Amongst the Myrtles~ preview/teaser

A slender woman stood alone outside a rural Cemetery, her expensive leather pumps and designer long coat standing out in striking contrast to the neglected holy space. A carved wooden sign hangs tied to a weather worn wood and rusty wire fence, a layer of fading pink paint lined the recesses of the letters, identifying it as the ‘Mourning Myrtles Holy Cemetery’.

“I know, MC…” The woman sighed, pushing her flattened hairdo back from her forehead. She looked around at her environs. The slowly darkening sky fell close to the tops of the trees which peppered the cemetery. Among the towering marble and brick and concrete mausoleums, a green canopy sheltered a newly dug grave and a sad row of folding chairs from the pervasive rain. “He’s late, what can I do? Everything down here is on Bayou Time; they don’t know what a clock is… it’s like a whole different world down here in Louisiana.” She drawled her Queens borough accent thick.

Rain splattered down on her black umbrella, tapping a chaotic rhythm. She pushed her fallen curls back behind her ear, stirring the heavy humid air around her face. She could smell the musky aroma of soggy flora, the clean tang of ionized oxygen, and the sickly sweet essence of her now sticky hairspray. A dropped crystal earring danced in a lazy circle.

“I must say my wardrobe was completely unprepared… It’s no wonder she moved to California. Are you sure she wants to come back? I don’t see how anyone could live in this swamp.” She slapped at a mosquito which lighted on her newly exposed neck. “… not that she’d be living…”

She swung around to watch the rain drops speckle the windshield of her sub-compact rental while the voice on the other end of the line scolded her. Her face fell into sadness and regret.

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive… I’m just out of sorts...” her voice waivered in pitch as she rushed to make things right. “I’ll make it up to you… take you out to White Star when I get back?” she frowned. “Come on Hon, a ‘Bramble’ can ease any pain.” She attempted to smooth the conflict over.

“No, no, no; there is no need for you to come down here, MC. You’ve had enough stress this year between Teddy’s death and now your mother... I’ll get it done. In the last twelve years, have I ever failed you? Well… other than when I lost the Peterson manuscript?” She paused, pensive. “Hey now, I found it, didn’t I? I’ll see her into the ground proper, don’t you worry. You just focus on the Launch; I’ll call as soon as it’s done.” She clicked her mobile closed and stood high on the balls of her feet, avoiding her heels’ attempts to sink into the soggy ground.

“Where is that caretaker?” she mused aloud, clearly annoyed by the situation... She paced back and forth in the long ago graveled drive.

Lightning split the sky, it’s hot branches illuminating the surroundings like a camera flash..

Thunder followed dutifully behind.

She dipped down in place, her heart racing. “Damn Tropical Storm!” she cursed. “Give me a good old fashioned Nor’easter over this!” She thought she should get back in the car, but before she could turn to the door, she heard the sound of something scuffing the mud behind her and whipped around in frustration, full ready to give her two cents worth to the late man.

The person standing in front of her wore a hooded jacket darkening the face.

“Mr. Mumford?” she asked, highly skeptical that the prim mortician she’d spoke to on the phone would dress in such a tattered way and arrived sans his town car. She received no response. “We spoke on the phone. I’m…” she began, reaching her hand forward in preparation to shake his in curt greeting.

The person lunged at her without warning, His left arm racing toward her; she panicked and thrust her umbrella between them. Struggling, she flipped her mobile open and jabbed at the send button with her thumb. Her assailant ripped the umbrella from her and it flew off into the rain at her left with a muffled whoosh.

“I’m no Mumford or Allbritton for that matter.” A metallic mixture of feminine and masculine, a synthetic voice growled.

Confused, she stood frozen, her brain not comprehending.

He reached for her again, a low growl of anger in his throat. She screamed and dropped the mobile on the driveway, where it closed, ending the call. She turned and ran, her expensive pumps sticking in the gravel, slowing her down. Congealed rock dust and mud came up in chucks sticking to the Italian leather.

Lightning flashed again, thunder crackling as the electricity charged the air.

Both assailant and victim ducked to the ground as current webbed through the space around them; they smelt the acrid, sharp scent of ozone. The strike had been close. They both turned to the sound of a sparking transformer high in a power pole just feet from their position. They turned back around remembering where they were.

Giving her shoes no thought, the woman ran toward the cemetery gate; a low metal bar covered in aging yellow paint. She attempted to vault over it. Falling forward into the mud, her left shoe slipped effortlessly off and flew into a flowering shrub planted in front of a nearby grave. She screamed as she hit the ground; grass and mud splattering across her face; her misstep giving her attacker time to catch up. He grabbed at her long tan coat.

“You goin’ nowhere, you yankee bitch.” The strange voice slurred behind her.

Her mobile began to ring, a high pitched Beyonce song gurgled out through the rain.

Her wet and trembling fingers struggled with the tie on her tan long coat, her long wet hair, slapping against her face as she whipped her head from side to side. She pulled against him frantically but to no avail. “Please, please...” she begged. I’ll give you... anything... you want, just let me go.”

He pulled her against him and reached around the front of her neck with his arm. “ Don’t offer what only God can give.” the maniac spat back.

Her fingers clawed at the jacket arm as her breath began to fail. He twisted around, backing up into the now slick stones of the cemetery. She continued to fight as the blackness began to close in. Her lungs burned, longing for oxygen. Her blood pressure spiked, throbbing in her ears and threatening to bust from the top of her skull. Her vision closed to a mere pin prick. She could only watch helplessly as her car drew further away; as if she were watching it recede through a pair of binoculars. All hope of rescue sat ringing in a puddle as her vision ceased.

He dragged her through the cemetery; past the already prepared funeral site, her bare heels leaving slender furrows in the mud.