He ran his fingers over the portrait of Mai in the passenger seat. As much as he already missed her, they would meet again. Someday.
Until then, Joshua would find him wherever he settled and keep him company.
r. Jen unlocked her office and stepped inside, her stomach a boiling pit of regret and guilt. She’d lost Liam.
The same tears that had overwhelmed her all weekend threatened to make a reappearance. She turned on her computer and mentally steeled herself.
It had started with a simple phone call. “Dr. Jen Garciela?” a voice had said. She’d come to know and dread the particular officious tone of callers like that. It meant, “You’ve lost another one.”
“This is Sergeant Adams from Tyndall AFB. I’m calling to gather information about one Liam Murphy.”
Though she’d known better, she’d asked, “Is he okay?”
“He’s missing. His family claims an intruder attacked them early Saturday morning and killed Mr. Murphy.”
“What? Liam’s dead?” Her legs had given out, and she’d crumpled onto her living room floor.
“Well, ma’am, we haven’t recovered his body, so I can neither confirm nor deny his family’s statement. His mother states she shot the intruder after he attacked her husband and daughter. However, we’re not convinced events unfolded the way the family claims. Forensic evidence suggests another person’s presence in the home during the attack.”
She’d held her throbbing head in her hands, knowing what the sergeant would say next.
“We theorize Liam pulled the trigger, not his mother. Given Mr. Murphy’s mental history, we haven’t ruled out the idea he attacked his family and the so-called intruder unprovoked. We also suspect he escaped the scene and still lives.”
She’d wanted to hang up then, but she’d gathered her courage and stayed on the line. “Do you know the intruder’s name?”
Sergeant Adams had paused. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve identified Michael deSanto as the deceased.”
She’d repeated the name in her mind. Michael. My-Cull. Her hands had begun shaking then. The rest of their conversation had blurred by, obscured by her overwhelming guilt.
The computer monitor buzzed to life. Dr. Jen typed in her password and prepared to write the report about Liam requested by Sergeant Adams. She opened up a word processing application and stared at an empty, white screen. Her fingers grazed the keyboard but refused to type her analysis of Liam.
Yes, he’d displayed violent tendencies in the past and still fought voices urging him to harm others. She couldn’t deny those uncomfortable truths.
But propensities didn’t make him a killer. Liam was a good man, and his mental health had improved. He’d learned to interpret his hallucinations. Sometimes his medicine and therapy even banished the voices for short periods of time. He’d had a promising future. Or at least the possibility of one.
The paranoia he’d displayed in his last days had been justified. While she’d disregarded his concerns of being hunted as merely a symptom of schizophrenia, he’d fought for his life.
What would Sergeant Adams think if she wrote up the projections Liam had claimed to see? Would he react the way she initially had, unwilling to consider the possibility Liam told the truth? Even after his dead-on description of Alicia, she hadn’t believed him. No matter how extensively she searched, however, she’d never found a photo matching Liam’s description of her sister. As far as she knew, no such photo existed. The only place that image of her sister remained was within her own mind.
She pushed back in her chair and stared out of her window. Sunlight glinted off a round, metallic object taped to it. She sat up and leaned toward it. A silver bracelet with a dangling charm hung from the glass. The hair on the nape of her neck stood straight out as she pressed her fingertips to the window. The familiar shape of an infinity symbol, the same size as the tattoo on her sister’s wrist, dangled in the morning air. Dr. Jen’s breath caught.
She returned to her chair and started typing.
I owe the inspiration of this novel to my grandmother, Jane Towne Albright. A vibrant woman who loved life, her positive energy charged the atmosphere of every room she entered. She was also a woman of secrets, treasuring them and storing them away where only she knew they existed. The last of her generation in our family, I can’t fathom that these secrets simply vanished when she passed. Perhaps, somehow, they are strong enough to linger with us. Nana, I hope that your memories float in the breeze, occasionally buffeted by the wings of birds on their journey to infinity. Love and miss you.
Thanks to all the incredible folks at Curiosity Quills Press. In particular, I’d like to thank Michael Cristiano for seeing the potential of my manuscript. Also, a huge thanks to my editor, Sharon Pickrel, for her insights and revisions that brought Bleed Through to the next level. Thank you to the talented Eugene Teplitsky for my incredible cover. Thanks also to Tanya Yakimenko, Nikki Tetreault, and Clare Dugmore.
Mom and Dad-thank you for a lifetime of love and support. A girl couldn’t have asked for better parents. Thanks also for your incisive feedback. You both continue to be my fount of grammar knowledge.
To Lindsay, the best big sister in the world, I can only hope to one day attain your courage, strength, and intellect. Thanks for answering my never-ending requests for instant help with grace and wisdom.
Thank you to Deborah Nichols, Maria Scholz, and Norelli A. Reverón for the hours you spent reading, critiquing, and talking about my book. Because of you, Bleed Through is richer and better. More importantly, though, my life is fuller because of your friendship.
Jami and K.T. at Chimera Editing-thank you for helping me whip the first few chapters into decent shape during my earlier drafts. I carried your constructive critiques throughout the rest of the novel, and know it’s better because of them.
To my children-thank you for the being the wonderful people you are. You are my sunlight and heart. I love you.
And for my husband, Benjamin. Thank you for your endless support and for giving me the ability to chase my dreams. Love you. Always. Only time will tell just how many memory imprints we’ve left upon the land.
Born to an Air Force JAG father and an artist mother, Adriana Arrington learned from an early age there are at least two sides to every story, and each deserves to be told. After a nomadic upbringing, she married a southern charmer and settled down permanently in his home state of Virginia. To satisfy her enduring wanderlust, she transports herself to the sometimes scary, sometimes beautiful, but always interesting worlds of beautifully crafted novels. Formerly an IT consultant to the DoD, she now writes the stories banging around in her head.
Now that you have completed this book, we hope you will leave a review so that other readers may benefit from your perspective. Authors like Adriana Arrington live and die by your reviews, after all!
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Appetizer:
Book Cover
Title Page
Disclaimer
Dedication
Main Course:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Epilogue
Dessert:
Acknowledgments
Closing
About the Author
Copyright & Publisher
More from Curiosity Quills Press
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