Across the Realm: Life Always Finds a Way is a story of the clash of two advanced civilizations. In the North, Humans live under a defined system of segregation and rely strongly on science, while in the South, the physically evolved humans live communally and are under the guidance of a deity they call “Mother.”
Separating these two and their land masses is a boiling sea and an impenetrable Southern Force Field. The two sides have been at war for longer than a century and now their planet is facing a catastrophe neither one can handle without the other.
A DIFFERENT KIND OF READ REVIEW
There are several literary genres in Across the Realm: Life Always Finds a Way. Let’s start with Science Fiction, the book’s main genre. The year is 2077 and once again, the North and the South are at war. However, this time the whole world is involved. For decades? Centuries? Millenia? Well, at least yesterday, these two enemies have been trying to invade each other’s hemisphere. One to conquer and stop the war, the other to take over and control them. Even to the point of making them…I can’t say it. This, you will have to find out for yourself. Now, pan over to Greg, the commander of the Northern Hemisphere, as he sits in a room watching a video. In it, Naledi jumps three floors into the air and makes a perfect landing on a corridor up above. Fascinated, Greg watches the video over and over again. Not because of what she has done, but because he finds her beautiful. Thus begins the Romance. Wait, how and where did he get these pictures and who or what is a Nedge? More importantly, what is the catastrophe they are about to face? Ahhh! That is the Mystery of Across the Realm: Life Always Finds a Way. Let us not forget those boiling waters . . . what is it about them or should I say, what is in them? A little Fantasy perhaps! Now for the Adventure—hmmm, I’ll leave that for you to discover.
What makes Across the Realm, Life Always Finds a Way a UNIQUE read is that all of the Genres mentioned above are seamlessly tied together to make an astounding, amazing, mind-boggling, surprising, wondrous story. What makes it ETHNIC is the people of Earth.
Across the Realm: Life Always Finds a Way is recommended for Young Adults 16 plus and Adults
BIO – Isobel Mitton is a Canadian writer born to an African American mother and an African father. She spent most of her life living in other people’s countries. An avid storyteller, she insists that is how she wants to be remembered when she dies. She is a proud nerd and wants people to know that beauty goes with brains!Isobel didn’t choose to be a writer. Writing chose her. In her novels, she seeks to entertain, excite, grip your attention for hours on end and give you food for thought. She wants desperately to take you out of the mundane and into the stars of scifi/fantasy where anything and everything is possible. She is an avid writer of scifi/fantasy novels, comics and screenplays.
She hopes one day to the able to write music and to that end, she is teaching herself how to play an acoustic guitar.
She really hates talking about herself and her past achievements and so she will stop boring the world right now. Besides, there is nothing in her past that beats the present or the future.
Her one wish is that many people read her work. They don’t have to buy it. They just have to read it, because she is a story teller. It is her one true purpose in life.
To find out more about her work and to connect with her personally, check out http://www.acrosstherealm.com
She can also be found on Twitter: https://twitter.com/IsobelMitton
And instagram: IsobelMitton
And Facebook: Isobel Mitton
See you there if you want to part of her crazy self.
Mackenzie Clair is looking for a fresh start. She thinks she’ll find it in her favorite childhood vacation spot, but returning to Donn’s Hill awakens more than nostalgia. Mac regains a lost psychic ability to talk to the dead, and the poltergeist haunting her apartment is desperate to make her use that gift to find his killer.
Aided by her new roommate—a spirited Tortoiseshell cat named Striker—and the ghost-hunting crew of the nationally televised show Soul Searchers, Mac struggles to learn how to use her powers, but she’d better get a handle on them fast, because someone in town is hiding a deadly secret. If Mac can’t somehow divine the truth, Donn’s Hill will never be the same.
A DIFFERENT KIND OF READ REVIEW
Donn’s Hill opens with a bang. Within the first seven pages, the mystery starts. Not in the usual way with the police, a little old lady, or a high profile detective looking at the body and trying to find clues. No, this story starts with Mackenzie Clair, a twenty-seven-year-old woman sleeping in a hotel bed.
Yes, the hotel is sleazy, rundown, and there was a lingering odor of stale cigarettes, but the room was clean and the price was right. Deep into sleep, she is startled by the weight of an intruder as he sits down on the side of her bed.
He makes no sounds, she can’t even hear him breathing, but she knows he’s there because she can smell a foul odor like rotting garbage. What does he want? Why doesn’t speak? Is he holding his breath? She is. After several minutes, she finally gets the nerve to turn on the lights. Her room is empty. What! Did she…? Wait! I’ve got to stop here. You’ve got to discover the rest for yourself. You won’t be disappointed.
Donn’s Hill is a paranormal mystery adventure. What makes it a UNIQUE read is the plot. While there are no twists, finding the killer is possible but impossible at the same time. THAT IS SOOOO GOOD!
Donn’s Hill is recommended for Adults and Young Adults 16 and above.
BIO – Caryn Larrinaga is a Basque-American mystery, horror, and fantasy writer living in Utah with her husband and cats. Despite obtaining a degree in Anthropology (which is much cooler than you might think), she explored several career paths before deciding that she had to follow her passion. Suddenly, writing fiction was the only thing that made sense.
Watching scary movies through split fingers terrified Caryn as a child and inspires her to write now. She lives in a 90-year-old house with a colorful history, and the creaking walls and narrow hallways send her running (never walking) up the stairs from her basement whenever she has no other choice but to go down there. Exploring her fears through writing makes Caryn feel a little bit less foolish for wanting a buddy to accompany her into the tool shed.
When her fingers aren’t glued to her laptop keyboard, Caryn also enjoys binge-watching superhero television shows, reading, playing video games, and filling up her phone’s flash memory with pictures of her cats. She loves music, and plays the bass guitar.
Caryn is an active member of the League of Utah Writers and the Utah Chapter of the Horror Writers Association.
THE AGE OF MYTHS & LEGENDS BOOK ONE: MONSTERS Written and Illustrated by T. D. HILL
Drawn from the myths and legends of the first inhabitants of North America, the delightful tales, collected for this book series, not only offer insights into tribal character and beliefs, but they also celebrate the diverse tribal traditions of rich and powerful cultures that are still relevant today.
Beautifully illustrated throughout, this book holds an amazing collection of tales concerning the many evil creatures that once haunted the dreams and nightmares of the Indigenous tribes of North America. Told in an enchanting, yet unencumbered style, this collection seeks to shed light upon the richness, wisdom, grace, and depth of the North American tribal cultures and their timeless myths and legends.
A DIFFERENT KIND OF READ REVIEW
There’s nothing more thrilling than sitting with family and/or friends around a campfire, in front of a fireplace, on a couch or simply lying the floor with bent knees crossed and elbows supporting your wide-eyed face as you listen to an ancestral story of your family’s past. What makes the story even more intriguing is when you get to share someone else’s past. This time, I had the privilege of reading and learning about the myths and legends of the American Natives populating the United States of America.
The Age of Myths & Legends – Book One: Monsters presents stories about giants, ogres, wolves, mermaids, witches, sea creatures, and little people just to name a few. Did I say little people you ask? Yes, I did. Little people can be quite vicious, I have so many stories about them, but alas, I’m not talking about my history—I’m talking about The Age of Myths & Legends- Book One: Monsters. Of course there was that group of little people who weren’t vicious. In fact, they were quite interesting as they—oh, I can’t tell you about that one. I’m going to have to let you read it yourself, because I want to tell you about Skunny Wundy who encountered a Stone Giant in my favorite legend of the book.
Skunny Wundy was a master storyteller. You see, he liked to embellish his stories. However, instead of elaborating the story’s details, he liked putting himself in it. Yes, he was better known as a braggart. Now, for some reason, this only bothered the Hoya’nê (the most powerful man in the village.) You see one day, he questioned him. “Skunny Wundy! What would you do if you saw a Stone Giant?” Without hesitation, Skunny Wundy smiled and replied, “Why I would break every bone in the giant’s body! I would tear off his arms and legs!… The Stone Giants fear me. Just one mention of my name would cause them to flee in terror!”
I am so sorry, I can’t tell you the rest of this story other than the fact that it is very hilarious and it alone is worth the price of the book. Naturally, The Age of Myths and Legends – Book One: Monsters is an ETHNIC read because of its diverse characters.
The Age of Myths & Legends – Book One: Monsters is recommended for All Ages. Now, there are some stories that may be a little scary and/or mature for younger audiences, so parental discretion is advised. However, there are some great bedtime stories, so snuggle up and enjoy.
BIO – Author/Illustrator: T.D.Hill (Wichita, Kiowa, Pawnee) is a Native American writer, artist, and motivational speaker. Much of his writing draws upon his experiences as an Indigenous American with ancestry from several tribes. He grew up in Southwestern Oklahoma and now lives in Austin, Texas.
He can be reached at: NATIVE TALES
EVEN MUMMY CRIES NAOMI HUNTER ILLUSTRATED BY KAREN ERASMUS
Even Mummy Cries is a gentle book which explores issues surrounding mental health and wellbeing. It is reassuring in nature, explaining to children that they are not to blame for any sadness experienced by their parents. In addition, it encourages parents to openly express their sadness with their kids without feeling guilt or shame.
This important book is the sophomore release from ABIA nominated author Naomi Hunter.
A DIFFERENT KIND OF READ REVIEW
Sometimes it’s hard to understand how your mother or father is playful and fun with you one moment and then screaming, hollering, or crying the next. It’s hard to understand because it’s scary and you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. Even Mummy Cries that addresses the issue that it’s not your fault. Sometimes, as we have things that bothers us, making us sad, angry or frustrated, we lash out or cry.
It is the same thing for our parents. It’s just that they try not to do it in front of us. But, when things happen that they can’t fix away from our eyes, they break down; and Even Mummy Cries shows you some of the things you can do to help them. What makes Even Mummy Cries a UNIQUE read is that it gives parents an opportunity to explain a scary situation.
I wrote this review primarily for kids who might be experiencing a confusing situation with their parent. However, I really feel that this is a book that parents should read with their children in the hope that is opens the door for conversation and/or help. That being said, this book is recommended for All Ages.
Naomi Hunter’s debut picture book, ‘A Secret Safe to Tell’, was released in 2014 and earned her a nomination in the Australian Book Industry Award (ABIA) as well as the Australian Speech Pathology Awards. She has an Honours Bachelor Degree in Primary Education and enjoys writing about sensitive topics in a way to bring about freedom, love and warmth, empowering readers with effective communication and dialogue in which to discuss difficult issues.
Karen Erasmus is a freelance illustrator based in Melbourne. Other books include You’re Different Jemima, Annabel s Chewy-Gooey Birthday Cake and Five Little Platypuses.
With a wink and a nod to such movie greats as Thelma & Louise and The Breakfast Club,Snapshots at the Fontaine Motel is about six eighteen-year-old friends in 1996 who seek immediate revenge after one of them is brutally attacked. But when their vigilante justice accidentally leaves the attacker dead, they flee Michigan to save their own lives as the FBI inches dangerously close. While hiding out in an isolated Oklahoma motel, they discover not only themselves, but find love and uncover shocking deadly secrets that will change everything and threaten the very lives they’re frantic to protect!
A DIFFERENT KIND OF READ (REVIEW)
Snapshots at the Fontaine Motel intertwines romance and mystery seamlessly. Although the clues are very subtle, they lead to some very powerful and wicked twists. The story is about six teenagers who have been friends since grade school. When they discover that one of them has been raped by the school bully, five of them decide to take matters into their own hands, and the results are… Ahhh, I almost said too much. To continue, things aren’t always as they seem, and here’s where the twisting and turning begins with an astounding intensity. When it’s all over, the outcome gives you one of those,“Humph I didn’t see that comin moments!”
There are two UNIQUE things about Snapshots at the Fontaine Motel. One is the way television shows, movies, and music from the 1990’s was included. Sometimes as a reference and at other times as part of the story. The other thing was the way you were drawn into the different romance stories of both Jill and Matt.
The elevator doors closed and, with their mirror finish on the inside, Holly inspected her disguise carefully. The red wig, covering her own graying hair, looked natural. It should for the price she paid. And the tasteful navy pantsuit fit the image perfectly, all very professional. Just as she wanted it. Her clipboard looked official, her gloves, the case. Everything in place.
It really is a shame it’s come to this.
The bell rang as the elevator stopped on the ninth floor, and Holly’s reflected image split in half as a hallway opened up before her. Near the end of the hall was a cart of cleaning supplies. Just what she had been looking for.
On top of the cart was a small transistor radio. Probably Japanese, she thought. They’re always making electronic trinkets these days. Blasting out of the little speaker were the opening bars of ‘Gimme Shelter’. Out of the open door next to the cart came a kid who looked like just the type to be listening to that noise: a greasy-haired young man, whose vacant stare snapped into surprise when he saw her. His name tag read ‘Joey’.
“Is something wrong, ma’am?” he said, looking at her bag and clipboard, his right hand clutching his spray bottle, while his left held a damp rag.
“Not at all,” she said, “you’re just in the room I’m to inspect. I trust the front desk was correct in saying that it’s not occupied?” “Oh yeah, it’s totally empty. Just got done cleaning it myself, so there shouldn’t be anything wrong on the inspection, ma’am.”
Joey looked nervous. She couldn’t have a nervous kid getting in her way.
“My inspection has nothing to do with your cleaning, Joey, though I’m sure you’ve done a fine job. This concerns California State Regulations on hotel rooms. An associate of mine will be up here shortly, as well.”
He nodded his head in understanding, his long hair flopping around as he did so. Where did they hire these people? “No problem, ma’am. You have a good time with your inspecting, then.”
He went on about his business, nodding, and listening to those Rolling Stones of his, taking his cart further down the hall to a room on the other side. It really is a wonder, she thought, how easy it was to get past him. Is a clipboard and pantsuit all it takes for these bums?
The room was 918. She went in, closed the door with her gloved hand, locked it, and sat her black, faux-leather case down on the bureau. She took note of where everything was. The window was across from the door, and at this height, and time of day, it was very unlikely anyone would be able to see inside from the street.
Scanning the room, she took notice of one of the beds. She strained as she lifted up the mattress without disturbing the newly-laid linens as best she could, which were of a garish red. Another stroke of good luck. If any blood should get on them, it would probably not even be noticed, provided it was blotted away quickly. Underneath the bed and box spring was ample space for his small frame, and with the bed skirt across the bottom, nobody would see anything.
In the bathroom were fresh towels, which she gathered up and sat on the bed. Two large ones, two hand towels, and four washcloths. All of them orange. It would probably be enough. It would have to be, in any case. The throw-pillow was dense and thick, which was good. She figured that if he sat on the bed, facing the window, the shot would exit his head and end up somewhere in the corner where a small hole likely wouldn’t be found.
Quickly, she looked outside to see if the No. 6 bus was pulling up. Checking her watch, she still had six and a half minutes, and that’s if it were exactly on time. Ten minutes, then.
Holly went back to her case and unzipped it. From it she pulled the Beretta 70, its magazine, and a silencer. She double-checked the chamber. A gun is always loaded, especially when it isn’t. Seeing that it was clean, with smooth action, she screwed on the silencer, inserted the magazine, and pulled back on the slide to bring one .32 ACP round into the chamber, waiting to do its grim business in less than twenty minutes, give or take.
She hid the gun carefully under one of the pillows near the towels, where Stan wouldn’t see it. Handle toward her for ease of access. Everything was in place.
She would fire, catch his head on the pillow, and wrap the towels around him to stop the blood from getting everywhere. Then, difficult as it would be, she’d get his body under the bed, hope that the gunshot – though suppressed – wouldn’t have aroused suspicion, and make sure everything looked completely normal. With the satchel of money and her own black case, she would exit the room, head straight for the elevator, and leave Los Angeles. And good riddance.
Standing by the window, she had nothing else to do but wait for the bus to come.
One of the new 71 Cadillacs drove by. Bright, shining red. Maybe she’d get one of those when she’d settled down and the smoke cleared.
After all, it was the least Stan could do for her after those years, all those things they’d done. It’s not like she’d even wanted to do it, but he was always so persuasive. “Just think of the quality of life,” he’d say when talking about the ransom money, “no more worrying about anything at all. You’ll have your balcony, overlooking the ocean, fresh sea breeze filling our lungs. It’s all within our reach, honey!”
And, stupidly, she believed it. That persuasiveness was one thing she was happy to have learned from him, and it almost made her laugh that it would be used against him.
The business was far too serious, and far too prone to go wrong for her to start laughing now. If she was to have any freedom, any of life of her own, any kind of distance between past and future, then everything had to go one way and one way only. Sure, part of her hoped that he’d been caught at the drop off. But knowing him, he’d pin her as an accomplice and soon the police would be on her, too. At least she wouldn’t go down alone.
Either way, if he didn’t come off of that bus with satchel in hand, she would leave the hotel immediately and drive for as long and far as she could. She would not be taking any chances.
At 4:12, the bus finally arrived. White with its thin red and yellow stripes across the middle, it stood out among all the other traffic like a big white whale. Several people got off, while Holly looked intently. She counted the people getting off. Three, four, five – where is he? Other people are already beginning to get on. For a second, it was beginning to look like she would need to resort to plan B, but just as a group of three old women were stepping on, there went Stan, awkwardly pushing past them on his way out, satchel in hand.
Holly felt a coldness run through her as she saw him, and once he was close enough to the hotel, she put the radio up to her mouth.
“I’m in room 918,” she said.
He gave a little wave to show that he’d heard her through his earpiece and went into the hotel lobby below her.
Another quick inspection of the room, another ‘play-though’, in her mind of where she would stand, what she would say, and how she would direct him. She breathed heavily, feeling for the first time that it may actually work.
There was a knock at the door a few minutes later. Holly saw Stan through the peephole and opened the door for him, locking it back up after he brushed past her. He was out of breath and sweating in his stark black suit.
“Did you take the stairs up here?” she asked.
“No,” he said, “it’s just nerve-wracking carrying this thing around.”
He slumped the old, brown leather satchel on one of the beds and proceeded to open it. If it was all accounted for, Holly was looking at $750,000 in cash.
“You can see if it’s all there,” he continued, wiping his face with his handkerchief. “I obviously didn’t have any time to count it since the drop. I gave it a quick looking-through to make sure it wasn’t just a few hundreds on top with nothing below. I wasn’t followed, as best I could tell. No funny business like last time, but still, I shouldn’t have chosen a bus. You know, taking public transportation in this town with all of this was taking an awful risk, Holly.”
Indeed, it had been a ridiculous idea, but he was so certain, at the time, that it was better than having a car that could be recognized and remembered. She’d argued against it, but he was already set in his mind. Nothing else she could do.
“Then why did you do it?”
“I couldn’t think of anything else and we were running out of time. But shit, Holly, you have no idea how many people were staring at that case. We’re going to have to rethink our whole system after this one, that’s for sure. This haul will give us plenty of time, though.”
“Just as soon as we figure out where we’re going,” she said. He let out a heavy sigh.
“Holly, why do you think we’re here? Have you been doing anything at all today except sitting around and waiting for me to come? We’re supposed to be a team, remember? And if you can’t get your head together on this, then we’re going to have a problem. A serious problem.”
Holly got up and shut the case, taking it off the bed and making note of how he was sitting, which was facing the bureau with his hands folded. He wasn’t in a good enough spot and she’d have to move him.
“We can discuss it right now,” she said. “Clearly you haven’t thought of anything, either, other than your famous ‘drive to Mexico’ plan, which I’m almost certain is nowhere near as easy as you make it out to be.”
“Damn it! Will you quit hounding me on that? How am I supposed to get anything done if you’re going to be here shooting down every idea I have?”
“And how are we supposed to not attract attention with you yelling like this? Keep your voice down, Stan. It’s dangerous.”
He let out another impatient breath. “Why do I even bother asking you? It would be much simpler if I just took a map and found a place on my own. But no, you have to have some say in it, too. And you absolutely insist on everything waiting until the very last minute. How’s that for dangerous?”
Holly sat down on the bed next to him and lit herself a cigarette.
“You and I both know,” she said, blowing smoke into the rest of the room, “that if you think about something for too long, you worry yourself to death and are liable to make a mistake. I’d give you more time if you could be trusted with it, Stan.”
Stan shook his head as he stared off blankly at the wall.
“You don’t think that having to risk our freedom, and my life, on these pick-ups isn’t enough to earn your trust? Holly, you know I love you, but let’s just get this over with and be done with it. I can’t handle this any more. I don’t even know why I listen to you in the first place!”
Stan got up and paced around the room, wiping his face with his hands in frustration. She couldn’t use this. She had to get him to sit in just the right spot, otherwise one little slip-up could ruin the whole thing. Her stomach was already in a knot, and with every little nervous tic from him, it twisted that much more.
“First you’re going to have to calm down,” she said. “I am calm!”
“You know you need to calm down before we talk about something serious. You need to pay exact attention, remember everything clearly, and be willing to keep your cool when it’s time to act. Right now, though, you’re too agitated, and when people get agitated, they make mistakes. And when people like us make mistakes, it all falls apart. You understand?”
Stan nodded, but he still kept pacing and looking off into space. She got up, snuffed the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, and held him in her arms. Even having to do so felt strange to her, as though through her touch he’d feel what it was she was going to do to him. Would he feel her nervousness? Would he react and somehow see her betrayal?
But he didn’t. He softened in her touch, even as far as letting her take off his jacket, and she knew that’s when she could guide him. “I want you to sit down,” she said, indicating one edge of the bed nearest the window, “and look out there.”
Despite the impatience on his part, Stan did as he was instructed.
“So what am I supposed to be looking at?”
“Just relax, Stanley. I know you’re upset, and I know this has been terrible and difficult, but you have to let yourself be calm. I want you to breathe slowly, and look out the window.”
Stan’s breathing began to slow, and she watched him intently. The wrong movement at the wrong time could throw everything off.
“Look out there,” she said, pointing through the window, “what do you see?” “The sky?”
“And what’s significant about that sky?”
“I don’t know, it’s just the sky. It’s clear, I guess.”
“Exactly,” she said, inching towards the pillow on the other bed behind him. “It’s clear, and if you let yourself feel clear, then your future will be clear.”
He swung around quickly to look at her, which made her heart skip a beat. She showed nothing on her face. “Have you been talking with that hippy kid outside?”
She smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Keep looking, Stanley. You need to have a clear head or else this whole thing may come crashing down on us. Do you trust me?”
There was an uncomfortably long pause between her question and his answer, which made her blood run cold.
“Yeah,” he said, turning back to the window, “sorry.”
“It’s all right. Just keep looking out there. Or close your eyes. Whichever. Just imagine how nice it’ll be when we’re off in some little town where no one knows who we are, not having to worry about a single thing, because it’s all done. It’s all behind us, without anyone to tell us what to do, where to go, or anything.”
She saw his eyes close as he breathed much more slowly. Without any more hesitation, she gripped the handle of the Beretta 70 in her right hand, and took the pillow firmly in her left. His eyes were still closed. The angle would be just about right.
“Can you see it?” she said, as she raised the gun and pillow into position.
“Yeah,” he said, “I think I can.”
The time had come, as though everything had come down and converged on this one point, with all signs blaring and flashing to do it.
Don’t waste any more time.
Don’t let him turn around, just do it.
As she put her finger on the trigger, there was the sound of the lock being opened and within a second, the greasy-haired cleaning kid came barging through the room.
“Sorry guys, I just forgot my—“
Without thinking, Holly instinctively swung the pistol around and fired at the kid.
The report from the suppressed pistol was still loud, like a car door being slammed, but far quieter than it would have been otherwise.
Two shots missed as he scrambled out the door, but one hit him square in the shoulder. At least that’s what it looked like for what brief a time she saw him. And for a split second, she forgot about Stan.
Suddenly, there was a hand around hers, and she felt Stan up against her, pushing his weight against hers, trying with all his might to wrest the gun away from her.
“What the hell are you doing!?” he yelled as they fell to the floor.
In the struggle, two more shots rang out, one hitting the bed and another shattering the sink in the bathroom. For the tiniest moment, she could see the silencer smoking.
He slammed her hand against the bureau until she finally let go of the pistol. He kicked it away, and though she made a lunge for it, he was already there to knock her, stunned, across the room, where she hit the wall hard.
“So this is how you thank me, huh?” he said, as he got up to his feet, picked up the gun, but saw that it had somehow jammed. He tried to free the slide, but to no avail, and threw the gun into the hallway. “Son of a bitch!”
At this point, Holly knew that it was over, but that was clearly not the case for Stan. His eyes were wild as he darted for the satchel of cash, running out of the room so haphazardly that he even slammed his shoulder into the doorway before racing off down the hall.
Her face stung, but there was more than that. All of the anxiety was long gone. Even the adrenaline from what had just happened was starting to fade, and what she was left with was a confusing emptiness that she didn’t know how to deal with. On top of that, the awkward aftermath was coming down on her, with people in the hallway clamoring to help the young man who had been shot, while hotel security came in to find her sitting in the corner where she’d landed. Once they were there, though, they didn’t seem to know what to do, and just stood watch until the police came.
Stan was caught three blocks away. He’d overestimated his ability to run, especially from two young officers who were more than happy to bring him down. He put up a childish fight, but lost quickly. That’s the way the mind gets in a panic, though, Holly reflected. She, on the other hand, went in calmly and with no words, no melodrama.
It was definitely a kindness on the part of the police to put them in separate cars as they went to the station, though. Looking out the window of the police car, she watched everything go by, the hotel as it disappeared, the cars shining more brightly now, for some reason, and people who had no idea what was going on. And still with that strange emptiness inside, knowing that it would be a very long time before she’d ever be out on a city street again. If ever.
But among all of that, there was something else. It was small, and wasn’t calling much attention to itself, but it was there. At the very least, she wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore. Wouldn’t have to listen to his ridiculous goals, go through with his terrible plans, or even see him again. In that way, she felt that she still got what she wanted. And that was infinitely more than what could be said for him. So, she smiled.