CHRYSALIS–CHAPTER 5

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I hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Poor Chryssie–things just keep getting worse.

CHRYSALIS–CHAPTER 5

Chryssie jerked as the pencil dropped out of her hand. She shook her head in an effort to stay awake. The words on the test blurred. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she’d slept.

Her body was rebelling.

Her mind couldn’t focus.

She looked around. All the other students’ heads were down concentrating on the test. It had been a bad idea to come. It would have been better to go to the police. The university would have understood and let her take the test later after she’d slept, even though they’d said no make-ups.

She would have known that if she hadn’t been so panicked and so tired. Now, it was too late.  If she failed, it would be her own fault.

Looking down at the paper, she squinted. The words came into focus.

After triple-checking her answers, Chryssie walked up and laid the paper on her professor’s desk. Dr. Lasky looked up with a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you at graduation. You’ve been one of the best students I’ve had in years.”

“Thanks.” Chryssie smiled not bothering to explain that she wouldn’t be marching in the graduation. That took money—money that could be better spent to get her sister out of foster care.

As she made her way towards the door, a man and woman walked in. The woman held a piece of paper in her hand. As Chryssie passed them, her gaze dropped to the paper.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Her face decorated the paper—her driver’s license picture.

Lucky for her she had two different ID’s. Her college ID showed her as she looked right that moment. Her driver’s license picture showed the bartender Chryissie in full makeup and wig.

They didn’t give her a second glance. They weren’t looking for a mouse. Instead they walked up to the professor. “We’re from the police department….”

Chryssie wanted to hear what the next words were, but she knew that wasn’t a good idea. She had to get out of there. The police were looking for her—that wasn’t good. The police certainly had better things to do than hunt her down to return her purse or ID so why were they looking for her?

Once out of the classroom, she walked as fast as she could out of the building, not wanting to cause attention to herself. When she was out of the building, she didn’t dare look behind her.

She was sure the police were right behind her.

She had to get away from them. Not quite sure why since her plan was to go to the police station and tell them what she witnessed. But the fact they were looking for her scared Chryssie.

Too exhausted to think, she had to get some rest. Then she’d figure out what was going on. Her new plan was simple. To get her car and then find a quiet place to take a nap. After that, she’d come up with a strategy.

She hiked across the campus towards the Student Union. Not able to remember the last time she’d eaten, she was starving. After she got a bite to eat, then she’d find a cab.

After buying a hot and a soda, she walked out into the lounge. She plopped down on a sofa as she looked up at the big screen TV in the room. Chryssie the bartender’s picture was on the screen.

She almost dropped the soda, but managed not to. Nobody seemed to notice her picture was on the screen. She listened as the newswoman told the world that Chryssie was wanted for questioning in the murder of Marque Davis who was found dead in an alley last night.

Panic coursed through her veins. How did the police know she’d been there? Why did they want to talk to her about it? Her mind flashed to the man grabbing her hand and forcing it on the gun. In a moment of clarity she understood.

The police thought she’d shot that poor guy.

She had no idea what to do, but her boss would. Chuck was rich and smart. He wasn’t a simple bar owner. That was only one of many of his businesses. He would know what to do.

Keeping her head down, Chryssie walked out of the Student Union to the area where cabs waited for fares. She walked over to the first one and opened the door. “I need to go downtown.”

“Sure thing. Where downtown?”

“Down by the Maze.”

“Sounds good. Celebrating the end of the semester with a shopping trip, huh?”

Celebrating was the last thing on Chryssie’s mind. “Something like that.”

“Well, be careful. There was another murder not far from the Maze last night. Third one in less than two weeks. It’s a pity. I don’t know what this world’s coming to.”

“Yeah.” The last thing Chryssie wanted to do was to discuss the murder, but she didn’t want to be rude.

“Of course, I have a buddy that’s a cop. He says they have a good lead on this one.”

Her ears perked up. “Oh, really. What are they saying?”

“They’re looking for some woman bartender. According to my buddy, they’re pretty sure it’s her. Stupid woman left her purse at the scene.”

How could they think she’d killed that man? She hadn’t dropped her purse anywhere near the man at all. No wonder the guy had stopped chasing her. He had a better way to deal with the mess. Make them think she’d killed that poor guy. “Oh…well that’s good. I guess.”

He pulled up to the curb. “Here you go.”

After she paid him, she walked towards the Maze until she heard the cab pull away. Then she turned and retraced her steps from last night. Each step brought back the terror she’d felt when she was running for her life last night.

Breathing deeply, she fought back tears.

How was she going to get out of this mess? Chuck would know what to do. After she got her car, she’d go to the bar. She didn’t care if he got mad that she took a customer’s parking place or not.

She was pretty sure this counted as an emergency.

Until next time….GOD BLESS & GOOD READING!

CHRYSALIS–CHAPTER 4

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OK, so on with our story. In case you’ve forgotten, Chryssie our bartender/student witnessed a murder. All she wants to do is get home, then take her final exam to be a nurse. The shooter has other plans for her. If you want you can go to the archives to read the first three chapters.

 

CHRYSALIS–CHAPTER 4

 

Chryssie was sure the man could hear her heart thumping. The gravel bit into her cheek as she stared at his shoes from her vantage point under the car. She had no idea what she should  or would do if he bent down and found her.

Why didn’t he leave? What was he waiting for? Could he hear her heart slamming into her chest? Was he waiting for the other man to come help him?

The shoes moved—finally.

Very quietly, she took a breath.

She counted to five hundred before she found the courage to crawl out from under the car. After several surreptitious peeks, she decided the man had left the parking lot. At least for now. Maybe he’d given up the search for good, but she doubted it.

She stood up and brushed off the dirt from her clothes. It didn’t help much. She was quite the mess. Her wig had fallen off again and her own hair was half-pinned up and half-falling down. Now she was filthy, thanks to laying in the gravel.

Oh, well. It couldn’t be helped.

Looking towards the complex’s door, someone was coming out.

This was her chance.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and half-walked, half-jogged, smiling at the man as she passed him. She could only hope she wouldn’t notice what a mess she was.

She caught the door just before it closed.

More tears threatened, she was so glad to be home. She took a deep breath. Get hold of yourself. Don’t fall apart yet. Afraid to go to the lobby because the men might still be waiting for her, she took the fire stairs up to the third floor where Mr. Roberts’ apartment was located.

****

Chryssie closed the door of her apartment behind her.

She’d made it. As always, her gaze fell on Misty’s photo. Tears fell as she picked it up. Her little sister needed her. She wasn’t go to let this mess stop her from helping Misty.

Unlike their mother, Chryssie wouldn’t fail her.

She would get to that exam so she could graduate from nursing school. She already had a nursing job lined up—if she managed to graduate. Then she could get Misty out of foster care.

No more worm life for them. They would soar like the butterflies.

Chryssie wiped away the tears. This was not the time to cry for her or her sister right now. She had just enough time to shower and get to class. Her apartment was only a few blocks from school so she could walk there.

The shower revived her. Hopefully enough to take the exam. Gone was the flashy bartender, she’d morphed back into a college student. Her long brown hair hung past her shoulders. Wearing blue jeans and a loose T-shirt, she no longer resembled Chryssie the bartender in any way.

She might even be able to walk past the two men stalking her without them recognizing her. She smiled grimly at the thought. Not that she wanted to. She planned to take the back way out of the apartment building.

Chryssie went to her hidden money stash and pulled out two twenty dollar bills. It was part of her rent money, but she’d need it to take a taxi to her car. There was no way she could walk there as exhausted as she was.

She only hoped she had enough energy to get through the exam.

Her lips quivered at the thought of the tips she’d lost last night when she’d dropped her purse. Oh, well, the money was gone now. There was nothing that could be done about it.

Lucky for her, she had a spare key to her car. After the exam, she’d take a taxi to her car. Then, she’d drive to the police station and tell them what she’d seen. She took the last sip of her coffee and then headed for the door.

The door bell rang.

She stopped.

A moment later a voice said, “Police Department.”

Chryssie stared at the door. Why were the police at her door? They couldn’t know what she witnessed last night. They had no reason to be there—unless… She didn’t like the place her thoughts were taking her.

She hadn’t had time to think about it, but how had those men found her in the first place? It had to have been when she dropped her purse the first time. Something might have fallen out of it.

Something that identified her.

That had to be what happened.

The door bell rang again.

But how could the police have her ID—if the shooter had found it? He wouldn’t have given it to the police, would he? Maybe someone else had found it and turned it in along with her tip money.

That was hopeful thinking on her part. She was sure he’d found it. That’s how he knew where she lived. Maybe it wasn’t really the police at the door. Maybe it was the men who’d chased her.

Police or chasers?

She had no way to know, but she was sure of one thing. There was no way she was opening that door to find out. Had they talked with Mr. Roberts? Did they know she was here?

Stop panicking. That wouldn’t help anything. She took a deep breath. Think. Think. She had to get out of here. Of course, the fire escape. The apartment was an old building with old-fashioned fire escapes on the outside.

The door bell rang again. “Look, we know you’re in there. Open up so we can talk with you. We’re the police, we need to talk with you. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Yeah, right. They didn’t want to talk to her. If that was a policeman, he sure had bad grammar.

Chryssie checked her pockets to make sure she had the key and the money. Money—she might need more. Going back to the tip jar, she pulled out all the cash. Stuffing it into her jeans as she ran quietly to her bedroom.

As she opened the bedroom window, she heard a loud thump. They were going to break down her door. She crawled through the window, but took the time to close it. She didn’t want them to know how she’d escaped.

Her footsteps echoed as she ran down the iron fire escape. She could only hope they wouldn’t look out the window and see where she was going.

 

Poor Chryssie…will she ever get to the exam? Will she get her car so she can go tell the police what she saw? And the bigger question, will the police believe her?

UNTL NEXT TIME…GOD BLESS & GOOD READING!

EXPERIMENT #2–FLASH FICTION

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As I mentioned before, I’m doing some experimenting with my blog. I want my blog to be about you–the readers. So, I asked myself what would people who love to read want in a blog?  The answer is STORIES–lots of stories. Sure, now and then they might want to hear my opinion about a book or a info on Christian writers and their books. But it seemed to me the one thing readers would really enjoy are more stories!

Experiment # 1 is going well. I’ve received some great feedback on serializing a story–a brand new story I’m writing and it’s FREE! How cool is that! Here comes EXPERIMENT # 2.–FLASH FICTION. In case you don’t know what flash ficition is, it’s very very short stories–that come with a beginning, a middle and an end. Different people have different opinions on what the word count should be. I’ve seen some flash fiction under 50 words, but it can also go up to 1500-2000 words as well.

Anyway… from time to time I will feature a flash fiction story.

Today’s story is FROZEN ASSETS by Terri Main. She is a retired college professor who lives in Central California with
her five cats. She has been writing professionally for more than 40 years and has published everything from magazine articles to radio drama to video documentaries to novels and Bible studies. Her Dark Side of the Moon novels also spun off several short stories including this one included in the Lunar Calendar Collection https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B4NSQLM

PS.  DON’T WORRY–CHRYSALIS WILL BE BACK IN A FEW DAYS!

FROZEN ASSETS  by Terri Main

“So, Carolyn, what do you think?” Mike Cheravic ran a hand over the few hairs he had remaining on the top of his head. I stood beside him staring at the empty pedestal and the remains of the display case on the floor.

“You’re sure, the mask was in the case?” I knew the answer, but felt I needed to say something.

“We’re sure. And, before you ask, there are no micro-holoprojectors that could create an image of the King Whozit’s Death mask.”

“King Teochitonion.” I couldn’t believe it. I spent two years arguing with the curator of The Petrie Museum to allow transport of the artifact to the moon. It took another six months to set up the security system with Mike. It was our first joint project since we solved the murder of Juan McCalister shortly after she arrived in Armstrong City.

“What happened with the security eyes?”

“Someone hacked in and ran images of an empty room. I know, it’s an old trick, but even with strong cybersecurity, it’s possible. We got the call at 21:34. The pressure pad triggered the alarm. That is one system that can’t be hacked. It’s a simple switch. No weight on the pad, the alarm goes off. No computer involved.”

I picked up the metal band that formed the base of the display case and contained the electronic locking mechanism. One of Mike’s criminology students was bagging some sort of evidence on the other side of the room. “Moonbeam, could you please get the imaging scanner?”

Moonbeam, a tall willowy lunar native whose insubstantial appearance almost justified her name, handed me the scanner.

“Mike, look at this band,” I passed the band beneath the scanner and increased magnification.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly, no chips, scratches, nothing.” I switched the scan to a penetration of one centimeter. “The lock is unlocked. Even if the perp was an expert with a magnetic pick and left no scratches, look this glass.”

“I don’t get it.” Mike shook his head.

“Mike, when was the last time you dropped a glass and broke it? I’m a klutz. I’ve dropped lots of glasses. But in 1/6 G, they just float to the ground. What type of force will you need to smash five milimeter safety glass?”

“And why would you do it, if you unlocked the case?”

I turned off the scanner. “Except to make it look like a burglary. This was an inside job.”

Mike tapped on the screen of his handheld. “Only four people had keys to the gallery: the new gallery director, but you can ignore him, he has an iron clad alibi. He was attending a new resident orientation at the time of the theft. Then there is his assistant, the head of maintenance and the security guard on duty tonight. They were all ‘home alone’.”

I examined at the pedestal. I touched the felt. “It’s wet.”

I took a moment to think. “Okay, you can make an arrest.”

****

Jason McIntire, director of the Armstrong University art gallery, perched on the chair across the metal table from Carolyn and Mike. “I don’t understand why you want to speak to me.”

“Well, you’ve been a very bad boy,” said Mike. “Doesn’t the university pay you enough?”

“You – You mean you think I stole the mask. I couldn’t have. I was at a meeting. A hundred people can vouch for me.”

“That was your mistake, but I’ll let Carolyn fill you in on the detail. Carolyn, you’re up.”

“Jason, your plan was half-smart. It was elegant, but you couldn’t control for everything. Using your access codes, you disabled the alarm system and sent a false image to the security eyes, then you simply walked in, opened the case and took out the mask. You smashed the glass case. You might have gotten away with this if you hadn’t decided to set up the ‘perfect’ alibi. You placed a block of ice on the pedestal. It’s a simple switch. Any weight keeps the alarm disabled. Once the weight goes to zero it goes off. The ice melted slowly enough for you to be safely at your meeting. You figured people would think this was a simple smash and grab. But all the pieces of the case including the lock were on the floor. A smash and grab would leave some glass on the pedestal. There was none. That means it was lifted off and smashed on the floor.”

“Maybe the burglar used a lock pick and then dropped the case by accident.”

“Can’t happen. In the low-grav of the moon things don’t get up enough momentum to just drop and smash. So, it had to be an inside job and only four of you had keys.”

“It might have been one of the others. My assistant, He makes frequent trips to the casinos at Tranquility.”

“It couldn’t be him.”

“Why not? He has a key and needs money.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t have an alibi. Why would he set up an elaborate alibi like this and not use it. No, you had the perfect alibi, and that alibi did you in.”

SO, what do you think? Do you like flash fiction? Would you like to seem more? If you want to give flash fiction a try or have some you’d like to share, let me know.

UNTIL NEXT TIME….God bless and good reading!

CrossReads Book Blast: UnEmbraceable by Precarious Yates

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$50 AMAZON GIFT CARD GIVEAWAY

 

 

Title: UnEmbraceable
By: Precarious Yates

About the Book

From the author of “Revelation Special Ops” comes a terrifying, hauntingly real and daringly hopeful tale of betrayal and love.

Leonard, a computer programmer, has a unique gift: by words alone he can calm violent situations. Which is helpful with all these kids running around the streets behaving like zombies. He has his own set of sorrows to face, but he’s prepared for anything. Anything except Tamar, and the thunderous inkling that she will be his wife. This doesn’t make any sense to Leonard. She stole his wallet. And his heart.

Painful circumstances ripped family and stability from Tamar’s grasp, but with gutsy tenacity she faces life head on. Meeting the gorgeous and single Leonard changes everything. But surely a guy like him would never fall for a girl of the streets like her.

LINK to KINDLE | LINK to PAPERBACKPrecarious Yates 2Precarious Yates

Precarious Yates lives in Texas with husband, daughter, sheep, dogs, chickens, rabbit, lizard and by the time you read this some other exotic creature her husband or daughter has brought home. She had studied the plight of and worked toward the abolition of modern slavery for over a decade before sitting down to write Revelation Special Ops. She was further inspired by the work of her sister-in-law, who helped to found Love146, an organization that works to raise awareness about human trafficking and builds safe homes in vulnerable regions. Yates spent several years overseas as a missionary in Ireland, and also did missions work in India and the Philippines. Her passion for literature has become her means of further educating young adults of the realities of modern slavery, while producing hope through the power of Christ Jesus in us.

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This book blast is hosted by Crossreads.

We would like to send out a special THANK YOU to all of the CrossReads book blast bloggers!

CHRYSALIS–CHAPTER 3

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So, here we are again. I know you can’t see me, but I’m smiling…. When I start writing a story, I never know exactly what’s going to happen or if the story will have enough momentum to make it the end. This one does! I’m almost regretting my decision to post it for free–almost. Don’t worry. I’m going to see this story to the end. I hope you’re enjoying it.  FEEL FREE TO POST ANY COMMENTS OR IDEAS THAT YOU THINK MIGHT HAPPEN…you never know I might use them.

If you need to read the first 2 chapters, go to Chrysalis in the archives. Thanks!

CHRYSALIS–CHAPTER 3

In that split second, Chryssie knew she’d make a mistake—possibly a deadly mistake. Forgetting about her exhaustion and throbbing feet, she fled into the darkness.

By the sound of the footsteps behind her, these men were much faster than the man who’d chased her earlier—maybe faster than her.

Her only advantage was that it was her neighborhood.

And she planned on taking full advantage of that.

Still running, she turned into the Dunner’s yard. “Sparky. Sparky.”

Sparky started barking, just the way she’d known he would. Sparky was a hundred pound Rottweiler that loved her and the walks she took him on. Another way she made extra money.

Sparky bounded out of his huge dog house and ran straight towards her, probably thinking it was time for his walk. His feet landed on her shoulders as he lapped her face. “Watch’em, Sparky.”

The dog went to immediate attention. Chryssie ran to the dog house.

Sparky barked. It wasn’t the happy-to-see you bark.  She peeked out from her spot beside the dog house. The men stood at the edge of the yard staring at Sparky. Sparky strained to get to them.

“Where is she? I can’t see her.”

“She’s gotta be here. I saw her run this way.”

Chryssie shoved the dog house away from the fence—the fence that Sparky had dug a hole under earlier in the summer.

Good thing the Dunners hadn’t fixed it yet.

As quietly as she could, she slid under the fence and into the Miller’s back yard. The fence post scraped her back, but other than that she’d survived another chase.

This was insane.

As she ran through the yard, Sparky still barked. Those men weren’t getting in his yard any time soon.

How had they found her? Her heart still racing, she slowed to a walk as she left their yard.  What should she do now?

Looking down at her empty hands, her heart sank. Somewhere in the chase she’d lost her purse. Now, she had no money, no keys, nothing.

She needed to get to a phone to call the police. The sooner she did that, the safer it would be for her. Unfortunately, the phone was in her apartment. The apartment she was afraid to go to. The apartment she didn’t have keys for.

Of course, she could go to the manager. She looked at her watch. Almost six o’clock. Mr. Roberts probably wasn’t even up yet. On the other hand, he told her never slept late.

But those men might have gone back to wait for her, thinking that she had no other choice but to go there as well.

She shook her head.

They were right.

In another three hours, she’d need to be in class to take that final exam. If she called the police, they’d want to question her for hours. The school would probably let her take the exam later, but she wasn’t going to take that chance.

As much as she hated the thought, she had to find another way into her apartment. After that she could get Mr. Roberts to open her door, change clothes, take the exam and then go to the police. It might not make them all that happy that she’d waited so long to contact them, but she had to take that exam.

That’s all there was to it.

She wanted to be a butterfly—for herself and for her mother. But most of all for Misty. Sweet, beautiful Misty.

As she neared her apartment building from the back entrance, her feet slowed. Chryssie had to make sure the men weren’t there—looking for her.  She slipped behind a tree and waited.

No one around.

Quickly, she moved from the tree and ducked behind a car in the parking lot. Her senses were on high alert. When the time felt right, she moved up to the next row of cars and then the next.

Only one row of cars stood between her and the door.

Now, she had to wait for someone to come out so she could get inside. Shuffling noises caught her attention. Peeking out from the car, she saw one of the men who chased her.

He walked casually around the parking lot, his hand in his pocket.

Her heart rate soared.

Did he have a gun in his pocket? Of course he did. She closed her eyes wondering how she’d gotten herself in such a mess. Tears flooded her eyes. She tried so hard to do the right thing.

And she was so close, but it was all falling apart.

The gap between her and the man was getting smaller. Chryssie couldn’t run. If she did, then he’d be sure to see her. Instead she flattened herself on the gravel and rolled under the car, hoping the owner wasn’t an early-to-work person.

Footsteps.

His footsteps, no doubt. Why didn’t they go away? Did they think she was so desperate that she’d come back to the apartment after they’d chased her away?  She rolled her eyes. Obviously, she was that desperate.

Shoes came into view.

They stopped.  The shoes were so close she could touch them if she wanted to.

Don’t look under the car. Chryssie held her breath, afraid the man would hear her. Don’t look under the car. She needed air, but didn’t dare breathe.

SEPTEMBER 11-Another Day That Will Live In Infamy!

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For me images of September 11,2001—the plane hitting the second tower—firefighters rushing in the buildings—panicked people jumping from the buildings—the bright orange flames along with the smoke and rubble—the people running through the streets— still evoke a pit in my stomach and tears to fight back.

I’m sure that’s the case for many of you as well.

But just as that first day of infamy, December 7, means less and less each year as those who lived through it decrease, so the same will happen with 9/11.  It’s hard to believe that twelve years have already passed. That means those children going into middle school or junior high have no real memory of that awful day.

When I decided to write about this, I wanted to write something profound that would inspire all who read it to be a better American. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind as I pondered what wonderfully, awe-inspiring words to write.

Instead, I’ll share my memories of that day and the days following the terrorist attack. Days when I remembered just how much I loved my country in spite of that fact that it’s not perfect.

Days when Americans came together in a way that I’d never experienced in my lifetime. After all, I’m a baby boomer who lived through Viet Nam. A war that polarized our country. A war where we are only now recognizing and honoring the heroes of that time. So to see Americans come together in love and support of one another and their country was an awesome sight for this cynical baby boomer.

Days when I was so proud to be an American as story after story came out of the heroes who ran into the building to save fellow Americans. Some of them came back out but not all. Stories of how people helped each other because it was the right thing to do.

Days when Americans fell to their knees in prayer.

Days when the spark of patriotism was relit and the embers are still felt today.

Days when we all remembered that the country we are blessed to live in is still a country worth dying for.

Days that showed me and the world that America was still home of the brave.

Please take a moment to reflect on that day. Please take a moment to honor those who died that day. Please take a moment to pray for those who lost someone they loved that day.

I hopeyou’lll take the time to share their thoughts, memories, and insights from that day as well.

.

CHRYSALIS–Chapter 2

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Well, experiment #1 appears to be a success. I’ve received great feedback with comments here and on my Facebook page as well. So, as promised here’s chapter 2. If you didn’t read chapter 1,  you can find it in the archives under CHRYSALIS. Thanks for all the positive comments, keep them coming.

CHRYSALIS-CHAPTER 2

Chryssie stared at the gun aimed at her chest, then up at the man holding it. He seemed familiar, but not sure why. Maybe, from the bar? She wasn’t sure—it was hard to think with a gun pointed at her.

A thousand thoughts zoomed around her mind. He was bigger and stronger than her. Not to mention he was the one with the gun. The picture of the little girl flashed in her mind. She couldn’t die before she had a chance to make it up to her.

Throwing her hands in front of her face, she cried, “Please. Please, don’t hurt me. I didn’t see anything.”

“Whatever.” The man grabbed her hands and dragged her down the alley. Towards the man lying on the dirty cement. She stared down at him. He didn’t need her help now. A halo of blood surrounded him.

His hands loosened around her wrist.

This was her chance.

She pushed the man as hard as she could. Her feet unfroze and she ran.

Pop. Pop.

Faster.

She zigzagged down the alley. The
way people did in the movies.

Pop.

Her feet pounded on the uneven pavement. She turned right into another alley. No more pops. Did that mean he was out of bullets? Or just that he couldn’t see her? Who knew? It didn’t matter.  The man looked strong enough to kill her with his bare hands.

She ran faster.

Her wig slipped, dropping down into her eyes. As Chryssie pushed at the wig, it fell off. She leaned down to pick it up and dropped her purse in the process. Scrambling, she picked them both up and kept running.

She glanced behind her. The man turned the corner. She was furthering the distance between them. Forcing her legs to move faster, she sprinted down the alley and into another one. All her morning runs were paying off.

He might be bigger and stronger, but Chryssie could run faster.

Pumping her legs as fast as she could, she headed to the shopping area known as The Maze. It was late and not many people would be around, but she could find a place to hide.

His footsteps echoed behind her. But the further she ran, the quieter they became and then there was silence except for her own ragged breathing. She made a turn and then leaned against the building. Sucking in deep breaths, she peeked around the corner.

The alley was empty.

She’d lost him or he’d given up.  Chryssie sighed in relief as she looked around trying to figure out where she was. One thing was for sure, she’d have to walk home.

There was no way she was going back to get her car tonight.

As her breathing slowed, she became aware of her throbbing feet. Oh well, nothing she could do about that. There was no way she could spend her rent money for a cab. Even if her feet were killing her.

As she stumbled home, she debated what to do next.

Should she call the police and report what she’d seen and what happened? After all, she’d gotten a very good look at the man. She would be able to identify him. Of course, it was the right thing to do.

But she was exhausted. Maybe, it could wait until morning. Until she’d had a few hours of sleep. No one could blame her for that. Well, she’d blame herself. Exhausted or not, she’d call the police as soon as she got home. If she had a cell phone she could call now, but she refused to spend that much money on a luxury item.

No one ever said doing the right thing was easy. But if she ever hoped to transform from a worm to a butterfly, she had to keep making the right choices every time, not just when she felt like it.

The black sky turned a hazy gray. She looked at her watch. Almost 5 AM. There’d be no sleep for her that night. She turned the corner and headed down her street.

She stopped.

Two men were standing at the door of her apartment complex. Actually, more like blocking the entrance way. Were they waiting for someone? It was pretty late or pretty early depending how you looked at it.

She didn’t like the way they were looking down the street. As if searching for someone.

Someone like her.

Chryssie stepped behind the big oak tree, staring at the two men as if that might explain why they were there.

She was being paranoid.

There was no way that the man who chased her who could possibly know where she lived. And neither of the men looked like that man anyway. Of course , he might have recognized her from the bar, but even if he did, he’d have to wait until morning to find out her name and address.

And Chuck wouldn’t just give out that information to anyone.

He was protective of his employees.

She stood there trying to make her feet move, but they were rooted to the ground. No matter how much she told herself those men weren’t looking for her, she didn’t believe it.

So tired, she could barely stand, she leaned against the tree. How was she going to be able to take her final that day? Her last final before graduation—before becoming a nurse. One final–that was all that stood between staying a worm or transforming to a butterfly.

This was ridiculous. She wouldn’t let her paranoia get in the way of graduating. Taking a deep breath, she moved out from behind the tree and walked toward her apartment building.

The two men turned as they heard her footsteps.

They looked at each other for a moment then back at her. As if a single unit, both men moved down the steps and then began to run.

Towards her.

ANY COMMENTS?

Until next time….God Bless & Good Reading!

Experiment # 1!

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OK-so I’m trying to make my blog more fun and interesting for people who love to read–especially those who love to read mystery and suspense novels. LIke my tagline says, I write…stories of faith mingled with murder & mayhem. So, here’s my first experiment. Just as in the golden days of radio, I’m going to share a story with my readers for FREE!.  One chapter at a time! How many chapters will it be? I have no idea.

It’s a new story and it’s not finished yet.  I’m what other writers call a seat of the pants writer. That means I don’t plot my story ahead of time. So, you’ll be reading the story as I write it.

Only one catch–if I don’t know people want to read the next installment, then there won’t be a next installment. So, if you want to read more of the story, be sure to leave a comment. What sort of comments? Whatever you want as long as it’s about the story! Let me know what you think of the characters, the story plot, or whatever you want.

 

CHRYSALIS

chrysalis…a pupa of a butterfly or a moth; a protecting covering; a sheltered state or stage of being or growth; usually enclosed in a cocoon or protective covering as it undergoes internal changes to become an adult—also known as metamorphosis.

That was a lot of pressure for one person to bear. She supposed her mother meant good when she’d named her Chrysalis. She’d meant it to be symbolic, of course. Her mother had never grown out of the infancy stage, but she wanted her daughter to undergo the transformation from worm to butterfly.

Sorry, Momma. Not happening—at least not yet.

Chryssie closed the dictionary.

Time to go to work.

Time for a metamorphosis of another type.

She slipped on the low-cut T-shirt. It made for better tips. Then came her jeans, tight but comfortable. She moved to the bathroom mirror, took off her glasses, and put in her contacts. First came the outrageous eyeshadow, complete with glitter. Then the bright red lipstick.

And finally to make the change complete, she tied her soft brown hair in a ponytail and pinned it up. She slipped on the jet black Elvira wig.

She supposed a good friend might recognize her but since she had none, it wasn’t a worry.

She walked through her one room apartment.

Apartment. An exaggeration, but it was affordable. That’s what counted. As always, she picked up the picture of the adorable four-year-old girl, kissed it, and whispered, “Good-night, my love. Pleasant dreams tonight and always.”

***

The music blared while a few patrons still gyrated on the dance floor. It had been a busy night, just the way she liked it. Time went faster and more money. She glanced toward her tip jar. Almost full and she’d emptied it earlier.

She smiled in spite of the ache in her feet. At least, she’d be able to pay the rent on time this month. With any luck, it would be the last month in the dump.

A tall tough looking guy walked into the bar.

She smiled and waved. “Hey Marv, is it that time already?” She glanced up at the clock.

Marv walked over to the bar. The man was a walking canvas for his tattoo art. A snake crawled up his left arm to his neck and around the back of his head. An American flag adorned the top of his right arm with a military tattoo of some sort below it. Then came the obligatory MOM. His forearm had a beautiful rendition of a cross. Not in sight at the moment, she knew his back and chest were covered as well. He’d shown her them once when it was a slow night at the bar.

“Last call.” Chryssie yelled over the blaring of the music. No one reacted. Her feet throbbed as she walked over to the sound system. Moans all around when the explosive music turned to silence.

She turned toward the customers with a tired smile. “Last call. Ten minutes and I’m locking y’all up in here.”

More moans.

“Oh, come on. Give us a break, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“It’s Saturday night.”

“Now it’s eight minutes and counting down.”

“You’re a tough one,” Marv laughed as he sat down on the bar stool. “Got any customers for me tonight, Chryssie?”

“Still at it, huh? Don’t you ever get tired of dealing with these drunks?”

“What about you? You’r e here more often than me.”

“Yeah, but I get paid for it. You don’t.”

“Just my little way of paying it forward.”

She pointed at one man sitting at the end of the bar. “He’s the only one tonight.” Reaching under the bar, she fished around and held up a set of keys.

Marv exchanged the keys for a business card. “Come to church on Sunday if you want. And don’t forget we have a free meal every day at noon, even Sunday.”

She pushed the card back toward him. “We’ve had this discussion before. I don’t do church.”

He patted her arm. “Used to be the same way until Jesus saved my life.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve heard all that before. Jesus saves you and then you go to heaven.”

“That’s true, but that’s not what I mean. Jesus literally saved my life.”

“Do tell.”

Marv shrugged and the snake appeared to be slithering around his neck. “I promise to tell you the whole story when you come to church or the meal.”

She put a hand on her hip. “Is that a blackmail attempt, Marv?”

“Me?” He touched his burly chest with his finger. “I would never do such a thing. Hope to see you Sunday.” He walked over to the man at the end of the bar. “How about a free ride home, buddy?”

After Chryssie locked up, she walked down the dark alley.  She shivered—not from the cold. It was close to seventy degrees out. Why couldn’t her boss let the closers park in their lot? It wasn’t safe.

She quickened her pace.

“I’m not happy about this meeting?”

“Yea, man. I got it. But you want a favor from me so you got to pay me.”

Her feet slowed down. The two men hadn’t seen her yet—and she wanted it to stay that way.  She pressed against the wall. She’d have to wait until the men finished their business.

“I already paid you.”

“Yeah, man, but that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I knowed who wanted the favor, man.”

Her pulse raced and she was afraid to breathe. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t something she wanted to be part of. She pressed against the old brick wall, trying not to breathe in the fumes from the nearby dumpster.

“Knew. Knowed isn’t a word. You won’t get very far in this world if you don’t have a basic knowledge of English.”

“Whatever. It was just a mistake. I knew the right word.”

“Well, that makes two mistakes you’ve made today.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, the other mistake was trying to cheat me. We had a deal.”

A pause.

“Hey, man. You don’t need the gun. You don’t want to pay me anymore, fine by me. Not a problem. I’ll still do the…job. ”

Gun. A chill traveled the length of her spine. Every nerve screamed at her to run back to the bar, but her feet were frozen.

“Sorry, I don’t believe in second chances.”

Pop.

A moan.

He’d shot the guy. She just knew it. Be quiet. Let him leave and then she’d help him.

Pop. Pop.

Or not.

Footsteps.

A moment later, a shadow loomed large, and then he was in front of her. His eyes grew wide as their gazes locked. His arm moved upwards.

The gun.

Well that’s part one–what did you think of it? Want to read more? And yes, i admit it. I hope the story piques your interest enough to check out my other books.  You can visit my website at www.lillianduncan.net or checkout the online bookstores, such as www.amazon.com or www.BN.com

Thanks, let me know if you want to read the next part of the story. Remember no comments–no second part of the story!

Until next time….God Bless & Good Reading!

Writer of the Day–J.Mark Betrand

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FREE BOOK ALERT!

If you haven’t read J. Mark Betrand’s books, I highly recommend them. He writes the Roland March Mystery series. You can’t help but love Roland. He’s a cop who believes in right and wrong, but his personal life is a bit muddled. And he’s doing his best to unmuddle it. He writes the way I like to read–plain and to the point.  His Roland March Mysteries include: BACK ON MURDER; PATTER OF WOUNDS; and NOWHERE TO HIDE.

I’ve read all three and enjoyed all three!

Here’s the back cover blurb for BACK ON MURDER, the first in the series:

Det. Roland March is a homicide cop on his way out. But when he’s the only one at a crime scene to find evidence of a missing female victim, he’s given one
last chance to prove himself. Before he can crack the case, he’s transferred to a new one that has grabbed the spotlight–the disappearance of a famous Houston
evangelist’s teen daughter.

SURPRISE! SURPRISE! SURPRISE! When I went to Amazon to read the back cover blurb, I discovered this book is free right now on Amazon. CLICK HERE. I have no idea how long it will be free for so you better go there right now! Talk about great timing!

Until next time…GOD BLESS & GOOD READING!

I Didn’t Choose To Become A Writer…

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I didn’t choose to become a writer–I was born a writer.

I didn’t write my first word in a novel until I was 40!  You heard me right–40 years old, practically over the hill. But still I believe I was born to write.  For two reasons.

The first is that I love books–always have and always will. The Orthodox Jews have a tradition that if they drop a book, they will pick it up and kiss it–in case the name of God is in that book. I have that same reverence for most books. There may be a few that don’t deserve it, but I’m not here to talk about those.

Probably from kindergarten on, I love to read.  Nothing was more exciting to me than the weekly trip to the library except maybe when I was allowed to buy a book from the Scholastic Reader. Then it was serious business. It was so hard to choose, but eventually I would. When my family would go on fishing or camping trips, I could be found sitting on a rock or in the car and reading. Yes, I read under the covers, in the dark,  and in the car.

So my love of books was the first reason I was born to become a writer but not the only one. Lots of people love books as much as I do and never become a writer.  Though some of them probably would love to write, but don’t know it yet! Just like me.

The second reason is a bit stranger than the first. At least it might be for you, but it never seemed odd  to me. It was simply a part of me. I always created stories even as a young child. Barbie and Ken had quite the life not to mention The Potato Family. But my imagination didn’t stop with my toys that I acted out the stories with.  I called it daydreaming back then, but now I realize I was actually creating stories.

Unfortunately, I was 40 before it occurred to me that my daydreams had a purpose. And that purpose was that they were the stories I should be writing down. My daydreams were the books I was supposed to write!

My first book took me almost a year to write. I didn’t tell anyone I was writing a book because it seemed absurd that little old me could ever become a “real writer.” During that year I got bit my the writing bug. I fell in love with not only creating a story that only I could write, but with writing it in the best possible way.

So if you ask me how I became a writer, I would tell you God created me to be a writer.  I believe that all that reading and imagining were the first steps in me becoming a writer. I don’t think I chose to become a writer. Instead I was born a writer–it simply took me forty years to start putting my stories on paper or should I say on computer!

How about you? What were you born to do?

Until next time….God Bless & Good Reading!