If you're here looking for my entry in the Broken Hearts Blogfest: it's here.
This blogfest is hosted by the lovely Hart Johnson (Watery Tart).
This blogfest is hosted by the lovely Hart Johnson (Watery Tart).
As the Title suggests one has the opportunity to kill off somebody at will - in a literary sense!
Below is a snippet taken from a romantic thriller, one in which terrible heartbreak and worse to come will haunt the MCs every waking and sleeping hour: it starts with scene in London house.
He paused directly in front of her, and with his left hand raised hers and kissed the eternity ring given to her the night before; a big grin on his face. ‘I reckon your answer will be a resounding yes, seeing as you’re wearing the ring.’ He dashed for the front door, and momentarily hovered with door still ajar. ‘I know you, Cassie, know what you’re thinking. And for all your cool persona, you’re still as hot as hell for Jamie Douglas.’ He blew a kiss, added, ‘I won’t be late, that’s a promise.’
As he slammed the front door behind him she again turned to pick up the vase. At the same time she noticed his wallet on the hallstand. To pick it up and rush after him wholly instinctive. Upon opening the door she looked to her right and there he was, eight cars distant and about to get into the vehicle.
Directly she called his name and held the wallet aloft split second mutual understanding fused between them; he’d grab it in passing. There was something else too, reflected in his smile. Something she hadn’t been able to resist since the day they’d first set eyes upon each other.
Cassie heard the car’s engine purring, guessed Jamie was readjusting the seat for the vehicle remained in situe. She stepped forward in readiness to descend the steps to the pavement below, a girlish flush rising to her cheeks at his remembered words in the hallway.
A second chance at happiness was better than divorce, surely, even if from time to time he still disappeared at a minutes notice . . .
After all, he had sworn – only yesterday – that divorce would never keep them apart for long, even if she filed for one. And if she ran away it would be as good as shooting him in the head.
Terribly dramatic, utter blackmail too, but highly effective when applied with: ‘What more can I say to convince you that I love you, always have, and always will, Mrs. Douglas’.
She once more glanced toward her car. Jamie had reversed it a little and the vehicle by now moving out from between parked cars.
The unthinkable happened.
An explosive blast rocked the crescent.
The car doors were blown outward and the vehicle rose into the air.
Shock waves slammed into parked cars and nearby houses; window frames splintered and hail of glass rained down all around.
Engulfed in a ball of flames the vehicle fell to earth a mangled heap of metal.
‘No, No,’ she screamed but couldn't hear the words.
Hell had just risen before her eyes and nothing remotely human able to survive the macabre scene before her, yet here she was alive, virtually untouched by the blast.
From the moment their eyes met in that brief exchange prior to the explosion she’d made the decision to tell him the answer to his question immediately upon his return. Her preferred terms would have been strongly disputed but adhered to all the same, because no matter how much water had flowed under shaky bridges neither had burned any.
He’d said the night before: ‘The last thing I want is for either to give up on the other’.
Not once had he used the children as a weapon in his defence to remain head of the household. He’d also striven to regain her trust, his case put forth, and her decision had remained in the balance. She’d done that partly as punishment for the heartache and tears and long nights spent with only the children for company, and for all the times she’d been left pondering the dangers he must have been facing in far distant places.
Immobilised, numbed, fingers toying with Jamie’s wallet, she voiced, ‘I’ll always love you, and you did guess right.’
Faces appeared at shattered windows and people spilled onto the street, as black pall of smoke billowed ever upward. Every movement around seemed to have slid into slow motion as nausea and faintness washed over her. In the far distance wailing sirens . . .
With blood trickling and tears cascading like red rain down her face she glanced to her left. There was suddenly overt police presence. Several fire officers dashed past her; and she noted a paramedic and a policewoman walking toward her.
Why, why did he have to die like this?
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