Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Death had been chasing me my entire life. I survived the horrors of war, but it was the aftermath that truly destroyed me.
People called me a recluse, but the only time I didn’t feel like I was suffocating was inside that house.
For my daughter, I kept some semblance of normalcy by implementing a rigid routine. Once a week, I forced myself to walk to the diner at the end of the block—a ritual I despised but relied on as my last anchor to the real world.
Until the day a “Closed” sign on the door shattered my fragile existence. Worse, the new owner was the most haunting ghost from my past.
It had been years since I’d laid eyes on Gwendolyn Pierce. She hated me—and rightly so. But when a film crew arrived in town to dig into my past, she became my only ally.
With my secrets threatened, I leaned on Gwen, forging a connection neither of us could deny. But with a past as dark as ours, I feared it would eclipse any hope for a future.
I always said that when Death finally came for me, I would be ready, eager, and alone.
Always alone.
But for Gwen, maybe I could face the world again as long as it meant I could be alone—with her.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Truett
Death. It’s life’s only true constant. At any given second, someone was out there breathing their last breath. A heartbeat fading into silence. A soul escaping to a better place. At least that was what religious leaders and funeral directors would wax poetic about at services around the world.
I’d died once and it hadn’t felt like floating through the clouds. There were no pearly gates. No bright light guiding me home. Not one fucking ounce of peace to be found.
But then again, I’d died failing the people I loved.
Dying was the most god-awful, heinous, and terrifying experience imaginable. Or so I’d thought—until someone had brought me back to life.
Surviving. Now that was one level of agony that could never be matched.
I was a prisoner. Like a storm hovering on the horizon, Death followed me. Day in. Day out. The Grim Reaper became my own personal stalker. Unfortunately for me, my name had yet to be at the top of his list. No, my fate was worse. I’d become something of his tour guide, sentencing everyone around me to his wrath.
Therapists and doctors alike assured me that Death wasn’t a personified force chasing me around Earth. One even used the word delusional and asked if I’d considered medication. I shook a bag of pills at him and then not so kindly tossed his sorry-shrink-ass out of my house.
I wished I was delusional. I would have taken every fucking pill in existence if it could have made the horrors of my life figments of my imagination. I didn’t honestly believe there was a mythical scythe-toting being lurking in my shadow. But for fuck’s sake, something had to explain the ocean of pain I’d been drowning in for over half my life.
Call it what you will. Maybe I was cursed. Maybe in a different life I’d been a monster who deserved an eternity of torment. Regardless, delusion or karma, I wasn’t leading anyone else to their graves. When Death finally came looking for me, I was going to be ready, eager, and alone.
Always alone.
Blindly slapping around my nightstand, I killed my screaming alarm. My heart raced, the rude awakening never getting easier.
“Fuck,” I breathed as I pried one eye open. The sun streaming through my bedroom window blinded me. I let out a low groan and folded my forearm over my eyes, wishing I could block out my entire fucked-up life more so than the rays of the sun.
As I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my back let out a loud creak. I kept myself in shape, working out virtually every day, but at forty-two, my body was all but revolting against me. I’d put it through hell in my twenties. Six years of jumping out of planes in the Army had done the real heavy lifting in the damage department, but I’d done my fair share of destroying it in other ways. Tequila had been my poison of choice for most of my thirties, but eventually I got my shit together. After that kind of abuse, I should have been grateful all I had were a few rusty creaks.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee invaded my senses as I stood up and stretched. Thank God for auto brew. While sleeping naked was a definite perk of solitude, I’d learned the hard way that nudity and sloshing hot coffee did not mix. So, before leaving my room, I paused my pursuit of caffeination long enough to drag on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.