March Sale! — Derek Barton 2020

 

From March 1st through the 7th, you can get these two online ebooks for just $1…!!!!!

That’s right — Two great series openers for just a dollar each during this limited time.

 

Also both are available on Audible for your listening pleasure.

 

 

Writing Prompt #2 — Glimpses — Derek Barton 2020

WP 2 Blog

The echoes of a Jackson Ross’ heartbeats overwhelmed all the other noises in the crampt van. The beeps, whines and tones from all the machinery and technology were trumped by the recording of his heartbeat.

Jackson sat in the center of the van in a whirlwind of agents, technicians and scientists. They were prepping him with multiple cameras, recording gadgets and monitor devices. Yet he was dimly aware of their presence and the chaos of the experiment preparations. He didn’t care what they were doing. Their efforts mattered only to them and “their groundbreaking steps for crime solving and justice”.

He, however, was swallowed up by the sounds of his heart beating. It snared his attention and captured his focus as he was getting closer to the answers. Closer than he had ever gotten. His pulse increased as his thoughts raced. His nerves were strained, the pressure to find her was intense.

Am I going to finally get a reason?  Will this be enough to nail the bastard? Can they really resolve her murder? Or maybe find where he hid her?

“Jackson, I’m going to patch…” The voice faded. “Jackson? Jackson, are you okay?”

He slowly raised his head and met her gaze.

“You with us?” Dr. Laura Morrison asked him. She was a tall, white woman with silvery hair. She was also the Project Lead for the Glimpses Endeavor.

“Yes. Sorry. I’m–a bit overwhelmed, that’s all.” He tried to loosen up and rolled his shoulders.

“To be expected,” she nodded. “I’m going to patch you into the main feed then we’ll work on the other extension feeds, okay? Just need you to sit up straight.”

He gave her a thumbs up but stared down at himself. His face a mix of amusement and shock. He had a black, padded shirt with series of electronic sensors along his chest and down his sleeves that ended at the wrists and his mesh-gloved hands. Glowing blue light emitters were attached to his fingertips and small silver plates were sewn into the palms. A visor-like cap crowned his head. More monitor feed lines extended down the back from it and plugged into a battery backpack on his shoulders.

Laura secured sensitive headphones over his ears. She lifted the lapel of her ray lab oat and spoke into a microphone, testing the connection.

“You are nearly set to go.” Her voice piped into his ears.

“I kind of feel like I’m about to walk into space versus an old, rundown house.”

“I bet,” she chuckled. “However, all these sensors and such are going to be critical. Especially if you find damning evidence, the lawyers will need all the facts and reports they can in order to prove this science and use it to convict others like your father.”

He was three on the night of February 26th, 2020. That night seventeen drawn-out years ago she disappeared from his life forever. Leaving him seventeen years of doubt, accusations, false leads, rumor and cycles of foster home rotations.

Since then his mother’s disappearance had become fodder for every network and cable crime series.

Hardest of all for him to accept was the simple fact that Gerald “Jerry” Ross killed his mother, Marissa Ross, and somehow he hid her body and escaped prosecution. It was a pop culture fact. It was a tale of injustice. A story of tragedy everyone knew. He was haunted by her memory and fate.

So when the founders of the Glimpses Endeavor came to him and spelled out what they could do and what they wanted to accomplish, he clutched at it. A last desperate attempt to learn the truth and put her soul to rest.

Jerry Ross currently resided in Oaks General Hospital in a coma. He wasn’t expected to survive the month due to a complicated series of strokes.

Jerry maintained and insisted incessantly he was not a murderer and did not know what had happened to his wife. In the beginning, he would even say on the television interviews how much he loved and missed her. It all rang false and fell flat. Especially when all the hospital records came to light, records of her life of domestic abuse.

With a final tug on three cables by one of her tech assistants and a twist to a nob on the backpack, Laura said, “Okay champ. It’s time.”

The doctor then handed him a digital set of glasses. A pulsing hum came from the hardware on his back as the glassware lit up in front of his eyes. Information streamed along the bottom of the lenses while temperature stats and Electrical Magnetic Field voltage appeared in the corner of the left lens.

“We’re gonna lead you in, but the door has been unlocked and the house scouted. Once inside we’ll view everything you see with these glasses. The programs will feed anything picked up by the spectral or ethereal monitors as well as the ultraviolet thermals.”

He could already see her form in heat radiants of bright orange to deep red. If he blinked twice with the right eye it would switch to ethereal and once again it would switch to spectral colors. “Alright, I’m ready. Seventeen years waiting.”

Five minutes later, the tech intern, turned on the overhead light to the foyer and closed a rickety door behind him without a word.

He breathed in and out, getting his bearings and settling his nerves as best as he could. He went over the plan for the experiment one more time. First, go dark in order to allow the night vision camera feed to register and allow him to navigate in the darkness. Should any entity reside in the house, it would be easier for the system feeds to pick it out. Second, he would slowly explore the first level of the house before going upstairs to the master bedroom.

For eons it was theorized that “walls stored evil” or some places absorbed horrific events. The hope of the Glimpses Endeavor was to use a pulsing Electronic Magnetic Field generator to draw out the captured moments. The modified generator produced and distorted a constant stream of EMF waves and when they returned it would read them like a sonic call bouncing back to a bat.

Through the paranormal feeds and the silver ethereal nodes attached to his palms, it was hoped he would also be able to see and record any entities existing in the spectral fields or ethereal dimensions. The system on his back retrieved all these feeds and readings at once in order to provide a generated “glimpse” and display it in his lenses.

Of course he didn’t understand how any of it worked. He only wanted a view of history.

A glimpse of murder.

He leaned over and switched the foyer light off. In seconds, the room illuminated within his glasses. No true sources of heat were displayed as the house had been empty since Jerry’s hospital stay. Everything was outlined with an eerie blue aura.

Jackson knew the layout of the house which remained as familiar and intimate as touching the features of his own face. The pulsing hum from the backpack increased and snowy wave of green lit particles extended from him like a ripple in a pond.

He walked toward the kitchen, his father’s favorite place. When he entered a soft tone alerted him the Glimpse system picked something up. In seconds a figure stood kneeling by the kitchen stove. The figure was not entirely clear but by the size and posture he guessed it to be Jerry.

Dammit! That’s not clear enough to use in any court as evidence! Is this a waste of time after all? 

After several waves of EMF, the figure grew more defined and detailed as the figure worked around the room. Jackson found he did eventually recognize his father. Clearly younger in appearance as he was in year 2020. The only time Jerry was at peace and ease with himself was when he cooked. Another tone made Jackson leap a little as another two forms came into view in the kitchen doorway. One small form broke off to go to the table and climbed onto a chair.

This is so surreal! As close to time travel we will probably ever get!

“I hope that beer can is just from flavoring the chicken, Jerry.” The voice was rich, smooth, feminine. It had been so long since he heard his mother’s voice that he wasn’t sure if he really knew it.

“Don’t start,” Jerry snapped back. Jackson immediately recognized the cigarette-strained timber of his father’s voice.

She started shouting.”I cannot–“

“Babe! I have good news!” he insisted. “My old pal Kendall is going to be released next week. He’s already got a tip on a job in Memphis. He’s promised to hook me up.”

The figures blurred and winked out.

“What? What happened there, Laura?” Jackson called out, hoping their system wasn’t glitching.

“Not all the glimpses will be complete or thorough.”

He frowned unsatisfied.

Nothing appeared or continued in the kitchen so he went back down the hall to the stairwell to the bedrooms on the second floor.

Halfway up, his mother appeared a foot before his face. “YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!  YOU PROMISED NO MORE CRIME–” Her wispy figure shot backwards onto the steps behind her. She sprawled, holding a hand to her left cheek and stared in fright at Jackson. It wasn’t him she was seeing but his father who had often “put you in your place” with his hands. Sometimes he had used belts. Jackson winced as he remembered the sting of those leather straps.

The repeated emergency room visits were often the reason that Jerry was so hated and crucified in the press. He was an ugly human being — Jackson couldn’t make him pay for her suffering but at least now he hoped the glimpse would lead him to her remains to put her at rest.

Her figure winked out once again. “Proceeding upstairs to the bedroom,” he muttered.

His stomach tightened and flipped with his anxiety. The bedroom was the murder scene. Every investigation pointed to it. There were traces of blood and a broken shard of tooth found in the initial investigation years ago. Pieces of furniture were marred with scratches and one wall was dented in. Clearly signs of some sort of physical struggle.

Jackson hesitated as he stepped into the doorway. He held his breath. It was now or never he assumed.

Pulses of EMF drew out and across the room.

Nothing.

Several minutes passed.

After all these years, you are going to go to your grave and get away with it, aren’t you, you sick fuck. Jackson gripped the sides of the doorframe, tears slipping down his cheeks. He just wanted to put her in a grave. Was this so much to ask?

“Mummy… Mummy?” A whimper and cry came from behind him.

Two alert beeps rang out in the pitch dark. His mother appeared running toward him at the door while her father’s form chased after her. He was shouting. “I’m sorry. SO SORRY, MARISSA! Please calm–“

His mother’s form bolted through Jackson. The dead cold was bitter and bit down through to the bone. Jackson spun around in time to spot a small toddler climbing the last of the steps just as his mother crashed and flipped over his little form with a shriek.  His mother crumpled into an abnormal position at the base of the stairs.

Everyone popped away again, leaving him alone in the dark.

Laura gasped in his ear. Then she whispered, “Jackson….Jackson! Oh my god, you killed her! Dear lord, she died after all by accident.”

He lowered himself to the threadbare carpet and leaned against the wall in the hall.

It made sense now. His father and mother had a nasty argument and tumble in the bedroom which accounted for the crime scene evidence. Nothing about that night had ever come back to him. The psyches always said he had blocked the trauma after obviously seeing his father murder his mother. But it was her fall he blocked out. His part in her death.

And his father had known he’d face charges and prison time for the assault leading to the accident. The chain of events were enough for a good prosecutor to get manslaughter if not more. Jerry wouldn’t take the chance.

Then where? Where is her body? 

He rubbed hard at his temples then wiped at the back of his neck. Goosebumps prickled his skin still as it was cold in the old house. His breath pluming out in an spooky green fog.

“Oh Jackson, does it so matter?” The voice was clear — rich and smooth. His head shot up to see Marissa standing before him. Her spectral form glowing a soft pale green.

Mom?  The words failed to escape his lips.

“Don’t you see, Jackie? I’m at peace. It’s not important for me to be placed in a patch of ground to be in happiness. What I truly need is for your happiness.”

More tears escaped him and dripped to his chest. Laura’s own faint sobs were captured by the microphone.

“This was never your fault and it wasn’t what your father intended to happened either. It was a tragic accident.  I want you to move on. LIVE! Stop dwelling in the past and on hate for your father. Go be happy and live for me!”

 

Three weeks after the Glimpse Endeavor, Jerry Ross died. In his will, he left instructions where her ashes were hidden. In the end, he remained completely selfish. There was no note of confession or even remorse, only a set of GPS coordinates.

Jerry never did right by his wife, but in the end, he wanted the same thing Jackson’s mother wanted…closure for their son.



Writing Prompt: Whatever building you enter, you can see all of the people who died there.  

Provided by Written Word Media

Writing Prompt #1 — One. Last. Time. — Derek Barton 2020

Blog 1

I realize it has been awhile since you’ve read anything new from me — either in post, novella or even novel form. Then I ran across this “writing prompt” which piqued my interest.

A writing prompt to those that are unfamiliar to the phrase is a small paragraph to motivate or inspire a writer — a fill-in-the-rest-of-the-story exercise.  Thought this might be a fun way to get some “new” material out while I am still writing, editing, publishing my horror and fantasy series. On a side note, Evade Part One will be out next month!!

ENJOY!!

 



(Writing Prompt provided by tomiadeyemi.com)

She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady her hands. A long serrated hunting knife rested in the grimy sink.

“One last time,” she whispered to herself. 

One. Last. Time.

Evelyn Diane Joyce, or “Evie” as her friends called her, stood in the restroom, staring at her rain-drenched reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself, covered in mud, grease on her clothes and leaves in her dirty, haystack hair. Dried blood caked under one nostril and her chin was scuffed raw from an earlier fall.

They were in the Calamine Mountain Park. It was around 8 o’clock at night and a surprise rain storm chilled the fall evening air.

One. Last. Time.

He was here. Somewhere hidden among the park’s trees and brush.

Evie knew he’d make his way there. It was the only real structure in the park and on the way to the parking lot. He’d come for certain.

The fluorescent lights suddenly flickered and blinked a few times before completely turning off.

Holding her breath, Evie retrieved the knife then crept over in the blind dark to the nearest stall and went inside. She then climbed onto the toilet seat and crouched behind the door. Waiting was the worst part. All of the exertion weighed upon her and her body shook. Her muscles tightened in her chest as her heart beat furiously. Any moment now he’d walk in, but she wondered if she could actually do this. Sweat trickled down her neck and between her shoulder blades.

Moments later, her ears picked out a whisper of fabric. Then in spite of the pelting rain, she heard the subtle squeak of his sneakers. He was already inside the doorway to the restroom structure.

One. Last. Time.  Was she ready?

The hum of the lights filled the restroom as its motion sensor started the lights back on. He stopped — probably looking around. Jackson Allan Joyce always played it safe. Predictable and yet prepared. Always a slave to compulsive order and rules.

Across the stalls was a line of urinals. Satisfied that he was alone, he stepped over to one directly across from Evie. She peered out at him through the stall door crack. His back was to her. He rested his head on one arm stretched along the wall as he leaned into the urinal. Exhaustion written all over his form. His cyclist spandex suit was ripped at the shoulder and down the back. His arm was covered in drying blood as fresh blood pumped out of a long gash.

It had only been two hours before when they had taken their mountain bikes together along the North Face Trail. After a couple miles up, his bike tire popped when Jackson hit a sharp, partially buried rock in their path. He tumbled and bounced down the cliff then laid unconscious on the side of a rocky trench below the sand trail. Scrub brush and desert weeds shrouded him. She rushed to climb down to him and felt for his pulse. It was there but thready. His cheek and left eye were already bruised and swollen from the initial impact.

As she scrambled back up to their packs, she heard him call out. “Evie, help me. Evie!”

He sounded weak and vulnerable. Her mind whirled with possibilities.

She went to her backpack and from a sheath stowed inside, she removed the hunting blade. “I’m coming, Jackson. Hold on!”

At the bottom again, Evie knelt at his side. He looked confused, his eyes searched her hands spotting the blade. Before his first question, she thrust the knife aiming for his heart. His instincts were stronger and quicker than she expected. The blade pierced his arm as he raised it in defense.

Evie wasn’t done though. She pulled and twisted the knife handle, frantic to free it. When it gave up and popped free of his forearm, she was flung backwards into a small pile of boulders. Jackson wasn’t done either. He bolted up onto his knees then leaped onto her. They tumbled further down the incline of the trench as they wrestled for the knife.

She won the contest when she caught him with a surprise knee to the groin.

Evie ran. She ran not for her life but ran for another chance, another opportunity to escape the cushioned cage that was her doldrum life.  She would kill him. 

She would be free and have a new life. One. Last. Time.

All night, stalking and attacking him, she tried several times to ambush the son-of-a-bitch. Now they were near the parking lot. At the edge of the park.

He was exhausted. She was exhausted. They were both determined to live. Relentless in their endeavors.

Her legs were coiled beneath her, her muscles were taught, her breath captured in her burning legs. The knife was slick in her hand.

With a predatory smile and flash of gnashing teeth, she exploded from the stall…

One. Last. Time!

 

 

The Chase is Still ON — Elude Part Two Audiobook ON Sale Now!!

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