In my upcoming novel, our protagonist is Dr. Simon Fethullah, a forensic psychiatrist who worked for the FBI. Shot on the job, he retires to the wilds of Montana with his wife Carla and his faithful dog, Stefano.
Simon helped put the Rainy Day Cannibal away, but the serial killer has disciples. Though behind prison walls, the killer’s reach can still find Simon. Add in a dead presidential press secretary and a kidnapped girl. Now you’ve got Where The Night Takes Us, a rocking psychological thriller that plays with the blurred limits of time and memory. (The query is on submission to agents.)
A Brief Excerpt from my Next Crime Thriller
To deal with what his wife calls his post-apocalyptic stress disorder, Simon takes his therapist’s advice. After a dark realization, he makes the following notes on his phone.
How to Slow Time’s March and Live Longer and Better
1. Eat healthier and in reasonable portions.
2. Move more and lift weights.
3. Prove Denise wrong by enjoying rural life.
4. Play with my dog more.
5. Watch less social media and talk to Carla more.
6. Be more social. (Be real. I won’t do that.)
7. Read more books. Maybe write another book.
8. Do not shoot self in head.
9. Shoot someone else in the head when they come for us.
With trembling hands, I held a manila envelope, thick and battered from some abuse it had suffered in transit. The return address told me this was more mail forwarded through my publisher. I stood frozen on the side of the road beside my battered old mailbox. I muttered a few choice curses as if words were spells that could ease my fears.
A thick blanket of white drifts reached up to my knees. Snow quieted the world: No wind nor even birdsong, only the hard thud of my beating heart. It was as if all of nature held its breath, waiting and watching.
To my left, my neighbor’s long driveway was unplowed. Their farmhouse appeared deserted and lonely. I strained to listen for any hint of company. Nothing. No car on the road, and not another soul in sight. Mercury County, Montana, was as silent as a tomb. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching, gauging my reactions. A dangerous stranger could be watching me through a rifle scope.
I added a little scene to my vigilante thriller yesterday, so I thought I’d share it. Here’s what you need to know: Molly Jergins attends Poeticule Bay Consolidated High School. After a fellow student, Barry Graves, is attacked by the school bully, Keith Faun, Molly confronts Keith. After that scene, a teacher shows up. Molly proves that, despite her young age (or perhaps because of her youth), she’s made of sterner stuff.
Oration: Scene fragment / Molly and Mrs. Simmons
Molly’s history teacher, Mrs. Abby Simmons, pushed her way through the crowd. “Hey! People! The bell has rung! Get to class! What’s going on? I’ve got an empty classroom, and I get lonely talking to myself! All of you have somewhere to be!”
Molly, sporting a wide and grateful grin, turned to her. “Sure, Mrs. Simmons!”
Keith turned and walked away, and Molly called after him, “You’re welcome!”
Some students snickered. Mrs. Simmons shushed them and waved them on. The crowd dispersed. A few of the juniors and sophomores touched Molly’s shoulder as a silent gesture of respect as they passed. She was relieved, certain that those witnesses and their phones had saved her from getting a black eye, or worse.
“What are you up to, Molly? Did you just make a bad situation worse?” Mrs. Simmons demanded.
“Me? Nah. That guy is like an ice cream headache. He’s going to get worse before he gets better. Not that anyone cares, but a lot of us don’t feel safe going to this school.”
By her eyes, Molly could tell the teacher didn’t disagree. Mrs. Simmons didn’t feel safe, either.
“You should know,” Mrs. Simmons said, “when you’re young and immature, you’ve got a lot more anger and energy. You look at the state of the world and….” She trailed off. They were alone in the corridor, but the teacher still looked around nervously to make sure no one else was within earshot.
“What is it, ma’am?” Molly prompted.
The teacher’s jaw worked for a moment as she searched for the right words. Finally, Mrs. Simmons said, “I just think you should appreciate that a lot of people around here, not just the students, are appalled by the incident between Keith and the Graves boy. But we’re also tired and just trying to get through our days. The police and the principal were informed. The ball’s in their court now. What’s best is to leave it be. Not our monkeys, not our circus anymore, right?”
Molly cocked her head to one side. “You’re tired?”
“Of this business? Surely and immeasurably.”
“If you’re tired, imagine how exhausted Barry must be. It sounds like you’ve given up, ma’am.”
“You will, too. Everybody does. When you learn the limits of what you can do, it makes sense to set your sights lower.”
“Spoken as a true educator, Mrs. Simmons! You’re an inspiration!”
The teacher shot her a sour look. “Tend to your own knitting, Molly, and get your butt to class.”
“I’ve got a free period in the library, ma’am.”
“Then get to it.”
She’d meant to curb Keith, not shame Mrs. Simmons. “Sorry,” Molly said, “maybe you’re right. I guess a lot of people do give up for whatever reason. I understand you’re trying to help me.”
But Molly couldn’t leave it at that, couldn’t stop herself. “As long as I’m still young and full of energy, though, I think I’ll keep on being angry when it’s right to be angry. Your way, powerless people stay powerless. You taught me that in your history class.”
Molly thought she had earned herself a detention, but Mrs. Simmons said nothing more. The teacher spun on her heel and strode back to her classroom.
Whatever happens, Molly cautioned herself, don’t turn into her. Don’t get so chicken of being wrong that you don’t do right.
