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Thursday, August 25, 2011

Flash Fiction Savior

Co-Written by Maren Kaye.  Something a little different this time.  Enjoy.


 “How'd you get in here?” President Madeline Winters asked the man standing in front of her. A moment ago she had been alone in the oval office, reading the day’s briefings. She had been specific about not being disturbed. This issues of the day were too important to her to let anything slip by.
“Please, don't be alarmed. We're here to save you,” the taller, darker man said.
“I'm not alarmed,” the president said, pressing the silent panic button on her wrist.
“We are here from the future, to save you,” the other one, the blond one said.
“I see,” she said, pressing more urgently.
“It won't work. We're blocking the signal,” the first man said, holding up a pen like device. “Please, if we were going to hurt you, we would have done it already.”
They had a point. And, since armed guards hadn't stormed in, they must be telling the truth about blocking the signal. They also hadn't made a move to get any closer. They remained standing in front of her desk.
“Tomorrow, at your 'spontaneous' stop in Virginia, you will be assassinated.”
Madeline couldn't keep the surprise from her face. Almost no one knew about that stop. It wasn't on any agenda.
“I know you don't believe us but just let me show you something.” He carefully placed what looked like a clear marble on the center of her desk. He tapped the center and the area above the device filled with a flawless holographic image. She couldn’t stifle a slight gasp, the quality and definition were identical to reality. She swayed a bit as her mind worked to organize and make sense of what her eyes saw. She couldn’t resist putting her hand through the image and as she did, it responded like liquid glass. Was this possible? Time travel?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the images in front of her. It was news coverage of her being shot and killed in Virginia!
“But this is... it's impossible.”
“It's completely real. I wish we had more time to explain, but we don't. There are people coming right behind us. They tried to stop us. To keep us from warning you.” He looked behind him, like he'd been startled by a noise.
“Please listen,” he said turning back to face Madeline. “They are your enemies. They came to power after you were killed and they don't want that to change.”
“You must not listen to them!” the second man said.
They both closed their eyes and two women appeared, one behind each man. The women were tall and lean with hard muscles. Combat muscles, not muscles from a gym.
They had the men on the floor, hands restrained, before the president could even process the fact that people had just APPEARED in front of her. The taller woman pushed a button and the two men evaporated. This wasn't real. It couldn't be!
“Madam President, it's an honor to meet you, a great privilege,” the first woman said.
“Stay back,” Madeline said, picking up a letter opener. “I may be old but I will defend myself.”
“We are well aware of your history, Madam President,” the taller woman said. “Ten years military, a decorated war hero, six years as a Senator. Even with a minority in the Senate you were able to push through sweeping reform for women's rights, the best negotiator of your time, elected President in a landslide.” Genuine admiration filled the woman’s eyes as she spoke. Madeline recognized the look from her most ardent supporters. She relaxed slightly.
“Then what is this? Why are you here? What has happened and who were those two men?”
“What did they tell you?”
“They said I would be assassinated tomorrow, in Virginia. They said someone would come and try to stop them. Someone who came to power because of my death.”
The two woman looked at each other, then back at Madeline.
“They were lying? But they showed me footage. Oh,” she said sitting back down, “of course. If you can travel through time, you could doctor some video footage.”
“I'm sorry Madame President, but what they told you was one hundred percent true.”
“But, I don't understand. You are here to stop them from stopping my assassination?”
“You're so beloved. You have no idea,” the woman said with a pained expression.
“My death...Oh,” the President said, the truth crashing down on her.
“Yes, I'm sorry. But after your assassination, there was so much outrage from women of all stripes. Conservative, liberal, religious... even the Amish women broke with tradition and marched in protest. No one dared fight your platform. Sweeping reforms were passed for women and family rights.”
The president couldn’t help smiling as she pictured the hooded Amish women arm-in-arm with atheists, and baptists alike. She had often been baffled as to why so many women were complacent in their own repression.
“Your death leads to an equality, never before seen,” the woman continued. “But... unfortunately...”
“Not everyone was thrilled with the changes,” Madeline said, finishing the sentence.
“That’s right, Madam President. Men lost a lot of power. And it turns out, a lot of them don't like it.”
“Like the two that preceded you.” The two women nodded somberly.
“I,” Madeline swallowed hard,” understand.”
“We know you'll do the right thing.”
“The good of the many...I will go to Virginia.”

Maren and I don't write Science Fiction but if you like the style of the story why not check out The Devil's Game; a psychological thriller about what happens when a stalker stalks a stalker. Just 2.99 at all major ebook sellers.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The Devil's Game Book Tour

Please stop in at these great blogs to read out guest posts and participate in the giveaways!  If you missed the giveaways (b/c my post was late) check back here at the end of the tour and I will be giving away two copies starting on the 28th!

8/14  giveaway @ Jagged Edge Reviews
8/14  author guest post @ Deena Remiel's Place
8/15  excerpt @ Reader Girls
8/15  excerpt @ Lisa's World of Books
8/15  giveaway @ Deena Remiel's Place
8/16  excerpt @ Keeping Up With The Rheinlanders
8/19  author guest post @ Reader Girls
8/17  interview @ Lisa's World of Books
8/17  excerpt @ Books Glorious Books
8/19  giveaway @ Books Glorious Books
8/23  author guest post @ Keeping Up With The Rheinlanders
8/24  author guest post & giveaway @ Workaday Reads
8/25  author guest post @ As The Pages Turn
8/26  author guest post @ Sugarbeat's Books
8/27  excerpt @ Sugarbeat's Books
8/27  author guest post @ Jagged Edge Reviews
-- 

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Flash Fiction - The Briefcase


The Briefcase

“We can't keep it.”
“Sure we can.”
“No, it has to belong to somebody. This kind of money. It's going to be missed.”
“No one is missing it. Look how dusty the case is. You wouldn't even have found it if it weren't for me.”
“So! What does it matter who found it?”
“So I should get to keep it.”
“You? How do you figure that would work? What's wrong with you today?”
“I'm bored! This convention is boring. You are boring.”
“I'm not either. I've done everything you wanted to do at this convention. Even stuff that could get me fired. You are never happy!”
“I would be happy with this money.”
“No you wouldn't. You won't be happy until I'm gone.”
“Well there's no arguing that. But it's impossible, isn't it now?”
“Yes. It is.”
“Unless...”
“Don't even think about it. I won't go.”
“I could make you go.”
“No you can't. You think I don't know you've been trying? I'm not as weak as you think.”
“Yeah, you're right. I've come to realize that lately.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Just take the briefcase and let's get out of here before someone sees.”
“Okay, but I'm taking it to the front desk.”
“No! No, we are keeping the money!”
“It's probably marked anyway. As soon as we try to spend it, they'll find us.”
“If that's the case, they'll find you. I'll be long gone.”
“Oh, is that how it is? You want me gone so you can keep the money to yourself but if we get caught I take the blame?”
“Quit being so sensitive. You were always the responsible one. This shouldn't surprise you.”
“Oh shit. That bellboy is watching us.”
“So just act natural. We aren't actually doing anything wrong.”
“I'm leaving.”
“Not without the MONEY!”
“I'm not taking it.”
“Then I will.”
“You can't. Not without my help.”
“I think I can. I'm sick of you. Sick of depending on you for everything. I never get to decide.”
“That's because you would kill us both.”
“I don't think so.”
“No! Stop! You're choking me. I can't...br..”
“I can kill you. I know it! This will work. You just have to think you're dead.”
“ahh...won't..work...kill both...”
“Sir? Are you okay. What's wrong? Are you choking? No, an allergy? Do you have an epi-pen? Sir? Sir?”
*************
“He was just standing there talking to himself-”
“To himself?” the office asked. “You're sure? There wasn't someone else here.? Someone you couldn't see?”
“No, he was alone. I'm sure of it. He was talking, real quiet, and then, he just grabbed his throat.” The bellboy stopped and thought about it. “Well, I guess he wasn't grabbing his throat as much as clawing at it. By the time I reached him he was almost unconscious. I wasn't sure what to do.”
“I'm sure you did what you could. It probably was an allergic reaction. Something pretty severe though, to close up his throat like that so fast. What about this briefcase? Is it his.”
“I didn't notice. Sorry.”

Like this flash fiction?  There's lot's more in the archives. You can also sample my mystery/thriller ebooks on 

All my book are available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords.  



Sunday, August 7, 2011

Sample Sunday August 7

This sample is from my Mystery/Thriller Secrets.


The hard part of killing someone? No, it's not the actual killing. It's the cleanup. What a mess. Cleanup had never been part of my job, but now there was no choice. Luckily the rug had soaked up most of the blood and mess. He rolled up nicely in it. Like a pig in a blanket. Just a little blood on the floor, and on my clothes.
The sound of the doorbell startled me.
Startled by a doorbell? Man, I was out of practice.
What now?
Careful not to be seen by anyone who might be looking in the glass surrounding the door, I went into the second bedroom and looked out the window. In front of the house was a black and white cop car.
Shit,” I whispered. The doorbell rang again.
Just a minute.”
I ran to the kitchen and looked around. Blood on the floor and a dead body rolled up in a rug. No way to talk myself out of this one. But I had an idea. I stripped off my clothes and piled them on the rug.
I ran to the door and opened it a crack, just enough for them to see I was naked. “Yes?”
These two guys were good. They didn’t show any reaction, though the short one was suddenly very interested in something on his fingernail. “Sorry to bother you Ma’am, we had a call about possible shots fired. Can we come in?”
Shots?” The surprise was real. Someone heard that and called the police. This was a better neighborhood than I thought.
Oh, uh, sure. Could you just give me a second to grab some clothes? I had a little accident in the kitchen.”
Sure,” the tall one nodded.
I closed the door and ran down the hall. Lucky for me Jack cared about the decor of the house and had a runner in the breakfast nook that matched the kitchen rug. I rolled the runner up tight and stuffed it into the end of the rug that was facing out. It wasn’t perfect, but on quick inspection, it would look like a large rolled up rug.
I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a jar of jelly.
Grape! And a plastic bottle. Why didn't I like strawberry? This is really not my day.
I dumped the jelly over the blood on the floor and smeared it around a little. I took a clear glass from the shelf, wrapped it in a towel, and tapped it with a rolling pin, then sprinkled the pieces around the jelly and the open end of the rug. After grabbing my bathrobe from the laundry room I returned to the door.
Come on in,” I smiled.
What’s your name, miss?” The tall one asked as they entered.
Gwen. Gwen Michaels.”
Did you hear any shots, Ms. Michaels?”
No, I’m afraid not. I haven’t been home very long though,” I said, walking down the hall. They followed. “Just long enough to drop the jelly,” I laughed.
Anyone else here?”
No, my husband's not home yet,” I said.
Just you and your husband live here? No one staying with you?”
No, just us.” Shit. I saw some drops of blood in the hall. How did I miss that?
Oh crap,” I said grabbing my finger then a towel from the counter. I find people like it less, subconsciously or not, when women swear. I don’t typically clean up my language for anyone, but I did have a dead body on the floor.
What?” they both had their hands on their guns.
I wrapped the towel around my hand. “I must’ve cut my finger on the glass,” I said pointing to the drops of blood in the hall.
They looked, but weren’t very interested. “Mind if we look around?” the tall one again.
Not at all.”
To their credit, they didn’t leave me alone. For all they knew I was a crazy lady with a gun. The short one stayed in the kitchen with me while I rinsed imaginary blood from my hand, while the tall one took his time looking around the living room. When he was done he nodded to the short one and he went to check out the bedrooms. They weren’t casual and they weren’t talking, so neither did I. Forcing small talk is a great way to say something stupid. Something that would make them suspicious.
Then again, wouldn’t a normal person express some curiosity? Wouldn’t they try to get some more information out of the cops? I wasn’t sure so I stayed quiet.
Sorry to have bothered you,” the short one finally said when they finished looking around.
No problem. Better safe then sorry, I always say.” God, could I sound like a bigger idiot? “Could you lock the door behind you?”
I tiptoed to the window in the bedroom and peeked out.
After they drove away, I double checked the door lock and breathed a sigh of relief.  

Secrets is available for 99 cents at the following retailers:


Thursday, July 28, 2011

Flash Fiction - Take 'Em Out


“So, what's the deal?”
“The deal's the same as it always is.”
“Who's the guy?”
“I'll tell you when we find him.”
“So what's with the boat?”
“Dumping the body in the ocean. Boss doesn't want this one found.”
“That so?”
“Yeah, that's so.”
“Huh, he usually wants a message sent. Wonder what this guy did.”
“Don't know. Don't care. Boss says take 'em out. We take 'em out.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“We take 'e out.”
“Why you stopping the boat?”
“We're here.”
“Here? Where? Were in the middle of the friggin ocean.”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell man? Don't point that gun at me. It could fire... Me? It's me? I'm the guy?”
“Sorry man. You lose stuff.”
“What. I lose stuff? Yeah, but...c'mon. It's no big deal.”
“It was this time.”
“The diamond? It was just a little thing. It fell out or dropped when I stuffed the jewels in the bag.
C'mon, it was nothing compared to the rest of the haul.”
“See, the thing is, it's always a small thing. Boss's starting to wonder, maybe you aren't losing shit. Maybe you're taking it.”
“Taking it! Man, look, you've gotta to listen to me. I'm just careless, I swear. Can't help it. Look at these giant hands. They were meant for beatin' people. Not grabbing loot.”
“Sorry.”
“But we're friends.”
“Can't afford a friend like you. I vouched for you.”
“Oh. I get it. It was you or me.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, you sure you want to do this? You really sure?”
“Whadya mean?”
“I mean, maybe I thought this day would come.”
“No.”
“Maybe I prepared.”
“Prepared how?”
“Maybe I lost something else. Something important to you.”
“This is bullshit.”
“Is it?”
“Lost what then?”
“Think hard, my friend. Think hard.”
“No. No. You said you destroyed those photos. I saw you do it.”
“Well, maybe one of them got 'lost'. Wonder where it might show up if I don't make it home.”
“You're lying.”
“Boss wants me dead cuz he thinks I'm stealing. Wonder what he would do to someone sleeping with his wife? Gotta be worse.”
“What did you do?”
“Protected myself. That's what.”
“But I can't let you go back.”
“I know. I don't plan on going back.”
“You...you have been stealing, haven't you? Wait don't shoot me. Don't-”
“Oops, man overboard. Now where'd I put those keys?”

Like this story?  Try another Free short story, The Warning, on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/The-Warning-ebook/dp/B005E0O6TW/

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Sample Sunday July 24

This week an actual excerpt from the first story in the book, The Hate.  I plan on having a new Flash Fiction Story on Friday.  

Manhunt

1

Right now there is a massive manhunt for me. There’s almost no chance I will be found, but just in case, I need to set the record straight. I know you think you know what happened. I mean, it has been all over the news for days. The country in mourning, shocking act of violence, and on and on. But you only know what they told you. But once I tell you everything, tell you the truth, you’ll be thanking me. I’ll be a goddamn hero. Not that anyone will admit it. Doesn’t matter though. I’ll be long gone.
So like any good story, I have to start at the beginning. I know you’d prefer me to just cut to the chase. But there are some things you need to know first.
Bear with me, you’ll be glad you did.

2

First, you should know some things about me.
I hate people. I hate small talk. Trying to find something to talk about with a bunch of strangers I’ll never see again. No thanks.
I like being alone. I’m happy alone. I don’t want to be married and pop out a couple of whiny, germ filled kids. I don’t want anyone around telling me what to do or making me feel bad about what I am doing; i.e. a husband or boyfriend.
If I want to stay up till three in the morning eating double stuff Oreos while watching St. Elmo’s Fire then that’s what I goddamn well am going to do. If I want to lay in bed till noon or not shower for a couple of days, well, you get the idea.
If I feel the need for some companionship i.e. sex, I go pick up a guy at a bar. It’s pretty easy because, in all modesty, I’m hot. Not just attractive. An actual stone cold fox, at least to enough of the population to matter. I can say that because I had nothing to do with it. All genetics. All big blue eyes, full lips, blond, tall, and lean. So sex, no problem. And since I don’t really like people or small talk, I pretty much scope out the bar for an attractive unattached guy and ask if he wants to go to my place. I’ve never been turned down.
No one spends the night. Last thing I need in the morning is some smelly guy with bad breath bothering me for something I had plenty of the night before.
Also, I’m filthy rich. I hadn’t planned on ever working for a living, but who knew I’d find something I enjoy so much. What do I do? I kill people. For money. I know what you’re thinking, but who gives a shit. Not me, that’s for sure. If it makes you feel any better I don’t kill kids, no spouses just because a divorce will cost too much (selfish bastards), but other people.
It’s not hard, partly because of because of my looks. I can get into a lot of places with no questions asked. And partly because I’m ahead of the curve on intelligence. Not a genius, but pretty damn smart.
Maybe it goes without saying that I don’t have any friends, but I’ll say it anyway. I don’t have any friends. And I don’t mean I don’t have any close friends. I don’t have any. I think it’s because I’m rich and beautiful and that intimidates people.
Or, it’s because I’m a bitch. I don’t care about people’s petty problems, I don’t take shit from anyone, and I don’t tell people what they want to hear.
So, why am I telling you all of this and why do you care? Because, I just killed the President of the United States.

3

I wasn’t born an unfeeling bitch. I was made into one. I was a caboose baby. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it means my parents were done having kids but too lazy or dumb to do anything permanent. So sixteen years after their first and only child, I was born.
I don’t know why they had me. It wasn’t as if abortion was illegal. It was 1984 for Christ’s sake. My parents weren’t overly affectionate with my older sister, but to me they were downright cold. I didn’t understand why until recently. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Who knows how I would have turned out if I had been loved. Nature vs. nurture, right? Who can say? Anyway, my parents were killed in a car accident when I was ten. My life hardly changed.
Remember when I said I was filthy rich? Well, it’s from family money. Where did it come from? Doesn’t matter. My parents were rich and their parents were rich. Rich marrying the rich and getting richer. So when my parents died, I stayed in the same house with the same servants taking care of me, only now my older sister was in charge of me. At the ripe old age of twenty six. She moved back into my parents’ home, but basically left me alone. Where did we live? Irrelevant to the story. But if you really need a location, just imagine some sprawling estate up north.
Did I mention my sister works in politics? She has a political science degree. She started volunteering in college for whatever Republican was running. Oh yeah, my whole family is Republican. Big surprise, right? Rich and white. I’m the odd man odd. Another big surprise. I actually don’t give a shit who’s president. They could tax me at eighty percent and I’d still have more money than I could ever spend. They could take away gun rights and I could still obtain any weapon I needed. They’re all a bunch of lying crooks anyway.
But, I digress.
So my only order from my sister was to not embarrass the family. My sister had big plans for her future and wasn’t about to let a pre-teen stop her. So I had almost complete freedom, as long as I did well in school and didn’t draw any unwanted attention to the family. The doing well in school was no problem. As I said, I’m not a genius, but definitely above the curve when it comes to brains. My sister also controlled my trust until I was twenty one, so I behaved. It wasn’t that hard. You’re thinking I was some wild child? How else could I grow up to be a stone cold killer? You’re completely wrong. Killing people takes incredible control. Correction, killing people and not getting caught, that takes incredible control and planning and patience. You can’t do anything spur of the moment. You have to be able to walk away if something changes.
So how did I become a killer? I’ll get to that. It’s not really the point of this story, but I think you need to know about me to understand what I did.

This is an excerpt from the first story, Manhunt, in the book, The Hate, available for 99 cents at the following retailers:


Thursday, July 14, 2011

Flash Fiction 1952

Hope you enjoy - please leave a comment.  Love it, Hate it?

1952

“There's no doubt he's guilty. He was standing over the body holding the knife,” Detective Tom Flank said.
“Drugs, you think?” asked Detective Andrew Peters, looking through the two way glass.
“Or alcohol. Look at how he twitches. He can't sit still.”
“Good cop, bad cop?” Peters asked.
“What about a psych eval?”
“On the way but until then...”
“Good cop bad cop it is,” Flank said.
Peters entered and stood next to the man, resting a hand on the table, while Flank sat across from him.
“Visions, huh?” Flank asked.
“I know you don't believe me,” the man said, still twitching his hands while his eyes darted around the room looking everywhere but at Flank.
“That's right we don't believe you. You're just scum, admit it,” Peters yelled at the man.
“Calm down Peters,” Flank said. “Give him a chance.”
Peters made a sound of disgust but didn't say any more.
“So, you say you killed him because you had a vision?”
“No, yes, I mean,” the man took a breath, “it was a lot of visions. They just wouldn't stop.”
“Your file says you were released from the hospital two months ago.”
“So.”
“You were in a coma for three days.”
“I fell off my roof.”
“Did you ever have visions before that?”
“No. Look I know how it sounds but I'm telling you, he was a killer.”
“Who did he kill?”
“Well, no one yet. But he will,” the man said, finally meeting Flank's eyes. “He would have. I had to stop him.”
“Did voices tell you to kill him.”
“No,” he yelled. “Not voices. Just visions.”
The man grabbed Flank's hand and squeezed. “Every time I closed my eyes. They wouldn't stop.”
Flank fought the urge to pull his hand away.
“I tried to ignore them. I really did. I didn't want to kill him. I thought if I found him, if I saw him in the flesh, I would see he was innocent. Then the visions would stop,” the man said smiling and nodding while still squeezing Flanks hand. “But they only got worse. And then...”
“And then what?”
“He looked at me. And I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That he was a killer,” the man sobbed. “I knew I had to stop him. He was evil. He was going to do such bad things. To children. Don't you get it? I had to do it.”
“You had to kill him,” Flank said, finally pulling his hand away. “This helpless ten year old boy was evil. A horrible murderer.”
“He was,” the man said, trying to grasp Flanks hand again, pleading. “He was. Such terrible things coming.”
A knock on the door startled the man.
A cop stuck his head in the door. “Psych is here.”
“Okay, thanks. Looks like were done here,” Peters said, heading for the door.
They watched as the man was loaded into the ambulance.
“He's crazy. Gotta be. Who would kill a little kid like that?” Flank asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Yeah. Either way, he's not getting out.”
“What was the kid's name again? The victim? Jim?”
“It was John. The kid's name was John Wayne Gacy.”