“I don’t know which one to enter.”
“The choice is yours. Think of a time in your past and open the door.”
Her eyelids fluttered, her facial muscles flattened, and she looked more mannequin than human. Her right index finger lifted. “That one.”
Dr. Grayson shook his head in approval. “That’s great, Jackie, open the door and step through. Where are you?”
“I’m in a scary place. I feel cold. It’s really cold… dark… It’s misty.”
“Nothing can harm you, Jackie you’re safe. What are you doing in this place?”
“I’m in a dark alley.”
“Are you alone?”
She barely shook her head. “Someone else is here… He’s calling a woman’s name.”
In his hypnotherapist mind, Dr. Grayson analyzed her statement. “What name?”
“Gertrude.”
“What is Gertrude doing?”
∞
Gertrude, age twenty-three, dressed in a 1880s overcoat with a silver-fox fur collar and a 1880s hat ran down a dark alley lit only by the orange glow of the oil streetlamps and the blood moon. Fog graced the area as a light mist sprinkled. She tried to catch her breath. Smoke from the heat of her breath clashed with the cold misty night air.
A large man who wore a black Gothic cape chased her. “Gertrude! Stop! You’ll never get away with this.”
Gertrude ran to escape him. She tripped and fell scrapping both knees; the ground ripped her silk stockings. With the man in close pursuit, she pushed herself up and ran. She lengthened her stride as she looked over her shoulder.
Within an arm’s-length of her, the man gained ground; he swiftly closed in. He lifted a butcher knife, lunged at her, and pierced her through her back.
Her body lurched forward as she fell in slow motion and landed in a mud puddle face down. The clammy chill of death gripped her.
He kneeled, rolled her over, and jerked her brass crystal domed watch pendant from around her neck. She heaved as she took her last breath.
∞
Jackie raised her hips, wiggled her shoulders, and exhaled.
“Relax Jackie, he can’t harm you; you’re safe.”
Jackie jolted. “He killed Gertrude. I saw him kill her.” Jackie heavily breathed as her heart pounded against her ribcage.
“Jackie, what year did Gertrude die?”
“October eleventh, eighteen seventy-nine.”
He pondered the date. “All right, Jackie let’s move somewhere else. I want you to think of a calm, peaceful place, a beautiful place.”
Jackie bolted up with her eyes wide opened. She put her hand on her forehead and heaved. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Please know you made extreme progress.”
“I’m finished for today; I want to go home.”
“Jackie, remember your subconscious has a way to deal with your fears if you allow it.”
Jackie’s voice cracked as emotions flowed. “It’s just overwhelming.” Jackie cleared her throat and held back her tears.
“I understand. Sometimes when we witness past events, we can become confused and scared. This is a normal process.”
“I don’t understand what just happened.” A tear rolled down her mascara-smeared-scarred face. “Who did I see die?”
2. WHITE PICKET FENCE
One Year Earlier
The digital alarm clock’s repetitive buzz blared in the otherwise silent master bedroom.
David groaned as he rolled over and swatted bleary-eyed at the obnoxious intrusion. The silver-framed photograph of he and Jackie kissing on their honeymoon in front of the Golden Gate Bridge wobbled dangerously close to the nightstand’s edge. He slapped the alarm clock again and accidentally collided his fingertips against the picture frame sending it crashing onto the floor. When it smashed against the hardwood floor, the glass across the frame cracked down the middle which divided the couple and flipped over onto a pair of fuzzy brown moose slippers.
Exasperated, David bashed the alarm clock, and at last silenced the annoying abrupt alert. “Just five more minutes.” He buried his head into his pillow, groaned and pounded his fist onto the mattress. “Five forty-five is too early!”
Jackie pulled the taupe thick goose down comforter over her face with her right hand and nestled deeper into the rack-monster pillow top bed complete with sage green thick bamboo luxurious sheets. “Did you hit the snooze button?” Her words muffled by the comforter barely caught David’s attention.
“Do you really need to ask?”
“Considering you forgot last week, I thought I should. I can’t be late to work again.”
“Go back to sleep while you can, unless you want a morning quickie.”
“Five more minutes of sleep sounds good. I was up with the baby most of the night; he’s cutting his back teeth. He was miserable.”
He snuggled against her warm slim body as he gently pulled her waist closer to him; his eyes remained open. She must be exhausted. “I’ll take the shift tonight if he’s still in pain. Now close your eyes and get five more minutes of shut-eye while you can.”
“They’re already closed, silly. Do you mind giving me a little space?” She scooched away from him and rolled over onto her stomach.
David rotated onto his other side, accommodating her fatigued request. He found it challenging not to stare wide-eyed at the digital alarm clock that now blinked “5:47 a.m.” What good is a snooze button if I can’t snooze? He gazed at the intermittent red numbers as the intrusive seven changed into an invasive eight. His green eyes seemed to absorb the color. Even after he closed them, the obtrusive numbers seemed as if possessed by a neon emergency flashing light as they brightened through his eyelids, and in his mind, the time clock’s ticking annoyingly amplified. He tossed one way, then flipped to another. Seriously! I just want five more minutes of sleep.
Click. Click. Click.
“Can that clock get any more annoying?” As he sat up, he yawned, and then he wiped the crusted-sleep from his eye. After he stretched, he gently stroked Jackie’s long thick brown wavy hair, gave her a gentle kiss on the back of her neck, and then eased out of bed almost stepping onto the favored honeymoon photograph conveniently cradled between one moose horn and the other moose slipper.
As he retrieved the silver-framed photograph, the cracked glass caught the morning sun. She’s going to kill me. He rubbed his finger along the fracture that divided him and Jackie and then shuddered as if a cold chill filled the air. I’ll buy her a new frame for our anniversary; she’ll love that. Gently, he returned the photograph to its rightful place onto the middle of the nightstand.
After David reset the snooze button for ten more minutes, he grabbed his brown terry cotton mid-calf robe from the valet to the right of the nightstand. As he wrapped his robe around his torso, he gazed at Jackie. A broad white-toothed smile beamed as he drew a deep breath. His feet slipped into his moose house shoes.
He tiptoed out of the room, eased toward the bedroom to the right at the end of the hall and checked on his oldest son, Tyler age four, who snuggly slept beneath his Paw Patrol fleece blanket. A grin crossed David’s sleepy face. After he closed Tyler’s door, he tiptoed to Sebastian’s nursery and peeked inside. Sebastian’s twelve-month-old foot protruded between the crib’s slots as he slept cuddled on his stomach clutching his blue fleece Thomas the Train blanket. They are so cute when they sleep. He gently closed the door.
The cold wooden floor creaked below David’s feet as he headed down the stairs for the kitchen.
BUY NOW ON AMAZON
Buy Now on Amazon
When a socialite meets a window washer, everything changes for them and their two children caught in a web of a forbidden thirst for love -- written in the tradition of a Hallmark Romance novel. Coming Winter of 2019.
EXCERPT
SECRET ROMANCES: A FORBIDDEN THIRST FOR LOVE
CHAPTER ONE
Fate
The downtown district of New
Orleans, Louisiana bubbled with excitement along Canal Street. As the morning autumn brisk air swept through Angela Whitford’s long blonde hair, she made her way down the crowded sidewalk through the morning commuters. Although forty-years-old, she didn’t look a day over thirty. Everything about her said a wealthy socialite as she clutched her black leather messenger’s bag in one hand and held her cellphone to her ear with the other. “I completely take that as a compliment, Dad. Your faith in me is what I always wanted. Take note the magazine hasn’t fallen apart, and it’s been four days since you turned it over to me.”
From the way she strode toward the entrance of a high-rise building to her prestigious Armani royal blue suit, she exuded confidence as if she took lessons from Meryl Streep’s character, Miranda Priestly, in the Devil Wears Prada. Heads turned as she passed. “Thank you, Dad. You don’t have to worry. You and mom enjoy your world cruise. For the last time, I can handle the magazine. You’ve groomed me for this position since I could first read.”
Angela stopped on the corner of Royal Street and gazed toward the sky rise building. A huge confident grin touched her lips. “Of course, Dad, if anything goes wrong, I’ll notify you immediately.” She took a deep breath as she pressed the end button on her cell phone.
The heavy morning traffic always provided a challenge to cross the street. In the distance, streetcar 941 approached. I always have loved our streetcars. She patiently waited amid the others as they tightly squeezed in around her at the crosswalk. She waited for the walking signal to flash white; and when it did, she scarpered into the crosswalk lane, increasing her path toward her destination. The crowd on the corner seemed like one as they crossed.
A man in a Blue Bayou Cleaning jumpsuit approached and collided into Angela, knocking her possessions out of her hands. His blue eyes, black hair, and masculine jawline made him exceptionally handsome. “Lady, I’m sorry. Let me help you.” He flashed an apologetic grin.
She drilled the man with a penetrating stare. “I think you’ve already helped.” Her angry tone gave way to a brief smile at the corner of her lips when her blue eyes met his.
He quickly gathered her belongings and handed them to her. “Again, lady, I’m very sorry.”
Several horns blew as the red light changed to green. An elderly driver stuck his head out of the car window with a glare of pure fury. “Hey, move out of the way!”
Angela’s face contorted to one of stunned surprise. “I guess we are blocking traffic.”
He nodded and shot a wink in her direction. “Have a good day, ma’am.”
Honk! Honk! “Move it, lady!”
The man in the Blue Bayou jumpsuit strode quickly to the opposite side of the street. Angela clutched her belongings and dashed toward the high-rise building. She glanced at her diamond Rolex watch. I can’t be late. There’s too much riding on this. She increased her pace sprinting through the rotating glass doors and into the building. The marble floors and golden brass trim glistened from the morning’s sun.
The security guard smiled. “Good morning, Ms. Whitford.”
“Good morning, Charles.” She briskly strode to the elevator and pressed the up-arrow button repeatedly. “Come on; I don’t have all day.”
Other businesspeople gathered around and waited too. Everyone seemed in a hurry for their workday to begin.
Finally, the elevator door slid open. Several people hurriedly exited as she waited for it to empty. She stepped in and pressed the button for floor twenty-three as several others entered crowding the elevator like packed sardines. Angela quickly scooted to the back and leaned against the mirrored wall.
The elevator doors shut and smoothly ascended until it stopped on the fifth floor. Six people exited ignoring elevator manners as they pushed through others who entered. Angela stepped forward and snippily pressed the close button several times. The elevator door, slow to close, made Angela huff as she pushed the close button again.
The man who stood next to her frowned. “You know that doesn’t speed things up.”
“It might not, but it makes me feel better.”
“Enough said.” He stared straight ahead at the door as did she.
The elevator stopped on the eleventh floor. The man exited. “Have a great day. Go ahead and press that button since it makes you feel better.”
Angela smirked. “What a jerk.” The people’s eyes darted her way. “Sorry, but he’s a jerk.”
After several more stops, the elevator finally reached the twenty-third floor. When the door opened, Angela exited immediately stepping into a lavish foyer. In the center, a forty-two-inch round mahogany table that displayed a massive fresh floral orchid arrangement showcased the elegance of the office. She gazed at the impressive silver and royal blue inlaid 3D signage for Elite magazine behind the reception desk. An I’m-the-boss-now smile pursed her lips. The floor to ceiling windows provided a perfect view of the city below.
She passed Monique, age twenty-four, a blue-eyed quirky, beautiful red-haired receptionist, who wore a Michael Kors navy blue cap sleeve stud trim Ponte dress. “Good morning, Ms. Whitford. You have several messages that I gave to your secretary.”
“Thank you, Monique.”
“My pleasure.”
Angela made her way through the busy cubicle journalist area that buzzed as if in the stock market exchange. By the size of the workspace and the number of cubicles at least thirty people had begun their fast-paced workday with publishing deadlines to meet.
Katie Summers, age thirty-four, and senior journalist stood as Angela passed. “Excuse me, Ms. Whitford. I have the article on the Smyth and Smyth Architect Firm completed; I look forward to your feedback.”
“I’ll get to it as soon as possible.”
Katie shrugged in disappointment and sat.
Angela continued her pace toward her office as several of her employees who stood on the side engaged in conversation either greeted her or froze in place as if they did something wrong when she passed.
Francis Murphy, a beautiful brunette, age thirty-three, dressed in a Kasper sleek black dress and black heels, met Angela as she approached her corner office that overlooked the Mississippi River. The plaque on the door read – “Angela Whitford – Senior-Vice President.”
Angela stopped short of entering. “When is my nameplate going to be updated? I’m the CEO now.”
“Hopefully today, ma’am.”
“Good. Please follow up on that.”
“I’ll make it my priority.”
The women scurried into Angela’s private office decorated exquisitely in teal and white as if on Fifth Avenue in a posh New York building. From the elegant glass desk to the sumptuous leather teal chairs, the office exuberated wealth and stature. When Angela sat, the Mississippi River Bridge loomed behind her.
“Ms. Whitford, a quick update. Your ten o’clock meeting with Mr. Morgan had to be rescheduled due to a family emergency. I took the liberty to schedule another meeting with a new client.”
“You did this without checking with me. You know I vet all our potential advertisers. We have a prestigious clientele. Not everyone can purchase ads in our magazine.”
“I must confess, I didn’t. However, it is for John Legions of Legions Airlines. Does he need to be vetted?”
Angela sighed. “I guess not, but don’t make that a habit.”
“Yes, ma’am. Are you ready for your interview with KWNC this morning?”
“I forgot about that. Of all days, why today? We have a publishing deadline.”
“I believe it has something to do with you making the top list of the most influential businesswomen in Louisiana. Now that you’re the CEO of one of the nation’s top magazines, everyone wants to know everything about you besides being just a socialite.”
“I get it, but I don’t have time for this. I don’t need to be marketed. If I wanted that, I’d put an ad in my magazine.”
“Like you always say, there’s no such thing as bad press.”
“F
ine, just give me a heads up before they prance into my office.”
“Consider it done.”
***
George Sidwell Preparatory Senior High School’s gymnasium filled quickly with students sporting their red and black school colors as they made their way into the bleachers. At the end of the basketball court, four rows of chairs filled by the football team waited patiently for the pep rally to begin. Preston Alcott Billiford III, blonde hair and hazel eyes, sat on the front row sporting his number nine quarterback jersey.
At the opposite end, the band played the school fight song as the majorettes and flag team performed.
In one section of the bleachers sat the nominees for homecoming queen; each wore a magnificent white mum with red and black ribbons glittered with the words – “Homecoming Court.”
Mr. Hayes, the sixty-year-old silver-haired principal, high-fived several students as they entered.
Lonnie, a senior, looked more like a gothic-punk rock star in a school uniform than someone who attended an exclusive private school sat midway in the bleacher section next to his best friend, Conrad Pierce, who also identified with the gothic-punk style. Conrad elbowed Lonnie. “I don’t know what you see in her. Besides, don’t you think she’s out of our social class?”
Lonnie’s brows creased. “Just because she’s not rich doesn’t mean I can’t date her.”
“I still don’t see what you see in her. You’re from old school money; her family is dirt-bottom broke. The only reason she is here is because of the scholarship she received. I think they call that integration.”
“Conrad, you sound like a snob.”
“That’s because I probably am. Like my daddy always said, it is just as easy to fall in love with someone who’s rich as it is to fall in love with someone who is poor.”
“You’re a snob. When you get to know Jamie, you’ll understand.”
“I’m just saying, save yourself. You’ll find a girl more suited to your ranking when you go to Harvard next year. You at least owe yourself that much.”
A.D.A.M. Page 24