A small smile passed across Shane’s face, the result of years of back-and-forth. There was no use trying to hide anything from her, in trying to steer a conversation anywhere but where she wanted it to go. He sighed, twisting his head to the side.
“The first two payments went to 3C and Columbus General, squaring all medical bills for Prescott and Heath. The next two went to him and Abby, paying them for their time, a nice bonus included for their troubles.”
Christine rolled her head back to face forward, a bemused smile on her face.
“You’re such a softy. You’d never survive a day in business.”
“The next check went to Shady Lane, offering them a nice little incentive to take Molly off my hands.”
Christine pursed her lips out, nodding in approval. “Nice move. I’m guessing that works out well for the both of you?”
“I’m not sad about it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Shane said, his voice monotone, his eyes watching as a luxury liner’s front wheels rose from the ground, dragging its back end into the sky at a thirty degree angle. He fell silent as he watched it climb, his gaze tracking it until it disappeared above the window.
“Well Mr. Big Spender, dare I ask if you spent a cent on yourself?”
“I bought a plane ticket,” Shane said. He rolled his head to the side and stared over at Christine, for the first time noticing the shoulder bag on the seat beside her. He ran his eyes the length of her body, taking in the t-shirt, jeans, flip flops she was wearing.
“Speaking of which, how did you get back here? Shouldn’t you be at work right now?”
A loud snort rolled from Christine, pushing so much breath out that it rocked her head back against the seat. “Weren’t you the one that just a few days ago told me I needed to take a vacation?”
A smile rose to Shane’s face, his eyes locked on hers. “I do seem to remember someone telling me that traveling alone is terrible.”
“Sounds like a smart lady,” Christine said, raising her eyebrows. “You should grab her, go get into an adventure together.”
Shane rolled his head back to face forward, his gaze focusing on the next jet rolling down the runway.
“Sounds like a plan. Any idea where to?”
Christine turned and focused on the jet as well, picking up speed as it moved forward over the asphalt, its fuselage rising up into the air.
“Does it even matter?”
Keep reading for a sneak peek of one of my new standalone novels, The Exchange.
Acknowledgments
There are two quick points that should be made about Catastrophic. First, Ohio Tech is in no way a stand-in for Ohio State in this story. I wanted the story to be set in the football-crazed rust belt I grew up in to add gravitas to the tale, so I invented a college and put it in the most football crazy place I’ve ever known. A compliment, all things considered.
Second, I am aware that I cut a few small corners on the legal/courtroom aspects of this novel (namely the timeline). This was deliberate. For as entertaining as the legal field can be at times, it can also be a bit slow and monotonous. I just chose to cut those aspects out.
Sneak Peek
The Exchange
Prologue
To look at the file sitting closed on the table, it would appear that a great deal of investigation had taken place. More than a half inch thick, the interior of the plain manila folder bulged in the middle, paperclips affixed to the top holding contents inside, a thick rubber band keeping the package intact for transport.
Flipping it open told quite a different story.
The vast majority of the material inside – everything but a single page, in fact – was photographs. Taken from a myriad of distances and angles, they encapsulated every single inch of the bedroom scene, almost reveling in the macabre. From the contorted pose of the victim to the sprays of blood spatter covering the posters above her headboard, nothing was spared, each item in the room documented with painstaking detail.
As for the report, it was nothing more than a few short lines, all jotted down in slanted script. In a couple places there was even an occasional wobble visible, hinting both at which detective had done the analysis and the extreme impetus he had to finish the task as quickly as possible.
Based on the concentrated gore of the photos, a first reaction would be to empathize with whoever had filled out the documentation. The images seemed to convey a scenario that was rarely found outside of horror movies or nightmares, the sort of thing no human should ever witness, let alone linger over.
Moving on quickly was a natural reaction.
Still, to the untrained eye, someone looking at the materials for the first time, it was impossible to see what was depicted in the photos and justify the way it had been simplified to nothing more than four sentences.
There were just too many questions that sprang to mind, too many things that needed to be addressed before anybody could think to wrap the investigation.
Appears to be an obvious case of suicide. Deep slashes on wrists and trajectory of blood indicate as much. Knife found on the scene, bagged as evidence.
Will look into the message written in victim’s blood on the wall, which is curious, but does not alter conclusions in the slightest.
Chapter One
Erika Wernick had been awake for more than an hour before the pale gray glow of dawn appeared at the top and bottom of the blinds pulled closed over her bedroom window. Faint and indiscreet, she knew what time it was the moment the light appeared, the sun rising at the same time every day in the spring since she was just a child.
There was a time when having such familiarity was something Erika reveled in, the very thing that brought her back every few months, had her aching to return each time she was gone.
Now it just reminded her of how much she had lost, of how much things had changed in the preceding months.
In the six weeks she had been back, there was not a single morning that Erika had managed to sleep through the night, the reasons for it seemingly numerous but essentially coming down to one of two things.
The first was the dream, her subconscious never letting the events of that night drift too far below the surface, especially cruel on days when she had managed to hold it at bay during her waking hours. Never was she able to completely push the thoughts away - the accident too recent, the nerves too raw – and she doubted she ever would.
Some things, a person just doesn’t forget.
It came at various points, sometimes letting her get nearly a full night’s rest before showing up, others arriving just moments after she laid down. Never did it play out exactly the same way, choosing different places in the sequence to begin, highlighting different aspects that may have escaped Erika for even the slightest instant.
The only thing that ever remained constant was the fact that after it arrived, her night was over, the ability - or even thought - of sleep just too difficult to consider.
The first couple of times it had occurred Erika had made the mistake of rising from her bed, going to the kitchen for tea or even moving into the living room and turning on the television. Whatever brief reprieve such activities had given her mind had proven not to be worth the effort though, the inquisition her mother would inevitably level on her far outweighing it.
The other thing that usually caused Erika to wake, the thing that had pierced through the darkened veil of slumber on this particular night, was the pain. A mirrored image of whatever battle her psyche was fighting, the myriad aches and pains of her body were still just as raw.
This particular morning it was her knee, the severely sprained MCL not quite recovered, still susceptible to the slightest bump as she moved about in her sleep. Far more painful than the fractured wrist or countless cuts and bruises she had endured, it had woken her just as many times as the dream in the preceding weeks, a ratio she hoped would have started to recede with time but was fast resigning herself to the possibility it might never do so.
With
such resignation also came the idea that she might not even want it to, the pain just one more reminder of what had happened, one more way to feel connected to all that was and might never be again.
By the time the first light of day broke into her consciousness, the agonizing ache of her leg was long past. In its wake Erika had remained staring up at the ceiling, counting off the minutes in her head, preparing for the day ahead.
Not one part of her wanted to do what was just over an hour away, though she knew there was simply no way of getting out of it. Her mother would not condone it and the guilt she would unleash would far outpace anything that could occur in the coffee shop across town.
Besides, Erika had promised her Uncle Ern she would go, and if there was one rule that every person in Big Bear knew to abide by, it was not to upset Ern.
As predictable as the appearance of the morning light outside her window, exactly four minutes later a gentle scratching sound came at the door. A moment after the old brass knob rotated a half turn and the aging hinges let out a low moan, the sound preceding the appearance of her mother’s head popping in.
“Erika? You up, honey?”
Lying flat on her back, her gaze still fixed on the ceiling above, Erika made no attempt to look over. “Yeah, Ma, I’m up.”
The response was just four words, but instantly the older woman grasped the resignation in the tone, the underlying meaning present. Another sound of metal straining against metal could be heard as she pushed the door open a little further, a floorboard creaking beneath her weight as she stepped into the room.
“Dream or knee?”
Without being invited in, she shuffled across the bare floor, her slippers sliding over the polished surface, and perched herself on the edge of the bed, her weight shifting the entire thing a few inches to the side.
For a moment Erika considered not answering, or even better making up a lie, telling her mother that in truth she was just feeling good and had sprung up before the sun, anxious to get across town, to try something new.
Just as fast she dismissed the notion, knowing her mother would see right through it, would not appreciate the effort Erika had put into lying to her.
“Knee.”
A long sigh was the immediate response, Erika able to picture the expression on her mother’s face, before hearing, “Well, that’s better than the alternative. At least we know that will heal.”
This time Erika chose to remain silent, instead shifting her focus to the side.
For as long as she could remember, everybody in town had told her what a striking resemblance she bore to her mother, a fact she couldn’t rightly refute, no matter how many times she had wanted to over the years. Even now as she was just past 30 and her mother was into her mid-50s, the similarities were jarring.
If someone did not know Robin Wernick, they would think she was in her early-40s at most. Blessed with white blonde hair, the thick locks looked exactly as they always had, nature protecting her from the steady march of graying that befell so many.
Descendant from Viking stock, she had wide cheekbones and clear blue eyes, a heart-shaped face tapering into a thin mouth. Standing a few inches below 6’ in height, her entire form was wrapped in a padded flannel nightgown, appearing to give her much more bulk than Erika knew really existed.
“How’s everything else feeling?” Robin asked.
Again rolling her attention toward the ceiling, seeing the random pattern of light grow stronger as the sun forced its way above the horizon, Erika ran through the list of injuries in her mind.
Just two days before the cast had come off her fractured wrist, and while she was still adjusting to life without the added weight, she was immeasurably glad to be free of it.
Most of the cuts she’d sustained were now healed, a few still remaining as ugly streaks of gnarled pink tissue, some having already begun to fade.
“Fine,” Erika said. “I think I just banged my knees together when I rolled over.”
“Hmm,” Robin replied, in one sound letting Erika know she accepted the answer, even if she didn’t quite believe it. “Well, I didn’t mean to intrude this morning, I was just coming in to check and make sure you were up.”
“I know,” Erika replied. “And I am.”
Sliding a hand up onto Erika’s shoulder, Robin squeezed it tight, the older woman’s grip having not receded a bit with age. “Most days I would be happy to let you rest, but you don’t want to be late. Big day today.”
How big of a day it was Erika wasn’t so sure, but again she knew better than to argue with her mother.
As the sister of Big Ern, she would bear the brunt of any transgressions Erika committed.
“I know, Ma. I won’t be late.”
Giving another squeeze, Robin said, “Besides, I think this might be good for you. Get you out of the house, let you talk to some folks, get your mind on something else for a while.”
In one sentence, her mother had managed to nail every reason why Erika didn’t want to go. No part of her wanted to leave the sanctity of the house, wanted people around town casting glances her way or asking awkward questions she wasn’t yet ready to face.
Didn’t know if she even had the answers to, if it came down to it.
Per usual, though, there was no way she could actually say any of that.
“I know, Ma. I won’t be late.”
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Dustin’s Books
Works Written by Dustin Stevens:
Reed & Billie Novels:
The Boat Man
The Good Son
The Kid
The Partnership
Justice
( Sydney Rye/Reed & Billie Crossover)
The Scorekeeper
The Bear
(Coming Soon)
Hawk Tate Novels:
Cold Fire
Cover Fire
Fire and Ice
Hellfire
Home Fire
Zoo Crew Novels:
The Zoo Crew
Dead Peasants
Tracer
The Glue Guy
Moonblink
The Shuffle
(coming soon)
Standalone Thrillers:
Four
Ohana
Liberation Day
Twelve
21 Hours
Catastrophic
Scars and Stars
Motive
Going Viral
The Debt
One Last Day
The Subway
The Exchange
HAM
Standalone Dramas:
Just A Game
Be My Eyes
Quarterback
Children’s Books w/ Maddie Stevens:
Danny the Daydreamer…Goes to the Grammy’s
Danny the Daydreamer…Visits the Old West
Danny the Daydreamer…Goes to the Moon
(Coming Soon)
Works Written by T.R. Kohler:
Standalone:
Shoot to Wound
Peeping Thoms
The Ring
My Mira Saga
Spare Change
Office Visit
Fair Trade
About the Author
Dustin Stevens is the author of more than 20 novels, 15 of them having become #1 Amazon bestsellers, including the Hawk Tate and Zoo Crew series. The Boat Man, the first release in the best-selling Reed & Billie series, was recently named the 2016 Indie Award winner for E-Book fiction and the 3rd Grand Prize Winner for all books – hard cover, paperback and ebook.
He is an award-winning screenwriter in the prestigious Harvardwood and Emerging Screenwriters competitions, as well as the Nashville International Film Festival and the Honolulu Film Awards. In addition, he is the only multi-time finalist a
t the Big Bear Lake International Film Festival.
A member of the Mystery Writers of America and Thriller Writers International, he resides in Honolulu, Hawaii.
The Subway ; The Debt ; Catastrophic Page 95