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Kindle Edition
www.scififantasyfiction.com
Amazon
Category:
Science Fiction
Publisher: Ironshield Marketing
Type: Fiction
Copyright: November 2, 2012
Even though she had never mentioned it, Shayne Blackwell doubted that her mystical mother, Linda, didn’t know who was responsible for Shayne’s bruised face. When her mother gave her an all-expense-paid Christmas gift to an exclusive couple’s retreat, Shayne was sure something was up. The retreat, located near Seattle Washington, ascended high into the reach of Mount Rainier.
Even though she had never mentioned it, Shayne Blackwell doubted that her mystical mother, Linda, didn’t know who was responsible for Shayne’s bruised face. When her mother gave her an all-expense-paid Christmas gift to an exclusive couple’s retreat, Shayne was sure something was up. The retreat, located near Seattle Washington, ascended high into the reach of Mount Rainier.
From the onset of the trip, Shayne was overtaken with an edgy feeling, rising above her husband, Ranger, insensitivity and criticism of her. The road was slippery and cold. When Ranger lost control of their SUV, Shayne witnesses a horrifying sight—something only she could see. The image of a mammoth shape wearing bristly white hair had darted from snow pile to snow pile, and then finally seizing their vehicle. She screamed frozen terror into the air. Frustration engulfed her since Ranger has no idea what the fuss was all about. She whimpered as the unwanted gargantuan guest finally eases their SUV back onto the road.
As they continued toward the retreat, memories of what she’d seen clouded the remaining journey. Her life seemed like one big blur and the hulk on the road had added numbness to her woes. After reaching the retreat, her anxiety rises even higher when she meets their mysterious hostess, Ms. Wilma Vettamyer—a woman with secrets seeping from behind her aging eyes.
The grounds of the retreat were manicured and richly decorated in a rustic holiday mood. The main building was stunning. Individual couple’s lodges were unforgettably romantic and spread out within miles around the main building. But Shayne and her abusive husband, Ranger, would never get to spend one night in their lodge. They would never talk-out their issues during a couple’s counseling session. Before their first night could begin, they are taken by a powerful humanoid—the yeti she’d met on the road. And it is in its cave the last words her mother had spoken to her comes to life.
Excerpt
Prologue
I wanted things to be different for Shayne than it was for me. What kind of mother would be to wish my marital woes upon my eldest child? Despite my desire to teach her and make her sensitive to the signs and symptoms an abusive husband brings. Ranger fooled us all. He has no clue of what the word, husband meant. We all know it now—too late for Shayne; she has fallen helplessly and devotedly into his will.
I must admit that when Ranger was introduced to the family by a trusted neighbor, my middle aged heart wished for younger days. I took a lazy tour of him, from his jump boots, shinier than a new looking glass, to the perfect fit of his uniform. And the tilt of his hat, well, let just say the church needed to render prayer on my behalf. Of course I had no idea that his eyes had landed on Shayne— being twelve years older than her. How wrong was I, they struck-up a conversation that prevented her from going home to change her nurse’s uniform. I’d never know Shayne to stay at a gathering in her work uniform.
“He’s Special Forces, a United States Army Ranger,” our neighbor Lonny had said with pride. He stood beside the brawny soldier who appeared like a gentle giant.
Lonny didn’t know the destruction he’d introduced into our lives—until it was too late.
Of all my children for this to fall upon, Shayne would have been my last pick. She had always led such a careful life, choosing friends cautiously, almost scared to take any kind of risks. Shayne was my organized child, and thought like an investigative reporter—always on top of her game.
His given name was Herculeon Blackwell. He said his adoptive mother named him that because he was such a huge child. But he didn’t want anyone to call him Herculeon. “just call me Ranger,” he had said. “Ranger Blackwell.”
As Shayne’s mother, I had made several attempts to find out about his background. I questioned him—was he raised in America, Samoa, the Philippines, where? He seemed not to know. Actually, he said he didn’t know. His white adoptive parents had told him that he was Samoan.
In a lust rush, six months later, my twenty-five year old daughter with brown eyes and golden brown skin walked down the aisles of Millenforge, Georgia Presbyterian Church to take Ranger’s hand in marriage. She couldn’t resist the package he was wrapped in—a Samoan package looking like he’d been dripped in expensive chocolate ice cream.
I’ve always been one believing in the power of prayer, and from the first day I noticed a bruise on the face of my one hundred and ten pound daughter, I prayed. Not that he would die, but that he, Herculeon Blackwell, would know what it feels like to be afraid, and weak, and trembling as he has made her feel. When I noticed her first bruise I let him know—our African American family was not to be taken lightly, that unexplained events—phenomenal occurrences are weaved throughout our family history. Whether he believed me or not, I warned him.
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