Bartender’s Vampire – Chapter One

NOT EDITED

    “I dare you to lie to me again,” Sabien said through his teeth, fangs glinting in the moonlight.

    A wicked smile formed on the taller man’s face as he stared down at the pale Vampire. “I love you,” he said slowly. He offered the most dramatic shrug Sabien had ever seen. “That right there, darling? That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever tol to anyone in this world. And to think you believed it. Pathetic. You’re pathetic.”

    Sabien grunted, doing his best not to lose whatever sembalnce of calm he hadleft. He’d been alive for a couple hundred years. He had absolutely no problem with calmness.

    “My whole family knows what you are, Sabien. We’ve found people that would love your blood, your fangs. Christ, they’d pay an arm and a leg for them.” Finally, the an pulled his hand out from behind his back, fingers tight around a wooden stake. “My ‘love’ for you is gonna make us rich.”

    Sabien lunged at him, shoving him back against the building closest to them. In the alleyway, he sunk his teeth into the man’s neck, free hand clamped down over his mouth. When he finally stopped clawing at him, Sabien released him and watched him hit the ground. Sabien sank down after him, balancing on his toes for only a moment before the sudden weakness knocked him to his butt. Though Kolten apparently had never loved Sabien, he had certainly loved Kolten.

    They’d only made it ‘official’, as Kolten had always called it, six months ago, but Sabien had spent damn near an eternity prior to the declration convincing Mother and Father to allow him to court a human in the first place. And still, after all that time, Sabien had never sensed it was all fake. Had never sensed Kolten was out for his blood. His fangs. His life.

    Sabien didn’t have much real world experience, and Jesus, did it show.

    “I can’t believe you did this to me,” Sabien whispered. “And to you. Jesus, look what I did to you.”

    His mind couldn’t work out who was to blame. Kolten had intended to kill him. He had brought Sabien to a dark alleyway in the middle of the night witha stake tucked into the back of his jeans to kill him. Sabien had only defended himself.

    But it sure didn’t feel like self-defense when it was against your boyfriend.

    Though the cops wouldn’t be able to arrest him without exposing to the world at large that Vampires were real, Sabien knew it was still better the less time he spent at the scene of the crime. Mother and Father would be upset he’d left the body behind, but it was Kolten. He couldn’t hide Kolten away and toss him out to sea. He deseved to be found, to have a funeral, a prope burial. It was the least Sabien could do, though it’d never be enough. Kyle was dead, so far gone that Sabien couldn’t even bringhim back as a Vampire. He was just… gone. Forever. Nothing would make up for that.

    Sabien pulled himself to his feet and walked out of the alleyway, pulling his coat tighter around himself, like the warm enveloping hug woul somehow erase what he’d done. Unfortunately, it did not.

    He wiped his mouth wththe back of his hand, then his palm. When his palm came back clean, he crossed the road and crouched down on the sidewalk to wipe his hand in the grass. With his skin free of Kolten’s blood, he rose back to his feet.

    There was a bar about three blocks up the street. It’d be one of the few places open at this time of night that wouldn’t have blindingly bright lights. There, he could find a phone and call Mother. She’d be angry if she found out about Kolten’s death through any other avenue. If Sabien could avoid piling his mother and father’s anger onto his shoulders, he would.

    By the time he’d made it to the bar, the warmth and revigeration from Kolten’s blood had run its way through his veins, ridding him of at least some of the guilt, hurt, and anger. It would only last a day or two at a maximum, but the lively feeling of it would help him blend in at the bar. In any case, Sabien considered that a good thing, given the situation of the evening. The easier he could hide the guilt and pain from the people inside, the better. The last thing he needed was to be so suspicious that everyone inside remembered him when the cops came around to ask about Kolten.

    A little bell dinged above the door as Sabien walked into the bar. He made his way up to the counter laid his hands on it. “Excuse me? Do you know if there are any payphones near here?”

    The bartender turned to face him, a dimpled smile on his face, curly brown hair falling over his forehead. “No, sorry. I don’t really think those are around here anywhere anymore. Need to call someone?”

    Sabien offered a closed-mouth smile, his fangs safely hidden away. “Yeah. Mom lives a couple states over, and she gets rather worried when I don’t update her.”

    “I’m guessing you know her number, then,” the bartender said, stuffing a hand into the front pocket of his dark blue jeans.”

    “Yes.”

    “Here.”

    Sabien stared at the device in the man’s hand. He’d seen othe humans walking around with one in hand, eyes glued to the screen. Mother and Father had aways been rather anti-whatever-the-hell-that-thing-was. Rather, they’d always been against Sabien having one. Still, he grabbed it, eyes scanning the bright screen and colorful little squares all over it in neat rows of four. “Sorry, umm… I’ve actually never used one before.”

    “Oh. No problem.” He grabbed Sabien’s hand, moving it to tilt the device back toward himself. “Jesus, dude, your hands are freezing.”

    Sabien offerd another smile. “Poor circulation.” It was pretty easy to have poor circulation when one’s heart only beat fast enough to keep to keep him on his feet.

    “My grandpa’s got that in his hands and feet. You should try those copper compression gloves. I know a lot of people wear them for pain and arthritis, but I think they help with circulation too”

    Sabien, for only a moment, let his smile grow past closed-mouth safety. The guy was cute, helpful, and relatively non-judgmental—qualities Sabien both loved and hated. Kolten had seemed to be those things too. And look at what had happened with him. “Maybe I’ll give those a try. Thank you.”

    The bartender nodded. He touched a green square on the screen that looked like a phone and touched a dotted square to bring up a number pad. That, Sabien was familiar with. His landline had a nice little number pad on it too, though the numbers on his were worn away rather than pristine and clear like the digital ones. “So you just have to type her number in there, press the gren phone, and then you’re good to go, just like a normal flip phone. Or house phone… or pay phone. Your choice.”

    God, he smelled good. Bothon the cologne side of things and the ‘I vant to suck your blood’ side of things.

    Sabien looked down, clearing his throat. Breaking eye contact didn’t always fight the hunger that came alongside a fresh kill, but it usually helped. With his mind coming back around to focus on the task at hand rather than the beat of the bartender’s heart, Sabien typed in the number for Mother and Father’s house. He lifted his gaze back to the bartender’s green eyes and stuck out a hand. “Sabien.”

    The man flashed that dimpled smile again and shook his hand. “Kyle.

    “Mind if I take this call outside, Kyle?”

    “Nah, go for it, man. Long as you bring the phone back.”

    “I will.” Sabien pushed himself away from the counter, almost missing the flash of worry in Kyle’s eyes. The human had been kind to him. There was no reason Sabien couldn’t offer up a bit of reassurance. Sabien puled his wallet out of his back pocket and tossed it onto the bar. “I’ll be back in a few. Make sure my cards aren’t stolen, if you wll.”

    Kyle snorted, a smaller dimple-less smile coming to his face. “I’ll make sure.” Sabien nodded and headed out of the bar. He didn’t have a license or family photographs in his wallet, so Kyle wouldn’t be able to sound the alarm on the fact that Sabin ha been in his twenties for quite some time now. Humans could be noesy, but if—or when—Kyle went through his wallet, the only ‘shocking’ thing he would discover was that Sabien’s cards were registered with the last name Johnson.

    Sabien Johnson didn’t exactly have a wonderful ring to it, but he had Mother and Father to thank for that choice.

    Outside, Sabien rounded the corner of the bar, stepping into the alley. He touched the green phone button—though aggressively stabbing it with his index finger a million times was robably closer to the correct version of events—and pressed the devce to his ear. After four rings, he heard the phone pick up. He waited a moment, but they didn’t offer an introduction. Sabien took a shot in the dark, “Mother?”

    “Sabien.” The greeting was somehow even colder than Sabien had been prepared for.

    “I killed him,” Sabien whispered.

    “Good. It should have been done a long time ago.”

    Sabien closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the bar’s brick wall. “Mother, it’s not… I loved him.”

    “You never should have. It was stupid, Sabien.”

    “Whatever,” Sabien breathed, quiet enough that he hoped Mother didn’t actually hear him. “I lost my cool and just… did it. He said he had told his family what I was, what you and Father are. He had people waiting to buy my blood, my fangs. He was going to kill me, and I just…” Sabin shook his head. “His family knows. That’s what’s important. We need to take care of them before they find out Kolten’s gone and come after me or you and Father.”

    “You sure chose a real winner, Sabien.”

    “He was cute!” And he didn’t care that I was cold. He didn’t care that I couldn’t go out in the sun without covering every inch of sin. He didn’t care my heartbeat was too slow to hear. He said he loved me. “I don’t want to sit and talk about how shitty my boyfriend was, okay? I’m just letting you know that you and Father need to be careful.”

    “We always are, Sabien. This mess exists because of you, not us.” A pause. “Goodnight, Sabien.”

    Before he could even think about responding, she hung up. Sabien hit the back of his head against the wall, bottom lip caught between his fangs. Eyes closed, he pulled the phone away from his ear and held it to his chest instead. He always felt guilty on the rare occasion he almost needed to kill a human being, but this was different. This hadn’t been an almost situation. This had happened. His boyfriend was dead, the very blood that had kept him alive now flowing through Sabien’s veins. It didn’t matter what Kolten had said. Sabien had loved the man, even if Kolten’s reciprocation of it had all been a lie.

    Sabien forced  his eyes open and pushed himself away from the wall. Back inside the bar, he stopped at the conter and set the phone down. Once Kyle finished pouring a drink for another patron, he grabbed the device and slid Sabien’s wallet over. “Thank you,” Sabien said softly.

    “Mmhmm. Thanks for not running off with my phone,” Kyle said, holding the thing up before shoving it back into his pocket. Sabien offered a nod and watched the playful smile quickly fade from the bartender’s face. “Everything okay, man?”

    “Oh, I don’t think it’s your job to stand here and listen to all of my problems.”

    “Ah, but that’s precisely my job. Serve drinks, listen to crazy stories, give some bartender-ly advice. It doesn’t have to be perfect advice by any means. The listening’s where i get most of my tips.”

    “Mm.” Sabien knew he should leave, get back to his home in the country. The place was small compared to the mansion his mother and father lived in, but he liked the overall cozy feel of the place. It made it feel… homey.

    But he wasn’t ready to go back to an empty house just yet.

    With a sigh, he lifted himself onto one of the barstools. He crossed his arms over the counter, one hand covering his wallet. “I suppose I’ll take something that doesn’t taste like absolute shit.”

    Kyle smiled. “So not beer, then. I can do that.” One corner of Sabien’s mouth lifted. At least this guy got it. That was something. That night, Sabien would certainly benefit from a little something.

    Sabien wasn’t really much of a drinker. Though he knew there were quite a few Vamps around that drank themselves silly, Sabien didn’t see the point. Unless he was severely hungry or injured, the alcohol couldn’t numb him or get him drunk or buzzed. After repeating his college career a time or two, Saien had learned how to behave as a drunk from watching human afte human tip back shot after shot, but in the long run, drunken parties were only really any fun when someone else at the party was sober. Like when he’d been with Kolten.

    He let out a heavy sigh as Kyle set a drink down in front of it. “What’s it taste like?”

    “Think fruit punch if it were a little boozy.”

    Sabien nodded his thanks, wrapping a hand around the glass. He stared down at the light-red drink, tapping his index finger against the glass, his ring clinking to the tune of its own boring musical. “Why do this job if you just have to hear about the troubles of other people?”

    Kyle shrugged, crossing his arms ove the counter. His white button-up stretched at the new position, the fabric pulled taut across his chest and around his biceps. He wasn’t a bodybuilder by ant means, but he had more muscle built up than Sabien did.

    Of course, Sabien could still throw him across a field in one joyful swing, but he figured that didn’t count, since he was undead and all.

    “I like getting to talk to other people so many times a week. Human interaction and all that good stuff. And here in the bar, I get to talk to people from all walks of life. Rich, poor, middle class, happy as hell, sad, celebrating, drowning their sorrows. Some of tohse peple, I get to help them feel better for the night, and others I just get to serve a drink to, talk about their kids or their job. It’s nice getting to know people, gettin to help when I can.” Kyle shook his head. “I guess I like helping, is the short answer.”

    “Helping can be good.” Sabien took a small sip of the drink, thankful that Kyle hadn’t bulshitted him. It tasted a lot less like alcohol and a lot more like fruit punch. Drinks, unlike human food, he could get away with, alcoholic or otherwise. They ran through his system about the same way blood did, though he lacked the benefits blood offered. “Men suck,” Sabien finally said, the words quiet.

    “Yeah, sometimes we definitely do.”

    Sabien shifted on the bar stool, lifting a hand to scratch at his freshly shaven jaw. “He wasted over half a year of my life.”

    “Men suck,” Kyle echoed. sabien only nodded. At least Kyle could listen without blaming  his broken, slow-beating heart solely on his choice in men. It was better than discussing it withhis parents.  “What’d he do to you?”

    Sabien met his eyes, momentarily surprised that Kyle would ask a follow-up question. “He told me ‘I love you’ was the biggest lie he’d ever told.”

    Kyle winced. “Well, good riddance to he bastard, then.” Sabien forced himself to nod, forced himself to pretend, for just a moment, that loving Kolten Peterson was the biggest lie he’d ever told too.


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back to book details

Chapter Two

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An Update

Hey, guys. It’s been a while, so before I start trying to post chapters and stories, I wanted to chat just a bit.

My relationship writing has been broken for quite some time, but Roxie’s passing in December broke it even more. Toss in some anxiety, depression, grief, insomnia, and a chronic illness, and you have a recipe for a gal who can’t write.

Even now, I still don’t really know where my problem lays. I don’t know if it’s my characters or my plots or my pain or my memory or my depression. I don’t know if it’s society or all in my head. I don’t know where the problem is, and that makes it hard to fix.

But with that being said, I am still writing. It’s just not nearly as much as before. I used to write over 100,000 words a month, and now it’s a good month if I manage to write 10,000. This means that progress on stories is incredibly, painfully slow. Which makes it hard to post stories, especially if I want to do it on a consistent schedule.

With that said, I’m currently working on a few things. I’m rewriting The Surgeon, book one of the Bo Austen series. I am yet again starting another rewrite of Truths and Chains, book one in the Minetti Boys romance series. I’m attempting a Little Mermaid retelling, currently titled The Amber Mermaid. And I’m also working on a rewrite of book one of the Dallas Silver series. This used to be Symbolically Carved, but at the moment, I’m testing out a new version titled Butchered Beneath the Street Light. Finally, I’m working on a vampire romance. Two of you have actually read the original draft of this romance, but I’m rewriting it and planning to finally post it here. Hopefully, the first chapter of that one will go up this week, but I still need to make a cover for it first.

Things have been less than great for a long time, both in terms of my physical and mental being. But I’m working on both the best I can.

I hope to see you later this week with at least one chapter. As long as all my animals have good days and I don’t have any massive crashes or downswings, it should be doable.

In the meantime, be good to each other and be kind to yourselves. I’ll see you soon.

Surgeon – Chapter One

NOT EDITED

Chapter One

Thursday: January 2, 2020
8:00 AM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, LIEUTENANT MYRA COOPER’S OFFICE

    “I’d like to be the first to welcome you to Clinstone PD, Mister Austen.” Lieutenant Myra Cooper brushed a lock of blonde hair out of her face, brown eyes brightening as she smiled and held out a hand. “We’re very lucky to have you.”

    Bo Austen shook her hand. “I appreciate you hiring me on.”

    “Of course. My pleasure. You came highly recommended.” She cleared her throat. “Most days, you’ll be replacing our usual forensic analyst, Misty. She’s pregnant, due in a week or so. She’s supposed to be taking it easy for a bit, and that’s why you’re here.”

    Bo nodded. He knew the job was temporary, that he’d have to go back to Los Angeles once their regular analyst came back from maternity leave, but he was appreciative of the opportunity regardless. “Thank you for everything you’re doing here.” Bo offered a smile. “I’m in desperate need of a break from the City of Angels.”

    “I can certainly see why.” Myra snorted. “One day working under Jamal Pitman, and I think I’d leave the field forever.”

    Bo offered the smallest chuckle he could force out. “Where am I off to?”

    Myra pointed to the open door of her office. “The detectives you’ll be working with today are out there on the main floor. Mason and Lehmann.”

    “Thank you.” Hands tucked behind his back, Bo walked out of her office. The strap of his satchel cut across his left shoulder, the satchel itself settled at his right hip. In his left hand, his camera case was clutched, leaving his right hand free for the necessary handshakes without the need for any fumbling or rearranging. The smoother things went, the better.

    Bo’s eyes landed on a man dressed in a suit and a blue tie. His face was lit up with a wide smile. He stood behind his desk, one hand pressed to the top of it, the other holding a cell phone to his ear. “You’re kidding? Did he really?” His smiled broadened. “That’s amazing. Christ, you better be taking tons of pictures for me, baby.” His eyes settled on Bo, and he lifted his hand from the desk to offer a two-fingered wave. Bo waved back, unwilling and unable to match the man’s smile.

    His tie was the same sapphire blue of his eyes, which hid behind a pair of plastic-framed glasses. “Good. I’m gonna want you to send all of those to my phone. Like, now. Yes, seriously.”

    Bo’s gaze shifted to the man seated at the desk beside the blue-eyed man. He was less muscular than the one glued to his phone. The blue-eyed man leaned over and smacked the other man’s shoulder with the back of his hand. He mouthed something that Bo couldn’t quite catch. The other man nodded and rose to his feet.

    “You’re just making me sad, babe,” the blue-eyed man said. “Hey, I’ve got a wild idea. Ready? You come to work for me, and I’ll be a stay-at-home-mom for you. Sound good?” He chuckled as he pushed himself away from his desk. “Was that a no? It kinda sounded like a no.” He walked over to Bo and held out a hand, moving the bottom half of his phone to his cheek. “Detective Jacob Mason. You’re with me and Lehmann today. Got a crime scene downtown.”

    Bo shook the detective’s hand. “Bo Austen. Forensics.” It only struck afterward how pointless the introduction was. The detective already knew who he was. That was why he had come over. That was why he had said Bo was with them today. It made him look nervous or incapable of paying attention. He only hoped the detective was still too busy with the person on the other end of the line to notice.

    Jacob looked away for a moment. “How about tomorrow?” he asked into the phone. His eyes shifted back to Bo as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Partner, Carter Lehmann.”

    The man in question stepped up behind Jacob and shook Bo’s hand. “You’re Misty’s replacement, then?”

    “Yes, sir.” Bo couldn’t help but lock onto Carter’s eyes. They were hazel without being, well… hazel. There was a ring of blue and a ring of green in each one, speckled with little dots of brown in the middle of the ‘hazel’ color in the middle.

    “Awesome. You’re replacing our ME today too. Think you can handle that?”

    “I can handle nearly anything you throw my way, Detective.”

    “Good. Come on, I’m driving.”

    Phone still pressed to his ear, Jacob laughed as he followed Carter out of the station. “No, you’re right, I shouldn’t laugh. But come on, Al. You gotta admit it’s a bit hilarious.”

    Al. Short for Allison or Alice, maybe. Bo glanced at Jacob’s left hand. No ring. Fiancée or girlfriend?

    “Okay, fair, but you’ll realize how funny it is in a day or two.” Jacob elbowed Carter’s upper arm. “Charlotte pissed on Al after I left this morning.”

    Carter snorted. “You are not nearly cute enough for that woman to put up with your shit and your kids pissing on her.”

    Jacob scoffed. “I’m fucking beautiful. Don’t know what kind of shit you’re on, Lemon.”

    Lemon. Throw in the exchange of cute, beautiful, and the accusation of drug usage, and there was no way in hell the pair weren’t great friends outside of the station, as well.

    “No, the rule is that I can’t swear in the house,” Jacob said into the phone. “I’m in a parking lot, babe. You aren’t in charge of the parking lot. You don’t even work here anymore.” He yanked open the passenger door of a police cruiser and slid into the seat. Bo climbed into the backseat, shutting the door behind him as Carter got into the driver’s seat.

    “Where’d you come in from, Austen?” Carter asked as he started the cruiser. He cranked up the heat against the cold that had seeped in throughout the early morning.

    Bo shifted. He had hoped they’d save this conversation for at least day two. “California.”

    “Hold up a sec, babe.” Jacob turned around to look at Bo, his phone held away from his ear. “You were Baker’s forensics guy during her last case, weren’t you? That Wings shit down in Iowa?”

    Obviously, even Minnesota wasn’t far enough away from California to escape the Kathy ordeal. Choosing a state bordering Iowa had been a mistake. He’d learn from that for next time. “Yes, I worked her last case with her.”

    “Damn.” Jacob shook his head. “Glad that was a shitfest I wasn’t invited to,” he muttered.

    Most days, Bo wished he hadn’t been invited to the ‘shitfest’ either. He cleared his throat as Jacob turned back around. “What’s this scene we’re heading to?”

    “Dead gal,” Jacob said, briefly meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror.

    Carter nodded. “We don’t know much yet. A woman was found dead in a dumpster outside of the ER downtown. I don’t know much more than that.”

    “Her throat was slit,” Jacob added.

    “Where the hell did you hear that?” Carter asked.

    “I dunno. They just tell me more than they tell you.”

    Carter snorted. “Bullshit.”

    “Nah, I’ve been here longer, so they like me more than you. Example, I get told way more than you do.” Bo caught the end of Jacob’s eye roll in the mirror. “Al told me to apologize.”

    “Thank you.”

    “Didn’t say I had to mean it, though.”

    Carter backhanded Jacob’s arm. “Dick.”

    Blue eyes smiled his response.


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Surgeon – Prologue

A/N: I wanted to post this earlier, but between client edits, formats, and sanctuary animals, I’ve got my hands quite full! Anyway, Sunday was Bo’s birthday, and even though I’m not yet done with the rewrite, I can’t help myself. For the first time in a long time, I feel connected to Bo again, and I’m so excited to finally share him with you all once more. thank you so

NOT EDITED

Prologue

Wednesday: January 1, 2020
12:00 AM; MINNESOTA, NEW YEAR’S PARTY

    He had been studying her for weeks. She had been a backup, just in case something went wrong with the other girl. She was a spare. Like waiting for a tire to blow out, she had been there as a fallback.

    Well, the tire had blown the hell out, and he needed her. Now. Tonight.

    Drink in hand, he walked over to her. His steps faltered the closer he got, and, as her attention shifted to him, it felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. God, she was beautiful, almost perfect.

    “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

    She smiled faintly, but it didn’t hide the sadness in her green eyes. “I’d like that,” she said.

    “Bartender, another of what she’s having, please,” he said softly.

    “Coming up.”

    The man shifted his gaze back to the woman’s face, a soft smile lifting either corner of his mouth. It softened his features, defined his strong jawline. He was well aware of the effect his smile usually had on women. It made them trust him, for better or for worse. And tonight, he needed that. “Tell me, who was foolish enough to leave you all by your lonesome?”

    She looked up at the bartender, thanking him as he set her drink in front of her. She shook her head, scoffing. “Some guy I met on the Internet. I let my friends talk me into the online dating shit.” She rolled her eyes. “That was a mistake.”

    “Ah. Prefer meeting someone the old fashioned way, huh?”

    She nodded, reaching up to tuck her blonde hair behind her ear. “Yeah, usually. It wasn’t working well enough for my friends, though. They want another option for double dates.” She took a small sip of her drink. “Can’t really trust most people you meet on the Internet, though. Learning that pretty quickly.”

    It was good she felt so betrayed by the man who had stood her up. He had made sure the man from the Internet would be staying away, but he had feared it wouldn’t bother her much. But, oh, it had. And that was damn good. “I could show you a good time, if you wanted. Couple drinks, little dancing… The night’s yours.”

    She laughed, soft and delicate. It was like music to his ears. Her laugh was absolutely perfect. “You know, it could be the margaritas talking, but I think I’m all for that. But I’d like to get the hell outta here instead.”

    He smiled and held up his drink. “To twenty-twenty, then. Let you finally find your true love.”

    She snorted, clinking her glass against his. “To twenty-twenty,” she echoed. He downed his drink, and she quickly followed suit. The man paid for both of their drinks and held out an arm. She slid off her barstool, smoothed out her dress, and linked arms with him.

    Outside the bar, the soberingly cold air of a Minnesotan winter hit them in the face. She wrapped her free hand around his arm, stepping a little closer for the illusion of warmth. He couldn’t help but smile.

    He unlocked his car and pulled open the passenger side door. She thanked him and slid into the seat. He smiled down at her and closed the door. He smoothed both hands over his suit jacket as he walked around the front of the car. Letting out a breath, he pulled open the driver’s side door and slid into the car. He pulled his seatbelt into place, fingers lingering even after it clicked. Safety first. Always. He had learned that lesson the hard way. “Buckle up, darling,” he said as he started the car.

    They had places to be, and through a windshield sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

12:23 AM; MINNESOTA, THE SURGEON’S HOUSE, BASEMENT

    She didn’t fight him on the way down the basement stairs. She didn’t fight him as he led her into a bedroom in the far corner of the basement. It wasn’t until he shut the cell-like door that she realized it wasn’t exactly a bedroom, per say. While the door looked like it belonged in a prison, the interior of the room was decorated like that of an actual bedroom. A king-sized bed, a vanity, a dresser, bedside tables, art hanging on the walls, an area rug on the floor.

    “What the hell’s going on?” she asked, each word louder than the last.

    The man wrapped his hands around the bars of the cell door. “I’m making my new year’s resolutions come true a lot sooner than they usually do.” He titled his head to one side, eyes scanning over the woman. It was the first time he could stare for as long as he wanted. It didn’t matter if she caught him now. She was thin and tall. An inch more and she’d be six-foot. She was a runner, athletic, and boy, did it show. “You’re almost perfect. Almost. You need to put on a little extra weight here.” He poked her just above her hip bone. “Not much. Just a little. I say we get started with a rather early breakfast.”

    “Somebody help me!”

    His shoulders lifted as he drew in a breath for a sigh. “Darling, nobody can hear you. It’s just you and me here.” He reached through the door and touched her cheek. She jerked away from him before he even had the chance to feel the warmth of her face. “That’s all right. You’ll get used to me eventually.” He smiled. “I’ll go make you some breakfast, darling. I won’t be long.”

    As soon as he was up the stairs and out of her sight, she grabbed the cell bars and rattled the door, screaming for help. Off to her left, someone sighed. “I-is somebody there?”

    “Yes.” A pause. “He’s right. Nobody can hear you scream down here. I’ve tried,” a girl’s voice said.

    “Who… are you?” the woman questioned, turning toward the voice. The room was empty, a wall separating her and whoever the voice belonged to.

    “The girl he kidnapped before you.”

    “H-how long have you been here?”

    “What’s today?” the voice asked after a moment.

    “January first.”

    “Oh. Then… about eight days, I think.”

    The woman pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, closing her eyes. “What’s your name?”

    “Natalie. But when he’s around, you have to call me Brooke,” the voice said quietly. “What’s your name?”

    “Cleo. I-I’m Cleo.”

    “Welcome to the party, Cleo. Here, though? Here, your name is Lauren. If he calls you Lauren, you answer him. When he tells you to do something, do it. Don’t complain. Don’t resist. Don’t try to starve yourself out. Just do what he says.”

    “Why?”

    “Because about an hour ago, there was another woman who was supposed to be you. Supposed to be Lauren, I mean. But she refused to eat, said she’d rather starve. Well… now she’s dead.”


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An Update

So, it’s been a while. Again. But it’s not because of writing this time.

On the 13th, about a week ago now, our ten-year-old Boxer lost her battle with suspected cancer. I still don’t have the words to even begin to express the pain of losing her or the hole it’s left in my heart.

Roxie could be a pain in the butt sometimes, but she was a pain I loved with every damn fiber of my being, and I’m still figuring out how to live my daily life without her.

For the last five years, I’ve spent every waking moment with Roxie. Once I graduated high school, my waking moments were at home instead of behind a school desk, and that meant I was home with the dogs. With Roxie.

I’ve spent the last five years being her comfort human until Mom came home from work. I spent the last five years awkwardly standing in the kitchen in silence so she could eat without worrying that, for some reason, I was going to disappear forever. I’ve spent the last five years doing all of my writing with a grumpy brindle boxer snoring beside me or behind me, creepily staring at me until I acknowledged her looking at me, wining at me the moment I started writing because she decided she actually did have to go outside, even though I’d asked sixty seconds before.

I don’t know how to write without her beside me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to fill in the silence between the clicking of my keyboard’s keys if not with her snores, grunts, and groans.

I just don’t… know.

Am I going to get back on the horse? Eventually, of course. But I don’t know when eventually will be. And I don’t know how fast the words will come once I bring myself to sit down and try to write them.

I’m mostly typing this up to let you know where I’m at right now, and emotionally, it’s a horrible place. But when I’m ready, you’ll know, and I thank you for your patience until then, and for your patience between updates from there forward.

Riley’s Zombie Thing – Chapter One

A/N: This is one of those ‘I don’t know what will come of it’ stories, but the majority of you were okay with that in the polls, so here it is! I don’t have a cover or an actual title for it right now, so we’re just going to go with what I have it titled in my drafts, lol. I hope you enjoy chapter one!**

NOT EDITED

Riley barely managed to get one salsa-dipped tortilla chip to their mouth before the door to the break room opened. They lifted their head, eyes finding a relatively short black man in the doorway. He wore a laminated ID card around his neck, but he was too far away from them to read it.

“I don’t recognize you. Are you the new intern?”

“Yes, ma’am. Are you Mrs. Johnson?”

“It’s actually Mx. Johnson or Doctor Johnson, but yes I’m the Johnson you’re looking for.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know”

Riley smiled. “It’s not your fault. Whoever sent you to find me could’ve told you, and they didn’t. That’s not on you, so don’t sweat it. What can I help you with?”

“Umm, Doctor Murphy wanted me to tell you, and I quote, ‘Lunch break is over, get your ass to the lab now’. Umm… end quote, I guess?”

Riley couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Thank you.” They shoved the chip into their mouth. They couldn’t have lunch yet–not until well after suppertime, if they knew anything about Murphy–but they could have one damn chip, if nothing else. Murphy owed them that much for all the hours he worked them without giving them the lead position in a new assignment. Or any assignment.

Riley folded down the top of the chips bag, clothespinned it, and put their salsa in the refrigerator. It’d still be there waiting for them when Murphy was done with whatever he wanted. Still fresh and homemade.

They walked toward the door, flipping off the light as the intern backed into the hallway. “So”–Riley glanced at his ID–“Morgan. What brought you to Cromwell Labs?”

“My mom worked here for a while before she got sick. Sick enough she couldn’t work anymore, I mean. I changed my whole game plan after that. I was gonna be a lab geek for some police station, do the whole crime scene analysis thing, but… Well, I wanted to make Mom as proud as I possibly could. Cromwell is the way to do that.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you. It’s always good to have young people around that are still interested in science and research, even more so when it’s at our facility.” Riley stopped at the elevator and swiped their ID card through the reader. The doors dinged open. “Are you coming down?”

Morgan shook his head. “Doctor Murphy said I’m not to come down to the lab until further notice.” Morgan rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to… pry or be a bother, but do you know why that is?”

“He’s probably just feeling you out.” Riley stuck a foot in the track of the elevator doors to keep them from closing. “Murphy can be… suspicious of new people, even the ones he hires. He probably just wants to make sure you’re legit in your interest in working here instead of trying to steal company secrets or something. He can be a bit paranoid.” Riley smiled. “Don’t worry, Morgan. You’ll be downstairs in the lab in no time.”

Morgan offered a smile of his own, one far less timid or nervous than his voice. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“No problem.” Riley stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the lab, and offered a little wave as the metal doors slid closed. With a sigh, they leaned back against the wall, hands wrapped around the bar that ran along it. Admittedly, the bar in an elevator gave Riley far more anxiety than comfort. Bars were usually reserved for stairs, where people could slip or fall. They were usually reserved for handicapped stalls for people who needed help standing or sitting. They were usually reserved for ‘oh shit we’re gonna die’ situations.

And if an elevator ever entered the ‘oh shit we’re gonna die’ roller coaster, the bar sure as hell wasn’t going to help Riley survive.

But they tried not to think about that. Sort of. It was kind of hard not to think about it, actually.

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. No oh shit roller coaster this time around, either. Riley stepped out into the hall, letting out the breath they’d been holding on the ride down.

The next inhale caught in their throat. The hall was dead silent. No doctors chatting. No equipment running. No music playing. It was eerily still and sterile.

Riley ran through a quick list of the bad things that could happen down in the basement of Cromwell Labs. Scientist thievery. Ghouls. Flickering lights. Power outage. Zombies. A mugging, surely. Good ol’ fashioned human-on-human homicide.

Or,” Riley whispered, “maybe you’re just crazy and everyone else decided now was a good time for a lunch break, too.” They clutched either side of their lab coat and forced themself to start down the hall. “You aren’t the only person who gets hungry around noon, Johnson.”

They stopped in their tracks as the door at the end of the hall opened. It was to the decontamination chamber that connected to the main lab in Cromwell. Riley couldn’t remember the last time it’d been used, the last time something had been considered dangerous enough or viral enough to require the extra precautions.

Two men walked out of the chamber, assault rifles in hand. Riley backed up toward the elevator, as if being silent and walking away  would keep the men from seeing them in the well-lit hall.

A third man stepped out. He wore the same black suit as the other two, but he lacked the BFG. “Doctor Johnson?”

Riley lifted their head, rifling through their mind in search of any answer that wasn’t acknowledgment. They settled on, “That’s me.”

Which was… so not cool.

The man and his armed goons came down the hall, and Riley did what they could not to shit their pants. “Doctor Johnson, you’ve been chosen for a very important job. You’ll be tasked with creating a vaccine for a new… virus. Disease. Sickness. We don’t care what you call it, so long as you fix it.”

“Did Doctor Murphy put you up to whatever this is?” Riley waved a hand in their direction. “Fake guns to try and scare me out of asking for an assignment of my own?”

“No. Mister Murphy knows nothing about what this assignment is. All he was told was to send you down here to speak with us. End of story.”

Riley shoved their hands into the pockets of their lab coat, hoping it hid at least some of the fear rolling off of them. “If the assignment isn’t from Murphy and it isn’t a joke… then what is this?”

“That would be the U.S. government, Doctor.”

“Oh,” Riley whispered. “What… does the government want with me? I-I mean, why me? I’ve never been a lead scientist on anything in Cromwell. Anywhere, for that matter.”

The guy in the middle–the shorter one, the one without the gun–chuckled, shaking his head. “Your government doesn’t care about which scientist Mister Murphy considers the best or the worst. We don’t care who he deems important. We care about who will do the best at this job. And that’s you.”

Why?”

“Doctor Johnson, do we have to play this game?”

“Yes, we do. Because… because two of you have guns and just came out of the decontamination lab, and I can’t even remember the last time something we worked on was so dangerous that it was through decontamination.”

The shorter man sighed, but he tried to cover it with a smile. “Can you let me explain on the walk to the lab? You don’t have to go in until we’re done talking.”

Riley forced themself to nod. “I can do that.”

“Perfect.” He turned and started back toward the lab, but his goons didn’t move until Riley was in front of them. “You’ve done a lot of research that’s of great interest to us when it comes to this vaccine. You have a lot of theories you can finally test, too.” He offered a smile. “To say the least, you’re the only scientist we are currently aware of that has such an interest in such a unique situation. We need that interest. We need that intrigue, that curiosity. Curiosity drives discovery, and discovery is incredibly important.”

“I-I don’t understand. All of my research has been with other scientists here. It’s all been done with other people. They have the same ‘interests’ under the belt that I do,” Riley said.

The shorter man slid an ID card through the reader at the lab, and the glass doors of the decontamination room slid open. “It’s better if I can show you. It’s one of those things you really have to see to believe. So, Doctor Johnson… what do you say?”

A part of Riley–a very large part–wanted nothing more than to run away, but they couldn’t outrun bullets or goons. They couldn’t even outrun their neighbor’s dog, and he was a thirteen-year-old tripod who barely even walked out the front door to take his morning pee anymore.

Riley swallowed, forcing themself to nod. “Okay. Let’s see it and believe it.”

The man smiled. “Great.” He turned and walked into the room. With a harsh release of breath, Riley followed. “You’ll only need to go through actual decontamination on your way back out of the lab. On the way in, I need you to put on the neck gaiter mask, the face shield, and the gloves. You should also button up your lab coat in case your shirt rides up or lifts when you raise your arms.”

Riley glanced back over their shoulder as the doors closed. “That’s a lot of safety equipment for something I have to see to believe.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “You want your skin covered, believe me.”

Riley stared at him for a moment before letting out a breath, shoulders sinking. Unless they had a death wish, there was no way out of the room. Doing as they’d been told was the only option now. They buttoned up their lab coat and put on the gaiter, pulling the mask portion up over their nose. The gloves felt like kevlar, like they were designed to be cut proof, and they went up to their elbows. They grabbed one of the face shields from the bench, though ‘shield’ didn’t quite do it justice. The damn thing looked form-fitted, more like a helmet than the standard shields they had in all the labs.

Once all four of them were outfitted with the required gear, the shorter man swiped his ID card and walked through the decontamination room. Riley followed him through the room and into the lab.

The usual hum of the lights was overcast by something else. Something low. Something rumbling. Something… dangerous.

Riley stepped out in front of the man. When he didn’t stop them, they kept moving toward the noise. The curtain by the back examination table had been pulled, but they could make out a shadow through it. A person sat behind it, rocking back and forth slowly. As Riley drew nearer, the shadow’s head shot back, and the terrifying scream stopped Riley in their tracks, hands flying up to their ears.

They flinched as a hand touched their back. The shorter man stepped past them and grabbed the curtain with one gloved hand. “Prepare yourself, Doctor Johnson. Even when you see it, it’s still a little hard to believe. But we need your head in the game. Okay?”

Riley forced themself to nod, hands still covering their ears, though the screaming had stopped.

The man pulled the curtain back.

Riley’s hands fell to their sides. “Oh… my… God.”


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back to book details

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The votes are in!

The votes are in, and the majority of those who voted are totally okay with me posting books that aren’t guaranteed to be complete.d. This means I can post books as I’m writing them (like I usually do) instead of needing to wait until they’re completed to post them.

Because writing and I have such a weird relationship at the moment, that’s great! I appreciate your support so damn much. Expect to see something zombie-related later today!

Teaser: Searching for who the hell knows

A/N: I don’t have a chapter of The Surgeon ready for you just yet, but I wanted to thank the two people who have donated to help keep the website up and running. I’m about 18% of the way there now! If you’d like to help make sure I can keep posting free stories for you guys, you can read the whole post here, and you can find donation links at the bottom of that page.

I’m hoping to get The Surgeon updated today as a thank you, but in the meantime, here’s the first chapter of a new crime book I started. Not sure if it’ll go anywhere, but we’ll see!

NOT EDITED

The morning rain hit the awning outside the window with a soft pitter patter. As the day wore on, the pitter patter would grow heavier, sounding more like hail than rain, but for now, the pitter patter was easy to tune out. It was only day two of an expected week-long storm, far from Atticus’s favorite event to see in the summer forecast. How some people liked heavy rain and thunderstorms always escaped him. There was nothing appealing to him about a dark, overcast sky, thundering booms, or strikes of lightning exploding bursts of light into the sky.

Atticus reached down and scratched the top of Benny’s head. The pitbull threw his head back only long enough to confirm the touch belonged to Atticus, his chin quickly returning to its place atop his outstretched front paws.

A heavy knock broke up the soft pitter patter behind him. He glanced up at the ceiling, waiting for the sky to finally break, but it didn’t. He cast a look out the open office door, gaze landing on the angled mirror in the hall. The door knob of the front door was still, and he couldn’t see a shadow in the frosted window, either. When no one called out and another knock didn’t sound, he shook his head and dismissed it as the house settling. His paranoia over visitors had increased greatly over the years, and it always worsened even further–if that was actually possible–in March, but the facts always remained the same. Atticus lived out in the middle of nowhere. He could count his unexpected visitors over the last twenty-something years on one hand.

His eyes drifted away from the door’s reflection, falling back to the coin held between his fingers. The shiny piece of metal–a perfect circle with one triangular chip in one edge–served as a smoking gun for him. It was proof that the Lost City of Z was out there somewhere in Brazil.

He had found precisely two treasures in his lifetime, coin aside, and he planned to make Z his third.

Another heavy knock interrupted the rain and his plans for the day. With a sigh, he flicked the coin out of his fingers and snatched it out of the air as he rose to his feet. There was one girl scout that came around a few times a year–a short blonde who dealt Thin Mints and Samoas like they were drugs–but she had never stopped by in the rain. Atticus didn’t see a reason why she’d start now. Surely she wasn’t that desperate to break ahead in the leaderboard.

Atticus nudged Benny’s shoulder with his foot. The dog lifted his head, hauling himself to his feet as soon as he saw his human had already done the same. He followed Atticus out of the office and through the hall, where Atticus signaled for him to sit and wait with a simple lift of his palm. Benny dropped to his haunches, that worried look in his eyes. Sometimes, Benny looked at him in a way that no dog–rescue or not–should be capable of. Atticus had decided more than once that Benny had been a human in an old life. Often, he wondered if Benny’s reincarnation had been a reward or a punishment.

His placement with Atticus seemed to lean toward the latter.

Benny nudged Atticus’s thigh.

“I know, bud,” Atticus whispered, the three words falling on deaf ears. He gave the top of the dog’s head a good scritch and headed for the front door. He cast one last look at the coin, at his plans for the day, and pocketed it. Z would still be there after his unwanted visitor left. Just as a third knock sounded, he pulled open the door.

The woman standing on his doorstep was most definitely not a girl scout. Her dark hair was soaked with rain, little water droplets forming at the tips of the tendrils that had fallen around her face. A droplet fell from her hair and raised down her cheek, falling to the bag she held to her chest.

Atticus lifted his eyes back to her face. “Can I… help you?”

She held the bag out to him. Well, that was being a bit too kind. She had shoved it into his chest hard enough that he’d grunted his response. But Atticus did his best to give her the benefit of the doubt on her aggression, on her strength. She didn’t look… well. The bags under her eyes seemed to carry luggage of their own, and the expression on her face was empty and simply… off.

“My son’s gone missing.”

Gently, Atticus pulled her hands from his chest and pushed them back toward her. “I don’t work with Missing Persons anymore. I’m just a—”

“An adventurer. A treasure hunter.” She nodded. “I know. That’s why I came to you.”

“I’m, umm… I’m not following.”

“The bastard who took my son has been sending these riddles to me. Riddles. The police haven’t gotten anywhere with them, and the public’s been no help through the tip line. But you found Forrest Fenn’s treasure using his riddles. Y-you found the Golden Owl using his riddles. You’re my last shot at finding my son alive.”

Atticus watched her for a moment, unable to stop his brow from furrowing. It was so damn specific, so manipulative. But there was no change in her expression. No ‘Oh gosh I can’t believe I said that’. No ‘Oh my god I’m so sorry’. The woman either had no shame, no guilt, or she just… didn’t know.

He cleared his throat. “Four days?”

“Yes, four days. And I already know what you’re gonna say, and I know. I’ve been told. The first twenty-four hours are the best hours for search and rescue, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. The police haven’t given up either, but they need help that no one else has been able to give them.” She shoved a wet, tangled tendril of hair back behind her ear. “They need you. My son needs you.”

Atticus bit back the initial response that sprung to the tip of his tongue. This woman and her son weren’t his problem. They weren’t his job anymore. They hadn’t been for a long damn time. But it was hard to say that to a worried mother, to a terrified father, to a grieving parent of any variety. It would always be hard. “Look, ma’am, I’m sorry about your son–I am–but solving riddles in poems and pictures doesn’t mean I can help find a missing child. I haven’t been a part of that for a long time.”

“I’m sure it’ll come back to you. Just like riding a bike.” Again, she held out the bag. “Please.”

Atticus stared down at the piece of plastic in her hands. It was a bag from the grocery store in town, the material so thin he could see the photocopied letters inside. He wondered if they had come individually wrapped in brown paper, each one tied off with a little bow of twine, or if they had arrived on her step in a box or a gift bag. Maybe they’d shown up in the damn plastic bag. Who the hell knew.

A part of him wanted to ask, wanted some answers, but the much larger part of him wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

He let out a sigh and grabbed the bag. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you so much! Oh, my God.” She practically lunged into the house, throwing her arms around him. Atticus tensed, and Benny growled from the hall. It was low, barely audible to most people. Atticus held a hand out behind his back, palm extended toward the dog. With a heavy exhale, the growling subsided.

The woman stepped away. “My number’s in the bag. Everything you need is in there. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t… don’t get your hopes up. I’m not a miracle worker.”

She smiled. “I think you’re a lot more than you think you are. You’re a very kind man. Thank you.”

Before Atticus could throw out another reminder about the dangers of high hopes, she turned and ran for her car. Atticus closed the front door and dropped the wet bag to the floor. He looked down, peeling his rain-soaked shirt away from his skin.

A change of clothes before he ripped open an old wound seemed like the least he could do for himself.


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Announcement: Website Renewal

Hey, guys

I hate making an announcement about this, but I’m officially in crunch time. My website renews for about $125 on the 13th of this month, and I need help covering it. If you can donate anything at all, it’s greatly appreciated.

If 22% of my Wattpad audience donated a dollar, I’d be there.

If you can’t help, that’s 100% okay! I’m chronically ill and can’t work “normal” jobs, so I absolutely understand money being tight or simply being unable to because of the rules around countries and different apps for donations.

Although I make next to nothing from my website (I’ve made about 50 cents in the last year, which won’t be paid until I’ve made $100), the paid version of WordPress keeps the website address short and simple for you. Less typing and less to remember!

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