Romance and Mystery
Three Months to Change
Available now from Visionary Living Publishing, Amazon, and
Audio Available on I-tunes and Audible
Latest Review for Three Months to Change!
Wow, what an incredible book. When I finished it I immediately wanted to read the next part and I am told it hasn't even been written yet! A shifter book like no other. The story of Lenora and her facing three months before a change isn't at all what the reader expects.
This author has crafted a tome that will stand the test of time. The staging and depth of character conveyed simply wowed me time and again. The seamless shifting between POVs happened without the reader even noticing.
What really sells this book is how the characters develop. The storyline is brilliant and as a reader who can figure plots out way early, this one had me stumped. I was so impressed with how the author could surprise me, it took nearly 80% before I got a sense of truly what was going on.
The author builds the characters in such a way that they are not finished when the reader meets them. Some of them grow and develop in ways that are fascinating and endearing. I was cursing the stupidity of Lenora at one point and loving every aspect of the Wonder Woman like Lenora at the end. The end of the book was glorious. I would buy the hardcover in a second.
A fantastic book that will go on my list as one of the best I have ever read.
My Rating: 5+ stars
Reviewed by Mr. N from
N.N. Light's Book Heaven
What People Are Saying!
Werewolves, shape shifters, multiverse, ghosts, time travel, dangerous portals to doom, romance... this book has so much. A very well written adventure crossing a variety of situations that all come together in an explosive climax. I have read other books similar to this, but this one is by far the best!
Doug Boren
Great book! I bought this book because a friend recommended it and I am so glad I did! It is well written and fun to read. You won’t be disappointed!
Sueli Petry
Three Months to Change is the first book I have read by Dinah Roseberry. I thought it was pretty good. I loved Lenora’s story. This is the perfect time of the year to read this type of book. It has all things spooky that I love to read. I had to keep reading to find out where Lenora would go next... Amy C.
I finished your book a few days ago. 😊 I especially liked the part where she questioned if the icky stuff in the basement had prevented her from doing laundry and then decided, no, she just didn’t like doing laundry. . . I’m a sucker for a happy ending. I enjoyed the read.
Donna Dennone
. . . The book is written in a fast, scientific pace . . . Nevertheless, the story is fascinating and eventful and never gets boring. . . I enjoyed the read very much! . . .
Madison Davis
. . . Totally enjoyed it! Definitely not the average run of the mill romance. LOL . . . was most interesting. Thank you!
Connie Strohm
Sample
Chapter 1 of Three Months to Change
(There is an audio sample under the Audio tab.
Epigraph
Despite the lack of empirical support, electromagnetic energy in the brain may somehow interact with electromagnetic energy in the environment leading to unusual spontaneous events, sometimes thought to be paranormal, but more likely to be caused by one’s own personal power to interact with the multiverse.
—Professor Frank Malone
Chapter One
Her head rocked to one side, her neck cracking, and she could clearly taste a liquid copper residue in her mouth. He’d drawn blood at her lip. Again. And she was seeing stars this time. Well, not stars per say, but pinpoints of light on a black backdrop interrupted her vision of the bright and cheery room with flashes of blackness holding the tiniest of flickering stars . . . The open-hand slap against her skin was hot, and it hurt like hell.
Wow, am I ever going to have a headache. If I even live through this. He wants to kill me this time. He probably will.
She knew her mouth was split open and the right corner of her eye was swelling shut. And her neck felt broken—she knew that it probably wasn’t because she’d have already been on the floor, but that didn’t dispel the pain. The stars were behind her eyes, and she was pretty sure he’d hit her hard enough to take her consciousness from her. She’d be on the floor in a few seconds. And he’d be inside her home, bringing to mind Jack Nicholson with a knife in his hand at a snow-impacted hotel in Colorado. It was a crazy laugh. Everyone hearing a laugh like that knew it. Everybody hearing a laugh like that took a step back. Quickly. Rocket science not required. Get ready to go down, she told herself, hoping that too much blood wouldn’t damage the wood foyer. She’d hate to lose her security deposit.
But no. Something odd. A strength that she knew she wasn’t capable of jumped into her personal space. It was like electricity where none could possibly be. It was like a fire in the brain. It was like a rising from the ashes when there were no ashes—just a puddle of mush of what was left of her on the floor. The stars disappeared, replaced by the smug crazy laughter coming from her gorilla of an ex-boyfriend.
Can’t he take a hint, for God’s sake?
He stood there at her door, halfway in her apartment and halfway in the hall. His laughter was sinister, and her flesh crawled with tiny prickles sticking her skin enhancing the feeling of wrong place, wrong time. Those prior blonde good looks and intense blue-gray eyes that he’d used initially to subdue her were no longer attractive. In fact, they brought bile to her slender throat.
It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that he was one of the worst men alive—especially in her life—but she suspected that he’d brought pain to any relationship he’d touched. This was not new behavior for him. It had been for her, though. What had she seen in him? Since everything was moving in slow motion now—she’d heard of that happening, but had never experienced it before—she began to count off all the signs she’d ignored. There were plenty. And there would be time to think about this in this new slowed-down world. Was this what they meant about seeing your life flash before your eyes? Was he really going to kill her? Yes…
But suddenly, there it was again. That strength. In her heart. In her mind. Clarity and crystal-clear thought processes. She pulled her face back around to confront him, her neck feeling like it had been ripped open from the impact he’d used when he’d slapped her. She was still standing—a surprise. His hand was raised to hit her again—backhanded this time. Those knuckles would hurt worse than the open hand, she was sure, especially with the ring he always wore. Her heartbeat sped up and the fear of the next attack rushed to her brain. It was coming, it was coming…
The strength took over again, calming her, slowing her heartbeat, exorcizing the fear. It was as though something had stepped inside, or in front of, her small frame to take over when she couldn’t cope. (Was she becoming schizophrenic? She’d seen on television that people with that disorder had multiple personalities, and sometimes those entities inside the mind took over. Was that was this was? Had he driven her mad? That was very possible.)
This is a punk, she heard her mind say. Yet she frowned because though it had been her voice in her mind, the thought didn’t really come from her brain somehow. Schizophrenic for sure, she thought before the upcoming face-off.
But no more thoughts came. Instead, she could feel the thinnest of a barrier enveloping her body, protecting her, shielding her from whatever was to come. Whatever it was allowed her to change her stance to solid knee-bent positioning on the floor, left foot forward, right one behind to the right, angled and behind the left one. She knew her eyes were wide, and she was no longer focusing on Gorilla Ned. She could see his flashy white teeth and ominous blue-gray eyes all right, but she was looking at them through a kind of clear film that hugged her body—an intelligent film. Without further thought, she’d balled her right fist and struck out towards his face.
He blocked the hit with his wrist and practically bellowed laughter.
Before even a second passed, she felt her left fist ball and saw it come up fast with an uppercut to his jaw. That not only surprised him, but it broke his jaw, dropping him back to the porch floor.
She felt herself being pulled back one step and watched her door slam—him on the outside, her on the inside. The film dropped from her body; the intensity left her mind. She stepped forward and dead-bolted the door.
Wow, she thought to herself. Now that was friggin’ bizarre. What the hell just happened?
She looked down at her hand: It should have been bruised, or cut, or at least hurt. But there was no pain at all. It was weird; how had she even known to hit him like that? The adrenaline was still pumping as she sucked in her breath and let her hand fall to her side. A calmness again came to her, feeling like a hug. Her own voice inside her head again came forth. Call the police. Now. Before he does. She looked over at the coffee table where her phone had been, but it wasn’t there. Looking down, she found it in her other hand. What? How? she thought.
Make the call now, her own voice said from inside her brain.
*
Turning from the cash register, Lenora could see herself in the mirror over the counter. She had a black eye, already a bit purple with green at the edges. She’d dressed that morning to match the eye because everyone would be looking at her. It would be an attempt to find humor in a despicable story. They probably wouldn’t really notice the cut lip because the swelling had retreated, but the eye? Oh yeah, people would be staring. She’d already decided what she was going to say. Oh this? It’s nothing. You should see the other guy. Everybody said that, didn’t they? Then change the subject. Cliché as it was, people would get the idea that she wasn’t going to talk about it. At least the Gorilla was out of her life for the time being, if the restraining order really worked. There was, of course, doubt on that account. She’d move on with her job—selling frames, displaying her artwork along with those frames, and being generally a really sweet girl.
Lenora sighed. She hated being known as sweet, but that’s what she always got. She’d accepted it. In three months she would be 25 and she’d been called sweet for at least the prior ten years. Never sexy, or alluring, or beautiful. Sweet. The comments ranged from her sweet smile to her sweet stature, to her sweet eyes, the sweet personality… Lenora shrugged. Sweet was good.
Something suddenly caught her attention outside the storefront glass. It was a blur, but then, as she looked straight on and out the sunny window, she saw a man. And not just a man. He was sexy, and alluring, and beautiful…maybe he was sweet, too. She laughed under her breath, smiled at him, and then looked back down at the invoice before her. Nothing good ever came from staring at a strange man—regardless of his attributes. If that had been one of her lessons she’d been sent to Earth to learn, well Gorilla Ned had taught it to her very well. It was probably the sun shining through the window that illuminated him anyway. No one was that cute. And hadn’t she just learned a lesson of the worse kind? Still, she tried to position her head just so, in an effort to see if he was still there, without him knowing she was making that effort. It was difficult to focus on him unless looking right at him, which she couldn’t help but do again. This time he smiled back at her. She glanced away in a shy jerk of the head, ignoring the speeding up of her heart. When she looked back, not more than two seconds later, he was gone.
“Hmmm. Poof,” she whispered out loud. “Story of my life. Probably a serial killer anyway. My luck these days.”
The rest of the day at Framing Connections went on in a normal and characteristic fashion. She’d been working there part time for nearly a year. A customer before an employee, she knew as much about framing as any of the other clerks. She’d used the shop to frame her own abstract paintings for at least three years. When an opening came up, she’d decided to make an offer to them: She would work the shop two to three days a week, counseling people about framing, selling them of course, and she would display her work for sale at a reasonable rate that she would give twenty percent commission of the sale to the shop. She knew she was paid more than the other clerks because of her experience with framing and art, but reality told, she really did not do that much extra work to warrant the salary. Still, most of her income came from the sale of her paintings. They were fairly good—nothing special at this time in her career, but having the artist there and the customer seeing her “passion fire” often tipped the sale in her favor. She would be a force in the art world someday. When she was ready. Everybody said so. That and a dollar would get her a plain coffee with no trimmings at any fast-food joint. Maybe.
Just before the end of her shift at four, a delivery person entered. “Miss Lenora Dale?”
“That would be me,” she said with a frown. “Flowers?” Her eyes squinted and her lips pursed. She bet the flowers were from Gorilla Ned. Didn’t any of those jerks read the psychology books? Didn’t they know that most women were well aware that the flower gesture after a fight was just that—a gesture? And this was quite a bit more than a fight. It was assault. He wasn’t going to change, the apology wasn’t the truth, and she wasn’t that stupid. He could send a full-grown Oak tree and she would not feel any different. She casually touched her eye. No, nothing’s going to work this time, pal. I’ve learned the lesson. I’m moving on to whatever’s next.
The delivery boy didn’t look to be over 16. “Flowers for a lovely lady,” he said showing a face full of white teeth in a smile so wide, some would say it was comical. Clowns came to mind. But not the evil kind.
“Thanks.” Lenora’s tone was flat, nonplussed. Then, “Wait, I want to give you a tip.”
His smile became brighter (if that was possible). She had to grin inside. Just because she was in an “I hate all men” mode, didn’t mean she had to be rude to a fellow worker bee. She pulled a five from her purse beneath the counter and handed it to him as he set a plant situated in a pale purple container matching the flowers down on the counter. With five in hand, the boy made a quick exit, leaving her with not actually flowers, but a plant with pretty purple blooms. She pulled the tag from the dirt to see what it was before she bothered with the card.
Aconitum. Also known as Wolf’s Bane.
“Wolf’s Bane? He’s sending me Wolf’s Bane—that poisonous.” She paused, pulling the card from its stick holder. “Figures the Gorilla would send me poison.” She opened the card, ready to read, tear up, and drop in the trash can. Instead, she read:
Miss Lenora Ellen Dale:
Your presence is requested at the reading of the last will and testament for Sir Wellington Bradley on this Friday coming at 10am. You have been identified as an heir to the estate due to a short relationship between your mother, Eileen Christine Dale and Wellington Bradley with your birth as the result. A limousine will pick you up at your place of employment at 9am on Friday. Should you choose to forfeit your inheritance rights and refuse to attend this reading, please find this correspondence as formal notice that after your 25th birthday (in three months’ time), all desired help will be refused.
Sincerely,
Johns and Johns, Esquires
Attorneys for the late Wellington Bradley
Lenora stood there, her mind spinning. Her mother had died from cancer the prior year, and the only thing that she’d ever said about her father was that he had been an army soldier and had been killed while on a secret mission before Lenora had been born. The odd thing was that on her death bed, she’d said to Lenora, “I want to tell you something I haven’t told you about your father before I go.” Then she had promptly died. The death and birth of a mystery.
So what was this? Turning over the card and then looking at the envelope, she tried to discover some other clue. But she knew how this went. She’d call the florist and they would give her some nondescript answer advising that they did not know who or where or why. Still, she picked up the phone to make the call. Friday was only three days away.
*
Lenora was still thinking about the strange plant delivery as she walked along the running path that lined the lake near her workplace on her way home that afternoon. There was a light breeze that ruffled her long reddish-blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Water glistened sunshine as she noted the small row boats floating about. Sitting down on a bench overlooking the lake, she took in a deep breath of fresh air. How could a day like this, in a locale like this, have any kind of mystery attached to it? She had a nothing can go wrong feeling, even though just moments before there had been a gnawing intuition that something was about to happen that would change her life forever. She’d released that thought and just stared forward in contentment at the rippling water.
“Hello, Doll,” a voice said, uncomfortably close to her, making her jump and suck in her breath.
It was him. It was the lovely, wonderfully sexy man she’d seen looking in on her at the Framing Connection window front. But where had he come from? He’d certainly not been their just a moment before. Her eyes were wide as she studied him in the seconds it took for him to repeat his greeting, wondering if she’d picked up a stalker somehow.
“Hello, Doll…I was just passing by and saw you sitting here. I’ve seen you at the framing shop in town just this morning.”
Her voice left her, she’d been so startled, but it was not entirely the fright of circumstance that bothered her—that is, his seeming to pop in out of nowhere—but his dark brown eyes and hair, his desirable build, the soft sexy scent of his cologne. His clothing, however, was unusual for this day and age: He was dressed all in brown with cuffed pants (were they in style?) and a tan shirt and chocolate tie with a matching vest and jacket. Men just did not look like this in her experience. She was used to men in jeans and sandals, sometimes shirt, sometimes not. This was that kind of town. Three-piece suits didn’t happen in her world. He looked like a teacher.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s mostly right.”
Lenora frowned, lines crinkling her smooth skin. Had she said something? No…she hadn’t, but she’d better because she was beginning to look like a deranged woman on a bench with wide eyes and an inability to make any kind of sound.
“Hello…” she said slowly, discomfort in her tone. “You called me Doll? I’m nobody’s doll.”
“Sorry, Doll; oh, sorry again—habit. You looked in such deep thought.” He slid just a bit closer on the bench, becoming close enough to make her uncomfortable—not in her personal space, but nearly so.
“I did see you this morning and then you seemed to disappear. You should’ve come inside. We have quite a nice business if you’re in need of framing.”
“Or very good art, I’m told,” he added, again flashing a smile.
Lenora blushed a bit before glancing into his eyes. This was all so unnatural. It seemed as if she were drowning in his gaze. His smile was so calming and she felt so relaxed. Calm and relaxed…
Suddenly, her phone rang, and she snapped her attention away from his hypnotic eyes. Glancing down at her purse, she pulled her phone from the pocket just inside it. She noted that a full hour had passed since she’d taken her seat on the bench. An hour? How could I have been sitting here an hour? The phone stopped ringing and she merely dropped it back in the purse without even bothering to slide it into its slot or see who was calling. It was not important somehow… nothing was, except this exceptional man before her.
“Now where were we?” he asked her just above a whisper, leaning forward and then reaching forward to brush a strand of hair back that had loosened itself from her ponytail.
She pulled back, stammering as she looked about her uneasily. “Well, I don’t know, I seemed to have … spaced out or something.”
He just smiled again. “You’d just finished telling me about the time when you were 15, and you and your mother had gone hiking in Gettysburg at Devil’s Den. You’d fallen and busted open your knee…. We’d finished that story and you were about to tell me more of your thoughts about the reading of the will on Friday and how you thought that your mother must have hid a very big secret from you.”
Well, haven’t I told him the story of my life, she thought flatly.
“Uhmmmm,” was all she could manage.
“Well, I’m sure,” the man began, “that the reason you’ve told me about the will, is that you—“
“I don’t even know your name or anything about you….”
“Really?” he said with a laugh. “Who have I been talking to this last hour?” Then he frowned and she watched as his expression went from one of contentment to one of worry. “My name is Frankie. That’s what my friends always called me…my parents called me ‘Franklin’ because they always used that name when I was in trouble. And I was in trouble all the time.” He stopped for a moment. “You really don’t remember talking with me and me talking with you?”
Lenora shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m under more stress than I thought. I’ve had a bad encounter—a physical encounter—with my ex-boyfriend and maybe that…I mean, if what that note said was true, I’ve had a father for all these years that my mom lied about. Why would she do that? Maybe to keep me in good spirits in my youth, but now as an adult woman? What could this all be about?”
“You’re right of course,” Frankie replied. “I’ve heard of this type of thing before. Your mind is on autopilot and taking care of two things at once. Like hypnosis. Hypnotized by the radio, yet still carving a wood piece.”
“Hypnosis? Wood? Did you hypnotize me?” She kept her stare blank, but closely watched him with suspicious eyes. Who was this person, who out of nowhere, now seemed to be cognizant of very intimate details from her life? Details that she’d obviously given him.
“No, no, of course not. I’m not a hypnotist by any means. I have read a lot in my lifetime about many subjects. I’ve heard of a ‘break,’ if you will, during conversation in hypnosis, but I’ve never seen such a thing…exactly…” He glanced away from her eyes and down to his feet, his elbows resting casually on his knees. “It all has to do with misplaced energy. You need to harness energy so that you can always be in control of what is happening around you. You’re going to need to learn that.”
Lenora had not stopped looking at him. “What?” she asked. “Energy? What are you talking about?”
“Actually, what I meant was for you to pull your energy and all your resources together so that you can go to the reading of the will. You never know what you might learn. I’d be happy to tag along with you, if you’re nervous about going.” Frankie looked back up at her with the look of a helpful confidant. “I could wait in the car.” He paused. “And I’d be there if you needed me.”
Lenora stood up, took a step towards the lake, and stared across its expanse. “Thank you, Frankie. You helped me make up my mind. I will go, but I won’t need an escort.” She turned to him and smiled.
“Good, glad to be of assistance, Doll—”
She gave him a scowl that involved all the muscles in her face. “And what did you just call me again?
“Doll. Oh. Not that. The beautiful Lenora, with the bright blonde hair and the hypnotizing green eyes. I’m glad to be of help.” Then he stood, too. “I have to go now. My energy is—that is, I’m quite tired for some reason.”
At the sound of some overhead birds, Lenora turned back to the water to watch their antics. “I’m glad you stopped to sit with me,” she said and then turned back to him, “it’s been a pleasure—” But he was gone. Poof. Again. Looking up and down the path, the grassy landscape behind her, and then back to the lake, she mumbled, “How does he do that?”
Walking home to her apartment just under one-half mile from the framing shop, Lenora took her time, window shopping, chatting with those she knew from the town. She loved the small-town life, the intimacy of knowing everyone, understanding the intricate involvements that held each and every family, business, and person together. It was where she received her inspiration. True, most did not see her interpretation of abstract oils until she explained them, but that was part of the charm—to allow someone who otherwise would have no impression of the balances of the heart to actually come away with a scene, a feel, a love of art. Alanwood was such a town: the Mid-Atlantic at its best.
Her mind slipped back to Frankie as she walked, a strange man in many ways, but so appealing. She’d felt a pull towards him from the first moment. It was as though he had a hold on her soul and the ability to interconnect with her on a level not previously explored. It was nothing like the abnormal attraction she’d felt in the beginning for Gorilla Ned. This felt different. This felt light on air. This felt fun. But how could that be from just one meeting? And one she’d zoned out of for the most part.
She was passing the small ice cream shop now, situated on the other side of the street and thought momentarily about ending her work day with a cold treat. She stopped quickly, though, when she saw Frankie inside the very shop she’d been considering. He was standing at the counter, gazing down at all the flavors of ice cream. Was it a coincidence that she’d now seen him three times in one day? Looking down at her watch to check the time, she thought again of his brown eyes and hair…his charisma. And of the missing time she’d experienced in the park.
Noting that it was after five, she glanced back at the ice cream shop wondering what time the business closed. Frankie was no longer there. He wasn’t on the street that she could see either, as she quickly looked around. Poof, yet again. Had she really seen him?
It’s a good thing I’m not a private detective following him, because I’d be a poor one.
Lenora, deciding to skip the ice cream idea, set off again for home. Suddenly, she felt very tired and the idea of a nap was more appealing than the extra calories of a chocolate milk shake. It was as though she was zapped of her energy, an unusual feeling for her. Energy; there was that word again. Somehow that seemed important. She shook her head not having a clue why and moved again along the sidewalk.
Lenora lived in the bottom apartment of an old Victorian home. The basement (partially finished) and first floor were hers, as was the left-side country garden and yard outside in the back. There was a fence dividing the backyard so that the upstairs tenants could also have a calming outside experience when they chose. Currently, there were no other tenants in the house, so the old home felt a bit lonely and creaky.
The inside of her home was beyond delightful, though, with its small rooms that those in the past had used for varied venues. The owners had nicely restructured two rooms into one on the first floor for the living room, added a bathroom and a walk-in closet (that had formerly been a very small room). Just to one side of her cozy living room was another room that sported glass doors along one wall looking out into the living space via small window-paned double doors, giving it a quaint feel. Lenora used this room as her office and gallery room. Two other rooms had been structurally connected, giving her a nice-sized bedroom that had an entrance into the bathroom from both the living room and the bedroom. A nice tidy, but small, modernized eat-in kitchen (if two chairs around a tiny table counted as eat-in) was at the back of the house leading out to the covered porch and country garden. For the money, it was a steal. The elderly owners rented it reasonably to those they felt had the right demeanor, so they could find the very best people and then keep them. She’d lived there for nearly three years and never had a bit of trouble. Until Gorilla Ned, that is.
Lenora shivered. “What was that?” she said out loud. “Felt like someone dancing on my grave.” She looked around, but saw nothing in her living space that would give her an uncomfortable feeling. Walking aimlessly through her apartment, she tried to identify the reason for her discomfort. It felt as though she was being watched. Not just watched, however: watched by lots of people. The apartment was empty except for her, though, and such a consideration was way off-beat. “Interesting,” she whispered.
Finding oneself alone in a safe and comfortable place had a great deal to do with being safe and secure as a person. Lenora was just that, and that made any unusual feelings of this nature something to carefully consider—not that she’d ever had feelings like this before. They were alien to her. All her feelings, good or bad, went to canvas in color and drama. The world came alive via her hand-to-paint brush and paint brush-to-canvas. Stopping in the bedroom before her bed, Lenora noticed that it was slightly cold and the air seemed mobile without the ceiling fan or air on. Further, the cooler air was unusual because this was a room that tended to hold the heat. Great in the wintertime, but in the spring or summer, not so much.
A nap, she said to herself. That’s all I need. The shiver came from me being tired, and so I just need to lie down for a few moments. Then I’ll get up and do some painting. Lying down fully dressed, she pulled the lightweight bedspread from one side of the bed over top her as though she were a papoose wrapped in warmth. In seconds she could feel herself doze off, and it felt so delicious to drop into that land of inner knowing. Something tickled her nose, and her cheek itched giving her a shiver again. Even sleep felt odd today.
Suddenly, she felt the same strength that she’d felt the night that Gorilla Ned had come by to kick the daylights out of her. Hah! Turned the table on you, ol’ Ned. Next time you’ll think twice. Sleep began to take her, though the strength, in an armor-like cover, tightened around her. It was alive somehow with an energy that was made specifically for her, or so it seemed. Then it softened into…something else. There was a warm, inviting tremor that started at her temples and moved down her body, exiting at her toes. She thought, Oh, so nice; I’d like more of that. And more did come. Two, three, four waves of a delicious stroking of her soul. The energy seemed to be both inside her and outside, as well. Why have I never felt this before? she wondered. It’s criminal that I’m just now having this.
And then things changed again and she felt tendrils of power—for that’s the only word she could think of that could describe the warm waves of whatever it was sliding along her body. This time, though, they stopped at her collar and, like a lover, seemed to nestle there, blowing soft warm air and nibbling at the sensitive skin at the crevice of her neck and the even more sensitive ears. A small moan left her mouth in real time, not sleep time.
In moments, the waves were at her breasts, as though the material of her clothing was not protecting her from physical contact. She felt the tendrils wrap around them—both at the same time. She could feel licking and sucking, and her nipples grew hard and taunt. Then something cupped them like invisible hands, all the while the tips feeling wet and so very hard. She pulled in her breath: Harder, suck harder, came from her mind. And as though the invisible wave could hear her, suction on her nipples increased until she was writhing. But then the wave pulled back.
“No,” she whispered, “more; please don’t stop.”
It was then that she thought she heard a chuckle in her mind, not her own voice but that of another. A man. Someone she recognized. But the thinking left as quickly as the thought came. The wave was moving lower and her excitement began to rise, making her forget all else, suspecting and hoping for what would happen next.
A small voice that was her own inside her head had questions, though. What is this? Who is this? How is it happening, and why does it feel so real? Then small chittering sounds like white noise moved into her mind and she knew she needed to focus on the sounds. It was important somehow. So as the wave moved down, she followed the directions of the chittering. She spread her jean-clad legs and waited for the next delicious assault. The tendrils did not disappoint. She could feel them at first lapping at her outer private area (inside her clothing), somehow wet like a tongue, but stronger, more in control. As it latched on to the place where her pure raw emotion came from, her body arched. Whatever it was liked her reaction and she could feel the tendrils slide up inside her, deeper than she’d ever felt anyone at that entrance. At the same time, she found that there were also other tendrils and waves hooked to her breasts and other sensual parts, pushing and sucking and pulling. It was all happening at once, building her up to a climax that would surely kill her, it was so ravenous. And she desired it like nothing she’d ever wanted before. She wanted to shout out: Yes, yes!
As she was giving herself over to the luscious feelings, her head tilted to one side. She frowned—both in startled fear and because she did not understand what she was seeing. There was a scene in mid-air to the right of her bed, a place and time not of this place and time where she lived. It was like she was watching a movie. The tendrils continued, but they slowed, as though allowing her to experience what she needed to experience, what she needed to see.
Lenora saw another room, and there were two men in this room. They were dressed in formal three-piece suits. One was seated at a desk using what appeared to be an older computer-like typewriter device, tapping, tapping, tapping on the keys. Another man stood in front of him, but with his back to her bedroom. A supervisor maybe? Why, this is out of a time a long time ago… she thought. What the hell am I seeing?
It was then that the standing man turned towards her.
“Frankie!” she called out.
Chapter 1 of Three Months to Change
(There is an audio sample under the Audio tab.
Epigraph
Despite the lack of empirical support, electromagnetic energy in the brain may somehow interact with electromagnetic energy in the environment leading to unusual spontaneous events, sometimes thought to be paranormal, but more likely to be caused by one’s own personal power to interact with the multiverse.
—Professor Frank Malone
Chapter One
Her head rocked to one side, her neck cracking, and she could clearly taste a liquid copper residue in her mouth. He’d drawn blood at her lip. Again. And she was seeing stars this time. Well, not stars per say, but pinpoints of light on a black backdrop interrupted her vision of the bright and cheery room with flashes of blackness holding the tiniest of flickering stars . . . The open-hand slap against her skin was hot, and it hurt like hell.
Wow, am I ever going to have a headache. If I even live through this. He wants to kill me this time. He probably will.
She knew her mouth was split open and the right corner of her eye was swelling shut. And her neck felt broken—she knew that it probably wasn’t because she’d have already been on the floor, but that didn’t dispel the pain. The stars were behind her eyes, and she was pretty sure he’d hit her hard enough to take her consciousness from her. She’d be on the floor in a few seconds. And he’d be inside her home, bringing to mind Jack Nicholson with a knife in his hand at a snow-impacted hotel in Colorado. It was a crazy laugh. Everyone hearing a laugh like that knew it. Everybody hearing a laugh like that took a step back. Quickly. Rocket science not required. Get ready to go down, she told herself, hoping that too much blood wouldn’t damage the wood foyer. She’d hate to lose her security deposit.
But no. Something odd. A strength that she knew she wasn’t capable of jumped into her personal space. It was like electricity where none could possibly be. It was like a fire in the brain. It was like a rising from the ashes when there were no ashes—just a puddle of mush of what was left of her on the floor. The stars disappeared, replaced by the smug crazy laughter coming from her gorilla of an ex-boyfriend.
Can’t he take a hint, for God’s sake?
He stood there at her door, halfway in her apartment and halfway in the hall. His laughter was sinister, and her flesh crawled with tiny prickles sticking her skin enhancing the feeling of wrong place, wrong time. Those prior blonde good looks and intense blue-gray eyes that he’d used initially to subdue her were no longer attractive. In fact, they brought bile to her slender throat.
It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that he was one of the worst men alive—especially in her life—but she suspected that he’d brought pain to any relationship he’d touched. This was not new behavior for him. It had been for her, though. What had she seen in him? Since everything was moving in slow motion now—she’d heard of that happening, but had never experienced it before—she began to count off all the signs she’d ignored. There were plenty. And there would be time to think about this in this new slowed-down world. Was this what they meant about seeing your life flash before your eyes? Was he really going to kill her? Yes…
But suddenly, there it was again. That strength. In her heart. In her mind. Clarity and crystal-clear thought processes. She pulled her face back around to confront him, her neck feeling like it had been ripped open from the impact he’d used when he’d slapped her. She was still standing—a surprise. His hand was raised to hit her again—backhanded this time. Those knuckles would hurt worse than the open hand, she was sure, especially with the ring he always wore. Her heartbeat sped up and the fear of the next attack rushed to her brain. It was coming, it was coming…
The strength took over again, calming her, slowing her heartbeat, exorcizing the fear. It was as though something had stepped inside, or in front of, her small frame to take over when she couldn’t cope. (Was she becoming schizophrenic? She’d seen on television that people with that disorder had multiple personalities, and sometimes those entities inside the mind took over. Was that was this was? Had he driven her mad? That was very possible.)
This is a punk, she heard her mind say. Yet she frowned because though it had been her voice in her mind, the thought didn’t really come from her brain somehow. Schizophrenic for sure, she thought before the upcoming face-off.
But no more thoughts came. Instead, she could feel the thinnest of a barrier enveloping her body, protecting her, shielding her from whatever was to come. Whatever it was allowed her to change her stance to solid knee-bent positioning on the floor, left foot forward, right one behind to the right, angled and behind the left one. She knew her eyes were wide, and she was no longer focusing on Gorilla Ned. She could see his flashy white teeth and ominous blue-gray eyes all right, but she was looking at them through a kind of clear film that hugged her body—an intelligent film. Without further thought, she’d balled her right fist and struck out towards his face.
He blocked the hit with his wrist and practically bellowed laughter.
Before even a second passed, she felt her left fist ball and saw it come up fast with an uppercut to his jaw. That not only surprised him, but it broke his jaw, dropping him back to the porch floor.
She felt herself being pulled back one step and watched her door slam—him on the outside, her on the inside. The film dropped from her body; the intensity left her mind. She stepped forward and dead-bolted the door.
Wow, she thought to herself. Now that was friggin’ bizarre. What the hell just happened?
She looked down at her hand: It should have been bruised, or cut, or at least hurt. But there was no pain at all. It was weird; how had she even known to hit him like that? The adrenaline was still pumping as she sucked in her breath and let her hand fall to her side. A calmness again came to her, feeling like a hug. Her own voice inside her head again came forth. Call the police. Now. Before he does. She looked over at the coffee table where her phone had been, but it wasn’t there. Looking down, she found it in her other hand. What? How? she thought.
Make the call now, her own voice said from inside her brain.
*
Turning from the cash register, Lenora could see herself in the mirror over the counter. She had a black eye, already a bit purple with green at the edges. She’d dressed that morning to match the eye because everyone would be looking at her. It would be an attempt to find humor in a despicable story. They probably wouldn’t really notice the cut lip because the swelling had retreated, but the eye? Oh yeah, people would be staring. She’d already decided what she was going to say. Oh this? It’s nothing. You should see the other guy. Everybody said that, didn’t they? Then change the subject. Cliché as it was, people would get the idea that she wasn’t going to talk about it. At least the Gorilla was out of her life for the time being, if the restraining order really worked. There was, of course, doubt on that account. She’d move on with her job—selling frames, displaying her artwork along with those frames, and being generally a really sweet girl.
Lenora sighed. She hated being known as sweet, but that’s what she always got. She’d accepted it. In three months she would be 25 and she’d been called sweet for at least the prior ten years. Never sexy, or alluring, or beautiful. Sweet. The comments ranged from her sweet smile to her sweet stature, to her sweet eyes, the sweet personality… Lenora shrugged. Sweet was good.
Something suddenly caught her attention outside the storefront glass. It was a blur, but then, as she looked straight on and out the sunny window, she saw a man. And not just a man. He was sexy, and alluring, and beautiful…maybe he was sweet, too. She laughed under her breath, smiled at him, and then looked back down at the invoice before her. Nothing good ever came from staring at a strange man—regardless of his attributes. If that had been one of her lessons she’d been sent to Earth to learn, well Gorilla Ned had taught it to her very well. It was probably the sun shining through the window that illuminated him anyway. No one was that cute. And hadn’t she just learned a lesson of the worse kind? Still, she tried to position her head just so, in an effort to see if he was still there, without him knowing she was making that effort. It was difficult to focus on him unless looking right at him, which she couldn’t help but do again. This time he smiled back at her. She glanced away in a shy jerk of the head, ignoring the speeding up of her heart. When she looked back, not more than two seconds later, he was gone.
“Hmmm. Poof,” she whispered out loud. “Story of my life. Probably a serial killer anyway. My luck these days.”
The rest of the day at Framing Connections went on in a normal and characteristic fashion. She’d been working there part time for nearly a year. A customer before an employee, she knew as much about framing as any of the other clerks. She’d used the shop to frame her own abstract paintings for at least three years. When an opening came up, she’d decided to make an offer to them: She would work the shop two to three days a week, counseling people about framing, selling them of course, and she would display her work for sale at a reasonable rate that she would give twenty percent commission of the sale to the shop. She knew she was paid more than the other clerks because of her experience with framing and art, but reality told, she really did not do that much extra work to warrant the salary. Still, most of her income came from the sale of her paintings. They were fairly good—nothing special at this time in her career, but having the artist there and the customer seeing her “passion fire” often tipped the sale in her favor. She would be a force in the art world someday. When she was ready. Everybody said so. That and a dollar would get her a plain coffee with no trimmings at any fast-food joint. Maybe.
Just before the end of her shift at four, a delivery person entered. “Miss Lenora Dale?”
“That would be me,” she said with a frown. “Flowers?” Her eyes squinted and her lips pursed. She bet the flowers were from Gorilla Ned. Didn’t any of those jerks read the psychology books? Didn’t they know that most women were well aware that the flower gesture after a fight was just that—a gesture? And this was quite a bit more than a fight. It was assault. He wasn’t going to change, the apology wasn’t the truth, and she wasn’t that stupid. He could send a full-grown Oak tree and she would not feel any different. She casually touched her eye. No, nothing’s going to work this time, pal. I’ve learned the lesson. I’m moving on to whatever’s next.
The delivery boy didn’t look to be over 16. “Flowers for a lovely lady,” he said showing a face full of white teeth in a smile so wide, some would say it was comical. Clowns came to mind. But not the evil kind.
“Thanks.” Lenora’s tone was flat, nonplussed. Then, “Wait, I want to give you a tip.”
His smile became brighter (if that was possible). She had to grin inside. Just because she was in an “I hate all men” mode, didn’t mean she had to be rude to a fellow worker bee. She pulled a five from her purse beneath the counter and handed it to him as he set a plant situated in a pale purple container matching the flowers down on the counter. With five in hand, the boy made a quick exit, leaving her with not actually flowers, but a plant with pretty purple blooms. She pulled the tag from the dirt to see what it was before she bothered with the card.
Aconitum. Also known as Wolf’s Bane.
“Wolf’s Bane? He’s sending me Wolf’s Bane—that poisonous.” She paused, pulling the card from its stick holder. “Figures the Gorilla would send me poison.” She opened the card, ready to read, tear up, and drop in the trash can. Instead, she read:
Miss Lenora Ellen Dale:
Your presence is requested at the reading of the last will and testament for Sir Wellington Bradley on this Friday coming at 10am. You have been identified as an heir to the estate due to a short relationship between your mother, Eileen Christine Dale and Wellington Bradley with your birth as the result. A limousine will pick you up at your place of employment at 9am on Friday. Should you choose to forfeit your inheritance rights and refuse to attend this reading, please find this correspondence as formal notice that after your 25th birthday (in three months’ time), all desired help will be refused.
Sincerely,
Johns and Johns, Esquires
Attorneys for the late Wellington Bradley
Lenora stood there, her mind spinning. Her mother had died from cancer the prior year, and the only thing that she’d ever said about her father was that he had been an army soldier and had been killed while on a secret mission before Lenora had been born. The odd thing was that on her death bed, she’d said to Lenora, “I want to tell you something I haven’t told you about your father before I go.” Then she had promptly died. The death and birth of a mystery.
So what was this? Turning over the card and then looking at the envelope, she tried to discover some other clue. But she knew how this went. She’d call the florist and they would give her some nondescript answer advising that they did not know who or where or why. Still, she picked up the phone to make the call. Friday was only three days away.
*
Lenora was still thinking about the strange plant delivery as she walked along the running path that lined the lake near her workplace on her way home that afternoon. There was a light breeze that ruffled her long reddish-blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Water glistened sunshine as she noted the small row boats floating about. Sitting down on a bench overlooking the lake, she took in a deep breath of fresh air. How could a day like this, in a locale like this, have any kind of mystery attached to it? She had a nothing can go wrong feeling, even though just moments before there had been a gnawing intuition that something was about to happen that would change her life forever. She’d released that thought and just stared forward in contentment at the rippling water.
“Hello, Doll,” a voice said, uncomfortably close to her, making her jump and suck in her breath.
It was him. It was the lovely, wonderfully sexy man she’d seen looking in on her at the Framing Connection window front. But where had he come from? He’d certainly not been their just a moment before. Her eyes were wide as she studied him in the seconds it took for him to repeat his greeting, wondering if she’d picked up a stalker somehow.
“Hello, Doll…I was just passing by and saw you sitting here. I’ve seen you at the framing shop in town just this morning.”
Her voice left her, she’d been so startled, but it was not entirely the fright of circumstance that bothered her—that is, his seeming to pop in out of nowhere—but his dark brown eyes and hair, his desirable build, the soft sexy scent of his cologne. His clothing, however, was unusual for this day and age: He was dressed all in brown with cuffed pants (were they in style?) and a tan shirt and chocolate tie with a matching vest and jacket. Men just did not look like this in her experience. She was used to men in jeans and sandals, sometimes shirt, sometimes not. This was that kind of town. Three-piece suits didn’t happen in her world. He looked like a teacher.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s mostly right.”
Lenora frowned, lines crinkling her smooth skin. Had she said something? No…she hadn’t, but she’d better because she was beginning to look like a deranged woman on a bench with wide eyes and an inability to make any kind of sound.
“Hello…” she said slowly, discomfort in her tone. “You called me Doll? I’m nobody’s doll.”
“Sorry, Doll; oh, sorry again—habit. You looked in such deep thought.” He slid just a bit closer on the bench, becoming close enough to make her uncomfortable—not in her personal space, but nearly so.
“I did see you this morning and then you seemed to disappear. You should’ve come inside. We have quite a nice business if you’re in need of framing.”
“Or very good art, I’m told,” he added, again flashing a smile.
Lenora blushed a bit before glancing into his eyes. This was all so unnatural. It seemed as if she were drowning in his gaze. His smile was so calming and she felt so relaxed. Calm and relaxed…
Suddenly, her phone rang, and she snapped her attention away from his hypnotic eyes. Glancing down at her purse, she pulled her phone from the pocket just inside it. She noted that a full hour had passed since she’d taken her seat on the bench. An hour? How could I have been sitting here an hour? The phone stopped ringing and she merely dropped it back in the purse without even bothering to slide it into its slot or see who was calling. It was not important somehow… nothing was, except this exceptional man before her.
“Now where were we?” he asked her just above a whisper, leaning forward and then reaching forward to brush a strand of hair back that had loosened itself from her ponytail.
She pulled back, stammering as she looked about her uneasily. “Well, I don’t know, I seemed to have … spaced out or something.”
He just smiled again. “You’d just finished telling me about the time when you were 15, and you and your mother had gone hiking in Gettysburg at Devil’s Den. You’d fallen and busted open your knee…. We’d finished that story and you were about to tell me more of your thoughts about the reading of the will on Friday and how you thought that your mother must have hid a very big secret from you.”
Well, haven’t I told him the story of my life, she thought flatly.
“Uhmmmm,” was all she could manage.
“Well, I’m sure,” the man began, “that the reason you’ve told me about the will, is that you—“
“I don’t even know your name or anything about you….”
“Really?” he said with a laugh. “Who have I been talking to this last hour?” Then he frowned and she watched as his expression went from one of contentment to one of worry. “My name is Frankie. That’s what my friends always called me…my parents called me ‘Franklin’ because they always used that name when I was in trouble. And I was in trouble all the time.” He stopped for a moment. “You really don’t remember talking with me and me talking with you?”
Lenora shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m under more stress than I thought. I’ve had a bad encounter—a physical encounter—with my ex-boyfriend and maybe that…I mean, if what that note said was true, I’ve had a father for all these years that my mom lied about. Why would she do that? Maybe to keep me in good spirits in my youth, but now as an adult woman? What could this all be about?”
“You’re right of course,” Frankie replied. “I’ve heard of this type of thing before. Your mind is on autopilot and taking care of two things at once. Like hypnosis. Hypnotized by the radio, yet still carving a wood piece.”
“Hypnosis? Wood? Did you hypnotize me?” She kept her stare blank, but closely watched him with suspicious eyes. Who was this person, who out of nowhere, now seemed to be cognizant of very intimate details from her life? Details that she’d obviously given him.
“No, no, of course not. I’m not a hypnotist by any means. I have read a lot in my lifetime about many subjects. I’ve heard of a ‘break,’ if you will, during conversation in hypnosis, but I’ve never seen such a thing…exactly…” He glanced away from her eyes and down to his feet, his elbows resting casually on his knees. “It all has to do with misplaced energy. You need to harness energy so that you can always be in control of what is happening around you. You’re going to need to learn that.”
Lenora had not stopped looking at him. “What?” she asked. “Energy? What are you talking about?”
“Actually, what I meant was for you to pull your energy and all your resources together so that you can go to the reading of the will. You never know what you might learn. I’d be happy to tag along with you, if you’re nervous about going.” Frankie looked back up at her with the look of a helpful confidant. “I could wait in the car.” He paused. “And I’d be there if you needed me.”
Lenora stood up, took a step towards the lake, and stared across its expanse. “Thank you, Frankie. You helped me make up my mind. I will go, but I won’t need an escort.” She turned to him and smiled.
“Good, glad to be of assistance, Doll—”
She gave him a scowl that involved all the muscles in her face. “And what did you just call me again?
“Doll. Oh. Not that. The beautiful Lenora, with the bright blonde hair and the hypnotizing green eyes. I’m glad to be of help.” Then he stood, too. “I have to go now. My energy is—that is, I’m quite tired for some reason.”
At the sound of some overhead birds, Lenora turned back to the water to watch their antics. “I’m glad you stopped to sit with me,” she said and then turned back to him, “it’s been a pleasure—” But he was gone. Poof. Again. Looking up and down the path, the grassy landscape behind her, and then back to the lake, she mumbled, “How does he do that?”
Walking home to her apartment just under one-half mile from the framing shop, Lenora took her time, window shopping, chatting with those she knew from the town. She loved the small-town life, the intimacy of knowing everyone, understanding the intricate involvements that held each and every family, business, and person together. It was where she received her inspiration. True, most did not see her interpretation of abstract oils until she explained them, but that was part of the charm—to allow someone who otherwise would have no impression of the balances of the heart to actually come away with a scene, a feel, a love of art. Alanwood was such a town: the Mid-Atlantic at its best.
Her mind slipped back to Frankie as she walked, a strange man in many ways, but so appealing. She’d felt a pull towards him from the first moment. It was as though he had a hold on her soul and the ability to interconnect with her on a level not previously explored. It was nothing like the abnormal attraction she’d felt in the beginning for Gorilla Ned. This felt different. This felt light on air. This felt fun. But how could that be from just one meeting? And one she’d zoned out of for the most part.
She was passing the small ice cream shop now, situated on the other side of the street and thought momentarily about ending her work day with a cold treat. She stopped quickly, though, when she saw Frankie inside the very shop she’d been considering. He was standing at the counter, gazing down at all the flavors of ice cream. Was it a coincidence that she’d now seen him three times in one day? Looking down at her watch to check the time, she thought again of his brown eyes and hair…his charisma. And of the missing time she’d experienced in the park.
Noting that it was after five, she glanced back at the ice cream shop wondering what time the business closed. Frankie was no longer there. He wasn’t on the street that she could see either, as she quickly looked around. Poof, yet again. Had she really seen him?
It’s a good thing I’m not a private detective following him, because I’d be a poor one.
Lenora, deciding to skip the ice cream idea, set off again for home. Suddenly, she felt very tired and the idea of a nap was more appealing than the extra calories of a chocolate milk shake. It was as though she was zapped of her energy, an unusual feeling for her. Energy; there was that word again. Somehow that seemed important. She shook her head not having a clue why and moved again along the sidewalk.
Lenora lived in the bottom apartment of an old Victorian home. The basement (partially finished) and first floor were hers, as was the left-side country garden and yard outside in the back. There was a fence dividing the backyard so that the upstairs tenants could also have a calming outside experience when they chose. Currently, there were no other tenants in the house, so the old home felt a bit lonely and creaky.
The inside of her home was beyond delightful, though, with its small rooms that those in the past had used for varied venues. The owners had nicely restructured two rooms into one on the first floor for the living room, added a bathroom and a walk-in closet (that had formerly been a very small room). Just to one side of her cozy living room was another room that sported glass doors along one wall looking out into the living space via small window-paned double doors, giving it a quaint feel. Lenora used this room as her office and gallery room. Two other rooms had been structurally connected, giving her a nice-sized bedroom that had an entrance into the bathroom from both the living room and the bedroom. A nice tidy, but small, modernized eat-in kitchen (if two chairs around a tiny table counted as eat-in) was at the back of the house leading out to the covered porch and country garden. For the money, it was a steal. The elderly owners rented it reasonably to those they felt had the right demeanor, so they could find the very best people and then keep them. She’d lived there for nearly three years and never had a bit of trouble. Until Gorilla Ned, that is.
Lenora shivered. “What was that?” she said out loud. “Felt like someone dancing on my grave.” She looked around, but saw nothing in her living space that would give her an uncomfortable feeling. Walking aimlessly through her apartment, she tried to identify the reason for her discomfort. It felt as though she was being watched. Not just watched, however: watched by lots of people. The apartment was empty except for her, though, and such a consideration was way off-beat. “Interesting,” she whispered.
Finding oneself alone in a safe and comfortable place had a great deal to do with being safe and secure as a person. Lenora was just that, and that made any unusual feelings of this nature something to carefully consider—not that she’d ever had feelings like this before. They were alien to her. All her feelings, good or bad, went to canvas in color and drama. The world came alive via her hand-to-paint brush and paint brush-to-canvas. Stopping in the bedroom before her bed, Lenora noticed that it was slightly cold and the air seemed mobile without the ceiling fan or air on. Further, the cooler air was unusual because this was a room that tended to hold the heat. Great in the wintertime, but in the spring or summer, not so much.
A nap, she said to herself. That’s all I need. The shiver came from me being tired, and so I just need to lie down for a few moments. Then I’ll get up and do some painting. Lying down fully dressed, she pulled the lightweight bedspread from one side of the bed over top her as though she were a papoose wrapped in warmth. In seconds she could feel herself doze off, and it felt so delicious to drop into that land of inner knowing. Something tickled her nose, and her cheek itched giving her a shiver again. Even sleep felt odd today.
Suddenly, she felt the same strength that she’d felt the night that Gorilla Ned had come by to kick the daylights out of her. Hah! Turned the table on you, ol’ Ned. Next time you’ll think twice. Sleep began to take her, though the strength, in an armor-like cover, tightened around her. It was alive somehow with an energy that was made specifically for her, or so it seemed. Then it softened into…something else. There was a warm, inviting tremor that started at her temples and moved down her body, exiting at her toes. She thought, Oh, so nice; I’d like more of that. And more did come. Two, three, four waves of a delicious stroking of her soul. The energy seemed to be both inside her and outside, as well. Why have I never felt this before? she wondered. It’s criminal that I’m just now having this.
And then things changed again and she felt tendrils of power—for that’s the only word she could think of that could describe the warm waves of whatever it was sliding along her body. This time, though, they stopped at her collar and, like a lover, seemed to nestle there, blowing soft warm air and nibbling at the sensitive skin at the crevice of her neck and the even more sensitive ears. A small moan left her mouth in real time, not sleep time.
In moments, the waves were at her breasts, as though the material of her clothing was not protecting her from physical contact. She felt the tendrils wrap around them—both at the same time. She could feel licking and sucking, and her nipples grew hard and taunt. Then something cupped them like invisible hands, all the while the tips feeling wet and so very hard. She pulled in her breath: Harder, suck harder, came from her mind. And as though the invisible wave could hear her, suction on her nipples increased until she was writhing. But then the wave pulled back.
“No,” she whispered, “more; please don’t stop.”
It was then that she thought she heard a chuckle in her mind, not her own voice but that of another. A man. Someone she recognized. But the thinking left as quickly as the thought came. The wave was moving lower and her excitement began to rise, making her forget all else, suspecting and hoping for what would happen next.
A small voice that was her own inside her head had questions, though. What is this? Who is this? How is it happening, and why does it feel so real? Then small chittering sounds like white noise moved into her mind and she knew she needed to focus on the sounds. It was important somehow. So as the wave moved down, she followed the directions of the chittering. She spread her jean-clad legs and waited for the next delicious assault. The tendrils did not disappoint. She could feel them at first lapping at her outer private area (inside her clothing), somehow wet like a tongue, but stronger, more in control. As it latched on to the place where her pure raw emotion came from, her body arched. Whatever it was liked her reaction and she could feel the tendrils slide up inside her, deeper than she’d ever felt anyone at that entrance. At the same time, she found that there were also other tendrils and waves hooked to her breasts and other sensual parts, pushing and sucking and pulling. It was all happening at once, building her up to a climax that would surely kill her, it was so ravenous. And she desired it like nothing she’d ever wanted before. She wanted to shout out: Yes, yes!
As she was giving herself over to the luscious feelings, her head tilted to one side. She frowned—both in startled fear and because she did not understand what she was seeing. There was a scene in mid-air to the right of her bed, a place and time not of this place and time where she lived. It was like she was watching a movie. The tendrils continued, but they slowed, as though allowing her to experience what she needed to experience, what she needed to see.
Lenora saw another room, and there were two men in this room. They were dressed in formal three-piece suits. One was seated at a desk using what appeared to be an older computer-like typewriter device, tapping, tapping, tapping on the keys. Another man stood in front of him, but with his back to her bedroom. A supervisor maybe? Why, this is out of a time a long time ago… she thought. What the hell am I seeing?
It was then that the standing man turned towards her.
“Frankie!” she called out.
Other Romantic Mystery Titles
Available Now!
True Love: Finders Keepers was one of Rosemary Ellen Guiley's last projects before her death in July 2019 and is a fabulous exploration of love via varied women's stories of loss, fear, joy, and decision making. Real women making real life choices gave her these tales, and they jump off the page.
I was lucky enough to have Rosemary ask me to record the audio version (available on Audible and I-Tunes), and I enjoyed every moment. Below is a sample. I hope you'll look for it anywhere print and audio books are available.
I was lucky enough to have Rosemary ask me to record the audio version (available on Audible and I-Tunes), and I enjoyed every moment. Below is a sample. I hope you'll look for it anywhere print and audio books are available.
Available now!
Sweet Victory
Contemporary Romance
Relish the Deception
Tomorrow is the day for beginning a new career for Christina Lakely—the dream job. Confident and excited she is to embark upon the path to become a police officer. But as in all romantic situations for her, things do not go as she plans. She encounters a powerful and attractive man in a café—possibly the man of all her fantasies. Although he expresses avid interest in her and she is equally attracted to his rugged male qualities, Christina rebuffs his advances knowing that she will be spending all her precious time, energy, and thoughts toiling in the police academy.
But there are problems at the academy. There is someone there who doesn’t want her to graduate. There is someone who has the wrong idea about Christina Lakely—and the way she will live her upcoming days. Love, mystery, and real life collide in this romantic slingshot ride; but deception may be right around the corner. It always is…
Special Note: This is a contemporary romance and does not have paranormal aspects.
Tomorrow is the day for beginning a new career for Christina Lakely—the dream job. Confident and excited she is to embark upon the path to become a police officer. But as in all romantic situations for her, things do not go as she plans. She encounters a powerful and attractive man in a café—possibly the man of all her fantasies. Although he expresses avid interest in her and she is equally attracted to his rugged male qualities, Christina rebuffs his advances knowing that she will be spending all her precious time, energy, and thoughts toiling in the police academy.
But there are problems at the academy. There is someone there who doesn’t want her to graduate. There is someone who has the wrong idea about Christina Lakely—and the way she will live her upcoming days. Love, mystery, and real life collide in this romantic slingshot ride; but deception may be right around the corner. It always is…
Special Note: This is a contemporary romance and does not have paranormal aspects.
Could Be Aliens
A Romantic Mystery with a Sci Fi Twist
Officer Nick Goodwin has a problem. Not only has a smuggling ring set up shop in his district, but a fellow officer had turned up dead in the lake. So now Goodwin must infiltrate the neighborhood posing as an alien abduction victim to find the culprits. But who knew that in this disguise he would meet the woman of his dreams? A hard-boiled police whodunit of today—where aliens and people might interact tomorrow — and they shouldn't.
Saving Snuggums
Look out below.
Below the ground. Below the Earth.
This is where they roam…looking for their time in the light.
Bethany from our Earth and Keterick from the Middle Earth (yet to be discovered) have been given the task of capturing or killing pharmaceutical fiends before they slaughter everyone on and in the Earth. The two unlikely partners can’t let the abominations get through from below the ground. It won’t be easy to get the job done. It may be impossible: Obstacles at every turn. Phobias. Romantic entanglements. Travel that no one expected. Jobs for people out of character. It’s all overwhelming. But if they don’t overcome the strange issues plaguing them, then no one will be safe. Ever.
Saving Snuggums is horror, sci-fi, adventure, paranormal, romantic, and good-guys fighting bad-guy monsters kind of book. Time for you to get out your protest signs: Save the Earth from … Rats?! (That can’t be good.)
Oh, and then there’s Snuggums …
Contemporary Romance Coming Soon!
Stacy has a thankless job: it’s hot and sticky and not the way she wants to spend her life. Taking over the family dry-cleaning business didn’t leave much room for the glamour of the real world. Then one day, a handsome, sexy man brings an exasperating mystery to her door. Bradley Davis, an impressive but secretive lawyer, has left some classic photographs in his suit coat pocket when dropping it at Stacy’s shop. What follows is a baffling effort to find out what’s in the photos that has Brad so paranoid, why he hides his activities from Stacy (his new love), and—oh, there’s the “other woman” returned from Stacy’s past to cause widespread havoc. Deception and lies are at the forefront, and passion is the cover for some very dangerous encounters that have boats blowing up, guns being slung, and people who are not who they seem. Something’s got to give or Stacy will be in more trouble than she can handle this time. Still, everything comes out in the wash… even the clean kisses of love. Special Note: This is a contemporary romance and does not have paranormal aspects.
Stacy has a thankless job: it’s hot and sticky and not the way she wants to spend her life. Taking over the family dry-cleaning business didn’t leave much room for the glamour of the real world. Then one day, a handsome, sexy man brings an exasperating mystery to her door. Bradley Davis, an impressive but secretive lawyer, has left some classic photographs in his suit coat pocket when dropping it at Stacy’s shop. What follows is a baffling effort to find out what’s in the photos that has Brad so paranoid, why he hides his activities from Stacy (his new love), and—oh, there’s the “other woman” returned from Stacy’s past to cause widespread havoc. Deception and lies are at the forefront, and passion is the cover for some very dangerous encounters that have boats blowing up, guns being slung, and people who are not who they seem. Something’s got to give or Stacy will be in more trouble than she can handle this time. Still, everything comes out in the wash… even the clean kisses of love. Special Note: This is a contemporary romance and does not have paranormal aspects.