Initials for Murder
Venita Louise
Everyone dies.
No one knew that better. He had seen first hand the unyielding
power of the reaper’s will. It wasn’t the reaper who tugged at
him now, however. It was the deadly toxin that was being rapidly
absorbed into his digestive tract. The cold wind flattened his
pant legs against his shins. An icy ache rankled his teeth. He
jerked the edges of his coat tightly around his middle. His
heart battered a rabbit-quick rhythm against his chest. Pain
ripped up through his abdomen and brought him to a stand still.
With panic stricken eyes, he looked around for help.
Excerpt
He couldn’t remember where
he was or why he was there. There was one thing he could
remember, though. He thought of his life before it went cold
and empty, before Martha died. She was warm with the comfort
and feeling of home. They had lived simply, with little need
for material things, and they were happy that way.
It was the tumor that took her from him. A tiny,
unreachable, ticking bomb he was powerless to defuse. Oh,
how he longed to see her smile, to touch her hand. One gaze,
one last touch.
Suddenly, he heard her calling to him. He stopped and
listened. She called again. She was just across the street.
All he had to do was cross over and he could be
with her.
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