The Reading Garden - Paranormal
Important notice: All excerpts have been submitted by the author.
Author: Barbara Freethy
*author's preface: In ASK MARIAH, a remarkable resemblance between two women leads to shocking secrets and unexpected romance.
"When I said I wanted to see everything, I didn't mean your father's
bedroom," Joanna said as Lily and Rose threw open the door to Michael's room.
Michael put a hand on the small of her back, a polite touch that should
not have sent a tingle down her spine. But it did. She was attracted to
him. Joanna just hoped to heaven he couldn't see it in her eyes or hear it
in her voice. She still remembered the first time she'd told David she loved
him, and his less-than-enthusiastic reaction. Now she kept her feelings to
herself. It was easier that way, safer.
"I have a photograph of Angela in my bedroom," Michael said. "It's the
girls' favorite picture. I think that's why they want you to see it first."
"Oh." He had a picture of his wife in his bedroom. Of course. He
probably went to bed thinking of Angela, dreaming about her, wishing she
hadn't died.
"This is where you and Daddy used to sleep," Rose said, interrupting her
thoughts.
Joanna grew hot at the thought of Michael and herself in the king-size
bed with the down comforter and the fluffy pillows. But this was not where
she and Michael slept. This was where he had slept with his wife, Angela.
For a moment Joanna couldn't move. Stepping across the threshold seemed
suddenly terrifying. She didn't want to see Angela's picture anymore. She
wanted to go home, back to her apartment, to school, to the library, where
she could transport herself to another time as far away from Michael Ashton
and his adorable six-year-old twin girls as possible.
But Michael was pushing her forward, urging her into the room. There
was no turning back.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the portratint hanging on the wall
across from the bed. She didn't look at it just yet. Instead she
concentrated on the room itself, drawing courage from the normalcy of the
decor. She wanted something to combat the eerie feeling, the sense of
uneasiness that threatened to overwhelm her.
The room was a poignant mix of male and female. The floral curtains
were soft and feminine. The exercise bike in the corner was stainless steel.
The old Italian lace doilies on the dresser softened the dark, masculine
cherry wood. The bright rainbow-colored pillows eased the hard lines of the
antique lounger. There were knickknacks on every available shelf, music
boxes and hand-blown glass figures mixed with basketball trophies and an
autographed baseball.
Everywhere she turned she saw the contrasts, the hard edges, the soft
curves. Man and woman. Michael and his wife. Joanna swallowed hard.
"It's there," Michael said quietly.
Joanna slowly turned to face the picture and felt as if she were looking
into a mirror. Her heart stopped.
Angela Ashton had dark brown wavy hair. It was shorter than Joanna's,
but Angela had parted it on the same side. Joanna stared at the face,
wanting to see the differences, but all she saw was a pair of brown eyes that
matched her own, the same full mouth, the same straight nose.
"My God!" Joanna felt faint, hot, dizzy. The impossible had suddenly
become possible. "She looks just like me," she whispered. "How could this
have happened?"
Michael didn't answer, his gaze still fixed on the portrait.
"She could be my sister," Joanna added as she took another look at the
photograph. Angela was smiling, but as Joanna stared into Angela's eyes, it
seemed as if the other woman was trying to tell her something -- like, "Get
the hell out of my bedroom" and "Stay away from my husband and children".
For a moment Joanna thought Angela might have spoken the words aloud, so
clearly had they rung through her head. "I have to go," she said in panic.
"I have to get out of here."
Joanna ran from the room, hearing the girls call after her in surprise,
hearing Michael tell them to go to their room.
Michael caught up with her at the front door. He slammed his hand
against the wood as she tried to open it. "Wait."
"No, let me go. Please, let me go." In truth, she was asking him to do
much more than move away from the door.
"I can't let you go." His husky voice told her he understood exactly
what she was thinking, what she was feeling.
"This is wrong. I'm not her. I'm not your wife. I'm not the girls'
mother. I can't stay here."
"Joanna, calm down." He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
"No one is forcing you to stay. I just don't want you to drive home while
you're so upset."
"Upset? She was terrified, scared to death of a photograph of a woman
who'd been dead for a year. How could she tell Michael that? He would think
she was losing her mind.
"I'm going crazy." She put a hand to her forehead.
"You're not crazy. I felt the same way when I first saw you ."
She turned to face him. "I don't understand. I know they say everyone
has a twin, but I never believed it."
"Maybe you're a distant cousin."
"There is no Italian blood in our family."
"Maybe it goes back a few generations. Maybe somewhere along the line,
the blood got mixed."
"I did our genealogy chart. I know where everyone came from. I know
what most of them looked like. No one in my family has hair or eyes as dark
as mine." Joanna drew in a shaky breath. "I look more like your wife than I
look like my parents."
"You do."
"Yes."
As they stared at each other, a hundred silence questions raced between
them ... ©1997
***
*About the author: BARBARA FREETHY - Lucky Thirteen! Barbara Freethy recently sold her
thirteenth novel since 1988 to Avon Books. A former public relations
professional , who has worked for companies ranging from the Women's Pro
Tennis Circuit to Universal Studios, Barbara began writing novels for
Silhouette under the pen name Kristina Logan. After seven romances, Barbara
turned her attention to developing longer, more complex novels involving not
just dynamite love stories, but intriguing secondary characters, family
relationships and a little bit of magic. Barbara found a home with Avon
Books and in 1996 DANIEL'S GIFT, her first single title contemporary was
published to rave reviews. Romantic Times called it a "touching and eloquent
tale. Exceptional!" DANIEL'S GIFT is now in its 4th printing and has been
optioned for a television movie. RYAN'S RETURN came next, receiving 5 stars
from Affaire de Coeur Magazine which called it, "An exhilarating, first-class
reading experience". Her most recent book from Avon, ASK MARIAH, will be
available in bookstores April 15, 1997. Barbara is married with two children
and resides in California. Write to Barbara Freethy. Visit Barbara Freethy's home page.
Author: Bonnee Pierson
She knew he was coming. And there was nothing she could do
to stop him.
She could go into town, ask Sheriff Massey to keep him away.
That would only bring publicity. The Valley Times wasn’t much,
but it was big enough to gain attention and it was run by
newcomers. They didn’t understand. They weren’t here when
everything fell apart, when she fell from the pinnacle of feature
magazines to the depths of obscurity. And they didn’t understand
she wanted it to stay that way.
None of that mattered, though. It was his determination
that announced his arrival, the despair that clung to him and
drove him, the grief that fed his tenacity. Unlike the others
before him, he would be her destruction and she could do nothing
more than wait.
#
Damon Alexander drove ten hours straight through the night
to get to Goose Point. Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford,
not when he was so close to catching his daughter’s kidnappers.
He’d tried private investigators, ex-cops, lawyers and even
mobsters, anyone who had an ear to the ground and could find a
non-existent trail. But time was running out. He knew it, felt
it with a conviction he couldn’t shake. She’d only been gone ten
days, but he knew that time was of the essence. If he didn’t
find Jennifer now, he wouldn’t find her at all. Finally, he’d
asked the impossible and gotten a name.
Silke VanGelder was his last hope.
He waited in the parking lot until the Dairy Mart opened at
six. He had no address, only a name and a town. Considering the
reputation Silke VanGelder had once enjoyed, she shouldn’t be
hard to find.
Giving the clerk five minutes to open the store and get the
register in place, Damon crushed his cigarette in the ashtray of
his once mint condition ’67 Mustang then swung his long frame out
to stretch before he headed toward the lights. The door opened
smoothly under his hand and a rush of warm air drove the chill
from his face.
The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the air and his
stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything since
last night when he’d first heard the name Silke VanGelder. With
a stiff gait, he headed to the back wall and poured a large
coffee from the newly brewed pot, then snagged a Twinkie before
heading up front to the counter.
A young man stood behind the length of counter, his eyes
carefully trying not to stare at Damon, who felt grimy next to
the clerk’s shiny, but pimpled, complexion. Hell, the kid’s hair
was still damp. Damon hadn’t showered in at least three days.
"Is that all?" The young man’s voice cracked over the
words. Damon wondered if he was old enough to be out of school.
Today, he felt ancient.
Damon nodded, fishing a five out of his wallet, laying it
down on the counter beside the cup. "You wouldn’t happen to know
where I can find Silke VanGelder, would you?" He tried to sound
conversational like he was asking for the time.
The boy laughed, instantly relaxing. "The crazy lady?
Sure, everyone here knows about her. She lives up on Tommy’s
Path.”
Damon’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “Is she crazy?”
The kid shrugged. “Maybe. Billy Ryder’s the only one who
actually knows her, but he won’t say.”
“Who’s Billy Ryder?”
“His parents own the grocery. Billy delivers her stuff once
a week. Says she has a truck and everything, but I’ve never seen
her in town.”
“Then why do you say she’s crazy?” Damon needed to know
what he was getting into. It wouldn’t stop him from going there,
but he wanted as much information as he could glean from each
source he encountered. Every detail was important if it would
help him find Jennifer.
The boy shrugged again. “She’s a hermit. Talks to the
trees and stuff like that. I mean, she doesn’t even have a
phone. Well, that doesn’t mean she’s nuts, but it doesn’t mean
she isn’t either.” He smiled, like he was sharing a private
joke, laying Damon’s change on the counter.
“Where’s Tommy’s Path?” Damon asked.
“You really going up there?” The kid’s eyes grew wide, like
Damon had just announced he was planning to jump into a volcano.
He nodded.
“It’s your hide.” The boy pointed out in front. “Go out
here, turn left and about three miles down you’ll see a right for
Tommy’s Path. It turns into a dirt road, but just keep going,
maybe five miles. The road ends at her house.”
“Thanks,” Damon said, leaving the change on the counter.
Crazy lady, he thought as he left the store and climbed back
into his Mustang. He tore into the Twinkie, tossing the
cellophane wrapper behind his seat to rest with the other junk
food containers. He knew he had to eat or he’d collapse soon,
but he didn’t taste the spongy cake or sweet filling as he washed
the confection down with steaming hot coffee. He was too busy
thinking about the woman.
Crazy, huh? In the last two days, he’d been called that
himself, so he couldn’t rightly use the term with someone else.
Who knows? Maybe she’d be crazy enough to actually be able to
help him. He sure as hell hoped so or else he’d just hit his
last dead end.
He fired the engine on the Mustang and tore out of the
parking lot. Trees lined the state road, creeping down hillsides
to butt against black pavement, their bare branches heavy with
buds just waiting for a hint of warmth to break open and announce
the arrival of spring.
Damon glanced down and marked the numbers on his odometer.
The kid had said three miles. The radio spit forth static, the
surrounding hills blocking any possible reception the old
antennae might have found. He’d spent all night behind the
wheel, blasting the stereo as loud as his ears could stand it so
he wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel. But there was still a
deafening silence behind the static he couldn’t get rid of. A
silence that had crept into his soul ten days ago and wouldn’t
leave. A silence he prayed Silke VanGelder could end.
The turn for Tommy’s Path came up quickly on a bend, almost
invisible behind a full rich maple that still clung to last
year’s leaves like a lover refusing to let a relationship end. A
sharp kick to the brake pedal and a few skid marks kept Damon
from missing it.
Sleek new houses lined the beginning of Tommy’s Path, an
obvious development with manicured lawns and a lack of trees.
Rose bushes were enclosed in burlap and pools were covered,
waiting for a sign of summer so their owners could unwrap them to
the warmth of the sun. But, for Damon, there would be no warmth
until Jennifer was found.
The development ended abruptly, going from suburban splendor
to rugged wilderness in a matter of feet. Trees were thick,
encroaching on each other in a tangle of branches, and a heavy
carpet of leaves remained untouched from the combing of a rake.
With a sudden drop, the paved section of Tommy’s Path ended and
Damon slowed so as not to rip the bottom out of the chassis of
his low-slung convertible. He’d once cared for this car more
than anything, a legacy from his father. Now, it was meaningless
without Jennifer to appreciate a ride with the top down. After
all, the past meant nothing if it couldn’t be given to the
future.
He followed the winding dirt tracks for several miles,
noting the deadened grass between the wheel ruts. Not a well-
traveled road at all. It didn’t matter, not if Ms. VanGelder was
at the end. He watched the odometer. Her place would be coming
up soon and his heart quickened in anticipation.
What if she refused to help him? No, he refused to think
like that. He didn’t care what she wanted. He needed her
abilities to help him and she would help, regardless of what he
had to pay or do in order to gain her cooperation. A sudden
flash of red caught his eye and Damon swerved to avoid hitting
it.
Blinding pain shot down from his head as he slammed into the
oversized steering wheel, thrown forward when the car plowed into
a tree, a squealing protest of metal meeting wood. Dazed, Damon
slumped back into his seat, feeling a warm trickle of blood seep
down his neck.
His breathing was restricted from where he’d fallen into the
wheel, bruises already forming over his ribs. If he’d been
driving any faster, they’d be cracked, maybe broken. But he
could still move, could still draw air into his lungs, so he
figured he was probably okay.
Well, he would be if it weren’t for the double vision and
blinding, immediate ache that sprang from the wound in his chin.
He reached up to check the damage, feeling the skin separate from
the edges of the wound. A good three inch gash in his chin.
Hell, he probably would have snapped his neck with the recoil if
he’d been going faster.
“Are you all right?” The voice was husky, tentative and
fleeting on the edge of his hearing.
He turned his head, noticing that the door was now open.
The owner of that voice stood far enough away that he had to
squint, trying to bring the image into focus, a flash of silver
against the dark tree trunks behind it. He shook his head
quickly, trying to clear the blur and a short curse followed in
that low voice. Red loomed closer, blurring what must have been
a plaid shirt into an unfocused mass of swirling colors.
Then a hand pressed to his chin, cool and soothing, tingling
against his skin. The fingers warmed, gentle and smooth against
the grainy roughness of his whiskers, the temperature rising
until the hand was hot. Then the fingers moved, up over his
cheeks, his nose, and he closed his eyes as the hand spread
across his brow.
He felt a pull, a gentle call, as the pain receded to a low
throb, then to nothing. He was so tired, exhausted really. He
wanted nothing more than to sleep, soothed by the firm touch of
that hand, the palm warm reassuring against his cheek.
#
The surge receded, leaving Silke with tremors in her hands
and jello in her knees. Burning sensation gone, she clutched her
hand to her chest and wondered why on earth she’d done that.
She’d sworn never to heal again.
She gazed at the man who slumped in the seat, knowing he was
the one, the one who’d called to her in the middle of the night
when the silence was deafening and the dark engulfed all that was
holy. She’d know his touch anywhere, the wild desperation
crawling through his every thought, bleeding out and blinding
everything else in his life.
Now she knew more about him than she wanted, sympathized
with his search. But she couldn’t help him. She could only
offer him a place to stay until he woke, then he’d have to leave.
She couldn’t survive another search. Not even for him.
Especially not for him.©1997
***
*About the author: I'm the President of the RWA Online chapter and the Forum Manager of the Romance Forum on Compuserve. I made the Golden Heart finals last year in
the short historical category with IMPOSSIBLE SILENCE. When not on my
computer, I'm a stay-at-home Mom who fights fires with the volunteer Fire
Dept in her hometown in her spare time (as if such a thing exists ).
I've been a member of RWA for 3 years and have learned that writers and
readers are the best friends a person could have. This excerpt is the beginning of my first chapter of INTO THE LIGHT, my GH entry
for this year in the paranormal category. Write to Bonnee Pierson. Visit Bonnee Pierson's home page.
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