Acknowledgements
I would like to thank those who supported me and never turned their backs when times were tough—you know who you are. And thank you to all of the important women in my life who know that when we stand together, we are strong.
Finally, as always, thanks to the talented and hard-working team at Velvet Morning Press, and my writing groups Tall Poppy Writers and the Paris Authors Group!
About the Author
Adria J. Cimino is an author of contemporary literary fiction and a partner in the boutique publishing house Velvet Morning Press. She lives in Paris with her husband and daughter.
Adria hopes you enjoyed The Creepshow. If you did, please consider leaving a review at Amazon. Even a few sentences can help future readers decide to pick up the book.
Want more? Get Adria’s short story Flore for free! Simply join her new release mailing list: http://bit.ly/cimino-news
To follow Adria’s latest adventures in Paris or learn about her upcoming books and writing projects, visit AdriaJCimino.com.
Adria’s other books include:
A Perfumer’s Secret (release Spring 2016): The quest for a stolen perfume formula awakens passion, rivalry and family secrets in the fragrant flower fields of the South of France.
Paris, Rue des Martyrs: The lives of four strangers in Paris entwine as they search for answers about relationships, love and loss.
Before Paris: a prequel novella to Paris, Rue des Martyrs.
Close to Destiny: Alternating between the reality of day and the mystery of night, Close to Destiny is a magical realism story of déjà vu and righting past wrongs.
Read on for a sneak peek of Paris, Rue des Martyrs…
An intriguing encounter at…
Flore
Apolline has tea at Café de Flore in her chic Parisian neighborhood every week with her mother and grandmother. But today, after the teatime routine, she dares to return alone… for an intriguing encounter.
“Flore” is the first in a series of Café Life stories by Adria J. Cimino. In this volume, it is accompanied by “Love Unlocked,” one of the author’s stories from the anthology That’s Paris.
Get it for free! Join Adria’s new release mailing list and she’ll send you a free ecopy of Flore: http://bit.ly/cimino-news
Paris,
Rue des Martyrs
A Novel
ADRIA J. CIMINO
Chapter 1
Rafael
Rafael Mendez arrived like a thief in the night at 120 Rue des Martyrs. He ran all the way from the train station, where he had left one small, ragtag suitcase in a rented locker. His sneakers slapped noisily along the cobblestones, then pavement, in time with his own tears and the rain falling from a grim Parisian sky.
It was as if each minute lost counted for everything in his 23-year-old life. He pushed past umbrellas that seemed to tango as they bobbed against one another, old men who chatted with no one in particular, couples laughing, and a few sidewalk café tables left behind to weather the storm.
He was nearly blind to this first vision of the city, and only looked up now and again at the street signs to reassure himself that—yes—he hadn’t lost the Rue des Martyrs. And then he stopped. He pushed wet strands of long, black hair back from his face, wiped away the silly tears of that odd combination of desperation and excitement, and sank down onto a bench facing the address he had imagined all of his life in Colombia.
Now, as the rain soaked through his jeans and his gaze traveled across the street to the only lighted apartment in building 120, his mind returned home. That’s where his quest began, after all. In Bogotá.
~~~~
As a child, he would play with the emeralds. That was his first memory. Not mother. Not father. Emeralds. Because that was how his life began. His father never wanted to tell Rafael that the French jewelry designer gave birth to him on a trip for those precious stones. He only said it once—grimly—shaking his head and staring at the dark sand under their feet. Rafael remembered looking up at him with widened 10-year-old eyes as they plodded along the dusty trail to where his father would buy the stones. It was Rafael’s first trip there with his father, and in the young boy’s mind, it became a sacred place.
But he couldn’t think of that story right now or those fucking emeralds. It was over. He had to erase every memory from his mind, the images that haunted him at night.
The one remaining light in 120 snapped off, leaving the building in darkness. It would be too late. He was wasting time. His heart raced as he crossed the street between the cars that kicked up muddy water onto his jeans. He ignored the honking horns. He wanted to move forward, and all at once he wanted to travel back. Rafael was frightened. Afraid of what he might learn or might not learn. Never be afraid, his father had hissed into his ear on that first trip for emeralds.
Before he could let his worries swallow him up with one great gulp, he pounded his fist on the heavy, brown-lacquered door that like a clamshell closed the apartments to the world. Nothing. The sound of his fist against the wood reverberated through his entire body, but no one responded. He scolded himself for his own impatience. How could he possibly have expected someone to answer that door at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? He placed his hand softly against the handle and sighed, knowing he should leave, yet not able to abandon the glimmer of hope that his problems would be resolved in a matter of hours.
The door creaked open suddenly, and he jumped back.
“There’s no need to be startled, you know. When you knock on a door like a maniac, you should expect it to open.”
A wispy redhead slipped through the doorway and onto the sidewalk. She gave him a crooked grin, lit a cigarette and leaned against the cool brick.
“So,” she said, blowing smoke to the sky, “who do you want to see that badly?”
Something about the young woman struck him. She wasn’t beautiful, with her almost pasty complexion and skinny figure in oversized jeans, but she had an assertive air about her that was much more impressive.
“It must be pretty serious,” she continued, taking a drag. “Why don’t we talk about it?”
“Do you know a woman named Carmen?” Rafael asked, his voice shaking.
“No.”
“Someone named Carmen lives or lived here…” he said, his words trailing off. He felt ridiculous and unprepared as he faced such inquisitive eyes.
“A lot of people have been around here,” she said. “I need specifics.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t have any.”
“What have you come here for anyway?”
“Answers.”
She flicked her half-smoked cigarette into the gutter and with green eyes paler than any emerald gazed up to the sky.
“What are your questions?”
A window flew open from above and a woman’s voice called out: “Laurel? Laurel…”
The person who had to be Laurel pulled Rafael against her and ducked into the shadows. She grinned mischievously.
“I’ve got to run.”
His heart skipped a beat as her hair brushed against his cheek. But he kept any flicker of sentiment in check. He didn’t have time for distractions.
“Meet me back here tomorrow—same hour,” Laurel whispered. “I’ll see what I can find out. I have some connections…” And then she slipped away from him and into the night.
Find out what happens next… Buy Paris, Rue des Martyrs now!
The Creepshow: A Novel Page 19