The Choice, An Engrossing & Powerful Supernatural Thriller

DEA Agent Sam Carre squinted when he walked out of the shaded thick forest, from the blazing sun brightening the calm blue sky. From the edge of the old growth forest, he glanced back into the heavy foliage, to where he’d separated from his partner Diane, two hundred yards back along the hidden fence line.
This island was an absolute crown jewel to any logging company but a nightmare for Sam’s team. It provided too many hideouts, the wrong kind—the dangerous kind, along with the perfect cover for marijuana agriculture.
Sam popped on his dark glasses and cut around three parked cars. He snagged his black jeans on some thorny bushes as he hurried toward the six solid sure-footed male agents in front of the wrought iron gate protectingLance Silver’s secure estate. “Nobody goes until I say so.” Sam kept his authoritative voice even, and his charming grin hidden as he thought about slapping steel cuffs around Lance Silver’s wrists. Tonight they’d celebrate because today they’d finally have all the proof they needed to bust Silver and lock him up for life. A dangerous and connected man who had, until now, controlled the highway of drugs flowing down the west coast across the country with deep ties into South America.
“What’s taking Diane so long; can she even make it over the fence?” Agent Donaldson, a junior member on the team, pulled his ball cap over his prematurely balding head. He stood with Agents Craig, Daniels, Green, Mercer and Winters. They were suited up in their Kevlar vests and dark glasses, weapons holstered and ready to go.
Sam cursed under his breath. Donaldson was pushing it again. It’d only been five minutes since Sam’s partner, Diane Larsen, had climbed the security fencing leading four agents, two of them women, into the forest behind the house. And this was after she’d disarmed the wire triggering the alarm. Sam wasn’t in the mood to argue with this young agent who liked to challenge Diane’s authority. He undermined anything she did, which was absolute crap. Diane, the only woman on this team with a leadership role, worked ten times harder than any of these guys. She was kindhearted and respectful—yet capable of kicking ass when she had to. She’d been a rock for Sam when he needed a supportive friend to help him keep his head together. But since she’d fallen apart at the field office, the news her dad had died when he accidentally mixed up his meds hitting her hard, she’d been getting all kinds of grief, especially from Donaldson. One incident, just one time, and it was all these tough-ass pricks could remember.
Sam moved away from the gate and back into the shaded thick forest, to see if he could spot Diane.
“That kid’s really vying for Diane’s spot,” said Agent Green as he dogged Sam’s heels. He resembled a middle child always trying to fit in, his round baby cheeks such a contrast to his quarterback shoulders.
“Yeah, well he ain’t going to get it.” Sam crouched down. “Can’t see anything.”
Green chuckled softly. “These damn renegades love this off-the-grid wilderness. It’s the perfect hideout. Nothing but a bunch of hippies, musicians and artists live here.” Green spat on the ground a few inches from Sam’s black boots.
“Hard for those families raising kids here you’d think. No electricity, no stores.” Sam breathed in the clean air.
“Sam, we’re inside,” Diane’s low, silky voice whispered over the radio.
“Let’s go, let’s go.” Sam signaled the six men with him.
Mercer stepped forward to cut the padlock with heavy bolt cutters. It broke. He yanked the chain and tossed it to the ground. He and Green flung open the double gates. Sam jumped into the passenger side of the first car. Donaldson climbed behind the wheel. As he slammed the door shut, Donaldson floored it. Craig, Daniels and Winters followed in two cars behind, whipping up a trail of dust. Green and Mercer raced behind on foot.
Two hundred feet up the long, narrow driveway, the two-story estate house appeared magically out of the secluded forest. It rivaled any mansion from the Old South, a fancy porch, woodwork and gardens on all sides. Nothing moved. Not even a curtain shielding the floor to ceiling glass windows. Lance Silver had people, a lot of them. The place should have been buzzing right about now. Sam pulled the warrant from under his Kevlar vest. He flicked the holster of his Glock and ran his fingers through his short brown hair. His gut warned him something was wrong. Where was everyone? They shouldn’t have been able to drive in without creating mayhem. This had been too easy—and too easy meant a problem. “Shit!”
Sam pressed his hand to his earpiece. “Keep your heads up, eyes open. Something’s not right here.” As a seasoned cop, Sam had learned the hard way to see things others didn’t notice. And he analyzed. It was a coping mechanism for him that had become his mode of survival, especially after what happened to Elise. They pulled closer to the front door. He felt the downward slide of something he couldn’t put his finger on, but Sam knew—something was off.
Donaldson slammed the brakes and skidded to a stop at the front door. Sam braced his hand on the dashboard before jerking open his door and jumping out into a cloud of dust. Donaldson bounded over the hood and raced Sam up the stone stairs. Craig and Daniels hurried around the side of the house. Winters, Green and Mercer flanked Sam.
Donaldson banged on the door. “DEA, open up.”
Nothing, no response, and Sam really listened. By now, they should have heard footsteps, some kind of rustling from inside.
Beads of sweat covered Donaldson’s face as he appeared to vibrate; like he itched to kick open the door.
“Open it.” Sam stepped to the side holding up his gun. Craig took the other side. Donaldson pulled up his knee and kicked hard with the heel of his black boot, over the dead bolt, letting out a rough, oomph. The doorframe splintered as the mahogany door crashed open.
“DEA, we have a warrant.” His adrenaline pumped. Sam aimed his weapon and went in. Everything went into slow motion. Details stood out. In his peripheral vision he caught a glimpse of the shining black steel of a gun and nearly crapped in his pants. It took a second to register it was his gun—his image in a floor to ceiling wall mirror. It filled both sides of the massive front hall. “Christ almighty.”
“We’re in. Green, Winters, check the basement; Donaldson upstairs,” Sam shouted, both hands gripped his weapon. His gut twisted so tight as he struggled to listen. Where was the scrambling, the shouting, something—anything to break this chilly silence? “DEA, show yourself.” Sam shouted again, clearing the front hall, the sunken living room, through an open archway to a huge chef’s kitchen, which was extremely neat and tidy. Not even a measly cup had been left sitting on the counter.
Floor to ceiling windows filled every room. He could see Diane and the four agents out back behind the solar panels as they searched the outbuildings. Sam frowned and leaned against the double pane glass door. This massive house was silent except for his agents who scoured every room in it.
Winters’ deep voice grated through Sam’s earpiece. “Basement’s clear.” Everyone checked in, the garage, the greenhouse, empty. This upscale, state of the art, energy efficient estate had been abandoned. Not even the caretaker remained.
“Sam, there’s no marijuana; there’s no equipment.” Beads of sweat popped out on Sam’s forehead. Beneath his Kevlar vest, his snug T-shirt stuck to his well-sculpted back. The radio buzzed with furious updates from their twelve man team on the mainland, which included Sequim’s Sheriff’s detachment, the Coast Guard, Interpol and DEA. This had been a simultaneous sweep of all Lance Silver’s property, here on Las Seta and the underground truck trailer at Lance Silver’s compound across the water in rural Gardiner, Washington. All empty.
Sam pressed his microphone close to his mouth. “Diane, where are you?” He slid open the kitchen sliding glass door and walked onto the massive stone patio overlooking the pond and luscious well-tended rose garden. He slumped against the patio door and tried to rub away the pulsating pain between his eyebrows. Since this investigation started, he’d begun to experience a sudden sensitivity to light and sound. It could be gone in hours or days. The usual warning had been there for the last few days—a blue aura in his peripheral vision, black spots. But he ignored it. Told himself it was the stress of running what started out as an independent investigation by the DEA and escalated into an international task force. Targeting the marijuana grow ops running rampant on the isolated islands in the Pacific Northwest.
World-renowned high grade marijuana was being shipped and traded for cocaine and guns. This was big time, a major business and an international problem law enforcement had yet to defuse. As if they could.
“What’s wrong?” He never heard Diane approach. Her words stretched out long and loud. It took forever for his senses to override the roaring in his ears. His blood began to pound through his body and pulled Sam deeper into throbbing misery.
“Here, take this.” He opened his eyes when Diane tapped out three pills from a small bottle.
He didn’t question it. He just swallowed. There wasn’t much Sam wouldn’t take from his trusted friend. Diane was a woman of medium height and build, compact and tough, with tan short-cropped hair, the type of woman who didn’t distract a man with flirtatious curves. But the kind of partner who’d do the gritty groundwork while keeping her partner focused, which is what she did on the boat ride over this morning, ignoring Agent Donaldson’s crude jibes, guzzling coffee with Sam.
“If you don’t pull it together, some woman on this team’s going to fulfill her dream and have you bedded and nursed before we can wrap this up.”
Whatever she gave him took the edge off the soon-to-be-blinding pain.
“Eat this.” She tossed him an energy bar. He didn’t argue. He ripped open the foil wrap with his teeth and chewed the gritty bar.
“He knew we were coming.”
“Click off your radio Sam.”
He ripped the headset from his ear. “You know we followed the letter of the law to make sure this scumbag didn’t get off on some technicality. All those stakeouts, we did our homework Diane. We know who the little guys are, every fucking one of them on the street. We have video footage and rock solid evidence the drugs were here!” Sam pounded the fleshy part of his fist against the smooth fir siding.
“Agent Carre, you better get in here and see this.” Donaldson beckoned, quite arrogantly, undermining his superior, Diane, by not addressing her.
Diane, one to always hold her emotions close and rarely showed what she thought, tilted one eyebrow up as her face hardened. This prick deliberately pushed her buttons and deserved a one-on-one ass kicking. Personally, Sam would have planted his foot so far up this kid’s ass by now. Except, this was Diane’s fight and if she wanted these guys to respect her, Sam couldn’t do her fighting.
Sam and Diane followed Donaldson down a long hall, which resembled an art gallery, to Lance Silver’s study in the solar glass wing. Green, Mercer, Winters and Craig looked up, but only Winters, a big dark Irish, African-American guy with long, fuzzy hair would honestly look at Sam. The tension magnified about fifty times when the other tough guys turned away slightly, crossing their arms, glancing awkwardly at Lance Silver’s palatial mahogany desk, where all drawers hung open.
“We found this in the top drawer of the desk.” Donaldson appeared to own the room, when he picked up a crisp yellow piece of paper from the cluttered desk with his big dry hands and passed it to Sam.
Diane peered closer. Her head never topped Sam’s shoulder.
His vision cleared. Bold black letters spelled out his name. He didn’t miss how still the room became. He could feel heat from every agent while they waited for Sam to explain. But then Diane ripped the note from his hands and stepped in front of him.
What the hell is this, some kind of game?”
No one answered.
Sam was ready to clear out. When he replaced his headset, he could hear his boss Dexter shouting over the radio, bypassing Sam as he spoke directly to Diane. Diane pressed her hand to her ear to listen.
“I want your asses back here now, we got a problem. A tip’s been called into the Sequim Sheriff’s detachment, to check Sam’s locker at Ocean’s Gun club. We’ll find a key to Lance Silver’s estate and my Golden Boy’s on Lance’s payroll.”
Sam looked up so fast his head spun. Dizzy, he stepped back and leaned against the mahogany bookcase. “What the hell? That’s bullshit.”
Dexter yelled, “There’s a chopper on route to get you now. Two deputies from the Sequim detachment just opened your locker. And they found a key along with five pounds of marijuana.”
His blood chilled. The bad feeling he had earlier had just become a clear epiphany. He could almost see that suave tight-assed bachelor, Lance Silver, laughing at him. Instead of Silver going to jail, all this shit flying around landed hard right on top of Sam. Not only did he look like the leak in Lance Silvers' back pocket, doubt of Sam’s true allegiance was painted on the agents’ faces surrounding him. He could feel their censure.
Amazing how quickly they turned. They thought he did it. Pissed and completely furious, Sam gazed hard at each of these turncoats until each one stepped back. He wasn’t about to dignify this with a response to these pricks. Not after how hard he worked to nail this bastard. Following every lead the other agents missed or brushed off. But not Sam, he lived this investigation. He breathed life into it. And lost sleep because of it. These guys should know out of anyone, Sam wouldn’t betray this team. He ground his lips together so hard they trembled. He felt the rug ripped right out from under him. And was positive he heard a toilet flush in the distance as six months of steady, solid work went right down the toilet. How could this happen again? Why was he such a target?
Well for one, this was Las Seta, an un-policed reclusive island, part of the San Juan Islands in the Pacific Northwest. History alone should have warned him it wouldn’t be easy. The explorers and adventurers who claimed this island over a hundred years ago, landed here quite by accident for one reason or another. Whether hiding or running from something, they all insisted on a land free from politics and civilized order. Families and clans remained year after year, protecting each other. And staying true to tradition, they followed their own way of doing things. So, while Sam hunted Lance Silver. Lance Silver and the island of Las Seta changed the rules of the game and ambushed Sam.








Chapter One

“Get on the plane, it’ll be fine. I’ve got your tickets and passport taken care of. We practiced this. You know what you need to do.” Dan McKenzie was broad shouldered with an exquisitely lean body, mesmerizing hazel eyes perfectly situated on his lightly freckled aristocratic face. His nose was a little too large with a small bump at the bridge where he’d broken it at the end of his brother’s fist as a child. He also had a firm mouth she knew all too well could set her soul on fire. He was quite the package with a magical face that could belong to some fairy tale hero, and all that unruly reddish hair he trimmed himself. A fine specimen of a man, standing nearly a foot over Marcie’s average height with well-sculpted hands that knew how to touch a woman.
“I thought you were coming with me, and we’d finally have time away together?” Marcie’s soft voice trembled. Her heart sank. This wasn’t what she expected. What was he doing? This was supposed to be their time to rekindle their love—time to lift off whatever had been oppressing him. She needed him so much but felt him slipping through her fingers like dry grains of sand while she struggled to hold on.
Dan leaned back, his hazel eyes dark and sober, as he crossed his arms across his broad chest. How could she convince him to go? She had so much fire and passion inside for him that it tugged a cord deep inside her tummy.
What was it about him? He dressed so casually, T-shirts, blue jeans. But the man could wear a grain sack and he’d still look good. He wasn’t handsome. He was pretty. And, unfortunately, even letting her down didn’t shake the mega chemistry that attracted her to him. It made her want him more. Just looking at him she wondered if Zeus himself had been the image Dan was cut from. Those long solid arms. Tight firm ass and long, lanky well-muscled legs she knew all too well intertwined nicely with hers. And those lips, man, she loved to kiss them as had scads of other women. After all the man’s a magnet for women like honey is to bees. He said time and again women were always landing in his lap. He could have anyone he wanted. So why’d he choose her?
“Can’t Marcie; I’m too busy, you know that. I have faith in you. You can do this.” Before Dan could turn away and open his door, she reached over and grabbed his wrist. He leaned over the middle console separating the bucket seats. But hardness tightened his muscles, like a brick wall between them as she held on.
“I love you.” Panicked she felt some part of him slip away. His body, his eyes, everything about him seemed to take a step back from her. As if he held some part of himself in a secret location and forgot to tell her he left. He hovered a few inches away, gazing out the front window, resting his other arm over the steering wheel. But the arm her hand grasped, he didn’t once try to pull away.
“I don’t understand what’s going on. We were so close, and you’ve been pulling away bit by bit.”
Dan glanced over in a way that told her his patience was thin. “Marcie…”
She placed her hand over his mouth. “Dan, please, I don’t know what to do. I feel you pushing me away. You ask me to babysit your marijuana plants. But I don’t see you anymore. Then you ask me to go to New Orleans, which I thought was a trip for us. Now I’m going alone. Why are you pushing me away?” Shaking, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. He no longer looked at her with that deep, magical spark, which said she’s important to him—that they’re connected at a cellular level as soul mates. But that was after Granny died when she’d been so alone on Las Seta. After she met him at Gardiner’s Farmers market, and he said he fondly remembered her from high school. They spent hours talking. Every week after that, he showed up at the Market where she sold her herbs—to see her. He connected with her on a level no one else ever had. He understood how different she was. She felt things from other people, their emotions, and her love for nature and the need to protect the environment—to respect Mother Earth. What excited Marcie, and still did, was his ability to pick up vibes, which warned him just like her.
Each time she saw him, his radiant smile, shook up the butterflies in her heart. He’d tell her being near her had been something he planned each and every day. In the beginning, it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of her. He made her feel special before she fell absolutely head over heels in love with him.
He caressed her cheek with his warm hand and then tucked her heaps of rich wavy brown hair behind her ears. “You need to stop. I’m not pushing you away. I’ll be here when you get back. You and me Marcie, I’m still interested. I got a lot on my plate right now. You’re it to me. You got in when no one else ever has.” He pressed his hand against his heart. “Come on, your plane’s leaving.” The next instant, his eyes softened. And that slightly crooked smile he flashed did what it always did. Sucked her right back in, to where she believed she could somehow grasp some tiny morsel of caring from him.
Dan popped open his car door and stepped out. He didn’t come around to her side to open hers. She knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t do all that mushy stuff. She told herself it didn’t matter and smiled away the hurt that stung beyond belief. He carried a lot of pain from a hungry childhood. Forced to eat out of garbage cans after his father walked out, leaving his mother to raise and feed him and his five brothers and sisters, alone. Marcie supposed that’s what shaped him into who he was—and why at times he became distant, unable to be the perfect man. He needed love and lots of it. Then he’d stop making her feel less of a woman—then he’d genuinely love her, or so she told herself. After all, her entire life, all she ever wanted was to be loved, deeply, as every woman had a right to.
Marcie climbed out of his older model Olds. He pulled out a backpack and handed her two tickets along with her passport. She flicked open the passport and frowned at the name.
“It’s fine Marcie, what you’re doing, you don’t use your real name.”
“What if I get caught?” She whispered when alarm turned to nausea in the pit of her stomach.
“Come here, give me a hug.” And just like that, she was in his arms. His tall, lean body pressed against hers. His wide palmed hands with the fingers of a carpenter slid firmly up her back. His voice whispered like silky rum. “I love you too.” When she let go, he held tighter. So she slid her hands back around his neck and nearly wept from this deep soul connection. And what he couldn’t say with words. When he finally let go, she felt foolish for doubting him. And offered a honest dimple-creased smile.
“Go Marcie, your plane leaves in fifteen minutes.” And she did. While grasping some artificial hope she remained very much Dan’s one and only.
Her cellphone buzzed while she hurried through the enormous Sea-Tac Airport, bustling with travelers. She glanced down at the number that flashed across the screen. “Ah crap.” But she answered it anyway. “Sally, I’m in a hurry, I can’t talk right now.”
“I’ve sat by the sidelines for too long, Marcie. As one of your Granny’s oldest friends and your teacher, I’m going to speak.” Marcie glanced upward for help while hurrying toward the ticket counter.
“Sally let me call you back in a few hours.” Some lines she wouldn’t cross. And one would be to disrespect Sally and hang-up.
“No girl, you listen to me. You don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re crossing over to something dark that’s going to kill you. There are dark entities around you, and I’ve been fighting for over a year to keep them away. But you keep letting them in. Walk away from him, whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re going, don’t do it girl. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep saving you. Come home, back to Las Seta. Let me finish teaching you. You’ve only just started.”
She stopped at a bench before the ticket agent, blew out a breath, scooped back her hair and then rested the backpack on the cushioned seat. She could almost picture Sally, the short, plump white haired and very English good little witch with her wheezy voice standing in front of her. Instead of a cat, she had a fluffy, golden retriever. Instead of a black cape, she wore a white or cream sweater, dangled over her shoulders. “You mean Dan, that fantastic man? The one I’ve been asking for my entire life? I think you’re confused Sally. I’m just going on a trip. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She knew she let the old woman down. She could feel her hurt in the soft sigh on the other end of the phone.
“Marcie girl, I love you. You don’t know what that guy is. You can’t believe anything he tells you. You know you’ve never healed from that cesspool into which you were born. Your Granny, my best friend, yanked you from your no good parents when you were twelve. But you’re still a magnet for that abuse. You’ve been snared good, caught in a trap. You don’t understand. This guy’s a wizard. He came into this world with dark entities attached to him. His karma came with him. He knows how to get past your weak aura. You’re vulnerable, and you see him how he wants you to. Not how he really is. Please, I’m begging you. If you go and do what I think you’re doing for him, I may not be able to help you.”
The last call for her flight was announced. “Shit, I got to go, Sally. I promise I’ll call you.” Marcie hung up and slid her cellphone in the front pocket of her backpack. “I’m sorry Sally, please forgive me.” For a second, uncertainty made her pause. After all, Sally was the wisest woman she knew. She’d always been brutally honest—she’d always been right with whatever she shared with Marcie. And she never spoke lightly. In fact, Sally didn’t go out on a limb like this, unless there was dire need. That stoked a chill up Marcie’s spine. But just as quickly, an image of Dan flashed in her mind. So did the ultimate love she felt for him. “She doesn’t know him like I do. She doesn’t understand how badly he’s been hurt. She’s wrong this time.” She whispered under her breath, convincing herself the nagging hesitation was merely Sally’s doubt. She shrugged the nylon backpack over her shoulder, well aware what she carried, if caught, could put her in prison for years to come. But she wouldn’t get caught. Dan promised her how the bud had been packaged, would never be detected by security. And right now, she needed to trust and believe in her reddish haired prince with the dreamy hazel eyes. So she ran. Stuffing the burning confliction away, to the hidden place where she buried the heartache and rejection of growing up with an alcoholic mother who drowned her sorrows, was drunk by noon, and a father who flaunted his every dirty secret, including how much he liked his girls young.








Chapter Two

Marcie trailed the other passengers off flight 918 into the main terminal of the New Orleans airport. Her eyes lowered, shutting out everyone around her; striding at a steady clip dressed in her favorite Levi’s. The jeans she knew attracted a man’s eye to her rounded bottom. Her tan blouse shimmered over her pert shapely breasts, the size a guy could fit nicely into the palm of his hands. She rubbed her forehead, reminding herself she had no need to paint her face as other ladies chose. Marcie rarely shed the healthy glow from her days spent outdoors. But that’s where her comfort ended. She claimed a spot in the middle of the pack, behind a wide lady sporting a navy suit, doing her damnedest to blend in.
How low have you sunk? Marcie cut off the cruel persistent voice, prodding her conscience. During the cramped four hour flight from Seattle, her face heated each time her toe touched the backpack she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. She’d refused a drink. But her tightly wound nerves could have used a stiff shot. Instead, she’d suffered in misery, wondering how she’d made it this far. Dan told her it’d be easy—so far so good.
She needed to shake off her anxiety to enjoy her first visit to this vibrant city. One she’d dreamed of experiencing for years. New Orleans, famous for its mouthwatering cuisine, jazz musicians and Creole culture. Marcie was more than a little intrigued with the voodoo legends that sparked the imaginations of many a writer with unexplained chills, and auras dwelling in graveyards and buildings; making this the most spellbinding haunted city. Marcie remained determined to experience all of it firsthand.
How much farther? The drop off had to be close.
Heaviness weighed down her heart when Dan’s face entered her thoughts again. If only he’d come, this trip would be perfect. She knew he’d share her excitement for the gifts and mysterious secrets New Orleans was famous for. But he didn’t come. And this wasn’t the first, or even second, time he’d gone off and left her alone.
This roller coaster of emotions she experienced only with him. And it left her now on the downswing, as usual when distanced from Dan. She shook her stubborn head to get him out of her thoughts. He wasn’t here. But he had a way of slipping in, to disrupt her peace of mind, at least twenty or thirty times a day. An addiction which consumed her, making her want to do anything for him, and she did. Except give him Granny’s place on Las Seta. That she wouldn’t do.
Her days shifted down a steady slope of turmoil, just to have him in her life. This was crazy.
Nevertheless, there were boundaries. And right now, she knew deep down on another level, she needed to establish them. She could no longer ignore the volatility of this relationship nor how she willingly got on the plane for him. “Let it go, let it go.” She kept her head down, whispering under her breath while walking with the other passengers through the terminal.
Her heart pounded in excitement when she rounded the bend. She could see the silver luggage conveyance contraption and back wall of baggage claim. Was anyone watching? She needed to look closer but feared being too obvious. Think of something else. Emeril’s Restaurant! She gestured a discreet high five and that’s when a weight lifted inside. For the first time since leaving Seattle, she felt lighter. Should she call Dan? No. Why did he continue to slip into her head?
Almost done. Peace, blessed peace, blossomed in her heart. Marcie offered thanks to her angels for guiding her safely through.
Marcie glanced at a magical jazz mural exploding with vibrant color. It drew her into the rhythm and music that pulsed to life in the vivacity of the art. Marcie loved art, but then she grew up around artists that sojourned on Las Seta.
Overhead a saucy Cajun lilt announced incoming and outgoing flights, and it melted the tension in her tummy a little more.
Then everything went into slow motion. One moment she clutched the black and red knapsack over one shoulder. The next she felt a cut, snag and pull, at the same time a large, rough hand shoved her. Unable to stop the momentum and regain footing, she went down in a hazy blur. Her ears roared. Her blood pounded through her veins. She felt nothing when she smacked her head on the hard concrete floor.
Her ears rang and vision blurred. She struggled to focus on the maze of faces wreaking havoc on her overloaded senses. But she couldn’t think. As she pushed herself up, she started to sway to some indistinguishable hum buzzing in her head. She shifted her bottom on the cool floor and balanced on a shaky arm to keep from tipping over.
What happened? She couldn’t think. The downy hairs on the back of her neck spiked with icy unease, adding to her discomfort. Something remained vaguely out of reach, an ache—and wow, when it hit it became a ripe sting burning the side of her head. She couldn’t understand what she was looking at—her hand, and it was streaked with blood.
Voices, sounds, chaos existed in slow motion. Like a puzzle in her brain. A strong hand grabbed her shoulder. Another touched the side of her face. At first, she gazed unseeing, and then blinked. A crowd gathered close behind the rough, unshaven face of a stranger who resembled a fallen angel. He peered into her eyes. His full, firm lips moved. But she couldn’t make sense of the rumbling sound. He turned away. This time she heard his smooth smoky voice shout out to the crowd of bodies behind him.
What was it about this man with his shabby light hair? Even his intense blue eyes appeared tired, with lines of life that deepened his god-like appearance. Did she know him? There was something familiar about him. She wanted to trust him.
“Ouch.” She flinched when he touched her head. Her brain blanked out. “There’s blood on my hand.” She didn’t mean to speak. But her voice cleared away the fog and piercing ring buzzing in her ears.
“Your head’s bleeding. You’ve got a big gash. It’s going to need some stitches. What’s your name, sugar?”
She liked the honey richness in his voice. Except something worried her, and she didn’t know why. “Marcie, ah … what happened?”
“Don’t you remember?” He watched her again in a way that made her want to reach out and touch him. He seemed nice. She liked him. Maybe it was his husky southern drawl, or maybe the concern this good-looking stranger showered over her.
Marcie reached up to touch her head. The stranger quickly grabbed her hand.
“No Marcie, don’t touch.”
“Oh.” He pressed something against her head, bringing on a wave of dizziness. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes. But when the room tilted out of control, she grabbed his shirt instead.