Your Mid-Week Update for 07/29/20

Alright, so last week, I talked about turning murder into a family activity and enjoying the companionship and all that. So, I decided to turn it into a thing. On Sunday night, I went out to a bar (because those are open again even though they definitely shouldn’t be) and picked up a man who was incredibly easy to lure home.

Seriously, we’re in the middle of a pandemic and you’re spending your night at a crowded bar. You deserve to die before you get someone else killed with your stupidity.

As you know, I am always happy to oblige.

Getting him into the house was easy enough, luring him to the back was a cinch – p.s. that is not how that word sounds like it should be spelt. Then getting James and Casey to help me bind and gag him was almost boring in its simplicity.

But I have found that doing things as a family is always way more fun.

I can’t believe I never thought to do this before: bring people in to my circle.

Obviously, I have (sort of how I married my husband) and it’s not exactly a normal after-work hangout activity. But having people to share my experiences with has been really nice. I will always love a solo kill. Using the skills I’ve cultivated myself, to have total control over another person, is intoxicating.

Of course, I’ll never force anyone in the house to participate. Heather has still expressed no interest in wielding the bolt cutters herself but didn’t shy away from watching. About ten minutes in, she stopped asking questions and started prompting me. Encouraging me to cut here or prod there. I’ll admit, some of her ideas were pretty ingenious – the man in the chair gave a roaring review.

The thing is…

I liked it.

I liked having someone tell me what to do. I just became the vessel for her mind and only moved when she told me to.

I got a little turned on.

I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.

I’ve let James do that before and it gave me the same feelings. I think I like…giving control over sometimes. Knowing that I can stop at any time. I could slit her throat if I wanted to – and if she were a stranger ordering me about, I absolutely would have. But I trust her.

So, her commands made me horny.

I don’t know what to do with this information. I don’t know if I should care or play in to it or ignore it completely. I don’t know if it’s her or if it’s just the concept.

I know I didn’t hate it.

And that’s…

That’s weird, right?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Cover Reveal for Stealing Embers by Julie Hall

Today Julie Hall and Rockstar Book Tours are revealing the cover and an exclusive excerpt for STEALING EMBERS, book 1 in her brand-new YA Urban Fantasy, Fallen legacies series, which releases September 22, 2020! Check out the gorgeous cover and enter to win a $10 Amazon Gift card!

On to the reveal!

Title: STEALING EMBERS (Fallen Legacies #1)

Author: Julie Hall

Pub. Date: September 22, 2020

Publisher: Julie Hall

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: ?

Find it:  Goodreads, Amazon

A realm of monsters. A world of lies. She belongs to both.

My name is Emberly, and everything I’ve ever been told is a lie.

Monsters don’t exist. Wrong.

The nightmarish spectrum world is just my imagination. Wrong.

In a few months, I’ll finally be free. Wrong.

It takes being dragged to a secret training academy in the mountains to unravel the truth. My captors--an elite race of angel-born warriors called Nephilim.

The deadliest of them all is an arrogant shape shifter, Steel. He’s gorgeous, lethal, hot-headed . . . and convinced I’ll be the death of them all.

Maybe he’s right. As soon as I show up, the monsters that have haunted me my entire life breach the academy walls. My only hope of saving my new friends is learning how to control my powers, but when a stunning betrayal hurts someone I care about, I have an impossible choice.

Stay and fight for a place to belong . . . or decide once and for all that I’m better off alone.

Enter the spectrum world, a realm in-between worlds where shadow beasts draw blood, reality is a maze of twisted lights and sounds, and life goals are whittled down to just one: survive.

Fans of Jennifer L. Armentrout and Cassandra Clare will love this Crescent City meets Crave mash up!

Exclusive Excerpt

Steel takes a determined step toward me. His hair is ruffled, his clothes covered in dirt and wet from the ice and snow, his hands balled into fists. Even without a weapon, he’s a fierce sight to behold. With golden light kissing his features, he reminds me of a modern-day Apollo, dressed in a Henley and dark washed jeans.

“It’s you.” His whispered words full of awe and float to me on a rippling band of light.

I begin to ask what he means, but I catch a sliver of movement to my left and turn my head in time to see both Forsaken disappear around the bend of the building.

Instinct says to follow them, but when I take a step in their direction I’m thwarted by a six-foot-five, raven-haired angel-born.

“They’re going to—” My words die a quick death on my tongue when Steel’s hand brushes a tangle of hair away from my cheek. The small contact causes a tremor to work its way through his body.

He closes his eyes and steps into me.

I retreat a step.

“Finally,” he breathes, dipping his head to gently rub the tip of his nose up the column of my neck before his lips just barely brush my earlobe.

It’s my turn to shiver.

What is he doing? my mind screams. And do I care? it whispers as an afterthought.

Shaking my head out of a confused fog, I take another shaky step back.

Yes, I do care. The boy must have hit his head harder than I thought.

“Listen, Steel, we don’t have time for this. You’re not yourself right now.”

I bring my hands up to push him back. He’s invading my space—big time.

When I reach forward to give him a shove, he grabs hold of my wrists and uses my momentum to bring me closer.

The guy has moves, that’s for sure.

One look in his eyes and I can tell he’s not all there. His lids are lowered to half-mast and his gaze sweeps lazily over my features.

 Steel takes a step forward, forcing my capitulation until he’s maneuvered me against the rough bricks. A foreign sensation zips along my spine, as if something heavy is fused to each vertebrae, weighing me down. I don’t have a chance to investigate because Steel’s head is dipping again and I have nowhere to move within the cage of his body.

I freeze, wholly unprepared for the situation. That gives Steel the perfect opportunity to dive in and take what he wants.

About Julie:

Julie Hall is an award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of young adult fantasy fiction. 

Before writing her first novel Julie worked as a film publicist and rubbed elbows with the rich and famous . . . as in she would gently nudge them to let them know their meal had arrived during press interviews.

She now spends most of her "office hours" with her two furry writing buddies, Bear and Coco. Her daughter thinks that mommy's superpower is “sleeping all day,” but that’s because she’s often awake until the wee hours of the morning weaving tales of adventure in worlds of her own creation. When asked in an interview what she wanted to be when she grew up, she’s quoted to have answered, “to never have to grow up.”

She currently lives in Portland, Oregon with her four favorite people--her husband, daughter, and two fur babies (because dogs are people too).  

Connect with Julie here, or on social media.

Website | Twitter | Instagram | Facebook | YouTube | Amazon Author Page | BookBub | Goodreads

Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon GC, International.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/22/20

You’d think, after all this time, people would just stop being awful to each other. We are in the middle of a global pandemic, there is rioting in the streets. And someone thought it’d be a good idea to break into my house.

Obviously they had to die – that was a given – but because I am so inconceivably bored, I decided to have some fun with our would-be thief. Did you know, that a person is technically alive for 3-6 minutes after decapitation?

I do now.

I actually turned it into a sort of group project, since everyone in the house has killed at least one person and hasn’t objected to killing another. Heather was the most squeamish but she liked to watch and ask questions. I love a curious mind. It’s so rare that I get to talk about my process and really delve into my motivations on any one kill. Why this person? Why this method? The mechanics of a particular method.

It was really nice to share that with someone was just genuinely curious.

I let Casey and James get a few whacks in, of course. They were both eager to try out different things to see what would stick. We cut into his forearm and poured boiling water over it – we had to stuff his own socks into his mouth to cover the screams. We took a hammer the soles of his feet. Casey spent a bit of time with a knife, doodling into his chest. She likes killing quite a bit. For her, it’s not a means to an end, it’s something she takes pleasure in.

Every time I see her, I’m reminded of myself when I was just starting out. Blood thirsty and indulgently sadistic. I want to regain that youthful enthusiasm but I also want to take what I’ve learned and teach her how to avoid those pitfalls. Letting the addiction control me until I had to check myself in to a rehab, allowing my cockiness to let a monster into our lives, falling in love with a pawn (even if it turned out to be the best decision I ever made, it could have ended so badly).

I see myself in her but I don’t want her to be like me. I want her to be better.

I hope by letting her take the lead on disposing of the intruder’s body, I showed her how much I trust her. That is something that’s so important to me – always was. I want the kids to trust me. To know they can come to me with anything. That was part of my downfall with Jason. I spent so much time worrying about his sister, excited to have someone to share my secret with, that he fell through the cracks and it all fell apart.

I won’t let that happen with Casey.

I can’t.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your MId-Week Update for 07/15/20

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too cruel. I mean, yes, I’m a serial killer who hasn’t taken a break for more than a few months for the past twenty years, and my body count will be recorded in history books if they ever learn the true number.

But, like, in a fun way.

And yes, some of my murders are incredibly violent, damaging and dismembering beyond recognition for my own safety. If someone crosses my family, I’ve been known to employ military torture techniques for my own pleasure.

But, like, in a creative way.

Murder is an art form, you see.

It’s not enough to just shoot someone and be done with it. The ones who truly understand what they’re doing are the ones who are practiced, and careful, and appreciate what they’re doing. And it pays about as well as any other art form.

It’s when I don’t kill someone, that I truly feel cruel. I take pride in my work – enjoy the creative expression and power I wield over someone else. I don’t derive the same pleasure from almost killing. Paralyzing someone, leaving them in a vegetative state, trapping them in their own minds: it’s cruel. I get nothing out of it and they’re still left in pain. I am happy to put people out of their misery once I’ve got them in my grasp. Not to, makes little sense. Who benefits?

There was a woman a few weeks ago – when I took Casey out for a ‘hunt’. Casey stabbed her in the back of the head and we thought that would be the end of it but it wasn’t. We saw on the news later that day that the woman had survived but suffered severe brain damage. I wondered about her from time to time – what kind of damage had been done, what she could feel, if she was able to tell authorities what had happened to her.

I went to see her on Sunday. Snuck into the hospital and into ICU (a harrowing story for another time) where I found the woman lying on a bed surrounded by wires. From what I could make of her chart, Casey had struck a cluster of nerves on the side of the medulla oblongata and surgery was unsuccessful in repairing the damage. She can see and hear but not speak. She can move parts of her body but not others and not enough to function on her own. For all intents and purposes, she will never get out of bed again. Her body will never heal and she will be stuck in this half-living state forever.

I dislodged her oxygen supply.

She saw me, could understand what I was doing, but from the look in her eyes, she wouldn’t have stopped me even if she could. Watching the light leave her eyes left me with no satisfaction. I went home that night and cried and then I woke up this morning, not feeling guilty – feeling absolved, instead. I won’t look into her case again, but I know what will happen. They’ll think it’s an accident or negligence and write it off as just another death. But she and I will always know that for one moment, I wasn’t cruel.

And that’s enough.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/08/20

“I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned… One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it out on that specific Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.”

How twisted is that?

It’s one of my favourite serial killer letters. The Axeman may not have had a lot of creativity in his kills, but he knew how to craft a psychotic letter. He lays out specific demands, cites his previous crimes, and uses syntax just this side of uncomfortable. It’s easy to believe the letter was written by the actual Axeman and not some copycat trying to pull a prank on the city of New Orleans (although if it was: props to you, random asshole).

And the demand!

You must have jazz music playing in your house or else I’ll murder you. Can you imagine if that happened today? “Everyone has to listen to the new Taylor Swift album or I’ll slit your throat.” And have people believe you. Cause that was the thing, too. That Tuesday night, so much of New Orleans were locked in their homes blasting jazz and having parties in order to obey the man’s wishes.

To have that much power over a city with a few swings of an axe and a few choice words.

It’s the kind of power serial killers dream of.

Of course, it was easier to kill back then. People were inherently more trusting, and things like locked doors and accepting rides from strangers was just a cultural norm. Really, my predecessors made everything so much harder for the rest of us. More of a challenge. You have to get really creative, these days. Can’t just butcher a few people and demand that everybody follow your Spotify playlist.

Although.

I haven’t terrorized a small town in years. That year I went off to college and had my whole campus on edge for weeks when the body of a young woman was found in the fountain; those were the days. Everyone was suspicious and yet overly protective. I wonder what would have happened if I’d made any demands after I killed her. I could have asked for policy changes or demanded arrests be made at that frat house that seemed to have an addiction to rohypnol. I could have pressured the administration into releasing their donation allocation information.

I could have made some real, positive change.

I did some. I blackmailed the dean into resigning and I murdered two of the frat boys during my time (I say murdered, more like I didn’t stop them from killing themselves of alcohol poisoning). But I could have done more.

I sometimes think about legacy. When I’m gone, what will the world remember me for? Will all or some of my horrible deeds come to light and be painted as the heinous acts they are? Will no one learn of them until there is no one left to remember any of the victims? Will I be forgotten?

It’s strange to think about because I have spent so much of my time trying to be forgotten; trying to blend in to the world so no one would notice me sneaking up behind them. But do I still want that in death? Do I want to be posthumously acknowledged for my work, when there are no consequences to be faced? It would destroy my family if I ever went before them but if I didn’t. If, years after we were all gone, someone discovered the truth about what I do, I don’t know that I’d mind as much.

But that is for long after I’m gone. Today, I stay invisible and try to make changes. If I can rid the world of one bastard, or convince one neighbourhood to keep themselves safer, maybe it is possible to have a positive impact on the world despite it all.

I know the ends will never justify the means but once in a blue moon, a murder is absolutely justified, and I’ll always remember that.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/01/20

It has been raining all week. All month, it seems. I’d be worried about flooding if I left my house.

Heather is starting to settle in which is a miracle. She and Casey have formed a mutual respect out of being stuck in the house with me 24/7 and thus have to endure my every attempt to occupy my hands.

Sometimes it’s cooking, sometimes it’s cleaning, sometimes it’s digging graves I’ll never fill. I just need to do something, you know?

The rain has been making it excellent digging weather, the ground is nice and soft. Gardening has been a breeze. Did I not mention that I started gardening? Cause why not. Just a couple of vegetables in the corner of the backyard but I’m excited about their progress. I’ve never been much of a grower or nurturer. Sure, I had the kids but they were already half-baked by the time I adopted them. Sandra was only a little younger than Casey when she first came to live with us.

Even then, she was mature for her age. I saw how much she wanted to protect Jason. The amount of babysitting I did for those kids, I saw them grow into these loving, independent people who never stood a chance. They were screwed from the day they were born but they made the most of it.

I miss them. I miss the life we could have had together. Our lives could have been so different.

You know what else rain is good for? Murder.

It’s not as good as snow but it’s a good warm weather substitute. Rain softens the ground which can make it difficult to hide your tracks, yes, but it also makes digging and moving incredibly easy. There are so many bodies buried under soft soil that get lost to time and mother nature. Rain makes people reckless, too. Unlike snow, people are more convinced that they can survive a little rain. So they run with their head down, or speed through the intersection, or offer to share an umbrella with a stranger who later stabs them with the pointed end of said umbrella (because if companies are going to make it that sharp, that’s on them).

It’s incredibly easy to play at being helpless when it’s raining. Especially in a heavy downpour. And I don’t necessarily mean the sexy “oh can you help me start my car, I never noticed my t-shirt was wet” kind of way. Although that got me a number of kills during flood season when I was 24.

People are a little more exposed when they’re caught out in the rain. Their only instinct is survival. Get to the nearest dry spot. Escape. It’s easy to lose sight of one’s surroundings when you’re so focused on one task.

There’s also something about the aesthetic that gets me going, too. Again, not as much as snow, but any precipitation can be beneficial to my cause so I love it all. Picture a heavy downpour, late evening, you’re running towards a bus stop, seeking shelter. Just before you reach the sidewalk lit by a streetlamp, you feel a blinding pain at the top of your spine. You fall to the ground just outside of the safety of the bus stop and bleed out on the ground as you lose feeling in your limbs. Your eyes are open, you can’t move them, and you see a bus pulling up as it’s required to do so. But they can’t see you lying outside of the streetlight as the rain pours down around you. You’re not found for another twenty minutes, when a stranger finds your dead body soaking the sidewalk with your blood. It washes down the storm drain, erasing all trace that you were ever there.

It’s about the aesthetic.

You cannot deny that sometimes, you just do something because it looks pretty. And that is perfectly okay.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 06/24/20

I want to tell you about one of my favourite murders.

I was in my twenties which was a very weird time in my life to begin with. I was only a few years into killing and still finding myself. But also I had even fewer inhibitions than I have now and felt like I had nothing to lose. Which I kind of didn’t. I didn’t have the kids, I didn’t have my husband. It was just me and a butcher knife making my way in the world. It was also a great time to experiment with different murder techniques.

Come on, everyone experiments in their twenties.

Like any good college girl, I met a boy at a bar. He was already too inebriated to make any real decisions and was way too handsy for his own good. So I left. And I waited until he left an hour later. He was alone – I think I remember him saying something about a bad breakup and drinking his sorrows away. Could have been a pickup line but I don’t know. Whatever, he was alone. And it really wasn’t difficult to get his attention down the street and offer to drive him home.

Or wait, no. I offered to take him back to my place. Something about a warm place to spend the night. I flirted with him is the point and because he was drunk and I had breasts, he hopped in the car without even asking my name.

You can guess what happened next. I didn’t drive him home. I drove him to the middle of the woods and told him were gonna play a game of hide and seek. I made it sound sexy (I can be sexy, you guys) and he went stumbling off into the dark forest.

I mean, seriously, the boy was asking for it. Made it way too easy.

I didn’t wait for him to hide, of course, I immediately started following, only half-disguising it. To his credit, it only took him a few minutes to realize that this was less of a game and more of a pursuit so he took off running. I mean, it was noble of him to think he could outrun me in the middle of pitch-black woods while he was three sheets to the wind (side note: where did that phrase come from? Does anyone know?) but I caught up to him easily enough and tied him to a tree.

Do you remember the kill kits I used to burry in the woods around my old town? Came in very handy for times like this. Just had to find one and I set about preparing my scene. I made a big show of setting out stone and sticks to make it look like some crazy ritual. Blair Witch Project had only come out a few years earlier and I was banking on Drunk Boy not realizing until it was too late. But the police would absolutely think it was just some nut copying the movie (which it kind of us but, you know what I mean). I spent the entire time talking to him about how I would gut him and eat his entrails to appease the gods and his death would mark the coming of the apocalypse and other shit like that. P.S. I want to apologize to the Pagan community for my past self. I played into a stereotype for personal gain and that shit’s not okay.

But at the time it did work. Just as the boy was about to wet himself from fear, I just started laughing. Like hysterically laughing in the middle of the woods with him tied to a tree. I then assured him that I was not about to kill him for some ritual. Just as he took that big sigh of relief, thinking it was all some awful prank, I stabbed in the stomach. I got right up to his ear and told him that I was killing him for the fun of it.

The look in his eyes kept me going for months, even as I killed others. Fear, relief, betrayal, shock, confusion, and maybe a little impressed (though I may have been projecting).

I discovered that the old joke about how playing with your food makes it taste sweeter is absolutely a thing. Knowing I could pull all those emotions from him, how powerful it made me feel, it was a little intoxicating. It also kind of led to my addiction that almost destroyed my 30s but at the time, it just felt amazing.

I’ve always liked – needed – control. Being able to control the narrative. Control who dies and how. Control someone else’s emotions. Murder is just a delicious extension of need and desire wrapped into one.

And right now, I could do with a little control.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Cover Reveal for Bait by Kasi Blake

Today Kasi Blake and Rockstar Book Tours are revealing the NEW cover and an exclusive content for BAIT, her YA Urban Fantasy Book which release April 25, 2013! Check out the awesome cover and enter the giveaway!

On to the reveal! 

Title: BAIT (Order of the Spirit Realm #1)

Author: Kasi Blake

Pub. Date: April 25, 2013

Publisher: Kasi Blake

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 387

Find it: Goodreads, Kindle, Amazon, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Welcome to Van Helsing Academy where dreams become nightmares, survival gets in the way of homework, and monsters secretly mingle with mortals.

If you like boring plots, annoying characters and a book you have to make yourself read-- this is NOT the book for you. Enough said.- Quinn Loftis, USA Today Bestselling Author

As the only living child of the great Van Helsing, you would think Bay-Lee has an extra advantage when joining her father's school. Wrong! The other students resent her; an angry young hunter with the most amazing green eyes refuses to mentor her; and someone or some 'thing' is killing students on their birthdays.

She knows her life is about to change in a big way when a dead rock star shows up in her room in the middle of the night. Then a reaper comes flying out of her closet to issue a warning. Something is happening in the Spirit Realm, something bad.   

Bay-Lee teams up with the gorgeous hunter and a mean-girl with a deadly secret to solve this mystery before they all die. Her birthday is coming up fast. Will her first year at Van Helsing Academy be her last?

Join us at Van Helsing Academy... if you dare.

Action-packed with unexpected twists, romance, and magic.

Bait is the first book in the series. The language is mild, violence between monsters and hunters is satisfying, and the romance is more sweet than graphic. Hunter is the next book in the series.

Bait by Kasi Blake was a great read! It's full of twists and turns, secrets and betrayals, everything you could possibly want in a book that is quite simply unputadownable.- Readers Favorite

Holy Fricken Moly!! From the very first page I was swept away, with surprises around every corner, kick-ass action, addictive characters and a love story for the ages, this story will have you hooked too. -Sassy Book Lovers

Exclusive Excerpt!

Bay-Lee stepped forward to lay a red rose on the coffin lid.  

“I’m right here,” Nick said.

His presence gave her a burst of strength. She straightened her back, standing tall, and turned to face him. He looked incredible. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. Pain helped. It kept her from losing her mind and throwing her arms around his ghostly form. She couldn’t touch him. Wraith or ghost, he wasn’t a solid mass anymore. Her hand passed through him whenever she forgot and reached out. 

“This is my second funeral,” he said.

She winced. “Please don’t.”

“I wish I could hold you.”

“Don’t.” She repeated the word, louder this time.

“You look absolutely incredible, so beautiful. You’re even beautiful when you cry. Did I ever tell you that?” 

Her life was weird. She was in the cemetery with her dead boyfriend. Not only could she see him, she could hear him. The only thing she couldn’t do was touch him. Being with him and not being able to do something as simple as kiss his cheek was pure torture.

“I can’t believe you’re gone,” she said to the coffin.

“I’m not gone,” he said, his impatience showing. “I’m right here.”

Before she could argue the point, Alec returned. “You did this,” he said. “You killed my brother.”

She gasped.

“Was Van in on it with you?”

Nick stood between them.  

“Everyone was so afraid Nick would become evil. You and Van did this to him.” Alec shouted, “Admit it!”

A vicious growl startled her. Werewolf? No. It was Nick. “She didn’t kill me, you idiot! Leave her alone!”

Alec got in her face. “You don’t belong here! Go home.”

Van and Bruce appeared in a flash. They each took an arm and walked him to his car. Bay-Lee watched, her entire body trembling with rage and grief. Keisha put an arm around her shoulders. Together, they left the cemetery. Bay-Lee refused to look back to see if Nick was following them. She told herself she didn’t care.

Bay-Lee spoke quietly. “Tyler Beck got a nationwide memorial service. He was mourned by millions, and he was only a musician. Nick is worth a hundred Tyler Becks, but no one cares he’s gone.”

“I care.” Keisha gestured to Mike who was waiting at the car for them, sunglasses hiding his swollen eyes from view. “He cares.”

“Nick deserved better than this.” She glanced back at the grave. “He was a hero, but people have no idea. They don’t care he’s dead.”

She started crying again. It was impossible to hold back the flood of tears. Feeling humiliated, she climbed into the backseat of the limo. Keisha got in after her. The girl pulled Bay-Lee into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” Keisha said, and this time she sounded like she meant it.

That made Bay-Lee cry harder.

About Kasi:

Born and raised in California, I fell in love with writing while reading The Outsiders. Then I fell in love with Stephen King's writing style. I enjoy reading many types of books, but YA Paranormal is my favorite. I used to write for Harlequin under a different name. So that's my background. Exciting, no?

I have several books out now including Vampires Rule, Werewolves Rule, Crushed, Witch Hunt, Bait, and 4-Ever Hunted along with the others in the series.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Pinterest | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub

Giveaway Details:

One lucky winner will receive a $10 Amazon gift card, International.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Your Mid-Week Update for 06/10/20

Man, I miss people. I see my husband and my…Casey all the time. And obviously I see the people I kill. But I haven’t had a conversation with someone in so long. Having Heather here has turned out to be good for both of us, as predicted. I feel less lonely and I think she feels less alone. She is far from okay but she’s not alone.

That’s what 2020 has done to all of us: we accept the bare minimum because we have to. And how fucking depressing is that?

On top of that, it doesn’t feel right to kill at the moment. I could go out at night and slash the throats of people I believe deserve it. But it would feel empty.

I am quickly growing tired of the constant back and forth between angry and sad. I hate feeling powerless and that’s where I am.

The only think I know I can do is be there for my friends and family. So I am going to take care of Heather, and I’m going to teach Casey, and I’m going to kiss my husband every time he walks out that door.

Heather and Casey still haven’t quite warmed up to each other. It’s like they don’t know what to think of each other. I’ve told them about the other – as much as I thought appropriate – so they knew where the other was coming from. But they don’t talk to each other when I’m not in the room. And I realize I’m talking about a fifteen-year-old and thirty-something woman, but I want my best friend and the closest thing I have left to a daughter to get along. That’s not a hard ask, is it?

And I feel like I’m trying to do it alone because James is gone. I don’t blame him at all, I just miss him. Especially because these days at home are so long, it feels like forever. He always comes home with interesting stories, though. There’s a woman who chopped up her husband and stuffed him in the freezer 10 years ago and they only just recently found his remains when a neighbour went to help put away groceries.

Gotta admire her. There is a lot of stamina involved in dismemberment. It’s very rarely a clean first cut type of job. Takes time and muscle to get through that much bone and tissue. If anything, that woman is ripped.

Stories like that are keeping me afloat. A little. But being with him is better. I think it’s been weeks of him crawling into bed at all kinds of late hours, passing out before his head hits the pillow. I never thought I’d be glad that my husband left the police force but I’m strangely glad that he’s working overtime as a guard. I will put up with missing him if it means he’s safe.

I just wish he was safe at home and I didn’t feel like I was dealing with Heather and Casey all by myself.

Maybe he’ll have a good story for me when he gets home.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 06/03/20

Last Wednesday was hella long. As I said, I went to pick up Heather from her house after she called me (drunk) at 5am. The things I do for my friends. When I got there, she was sobering up but she didn’t look well. She had clearly been crying and throwing things and maybe hadn’t slept in a while. I didn’t know what was going on with her but I got her in the car, we grabbed some very disgusting chicken burgers from a drive-thru and I drove her home. I don’t think she said more than “sorry” and “thank you” over and over the entire ride.

And that was a five-hour drive of near silence. I was ready to pull my own hair out. But I didn’t push her to talk even though I desperately wanted to know what happened.

I got her inside, I sent her to shower and borrow one of my dresses (because neither of us were smart enough to pack a bag for her) while I made her dinner. As she was getting changed, Casey came out of her room and I realized I’d left a fifteen-year-old alone without an explanation. Kind of. I called James while I was on the road and explained the situation. He was more than happy to talk to Casey and make sure she was safe before heading to work.

Still felt a little guilty. But she said she understood and was excited to meet a “friend of the family” who knew a little of what life was like for us.

I hadn’t really thought about it much, but Casey’s lonely. She has friends at school – for the short period of time she was there at least – but she doesn’t have anyone to share things with that aren’t her legal guardians. And I am well aware that there are some things a girl can’t share with an authority figure in their life (no matter how awesome).

But first, I had to check on Heather and make sure she was okay before I introduced her to the girl who’s slowly becoming like a daughter to me.

Heather was not okay.

In the wake of my sudden disappearance, she was fired from her job and quickly became isolated. Apparently, they’d found remains over the summer that matched her husband’s and she was questioned by police some time after I left. The whole experience brought back painful memories and sent her spiraling downwards until she eventually called me.

I think I was the first person she’d talked to in months.

I didn’t know any of this was going on.

So Heather is staying with me for a while. She sleeps the couch and we spend time together. She didn’t come down to dinner that first night but the next day, she met Casey and the two of them have formed this wary bond. They’re not all chummy, but they can stand each other and seem content to just sit and play board games or watch tv together.

I made Heather join us for our daily “attempt at cooking” class yesterday and it helped. The three of us got to just spend time together and it’s been great. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed her – or other people for that matter – until I got her call.

I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this was going on. I wish she’d called sooner but I’m glad she called me at all. I don’t how long she’ll be staying so I’m thinking about doing some online shopping for her (getting her clothes and other things we kind of abandoned at her place). I want her to know that she’s not alone.

And I hope having her around will help both of us.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe (Seriously)