This is the first of these I'm selling instead of giving away for free, as I'm finally confident it's worth something. The publisher's blurb was a bit sub-par, so I thought I'd promote it my own way: showing how it starts, and seeing if it hooks anyone.
Bob kept telling himself that it could be worse. After all, his niece of sixteen years (who was also his ward of six, and his perpetual worry of three months) could have decided to join a cult. She could be using drugs, or robbing liquor stores. This wasn't so bad by comparison, was it?
There was a time when it would have surprised him that he was so protective of her. When Sandy and George had . . . Well, when it had happened, he’d been too overcome with shock and grief to really think about how she’d felt. She’d been in just as much pain, but the stress of suddenly having someone else in the house had weighed on his already-heightened emotions, and he’d said and done some things he still regretted.
But he couldn’t hate her forever, not even if she looked so much like the sister he still missed. She was a fine young woman, possessed of George’s eternal calm, Sandy’s keen eye for metaphor, and a skill at logic that was all her own. It was not rashly or unreasonably that she had chosen this method of filling her evening hours.
At the moment, she was standing at attention in the living room, wearing purple tights, yellow boots, and--newly added--a purple domino mask, matched perfectly to the tights, replacing her old black one. “How does it look?” she asked.
“Heroic,” he answered. This was the truth. Even in these bargain-bin clothes, bought rather than tailored “for tradition’s sake”, she could easily have stepped out of the pages of one of the comic books she often read. But comic heroes can dodge bullets, and block knives, and outrun explosions.
She could have run off to Mexico. She could have gotten pregnant by an unemployed ex-convict . . .
She canted her head leftwards, in the way she sometimes did when trying to see a problem from a new point of view. “You’re still worried about me, aren’t you?”
He’d given up trying to lie to her, as she’d given up lying to him. “I never stop worrying about you.”
“There’ve been at least six heroes on duty every month for the past five years. We’ve only seen one violent crime in that time. We’re barely more than a graffiti patrol with ambitions.”
“I know that,” he said. “But still, if anything happened to you . . .”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to make you worry so much. But I have to do this. It’s for Mom and Dad, and for me as well. I just stood and watched, while they . . .” For a moment, he thought she’d finally tell him what she’d kept bottled up for six years, ever silent while policemen and therapists and even fellow students demanded to know what had really happened and how she’d survived. “I need to at least try to keep it from happening to someone else.”
He grandly gestured in the direction of the front door. “I won’t stand in your way.”
“Just so you know, I’ll be on evening patrol all week,” she warned him. “Rick’s got a new job, and Cathy’s sick, so there’s no one else who can fill in.”
She could have run off to Mexico, pregnant, in the company of an unemployed ex-convict . . .
They said their goodbyes quickly. He whispered as she left the house, to make sure she wouldn’t hear him. It was as much a prayer as a request.
Penny, be safe.
If you're interested, you can buy it from Alban Lake's website.
Edit: I just discovered it's also on Smashwords. It would have been nice if the publisher had told me that . . .
-- -- -- --
Bob kept telling himself that it could be worse. After all, his niece of sixteen years (who was also his ward of six, and his perpetual worry of three months) could have decided to join a cult. She could be using drugs, or robbing liquor stores. This wasn't so bad by comparison, was it?
There was a time when it would have surprised him that he was so protective of her. When Sandy and George had . . . Well, when it had happened, he’d been too overcome with shock and grief to really think about how she’d felt. She’d been in just as much pain, but the stress of suddenly having someone else in the house had weighed on his already-heightened emotions, and he’d said and done some things he still regretted.
But he couldn’t hate her forever, not even if she looked so much like the sister he still missed. She was a fine young woman, possessed of George’s eternal calm, Sandy’s keen eye for metaphor, and a skill at logic that was all her own. It was not rashly or unreasonably that she had chosen this method of filling her evening hours.
At the moment, she was standing at attention in the living room, wearing purple tights, yellow boots, and--newly added--a purple domino mask, matched perfectly to the tights, replacing her old black one. “How does it look?” she asked.
“Heroic,” he answered. This was the truth. Even in these bargain-bin clothes, bought rather than tailored “for tradition’s sake”, she could easily have stepped out of the pages of one of the comic books she often read. But comic heroes can dodge bullets, and block knives, and outrun explosions.
She could have run off to Mexico. She could have gotten pregnant by an unemployed ex-convict . . .
She canted her head leftwards, in the way she sometimes did when trying to see a problem from a new point of view. “You’re still worried about me, aren’t you?”
He’d given up trying to lie to her, as she’d given up lying to him. “I never stop worrying about you.”
“There’ve been at least six heroes on duty every month for the past five years. We’ve only seen one violent crime in that time. We’re barely more than a graffiti patrol with ambitions.”
“I know that,” he said. “But still, if anything happened to you . . .”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to make you worry so much. But I have to do this. It’s for Mom and Dad, and for me as well. I just stood and watched, while they . . .” For a moment, he thought she’d finally tell him what she’d kept bottled up for six years, ever silent while policemen and therapists and even fellow students demanded to know what had really happened and how she’d survived. “I need to at least try to keep it from happening to someone else.”
He grandly gestured in the direction of the front door. “I won’t stand in your way.”
“Just so you know, I’ll be on evening patrol all week,” she warned him. “Rick’s got a new job, and Cathy’s sick, so there’s no one else who can fill in.”
She could have run off to Mexico, pregnant, in the company of an unemployed ex-convict . . .
They said their goodbyes quickly. He whispered as she left the house, to make sure she wouldn’t hear him. It was as much a prayer as a request.
Penny, be safe.
-- -- -- --
If you're interested, you can buy it from Alban Lake's website.
Edit: I just discovered it's also on Smashwords. It would have been nice if the publisher had told me that . . .
