From my new novel, New
World Order Rising, to be released some time in July, 2013. Carter
Banks’ daughter, Chantal, 24, and his granddaughter, Dodie (Doe-dee,) 6, have
been abducted by the Illuminati. In this excerpt Chantal has the viewpoint, and
is trying to comfort her daughter as best she can. Forced to lie in the
backseat for many hours they are finally arriving…somewhere. Chantal has no
idea where or what’s happening, as their abductors do not speak except to give
orders.
****
Chantal could feel the car turning,
slowing down, speeding up, turning again. They must be getting close to
somewhere. But where? Her headache was gone.
“You two can sit up back there,”
came that voice from the front.
Stiffly, Chantal moved her feet to
the floor, at the same time put both her hands on, “Dodie, honey, you can sit
up now.”
“Mom…?”
“Yes, honey, sit up, please, get
right up here on the seat beside me.” As if I can protect you from all harm.
Dodie moved quickly to beside her
mom, who put both her arms around her and kept them there.
The man in the front passenger seat
looked back. In daylight the man’s face looked doubly evil, and white, almost
bloodless, white. He didn’t smile, “Brush your hair with your hands, and
get the sleep seeds out of your eyes, the kid’s eyes too.”
She did as told. Dodie looked up,
her soft eyes showing…she didn’t know, “Mom, where are we?”
“I don’t know, honey.”
“Where are we going?”
“That’s enough talking back there.”
“Ssssh.” She put her finger to
Dodie’s lips, “Quiet, honey, please. They’ll soon tell us.”
The man in front, the driver, she
thought, laughed, but didn’t say anything.
With her daughter as close to her
as possible, she looked at the passing scenery. Not much to see. Rundown
buildings. Empty streets. No trees, no people. She saw a statue ahead, a
warrior, with a sword, maybe—she remembered seeing a picture of a knight once,
a Knights Templar, she thought—whoever they were—she wasn’t sure. The
statue was rundown too, and had many bird droppings on it. They came to a more
open area, at least three blocks with few but really rundown buildings,
something like a modern ghost town.
Then appeared a much larger
building. The car steered toward the main entrance to what appeared to have
once been a fabulous hotel, with even a doorman. No uniform, though. She felt a
rush of humor. The man at the door was anything but royalty; he even looked
homeless, like he was getting paid to stand by that door and soon would just
disappear into the streets again.
They stopped. The man in the
passenger seat got out quickly, removed a key from his pants pocket and
unlocked the back door, then opened it and gestured, “Come on, lady. We’re
here.”
Where?
Hanging onto Dodie’s hand she
stepped out first. Dodie followed and clutched her mom’s arm.
The man then gestured to the
doorman, who stepped up and grabbed Dodie’s arm and pulled her away. Chantal
grabbed Dodie’s other arm and tried to hang on but realized she couldn’t win
and let go.
“Mom…?” Dodie’s eyes showed…fear.
She had seen dozens of expressions
cross her beautiful daughter’s face but never what resided there now—she
couldn’t really call it fear, but an emptiness, as if Dodie already knew she
was seeing her mom for the last time—and Chantal knew her own face had to be
showing fear like she had never known—I can’t let my daughter see the fear
I’m feeling—she tried to erase the fear from her face; she felt her face
turned hard—what can I do?—Dodie!—“Just do what he wants, Dodie.” She
couldn’t have said that! What on earth had she just told her daughter to
do? Whatever the man wants—my dear Lord!
The man with the evil face then
grabbed Chantal’s arm and pulled her through the door. The man with Dodie came
in too, but went in another direction.
“Mom…?”
Chantal’s stomach felt like it no
longer existed. She struggled as much as she dared, and watched her Dodie
getting farther and farther away. She tried to see into her daughter’s eyes,
tried to tell her that everything would soon be all right, but somehow she knew
that everything was not going to be all right, and that ‘emptiness’
look stayed on Dodie’s face. She watched until her child disappeared through
another door. The look in Dodie’s eyes stayed with her, and would stay
with her, Dodie, my Dodie—dear Lord, where are we? What’s happening? God,
please help us!
****
In this second excerpt Chantal and
Dodie have been separated for awhile. Mason is Chantal’s husband.
****
When Chantal awoke again the
vicious headache was back. They must have drugged her again. She knew she was
again riding, again lying in the backseat. At least it was dark, so she opened
her eyes. But just the act of opening them intensified the pain. Then she
became aware of a voice—
“What do you mean ‘She’s not a
virgin?’ Christ, she can’t be more then five or six years old!”
“She fell…on her bike,” Chantal
said, and couldn’t believe she was explaining, “It happened just last year—“
“What?” The man in the front
passenger seat jerked around, “What did you say?”
She opened her eyes for a second,
saw that the man was on a cell phone, “She was riding her new bike and the seat
came off—I told Mason it wasn’t right but he didn’t listen! Dodie bled and
bled….” She started to drift again, but heard the man repeating what she had
told him. Why did I tell him? Where am I? “What’s happening? Where’s my
baby?”
“Shut up back there!”
“You bastard!” She screamed.
The pain in her head increased still more, like a belt around her and
tightening, “Where’s my baby? What have you done with her?” Her head
started spinning. She opened her eyes one more time before passing out; she saw
the man looking at her, saw the dash lights reflecting again on the face of
pure evil.
Thanks for reading
Author’s notes
(Digital
downloads $0.99-$3.99; paperbacks $10.00-$29.95)
In my fiction I do
not try to create super-heroes, but rather bring alive common and regular
people who try to find love, survive, and react to circumstances as best they
can, and, usually, try to do the right thing. The books are more than one
genre, from war to sex and violence to romance to humor to horror to
fantasy to science fiction to adventure, I write in
third-person with viewpoints by men, women, and children.
Contact
email nelsonjamesw@hotmail.com https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/SubRon15 SmashWords Author Page https://jameswnelsonblog.com/
Website & Blog
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https://gab.com/Headforthehills Gab Social Site https://Brighteon.social/@subron75
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Feel free to contact me. (Response is not guaranteed)
(The world is full of psychos and wackos)
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