men. Then the ringing began to subside and he realized someone was talking to him. The voice was vaguely familiar.
It was a woman’s voice.
It was telling him to…to…
“…get up off the goddamn table, Casey.”
He decided obeying the voice was probably wise. And anyway, it wasn’t like there was anything else he could do.
So, still trembling, he pushed himself away from the table and turned around to face the person who had maybe saved his life. The “maybe” qualifier was definitely necessary, because the person pointing a 9mm at him now had once vowed to kill him if she ever saw him again.
He held his hands up, a look of profound confusion twisting his features.
“Echo? What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Six
One year ago
The scene is an idyllic middle-class neighborhood on a warm day in early spring. It’s a newer development and all the prefabricated homes look much alike. This lack of outward personality is offset by the clean streets and immaculate lawns. The residents are all hard-working people who are justifiably proud of the small slice of the American Dream they’ve carved out for themselves. The people here look out for each other and strive to be good neighbors. There are no gangbangers dealing drugs on the corners and no drive-by shootings. All that sort of thing happens in an alien world removed far from this place. Crime of any sort is rare.
So when twenty-two-year-old Echo Vaughn emerged scantily-clad and screaming from one of the prefab homes early that sunshine-soaked afternoon, it made for a pretty unusual sight. Ninety-year-old Vera Brooks happened to be out walking her elderly Pomeranian when this occurred. She stopped dead in her tracks and gawked in open-mouthed wonder as the enraged young woman swung a golf club and smashed in one of the headlights of a late-model Lexus. Puddles the Pomeranian started barking his little head off while Vera stared at Echo and felt faint stirrings of the forbidden lust she had last indulged decades ago. Nowadays people were more open-minded about such things, but in her time Sapphic love had not been socially acceptable.
Vera was just a visitor to this neighborhood, the reluctant guest of one of her grandsons, a patronizing young man she secretly couldn’t stand. At the moment, however, she was very glad she had accepted this latest invitation to visit. Never in her life had she beheld a sight as glorious as the one before her now. Her heart was beating almost painfully fast as she watched the young beauty swing the golf club again and smash out another headlight. The woman’s assault on the car continued as she commenced striking the windshield. After the third swing of the club, the glass began to splinter. She continued with her screaming the entire time. It was a profanity-laden tirade that was only intermittently intelligible, but it seemed most of her ire was directed against someone named Casey.
But Vera didn’t care much about the source of the woman’s anger. She didn’t know the young lady, nor would she ever know her. The gulf of years between them was unfortunately far too wide for that. Therefore the cause of this drama was irrelevant. All that really mattered was that it was happening and for that she was grateful. The woman’s hair was a shade of midnight black so perfectly dark it had to come from a bottle. Vera loved her razor-sharp bangs and the way the glossy locks brushed her narrow, alabaster-pale bare shoulders. A lot of bare flesh was visible thanks to a wardrobe so skimpy it was hardly there at all. She wore a tiny black halter top, tight denim cutoffs barely larger than a bikini bottom, flip-flops and nothing else. Her large breasts jiggled pleasingly every time she swung the golf club. And then there was the proliferation of colorful tattoos. This was another thing that would have scandalized the prudes in her time. Until today Vera had never had much of an opinion regarding illustrated flesh one way or
It was a woman’s voice.
It was telling him to…to…
“…get up off the goddamn table, Casey.”
He decided obeying the voice was probably wise. And anyway, it wasn’t like there was anything else he could do.
So, still trembling, he pushed himself away from the table and turned around to face the person who had maybe saved his life. The “maybe” qualifier was definitely necessary, because the person pointing a 9mm at him now had once vowed to kill him if she ever saw him again.
He held his hands up, a look of profound confusion twisting his features.
“Echo? What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Six
One year ago
The scene is an idyllic middle-class neighborhood on a warm day in early spring. It’s a newer development and all the prefabricated homes look much alike. This lack of outward personality is offset by the clean streets and immaculate lawns. The residents are all hard-working people who are justifiably proud of the small slice of the American Dream they’ve carved out for themselves. The people here look out for each other and strive to be good neighbors. There are no gangbangers dealing drugs on the corners and no drive-by shootings. All that sort of thing happens in an alien world removed far from this place. Crime of any sort is rare.
So when twenty-two-year-old Echo Vaughn emerged scantily-clad and screaming from one of the prefab homes early that sunshine-soaked afternoon, it made for a pretty unusual sight. Ninety-year-old Vera Brooks happened to be out walking her elderly Pomeranian when this occurred. She stopped dead in her tracks and gawked in open-mouthed wonder as the enraged young woman swung a golf club and smashed in one of the headlights of a late-model Lexus. Puddles the Pomeranian started barking his little head off while Vera stared at Echo and felt faint stirrings of the forbidden lust she had last indulged decades ago. Nowadays people were more open-minded about such things, but in her time Sapphic love had not been socially acceptable.
Vera was just a visitor to this neighborhood, the reluctant guest of one of her grandsons, a patronizing young man she secretly couldn’t stand. At the moment, however, she was very glad she had accepted this latest invitation to visit. Never in her life had she beheld a sight as glorious as the one before her now. Her heart was beating almost painfully fast as she watched the young beauty swing the golf club again and smash out another headlight. The woman’s assault on the car continued as she commenced striking the windshield. After the third swing of the club, the glass began to splinter. She continued with her screaming the entire time. It was a profanity-laden tirade that was only intermittently intelligible, but it seemed most of her ire was directed against someone named Casey.
But Vera didn’t care much about the source of the woman’s anger. She didn’t know the young lady, nor would she ever know her. The gulf of years between them was unfortunately far too wide for that. Therefore the cause of this drama was irrelevant. All that really mattered was that it was happening and for that she was grateful. The woman’s hair was a shade of midnight black so perfectly dark it had to come from a bottle. Vera loved her razor-sharp bangs and the way the glossy locks brushed her narrow, alabaster-pale bare shoulders. A lot of bare flesh was visible thanks to a wardrobe so skimpy it was hardly there at all. She wore a tiny black halter top, tight denim cutoffs barely larger than a bikini bottom, flip-flops and nothing else. Her large breasts jiggled pleasingly every time she swung the golf club. And then there was the proliferation of colorful tattoos. This was another thing that would have scandalized the prudes in her time. Until today Vera had never had much of an opinion regarding illustrated flesh one way or
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