Dustin (foreground) and Mya make sure I won't forget to pack them too. News & Updates A few weeks ago, I packed up for a week and headed out to StarField Farm. It's our place in Central Massachusetts that in a few years, we'll be relocating to and for now is a weekend home and place for writing retreats. I am fortunate to have some semi-local writing friends who often join me there. This time, with their help, I was able to solve the problems I'd been having in the current novel-in-progress. While it still doesn't have a name, I'm feeling like I'm in a place where I can share some snippits. I hope you enjoy this sneak peek at what I've been calling the multiverse book. (First draft warnings apply.) **** It wasn't Harley's fault. And she envied his ability to stay clinically detached. "Get a grip, Doctor Feldman," she muttered to herself before following him. She was the psychiatrist. Hell, she lectured the medical students and interns on professional boundaries when they started their psych rotations. He led her across the street into a shadowed building surrounded by scaffolding that stood alone on a block reduced to rubble. "We're going in there?" "Yup." He balanced the carton in one hand and reached up to turn on his headlamp. She pulled hers out of a pocket and strapped it over her hat. "Is it safe?" "Define safe." Against the cold, she felt her face burn. Safe was her condo in Belmont. Safe was her university appointment and tenure, an office with a waiting room and patients who paid out of pocket. A sabbatical and research enough to keep her busy for the year. Yet, here she was. She flicked on the light and nodded. "Let's go." They picked their way over the rubble left behind when the other buildings had been demolished. Melissa wondered why this last one had been left standing. Given real estate prices all around Boston, it was no surprise that the block had been slated for revitalization. Harley swept his headlamp over the scaffolding. It was rusty and pitted. "Majority overseas investor. The local partners got jailed for some big money laundering scheme. Project is in permanent limbo while they try to figure out who owns what and who gets left paying the fines." "How long has it been like this?" "A couple of years." He shrugged. "Fire department boards the place up every so often, but the folks who squat here just come back." Great. Add fire trap to the general hazard of partly dismantled building. She wanted to ask Harley if the Mayor's office knew they were going inside, but one look at his set jaw and narrowed, dark eyes and she followed silently. They paused just outside the large steel front door. Melissa looked up. The pale circle of light from her headlamp shone on boarded up windows until it was swallowed by the darkness two stories up. People lived here. Harley's lamp swept over her face and she blinked in the sudden blinding brightness. He didn't have to say a word for her to hear his unspoken question. "Let's go," she said again, this time in a soft whisper. The light bobbed and retreated. She had to clamp her jaw shut to keep from gasping as the door opened. The darkness inside seemed to move and heave. It saw her. The feeble lamp on their foreheads would do nothing except paint them as targets. Harley's light moved away from hers and she shuddered, more afraid of being lost and alone than in walking into the building's open mouth. "We're here from the Mayor's office. We got blankets and supplies for anyone who wants 'em. Sandwiches, too." Harley's rich, resonant voice got swallowed up by the heavy silence. Melissa stood so close to him that his warmth pierced through all the layers they were both wearing. "Where is everyone?" "Deciding if what's in this box is worth risking us not being who we say we are." That didn't make any sense. Why wouldn't the people here want blankets and food? Harley set the box on the floor and opened it. The light from his headlamp bobbed erratically around the room illuminating nothing. The rustle of cloth and paper bags seemed oppressively loud. Melissa looked down and her light showed several piles of goods unloaded from the box: blankets, toiletry kits, and food. "Gonna leave this stuff here and head back outside for a few minutes. Take what you need." That's not what they did on any of their other stops. How was she going to assess anyone's medical needs if they wouldn't show themselves? What was Harley doing? "If anyone wants to talk to me or the Doc, we'll be back." Exhaling hard, she turned to the door to follow Harley back into the cold Boston night. The wan light from his headlamp vanished. Hers winked out. "Shit." Nothing happened when she jiggled the switch. Her hands were invisible even directly in front of her eyes, but something sparkled in the periphery of her vision. She blinked, trying to focus. Shimmering geometric forms made of shadows hovered just out of sight, moving as her eyes shifted back and forth. "Harley?" There was no answer in the suffocating darkness. No sound at all except for the roaring in her ears and her harsh breathing. Melissa reached out looking for something, anything to anchor her to the here and now. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she knew the void had seen her. Knew what was behind her. It didn’t matter what direction she tried to run, it would wait for her to turn, just like it had when she’d been a child. Her mind fragmented into two Melissas: the young girl caught between terror and wonder of the impossible and the rational physician running the differential diagnosis of her symptoms: migraine, seizure disorder, stroke. She turned. The crystalline shimmer had expanded into a space large enough to walk through. “Aura. Hallucination. Visual field cut.” She muttered the medical terms as if they were a mantra that could protect her. And then a small shadowy form fell through the gate and merged with a deeper shadow at her feet. **** |