Weaving Evil, Chp 2.

Well, here it it minions! The next chapter installment of my female serial killer antagonist and her wicked ways. So without further ado, I present Weaving Evil, Chp 2… Hehe.

Remember, death is only a click away!

Chapter 2
A Victim is Chosen

The city of Riverside was home to one of the large components belonging to the University of California’s educational systems. It was approximately fifty miles from Los Angeles, home to over three hundred thousand residents, and for its size, one of the most diverse in the state. The University was breathtaking and with the UC-Bell Tower; erect at one-hundred and sixty-one feet, equipped with its’ own Carillon, some would say, it was almost magical. The music which emitted from the bells always seemed to captivate Vanessa, like the pied piper calling after his assortment of children. She smiled, as the soft tones bounced off the buildings and carried into the light wind.
Glancing down at her watch, her facial expression soon turned from happiness to one filled with anxiety. Shit, I can’t be late. Not today. She quickened her pace, cutting across the fresh manicured grass, trying to make up for valuable time lost. The experiment had taken too long this morning. The toxin hadn’t worked the way she had thought, additional extractions had to take place. Poor Maxine.
Well, if she wasn’t more prompt, Vanessa would have ample time to conduct her personal research and not have to worry about daily work requirements. Get it together. She slowed down to a brisk walk, as she approached the research laboratory. Dr. Hilson would more than likely be waiting for her, when she arrived. It was almost a compulsive disorder how he always stood at the door waiting for her, almost knowing she would… fuck up. Brushing her bangs aside, she pushed on the heavy rustic door. The grandiose metallic sign loomed heavy over her; almost criticizing her for entering its’ esteemed property. Meyer-Price Laboratory was donated to the University by two former entomologists, who had been paramount in creating state of the art bio-chemistry protocol in relation to insect pest control. They had been students of the University in the early 70’s and loved their alma mater so dearly; they repaid their professors and Dean of Education with this extraordinary structure.
Vanessa tried to soften her step, as she crossed the marble floor, but the sound of her heels brought instant ramification.
“Well, the gods themselves should be honored you decided to make an appearance this morning.” Dr. Wynn Hilson her former mentor from grad school and current research supervisor slipped out from behind a row of sculptures, which resembled various forms of arachnid and other close relatives in the insect family. He was a middle-age stout man, with thin strips of gray, highlighting his thick scraggly dark hair. Many faculty members, along with the student body would mock him, labeling him the “Mad Scientist of California.” He adjusted the stained lab coat, as he stared accusingly at his young research analyst.
Great. Vanessa bit her lip. Has to be something good. “ Sir, I was doing research on the toxins of our arachnid friends and reaction times of death with various prey. I got caught up in the time… really I did.”
Dr. Hilson tapped a finger to the side of his head. “Ah, so you’re telling me it was all in the name of Arachnology?”
No dumbshit. I’m trying to kiss your ass. She flashed him a quirky smile. “Of course. You know I live for this!”
He scuffed his foot against the floor. “If I didn’t admire your creativity, you would have been fired long ago.” He motioned towards her. “Come on we have work to complete, and…by the way, a guest is stopping by.”
“Guest?” She cocked her head.
He chuckled. “Indeed. A young lady working on her entomology dissertation.”
Better her than me. “Really, do I know this person?”
“Quite well, matter of fact.” Dr. Hilson winked.
I really don’t like surprises. “Sir, who is it?” She pouted.
He nodded. “One of your undergraduate associates from Ohio State. She is very curious to see how you have been doing here.”
Fuck, probably my replacement. Vanessa’s Ohio State days were almost a memory now. It wasn’t a particularly eye-opening chain event type of remembrance either. More like she was thankful, her interests in deadly arachnids and insects hadn’t fully developed, or there would have been a lot of deceased peers who missed their graduation. She shook her head. “I wasn’t exceptionally close to many there. Just one. Is the professor going to give me a hint?”
Dr. Hilson’s smile continued to grow. “What would be the fun in revealing anything which would give it away?”
Maybe you should be the first one I reveal myself to. She threw her hands up in resignation. “Okay, I will play along.” She pointed to the lab. “I have to get some reports done on those spider bites from last week. The Irvine campus said it was a rush deal.”
“Good idea my young analyst. I will let you know when our mutual friend arrives.”
Vanessa faked a smile. “Can’t wait!”
Fuck me…
* * * * *

Several hours passed with still no signs of the mystery guest, the professor had been too eager to gloat about. Vanessa had completed her analysis of the venom samples, the Irvine laboratory had sent. Scrolling through results, she stopped, almost frozen at what stared back at her.
Holy Shit! The venom had been taken from a Brazilian Wandering Spider, which Vanessa was well aware how deadly this arachnid was touted to be. There had never been a report of this little beauty making a homestead in the states. It was most likely, the creature found its way from South America or a neighboring warm tropical climate, and now, decided to make its presence known to a female hiker in the hills outside Los Angeles County. Unlucky for her. The woman, even though she was bitten, and in shock, was still cognizant enough to capture her attacker, by placing it inside her backpack. This action assisted the medical staff to determine what course of treatment protocol was needed to keep her alive. The University was consulted on the rare find and since Vanessa was one of the only experienced and working Arachnologist in the state, it was a no-brainer to bring her in on the research. Plus, there was more than enough venom left over after testing, to spread out among her potential victims. She grabbed an empty syringe from a desk drawer, measuring out what she considered to be enough. Vanessa stashed the partially filled tube into her briefcase, as a malicious look fell upon her face. This is so perfect. Flipping through several print-outs, she removed a notebook from the front pocket of her lab coat. Vanessa started to scribble a few notes, when a metallic knock at the door, forced her to shove the pad back inside her shirt. “Just… a minute.” Straightening her coat, and a quick tease of her hair, she shot from her chair, unlocking the door.
Dr. Hilson wrinkled his nose, as he stepped through. “Hmm, a locked door, around here? You must be hiding something.”
She opened her mouth to provide a rebuttal, but her efforts were stifled, by a short attractive strawberry blond, who rushed through Dr. Hilson like he wasn’t even there, almost knocking the man to the ground. The woman wrapped her manly arms around Vanessa, treating her like a human teddy bear. “Nessa, you look wonderful luv!”
You gotta be shitting me. If the good doctor was trying to get back at her for all of her tardiness, this was definitely the right way. If there ever was a real battle between super heroines and their arch enemies, Celeste Brillings was the epitome of evil. Considering how far Vanessa had fallen down the rabbit hole that was saying a lot. Celeste was a master of deception and played the blackmail card better than most men. Sleeping your way to the top was an overused philosophy, but for Celeste it was a part of her academia. A skill that stole the only real boyfriend Vanessa ever had. Not that he was excluded the blame for his promiscuous behavior, but the peroxide, driven bitch knew how to get just what she wanted. Well at least she had added a few pounds. Vanessa forced a smile. “Celeste, you look great…too.”
Celeste released her grip. “It’s been a while, my luv. I hope you and I are past that wee-bit issue we had a few years ago?”
Nope, and where is the fake English accent shit coming from? Vanessa adjusted her glasses. “We are adults. It’s not worth bringing up.”
Celeste touched her shoulder. “Spoken like a true friend.”
Please. Vanessa shifted focus to something which truly intrigued her. “So, what brings you out to the West coast?”
Celeste glanced in the direction of Dr. Hilson. “Well, Wynn was in Columbus last year, and asked me to come out if I wanted to spend time under his wing.”
Under his wrinkly ass, you mean. Vanessa raised her eyebrows, pointing to her mentor. “Well, he is one of the best in this field. Wow, like a soap opera.
Celeste twirled her hair. “I’m hoping to learn a great deal for my dissertation.”
Vanessa eyes wandered to her briefcase. “Of course… you know what; we should grab a bite to eat while you’re here”
The silence by Dr. Hilson during the women’s interchange was finally broken. “Outstanding idea, for you two to spend some time together.”
Celeste clapped her hands, like a youth waiting approval from a parental unit. “Girl’s night is exactly what we need luv.”
Stop, no really….
“When are you heading back?” Vanessa’s brain was working at full speed, formulating something sinister.
“I’m here until Friday. I head back early on Saturday,” Celeste said, flashing her teeth.
Hmm, only Tuesday. Removing the notebook from her pocket, she flipped to a blank page. “Okay, let’s do it Thursday, if that works?” She purposely glared at Dr. Hilson, which made him noticeably uncomfortable.
“Perfect luv! Just like our dorm days.” Celeste accosted her with a follow-up hug to celebrate the reconciliation.
“Okay, I still have some work to finish, or my boss will not be pleased,” she smirked.
Dr. Hilson cleared his throat. “Yes, you attend to that… we must take our leave.” The two waved, exiting the laboratory. Vanessa, wiped at her body, trying to rid herself of the ungodly karma, Celeste had smothered upon her. She stepped over to the briefcase, removing the syringe of toxin; she had stolen from the Irvine sample. Hmm, that hiker had been lucky, Celeste wouldn’t be so fortunate. Come Friday morning, the obnoxious and self-indulgent whore would only be a memory…one that Vanessa would relish in forgetting.

A Method to My Writing Madness and a Little Taste of Something…

Today, I will take you on another journey through the depths of my sometimes devious mind, as we discuss one of my favorite parts in assembling a finished work. Drumroll…please! Chapter titles and the abbreviated version on two reasons why they are important to me…and hopefully the fans as well.

The creation of chapter titles is important for me because of two main reasons. After I have created my outline and all the names of my victims are chosen…err…I meant main characters, of course, I visually play out the interaction of each person, bouncing it off my outline. Now, remember I haven’t written down one word of the story, so my memory is pretty much what I utilize. This can sometimes be problematic, especially if you have three girls at home fighting about which Disney Channel show to watch, and the youngest is screaming at a decibel level somewhere along the lines of an opera singer reaching her crescendo. Needless to say, sometimes I have to remove the words Spongebob or Finneas and Ferb, that somehow found its way into the rough draft. After I’m satisfied with how the chapter flows, I usually pick three possible chapter titles, then systematically eliminate them until the one I should have picked first is the one that’s left. (I did entitle this “Writing Madness.”)

Okay, the other reason the titles are important is this. I simply love to have some foreshadowing for the readers. In my latest re-released work, Death Prescription, the first chapter is named “Anatomy of a Killer.” Well, the readers have hopefully reviewed the back cover blurb and know the story is about a serial killer, so when they see the chapter title, they automatically know this chapter is designed to talk about the killer’s thirst for blood. It gives new readers some insight without divulging all the deets!
For my next book, I’m trying something a little different by not using individual chapter titles. I don’t know how that’s going to work out, but only time will tell…

Btw, I promised you a taste of something, didn’t I? Well, here is the first chapter of Death Prescription…enjoy, as you are well aware…death is only a click away!

Chapter 1
Anatomy of a Killer

Darkness and death were comfortable roommates for the stranger hidden in the dense foliage. The downpour that spewed from the heavens scattered the masses in various directions, as they sought refuge from the Almighty’s wrath. Outstanding! The art show was the perfect venue for him to collect his next victim. Rubbing the coin between his fingers, the man cherished the preciousness of the moment. He valued life less than the worn fifty-cent piece, which he had taken from his first conquest. The death of the young woman made him powerful, almost like he was deemed to be untouchable by mere mortals. Murder was how he chose to define the nickname his mother had labeled him with when disciplining him so many years earlier. Lucifer. She taunted him with the condescending name for so long.
He recalled his first “masterpiece” as he prepared to kill again. That night had been similar to this, with one exception; the rain had been gently bouncing off the streets in a way that had almost seemed acrobatic. A tall, young woman named Angela Deeds was carrying a dark umbrella in one hand and a set of keys in the other. Her light blue pantsuit hugged her figure like a second skin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. She ran toward her yellow sports car, trying to avoid the falling raindrops. Not getting wet would be the least of your worries in a few short moments. The destiny of this female was to be his first masterpiece in a line of many that would follow. There had been a previous death, but it was not worthy of the effort. He watched her approach the vehicle, coming even closer to where he was hidden. All the muscles in his body tensed. The two instruments he had chosen to start his new craft with seemed to weigh down his hands. Get a hold of yourself.
He peeked through the bushes and remembered how exquisite she looked. Angela’s hair was the silkiest and shiniest he’d ever seen, like those unattainable women advertising shampoo in a television commercial. Lucifer was excited as he tightened his hands around that night’s weapons of choice, a small syringe full of his paralytic concoction and the silver nickel-plated 9mm semi-automatic handgun. He hadn’t held a firearm for many years and only wanted to use it in case something went wrong.
He had planned the assault in his mind for many days, watching her walk from her vehicle in the morning, knowing she left at the same time every evening. Lucifer walked past Angela’s place of business and purchased some items from a lingerie store adjacent to her office. He even made eye contact with this striking beauty at the coffee shop just a half block away from her designated parking area. His future victim was only a few short feet away, as Angela tried to hold the umbrella and open her car door at the same time. She fumbled with the keys, as they slipped out of her hand, clattering to the ground.
Lucifer slipped out from his hiding spot and approached her undetected. A sudden movement later; it was too late. The young woman tumbled to the cold wet pavement and landed on her back. She looked up. Lucifer noticed the anguish in her eyes, relishing the fact Angela seemed to recognize him from somewhere, but with the onset of paralysis, time was running out for cognitive thought. Lucifer smiled as he towered over his victim, and decided to use the handgun instead of waiting for the drug to take effect. He pulled the silver slide back, as the clicking sound of the bullet being chambered into position thrilled him. Lucifer watched as Angela Deeds’ breathing became labored, and she clutched desperately at her throat, trying to force out the last bite of air. Almost the end.
Her hands relaxed, and he knew she would never be able to move again. Lowering the firearm, he pointed it between her eyes. Passionately, the man gazed into them and beamed with delight as her pupils dilated. Lucifer eased the trigger back until a deafening explosion erupted, propelling the blunt projectile through the front of her skull. The impact of the small round scattered her brain matter upon the saturated pavement.
Lucifer was pleased with his performance and how his victim had been unable to react. He fingered through all of her belongings, locating several fifty-cent pieces scattered in the bottom of her blood-spattered purse. He placed one in his pocket. “This is how I’ll honor all victims. Taking a piece of each, making his or her death a part of my life forever.” That was the first day of his new life. Lucifer would keep the fifty-cent piece with him always to commemorate that day—until the day he died.
* * *
Lucifer finished his performance for this evening as well. The killer had returned to his apartment and stood at the kitchen sink, meticulously washing the remnants of human carnage from his hands. “Unexpected deaths.” Lucifer hadn’t considered two other people would be in the park, but so be it. He improvised, and now they would also be enshrined in his collection of “masterpieces.” Cleaning off the battle-axe, and drunk with excitement, he stared at the wooden table. “Ah, three new prize possessions,” Lucifer whispered.
He picked up the first item. It was a worn silver Zippo lighter with the initials J.P. etched on the right side of the lid. He held it for a few seconds, careful to return it to the proper place before reaching for the next. The killer inspected the plastic neon band, tapping the bright face of the time-keeping device. Raising it to his ear, he could still hear the repetitive sound of a working battery. This treasure had come from his youngest victim ever. Lucifer set it back on the table and smiled.
The third and final item would, hands down, be the most cherished of all his new tokens. He ran his fingers along the canvas, careful not to damage the small masterpiece. The artist had created a wonderful work, which Lucifer admired. I have the perfect place! He decided to hang it on the wall in the cramped closet that held his “collection.” What a productive night. Lucifer was skilled with many of the tools reserved for creating pain and torture. Tonight’s performance was no exception. This sample of work was but a preview of what was to come. Tomorrow, he would start his hunt for another victim, learning all possible details, becoming one with his prey. But now, even the killer needed to rest.

Death Prescription

Let’s talk about a not-so-new written work, that will be on a book shelf near you in the immediate future. I have been toiling to complete the edits on my new novel, but as fate would have it, technical difficulties have made a presence in the publishing process. (Sucks, I know.) But this has given me ample time to polish several other works, and bring them to light for all of my newer fans! And of course, my faithful followers of old, I have something special planned for you as well. But that is a few months down the road, so be patient. I wanted to share a chapter from Death Prescription, which I hope you all enjoy…remember, death is only a click away!

The Blackbirds’ Feast

The morning had a slight chill to it, as Conservation Officer Alicia Strand was conducting her morning patrol. She had picked up a warm cinnamon roll and a cup of piping hot chocolate, before she started her shift an hour ago. Alicia also brought along a bridal magazine, which she would glance at when she got bored. Not like Ethan will ever pop the damn question anyway, she thought, entering the deserted Dunlap County Conservation Center. The park consisted of one hundred and eighty acres; many recreational activities were available to the large number of tourists who would visit. It was known for its dangerously tall bluffs. Many climbers had attempted to ascend the mountainous terrain, but most were unsuccessful. That meant Alicia and the other patrol officers would spend a lot of time helping conduct rescue attempts for the misguided. She just passed one of the bluffs and was maneuvering the tan patrol jeep up through a winding paved road. The overused vehicle bounced along the path; she felt every deformity the road had to offer.
“Damn Jeep! I told Renni to fix these shocks,” Alicia said. She distinctly remembered telling the park’s mechanic about the needed repairs. Alicia drove for a few minutes longer and then decided it was time for a break. This will work, she thought. Alicia had driven to the most secluded part of the park known as Parma Point. Not too many campers knew it even existed; most of the time the park’s maintenance employees were the only people ever to spend time here. She turned into the gravel parking lot and noticed unwanted weeds had grown wild between various parts of the broken pavement. She would make a note of it and have the park engineer come out and throw some weed killer on the nuisance.
She turned into a haphazardly constructed parking spot, made of green treated two by fours, ready to finish her cup of hot chocolate. She was flipping through her magazine, when her police radio came to life.
“Dispatch, to four-ten.” The sound of a male voice filled the patrol car. Great! Alicia grabbed the car’s radio microphone. “Four-ten, go ahead, dispatch.”
“I need you to respond to a high angle rescue at Sutterman’s Bluff ASAP!”
“Affirmative, dispatch, I’m about ten minutes from there now.” Alicia said.
“I will show you en route to the location. Be advised I have already called fire rescue as well,” the male dispatcher said.
“I will advise when I’m on scene.” Alicia shifted the vehicle into drive, activating the lights and siren. She turned the vehicle around to leave the parking lot, instinctively looking to her right. The conservation officer did a quick double take. That’s sort of weird. She stopped the jeep and stared out into the clearing, where three picnic tables were positioned. The middle one appeared to be covered in a dark moving mass.
“What the hell?” Alicia had, the feeling something was terribly wrong. She squinted to see what was on top of the table, but couldn’t tell from the distance. She decided this may be just as important as the rescue and figured it wouldn’t hurt to investigate. Alicia would need to call dispatch back and let them know. The fire department will be expecting me, she thought, picking up the handset. She pushed the transmit button speaking clearly for the county dispatcher to hear.
“Four-ten, to dispatch.”
A male voice acknowledged the call. “Dispatch to four-ten, are you at Sutterman’s Bluff already?”
“Negative, dispatch. I think I have discovered something else here at Parma Point.”
“I already informed fire rescue you were on your way to their location. You’re the only one on duty. You copy that?” the male dispatcher asked.
“I need to check this out. I will advise.”
“Ten-four,” the dispatcher said; the radio went silent.
Alicia exited her vehicle, flipping on her portable radio. She walked briskly toward the picnic area. When she was about twenty feet away, she noticed the massive dark object she spotted was actually a swarm of crows. They weren’t making the loud obnoxious cawing sound these types of birds normally make. Very eerie, she thought. Alicia edged closer to see what the birds were drawn to, but couldn’t tell what lay beneath the never-ending flock. They were feeding on something. She figured some careless campers might have left their trash or spoiled food lying out and forgotten to throw it away when they departed.
When she got within a short distance from the black birds, Alicia looked down, almost tripping over a neatly folded pile of clothing. The garments were within arm’s distance of the picnic table; she bent to look at them more closely. That is very strange. Why would someone leave folded clothing here in the middle of nowhere? She took a few more steps toward the birds, trying to scare them. They appeared to be oblivious to her presence; only a few made any noise at all. Most of them continued shoving one another aside, flapping their wings now violently, to include themselves in the ongoing feast at the bottom of the melee.
Alicia waved her arms to shoo them off, as they hesitated before they began to fly away, and exposed what was underneath. She realized what the birds had been dining on. Lying prone on the table was a mutilated figure of what appeared to be a young female. The woman was naked; spread eagle on the table’s bloodstained surface. She appeared to be tied to the underside of the bench, by thin ropes. They were secured to what remained of both her swollen hands and ankles. Alicia almost choked on her saliva as she approached the victim. The disgusting odor of recent defecation and torn rotten flesh almost made her eyes water. She gasped at the sight of the woman’s face. The skin around her cheeks and eyes were ripped away from the bone. Her eyes were now empty sockets that held a gateway leading to her brain tissue. The sight was so riveting she barely could take focus from it. Alicia glanced down; the woman’s fleshy mid section appeared to have a carving engraved into it. She stared at the words the killer had sculpted
Not him…not here. Those words, and that monster were enough to scare anyone working in law enforcement the last several days, and she was no exception. Alicia pushed the transmit button on her portable and spoke into the black external microphone.
“Four-ten, to dispatch. I need assistance from a county supervisor and a detective ASAP!”
“What have you got up there?” the dispatcher said.
Alicia lost all radio etiquette. “A fucking homicide here at Parma Point! Homicide and it’s the guy… you will also need to call the coroner as well. I will secure the crime scene until they arrive.” Alicia peered at the corpse.
The dispatcher’s voice cracked. “I will get the detective on duty from the county! Also be advised more units will be heading to assist.”
“Ten-four, dispatch,” Alicia said, running back to her patrol car. She opened the rear hatch of the patrol unit and pulled out a roll of yellow police tape and a plastic body bag. The plastic would prevent the deceased from being eaten further by the wildlife. It was going to be a very long day…

Writing is Not an Option…

Now, there’s  a thought for you. I started writing in my teens, and for the most part, during those few years, it was a staple of my daily ritual. I would get up in the morning, have a quick protein drink (Yes, I started drinking those at early age, too), head off to school, and sit through a few doldrum classes (I can’t remember to this day what they were). I would start to get excited when it came time for my study hall period. That’s when I pulled out the pen and paper and began to create my stories. Each selection would be unique and range in genre from sci-fi to thrillers. If I wasn’t saving the galaxy or taking down criminals, the day wasn’tcomplete.

But somewhere between the age of seventeen and thirty-seven (uh oh…I’m dating myself now), my daily journey with right-brain activities became less and less, and then, for the most part, nonexistent. Well, to this day, I believe a large part of me was lost. Several times during those years, I would sometimes get the nerve to sit at the pc and start typing a story…only never finishing it.

After a work related injury, I vowed to re-ignite my hunger for writing. I set small goals for myself and, without much difficulty, surpassed them. Soon, I had finished my first novel, and to be honest, the publication of it wasn’t my only agenda. The reality was this: the ability to create was never lost, just sidetracked.  After such a layoff, I knew writing was a part of me, and that would never disappear.  For me, to write, is a option…I don’t have. Next week I’m going to have an update in regards to my upcoming publication, Weaving Evil…so stay tuned and remember, death is only a click away!

 

MERRY XMAS, FANS AND FRIENDS!!

Today, I want to revisit my holiday short, appropriately entitled, Dead Holiday. Hehe. During this wonderful time of year, holiday greeting cards fill our mailboxes on a daily basis, and most of  us are delighted when we have people who think of us. Well, this little story focuses on receiving a not-so-nice  greeting card from two individuals who have vengeance at the top of their list to Santa Claus. Without further ado, here is chp 2 of Dead Holiday.

Mark Blankenship maneuvered the marked patrol unit through the cornucopia of holiday shoppers as they gave him an accusing stare. He scanned the parking lot, looking for an open spot. Great. Who does their shopping on the last day before Christmas? He thought for a second. Me, of course. Unable to find anything available, Mark drove across the street, finding the perfect place. He grabbed his cell from the console and squinted at the number of bars remaining on the battery. Wonderful. Hope nobody needs anything. He popped open the glove box, sorting through the mess. There you are. He shoved the cheap charger into the lighter and plugged in his phone. Mark pulled down the visor and ran a hand through his thick black hair. The wrinkles emerging on his face and the tired brown eyes reminded him of the recent struggle with divorce. Fuck, I really do look old. Mark flipped up the visor and exited the vehicle. He smiled, staring up at the sign on the building. After I get done shopping, I think I will need a drink. He hiked across the lot, blowing warm air into his hands. Didn’t think it would be this cold.  As he approached his destination, Mark brushed off his coat, noticing a shabbily dressed middle-aged man standing outside of the giant superstore’s entrance. He sat next to a red kettle ringing a small gold bell, trying to get the attention of people as they walked past. Glad I’m not standing out here. Mark thought about bypassing him, too. Instead, he stopped in front of the kettle, reached into his pocket, and removed several waded bills.

He smiled at the man as he placed the bills through the slot. “Hey, why aren’t you inside the foyer doing this? It’s too cold to be out here.”

The man strained to look up as he exposed a toothless grin. “The store doesn’t want me in there…says I need to be out here.”

Not very holiday Joy-to-the-World, good-will-towards-men mindset. “Well, stay warm. Hope I helped a little.” Mark shrugged.The man stood up but still had a hard time reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. Mark bent over to receive the gracious gesture. The man slipped a foiled wrapped chocolate Santa into Mark’s large hand. “Every little bit helps…have a nice Christmas.”

“You too, sir,” Mark waved, pocketing the chocolate.

He walked through the sliding glass doors, and a rush of warm air gently greeted him. Now, that’s more like it. He stripped off his trench coat, smiling at the choice of shopping carts. Gotta love the holiday colors. A young red-haired girl wearing a black smock and Santa hat stopped his progress as she handed him a store flyer. “Happy holidays, sir. Welcome to Plaxton’s Superstore. Is there anywhere I can direct you today to fulfill your holiday shopping extravaganza?”

Who the fuck talks like that? Must follow a script or something. Mark shook his head, tapping his shirt pocket. “Um, no thanks. I have it all here.”

She smiled. “Alrighty, then. You have a good shopping experience.”

Please kill me now. “Thanks, I will.” Mark grabbed a green cart and removed the list from his shirt. Next year, everything online. He pushed the cart through several aisles until he found the rows of dolls his daughter had pointed out a few weeks ago. Now, which one was it? There were several choices, but he inspected the list, making sure this was the exact one she wanted. If he purchased the wrong one, Marcia, his ex-wife, would be sure to point it out to him. That was her way of getting back…it always had been. She would dramatize anything, no matter how small. A man can only take so much.  Mark removed the doll from the shelf, placing it into his cart. Presley, I hope you love it. She deserved to be happy, especially since the breakup of the marriage was only six months ago. The little girl didn’t understand why daddy only got to see her every other weekend.  Scanning the list, he realized he couldn’t just forget Marcia. I wonder what you get for the people who piss you off the most? He smiled as he headed in the direction of the end cap marked, “As seen on T.V.”  He sorted through the absurdity of choices and finally decided on the perfect gift for Marcia. Studying the box of knives, his eyebrows rose as he read. Even cuts through a pop can… maybe I need one of those. Mark glanced down at his watch, realizing the store would be closing soon. The majority of customers appeared to have vacated the area, and he was one of the few remaining. Mark grabbed the last item he needed and marked it on his corresponding list. “Merry Christmas to me. I’m all done. Now, time for a celebratory beverage,” he muttered. Mark carted his purchases in the direction of the register when he noticed something odd.

A young, dark-haired woman, dressed in black camouflage, appeared to be guarding the exit. She was shoving people back inside the store and even pushed one elderly woman so hard that she tripped over her cane and landed face first onto the floor.  What the fuck? Mark reversed his direction, looking for a vantage point. He reached down, and unsnapped the weapon on the inside of his right calf. He cautiously worked his way along the end cap advertising the latest thriller of the month. He finally found safe refuge behind a large display of fireproof safes, but was still close enough to keep his eye on the young woman. She kept yelling at some of the cashiers. Soon, a man dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and tan pants approached her. Mark took aim at the woman, but the man was in his line of fire, whic h made him lower his gun. The unknown man turned and pointed in the direction of the crowd, seemingly pleading with her to let them leave. He seems to know her.  The woman then did something unexpected. She reached behind her back and withdrew something large, pointing it at the man. A fucking gun. The man tried to scurry away, but she lowered the firearm and fired two shots into his back. He slumped to the floor as blood started to seep from the freshly made wounds. The small crowd started to scream, and mass confusion ensued. Mark again trained his weapon on her, but the overhead lighting suddenly disappeared, and his vision was obscured by the darkness. She didn’t cut the lights, but somebody did. Mark heard several more shots, but this time, it came from behind him. He crouched down, straining to see where the rounds came from, but was unable to locate their origin. Mark started to inch forward when he heard the squelching of the store’s intercom system activate. A hoarse voice filled the interior. “If you want to remain alive, do what we say. I’m only looking for certain people today, but will kill anyone who gets in my way. And I do mean anyone! Put your fucking cell phones in the garbage can…now!”

At least two gunmen. Mark reached for his cell but realized it wasn’t there. Shit. He wondered why the male voice had mentioned the gunmen were only here to kill certain people, and then, a very disturbing thought filled his head. He has a death list, and usually, the only people who had those were former employees.

Get Free eBooks This Weekend!

Make sure you stop by my publisher’s site, Cold Moon Press, this weekend to get FREE eBOOKS now through Tuesday. And like they say, curl up under a warm blanket, brew a cup of tea, and save the nights like tonight for great ebooks! 

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What are You Thankful For?

Thanksgiving. What a great way to kick off the holiday season. A day devoted to being thankful for the blessings we have in our lives.

This year, I have a lot to be thankful for. I’ve got a supportive family, a rewarding job, and a comfortable home. And this year has been great for me as a writer, too: I’ve had several short stories released and, most recently, the final stages have come to pass on my new publication, Weaving Evil. (I know, it’s been way too long for you devoted fans.) I’ve also been blessed with thousands of “new” fans to call my own…lol, along with the numerous bookstores carrying my work. Not much more that a working writer could ask for!

As you prepare the holiday turkey and all the traditional festivities, and prepare for the upcoming surge of early Xmas shopping joy, I urge all of my readers to take a moment to contemplate just exactly what you all are thankful for. With that, I bid you all a memorable and wonderful Thanksgiving.

Until next time…remember, death is only a cluck away…oh, wait, I mean…a click away. (Gobble didn’t really work with this.) ;0