A mysterious girl with amnesia shows up on the island, claiming to have survived a ship wreck. Garrett takes her in. She’s a god send, until men come to claim her. But soon she is back in his arms, and he’s fallen hard. Is she a dream born of loss and loneliness or part of an insidious scheme to take him for all he worth?
I was running through the woods, chasing a squirrel. I was fascinated with all creatures back then. A kid. The world was new and everything was fresh. I had the hunting instinct of a hound and a desire to chase, search, find. But once found, I didn’t know what to do with my quarry.
The gray squirrel frantically ran through the tree tops. I ran behind, threw rocks. It lead me to an opening in the thickest part of the woods. The sun dappled the clearing. It was a bright, clear day, and it was startling to suddenly be out of shade. I was hot and was growing tired of the chase. In front of me stood a lopsided old shack. I was immediately intrigued. It barely stood, in a small clearing, uneven and faded as a gray day in December. The partially open door, shed chips of faded white paint. Choking brush wrapped around one side of the building and seemed to be squeezing what little life was left out of the wood.
I stood at the door and peered into the black interior. It was small, about twelve by ten feet. The dank smell of rotting wood, thick and moist. It was an unsettling odor that seemed more like a filthy whisper than a smell. Fresh dirt and decaying leaves. The ancient door scraped the slab as I pried it open. I took a step inside. A chill ran through me. Still, dank, cold. A window in the back let in a bit of sun. Gaps in the roughhewn floorboards widened in spots of light. Vines threaded through the floor, but were dead or dying in the perpetual rankness. A strange chandelier hung down, too low to be of any use. Dirty glass, covered in black mildew and green film. I took another step inside. A damp chill swept over me like a thin blanket. In the far left corner was a small cot. A pillow lay atop the mattress, uncovered and molding. Cigarette butts littered the floor. Below the window was a small brass container. I was intrigued, thinking perhaps some lost treasure lay inside. But as I approached I heard it ring out. Just a small ping, as if something dropped into it. I turned sharply, looking for the safety of the open door. There came a knock on the roof. I looked up and saw a black smoky haze hovering on the ceiling. A low whisper spoke, “Get out.” The voice chilled my spine. I bolted forward, toward the light of the door. I must have been running full force when I hit something hard and fell back. I remember feeling like the floor cradled me, my whole body, like I’d fallen into a rut. A perfect outline of my body. In my mind, I saw a field of black dots, like on a black and white TV screen. People were running. They were far away and small, like a mass of moving shadow, but they were all running in the same direction. A face came close to me. I could see she was a nice old lady. But her mouth opened and she yelled close to my face, “What?” The word was yelled, long, slow, filled with hate, torment, self-pity and regret. Her breath was freezing cold, and had the smell of dead leaves and rotten flesh. The venom in her voice startled me awake. I felt all of these things at once. They clawed into me. I ran like hell. I was myopic and could only see what was directly in front of me. I kept running. Above, in the trees, I heard a squirrel, jumping from tree to tree, as if chasing me, menacing me, wanting me to make me pay for my past transgressions. My stomach churned. My heart exploded in my chest.
I came to the small field adjacent to my back yard, and I stopped. I bent over, my hands on my knees and heaved. My head ached with pounding force. My eyes hurt. My vision slowly started coming back to full color.
My house stood on a small incline against the shadows of the setting sun. A dark outline against orange light. The two story house suddenly seemed foreboding. I shook off the feeling when I saw a light from the kitchen, and my mother’s shape in the window. Thoughts of supper, a warm shower and bed warmed me. But I couldn’t help feeling as if something had changed. There was a heaviness in my heart. A joylessness. Then a yearning to return to the shack came upon me. I saw it clear as day in my mind, the crooked slant of the shack against the night sky, the gray wood, the tree branches squeezing what little life remained there. I turned to the woods and saw a black mist, like a shadow slowly melting into the trees. A calling arose from there, like a cooing. Only more yearning than a coo, yearning like a child might for love. I ran to my house and slammed the door shut. Closing out that shack forever, and knowing I’d never go back. But I was mistaken. I went back every night in my dreams, the old lady’s voice hollow and rancid in my face. I never hunted another living thing after that.
If you follow the link, you can see the great review of my latest novel, Dreaming Wide Awake. The story of a slightly psychic PI who unravels a mystery involving the secret government Stargate Project, (a remote viewing program) and finds it leading to the trail of a possible serial killer.
Infinity 7 is a story about a man casting one arm into the future while gripping a guilt-ridden past, and he’s doing it while battling unforeseen obstacles which threaten a lifetime of achievements and he has to do it in a space environment, which carries it’s own set of problems. Smooth, polished writing, a strong sense of pacing, tension builds well. Both the main character’s grief and the technology throughout felt authentic, as well as the rounded supporting characters. Smart characterization and plausible downward spiral in a scientific research environment. There were a couple spots I found circumstances eddied a bit too long for my comfort, and a loose end with the smarteye camera that I wanted tired up at the end. But the ending, although a bit abrupt, was strong and cleverly done. I’ll be thinking about this story and the concepts it introduced me to for quite some time. Fantastic voice talent performance. Worth listening to this one. I’d read this author again.
Dreaming Wide Awake by Charles R. Hinckley is the second book in the August Chase series. The author said his inspiration for this series came from a precognitive experience he had in which a crime was committed. The first novel was a standalone story. In the current tale, although the questions having to do with the current investigation are answered, a major unresolved issue will continue over into the next book. However, it can still be enjoyed on its own. After reading the first novel, Dream State, I found the author’s impressive writing imaginative and thrilling and looked forward to his next story. Therefore, after seeing this one, I seized the chance to read it and wasn’t disappointed in the least.
Written from the first-person point of view, this 339-page crime drama/mystery was thrilling. The tale started with action as Gus witnessed a murder in his dream. Then, as Gus investigated the murder and dealt with Grossman, the twists and turns kept the novel mesmerizing and intense and had me wondering what would come next.
I love books with unique characters. Each character here has their own distinctive personality. Gus and Mill are both believable and likable with obvious strengths and flaws. Gus hates his paranormal gift. Not only does it cause many sleepless nights, but it has cost him his girlfriend. He takes dangerous chances, and Mill does not hesitate to point that out. Mill is a tech-savvy genius with a love for muscle cars, who sold his company for a fortune. He represents a true friend, who is there through thick and thin. Their friendship and witty banter lightened the story and frequently made me smile. It was hard to know who to trust at the beginning of the novel. Therefore, not wanting to provide a spoiler, the villains will not be identified, but they are sufficiently creepy and will make one’s skin crawl.
There was absolutely nothing about this book that I didn’t enjoy. Therefore, I enthusiastically award it a rating of four out of four stars. Readers who enjoy thrillers, crime dramas, mysteries, and paranormal stories will appreciate this novel. Sensitive readers need to be aware there are violence and profanities in the book.
He squatted by a river teaming with fish. As he looked into the rippling waters, I asked him where he came from and he said, “It is a closed system. There was nothing before and something since. The idea was strong, intense and consuming. It took root in the soil of imaginings and grew by way of hopes and dreams, emotions, gradually taking form. This is the eye of man. It sees all in front of it, none behind and certainly not into tomorrow. It’s frightened by things it does not understand, is wary of new events, yet trudges on in hopes of finding sameness, a lack of pain, some joy, perhaps a feeling of enlightenment. Happiness even. It marvels at small acts of physical manipulation. It doesn’t know what’s best for it. And it dies, leaving behind that which it has created.”
“Do you mean to say I was born of an idea and am the eye of man?”
He looked at me with his white and tearing eyes, unable to make out my form and whispered, “Do you have a dime?”
The soft touch of her hand caressed the back of my neck as I sat upon the bed in the dim light of the evening lamp, a cool breeze coming from the open window, the street noises occasionally echoing in the halls of my room, the dull low rumble of the city layered below. Shivers ran down my spine and the hairs on the back of my head stood up. It was a perfect spring evening with the scent of cross pollination in the air. Budding trees held new shiny leaves just outside the window. She leaned into my naked back and her warmth met mine in perfect contour. She melted into me. I felt the dread of loneliness then. The emptiness of being one, alone, not sharing, no one to care what happens in my world but myself, and sometimes even I don’t care, capitulation being a long tradition running through my life. Scattered pictures of her embrace echoed in the darkness of my dream.