Twenty-threeI stood at the side of a freshly dug grave and looked down at Celine as she stared back up at me from the bottom of the rectangular pit. She was dressed in her favorite outfit: faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and penny loafers on her otherwise bare feet. Her hair was drawn back into a ponytail and tied with a yellow ribbon. The same green pearl stud earrings that she was wearing when she first came to me for help were in her earlobes. “Help me, Damien,” she said. “Find my killer. Protect my son.”I jerked awake. My heart was pounding and so was my head. The display on my clock radio read 03:27AM. But I was done sleeping. I could still see Celine’s face and hear her voice. “Find my killer,” I heard over and over in sync with the pounding. “Find my killer. Protect my son.”I got up and stood under the shower to wash away the remnants of the dream. Slowly, my heart rate returned to normal and the throbbing in my head softened to a tolerable level. I wrapped a towel around my waist, padded into the kitchen, and poured myself a tumbler of ice water. A couple of aspirins took care of the rest of my headache, but Celine’s voice lingered still. “Protect my son. Find my killer.”
Monday, April 6, 2015
THE GREEN PEARL CAPER
Following is a short except from THE GREEN PEARL CAPER, in celebration of the release of the print edition.