A Page Straight From D.G. Driver - #apagestraightfrom

Cry of the Sea

by

D.G. Driver

They must be surfers, was all I could think as I ran toward the three squirming bodies. Who else would be in the water this early in the morning? But even for surfers, this was pretty early. They’d have to have been surfing in the dark. That didn’t make any sense. Were they crazy? I knew some surfers at school, and they were definitely nuts sometimes, but surfing before the sun rose seemed extreme even for them.

Well, crazy or not, they didn’t deserve to be caught in an oil slick. I crashed down to my knees beside the bodies and dropped my gear. I started to reach out my hand to tap them and see if they were all right without even stopping to get a good look at them. But before I touched any of them, my arm recoiled back to my side.

"Dad!" I screamed. "Oh my God! Dad!"

My dad rushed up behind me. "Are they alive?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.

"I… I…"

Words didn’t come. I couldn’t formulate a thought. I was too startled. These three figures lying in the sand in front of me weren’t surfers at all.

They weren’t even people.

From their facial features and upper torsos, they looked kind of like women, but all three of them had silver-colored skin. They were bald, with strange ridges marking their skulls. None of them seemed to have ears, only holes in the sides of their heads. No nose was visible, not even a bone or nostrils filled that space between their eyes and mouths. Although their mouths seemed to be moving, they were actually breathing through what looked like gills in their necks.

And if that wasn’t weird enough, instead of legs, their upper torsos stretched out into long, scale-covered, silver fishtails. If I had to say what these things stranded in front of me, splattered with oil, appeared to be, I’d say mermaids. And no, they didn’t look like they’d start singing songs or granting me wishes. They looked a little bit scary—but fragile too. Most of all, they looked like they were going to die, and no handsome prince was there to kiss them and keep them from turning into sea foam.

"June," my dad whispered. "Do you think they’re real?"

"Yes," I whispered back. "Strange but very real."

"You don’t think they’re costumes?" he suggested. "Maybe some costume party on a yacht last night—they fell off."

Sometimes my dad’s brain worked even more off-kilter than mine. I shook my head. "Those are not costumes, Dad."

Those beings lying there in the sand were not wearing anything that was cut or stitched together. What I saw wasn’t material. It wasn’t a lycra suit like on Catwoman, nor was it some kind of make-up like that chick from X-Men. Make-up would’ve been washed away.

What I saw was real skin. Or some kind of skin, if skin could be silver. And those were real scales, not some kind of pointy sequins. I’d been around enough fish to know the difference. Besides, if these were a couple drunk, rich women in costumes, they’d be dead already. I knew these creatures weren’t dead, because the one closest to me suddenly opened its eyes and focused them right at me.

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A Page Straight From Shirley Martin - #apagestraightfrom

Forbidden Love

by

Shirley Martin

 Combing her fingers through her hair,Lisa tried to hold back the tears, never in a million years willing to let him see her heart was breaking.  Later, after he left, she'd cry her heart out, but not now, not in front of him.  She released the strands of hair, and silky locks brushed her shoulders and grazed her breasts.

 "You have beautiful hair," he murmured.  Tentative fingers touched her hair, his gentle stroke as sensuous as a lover's caress.

 "You like my hair?"  With one quick, sinuous movement, she shook her head, letting the strands cascade past her shoulders and down her back. 

 "Lisa!" 

 Within a heartbeat, she found herself enclosed in his arms, his body molded to hers, as if they were part of the same whole.  His lips, warm and demanding, claimed hers.  Shifting his position, he held her ever closer, his hands playing across her back and down to her hips.  He drew away to feather kisses on her cheeks, behind her ears, her forehead, his warm breath fanning her skin.

 "My darling!"

 This was wonderful, beautiful, everything she'd ever imagined his kiss could be, and so much more.  Oh, so much more! To be held in his strong arms, his lips on hers!  Drifting in a dreamworld of new sensations, she tightened her arms around him, drawing his mouth to hers again as she returned his kisses with a passion she'd never imagined, no, not in her wildest fantasies. 

 She raised her hand to run her fingers through his hair, something she'd dreamed of doing for the longest time.  Her fingers trailed down to his crisp collar, then up to the nape of his neck, then farther up to his hair again, loving the taste, touch, and smell of him, the very essence of his being, everything that made him the man she loved.  Not caring if he'd think her a wanton, she brushed her thigh against his. 

 "You don't know what you're doing to me!" he gasped.

 “It’s the same with me.”

 Lisa reveled in his hard body close to hers--such a new, strange feeling, more glorious than anything she'd ever imagined.  She loved the tangy scent of his shaving soap, the touch of his clean-shaven cheek next to hers.  Her fingers brushed across his back, and she found a strange comfort in the rough texture of his wool suit and the play of his muscles, hard and firm, beneath the pressure of her straying fingers. 

 Above all, she wished his caresses would go on forever.  With an ache that brought her to the edge of despair, she realized her wish could never come true.  The tears she'd tried so hard to restrain streamed down her cheeks.

 "Don't cry, darling."  He kissed her tears, then pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.  Effortlessly, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the sofa, where he cradled her close to his chest.  

"Owen!"

 As if snapped back to the moment, Owen raised her from him and eased her aside.  "What am I doing!"
 Bewildered and hurt, she stared at him as her body and soul cried out for him.  Take me in your arms again, she silently cried.  Never let me go!

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A Page Straight From Ralph Bland - #apagestraightfrom

Long Long Time

by

Ralph Bland

Our first date was on a Friday night the next week. It was a week before Good Friday and the weather was as perfect a spring night as I could remember. Of course I was just getting to the age where I was starting to compare current moments with those of the past, and this sense of having a personal history was new and strange to me. I didn’t know it so much then, but it was like my first little foray into the land of middle age, and it was unique there at first to be able to say I’d known somebody thirty years or this or that happened to me a quarter of a century ago. I drove to Caroline’s house that night listening to “Light My Fire” by the Doors on the radio, and it occurred to me as a sudden enlightenment that Jim Morrison had been dead for seventeen years. It seemed like yesterday. I was walking around at Waters and everybody who wasn’t dead from the ankles up was in a state of shock.

She lived in the upstairs of a house owned by a preacher and his wife. The house was one of those 1930s barns of endless square feet and multiple bathrooms and balconies and a wide array of bedrooms where the Brady Bunch and their pals would all have a place to sleep. I had to climb a stairway already bursting with ivy and wisteria to make it to her door, which was connected to another balcony at the back of the house, which she assured me was private and peaceful and if it was taken away from her somehow she would never find a way to get over it. I stood at her door and looked for a moment at the wicker chairs and the cloth divan, felt the soft spring night breeze on my forehead and imagined myself here with this girl and the May stars somewhere out there behind the railing and the trellis, and before my knuckles grazed the door I was hooked.

“You’re either the slightest bit early or I’m my usual self who’s somewhat late no matter what circus is coming to town.”

She stood in her doorway wearing some form of jeans that were the deepest blue I could recall, like an octopus had risen from the deep and left its cloak on her, and a white silk blouse that clung to her in precisely the manner I hoped I would. She smelled of something far away, something to the west somewhere I’d never been, and I found myself leaning toward her just so I could breathe her in. Her eyes were green and tiny pearl earrings clung to her ears, and I looked at her and knew she was twenty-two, twenty-three, and I felt the curse of being thirty-eight and the idea that soon it would be all over, this standing here in the spring night breathing in all that was enchanted on a balcony laced with magic, this loveliness within my reach and the beating of what remained of my heart, and I knew if I did not try and catch this dream song and hold it in my head and balance it on the tip of my senses the spring would pass and the summer would wind away into Autumn, and I would look at forty and it would never be the same again. And I said no to the thought, because I looked past the stars and saw what that awful morning would have me be.

So in that moment, on that balcony beneath a Southern spring circle of moonlight and stars, I willed myself to be in love with Caroline. I promised myself the salvation of love and youth and spring.

Amen and farewell, I told myself, to all that had gone before.

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A Page Straight From Juliet Waldron - #apagestraightfrom

Angel's Flight

by

Juliet Waldron

Angelica and Jack’s sail aboard the The Judik ends when they are caught at a Hudson River port by British warships. The British know that The Judik is carrying powder for the American army. The runaway couple and the Patriot soldiers who are with them have no choice but to “head for the hills”.

The path they followed was a series of switchbacks, a footpath clinging to the rearing promontory. For a moment the entire line stopped while everyone stared with horrified fascination at what was going on below. The ships carrying the British flag were so much larger. They surged toward the rebels.
Streaks of red and puffs of blistering white illuminated the cove while the sun slipped away. The roar of cannons ricocheted back and forth between the high cliffs. One little ship exploded in a cloud of slow motion splinters. Almost before these had finished falling, its broken bow slipped beneath the Hudson’s green surface.
“Get moving, you fools!” This was Captain Van Dam, waving his arms frantically. “We can’t be caught!”
With much stumbling and rattling of rocks, the column moved again. Everyone understood the danger, but it was almost impossible to turn away from the scene on the river.
Clods of dirt and stones rattled from above, startling some of the horses at the end of the line. There was a constant fear of being kicked. Angelica stubbed her toes and staggered, trying not to fall. In the summer twilight, everyone was stumbling and cursing. Sparks flew as horseshoes struck rock.
Fearsome roars and flashes rose from the river. Finally, a rising red tide washed over them and, helplessly, everyone paused to look back. Angelica saw ships sailing fast toward the shore. Behind them, the sails of a two-masted ship too large to escape over the boom made a magnificent pyramid of fire.
“The Judik!” Angelica’s heart thumped her ribs.
“Yes,” Jack said. “Hurry!” he shouted to those who, gaping down at the river, blocked the trail ahead. “They’re coming after us!”
As they reached the top of the bluff, the tempo and size of the explosions on the river multiplied. Flames had reached the powder still stored on board the ship. Angelica, her sides aching from the steep climb, looked back. The Judik was the center of a whizzing, smoke-trailing fireworks display. The entire gorge glowed and rippled red as if the hills were melting into the river. The British were painting the world—Angelica’s world—with fire!
“Run! Damn it—run!”
The time was past for formalities. Jack’s arm caught her around the waist, and he rushed her up and over the final rise. Tongues of fire danced behind them.
Then, with an earsplitting roar, a sound that surpassed any she’d ever heard or imagined, the end came for Vanderzee’s ship. There was a blinding light, while the concussion staggered those who had lingered to watch. Men and animals screamed in fear. Jack threw his cloak around Angelica like a wing, pressed her close against his chest and rolled with her to the ground. When the raging incandescence passed, they were clutching each other in a bitter twilight that tasted of gunpowder.


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A Page Straight from Ann Herrick - #apagestraightfrom

My Summer Boyfriend

by

Ann Herrick

Logan grinned as he led me into the house. "It's a three-story climb up to the turret. But it's worth it just for the view."
The stairway alone was enough to impress me. The wide stairs were thickly carpeted and bordered on each side by ornately carved mahogany railings. Tiny sconces lit the way. They looked so much like real candles that I almost expected them to drip wax.
"Whew! That was some climb." I puffed, trying to catch my breath at the top of the stairs. But Logan was right—the view was worth the effort. I could see for miles.
As I stepped into the room itself I felt as if I were entering a castle. Window seats cushioned with green velvet pillows were built in under three arched windows with crosshatched leaded panes. Pink and purple rays of the sunset flooded the room through the diamond-shaped panes of glass, brightening, for a moment, a room otherwise dimly lit by a single sconce.
"Take a load off your feet," Logan invited. He sat on the middle window seat and pulled me down onto his lap. Out the window I could see the figures of Alex and Nicole on the beach. Alex had his hands on his hips. Nicole was pointing toward the house. I tried to ignore them.
"The sunset is beautiful," I said. Even as I admired the tones of gold and pink sinking in the west, I tried to slip off Logan's lap. His grip tightened around my waist.
"You're beautiful," Logan said. He pushed me back against the soft pile of pillows.
I stiffened as his body pressed against mine. I could feel his hot breath all over my face. His prolonged kiss sent a shiver of panic to the pit of my stomach. Finally he stopped kissing me long enough for me to catch my breath. "Logan. Let's go downstairs, now," I said shakily.
"I'd rather stay here," he answered huskily. "Just settle back and relax." He engulfed my mouth in another kiss. I felt his hand sear a path up my back and fumble with the zipper of my dress. When I heard the zipper going down, I pressed against a pillow, hoping to immobilize his fingers. Logan stopped kissing me. His face was flushed. "Look," he said, his voice shaky, "all this may have started as just a favor to Nicole, but now I really want you."
Want you! The words echoed in my head like a five-alarm warning siren. "No," I said firmly, even though my heart was pounding. "I want to get out of here."
"Please." Logan's voice was pleading, and his eyes had a glazed expression, but he loosened his grip on me slightly.
"I want to go," I said, trying to keep my voice even.
"Take your hands off her!" From out of nowhere Alex hovered over us.


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A Page Straight From Jamie Hill - #apagestraightfrom

Pieces of the Past – Book One

Witness Security – The Series

by Jamie Hill

Imagine the music from the Twilight Zone.  Jamie just informed me that the page I had featured today is NOT her work.  I have no explanation, nor do I know whose work I've credited her with.  Even the buy link goes to her work, and I usually work from one email at a time, so I'm at a loss.  I've asked her to submit her page, but I don't know if she'll trust me again.  Egads...I think the Google Gremlins were at work.

Hooray....she trusted me and send me the page that should have gone here:

Doug helped Christine wash and dry the dishes after dinner. She sent the text messages they’d discussed. He heard Peyton on the phone in the other room but couldn’t hear what she was saying—she was the one that concerned him. Younger kids were easier to handle in Witsec. Peyton definitely reinforced his opinion that teenagers were a nightmare.

He felt a twinge of guilt for flashing his gun at her, but it had done the trick. She’d cooperated since he reminded her that this was serious business, with no time for school-girl antics. Yet he still felt bad. They were a nice family, one who didn’t deserve to be here. He’d read the file. Larry had done a number on them. Doug didn’t buy the man’s ‘misguided thinking’ story, as if he didn’t really understand what he was doing. Larry understood. The easy money was just too hard to resist.

Christine moved next to him. “I think I’m done. I’ll still need to make a couple calls in the morning.”

He nodded. “I’ll need your phone.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Really? You can trust me, you know. I won’t use it—”

“Unless you need to, and then you will. Nope, sorry, I need the phone.”

She handed it over without another comment. Doug stuck it in his pocket. He wouldn’t tell her or Peyton, but he was leaving their phones in the house. Unsure about how sophisticated their stalker was, he wasn’t taking any chances. Tracking cell phones was easy for someone with access to the right equipment.

Peyton joined them, her phone in hand. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me keep this.”

“Sorry.” Doug added it to the one in his pocket.

“What about my laptop? Can I bring that?”

“We’ll have a computer where we’re going. It’s set up on a secure network. You’ll have some access to that.”

“Some access. Great.” She turned and walked out.

“Gee. This is going to be fun.” Doug moved to the front window and peered out.

“She’s not normally this way, you know,” Christine defended her daughter. “With everything that’s happened…”

“I understand. Her behavior just doesn’t make this any easier.”

“Easy?” her voice bristled. “You think any of this has been easy? It may be just a job to you, but this is our life.”

He faced her. “In my line of work, it’s never ‘just a job’. I get that. You need to get that I’m doing the best I can under less than perfect circumstances. Believe me, you and the kids are my top priority.”

She gazed at him. “I do.”

Doug blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I do believe you. And I thank you. I haven’t said that yet. But I appreciate what you’re doing for us.”

He forced his breathing to remain even. The way she looked at him a moment ago, when she said ‘I do’, a world of other thoughts raced through his mind. Ideas that scared the hell out of him worse than the situation they were in. “You’re welcome.” He started to add I’m just doing my job but he wasn’t sure that was true anymore. Things were fast becoming personal, for better or worse. The unfortunate choice of words made him groan again.

Glancing out the window again, he focused on the black SUV which stopped in front of the house. Doug turned back to Christine. “Are you ready? Because things are fixing to get interesting."

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If you'd like to read the blurb....here you go:

The past is closing in on Christine Scott. Uprooted from her pleasant life in Chicago, she and her two children are thrust into the Witness Security Program when the mistakes of her husband catch up with him. He lands in prison, while she and the kids are transplanted to a quiet Kansas town. Christine does her best to keep life normal for her active ten-year-old son and persistently moody seventeen-year old daughter. But when they start receiving gifts from an anonymous sender, reminders of their old life, it becomes obvious that someone has found them.

Doug Jackson's been in service with the US Marshal’s office for fifteen years. He hasn’t lost a witness yet, and doesn’t intend to start with Christine or her family.  If he can get them to cooperate, his job might be easier. Unfortunately, no one seems concerned about making Doug's life easy. Not the man in the white sedan who eludes him, nor the pretty Christine, thoughts of whom he can't seem to shake. Their lives depend on Doug keeping his head in the game, and he's determined to do just that.