Clown-bastard punched a button on the CD player and that song about Pina Colada's started. He walked slowly toward her.
"Why?" she asked, choking out the word.
He spoke for the first time. "You know why."
"No. I don't. I swear. Please tell me."
He sighed as if disappointed. "Laurel, Laurel, Laurel. Would knowing why make what's about to happen any easier?"
"Oh, God," she sobbed, dropping her chin to her chest as her entire body shook with terror.
"I didn't think so," he said.
She lifted her head and stared up into his face. "I'll do anything you want. Please don't hurt me. Pleeeaasse..."
His red lips curled into a smile. "You always were easy."
She frowned. "Do I know you—" The words were cut off abruptly when her eyes dropped to his right hand and, for the first time, she saw the knife. Panic gripped her, moving from her heart into her throat.
He gave a soft laugh and reached his free hand up to the orange hair. Slowly, he removed the wig. Her attention was riveted to his actions, the knife momentarily forgotten as she watched in curiosity.
Next, came the nose. Then, he took the collar of his costume and started wiping at the makeup.
As his features were slowly revealed, recognition dawned and she gasped in shock, but no words would come. A small glimmer of hope surfaced. She did know him. And he wouldn't hurt her.
She smiled, found her voice, and made a sound, something close to a nervous laugh. "What the hell? You really had me scared. Is this some kind of joke?"
He didn't answer. She looked into his eyes and felt the smile slip from her face.
Her remaining hope vanquished when the knife plunged toward her breasts. The first cut made her scream.
It was a long while before she stopped.
The Ugly: When the writing just isn’t working, when every scene is like being in labor, a very long, trying labor, and having a tooth pulled at the same time. Also, the Ugly is that I don’t have near enough time to devote to my writing.
But, you know what? There is a lot more Beauty than there is Ugly.
The Beauty is…
- I’m doing something I’ve dreamed of my whole life.
- When a reader takes the time to let me know they enjoyed my story.
- When the words flow and you actually love what you’re writing.
- The satisfaction of typing The End, even though you know there will be tons of revisions.
- The phenomenal people I’ve met in my writing journey. I still marvel at how supportive and close-knit the writing community is.
I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else, and no matter how Bad and how Ugly, I know, the Beauty is always lurking around the corner, and without the Bad and Ugly, the Beauty wouldn’t be quite so beautiful.
(Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/Lady-Mist-Winter-Frost-ebook/dp/B00J08MW1S/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1400505177&sr=8-3&keywords=lady+in+the+mist )
Upon her arrival in Shoal Harbor, Maine, Lily Jackson hears eerie moans that the locals claim are the ghostly cries of the unfortunate Breckenridge women. Running from loss and setback in Cincinnati, Lily needs the job as semi-psychiatric caregiver for Andrew Breckenridge, but the storm she has to weather from the oldest Breckenridge brother is severe. Clinton Breckenridge is a brooding man used to getting his own way, and he’s not convinced Lily is the right person to help his troubled younger brother.
Even as Lily starts picking up the pieces of Andrew’s tortured psyche and finding out his dark secrets, another mystery looms before her. Andrew’s lover has gone missing in recent months and no one knows what has happened to her, or if her voice has joined those of the other Breckenridge women. Before she knows it, Lily finds herself in danger—thrust directly into the eye of the raging storm.