(Page 1 of 8) BloodWorks - chapter one by N. D. Hansen-HillSUMMARY: Josh longs to leave the past behind, but it continues to haunt him. A dead man is urging him on, using Josh’s own hands to mould the destiny of people he's never met. If Josh can’t resolve this, the dead man walking in his shoes...will be himself.Prologue
"If it appears out of control, the fault is yours...because you failed to factor it in."
Pompous words. He'd factored in life, and death, then decided it was worth the risk.
The child's face haunted him.
His shoes scraped and snagged as he was dragged across the rough ground. He wore his assassins' shadows like a second skin.
Shadows, long and dark...
Long and dark, like the ebony silkiness of her hair. His Ligeia.
In that terrible moment, there was no justifying his actions. Because death had hunted him and ignominy awaited...in the grave.
Now, it would never be put right. None of it...because the end had come too soon...before he could justify the means.
"The greater part of the fearful night had worn away, and she who had been dead once again stirred."
Not for her. Not for any of them. Too late...
It was his last thought, as the bullets blasted him back.
*********
Chapter One
It was all so manicured; so...pristine.
Dammit.
Mick glared at the topiaried shrubs and wide expanses of green. Country club living. "There is no way," he grumbled.
"What? You'll learn to golf?" Josh grinned. "I agree."
It didn't improve Mick's mood. His next words to Josh were almost a growl. "So while I'm ‘teeing off', you're going to be what?"
"Crawling around on my hands and knees, searching for Pythium, of course."
"Of course." Mick shook his head in disgust. "That's what I thought you said. Ya know, there are other things to do on Saturdays—besides work."
"Yeaaah," Josh replied slowly. He had a feeling he'd be more comfortable crawling around the sump collecting fungal samples than Mick was going to be smacking golfballs with his co-workers. "Let's think about this: I could be hitting a ball, then chasing it all over the grass. So much better." His smile widened. "Where'd you get the clubs, anyway?"
"Marlena took pity on me..."
"That I can believe."
Mick smiled at that one. "All it took was one brag about my holes-in-one..."
"Hope you told her it was mini golf."
"...to make her hand 'em over."
Josh knew him too well. "Let me guess: she gave you the lecture again."
Mick nodded, and bit into a chocolate-coated muesli bar. "Yeah. Country club or die. Fitness is secondary—I need to acquire some dignity." He chewed loudly.
"You need to acquire some food of your own. Give me those."
Mick ignored him and rummaged through the glove box. "This the only healthy thing in here?" It was full of candy—everything from Nashi bars to Lifesavers to Hersheys to Droste. "Knew I should have been a dentist. Would've made a fortune off you."
"Like I'd let you touch my mouth, or anything else. This is my stop." Josh slammed on the brakes, and Mick bumped his head on the window.
It was at the far end of the golf course—the part they were still developing. The only piece of machinery here today was a big backhoe, churning away at the soft soil.
Josh gestured with his peanut slab. "Drainage," he explained, pointing to where the big backhoe bucket was removing scoops of slimy, grey-looking soil.
| 
(1 rating)