He was still out there, frightened, hurting, furious. His anger and pain flowed like a red watercolor wash over Kristen’s dreams. Giving up on sleep, she dragged out of bed and wrapped a wool robe around her. There was no escaping him. She’d tried. Music, wine, even the sleeping pills left over from Skipper’s death, and still his pain and fury reached her.
At first, she’d thought the insidious feelings were a return of the sympathetic aftershocks that had rocked her after Skipper died. But those echoes had long since faded. So when the fear and pain had reverberated inside her two days ago, she’d been plunged back in time to the harrowing weeks after her twin brother’s funeral. Back to nights of black panic when she would jerk awake out of a sound sleep, senses alert, only to remember for the twentieth, or fiftieth, or hundredth time, that it couldn’t be Skipper. Skipper was dead.
Finally the ghostly sensations had faded, like the phantom pain of an amputated limb, and Kristen had been left with an aching void where her twin brother—her other self—had been. She’d always lived with him inside her, linked to him in a way other people could never understand. When he’d died, a part of her self had been ripped away. It had taken her a year to get over the worst of it, a year before Skipper’s song had completely faded.
Sometimes now, the silence left by his death overwhelmed her. Oh, she gleaned things from others around her, but they were just feelings, a weak manifestation of the empathy she’d shared with her brother. They’d always been there, as much a part of her as the sound of the wind. She’d learned a long time ago to detach herself from them. She’d been doing really well too, until two days ago, when he had showed up in her mind.
Tonight was the worst so far. She pushed her hair away from her damp forehead, wishing she could push him away as easily.
Targeted Age Group: 21-55
Book Price: 99 cents 7/17/2013-7/21/2013
In the number one position of Mallory Kane’s list of favorite things, which includes paper dolls, chocolate, kittens and snuggling, are books and stories. Once she convinced her mother to teach her to read–at age three, that was that.
Her mother was a librarian and her dad came from a long line of southern storytellers. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father.
When she’s not writing, Mallory creates and designs greeting cards because– well, she never got over playing with paper dolls. She lives in East Tennessee with her husband Michael and their three cats. For more information about Mallory and her writing, visit her website at www.mallorykane.com or write her at email@example.com