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Unusual DestinyISBN:1-59330-079-4
by award winning author, Diane J. Newton
an excerpt...
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Emma Frankyn pressed the letter to her aging heart, closed her eyes and gave timid thanks to her master, an entity so darkly dangerous she dared not speak his name. She turned, began to walk, an unfamiliar slipstream of exuberance pushing her through shadow filled corridors. Body thrumming, senses alive for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she saw the filth, felt the dampness, and smelled the rot that had gradually claimed her once proud home. Suddenly, she was ashamed of herself, of her clan. She realized the squalor, the deterioration, and the corruption that surrounded her wasn't an inevitable consequence of old age and the passage of time. It was rooted in neglect and indifference, caused by a pervasive apathy that had sapped the strength and nearly paralyzed a family steeped in servitude. Thwarted, they had become slowly, bitterly, resigned to defeat.
But no more! Stale air stirred as she entered the dimly lit parlor making dust motes dance. These sparkled in the few meager rays of sunlight that peeked through tattered velvet draperies, and even this most ordinary sight thrilled her. Tremors of excitement racked her gnarled fingers causing the letter to rustle as she held it before her. “It has finally happened,” she said breathlessly. “The property in Port Hayes has been purchased!”
The announcement caused subdued but jubilant murmurs to arise among five others that were seated throughout the once elegantly furnished room.
Emma’s grandson, Evan, had been leaning against the mantel of the fireplace, but upon hearing her words he slowly turned. A morose young man, given to acerbity and fits of raging temper, he was, nevertheless, the hope of the family. Exceptionally tall and long-boned, his stature was that of a runner. His light-blue eyes were made startling by his dark complexion and the deep-sable hair, which framed his face and covered his collar.
"Bring that to me,” Evan commanded.
Eager to obey, Emma closed the distance between them, then watched as Evan scanned the letter. When he looked up, his eyes glittered; the intense-blue of flame seeming to leap there in wild abandon. Whether this blazing inner fire was borne of triumph or simple covetousness, Emma couldn’t know. She was relieved when he turned away.
His back to his grandmother, Evan gazed into the hearth where an ugly heap of cold, slate-gray ashes lingered unattended. Seconds ticked by before he whispered, “She has come back. She will be mine.”
Emma pointed to the letter; creased and crumpled now, its corners poking out at odd angles from Evan’s clenched fist. “It says she has married. The husband could be a problem.”
Evan whirled to face her. “And whose fault is that?” he snapped. “I was an infant when the rest of you faltered, when you lost her! Because of your carelessness, this male will have to be dealt with. He means nothing to us, why should we care?” He took a step toward his grandmother, and as she retreated from the heat of his gaze, he smiled. “Now that I know where she is, nothing will stop me. The blood line will continue!”
He raised the letter, shook it menacingly, and then threw it down. “This clan has fulfilled its duty and been patient for uncounted generations, each child maturing in the same number of hours and days as the last. As ever, we will hope that this time our master will guide our efforts, that he will embrace this next child, that his prophesy will finally be fulfilled!”
Nervously fingering the collar of her black dress, Emma’s voice trembled as she reminded him, “Evan, you mustn’t forget about the birthmark. It must be verified before you proceed.”
Evan’s lips slid across his teeth in the cold-blooded, serpentine smile of a coiled predator. “Yes, old woman, it does,” he hissed. “You’ll leave within the hour. See that it is done.”
2
Anna Freeman looked at George Jenkins, the editor of the Port Hayes Gazette, and asked in disbelief, “You want me to do what?”
“There’s a ghost-chaser coming into town and I want you to attach yourself to him,”--George pointed at her emphatically--”like glue.”
Anna’s shoulders slumped. “Look, George, I know I’m still in the doghouse over that slightly harsh interview with Congresswoman Kent, but make the punishment fit the crime. I’m an investigative reporter, dammit. I deal in fact not fantasy.”
Obviously ignoring Anna’s protest, George said, “Here’s the deal, Freeman. A young couple, Charles and Barbara Dubois, just bought the old Beal place. It’s a big, spooky-looking old dump that’s been abandoned for twenty-six years. It’s east of the Heights on Old Hickory Road. There’s supposed to be some unexplained phenomena going on out there, and this guy, Hank Moore, is coming in to help the new owners figure out what’s going on.” George’s face turned stony and eyes filled with resolve. “You’re all over it, and you’re all over Moore. He’s expecting you to meet him at the airport at six o’clock. Got it?” George held out a thin file folder.
Anna gritted her teeth and snatched the file. “When I win my Pulitzer, I’m gonna remember this, George.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered and wiggled his fingers in dismissal.
“Ghost-catcher,” Anna groaned as she walked through the clacking, ringing, buzz of the bullpen. It wasn’t Anna’s fault the congresswoman went ballistic over a few pointed questions. After all, it’s a reporter’s job to ruffle a few feathers, especially when she smells a certain aroma. And speaking of bullshit: How was she supposed to take this story seriously?
Anna was straightening the mess on her desk when Tish Mulroney, her best friend and closest competition at the Gazette, peeked over the cubicle wall they shared. “So, how was the woodshed?”
“A trip to the woodshed,” Anna said longingly, “would have been fine with me. But we didn’t go there. George decided to give me a first class ticket to the Twilight Zone.”
“Huh?” Tish blurted.
Anna smiled. “That was my reaction.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door knowing that she didn’t have to elaborate. The office gossip machine would spread word of her new assignment very efficiently: Anna Freeman, puff-piece queen.
“Ah, the hell with it,” Anna mumbled. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in deep shit with George and, the way she dogged a story, she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Besides, she was only twenty-five and had plenty of time to collect that Pulitzer.
“Feathers be damned,” she laughed to herself as she unlocked her car and slipped inside. Opening the folder she murmured, “Okay, what kind of rubbish am I facing here?” Her red hair fell forward shading her face from the sun, and her green eyes crinkled in amusement as she read through the information George had gathered. By the time she was finished, Anna was giggling. She was sorely tempted to call her parents to share the big-news-story she had been asked to cover. She could almost hear their laughter, and bet that her mother would ask, tongue in cheek, if George Jenkins had been smoking any funny-looking cigarettes lately.
Anna closed the file with a sigh and started the car. Weaving her way through the traffic-clogged streets of the city, she realized that, for the first time, she missed the stable practicality of her life in Kansas. Her parents were good, solid people who had raised her with love and easy good humor. Her hometown was tiny, a place where everyone knew everyone else, and where life held few surprises. And, that was, of course, the reason she’d had to leave. There simply wasn’t much there for an aspiring reporter to report. From the moment she had begun sending out resumes, she had known this day would come. But the lure of a city, the excitement and, yes, even the danger, were parts of a dream she had to pursue. Port Hayes was perfect. It wasn’t a sprawling population center like New York or Los Angeles where a soul could disappear unnoticed. But neither was it so small that known circumstances could fully explain the unusual behavior of any given resident. Everything here was a puzzle, but if one knew where to find the proper pieces, and how to arrange them in the right order, solutions were often possible. That challenge, the hunt for the facts, the thrill of discovery, had become Anna’s drug of choice. She was addicted, and she reasoned, Kansas would always be there if or when she ever decided to kick the habit.
The phone rang in George’s office, and when he saw the call was coming in on his private line, he knew who it was.
George picked up the receiver, listened for a few seconds, then leaned back in his chair, grumbling, “Of course she agreed to do it. You were so insistent, I left her no choice.”
He rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily as the caller spoke. “Yes,” he answered. “Barring a Presidential assassination or a declaration of war, I’ll see you late Friday as usual.”
George sat staring at the phone long after the connection had been broken.
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Sale price $11.87
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Signed copies available through the author at regular retail, $16.95
Email Link to NewtsPlace
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