Hello there, friends!
First off big congrats to all of my week one
participants, you have all earned your first entry (out of 4) for the SUPER
MEGA AWESOME GRAND PRIZE GIVEAWAY!
And a big congrats to my week one winner Michele! (I
swear I didn't plan that…it was all rafflecopter's doing.)
Now, this week I've got a special treat for you. The magnificent
Michelle Muto has so graciously decided to share the first chapter from Don't Fear the Reaper! I have to say
this is one of my all time favorite books ever. If you've read it, you'll know why. If you haven't, then get your butt moving and grab a copy of
it!
Here's the synopsis to wet your whistle before we get
to the good stuff…
Haunted by memories of her murdered
twin, Keely Morrison is convinced suicide is her only ticket to eternal
peace. But in death, she discovers the afterlife is nothing like she
expected. Instead of peaceful oblivion or a joyful reunion with her
sister, Keely is trapped in a netherworld on Earth with only a bounty-hunting
reaper and a sarcastic demon to show her the ropes.
When the demon offers Keely her ultimate temptation--revenge on her sister's killer--she
must determine who she can trust. Because, as Keely soon learns, the reaper and
demon have been keeping secrets and she fears the worst is true--that her every
decision changes how, and with whom, she spends eternity.
Alrighty, folks! Are you ready for more? Well, here it
is! Chapter one of Don't Fear the Reaper.
I repeated my version of the psalm as I watched the
ribbon of blood drift from my wrist. I’d hoped it would be a
distraction—something to stop me from wondering what my sister’s dying thoughts
had been. Exhaling slowly, I let the emptiness consume me.
Jordan had kept my secrets and I had kept hers. In
the end, it came down to just one secret between us that took her life. Now, it
would take mine. I should have said something, but nothing I said or did now
could bring her back or make anyone understand what she meant to me.
Are you here, Jordan? Are you with me? Tell me
about heaven...
I told myself Jordan was gone, never coming back,
but her memories continued to haunt me. I had no idea if there even was
an afterlife. If God existed, I was convinced he had given up on me. Not once
did I sense he’d heard a single one of my prayers. I wasn’t asking for the
world—I only wanted to know if my sister was safe and at peace. What was so
hard about that?
She should still be here. It wasn’t fair.
I’d been the difficult one—much more than Jordan.
For a while, I’d even gotten into drugs. Mom and Dad had worried I’d get Jordan
into drugs, too. But I wouldn’t. Not ever. Besides, that part of my life had
been over long before Jordan’s death. A small gargoyle tattoo on my left
shoulder was all that remained of my previous lifestyle.
Mom and Dad started treating me differently after
Jordan’s funeral two months ago. She and I were twins, so I understood how hard
it was for them to look at me and not see her. Sometimes, they wouldn’t look at
me at all. Mom went to the psychiatrist, but no one asked if I needed to talk
to someone about what happened. No one asked if I needed sleeping pills or
antidepressants. Yeah, sure. Don’t give the former addict pills of any
sort.
Not one person saw the all-consuming suffering that
gnawed at my soul. Why couldn’t anyone see? Jordan had been more than my
sister—she’d been my Samson, my strength. I would have done anything for her,
and yet, I’d failed her. I wasn’t the one who’d killed her, but I might as well
have been. How could I ever live with that? My heart had a stillness to it
since her death.
I shall fear no evil.
I couldn’t very well recite the first part of Psalm
23 because it said I shall not want, and I did want. I wanted to go back
in time. I wanted my sister back. Clearly, goodness and mercy were never going
to be part of my life ever again. In my mind, I saw myself walking through the
iron gates of hell with demons cackling gleefully all around.
I didn’t want to die. Not really. I was just tired
and didn’t know of another way to stop the pain. Doctors removed a bad
appendix. Dentists pulled rotten teeth. What was I supposed to do when my very
essence hurt, when the cancer I’d come to call depression made every decent
memory agonizingly unbearable?
Before I’d gotten down to cutting my wrist (I
managed to only cut one), I’d taken a few swigs of Dad’s tequila—the good kind
he kept in the basement freezer. I’d used another swig or two to chase down the
remainder of Mom’s sleeping pills in the event I failed to hit an artery or
vein. Then I’d set the bottle on the ledge of the tub in case I needed further
liquid encouragement. Instead of using a knife or a razor, I attached a cutting
blade to my Dad’s Dremel. The Dremel was faster, I reasoned. More efficient.
It would have been easier to OD, I suppose. But I
felt closer to my sister this way, to suffer as she’d suffered.
I recited the line from Psalms 23 again. It had
become my personal mantra.
The words resonated in my parents’ oversized
bathroom. I’d chosen theirs because the Jacuzzi tub was larger than the tub in
the hall bathroom. Jordan and I used to take bubble baths together in this same
tub when we were little.
Innocence felt like a lifetime ago. I searched the
bathroom for bubble bath but came up short. Soap might have made the laceration
hurt more so it was probably just as well. Besides, the crimson streaming from
my wrist like watercolor on silk was oddly mesmerizing.
The loneliness inside proved unrelenting, and the
line from the psalms made me feel better. I prayed for the agony inside me to
stop. I argued with God. Pleaded. But after all was said and done, I just
wanted the darkness to call me home.
I tried not to think of who would find my body or
who’d read the note I’d left. I blamed myself not only for failing Jordan, but
for failing my parents, too.
My lifeline to this existence continued to bleed out
into the warm water. Killing myself had been harder than I’d imagined. I hadn’t
anticipated the searing fire racing through my veins. I reached for the tequila
with my good arm but couldn’t quite manage. Tears welled in my eyes.
Part of me foolishly felt Jordan was here. The
other part feared she wasn’t.
Give me a sign, Sis. Just one.
I imagined seeing my parents at my funeral—their
gaunt faces, red-eyed and sleepless. How could I do this to them? Wasn’t the
devastation of losing one child enough?
No. Stop. A voice in my head screamed.
Don’t do this. Don’t. Please...
I shifted my body, attempted to get my
uncooperative legs under me. I could see the phone on my parents’ nightstand. I
could make it that far. Had to. The voice was right. I didn’t want to do this.
I felt disorientated, dizzy. Darkness crept along the edges of my vision.
Focusing became difficult. A sweeping shadow of black caught my attention.
Someone stood in the bathroom—not my sister. A man. Had I managed to call 911?
I couldn’t remember getting out of the tub. And why’d I get back in? Did I use
a towel?
Mom is going to be pissed when she sees the blood
I’ve tracked all over the bedroom carpet.
“I’m sorry,” I told the man in black.
“It’s okay, Keely. Don’t be afraid.” Not my
father’s voice. It was softer, with a hint of sorrow. Distant. Fleeting. Later,
I’d feel embarrassed about this, but for now I was safe from the nothing I’d
almost become. My teeth clattered from the chill. My eyelids fluttered in time
with my breaths. The tub water had turned the color of port wine. The ribbons,
the pretty, red watercolor ribbons were gone.
Dull gray clouded my sight.
A voice whispered to me, and my consciousness
floated to the surface again.
“—okay, Keely.”
Cold. So cold.
“I’m right here.”
There was no fear in me as the man bent forward,
his face inches from mine. He was my father’s age, and yet strangely older. His
eyes were so...blue, almost iridescent. The irises were rimmed in a fine
line of black, and the creases etched at the corners reminded me of sunbeams as
he gave me a weak smile. The oddly. Dressed. Paramedic. A warm hand reached
into the water and cradled mine. My fingers clutched his. I sighed, feeling
myself floating, drifting. Light—high and intense exploded before me. No!
Too much. Too much! I shuddered and labored to catch my breath, but it
wouldn’t come.
Finally, the comfort of darkness rose to greet me.
Doesn't that make you want more?! Be
sure you mark your calendar and stop by next week to hang out with me and the
hottest demon I know aka Daniel! It's going to be hot and dangerous!
Oh, don't forget to enter this week's
giveaway below! It just involves a bit of tweeting and stalking! And until next
week, be sure to Share the Love!
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