I know that I've shared this in the past, but I am excited that I have re-newed all my books with CleanReads publishers and am celebrating.
Join us.
Stephanie and her fantastic staff gave me a shot when no one else did so I am celebrating. YAY!
Enjoy because the sequel will be out soon. <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
September 2009
Jagged streaks of
lightning zigzag across
the midnight sky.
He only counts
to four before
the thunder rumbles
over the tree
he’s standing under.
He pulls the
hood of his
fishing jacket further
down over his face
as the rain
falls harder. The
wind stirs the
waves even higher
around the floating
dock his fishing
boat is tied
to, threatening to
toss it over
like a paper
boat in a
stream.
He throws the
bundle over his
shoulder, grunting from
the weight, and
clambers across the
slick dock. Feeling
like a child
on a funhouse
ride, he loses
his footing, falling
to one knee,
and drops the
bundle half into
the fishing boat.
Cursing under his breath, he kicks the bundle completely into the boat, pulls up the motor, then unties the boat from the dock. Another flash of lightning lights up the sky.
Cursing under his breath, he kicks the bundle completely into the boat, pulls up the motor, then unties the boat from the dock. Another flash of lightning lights up the sky.
He
counts. One . .
. two .
. .
Thunder
explodes above him.
The waves form
whitecaps now, throwing
the tiny boat
around like a
tumbleweed in the
desert. The oars
feel like lead
as he uses
all of his
strength to pull
them out of
the water, pushing
against the wind
forcing them back,
then plunging them
back down. He
clenches his teeth
with each movement,
his arms aching,
his shoulders burning.
After what feels
like hours, he
reaches the middle
of the lake.
He positions the
oars in the
clamps. The rain
pours down in
sheets now. A
fork of lightning
shoots across to
the forest on
the other side
of the lake.
Two seconds later
a loud crack
echoes across the
night sky, causing
him to jump.
A wave crashes
over the side
of the boat,
water pouring in.
He frantically bails
water out of
the boat, then
grabs his net.
He rolls the
bundle in the
net, tying his
three heaviest fishing
weights to the
ends. He steadies
himself then lifts
the bundle up
to the side
of the boat,
balancing it against
his thigh. His
overworked muscles shake
as he tosses
the bundle overboard.
It bobs in
the whitecaps.
He
picks up the
first weight, tossing
it into the
water. He grunts, picking
up the second
weight. The bundle
is tugged under
the surface. She’s
crying now. He
can hear it.
Just like earlier.
He glares, a
smirk stretching his
lips.
The boat rocks
harder, the waves
throwing water in
the boat. He’s
thrown backwards, hitting
his head on
the seat. He
feels a trail
of warmth oozing
down the back
of his head
and neck. He
struggles back up
to his knees,
lifts the last
weight up, and
tosses it over
the side.
The bundle bobs
for a second
before sinking completely
under. He breathes
out sharply.
The rain eases
up on his
row back to
shore. Thunder growls
off in the
distance, with a
flutter of light
sparking over on
the other side
of the lake
in response. The
worst of the
storm seems to
have passed. As
he steadies the
boat against the
wild wind, the
choppy water threatening
to overturn the
tiny fishing boat
every second, he
whistles “Bridge Over
Troubled Water.”
It’s
done.
Or
so he thinks.
He didn’t see
the tiny rowboat
bobbing in the
sheltered bay not
too far away.
Or the black
eyes seeing it
all. Whispers swirl
around in the
wind from the
watery grave as the fishing
boat gets smaller,
enveloped by the
darkness and raging
water.
. .
. help me
. . .
Strong hands with
long narrow fingers
grip the well-used
oars. The Watcher
rocks, tiny ripples
spreading out from
the tiny vessel,
then mixing into
the rough waters
beyond. He sings
his song, calling
to her. She
answers.
. .
. help me,
please . . .
The Watcher nods,
his eyes narrowing.
He stops rocking
and lowers the
oars back into
the water. He
rows backwards, and
his boat disappears
into the sheltered
calm of the
bay.
.
. . help
. . .
me . .
.
“Soon enough,” the
Watcher whispers out
to the lake.
“The time will
come soon.”
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