I share my last two extracts from Silent Doll and then I am off to bed as it is nearly one in the morning for me. Good night all and enjoy.
Excerpt 3I checked the reflection in the side mirror of a parked car; my follower was still there, on my side of the street now. The stalker wasn’t very tall, so I had that advantage, but I didn’t think it safe to just turn around and confront him. I had to be sneaky.
On the corner, as I turned into the winding street, was a house that was undergoing renovations for months. I snagged a stray piece of clay piping and quickened my step again, darting into the alley. I pressed my back tight against the wall and waited.
The figure slowly came into the alley and crept past, looking around. I brought the pipe up, holding my breath, and swung hard. The pipe smashed and my follower went down. I was unprepared for the cracking sound; the hood fell back to reveal that I had knocked her head to a sickening angle. Her head. My follower was a woman. I dropped the rest of the pipe, covering my mouth. I hadn’t meant to kill her! I had only intended to subdue her. Blonde ringlets fell around her face, obscuring it; I expected them to be matted with blood from the blow, but they were clean. I bent down and reached under the cloak for her wrist: no pulse. My eyes prickled with tears.
Excerpt 4The woman on the other side of the door was statuesque. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in an outdated, movie starlet style and held in place with elaborate jade combs. She was swathed in a fur coat that once must have been several animals, with a high fur collar that puffed around her face and a hem that hid her feet. Her bony white fingers sported an array of rings topped with large, gaudy jewels. Her nails were at least three inches long and painted a bright fuchsia that stood out against the brown and cream of the fur coat.
I looked at her face, marked with tiers of lines around eyes, mouth, neck and jaw; she tried to hide the signs of age under makeup. She had painted herself like a scarlet beauty—thick lashes, some of which had to be fake, heavy black eyeliner and eyeshadow that matched her nails. Her lips were outlined in dark maroon and filled by the brightest red—which only highlighted the unevenness of her lips.
The lines in her skin were so deep in some places that they looked like cracks. I wondered what was holding the woman together.
After looking her over, I did my best to pretend I didn’t know who she was.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I believe you can,” she said in a purring, raspy contralto.