It’s been a while since I’ve teased you with some new content…

I have an awesome new short story that I am submitting for a possible July edition to the magazine Wordpeddler’s Society.

This isn’t the full story, so don’t be upset. This is just a teaser:

FAST BY THE FADING LIGHT

“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”

The words echoed in his head. They haunted him and floated behind his closed eyes. His head throbbed with an ache at the back of his skull. Waves of nausea followed closely behind the painful pulses. The rest of his body felt non-existent and insubstantial. His limbs bobbed in icy water at his side and were numb. 

With an unbelievable amount of effort and will, he opened his eyes. Wind-swept tree canopies whipped about in all directions above him. They blocked out the evening’s dark skies. Patches of flickering orange flames were growing among the leaves. They jumped randomly from branch to branch. Curled, torched leaves fell among ashes in the air, slowly drifting toward him. 

His eyes were focusing in and out upon the danger, but his mind could not connect the dots. Where was he? …Who was he? 

He lifted his head a couple of inches to survey the area. A flowing channel, no, a rapid river stream, ran past his little rest stop. Somehow, his unconscious body had been carried into a shallow, branch-clustered inlet. His tall frame was snagged on several branches. 

Trees on both sides of the stream were brimming with fire. The sound of crackling and popping wood grew louder than the river’s babble.

“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”

Those words weighed down on him again. What did they mean? Who made that threat? Why? He fought the panic and tried to calm the brewing storm inside his head. 

“It’s gotta come back to me. I’m sure it will,” he said aloud. His voice was raspy and barely an audible whisper.

Water splashed and filled his mouth. He sputtered, coughed uncontrollably, and tried to sit up. The water was too deep and too crowded with branches for that. His left arm felt heavy and trapped under the surface.

Yanking it free, he discovered it was handcuffed. The other end was locked about the wrist of a severed hand! 

OH GOD! WHAT HAVE I GOT MYSELF INTO? He screamed inside, his arms pinwheeling in the water as he tried by reflex to get away from the bloody remains. It did no good, and the appendage now floated among the waves inches from his face.

The stump severed inches down the wrist was cut clean and precisely. Most likely with a sharp knife or tool. It was a deliberate act with no signs of hesitation marks. The nails were well-maintained and polished with a peach cream color. The fingers were slender and unblemished. It was a woman’s. 

Whose? I should know! Who was I handcuffed to? He shook his head slowly. His world was a blended mess of questions and surreal surroundings. 

The area around the inlet flashed as a series of gusts stoked the flames, and more trees caught fire. Smoke rolled in with the wind and choked the air. He pulled himself free of the mire of the mystery. A larger piece of a rotted tree trunk bumped into his legs. 

Yes, time to go, he answered the log as he kicked the piece free of the other branches. Then he curled his arms around a knot at the top of it. This would keep his head above the waves. He continued to kick with his legs to propel himself out of the bay of branches and head further downstream. Unfortunately, this carried him deeper into the heart of the forest fire.

Moments later, his own heart seized up as he spotted a tattered white blouse with gold lace trim. It partially dipped into the edge of the stream. Blood-spray and obvious patches of red blood soaked a good portion of the right side of it.  

A stretch of sandbar on his side of the riverbed peaked up among the waves. It was only a few yards from the blouse. A green-sequined skirt lay in the watery mud ahead. Next to it, a crumpled, faux-leather boot lay abandoned.  

I know that dress somehow… 

Using all his remaining strength, he scooped water with one arm, guiding the log to beach itself upon the sandbar. So far, the forest fire had spared most of the area. 

In the shallow few inches of water that flowed over the sandbar, he fought to get back to his feet, but it was a short victory. His vision suddenly blurred as the world seemingly spun out of control. A minute or two passed. The world slid back into place, and he rose even slower out of the water.

His head pulsed once again like rolling thunder. He pulled his right arm from the water and rubbed the back of his head. This only caused another sudden spike of pain. Snatching his hand back, he discovered his fingers were dripping with fresh red blood. More pain accompanied the effort. Gingerly, his fingers explored the back of his head and found a nasty gash that crossed the back of his skull under the nest of dark brown hair.

That might explain why I can’t remember anything, he thought. Then he patted his legs and discovered a black leather wallet jammed into a pair of dark blue slacks.

Inside on a laminated card, Nicholas Allen Troy stared up at him from a small picture. Age 32, brown hair, blue eyes. Lives at 287 S Fernwood Ct, Apt E5, Baton Rouge, LA  70806. Faint familiarity came to him as he studied the driver’s license.

He went by Nick, never Nicolas. Not even his family called him by his full name.

On his wrist was a broken watch. The silver frame was dented, and its crystal face was frozen at 11:43 PM. 

A sudden recalled memory hit him like a fist to the mouth.

Hope you enjoyed this! When the rest of the story is published and ready for sale, I will announce it in my newsletter!