This was one of my books that came to me in a dream and had finished within a couple of weeks. Sometimes ideas just hit me like that.
The following scenes is one of my favorites because it shows the depth of Cheyenne's character and the trauma she's had to endure, as well as introduces my favorite character, Chief Longfellow.
I hope you've all had a chance to check out the tour and can join us along the way. Here is the snippet. Enjoy and we'll see you somewhere out in the WWW sometime over the next month!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dr. Cheyenne McCarthy arrived at her office early as usual. It was a
ritual with her—a necessary one of many. As long as she could remember, she’d
struggled with the simplest tasks that her friends had accomplished with ease:
It took her forever to learn how to write properly; she was easily confused
with tasks that had too many steps; and she wasn’t always able to effectively
verbalize her thoughts. She was clumsy, uncoordinated, and unable to sit still
for too long. And on top of all of that, there were many school days where she
had been sent home from school for disturbing the class due to her reactions to
certain tasks or activities.
It wasn’t her fault. She just didn’t know how to tell anyone that
there was too much noise or there had been a smell that had bothered her that
no one else had detected or understand how that one flickering light in the
corner of the room bothered her enough to steal her concentration from her
schoolwork. None of the other kids seemed to have those issues. Teachers and
her parents just told her to work harder and, “Stop being so sensitive!” If
they’d only known!
She’d never been officially diagnosed with anything when she was
younger but, then again, no one ever took the time to figure out whether her
strange behaviors and odd reactions to people, situations and events stemmed
from something serious or were just personality traits she’d inherited from her
birth family. Back then there was no such thing as an Individualized Education
Program or ‘IEPs’ or any other assessments for kids with sensory issues. And
because her adoption was ‘Closed’, no one knew for sure.
All she’d understood was that she got overwhelmed too easily by the
information bombarding her day in and day out. Nothing was filtered out. Every
noise, every smell, every sensory stimulus assaulted her, magnified hundreds of
times over from what ordinary people felt. A simple touch burned like fire on
her skin. She often felt she had no control over what her body could or
couldn’t do so routine, the familiar, was essential for her functioning.
She’d learned to cope her way and things seemed to work out fine. It
wasn’t until she was obtaining her Graduate degree in Forensics that she’d
finally figured out what was going on. One of her fellow graduates did her
Dissertation on conditions that affect the nervous system and guided Cheyenne
to the specific sensory integration therapy she needed. Of course, it would have
been helpful to have had the information when she was younger because even with
therapy, she found it difficult to regulate her body.
Her nervous system was her worst enemy most days. Well, second to
that psycho out there who still wanted vengeance, even though he’d already
taken the love of her life away from her.
She approached her office and noticed the door was ajar and the
light on. Puzzled, she slowed. Her door was always shut. But maybe her
secretary came in early today, too. She juggled her coffee and briefcase in one
arm and gently pushed the door wider.
“Mornin’ and welcome back, love,” lilted Perry Fulton, his Irish
accent swirling around his words. “Doncha look particularly glowing today.”
Cheyenne released a relieved breath. “Perry, you gave me a scare.
And that’s one hell of a Welcome Back,” she smiled and gave him a hug. “But
it’s always nice to see your mug.”
Perry had been William’s partner. He’d been the one who’d introduced
them to each other. Perry had always had a soft spot for Cheyenne and she for
him. But they’d chosen different people to marry, with the unspoken promise to
remain close friends. He’d taken a special interest in her the past few months,
though—like a protective older brother—especially after finding out about the baby.
Perry reminded Cheyenne of a rugged but handsome Columbo—wrinkled
clothes, rustled black hair, big stogie between his thick fingers, never
seeming to know what was going on. Most of it was an act, though. She figured
it kept other people on their toes—they were never quite sure whether he was
serious or not. And she loved him to bits.
Perry chuckled and gestured to her belly. “May I?”
“Sure,” Cheyenne moved a bit closer. Suddenly her belly jutted out
and rippled just for Perry.
“Whoa.” He laughed. “A future soccer all-star in the waitin’ then?”
Cheyenne put her hand on top of his. “Yeah, it seems to move the
most when I’m not. Let’s just say I don’t get much sleep.”
A silence lingered and became uncomfortable. Perry nodded, taking
his hand away.
“Well…” he said with a cough. “I'm here a bit early ‘cuz we need
your expertise. Some of our boys are bringing in an ole Native guy…a Chief…who
apparently has some info about our lurking friend. Heard you’ve seen his
granddaughter. What’s her name now…um…Marie Longfoot? Longhorn?”
“Maria Longfellow.” Cheyenne had counseled Maria’s mother, Jodie.
She was helping Jodie find resources in the city so she could leave
the Reservation, and her abusive relationship, behind. All Jodie wanted was a
new life for her, Maria, and the unborn baby she was expecting; but her husband
wasn’t going to let go without a fight, threatening the lives of all three of
them if she left him. Little Maria had stopped talking from the stress.
Although Cheyenne had never met Jodie’s husband, she came to think of him as
scary enough to follow through with his threats—abusive, chauvinistic and
possessive. She really hated custody cases and counseling child witnesses. They
were the worst cases to be involved in. She didn’t do many of those cases anymore,
thank God. Since her return from leave, she turned her main focus to forensics.
“Yeah, Longfellow, that’s it,” said Perry. “Boys are bringing him in
before they take him to holding. Nothing serious. Protesting outside the
precinct and resisting arrest. You know, we’ll hold him for a bit to teach him
a lesson. Says he’ll only talk to you.”
Cheyenne blew on her half-caf. “Wonderful. I’ve never actually met
him. Is he dangerous?”
“Nah,” Perry said, waving dismissively. “Just ranting. Doesn’t seem
violent or anything. I’ll be there, darlin’. No worries.” His cell phone blared
“Mac the Knife” from his belt. “Fulton, here. That was fast, boys. Great job.
Be right down.” He flipped the phone closed then said, “They’re here. Bring
your coffee.”
* *
* *
Cheyenne’s office was on the top floor of a five-story office
building. It was one of the older buildings in the downtown core, still having
its original brick and mortar exterior but had been completely restructured
inside. Ironically, most of its renters were some of the Province’s most sought
after experts and professionals in their fields. From psychologists of all
areas of expertise to dentists to physicians to holistic practitioners and even
lawyers, it was like a shopping mall for prosecuting and defense attorneys
searching for experts for their cases. The main floor consisted of a police
station and holding cells. The forensic lab and interrogation rooms were down
on the sub-level basement floor, which had the same feel as an underground
parking lot. Cheyenne chewed on her bottom lip, tapping her coffee cup with her
index finger, as the elevator shook and rattled during its slow descent. She
hated basements—the musty smell and how the moistness licked her skin. As the
elevator doors slid open, she heard mono-toned chanting. Approaching the main
interrogation room, the smell of burnt sage swirled through the hallway, faint
at first but overpowering to her once they entered the room. The Chief stopped
chanting.
“She is here,” he stated.
Astounded, everyone—three police officers, two ambulance attendants
and Perry—looked at Cheyenne.
“Yessir,” said one of the officers. “She’s behind you.”
He turned in her direction and said, “Yes, I know where she is,
officer. I feel her.”
He looked right at Cheyenne and she almost dropped her coffee. He
appeared to be in his early sixties, no older. His black hair—sprinkled with
silver here and there—was pulled neatly into two braids, each falling down to
his chest. His wrinkled skin was beautiful maple brown and his eyes, the
clearest gray she’d ever seen. They quivered from side to side when Cheyenne
spoke, “Chief, I mean no disrespect but…are you blind? I only ask because we’d
need to conduct the interview differently. I want you to be comfortable.”
The Chief smiled. “You are a very observant lady. I knew this about
you already. I’m fine. If I’m uncomfortable, I’ll let you know.”
Cheyenne pulled out a chair to sit. “Okay, then. Let’s get straight
to it. I was told you have some information regarding the shooter in the convenience
store murders and you’ll only talk to me. What would you like to share, sir?”
“You are looking for a very evil and cowardly man—a man who preys on
the weaknesses of others. He isn’t like other men. Others aren’t going to find
him. But you can. You will.”
His eyes, although unseeing, moved around furiously, watching the
movie that played only for him. Cheyenne put her coffee down to calm her hands.
“Well, Chief, I’ll do my best to find him.”
“He will find you,” the Chief said. He squinted. “You have what he
wants.”
He slipped a hand into his pocket and the officers reached for their
guns. Cheyenne motioned them to stand down. Chief Longfellow pulled out a
picture and held it out to Cheyenne. From where she sat, she recognized little
Maria.
“Take this,” he said. “Read what it tells you. Your answers are
here.” As she leaned to take the photo, he grabbed her wrist. Her heart
lurched. His other hand pressed against her belly.
The policemen drew their guns. “Remove your hands from her!”
The Chief ignored their order. “I had a vision,” he moaned, his lips
brushing against her ear. Musk flooded her nostrils; dizziness swept over her.
“He will come for you…for him. You have what he wants.”
“Did you hear me, old man? Release her!”
His hand tightened on hers with urgency. “He knows your losses and
will use them against you. But remember…what was your enemy in the past will be
your greatest ally in the weeks to come.”
“Let her go!”
He released her and slumped back, returning to his meditation chant.
A wave of nausea flooded over Cheyenne as she scrambled to her feet
and ran from the room. She spotted a garbage can just as her stomach started
convulsing. She broke into a cold sweat, her teeth chattering. The floor under
her feet rocked back and forth like a rickety old bridge in the wind. As she
clung to the garbage can, Perry ran toward her.
“Cheyenne!” he shouted, throwing an arm around her. “Are ya alright?
Did he hurt ya, darlin’?”
Cheyenne instinctively shrugged his arm off as the floor started to
feel a bit more solid. “Yes,” she whispered. “I mean, no. He didn’t hurt me.
I’m fine. He wouldn’t have hurt me. I didn’t feel threatened.”
“I’m so sorry, Chey,” Perry stuttered. “He’s going down to holding
now. If ya wanna take the rest of the morning off…”
“No. I’ll be okay. I have an ultrasound in a couple of hours anyway.
I’ll just go home after it.” Cheyenne shakily rose from the garbage can and
headed for the elevator.
“Right, then,” Perry said. “I’ll give ya a call later. Just to see
how things went and stuff. Right?”
“Fine. Talk to you later,” Cheyenne said as the elevator doors
closed.
Feeling the familiar throb in the back of her neck that triggered a
migraine, she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes until the
moldy smell of the basement disappeared from her nostrils. She went to put her
hands on her belly and realized she was still holding the picture of Maria.
Gnawing her bottom lip, she stared at it. Maria looked so sad. There was a man
standing behind the girl with his hands on her shoulders. Other blurry people
stood around them.
She got off on her floor and rushed to her office. Inside the
solitude of her recently Feng Shui-ed office, she collapsed into her chair,
threw the picture on her desk then stared at the picture of William.
The Chief had mentioned a son?
He will come for you…for
him.
No comments:
Post a Comment