I have been working hard to complete the Eclipse Series for you. My goal is to get this done by the Fall. Keep in mind, Eclipse: Part I is available on Amazon.
Here is a little nugget to keep you going until then.
ECLIPSE: BOOK II
November 4, 2025 – 9:22 PM
Camden Royce, once known as Chicago’s Guardian Angel killer, carefully opened the thick wooden door. He chastised himself for not installing a window in it. Instead, he had to resort to remote viewing by camera of the inside of the Pen.
He fashioned it after the animal pen his father had for his hunting hounds outside of Cape Town. He shivered at the flash memory of those dogs. His father purposely starved them to “hone their senses and sharpen their appetite”. It made them vicious. It made their pursuit relentless.
“Just like they were for Mother,” he whispered to himself. The echo of her scream of agony cut off sharply in his head.
Stop. Gather yourself. You have guests you are responsible for.
The last position of the two current people inside was on the small cot. Their backs to the concrete wall, knees pulled to their chins. The dozing mother’s head lolled to the side. The child, Breana, was studying the room. They had been in there long enough for the panic after waking and the immediate terror to wear off. The tranquillizer effects had also worn off by now.
Camden entered the cell with an air of confidence and precision. A long machete in hand, hung by his side. In his left hand, he carried two plastic bottles of water. He wore a silver suit, polished beige leather shoes, glasses, and a pair of massive golden rings on his right hand. He had light brown hair with touches of grey on the sides, which had receded high upon his forehead. However, he still manifested an aura of youth despite his fifty-one years of age.
Breana nudged her mother awake with a sharp elbow. They watched him as he approached.
“Good evening. I take it you are rested. I brought these for you.” Camden held up the water. His voice had a lower bass tone but with a smooth British-like accent. “Are you hungry? I can make you meals of whatever you like.”
“What’s going on? Where are we, you bastard!” the mother snapped.
He had expected the animosity. He’d seen it all too often and stopped a few feet from the cot, saying nothing.
“I said, where are we? You have no right to hold us. Answer me!” she continued to shriek.
The six-year-old began to whimper and cry at her mother’s outbursts.
Cassie, the mother, raised her bound hands. “Cut these bands off us, right now!”
The machete rose. She shook her head, regretting her demand.
“No! Not with that!”
He made no sound or reply but crossed over to a small table set in one corner and placed the water bottles there. He had fashioned the 20’ x 20’ room with one door and no windows. Fiberglass installation and homemade soundproofing kept out any noise inside. And it was nigh impossible for any sound to be heard outside the underground chamber. A grated, square hole was built in the corner opposite the table. It went straight into the sewer line below. Several rolls of toilet paper were stacked neatly by it.
Camden faced them once again. “Those bindings will remain for your short stay here. Now, I choose not to cover your faces or gag you…That is as long as we can be friendly.”
With his calm, serious demeanor and the fact that he stood closer, Cassie focused on the long blade of the machete. There were splashes of red stains on the plastic handle.
She tried a different tactic and calmly stated, “You promised to take us to a shelter. Food and drinks, you said. This—This isn’t—”
“It is all that, just not what you envisioned, I am sure.”
“Please don’t hurt Mama, mister,” Breana said, her lower lip quivering, tears dripping off her cheeks.
Keeping out of striking distance, he crouched to her level and said, “Aww, now, love. Don’t be upset. It’s warmer here, isn’t it? Better than the tent your mother had you sleeping in.”
Breana nodded with reluctance.
“No! Stop talking to her,” Cassie demanded. “You stay away from her. Talk only to me, you hear? What is it you really want?”
He sighed and straightened up to his 6’1 height. “Fine. Yes, you are right to demand that. I’m glad to see you trying to protect her… now.”
Cassie scowled and said, “What are you talking about?”
“I observed your conversation with that man, Kevin, I believe his name is. I know what you were selling to him.”
Her scowl deepened, but red had spread across her face.
“There is nothing in the world worth renting out your own child for.” His words were harsh and final.
“Shut up! That isn’t –wasn’t – nothing happened!”
“Oh, really? Earlier this evening, you approached my car without hesitation. You took me up on my offer without any thought. Your addiction blinds you to all logic.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I see a pattern, Cassie, and, honestly, I can see that you have always bounced through life, going from one bad decision to the next. This is what you do. This is what you are teaching her. How will she ever learn differently? How would she know there are other options out there? Your lessons of life are condemning her to your same failings, don’t you see?”
It was Cassie’s turn not to respond.
Sighing again, he shook his head, then looked about the cell. “I am sorry I had to bring you here under false pretenses. My work… my responsibilities are more complicated these days. I have to be careful and maintain a low profile.”
Breana interrupted, “Are you gonna let us go, mister?”
Camden shook his head again. “No. What good would that do you now? But I promise, I’ll free you from this cycle of waste.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Cassie asked, a touch of fear creeping into her voice.
He turned from them, walked back to the door, and said, “I promise. You will be happy with your resting spot, though. It’s a fresh plot at the Forest Hill Cemetery. It has a wonderful view of some small grassy hills with a cluster of pine trees.”
“WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?” Cassie screamed.
Book II heats up as rookie Detective Bowden Korrey and his partner find more bodies left by the Black Frost Butcher. The city finds itself reeling from these horrific murders. The pressure triples when Mitch begins a Six-Day Cycle of unimaginable atrocities.
And what happens when an older evil, lurking in the shadows, is provoked?
The Official Website of Author Derek Barton 