Sands of Time

by Bruce A. Sarte

  “Natalie, I have found my God, my children, and the answer to my prayers—you.”

  She smiled, leaned over, and kissed me softly on the lips. She tasted like cherries.

  I smiled. “New lip gloss?”

  Curtis came into the room, also smiling.

  “Sammy!” Sammy? How did this trend get started?

  “Hey Curt, what’s happening?” I watched my old friend come into my hospital room.

  “I just came by to see how you were feeling, and tell you the kids are doing fine and that it doesn’t look like they’re going to find anything in the ruins of the school. Don’t know what to say.”

  Natalie turned to him. “How can you say that? They haven’t even started looking?”

  “That’s just it, Nat. They aren’t going to look. The police said they were just going to clean it up and that was it—they had no reason to search the ruins.”

  “No reason? Two children were found, we look like we’ve been through a war zone, and a building is burned to the ground, but they don’t have any reason to search?”

  He shrugged and kept on smiling.

  “So, we may never know what happened to Khayman. And to Sandy,” I said flatly without any inflection.

  “I don’t know, Sam,” Curtis began. “I really don’t think anything, living or undead, could have survived that. I’m just sorry I didn’t get a chance to use

  Hellfire on the place!”

  I sighed deeply and shook my head at him. “Has anyone heard anything about Emily?”

  Natalie and Curtis looked at each other before Natalie answered.

  “No, nothing yet.”

  “Sandy said Emily wasn’t there, that they didn’t take her. She said that she put the blood on my door to keep other vamps out. No harm was done to her. So what happened to Emily?”

  “I don’t know,” said Curtis, “maybe you should call Becky. Maybe they have some information.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when there was a soft knock at the door.

  “Anyone home? Can I come in?” came a soft, familiar voice. And through the door walked Emily Noble, all in one piece and looking as lovely as ever in a black suit that accentuated her small but shapely frame.

  “You okay, Sam? I heard about the incident in Pine Beach and knew it had you written all over it. Then the home office contacted me and told me they heard I had been kidnapped and to contact Rebecca Sloane at Point Pleasant

  Police. So I gave her a call to let her know that I was fine. As soon as Becky told me what happened at the inn, combined with the incident in Pine Beach… I knew something bad had happened. I was very worried. Becky told me where they had taken you, and I came right over.”

  “I’m alright, Emily, but what happened to you? Why did you just leave like that?”

  She looked taken aback by the question. “I slept and then left to go home.

  I—,” she stammered a little here and looked at Natalie. “I didn’t think you’d really want to see me or, you know, talk to me. There was so much that happened.”

  She was blushing now, a nice shade of red. It really went well with the eye shadow she had on. She was looking at Natalie and seemed to go silent.

  I smiled, glad to see she was okay and not sure how to explain any of this to her.

  “I’m just glad you didn’t get abducted by an evil clan of vampires, that’s all.” I smiled.

  “An evil clan of what?” Based on the expression on her face, Emily was not expecting me to say that. And Natalie, Curtis and I found that pretty darned funny. The three of us broke out in a loud fit of laughter. Emily did not seem amused, so I took on the task of explaining to her what we found and what had happened.

  Epilogue

  April 1st

  The weather had finally started to warm up a little bit. It was sunny, a little over 70 degrees and simply beautiful. We decided to spend the day at the beach, but not the ocean—the river. The wind was whipping at my back as I tacked to port and watched the splash of water come over the bow. I watched Tyler was lean over the rail and run his hand in the water, laughing hysterically.

  Caitlyn came up on deck with a huge smile on her face and ran over to me seizing my leg in a big hug. I still almost couldn’t believe they were back.

  “Daddy, I’m hungry. When’s lunch?”

  “We’re going to drop anchor and have lunch in a few minutes, sweetie.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” And she ran over to her brother and joined him with her hand in the water, too.

  The boat kept running straight as we cruised past the site of the old

  Farragut Hall. I looked starboard and took in the sight of the ruins. They had cleared the wreckage off the site. They found the rooms below, but nothing was in them beyond tables and chairs. No bodies and no evidence of foul play. And in the end, the authorities found nothing of any interest to them. So they were beginning the process of filing it in and covering it up.

  And it was then, at that very moment looking over the site where I recovered my children and found closure on the death of my wife, that it hit me.

  God had blessed me in more ways than I could have ever asked for. It was that moment that I looked skyward and uttered the words that had escaped me until now.

  “You have found me Lord, and I accept you, Jesus Christ, as my savior and God. I accept the mission You have placed upon my shoulders and thank

  You for including me in Your grand plan.”

  I knew that God had put me in this place for a good reason. I was here to erase the plague of the vampire from the world, and I was more sure of that then

  I had been of anything ever before. My life had changed forever: No more liquor, no more crass womanizing. I was a different man in a different world. Just like the sands on the beaches of the Toms River, time would go on, and I had to be there; I had to be pure to make sure the evil did not spread.

  I could hear Kenny Chesney’s “Summertime” coming from below deck and began singing along.

  Two bare feet on the dashboard

  Young love in an old Ford

  Cheap shades and a tattoo

  And a Yoo-Hoo bottle on the floorboard

  Kenny Chesney always seemed to get me.

  “Honey, are we ready to eat lunch yet?”

  “Yes, let’s drop anchor. Kids, come help Daddy!”

  I still didn’t know why things happened the way they did. I had no idea why Khayman was after Sandy. But as Natalie came up on deck with the tray of sandwiches, all I could do was look up and thank God for all the blessings He had given me. I would find the answers at the time I am meant to know them. , I know now more than ever that life can be fluid rising and falling like water lapping on the shore. With the wind whipping her hair across her face, Natalie and I exchanged glances, and we both knew that our work was not done here.

  Not by a long shot.

  Special Sneak Peak at Towering Pines Volume One: Room 509 by Bruce A. Sarte. Towering Pines is currently available in Paperback, Kindle, Nook, Smashwords and iBookstore formats.

  Towering Pines Volume Two: The Looking Glass will be available November 2012!

  For more information about Towering Pines visit bruceasarte.com or buckscountypublishing.com or scan the QR Code Below!

  Prologue

  from Towering Pines Volume One

  October 30, 1984

  Scott Paulsen stood on the edge overlooking the campus watching the Toms River shimmer like black ice in the moonlight. From fifty feet up, the moonlight hit the water and reflected into his eyes so he could barely see anything else. For the third night this week Scott found himself here. After evening inspection and lights out, he put his head down on the pillow and began his nightly ritual of counting backwards in French from 100 to fall asleep. As usual, the last thing he remembered was reaching quarante cinq and then he fell into a deep sleep. The next thing he knew he was standing in this spot at exactly the same time each night.

  Scott Paulsen’s return to c
onsciousness was the same on each of these evenings. His eyes moved from port to starboard taking in Dodge Hall, the tennis courts, the football field and finally he could see the gym through the towering pine trees. With a startling suddenness the wind hit him hard in the face. The force of the wind stole his breath and caused him to blink his eyes rapidly. Just when he thought he as going to pass out the wind died down allowing him to inhale deeply. He looked up into the moonlight and stared for a long time. Then his eyes were inexplicably drawn to the reflection of the moon on the Toms River. Paulsen gazed into the blue-white coloring of the moon on the water as the waves moved slowly in and out of the light. Suddenly, just as it had done on previous nights the placid water began to darken and turn red. Seemingly without any warning the moon repeated the trick the water had played and slowly began to bleed red. Paulsen’s eyes darted back and forth from the water to the moon and back. He couldn’t believe it was happening again.

  “Jump Scotty.” The ethereal voice came to him from nowhere and everywhere all at once. This was the third night the voice came to him in his sleep, it wasn’t the only time the voice had injected itself into his life. He had heard it in the firing range when it told him to put the barrel to his chin and also at the waterfront when it told him to jump in and stay under the water.

  “Come on Scotty, jump. You can do it.”

  On the first night that he found himself on the roof of Reingold Hall, when he heard the voice speak to him he ran as quickly as his feet would take him. He shot through the door and down the stairway, slamming into the wall at the landing and then burst through the door into the hallway. When he slid to a stop in front of the door to room 509 he stopped himself. Scott stood absolutely silent with his eyes pressed shut. When he opened them he stared at the door for another long moment hoping no one had heard him making all that noise. He slowly turned his head from side to side listening for any sounds. He didn’t hear a thing, but as he reached to push the door open something shot down the hall out of the corner of his eye. It startled him so much that he was frozen. Scott couldn’t move. He swallowed hard and turned his head to the left where he saw the movement, but there was nothing there. With a quick push the door opened and being very careful not to wake his roommates he slipped into the room and into his bunk. Lying in his bunk he turned his face into his pillow and realized that he was soaked with sweat.

  Last night, the second night that he found himself on the roof of the old building the voice called to him again after a few minutes of staring over the edge. This time he wasn’t as startled and turned quickly – hoping to find the culprit who had been harassing him over the past month… but there was no one there. He walked slowly towards the large ventilation duct that sat in the middle of the roof. Scott walked all the way around it but still could not find anyone. Finally he had walked to each corner of the roof and looked down but did not see anyone before returning to his bunk.

  But tonight was different.

  “Do it.”

  The moon was full and the entire landscape around him was awash in red. That had not happened before. He could feel the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead and stopping at his eyebrows for just a moment in spite of the cool October air blowing up from the ground.

  “You want to jump.”

  The voice was being more persistent tonight. It had not spoken to him repeatedly before. Yes, tonight was different because Scott knew what the voice wanted him to do and he knew why. He had found the picture left under his pillow. He saw the words written on the back in nearly formed block letters. He had looked in the 1945 yearbook and seen the dedication. He understood when his dream last night had shown him. Then the voices came to him as if they were all around him.

  Here beneath the towering pines, by the river blue

  Farragut will ever stand, alma mater true

  Scott began to mouth the words along with the choir of voices. He was mesmerized until the voice came back to him and jolted him back to the ledge.

  “You must!” the voice hissed in his ear.

  And now that he understood the entire story, it came together all at once. Scott Paulsen knew that he could indeed help the voice. He could stop it’s suffering and torment for these past forty years. He also knew that was not the first one to have been chosen by the voice to help. If he was right, he knew that he would be the last one to have to do it.

  Tomorrow was October 31 and the morning reveille would be met with a big Halloween surprise.

  Scott Paulsen thought he knew how to put an end to all the madness. He thought he had to jump and that would end the vicious cycle. But there was only one way to find out.

  So he jumped.

  Special Sneak Peak

  at Philadelphia Story: A Lance Carter Detective Novel

  by Bruce A. Sarte.

  Philadelphia Story is currently available in Paperback, Kindle, Nook, Smashwords and iBookstore formats.

  For more information about Philadelphia Story visit bruceasarte.com or buckscountypublishing.com

  or scan the QR Code Below!

  Prologue

  from Philadelphia Story

  The wind whipped around my head like a cyclone on steroids. Rain pounding down with such ferocity it stung like tiny needles each time it struck my skin. Every few minutes I could feel it pool on my forehead just above my eyebrows before it spilled over into my eyes. Every drop of water made the cut on the side of my face burn like someone was rubbing salt into it.

  Under normal circumstances for most people this would merely be an annoyance that would cause them to, perhaps, reach over and grab a towel. Not me. Not tonight. On this pitch black, stormy night I was pushing the 427 in my cherry red 1969 Camaro Convertible hard. I had my baby hitting seventy-five miles per hour catapulting down Columbus Boulevard… with the top down.

  I’m sure this immediately raises several questions in your mind. Where am I going? Why am I going there so fast? And why on God’s green earth is my top down in the pouring rain? All those are great questions and I have answers to all of them. What I was lacking was the time to care about the answers. Unfortunately this weather coupled with the difficulty I was having with the convertible top and other factors created a real need for a shot of liquid resolve. I reached over without looking and grabbed the bottle of Gentlemen Jack from the passenger seat. I deftly unscrewed the cap with one hand and pushed the cold glass to my lips. The amber liquid shot into my mouth like quicksilver and burned down the back of my throat like molten lava. Out of the corner or my eye I saw the light traffic light flip from yellow to red as I shot past the waterfront museum. Yea, I saw it… I just don’t care. I’ve got to get to the pier… I’ve got to get to the girl. I clumsily thumbed the top back on the bottle and tossed it into the seat just before I spun the wheel hard to the left. The back end of the car got a little loose but I feathered the clutch and hit the gas just in time for the rear to regain traction on the wet pavement. The engine roared as it passed the torque on through the driveshaft and gave the wheels the power they needed to catapult me into the parking lot of Pier 51.

  The big ugly yellow warehouse sat there before me, mocking my approach. I saw it but couldn’t focus… all I could think of were the words she said to me. The tone of her voice begging me to go save her little girl haunted my very being…

  “Lance, please…” she sniffled her pain back inside herself, “please save Jenny. I’ve got no one else to turn to.” I felt her suffering through the phone in her throaty, dry voice.

  “Lin, tell me what’s going on. I can help you!” I urged her.

  “Lance, there’s nothing you can do for me – they are coming to get me!” I cut her off.

  “Lindsey tell me where you are, you have to tell me. I can help, I’ve got people – you know I’ve got people!”

  “Lance get to Pier 51 – go now! Hurry! They’re coming here! They’ve already got Jenny! They’re going to kill her!

  “Who? Who is it Lindsey?” I yelled.

&n
bsp; “It’s… They are…” there was loud crash on the other side of the phone and Lindsey screamed.

  “Lindsey!” I called out.

  “Lance, please….” The sound of the gunshots echoing through the phone hit me right in the gut.

  “Lindsey!” I screamed again and felt a cold numbness seep through me. “Lindsey…”

  That was almost an hour ago. I had no idea what happened to Lindsey but I could only assume the worst. Deep down I knew that she wasn’t all right. That nothing was right. I rubbed at my eyes and took another deep drag from the bottle. I came up around a corner and could see lights on top of each corner of the vomit yellow structure that had to be fifty years old as my Camaro tore into the parking lot. I slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop square in front of the three-story dinosaur. The car was still jerking to a stop when I through the door open, jumped out and ran around to the north side of the building.

  “Jenny?!” I called out.

  I waited a moment but only heard the sound of the rain smacking the pavement and the river splashing up against the pilings of the peer. My gaze went from building to pier to the Benjamin Franklin Bridge off in the distance. The bridge was lit up like it was the 4 of July only it wasn’t. I directed my gaze at the boarded up skeleton of the Moshulu still moored at Pier 51. She’d once been a fine sailing ship and then a four star restaurant. Now she sat, crippled by fire, waiting for someone to save her… or the scrap heap.

  “Jennifer!” I yelled with a sense of urgency in my voice. Again I listened and heard the dancing of the rain and the lapping of the waves. But then what was that sound? There was a rustling on deck of the abandoned ship. I ran to the edge of the dock and looked from the bow to the stern of the three hundred and ninety six foot shop.