Since I am busy writing the 2nd installment of the Dixie Bannerman series, I thought it would be a good idea to publish the chapters of the first installment – Bloodhound – right here on Basstudio.com every week.
Since there are 42 Chapters it is going to take awhile – so if you like what you see and have 99c to splurge – go and buy the whole book right now on AMAZON (kindle), SMASHWORDS (multiple devices), Sony E-Bookstore or on your Sansa App.
I will update Bloodhound every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Chapter 1
Lucy wanted to be famous.
When she was younger, around eleven or twelve, she would put on shows for her family in their living room. Grandiose dance numbers followed by stretched out singing performances and poetry recitals. They were filled with all the passion an attention staved teenager could muster, and after each act her shy twin sister Gretchen and their parents would give her loud applause and sometimes even call for encores if it wasn’t too late in the evening or anything of marginal interest showed on television.
Most of all she loved to act, and in all her self-written plays she eagerly emulated the fainting movement she saw the damsels in distress do so many times in the old movies grandpa could not stop watching. This was the only action that in her mind adequately conveyed a true sense of despair, anguish and agony.
As she was lying in the alley, blood everywhere, she finally knew differently. This was despair. This was anguish. This was agony. The sweat was streaming from her forehead and formed cool little puddles in the crook of her neck. Thankfully the shock to her system has helped the pain subside somewhat. There was a stench in the air and Lucy hoped it was not her. She would love to go out of this mortal plane with a little bit of dignity.
The man was now pacing up and down. He was getting something ready in her peripheral vision, but she could not see what it was. All the strength had left her body and she could not muster the will to turn her head.
Lucy had thought about the moment that she knew was soon to come on many occasions, as all people normally do. She imagined that she would die at the ripe old age of ninety, an accomplished actress who just divorced her sixth husband because he was getting too old and her life motto was to never date anyone over forty. The funeral would have been the news affair of the decade, countless fans gathering in the streets to pay their respects. Rose petals strewn on the road as the coffin made its march to a final resting place under peach trees and beside a lily garden.
But now, strangely, and uncharacteristically, as the moment drew closer she did not think about herself at all. About the missed opportunities and adventures that she will never have. The movies that she will never star in, the true love she would never find. All she thought about was Gretchen. Dear, shy Gretchen.
Who will care for her? Who will listen to her going on and on about her boss who she is secretly in love with? Who will visit Wednesday evenings and look through her endless supply of scrapbooks? Who will watch old Mel Gibson movies with her and giggle at the funny hairstyles that were a trademark of the eighties?
Lucy’s time to wonder about these things was now over. She wished she had just a minute more to ponder over life, love and everything in between, but she realized this was not to be as he approached her again. His massive form blocked out the streetlight as he grabbed her roughly by the hair. The knife slid over her throat in one smooth motion. She didn’t even feel it. The man turned her over and placed her head in a bucket filled with water. She actually felt relieved as the water was quite cool and this was an unusually warm evening.
And as he was drowning her, she could hear him scream: “Giveback what you have stolen! Give it back!!”
Mercifully she did not hear anything after that.
