Story Excerpt From “Second Helpings” ~ The Gift by Pat Bertram

Second Helpings
An Anthology of Holiday Recipes and
Short Stories
From Authors of
Second Wind Publishing

A perfect gift for short story lovers and food connoisseurs!

From sweet childhood remembrances to fanciful solutions of family dramas to romantic relationships that begin–or end–during the holidays, Second Helpings is an anthology of stories and memories, but most especially of recipes. Our end-of-year celebrations are occasions that bring reunions with unforgettable feasts and that one special, treasured dish. At the end of each story, vignette, reminiscence, you’ll find a recipe or collection of recipes that will make your next holiday memorable as well.

EXCERPT FROM:

The Gift
By
Pat Bertram

Monica Dryden hummed along with the Christmas carols on the radio as she pulled the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. They were David’s favorite, and she’d baked them for him every Christmas Eve for as long as they’d been together—five years now—continuing a tradition his mother started when he was a boy.

Still humming, Monica transferred the baked goods from the cookie sheet to a plate she’d purchased for the occasion—white china with a cheerful holly border. Her family had been too poor and too indolent to do much for Christmas, so making the holidays special for David brought her extra joy.

David Hollister. Even his name seemed to promise holiday cheer.

She put the plate of cookies and a glass of milk on a tray, added a sprig of holly from the bowl in the center of the table, and bore her offerings to the living room where David watched television.

He didn’t take his eyes from the screen when she nestled against him, but he didn’t pull away either, as he sometimes did. She smiled to herself, thinking how pleased he would be with the burgundy sweater and pinstriped shirt she’d bought him.

“Do you have to do that?” David asked.

“Do what?”

“You’re humming.”

She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“Are those chocolate chip cookies?”

“Of course.”

He clicked off the television and turned to face her. “We have to talk.” He spoke the words softly, almost kindly, but still they chilled her.

“Talk about what?” she asked warily.

“It’s not working out.”

“What’s not working out?”

“Us. We’re not right for each other. You’re too . . . predictable.”

She stared at him as if he’d spoken in an alien tongue. “Predictable? Me? You’re the one who insists on my doing the same things the same way. Remember those throw pillows I bought? You said—”

“That’s the old me. The new me wants . . . change.”

Her head snapped back as if she’d been hit. David wanted change? Since when? She opened her mouth and said the only thing that came to her stupefied mind. “Do you want me to make you a different kind of cookie?”

“This isn’t about cookies. It’s about . . .” He looked at her, expecting her to supply the words as she often did. She usually knew what he was thinking and could easily fill in his missing words, but now she couldn’t even hazard a guess.

David’s eyes shifted from side to side as if he were searching frantically for a way out of the conversation. Finally his gaze settled on his hands. “I want a divorce.”

Monica froze, then, getting control of herself, she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “You can’t have a divorce.”

He jumped to his feet and all but screamed, “I knew you’d be difficult about this. Why can’t I have a divorce?”

“We’re not married,” Monica said evenly.

He gaped at her for a moment, then a grin that broke her heart spread across his face. “That’s right. I forgot.”

Monica slumped forward, elbows on knees, head in her hands. He forgot? How was that possible? Just last week they’d talked about getting married. No . . . wait. She’d talked about getting married. He’d nodded with a faraway look in his eyes that made her think he’d been seeing their future together but apparently only meant he hadn’t been listening.

David’s voice seemed to come from a long way off. “I’ll guess I’ll be leaving.”

Monica jerked upright. “You’re leaving? But this is your apartment.” And then, all in an instant, she understood. “Who is she?”

***

Second Helpings is available in print and all ebook formats from Second Wind Publishing.

Story Excerpt From “Second Helpings” ~~ Unopened by Marie James

Second Helpings
An Anthology of Holiday Recipes and
Short Stories
From Authors of
Second Wind Publishing

A perfect gift for short story lovers and food connoisseurs!

From sweet childhood remembrances to fanciful solutions of family dramas to romantic relationships that begin–or end–during the holidays, Second Helpings is an anthology of stories and memories, but most especially of recipes. Our end-of-year celebrations are occasions that bring reunions with unforgettable feasts and that one special, treasured dish. At the end of each story, vignette, reminiscence, you’ll find a recipe or collection of recipes that will make your next holiday memorable as well.

EXCERPT FROM:

Unopened
By
Marie James

“Are you a gambling man?”

Josiah thought the voice was coming from his own head. In the midst of the department store’s holiday bedlam, words echoed and bounced like sound at a Super Bowl game. Mothers and fathers shouted to be heard. Children screamed like banshees as they ran unchecked through the crowds of last-minute holiday shoppers. Store clerks looked like prisoners serving out the last few hours of their Christmas sentences.

“Don’t take a chance, son,” the same voice seemed to whisper in Josiah’s ear. He turned and was almost nose-to-nose with an older gentleman. Grey-haired and bespectacled, the old guy met Josiah’s stare with a twinkle in his eye.

Nah. The twinkle was a reflection of the winking lights strung throughout the store. The old guy’s expression was serious as he admonished Josiah.

“Excuse me?” Josiah snapped a little more forcefully than he meant. His nerves were worn from the late gift buying. Every year it was the same, though: Janine bought Christmas gifts starting the week after the holiday while Josiah waited until the week—or usually the day—before.

Janine took care of the gifts, the cooking, the decorating and everything else associated with yuletide. The only thing she asked of Josiah was not to have to buy her own Christmas present. She was already responsible for her own birthday and anniversary gifts. She put her foot down years ago about being her own Santa Claus.

“That’s the worst perfume in the world,” the old guy said. “I used to buy it for my wife, but I didn’t know she hated it until after she died and I found over four dozen bottles in a box in the basement.”

A look of sadness crossed the old man’s face. “Look in your basement, son. I bet you’ll find a box of the ‘unopened’ in a dark corner.” He patted Josiah on the shoulder as he continued. “Find out what’s in her heart, son. Don’t let your holidays die like I did.”

With that, the old man turned away and was lost in the crowd. Josiah pushed his way to the counter as an opening appeared in front of him. With a frozen smile on her face, the cashier rang up his purchase. As he backed away from the counter, the crowd surged forward to fill in the empty space he’d left.

Josiah fought his way out of the store. On the bustling sidewalk, he watched as harried men and anxious women hurried from store to store in search of gifts to appease their conscience.

Why in the world did that thought cross his mind? Josiah had always been a good provider and a considerate husband. His wife and children wanted for nothing. He worked so they could have a comfortable life. Why did he suddenly feel guilty?

***

Second Helpings is available in print and all ebook formats from Second Wind Publishing.

Story Excerpt From “Second Helpings” ~~ Holiday Wedding by Lazarus Barnhill

Second Helpings
An Anthology of Holiday Recipes and
Short Stories
From Authors of
Second Wind Publishing

A perfect gift for short story lovers and food connoisseurs!

From sweet childhood remembrances to fanciful solutions of family dramas to romantic relationships that begin–or end–during the holidays, Second Helpings is an anthology of stories and memories, but most especially of recipes. Our end-of-year celebrations are occasions that bring reunions with unforgettable feasts and that one special, treasured dish. At the end of each story, vignette, reminiscence, you’ll find a recipe or collection of recipes that will make your next holiday memorable as well.

EXCERPT FROM:

Holiday Wedding
By
Lazarus Barnhill

It seemed to Richmond that, for a joyful occasion, the parson was too serious. Despite the pinched and put-upon expression he wore, however, the preacher was at least doing the job right.

“. . . and do you, Mary Ester Blank, take Jeremiah Freeman to be your husband, to have and hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health . . .”

In the midst of the minister’s droning, it occurred to Richmond that he could’ve cleaned out a bank twice in the time it took to get married once. He made certain, however, that his countenance bore no expression but a happy smile. At the length the religious prescriptions seemed to be coming to an end.

“. . . I pronounce that they are husband and wife together, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Those whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

The parson closed the little black book in this hand, the slightest bit of relief in his expression, and gazed at the lovely young couple before him, who returned his look with delighted anticipation. Richmond leaned close to the preacher’s ear and uttered a single word.

“Oh, my, of course,” the parson said. “How could I forget that? You may kiss the bride.”

As Jeremiah leaned forward to embrace his new wife, the two dozen people in Louisa Booe’s living room erupted with shouts and laughter. An irresistible smile on his face, Richmond stood for a time in silence watching the celebration: children and adults embracing one another, tears flowing, laughter rolling through them in waves.

The preacher drew close to him and said something. Richmond had to lean down to hear what he was saying.

“Are you through with me, then?”

“Sure, Parson. Let’s go out on the front porch.”

Outside in the descending twilight, it was much quieter.

“Well, Brother Meade, I’m pleased you changed your mind and agreed to delay your own Thanksgiving supper so you could come out to my mother’s and do this wedding.”

The minister glanced anxiously at the pistol Richmond had not taken off his hip—even for the ceremony. “To be completely honest, Mr. Booe, in a shotgun wedding it usually not the preacher who’s got a gun pointed at him.”

***

Second Helpings is available in print and all ebook formats from Second Wind Publishing.

Story Excerpt From “Second Helpings” ~~ Cookies Without by JJ Dare

Second Helpings
An Anthology of Holiday Recipes and
Short Stories
From Authors of
Second Wind Publishing

A perfect gift for short story lovers and food connoisseurs!

From sweet childhood remembrances to fanciful solutions of family dramas to romantic relationships that begin–or end–during the holidays, Second Helpings is an anthology of stories and memories, but most especially of recipes. Our end-of-year celebrations are occasions that bring reunions with unforgettable feasts and that one special, treasured dish. At the end of each story, vignette, reminiscence, you’ll find a recipe or collection of recipes that will make your next holiday memorable as well.

EXCERPT FROM:

Cookies Without
By
JJ Dare

This would be the third Christmas without Marie’s husband. It was the second Christmas without her brother and the first without her mother. This holiday had all the markings of a celebration with ghosts as the main guests.

Three loved ones gone in three years. Marie dreaded the next year. Who would leave next?

No Paul, no Eddie, no Mom. The days were always heavy with their absence, but holidays were worse. The emptiness pressed against her soul. She was barely making it through the normal days let alone the times when her family gathered to celebrate life.
. . .

Marie pulled out cans of sweet potatoes, carrots, green beans, and, from the very back of the cabinet, an expired can of very young peas. She held the can in her hands as fresh tears fell. No holiday meal had been complete without very young peas, Paul had said. There were a few holidays when he went to the store the day of the meal because Marie had forgotten to pick up a can of his favorite vegetable.

Gathering her wits, Marie set the cans on the counter and looked around. What else, what else? Something important was escaping her. What was missing?

The cookies! How could she forget the desert the family had expected the past two Christmases but Marie had been too heartbroken to make. The bon-bon cookies had been a joint effort between Marie and Paul. She would roll the cookies into balls and he would stuff them with chocolate chip pieces. It was the one of their few collaborations in cooking.

Roll and stuff. Marie could not remember when they had started the tradition, but the kids had early on nicknamed the cookies “Mom-Pop cookies.” Maybe she and Paul had started doing it to speed up the holiday dinner long ago when restless children wanted to hurry and eat so they could play with their new toys.

It did not matter now. There was no hurry anymore. There was only time stretching out ahead of her and no end in sight. She washed her hands, sat back down at the table and drifted off in thoughts of bygone holidays.

A bell dinging broke her from her reverie. As she pushed against to table to rise from her chair, she felt something strange on her hands. Buttery dough was sticking to her fingertips. Her heart raced as she looked at the metal cooking tray in front of her.

Neatly laid out were the traditional cookies she had purposely not made for the past two seasons. She picked one up with a shaking hand. Breaking the dough open, three chocolate chips nestled inside. The perfect number.

No more, no less. Paul had been adamant to the point of silliness about the number of chocolate pieces he stuffed inside each cookie. So adamant that one Christmas when they were short of money, he had meticulously removed the chips from the half he had finished and delicately sliced the pieces in half.

The hair on Marie’s neck stood on end.

***

Second Helpings is available in print and all ebook formats from Second Wind Publishing.

 

~~ Excerpt From “Second Helpings ~~ A Taste of the World by Dellani Oakes

Second Helpings
An Anthology of Holiday Recipes and
Short Stories
From Authors of
Second Wind Publishing

A perfect gift for short story lovers and food connoisseurs!

From sweet childhood remembrances to fanciful solutions of family dramas to romantic relationships that begin–or end–during the holidays, Second Helpings is an anthology of stories and memories, but most especially of recipes. Our end-of-year celebrations are occasions that bring reunions with unforgettable feasts and that one special, treasured dish. At the end of each story, vignette, reminiscence, you’ll find a recipe or collection of recipes that will make your next holiday memorable as well.

EXCERPT:

A Taste of the World
By
Dellani Oakes

When I was a child, my family lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts while my father attended Harvard. Living in the married student housing had its drawbacks, but it also gave me a first hand exposure to different cultures. Across the street, there was a family from Israel. On the corner, another from Australia. On our side, we had Scottish, German, Chinese, Indian and Japanese families. Not only were there many foreign students, there were people from all over the country. A rich blend of dialects greeted our ears whenever we went outside.

From time to time, we’d all get together for dinner. Someone brought out barbeque grills and did hot dogs and hamburgers. Every imaginable side dish you can think of would sit on long tables in the dead end street between the row houses. There was something there for everyone to enjoy, even if you were a picky eater like me.

I didn’t like a lot of foods as a child. I was persnickety and stubborn about what I would and wouldn’t eat. However, when we went to dinner at our friends’ homes, my parents encouraged me to try different things. I learned that there was a whole world of food out there I’d never encountered before. The flavors, the aromas, the vibrant colors – there was a veritable playground of food to be had. I might not learn to enjoy it all, but I certainly broadened my culinary horizons.

When I got old enough to cook, I tried my hand at many things. I loved to cook and took over that duty from my mother, who hated it. I made up my own recipes and served them for dinner. Sadly, I can’t find where I wrote them down and I can’t remember any of them well enough to share.

My father was an enthusiastic and ambitious cook. When I was in college and living at home, he prepared gourmet meals, which my mother & I enjoyed. When he died, I got his recipe cards and books and have found a lot of joy sharing those meals with my own family.

The recipes in this section reflect my love of food from all nations. They are simple, but delicious. Although only one is an authentic Italian recipe, the rest are representative of different cultures. They have a Taste of the World.

Egg Rolls

1 pound ground beef
1 package egg roll wraps
1 can green beans, drained
2 carrots, shredded
1 onion, diced
garlic power to taste
pepper
ginger
soy sauce
1T corn starch
1 tsp water
water chestnuts or bean sprouts optional

Brown beef with onion, garlic and spices. Drain. Shred carrots and chop green beans. Set aside. When beef has drained, mix with vegetables. Fill each wrapper with 2 or 3 Tablespoons of filling. Wrap by package directions and seal with the corn starch & water mixture. Egg rolls can be deep fried or brush with oil and bake 350 20 minutes. Turn once about halfway through. Serve with sweet and sour sauce or ketchup.

***

Second Helpings is available in print and all ebook formats from Second Wind Publishing.

Excerpt From “Second Helpings” ~~ A Taste of Louisiana by Jan Linton

Second Helpings
An Anthology of Holiday Recipes and
Short Stories
From Authors of
Second Wind Publishing

A perfect gift for short story lovers and food connoisseurs!

From sweet childhood remembrances to fanciful solutions of family dramas to romantic relationships that begin–or end–during the holidays, Second Helpings is an anthology of stories and memories, but most especially of recipes. Our end-of-year celebrations are occasions that bring reunions with unforgettable feasts and that one special, treasured dish. At the end of each story, vignette, reminiscence, you’ll find a recipe or collection of recipes that will make your next holiday memorable as well.

EXCERPT AND SAMPLE RECIPE:

A Taste of Louisiana
By
Jan Linton

Louisiana. We aren’t like the rest of the world. My home state stands out in ways that make it a unique place to live. We have parishes instead of counties. We love our incorrigible politicians—Edwin Edwards, four-term former governor, current ex-con, is still one of the most beloved citizens in Louisiana. And, we adore our food.

We love to celebrate anything. Mudbugs, alligators, even those pesky mosquitoes give us a reason to “make groceries” and put on a feast-like spread. There is always a place for one (or a dozen) more at the table in Southern homes. If you’re hungry, I’ll feed you. If you’re not hungry, I’ll still feed you. If you won’t let me force-feed you, you’re not stepping out of my house without a sack full of leftovers. It’s just our way.

Some call it “Southern hospitality,” but it’s really just part of our heritage. Our mommas would slap us hard, in person or in spirit, if we didn’t make our visitors (friends, family and strangers) eat until they waddled out the door. No one leaves a true Southern home with an empty belly.

Holidays are celebrated in style. We not only have turkey and ham, we cook every possible meat we can lay our hands on. Venison and beef will be competing for space on the banquet table. We have our traditional fare, but no Louisiana holiday is complete without our seafood and beer. Crawfish, fish, crabs, shrimp; you name anything we can catch in the Gulf, we’ll have it on the holiday table.

Deserts? Oh, sweet Pierre, do we have deserts. At any holiday or family gathering, it’s normal to have at least half a dozen different cakes, cookies, pies and candy. And that doesn’t count what our guests bring.

In Louisiana, we celebrate life through our food. Holidays give us the perfect opportunity to put our culinary skills and social heritage to work. The highest compliment to a Southern cook is to see our friends and family nap after a full meal. We make our mommas proud.

Shrimp and Corn Bisque

1 tablespoon margarine or butter
¼ cup chopped onions
2 cloves garlic, minced
¼ teaspoon black pepper
2 cans cream of potato soup (10.75 oz)
1 can evaporated milk (12 oz)
4 ounces cream cheese
6 ounces Velveeta cheese
1 can creamed corn
1 can whole kernel corn
1 large baked potato, peeled and chopped
1 ½ pound shrimp, peeled and deveined

Melt margarine or butter in large pot (Dutch oven works best). Add onions, garlic and pepper; sauté until tender. Stir in potato soup, evaporated milk, cream cheese, Velveeta cheese and both cans of corn. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly. After cheese has melted, stir in baked potato chunks. Add shrimp and cook on medium-low heat for 10-15 minutes until shrimp are done.

***

Second Helpings is available in print and all ebook formats from Second Wind Publishing.

Excerpt From “Wishes and Promises,” a short story by Charlotte Holley

Steven Carmichael is missing in action in Afghanistan, and it’s almost Christmas. How can his wife Janie tell their five-year-old daughter Kaitlin that her daddy is presumed dead? Both she and Kaity have been having dreams about Steve for a few weeks, but whose dreams are real? Kaity “dream-visits” her dad in his hospital bed and he promises her he’ll be home Christmas Day, so little Kaity is convinced Steve is alive. Janie’s dreams, however, have convinced her Steve has to be dead, though she can’t admit it even to herself. What will happen Christmas Day when Steve doesn’t keep his promise to Kaitlin?

EXCERPT:

“I want my daddy!” Kaitlin Carmichael cried. “Mommy, go get him. Now!”

“Kaity, honey, I told you before; I can’t do that. Daddy is far away, and he can’t come home right now,” Kaitlin’s mom Janie explained, brushing the wild auburn tangles of hair back from the eyes of her five-year-old.

Kaity sobbed inconsolably. “I—need—him, Mommy. He promised he’d come back soon, and I need him—now!”

Janie Carmichael held her daughter in her lap and rocked her, while Kaity clung to her with a strength Janie had never realized such a small child could possess. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream? You can tell Mommy about it. Daddy left me in charge, and that means I can chase those scary nightmares away, just like he always does.”

Kaitlin looked at her mother like the woman had suddenly sprouted big green, hairy warts and pulled away from her, scrambling to the floor shaking her head. “It’s not the same. You aren’t the same as Daddy. Only Daddy can chase these monsters away!”

Janie tried to stay calm. She knew in so many ways she wasn’t an adequate substitute for her handsome, muscular husband. Even Kaitlin knew Janie was weak and scared; how could she possibly be brave and strong enough to chase away her daughter’s bad dreams? Worse still, how could she ever hope to tell little Kaity the truth? Steven Carmichael wasn’t coming back. Not now. Not ever. Daddy was missing in action in Afghanistan, and though Janie had tried with everything she had to will it to be otherwise, she had failed miserably. All she hadn’t done was to tell Kaitlin the news, choosing to postpone it until Steve’s death was confirmed.

“Aw, come on. You know Daddy wouldn’t want his best girl to be so unhappy this close to Christmas,” Janie cajoled. “What say we go downstairs and make some cocoa? I’ll read you a story, and then you can bunk with me the rest of the night. Huh? Would you like that?”

Kaitlin rubbed the tears from her eyes and wiped her hands on the sides of her purple flannel nightgown, searching out her slippers. Her chin was still quivering as she looked at her mother with her big, green teary eyes and shrugged. “Daddy would make me pancakes.”

Janie sighed. “Pancakes, huh? Is that what you want? Do you know it’s two in the morning?”

“Daddy says pancakes are the best way to make the monsters go away,” Kaitlin said.

Janie felt her shoulders sag a bit as she rose from the bed and headed for the door. Yeah, sure; Daddy’s pancakes would be the best cure for monsters. Hers? She doubted it. Everything Steve did was better than what she could do. He was a better parent . . . better storyteller, better cook. He even kept house better than she did. She fought back bitter tears as she held her hand out to take Kaitlin’s. “Pancakes it is, Princess! Nothing’s too good for Daddy’s girl.”

Janie’s Dream

Janie woke much earlier than she would have liked, in view of the early morning pancakes and crying session with Kaitlin. She rolled onto her side and watched the little girl, who was sleeping peacefully now. It had taken more than three hours to calm Kaity down, but then she’d finally succumbed to weariness, into a deep, peaceful slumber. Janie wished she could have done the same.

Her own sleep had been fitful and troubled, with dreams of mortar fire and bodies strewn across sand dunes as far as she could see. In them, she wandered endlessly from one body to the next, looking for Steve. Always searching . . . she’d been performing the same futile hunt each night ever since she received word he was MIA. Missing . . . how could he be missing? Steve was the biggest, strongest, smartest man in his company, for heaven’s sake! Surely it was all a bad dream and she would wake up any minute.

The bright rays of sunlight peeping through the thin crack between the thick, dark drapes testified to the cold reality. She was already wide awake. Another day . . . and nothing was different; nothing was all right, and it would never be all right again. Steve was dead; otherwise she’d have surely heard something by now. She was only lying to herself if she thought different, and her logical self knew it; somewhere inside, she knew and even accepted it, but her heart couldn’t abide the thought.

The image from her nightly chase that taunted her most was the one she had tried the hardest to banish from her mind. All the dead soldiers in her dreams were bloody and gruesome, but not one of them was Steve. Except—as she walked through the carnage she found a lone Marine lying face-down in the sand. He was exactly the right build, the right coloring; she held her breath. His body wasn’t all bloody and mangled like the others, which made her heart pound with the unspoken hope that maybe . . .

Every time she found the man, she knelt close beside him and called out softly to him. She dared in that instant to hope beyond reason; surely she’d found him at last, and he was alive. Feeling her entire being tremble in response to the thought, she reached out to touch him, sure he was only knocked out . . . addled from a blow to the head or something minor. This was Steve! It had to be. She’d memorized every inch of that beautiful body. Surely no other man was as perfect as Steven Carmichael. Mustering all her strength, she reached to turn him, only to find he had no face. It had been blown off, and she still didn’t know if it was Steve, or just someone who looked so much like him she had been fooled. Still, something inside her wouldn’t believe she could be so easily deluded by any other man’s body, even if it did resemble Steve so uncannily.

How could she be sure? Would she ever know for certain, if they didn’t find his body? How could she go on living, knowing he was gone? She felt the tears flowing from her eyes. Steve, we both need you. Please come home to us . . . Then she shook herself and sprang out of the wide king-size bed, tearing off to the other end of the house, fearing her heart-wrenching sobs would awaken Kaitlin. Janie needed to be strong for her daughter, but she didn’t know how, and she was almost beyond trying.

***

Charlotte Holley has an inborn love of all mysteries and the supernatural, and has been reading and writing about the paranormal for more than forty years. A mass communications major, she has written and published newsletters, magazine and newspaper articles, as well as poems and short stories since receiving her bachelor’s degree in 1980. As a beaded jewelry designer, she has also self-published thirty pattern collections on CD and in eBook form and has produced more than 400 individual original patterns.

Charlotte has a degree in Mass Communications/marketing and has been writing since she was thirteen. She is CEO, Art Director and Production Manager at Gypsy Shadow Publishing, and is currently working on the third book in her Actor’s Guild Paranormal Mystery Series, Whispers From the Past: Vendetta (and hopes to have it finished near the end of 2012).

WEBSITE: http://www.charlotteholley.com
BLOG: http://chalaedra.wordpress.com/
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/Chalaedra
FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/C.Holley.Author

Wishes and Promises is available at the link above, at:
http://www.amazon.com/Wishes-and-Promises-ebook/dp/B009WWF106/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1351360505&sr=1-1&keywords=wishes+and+promises+charlotte+holley
and many other eBook vendors

Excerpt from “Of Heaven and Hell” by Vickie Taylor

“Of Heaven and Hell” (Short Story): Fred Tucker is a man driven to madness. When he closes his eyes at night, Fred sees faces. People he comes to believe are in danger. His descent into his personal hell accelerates when he becomes obsessed with finding these people, believing he is meant to save them…and ends when he is successful and must accept that he is not their savior, but something far more sinister.

–

Excerpt:

Face scrubbed, teeth brushed, hair still damp from my shower, I slide beneath the covers, but my hand hesitates on the lamp switch. In the light there are objects to focus on—the bureau, the book on the nightstand, the cat curled on the foot of the bed. With the dark come the faces. Flashes on the backs of my eyelids: old men, young women, children of every age and color.

When I was a kid myself, the faces were entertainment. A kind of bedtime picture story. As a young adult they became an annoyance. A distraction from more pleasurable bedroom pursuits. With middle age, they simply are. The faces are a part of me. Perhaps the only part that matters.

I see their features in stark detail, as sharp as a high-resolution photograph. They could be my neighbors, my coworkers, the clerk at the local grocery, but they pass so quickly, illuminated only for an instant by a strobe of insight, that my mind hardly has time to process what my closed eyes see.

There is, however, always time to feel. With each new frame I’m stabbed by a blade of emotion. Pangs of grief, of shame, of terror, or of rage. Sometimes I’m pierced by all four at once, sometimes more. Where are the smiling faces? The people who laugh? The only thing my faces seem to have in common is pain.

“Turn out the light, hon,” my wife says.

I’ve tried to tell her about my nightly visitation by hosts of sad strangers. A doctor, she explains away my visions as overactive photoreceptor cells in my retinas and pareidolia—the psychological phenomena in which the brain attempts to organize random stimuli into known patterns, hence why people see bunnies in the clouds. I ask if others see faces. No, she tells me. Most rest in darkness. A few perceive splashes of mutating color, like a hippie lava lamp. But never faces. Not that she knows of.

I should speak to her again, tell her my faces are more, that they mean something, I’m sure, but her head is turned away, her cheek buried in her pillow. The face I love is the one face I rarely see.

***

Vickie Taylor has published 15 novels and novellas with Silhouette Books and Berkley Publishing Group. She has won the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense and been nominated for the Romance Writers of America’s highest award, the Rita, four times. This year she hopes to expand into new genres including thrillers, YA, and mystery. When she’s not at her computer, Vickie is usually out riding her horses, training search and rescue dogs, or volunteering with her local humane society.

Website: http://www.VickieTaylor.com (You can get a cover image here)
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/vickie.taylor.969
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/VickieTaylor

Buy link for Of Heaven and Hell: http://tinyurl.com/7y8og9d