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Love paranormal mysteries?  Catherine Mans takes you into the darker side of mind.

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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.

A Glimpse Into A Twisted Mind

I'm not always sure where my characters originate, but Brightstone quickly became a loved/hated character for me.   Perhaps because I understood his pain.

Take a glimpse into a twisted mind.

There was nothing exceptional about my birth, except perhaps for the fact that my parents shared the biblical names of Joseph and Mary. They were a good, God-fearing couple.

Alas, they did not name me Jesus, but their hopes for me were not in vain. They soon realized I was not a normal child. Not like the other five-year-olds. I cared not for toys and storybooks. I spent my time developing healing antidotes from ordinary shrubs. I cared for animals, birds with broken wings. It was not unusual for me to come home carrying a poor dog that had been run over by some careless motorist. I would spend hours stitching up their wounds, applying homemade poultices, and nursing them back to health. I was indeed a savior of sorts.

School was my first experience of the cold reality of being different. Like my parents, my teachers discovered that my mind was much further advanced than they could deal with. How could you teach a child whose mind was a sponge and whose knowledge, within days, exceeded your own? I did not know then how to hide my intelligence and fit in with a crowd. I did not know how to play the games of life and lose occasionally.

Soon it became apparent that our small community was not the best place for a child of such brilliance. Or at least that was what the men in white coats convinced my parents of. So the men took me away for my own good.

I had no best friends, no first dates, no senior proms. Nothing but a cold grey building, lab coats, and books. Lots and lots of books. Not the fun, frivolous stories I should have enjoyed in my youth. Textbooks of knowledge that I absorbed and mastered within days, weeks, and months. I graduated with honors. My parents, whom I had not seen in ten years, were in the front row, beaming with pride. I smiled at them, but there was no feeling behind my smile. Any memory of the warmth of my mother’s touch or the gentle yet firm guidance of my father’s hands had long ago been lost. My father was a stranger, an old man, still handsome in some ways, but the luster was gone from his eyes. My mother, once a spirit of light and life, seemed cold with her sweater wrapped around her thin shoulders, her beauty faded by time. Had their lives grown cold and loveless like mine?

Love mysteries, page-turning suspense, prizes, fun, reviews and author interviews?  Sign up for my once a month newsletter.  $100.00 prize to one lucky winner on 12/15--just in time for Christmas.  Visit my website at www.lindasprather.com

Sneak Peek at upcoming New Release - Eternal Beauty

Looking for early August release (as it goes through content edit; first and second edits; and proof reads); but I'm so excited and wanted to share a sneak peek with those who loved Bet you can't...Find Me. Watch the blog as I actually have 2 covers I love and I'll be letting my readers pick the final choice--with one lucky entry receiving a nice gift card to Amazon and one to Barnes and Noble, as well as some autographed copies of the new book.







PROLOGUE

“One more, sweetheart, and we’ll be finished.” He folded her hands across her chest, prayer-like, delicately arranging them to hide the missing fingers. “That’s perfect.”

The camera flash lit up the darkness for a moment. He crouched beside her, gently brushing the blond hair away from her face. “You can rest now. Your memory is forever preserved.”

He placed the small digital camera in his pocket, stood, and reached for the tape recorder. A light breeze swept over the bow of the boat, and he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of her screams as they rose and fell. Desire swelled deep in his groin, intensifying each time a scream would peak. He licked his lips, yet he denied himself the pleasure of touching, the sweet beauty of release. Later, he could watch the video, study the photos, and listen to the tape to relive the excitement. Perhaps then he would allow himself the ecstasy of release, but only if it didn’t cheapen her memory. At the moment, it was enough to just enjoy reliving the feel of the scalpel in his hand and the rush of pleasure as he severed the muscles one by one.

He glanced at her hands still delicately folded across her bosom. He’d had to discipline her. But she’d learned quickly, and only two fingers were missing, which did nothing to diminish her perfection. And she’d been so perfect—her beautiful eyes the perfect shade of blue. That was why he’d kept them. If the process worked, he would use them. If it didn’t, he knew where to find an identical pair.

A feeling of remorse washed over him as he reached for the Ziploc bag housing the remnants of his first experiments. Although each had been beautiful in her own way, there had been no ceremony, for them. A simple flip of a switch and the cargo hold had opened, expelling the cold, stiff bodies. They were not worthy of a starring role, but their lives had not been totally in vain, not as they would have been had he not taken them. Although they would hold no place of honor on his board, he had immortalized them. They would be remembered.

Holding the bag over the side of the boat, he whispered, “I cast your eyes to the ocean.”

He watched the white orbs as they flipped and floated on the waves. The screams began to taper off into whimpers as the sun crested the horizon. He rolled the body to the edge of the boat, wound the rope around it, then secured the massive stone to the corpse and lowered the special-made railing.

“You, my darling, have the starring role in Act One.” With a smile, he pushed the bundle overboard. “I cast your soul to the sea.”

He recited the verse he’d memorized for the occasion. Just for her. “Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”

She was the first worthy of holding a place of honor. Her fate was assured in the annals of time and history. She would always be remembered as the first Eternal Beauty.

Dawn was approaching quickly, but there was still time. Wiping his hands on his pants, he sat and reached for his journal.

My Darling Dakota:

How I wish you were here beside me now to share our moment of triumph. We have our first, and although her beauty mirrors your own, it will never surpass it. Act I is now complete, and soon, Act II will begin. I’m sorry I ever doubted you, my darling. You were right, of course. The true beauty of life is art. And art must be shared to be appreciated. I will blaze a path around this world, seeking only those worthy and preserving them for all time. Soon, the world will know your name, and all the world will know your beauty. You, my darling, shall be revered as the most beautiful of them all, and you will always be remembered.

Standing, he lingered at the rail, watching where the long blond hair had sunk beneath the water. The boat rocked slightly as his heartbeat quickened, his hands growing sweaty. The tension was nearly unbearable as he waited in anticipation. The recorder paused for a moment of silence before her voice filled the night.

“Please… remember me.”

$.99 Mystery/Suspense - Book 1 in series

“Imagine a killer who can kill at will from a distance. No gun, no weapon. Nothing more than a thought."
Catherine Mans has the ability to see and hear what others can’t. With the help of Homicide Sergeant Cody Allen, she’s turned that talent into a successful profession as a psychic consultant.
But Catherine’s past is coming back to haunt her. Someone is threatening the lives of everyone she loves.
Nine bodies have been discovered, and Catherine is the FBI’s prime suspect.
To prove her innocence, she must unravel the secrets of her past, and answer the challenge of a deranged psychic.
Bet you can’t…FIND ME!

"If you love the psychic suspense of Kay Hooper and the witty characters of Tammy Hoag, you'll love Find Me!"

Review by Jud:

Psychics. Not something I would believe in or indeed think that I could believe in so I was very surprised when I found myself not cynical about this story! Linda Prather really drew me in and had me 100% convinced, there was no 'like that would ever happen moments'. I don't quite understand how she did that, if someone was to tell me a first hand account of something like this happening I don't think I could be as riveted as I was to this story. However, I was hampered by the fact I kept reading psychic as physic but that is no reflection on the author although perhaps I should get my eyes tested...

The story starts with a psychic Catherine, who is helping the police with a missing person investigation. Suddenly, the FBI appear and it seems that Catherine is wanted for murder, but did she really do it? The reader is taken on a roller-coaster journey following Catherine and 3 other characters as they try to get to the bottom of the strange happenings. At times it is unclear even who can be trusted or indeed if any of the characters can be trusted. The case finally takes them to Louisiana and the Bayou where the story reaches it's climax and resolves.

The whole way through the story I couldn't wait to read what would happen next, there seemed to be so many twists and turns that I couldn't predict what was coming. I couldn't read the story fast enough, a brilliant read that I would recommend to anyone who enjoys a crime novel, especially if they enjoy something a little bit different to the norm.

Thanks Linda!

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

PROLOGUE

Corrine Larson bit her lip, stifling a scream as she turned slightly, struggling to open her eyes. She couldn’t remember if he’d beaten her for one hour or six, but she knew she was dying. Her body begging to shut down. She’d never heard the death rattle, but she recognized it now, deep inside her chest, with each shallow, painful breath.

Managing only a narrow slit with her left eye, she stared at him, conveying her hatred. He’d used her, and because of her, others would die. A small whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it. It wasn’t for her. She didn’t mind dying. Except for. . .

Corrine fought the thoughts threatening to overwhelm her, concentrating on the new pain caused by the salty tears coursing down her face. Her tortured mind honed in on her one satisfaction. That one ray of light in the darkness: She hadn’t told him everything.

Drawing in one last ragged breath, she closed her eye, allowing the feel of the cool damp concrete to soothe her burning body. It was almost over.

He whistled softly, a haunting rendition of I Saw the Light, as he loaded the gun.

Corrine turned her thoughts to Sarah and her child. He would kill them. Or worse. Another whimper escaped her lips. Why? Why hadn’t she just left it alone? Sarah had been safe. Her child had been safe. And now, because her reporter’s nose had sniffed a story they were all going to die.

Emotional pain washed over her in waves, drowning out the physical pain. Hurting even worse. There had to be something she could do. Some way to undo the damage she’d done.

She sifted through her memory, searching, rejecting and searching again. She’d written an article once about a psychic who believed your dying thoughts could travel across time and space, influencing the outcome of events to come. Maybe the psychic was right. Maybe if she tried hard enough she could reach across time and space. Warn Sarah.

Rough hands jerked at her hair, raising her from the bloody warehouse floor. She felt the cold steel pressed against the back of her head, heard the sound of the gun cocking. She’d always thought her dying thoughts would be of Rob or Gavin; instead, she honed on in the image of Sarah and her child. As the bullet shattered her brain, she held the image in her mind and silently screamed, He’s coming Sarah. He wants to destroy you.

# # #

Murder is a sin. You’ll go to hell.

“It wasn’t murder—it was self defense.”

He hated the voice in his head. She was always bitching at him. Always butting in. Preaching. A cruel smile twisted the handsome features. Today it didn’t matter. Today was a day of celebration. Soon he’d have what was rightfully his. All the years of waiting would be over. Whistling softly, he pulled away from the dumpster and parked the car. Just a few little things to finish. Pulling the police cap down low he entered the apartment building.

“Evening officer, can I help you?”

“Just delivering some luggage to Ms. Larson.”

The security guard checked the register. “Looks like Ms. Larson is out this evening.”

“Yeah, I know. She gave me a key and told me to set it inside the door. Working on some big story and needed to meet the mayor or somebody. Don’t know why the city wants to waste the taxpayers’ money and use me as her damn courier, but here I am.”
The guard grinned. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Shrugging in sympathy, he turned his attention to the crossword puzzle. “Go on up.”

He walked slowly, taking his time. The bitch had been tougher than he’d thought. She’d cost him a whole fucking day. He wouldn’t rush things now, though. Everything had to play out just right. All he had to do was make it look like she’d never left town.

What if she told someone?

The thought enraged him. He cursed softly as he slipped the key into the lock. That was the trouble with women—they talked too damn much.

And she wouldn’t scream, would she?

He clenched his fists. The bitch just wouldn’t scream. A deep ache started inside his groin. No screaming and no satisfaction. Too old. He liked them young, breasts just starting to bud. Like the one he’d glimpsed in the alley on his way in. Maybe she was still there. Maybe. . .

Unclenching his fists, he ignored the voice. It didn’t matter. He had what he wanted. Setting the luggage inside the door, he relocked it and pulled out the faded snapshot from his shirt pocket. He felt it then. Joy. Pure unadulterated joy. She would scream. Scream for every one of the six long years he’d wasted searching for her.
Laughing he placed the photo back inside his pocket. Time could be cruel, but not this time. He’d been given a bonus. Oh, yes, a definite bonus. Maybe he’d let Sarah live and just take the child. He liked that idea.

The throbbing in his groin increased, reminding him he had a mission to complete. Checking his gun, he screwed the silencer into place. The cameras had seen only what he wanted them to see, but the guard would have to be dealt with. He chuckled. Everyone knew about the corruption in the police ranks. The bitch had actually written an article on it. By the time they stopped chasing that lead, he’d be long gone.

The security guard glanced up as the elevator doors opened. “Everything okay, buddy?”
“Everything is just fine now,” he said, raising the gun. He chuckled again at the look of surprise that crossed the guard’s face, right before the bullet pierced his heart.

Murder is a sin.

“I told you, it’s not my fault. She’s the reason I have to kill.”

You like killing.

He whistled as he exited the building and glanced at the dumpster. He didn’t like killing. He was just cleaning up the trash.

Clouds hung low in the sky, threatening to open up any minute. He listened to the whimpers coming from the alley. She was still there. An omen. It really was his lucky day. He approached her slowly, his voice low and gentle. “Aren’t you a little young to be out this late at night?” The girl stopped her whimpering and looked at him. He saw the fear reflected in her deep blue eyes slowly dissipate as she looked at the uniform. She nodded. Smiling, he held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Excitement coursed through his body as she placed her small hand in his. This one would be a screamer. Whistling softly, he buckled her in and brushed the blonde curls away from her face. “Did you know tomorrow is Mother’s Day?”





OTHER BOOKS BY LINDA S. PRATHER

$.99 Labor of Love Book Sale - Horror, Suspense, Mystery and Paranormal

Horror, Suspense, Mystery and Paranormal - not for the faint-hearted:

DEEDS OF MERCY by M.P. McDonald In No Good Deed: Book One in the Mark Taylor Series, Mark Taylor discovers first hand that no good deed goes unpunished when the old camera he found during a freelance job in an Afghanistan bazaar gives him more than great photos. It triggers dreams of disasters. Tragedies that happen exactly as he envisions them. He learns that not only can he see the future, he can change it. In Deeds of Mercy: Book Three, an unexpected visitor from Mark's past brings him unwanted attention from the authorities. Unable to decide who is friend and who is foe, Mark becomes a fugitive from the law, but with thousands of lives at stake, he is forced to put aside his fear of capture, and instead, seek help from his pursuers.

CRUEL JUSTICE by M.A. Comley The headless body of a wealthy widow is discovered decomposing in Chelling Forest. Then a second victim is found. Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins and her partner, DS Pete Childs are assigned the case. Before they can discover the identity of the killer they must make a connection between the two victims. After a third murder, Lorne receives a grisly surprise. Clearly, a vicious serial killer is on a rampage...and Lorne has become the killer's fixation. Lorne can't allow her failing marriage or her new boss--a man with whom she shares a sensuous secret--keep her from focusing on her job. She must catch the macabre murderer, or risk becoming the next victim.

THE DEVIL IN THE WOODS by Heather Graham In this novella by NYT bestseller Heather Graham, Christina Hardy and Jed Braden (The Seance) head down to Miami to help out when there's a death in a friend's family. But the old family residence, in a little known overgrown area of the beach , was filled with legends, especially that of a "devil in the woods." Strange events begin to occur, and the group is left to wonder if the stories they told around campfires on dark nights as children might have some essence of truth. Is murder always committed by men, or does a demon lurk in the mangroves and the water, and prey upon the unwary?

THE UNSEEN by Alexandra Sokoloff A terrifying novel of suspense based on the Rhine parapsychology experiments at Duke University After experiencing a precognitive dream that ends her engagement and changes her life forever, a young psychology professor from California decides to get a fresh start by taking a job at Duke University in North Carolina. She soon becomes obsessed with the files from the world-famous Rhine parapsychology lab experiments, which attempted to prove ESP really exists. Along with a handsome professor, she uncovers troubling cases, including one about a house supposedly haunted by a poltergeist, investigated by another research team in 1965. Unaware that the entire original team ended up insane or dead, the two professors and two exceptionally gifted Duke students move into the abandoned mansion to replicate the investigation, with horrifying results.

THE GIN PALACE by Daniel Judson Declan “Mac” MacManus, some-time PI turned full-time Southampton cabbie, has had to endure much in his young life: the loss of family and friends, grave bodily injuries at the hands of ruthless enemies, and the knowledge that more than a few lives have been shattered by the decisions fate has forced him to make. But nothing of what Mac has encountered—and nothing of what he now knows about his own mysterious past—can compare to what awaits him in the heart-pounding final installment of The Gin Palace Trilogy. On a cold winter night, a troubled woman enters Mac’s cab and within moments sets into motion a series of devastating events that will test the young MacManus to his very soul. As he chases down leads, and his losses once again begin to mount, Mac finds himself dangerously close to a line he swore he’d never cross. And when one utterly unbearable loss threatens to transform him into an avenging angel, it is an unlikely ally—a stranger stalking him like a shadow—that may very well be the difference between Mac’s final act of self-destruction or his ultimate salvation.

THE FOREVER GIRL by Rebecca Hamilton "Whatever you do, fight." Sophia's family has skeletons, but they aren't in their graves. At twenty-two, practicing Wiccan Sophia Parsons is scratching out a living waiting tables in her Rocky Mountain hometown, a pariah after a string of unsolved murders with only one thing in common: her. Sophia can imagine lots of ways to improve her life, but she'd settle for just getting rid of the buzzing noise in her head. When the spell she casts goes wrong, the static turns into voices. Her personal demons get company, and the newcomers are dangerous.

BET YOU CAN'T FIND ME by Linda Prather
Imagine a killer who can kill at will from a distance. No gun, no weapon. Nothing more than a thought.
Catherine Mans has the ability to see and hear what others can’t. With the help of Homicide Sergeant Cody Allen, she’s turned that talent into a successful profession as a psychic consultant.
But Catherine’s past is coming back to haunt her. Someone is threatening the lives of everyone she loves.

Nine bodies have been discovered, and Catherine is the FBI’s prime suspect. To prove her innocence, she must unravel the secrets of her past, and answer the challenge of a deranged psychic.
Bet you can’t…FIND ME!

Two great mysteries

CHAPTER ONE

Please don’t leave me here.

Catherine Mans heard the whisper over the rustle of the leaves. He was here. She knew it, but her time to find him was running out. A heavy mist had begun to develop over the river, drifting up the ravine into the creek where she knelt beside the water. Her search for twenty-one-year-old Timothy Bond had led her to many ravines in the past two weeks. Her visions were confusing, pieces of jigsaw puzzles that seemed to fit—and not fit—every creek area surrounding the Kentucky River.
Letting the cool water flow over her hand, Catherine closed her eyes. She paid attention to the gentle force as it pressed against the barrier, allowing herself to connect with the emotions it contained. He’d been here. Walked this bank. Trudged through this water. And he’d never left.

“Catherine?”

She heard Cody’s unasked question and rose. “He’s here, Cody. I can feel it.”

“The fog is rising fast. I’m going to call off the search and bring everyone in.”
His voice held an edge of defeat bordering on disappointment. He’d followed her over snake-ridden banks, through shallow pools, and even into the river twice. She knew he ignored the ridicule of his fellow officers, but he couldn’t ignore the rising wind, misty rain, and fog swirling into ghostly clouds. Failure to call off the search would put everyone in danger.

Catherine turned back to the pool of water and stared into its murky depths. A vision of Mr. and Mrs. Bond appeared, arms wound around each other, eyes swollen and red, beseeching her. We know he’s dead, Ms. Mans, but we can’t sleep at night. Not until our boy comes home.

The not knowing was what aged you overnight, placing dark shadows beneath your eyes, deep-etched lines upon your face. The sorrow emanating from Mrs. Bond’s eyes had touched her in a way she hadn’t expected, opened the door to memories of things she’d worked hard to forget. Catherine touched the scar just above her right breast and wondered if her own mother had looked that way when Catherine had run away.
Catherine shook off the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to think about her mother. Or the past. Nor was it the time to allow the frustration in Cody’s voice to discourage her. She knew he respected her abilities and believed in her. A smile played around her lips. A lot had changed in the six years since he’d knocked on her door and asked for her help in finding three-year-old Danny Wells. Cody had worked hard to become the head of the homicide division, and through his efforts, a special fund had been established to pay for Catherine’s consulting fees. She also knew his efforts were the reason that other departments had begun to call upon her for help. But the non-believers, the ridiculers, would always persist. Her ninety-eight percent success rate didn’t matter. The two percent failure was what everyone remembered.

A steady rain began to fall as the whisper reached her ears again. Please don’t leave me here.

“I won’t, Timmy,” she murmured, kneeling by the creek and closing her eyes again. Reaching out with her mind, she searched for the small thread of energy she knew was there somewhere.

“Catherine, we’ve got to go.”

“Go ahead and call off the search, Cody,” she answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m staying.”

A strange throbbing started deep inside her head, drowning out the words she knew Cody was saying. The scar on her chest burned, as if someone had suddenly poured gasoline on it and set her on fire. She stood up slowly, catching her breath against the fiery pain as her feet moved involuntarily, trudging into the cool water that swirled around her ankles. The pool deepened, reaching her waist. The swift current pushed her downstream on unsteady feet that no longer seemed to belong to her. A thick layer of fog surrounded her, until she could no longer see the opposite bank.

“Catherine, where the hell are you going?”

Cody’s voice sounded distant. She heard his radio crackle as he called out to the search team and his muffled oath as he splashed through the water, following her across the creek.

The throbbing subsided to a dull ache in the center of her forehead, but the scar continued to burn with fiery insistence, and her feet still moved against her will. The water became shallower, and her feet sank into mushy sand as she climbed the bank of the creek into an open field that led to a cliff overlooking the river.
The fog had dissipated here, and Catherine could see the edge of the cliff. A single oak tree stood outlined against the black clouds rolling across the sky. The jigsaw puzzle came together. The pieces started to fit. The pain subsided, but her feet continued to move, carrying her closer to the edge. She wanted to stop, but an unseen force kept her going until strong arms closed around her, jerking her backwards just as her feet slipped over the edge.

“Jesus, Catherine. What the hell are you doing?” Cody gasped between labored breaths.

“I don’t know. I was… I didn’t…” Catherine tried to clear the fog from her mind, grasping to explain what she didn’t understand herself. “Cody, the tree. It’s the same tree in my vision. He’s here. I know he’s here.”

“Okay. Okay. Give me a second.” Some of her excitement registered in his voice. The tree had been the one clue missing from all the other ravines.

The two crept slowly toward the edge of the cliff. A blanket of fog covered the earth thirty feet below, but they didn’t need to see through the fog. Less than five feet down, on a jutted outcropping, lay the remains of Timothy Bond.

Catherine stood near the edge, listening as Cody gave directions to the search team. A feeling of peace settled over her. She’d found him. “It’s time to go home, Timmy,” she whispered.

“Don’t get too close to the edge, Catherine.”

She didn’t bother to answer, as the wind chose that moment to switch direction and force her back from the edge. Catherine shivered as icy fingers raced down her spine. The sound of laughter echoed on the wind, followed by a whispered challenge: Find me.





PROLOGUE

Moonlight glinted off the scalpel.

Lydia moistened her lips and swallowed, flinching at the pain. Her throat was dry, raw from her screams.

“Please. . .” she whispered.

Thud, clink, thud, clink, thud, clink. The shovel dug in rhythm to the voice. The singsong rhyme.

“Dig the hole, dig it deep, give the worms something to eat. I like the livers and the hearts, the worms can have the other parts.”

Thud, clink, thud.

Tossing the shovel he knelt beside her, gently brushing the long blonde hair from her face. “Shh. . .,” he whispered.

Insane giggles filled the night as the scalpel slashed through bone and sinew.
The sapphire-blue eyes dimmed, fading as her body jerked and her lips parted.

“Please. . .,” she whispered.

If you love The Mentalist - Check out - Bet you can't... FIND ME

Author of the DI Lorne Simpkins Thrillers - Mel Comley says: "One of the best paranormal mysteries I've read."

“Imagine a killer who can kill at will from a distance. No gun, no weapon. Nothing more than a thought."

Catherine Mans has the ability to see and hear what others can’t. With the help of Homicide Sergeant Cody Allen, she’s turned that talent into a successful profession as a psychic consultant.

But Catherine’s past is coming back to haunt her. Someone is threatening the lives of everyone she loves.

Nine bodies have been discovered, and Catherine is the FBI’s prime suspect.

To prove her innocence, she must unravel the secrets of her past, and answer the challenge of a deranged psychic.

Bet you can’t…FIND ME!

"If you love the psychic suspense of Kay Hooper and the witty characters of Tammy Hoag, you'll love 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.

Excerpt - Sacred Secrets

Charity woke with another splitting headache. She struggled to sit up, her huge frame cramped in the tight space. Memory returning. He’d come back, made her lie down in the back of the jeep. Then he’d drove for what seemed like days. Made her get out, walk down steps. That was the last thing she remembered until now.

It was dark as a cave and smelled of mildew. Charity felt around in the dark, looking for something, anything to tell her where she was. Her fingers closed around what felt like a candle. Pulling it close she continued to feel blindly. Where there was a candle surely there had to be matches. God just wouldn’t be that cruel. Her fingers closed around the box. She shook it gently. One rattle. Okay, so she had one chance of getting light into this place. Did she really want to do that?

Charity chided herself for her cowardliness. What would Ms. Laveau think if she saw her, sitting here on the cold concrete shivering like a baby.
Opening the matchbox, she took out the single match, set the candle between her legs and steadied herself. Holding her breath Chastity issued a silent prayer before running the match along the side of the box. It sputtered, flickered--caught fire.
Charity swallowed the urge to laugh hysterically, the effort of holding her breath making her somewhat giddy. She held the candle to the flame, her hand trembling so badly she was afraid for a moment she’d drop them both. The candle caught, its flame casting eerie shadows around the small room.

Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”

#fridayflash Cookies For Davey

Cookies For Davey

Davey Crimmens wheeled his bike around the corner of Third Street, slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop less than two feet from the old woman. Jesus, where did she come from so fast?

"Davey, could you help me, please?"

Davey hesitated, weighing his options. He could keep on riding and ignore her, but he was already in trouble for sneaking off to the swimming hole yesterday. One more incident and mom would ground him for sure. And the old woman knew his name, which meant she most likely knew his mother. Parking his bike against the old wooden fence, her followed her through the gate.

"What do you need?"

She smiled at him, and motioned for him to follow her inside the house. "Could you move my rocking chair in front of the window for me please? Been trying to move it all day, but these old hands, you know." She held her hands out in front of her.

Davey shivered as he looked at the bent and gnarled fingers. Must be some kind of disease. The quicker he got out of here the better he'd feel.

Grabbing the rocker he hefted it toward the front window. "Here?"

She smiled at him again, running a hand over his dark curls. "That's perfect, sweetie. There's a plate of chocolate chip cookies for you in the kitchen. Why don't you take some to your friends?"

Davey made his way to the kitchen, stopping short when he saw the card placed next to the plate of fresh baked cookies. "Cookie's for Davey."

That was strange. How could the old woman know he'd be the one coming by today? His mother must of have told her. Good thing he stopped. Grabbing a handful of cookies he turned back to thank her, but she was gone.

Shrugging he shoved a cookie in his mouth, closed the front door behind him and grabbed his bike. He'd thank her tomorrow, or better yet tell his mother to thank her. That should score him some points.

Mike Thomas was waiting for him at the end of the street and Davey pulled up next to him, handing him a chocolate chip cookie. "Sorry, I’m late."

Biting into the cookie Mike grinned at him. "Was beginning to think your mom locked you up."

Davey shook his head. "Naw, she was mad, but not that mad."

"So what took you so long?" Mike licked the chocolate from his finger. "You got anymore cookies?"

Davey handed him another one. "I had to stop and help the old lady on the corner move a chair. Worth it though. These are the best cookies I've ever tasted."

Mike dropped the cookie he was holding. "You mean old lady Harrod?"

Davey hopped off his bike and picked up the cookie. "Five second rule."

"Don't eat that cookie!" Mike's voice trembled slightly, but still came out just short of a scream.

Davey stared at his best friend, his hand automatically stopping short of his already open mouth. Mike was pale, eyes huge, body shaking. "What's wrong with the cookies?"

Turning his bike around, Mike headed in the direction of his house. "I’m going home, Davey. Old lady Harrod's dead. She hung herself yesterday."

Davey stared at Mike's retreating back as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Dead? Sniffing the cookie he broke it open. It looked real. Could she have baked them before she died? But he'd seen her. Talked to her. Tossing the cookie in the ditch he wiped his hands on his jeans, a strange feeling washing over him. He suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time, and his hands were shaking.

Grabbing his bike he set off toward home, wobbling slightly. I'm not scared. Mike's acting like a baby. Probably lying anyway. Trying to scare me. Well, I'll show him. I'm ten years old, and I'm not scared of no ghost.

Davey managed to get past the corner without looking directly at the house, peddling fast he sped down Main and turned on Parrish, eager to get home. "Mom, you'll never guess what Mike told me."

"I'm in here, Davey." Claire Crimmens called out from the living room. Smiling at her son, she put aside the paper and gave him her full attention. "What did Mike tell you? I hope he's not trying to get you sneak off again."

Davey shook his head. "Naw, he said the old lady on the corner hung herself yesterday. But I know she didn't, 'cause I seen her when I rode by. Helped her move her rocking chair in front of the window."

Davey saw the color drain out of his mother's face, but she was still smiling. "Mom?"

Claire patted the seat next to her on the couch. "Come here, Davey."Waiting until he was seated next to her, Claire placed her arm around him. "Mrs. Harrod was old, sweetheart, and she had crippling arthritis." She gently stroked his hair, running her fingers through the curls. "She had a son, and he always visited in May. He was supposed to be here today, but there was a car crash and he was killed. I guess she just couldn't face the thought of going on without him."

Davey swallowed, blinking hard at the wetness behind his lashes. "But I saw her mom. Talked to her. She gave me cookies."

Claire pulled him close, continuing to stroke his hair. "I was supposed to go over today and move her rocking chair for her. She liked to sit in front of the window and watch for his car. Always had a huge plate of chocolate chips cookies on the table with a little card that said "Cookies for Davey." Claire raised his head, looking into his eyes, noting the unshed tears. "Her son's name was Davey too. Don't be scared, sweetheart. You did a good thing and I'm very proud of you."

Davey leaned in closer. "I ate the cookies, mom," he whispered.

Claire hugged him and stood up, pulling him up with her. "And I'll bet wherever she is right now she's smiling knowing that her "Cookies for Davey" didn't go to waste. Come on, you can help me cook supper."

Davey followed his mother to the kitchen, his step a little lighter, back a little straighter. He was ten years old and he'd seen a ghost. Heck, he'd not only seen a ghost he'd talked to one, and he'd eaten cookies. Just wait until he told the guys about that. Maybe Susie Whitlow would sit with him at lunch.

#samplesunday Ripple In Time - A WIP

"Okay, tell me again why Connecticut?" Casey Burgin asked, wiping the sweat out of her eyes as she geared down to take another rocky hill on the road from hell, which supposedly would lead to the cabin of their dreams.

Valerie Marsh grabbed for the door and dash as they hit another bump in the road, wondering not for the first time if Casey's beat up '97 CRV was going to make it to the cabin. "You said you wanted something off the beaten path." She grinned as the road finally evened out. "You have to admit this is definitely not a beaten path."

Casey slowed to a snail's pace as overgrown tree branches closed in around them. "I don't think anyone has been up this path in years, Val. Where the hell did you find this place?"

Valerie pouted and pulled out the brochure, tossing it across the seat. "Someone mailed it to me right after my last art show. Said it was just the kind of place for my paintings."

Casey cast a quick sideways look, eyebrows raised and jaw set as they hit another rut in the road. "Meaning?"

Valerie shrugged. "I guess because of the lady in white."

Casey cursed under her breath, rolling her eyes toward the heavens. "Another lady in white? I mean, what is that about 20 in the last two years? I think every state has one."

"Not like this one," Valerie smirked. "She's been documented on video and photographs."

"Oh, and that makes it real." Casey grimaced, avoiding another hole in the road. "Do you have any idea how much of that stuff turns out to be fake every year?"
Valerie sat back in her seat and stared at the passing countryside. "I'd know if she was fake. There's something here, Casey. Something really strange. I can feel it."

Casey turned a corner and the cabin came into view. "And just where is this lady in white supposed to materialize? You can't expect me to maneuver up and down this God-forsaken road in the dark."

Valerie shook her head. "A lot of people have seen her along Route 59 and inside the Union Cemetery. They say she actually darts in front of passing cars. One driver even thought he'd hit someone the night she darted in front of him, but they could never find a body even though there was a dent in the hood of the car. A lot of renowned ghost hunters have been here. One group even documented hearing a woman weeping one night in the cemetery."

Casey pulled up in front of the cabin and parked turning to give Valerie her best "you're kidding me look". "Really, Val? A woman weeping in a cemetery. That would sure convince me it was haunted," she replied sarcastically as she looked at her home away from home for the next month. She was already thinking the cabin was a perfect backdrop for "The Hills Have Eyes" when the front door opened and a perfect character for the next "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" movie walked out.

"Who the hell is that?" She whispered.

Valerie grabbed the brochure, stuffed it in her purse and opened the door of the CRV with a smile. "If you'd read the brochure you'd know. That's our landlord, Mr. Jenson."

Casey followed her from the vehicle at a much slower pace. She wasn't afraid of ghosts, or anything already dead. It was the living you had to worry about.
Landlord my ass. That man's the next serial killer in my newest novel, and you can bet a sweet penny I'll be pushing furniture against my bedroom door every night.

Shaking the proffered hand, Valerie continued to smile while fighting the urge to rush inside and wash her hand. There was no way she was going to let Casey know the sight of Mr. Jenson had totally freaked her out. The picture on the brochure had to be from another century when he still looked human. The bony fingers that had clasped hers were cold and stiff, belying the 90 degree temperature outside the cabin.

"Mr. Jenson, this is my friend Casey Burgin. You may have heard of her, she has several best sellers on the market."

Casey shot Valerie a withering glare as the cold bony fingers closed around her hand. "Nice to meet 'ya. Afraid I don't read much." Handing Valerie the key, he stepped down from the porch. "Live about a mile south of here. You girls need anything you just let me know."

Casey and Valerie stood on the porch watching as he shuffled slowly down the overgrown lane and disappeared into the trees. Casey wiped her hand on her jeans. "You can't tell me you didn't find him just a little creepy, Val."

Opening the screen Valerie stepped inside the cabin calling over her shoulder. "With the things you write and things I paint, most people find us a little creepy. He's probably just a nice old man."

Casey doubted that, but followed her inside pleasantly surprised that although the cabin was small, it was immaculate. She'd imagined a ratty old sofa with rusted springs, and spider web covered furniture. Peering into the bedrooms she called out. "I've got dibs on the blue room. The view is gorgeous."

Valerie joined her at the window. "See, told you you'd like it here. You can set up right here in front of the window and kill all the people you want."
Casey grinned at her, flopping on the bed. "Yeah, but what about you?"

Valerie continued to stare out the window. "Mr. Jenson says there's a clearing about a quarter of a mile from here that I might find interesting."

Casey sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. "I don't like the idea of you going out there alone. Especially to some place he recommends. He may be a sweet old man, but there's something in his eyes that sent chills down my spine."

Valerie nodded. She'd felt it too, but then she often had that chilled feeling. Especially when she was painting. "Let's get unpacked. I saw a grill out back, and you're cooking tonight."

Casey groaned leaving the comfort of the bed. She hated cooking. "I saw a nice bed and breakfast on the edge of town. If we stayed there we could order room service."
Valerie chuckled. "And miss all this ambience? You can't tell me you don't already have a murder rolling around underneath that curly mass."

# # #

Two hours later unpacked, fed and feeling the effects of the long drive they retired to the porch swing with a bottle of wine. Nightfall was descending fast and a multitude of sounds cascaded from the forest. Valerie could tell Casey was itching to get started on her new novel. She felt the same itch, wanting to grab her easel and paints. Standing up she stretched and turned toward the cabin. "I'm calling it a night. I want to make an early start in the morning."

Casey refilled her glass and sipped it, enjoying the cool breeze that had sprung up. "Go ahead. I'll lock up."

Valerie woke to the sound of muted voices, rising and falling in a song-like crescendo. Rolling over she punched the pillow, irritated at the thought of sharing their getaway with other campers. Mr. Jenson had promised they would be the only ones in a ten mile radius. Closing her eyes she allowed the warmth of the bed coupled with the cool air from the air conditioner to lull her back to the pre-sleep stage. A blood-curdling scream broke the silence of the night as a thin line of hairs stood up all over her body. Tossing back the covers she sprang from the bed. Casey.

Excerpt- The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sheriff Sarah Burns pulled off the road and parked near the site of Saturday night’s tragic accident. Unnatural deaths were rare in Glade Springs, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something.

An image of Morgana Nelson clutching the body of her daughter, her heartbroken cry echoing through the morgue, flashed through Sarah’s mind.

Maybe it was only wishful thinking. The Nelsons were good people, and Johanna had been their only child. The accident made no sense. Johanna wasn’t the typical eighteen year old. She didn’t run off to Edgewood or Richmond after graduation, looking for a larger city and more excitement. She didn’t stay out late. She didn’t drive fast. She didn’t drink. So why had she been here, driving so fast she missed the curve? The toxicology reports weren’t in yet, but the body had reeked with the smell of alcohol. The Nelsons had questions, needed answers.

Climbing out of the Explorer, Sarah walked toward the curve as she closed out the noises around her, traveling the path Johanna had driven. Emotions were strong here. She could feel the sadness—and the anger. Johanna was upset.

Sarah moved into the curve slowly, feeling the shift in the emotions surrounding her. Panic took over, quickly turning to fear. She retraced the path the car had taken as it skidded off the road into the huge oak tree.

Crouching near the point of impact, she placed her hand on the earth and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she felt physical pain and then all emotions ceased.

Sighing, Sarah stood up. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find. Let it go, Sarah, she chided herself. Some questions have no answers.

Heaving another sigh, Sarah started toward her vehicle. She was tired, looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Last night’s dream had upset her. All day she’d been haunted by the image of the dark brown eyes filled with pain, the heart-wrenching cry that had jerked her from an uneasy sleep. The whispered message that had kept her lying awake, trembling as she listened to the sounds of the night.

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.

Sarah shook herself mentally, pushing away the memories, the fear. It was just a dream. And this was just a horrible accident. Accidents happened—especially when teenagers drank. Her foot touched the passenger tire track imprinted in the soft earth near the tree. A feeling of panic clutched at her, growing stronger, making it hard to breathe.

“Jesus,” she muttered as she stepped away from the track, breathing deeply.

Kneeling, she touched the earth, holding her breath, as emotions flowed through her fingertips. Unlike the driver’s side, the panic here continued to escalate. There was no physical pain, no ceasing of emotion. This was what had been bugging her. The something missing. Johanna Nelson had died almost instantly, but she hadn’t died alone. Someone else had been in the car with her when she crashed into that tree.

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."

The Ones Who Stayed Behind--A short story WIP

I started this last night, and it's actually a spin off from Tell Me Your Dreams, which I hope to enhance in the near future. I'd love your opinions on what you think of this. It's not my normal genre, although there will be a mystery aspect. It's also slipstream, which is something I've never tried before. All crits and comments are definitely welcome.

THE ONES WHO STAYED BEHIND

"Goodnight, Ms. Barnes."

"Goodnight, Jamie. Have a great weekend, and don't bother locking up I'm shutting down early tonight myself."

Closing the file on Sylvia Scott, Jenna Barnes breathed a sigh of relief and satisfaction. Contrary to what most people believed, nightmares weren't always just dreams. Some became real, terrifying and deadly. The human psyche had an amazing ability to create things. Things that could actually manifest. Things that could not only scare you, but trap you forever in the nightmare of your dreams.

Leaning back she closed her eyes, allowing the quiet to relax the stiff muscles around her neck and shoulders. She felt it then. The slight chill in the room. Another amazing aspect of the human psyche. The subtle ability to sense what we can't see. The physical reaction to an unknown mental stimulation. The room grew colder. She could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck. The slight increase in heartbeat accompanied by shorter breaths. A surge of adrenaline creating a strange sensation in her bowels that slowly spread upward, down her arms, causing a slight tremor in her hands as they gripped the arms of the chair. Someone was watching her.

Opening her eyes she watched as her breath formed a small stream of mist. He was standing in the doorway, watching her with huge pale eyes the color of a cold morning grey mist. He was young. Five, maybe six. Sandy blonde curls were tousled as if he'd just woken. His clothing was period, but it was his feet that bothered her most. Barefoot and covered in mud that left small impressions on her Rose colored carpet. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. I'm Dr. Jenna Barnes. And you are?"

"Matthew. My friends call me Mattie." He took a step into the room. "Are you the dream lady?"

"Some people call me that. Are you having bad dreams, Mattie?"

He nodded, shuffling one foot in front of him. "She wants to stay with them, but I don't want to."

Moving slowly Jenna reached for a note pad and jotted down several notes. A million questions were racing through her mind, but she knew she had to go slow. He needed to be able to trust her, and she would have to earn that trust. "Would you like to talk about it?"

He nodded, taking one step closer to the sofa. "It's my birthday."

"Really? Well, happy birthday. And that makes you how old?"

Reaching the sofa he rubbed one hand up and down the arm. "Six."

"You can sit down if you'd like, Mattie."

He walked slowly around the sofa, letting one hand slide gently over the fabric. "You can't help me can you?"

Jenna felt her heartbeat quicken as she sensed his retreat. She was going to lose him unless she acted quickly. And she knew she had to be honest with him if she was going to gain his trust. "I think I can, Mattie. Maybe not exactly in the way you really want, but I can help."

"I have to go now." He let his hand slide slowly along the back of the sofa, head bowed as he moved slowly toward the door.

"Would you like to make an appointment to come back? I'd really like to talk to you about your dreams."

He nodded, stopping just inside the doorway. Grabbing her appointment book Jenna turned the page. "How about the same time tomorrow?"

He nodded again, shuffling his feet slowly toward the front door. He turned, hand on the doorknob, pale eyes misty. "You know they're not really dreams, don't you?"

Jenna swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that threatened to choke her. "Yes, Mattie, I know they're not really dreams."

# # #


Love the mystery and suspense of the The Killing? Check out The Jacody Ives Mysteries.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Ha, ha. I'm taking off today but for all entrants that have entered in the Win a Kindle or Gift Card Birthday Bash--tomorrow I will be drawing new names for the books that have not yet been claimed and I will be posting a lists of entrants. If you haven't entered and would like to--leave a comment below (rules are on Day 1 of Birthday Bash--see previous blogs on the right).

HAVE A GREAT DAY! I'm off to celebrate, enjoy, and relax.

Linda



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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

Thursday's Tease - Voodoo Initiation - Find Me a WIP

Catherine balked at the entrance, and only the gentle prodding of Aureole's hand moved her past the doorway. The altar was now aflame with the light of hundreds of candles. A makeshift cot had been placed in front of it.

"Aureole, are you sure about this?" Catherine whispered, watching Grandpa as he stirred something into a steaming cup of liquid.

Aureole nodded and led her to the cot. Removing a pot from the altar she set it down beside Catherine and picked up the nail clippers. "This is called a pot et. Pieces of the nails and hair of the initiates are placed inside." Picking up the clippers she took Catherine's hand. "Normally we would have made you a necklace to drape over the pot, but we don't have time." Aureole clipped several nails, dropping the clippings into the pot before picking up the scissors and snipping off a short piece of hair adding it to the pot and placing it back on the altar.

"Why nails and hair?"

"Shhh. We will discuss this later." Aureole took the cup of liquid from her grandfather and handed it to Catherine. "Drink it quickly. It's easier that way."
Catherine gagged as the smell reached her nostrils. "What is it?"
Aureole grinned at her. "The knowing won't make it taste any better, and the not knowing may make it easier to swallow."

Catherine gazed into the deep brown eyes above her, seeing something she'd missed for a lifetime. Concern for her well-being, but also something else--Aureole's eyes mirrored the fear in her own. Closing her eyes Catherine lifted the cup and downed it quickly. She gagged, bile rising in her throat.

"Bend over and breathe deeply," Aureole instructed her. "It will pass."
Catherine did as she was told, a fleeting thought in the back of her mind that this was much like the sleep walking when the devil took over. Fear seized her as her heartbeat increased, and her body broke out in a cold sweat. A deep throbbing drumbeat echoed inside her head, spreading outward. Aureole spoke to her, pressing gently until she was lying flat on the cot. Her words seemed to come from a long way off, and the room shimmered in bolts of beautiful glassy colors.

Catherine fought to bring her mind and body under control, glancing around the room. The colored bottles around the room vibrated and shimmered in glorious color. Grandpa was sitting a few feet away, eyes glazed, drumming on a strange looking drum. "What's he doing?" She asked, her words sounding elongated and strange.

Aureole knelt beside her, picking up one of the gourds and rattling, as her voice rose in song and prayer.

Catherine felt her body numbing, growing cold. She groped for Aureole's hands. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The room began to spin. Aureole dropped the rattle grabbing her arms and holding her down as spasms ripped through her muscles, jerking her in all directions.

"Don't fight it, Catherine. Please don't fight it." Aureole whispered in her ear.
Catherine closed her eyes, willing the spasms to stop. The colors still swirled inside her head spinning her down a tunnel. She saw them then, waiting at the end of the tunnel. Their faces twisted and torn in the agony of death, blood dripping from their wounds. They reached for her as she sped past them, screams echoing inside her head.

Aureole rung out the wash cloth and gently wiped Catherine's face. At least the screaming had stopped. All they could do now was wait. Rising she emptied the water and joined her grandfather outside.

"Li dòmi."

"She has passed through the outer sanctum. Stay with her."

Her grandfather reached for a bucket. "If she lives she will need food when she wakes."

Aureole hugged her arms close around her body watching as he faded into the darkness. Fear started in the region of her bowels, rising up like bitter bile. Her grandfather had spoken English only a few times in the past 22 years since Abigail Blanchard had disappeared. He spoke it only when the spirits were angry, or someone was going to die.


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