pray daily that God will take this cup from me.”

Father Peter felt the trembling in the hand covering his. Felt the despair. His words came unbidden. Words he knew not the source. Words he would ponder and regret in the days to come.

“Perhaps you must take the cup and drink from it.”

Father Michael embraced him. He had the forlorn feeling of being alone in the world. And that loneliness threatened to crush him. He whispered the words that sealed his fate. “Perhaps, Father. Perhaps I must.”


Looking for a great way to spend the weekend? Grab a good book--grab two!

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery
Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery