To Be Continued! “ARRIVAL” #Paranormal #THRILLER ‘One excerpt at a time.’

Welcome to my new page! ‘To Be Continued’ …

MIND CONTROL FOR TO BE CONTINUED PAGE ARRIVAL.

I will be featuring an excerpt from “ARRIVAL” my latest work (In progress)  each week. I have listed this as a paranormal/thriller. I have yet to decide if I should add Dystopian to that genre list.

Your thoughts and comments would be greatly appreciated.

Here we go! (No synopsis)

CHAPTER 1 Excerpt 1.

 

“Arrival”

by Suzanne Burke

The blood had dried quickly in the oppressive heat of early morning.

It caked the walls in grotesque patterns, like Picasso on a bender.

The team moved softy, with the silence of impending death, sending ‘activation’ messages to those of the ‘Breed’ that stood  watching the carnage.

The other onlookers, the mutant generation of ‘Nontells’ were irrelevant. They would do as instructed; unaware of the subliminal messages they lived their pathetic lives around.

Diablo Ortega was a Nontell. He watched the experts carefully, fascinated as always with the teamwork without words that they excelled at. The nagging doubts he had of their intentions lay dormant at such times. The poetry of movement between them was a beautiful thing to behold.

It was only when his part of the job was complete that those niggling thoughts carved a valley into his brain.

Why did the those of the Breed insist that all Nontells leave the room once forensics were completed? It made no sense.

Why indeed were the ‘Breed’ at all times,the last ones on the scene and the first to arrive?

Diablo tried unsuccessfully to stem the tide of his suspicions. The ‘Breed’ could read his thoughts, he was certain of it. All that kept him safe was their egomaniacal assumption that a ‘Nontell’ would have no thoughts worthy of reading.

He sat. He pulled a beer from the ice-box and drank it down fast; it cleared the bitterness from his palate for a time. Alcoholism was rampant within the Nontell colonies. Since the ‘Arrival’, in fact, the Breed encouraged it. It was the one thing that the Nontells were permitted to excel at.

He remembered well the days before ‘Arrival’. It saddened him. Those days before were forbidden to recall, never to be spoken of. The Breed had succeeded overwhelmingly well in quelling their humanity. But not for all.

The memory played out in the theater of his mind,  sweet, sweet, memory … of the days when laughter was spontaneous, tears were permitted,, and joy was anticipated with delight. Days of sunshine and superman, dogs and children, doughnuts and coffee.

Years of striving to attain a place, working long deadly hours, returning home to a partner that valued your contribution to their world.

‘Arrival’ had irreversibly altered the sacred pattern.

The ‘Master’ had declared the days before arrival as a pestilence to be diminished and swept from memory.

It was so ordered.

Diablo Ortega chose to disobey.

As did the others …  they would arrive soon. The other Nontells, the ones with enough humanity remaining to dare to be different.

Diablo waited, and allowed his thought to drift, visions of yesterdays again entered, they blazed heat and light … and left all too quickly.

The pounding on the door, startled him, he jumped up, spilling the contents of his beer over his shirt. He glanced around as if a method of escape would magically appear, it did not … . The pounding continued and his heartbeat accelerated, all his focus now on that door.

They had a prearranged signal and this wasn’t it.

To be continued….

“Arrival” by Suzanne Burke.

April 3RD 2017. CHAPTER 1 … EXCERPT 2.

Diego rested his hand on the Glock, seeking comfort in the unrelentingly cold hardness of the metal.

He checked the CCTV image; uncertain if it were a trick of his mind that permitted him to visualize the shapes that waited there, as friend, and not foe.

Two people stood unmoving, both concealed by the dark hoodies that covered their heads and faces so successfully. The stance of one was tantalizingly familiar; yet Diego’s brain recognized it as an impossibility, even as the thought formed. ‘No … impossible!  No, no, no,  you’re dead’

He clicked the intercom open, and was not surprised when his voice quavered as he spoke, “What?”

“That’s no way to greet an old friend, Chicano!

“Santa Madre de Dios! No! I saw you die.”

The one who had spoken, raised both hands, then, slowly and with long-tapered fingers’, pushed back the hoodie. The perfect features worked themselves into a high-powered smile. “I decided that death was supremely overrated, Chicano! You know how I am when I make up my mind. Now open the fucking door, I need a drink!”

Diego Ortega made his choice, and with a hand that shook, he deactivated the explosive charge, his first-line of defense.  He opened the door; even as he clicked off the safety on the Glock, and stood ready to use it at point blank range if necessary.

“Weapons on the table. Both of you, now!” He said, surprising himself that he could speak at all.

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said.” The un-hooded one replied, placing another Glock on the table.

“You!” Diego pointed his weapon at the shorter of the two, “The weapon, now!”

The second person slowly moved their right hand, and pulled a gun from beneath the hoodie. It was carefully laid alongside his companions.

Diego placed his gun barely inches from the face of the one he recognized, “The back-up. On the table. Make it fast.”

“Good call! So you do remember?” The left ankle was quickly revealed and a lethal knife was quickly removed from its sheath, to join the guns on the table.

“Hands behind you. Kneel on the floor.”

“You,” he pointed the gun at the second one, “Down.”

The two threats to his sanity were now cuffed. “Tell me what you want. Make it fast.”

“I want a drink, Chicano. You know what I like.”

“Still drinking Buds?” Diego smiled stiffly as he asked.

“I’ve never touched beer in my life. Nice try, Chicano. But no cigar! You disappoint me; I expected your wits to have remained sharper than this. I have my preferred drink of choice in my backpack; unless you happen to have a Twelve-year-old single malt scotch available?”

Diego heard clearly, “That is hardly a secret. You’ll need much more to convince me that you are who you appear to be. Much, more.”

“You whisper ‘Ti Amo’ when you orgasm.”

“I do that with anyone that satisfies me.”

“I’m tired of this bullshit, Chicano! You ask the damned questions. I want a drink while I wait.”

Diego was wavering, but held the gun ready. He racked his memory banks for something unique to his tormentor. “What did your mother say to you just before she died?”

The tormentor glared at him, not speaking, for a long, cold, moment. Then the words erupted like poisonous sores spewing puss.  “She said, ‘You were always the waste of a perfectly good fuck!’ Just before I shot her.”

Diego stood motionless for what felt an eternity, then, with tears pouring from his still disbelieving eyes, he moved behind the visitors and removed the cuffs.

“Querida. Mi amor preciouso!” He pulled the woman into his arms.

She laughed delightedly and kissed him. “Your accent thickens whenever you are passionate or afraid. Which is it now? ”

Diego looked in her green eyes, as his memories threatened to spiral out of control, “A mixture of both, Elizabeth. We need to talk. I have company coming, soon now. We will talk later.”

He turned his attention to her companion once more, “Your name?”

“His name is Javier.”

“Can he not speak for himself, Elizabeth?”

“No … he cannot. The Breed removed his tongue.”

Diego looked at the younger man, “I’m so sorry.”

” Why did they allow him to live? They usually complete the butchering process.”

The woman looked across at the young man. They shared an unspoken moment.

“It will take time to explain, Diego.”The woman looked into his eyes for a long moment. “These people you are expecting … . Do you trust them with our lives, Diego?”

To Be Continued …