What the hell have I got myself into?

Evie Dalton pulled the soft green cotton uniform top over her head. She’d arrived in Preston last night, excited about her new job; looking forward to meeting new people, learning new things.

By the time she had reached Ophidian, the stark white hospital in the isolated northern woods of California, concern had replaced excitement. Besides the remoteness, her less than altruistic motive had her rethinking the decision as well.

In the room, classical music played quietly in the background. She’d tried to find the switch to turn if off last night, but there didn’t seem to be one; different stations but no off switch. She’d have to ask someone how you turned the bloody thing off before it drove her crazy.

She checked her blonde hair in the mirror, pushing it back behind her ears to make it look neater.

It had been almost two years since she’d been home. Suddenly she had an overwhelming desire to be there right now, close to her mother and father, and brothers. Jiggs, the family terrier would be racing around her, wanting Evie to pet her. That’s where she wanted to be, home, where she would be safe and loved, not in this desolate place.

Everything inside her screamed get out. She’d never really made a mistake before, not a big one. This felt like the big one. But then she’d never made a decision based purely on money before, either. She’d been raised in a small mid-west town where money hadn’t been an important part of her life.

Evie paused to stare out the only window of the tiny suite she would be calling home for the next six months, according to her contract. In front of her stood the sparkling white building where she would be working.

The architecture reminded her of something from the thirties or early forties that she’d seen on an episode of Poirot one time, not a hospital. It was squarish with kind of rounded corners, smaller than most hospitals and a brilliant white.

She could see a one-story wing up front and a two-story wing out the back that angled about forty-five degrees off from the front wing.

Last night when she had arrived it had looked like a white monolith. Today it just looked cold, sterile, and remote. A shiver climbed down her spine. She pulled her arms tightly around herself. Something didn’t feel right. She shook her head, turned from the window, and grabbed her white cardigan off the chair.

She’d never even heard of Preston, California before Dr. Marsden had told her about it. It took four different maps before she even found it. Now she would be living and working several miles outside of Preston in the bloody wilderness.

God, she was an idiot. On the positive side, there had to be a positive side. Maybe she’d learn something from the experience. She had never felt loneliness before but after only a few hours here she felt she was beginning to experience it.

Her supervisor at the crisis center where Evie volunteered had said Evie needed to learn compassion and understanding. Maybe working in this place, she might develop a better understanding of others. Her own feelings were likely going to go through some sort of metamorphosis here. Good had to come out of it somehow. Right? 

RENO – WEDNESDAY, MAY 25th

“No! It can’t be happening again. Not again. I’m supposed to protect these girls.” Detective Sam Brennan stood and paced the room in a circle.

“What’s up, Sam?” The heavy-set woman at the computer next to her asked while rolled her chair back.

“One of the girls is missing from my chatroom, Kerensa.”

“Hey, we can’t keep track of them all.”

“That’s my job. That’s why I transferred to this unit, to protect girls so they didn’t go through the hell that can follow a rape.” She stopped in front of her computer; her fists clenched at her side. A tear drifted down her face. “She has no idea what she’s doing.”

“You got that right. Look, we can only do our best. Other people, like parents and teachers, should take some responsibility for the kids.”

“I know. But parents don’t do a great job. I know.”

“I can’t imagine what you went through, but you do a good job.”

“Not good enough, not if she’s gone to meet him.

“Look girlfriend, I know you live and breathe this job, but maybe you need to learn to step back. It’s not good for you to relive your life through these kids. The Washoe County sheriff’s office is just a job.”

“Not for me. But you’re right. I can’t help it.” Sam flopped into her computer chair. “The truth is, I hate it when one of these young girls goes into the chatrooms, then falls prey to the pervs who hang out there. Drives me crazy. I want to catch all those bastards and put them behind bars.”

“You catch a lot. I bet you have one of the best records in the country.”

“I don’t give a damn about records. I wish we could figure out a better way to keep the pervs off the internet for a very long time.”

“You got it. Maybe one day. Can I do anything?”

Sam glanced up as her fingers moved the mouse around. “No, I’m going to start re-checking last night’s chats and see what I’ve missed.”

“Okay then, I’m on a break. Back in ten. I need sustenance.” Kerensa stood, glancing across at her. “You sure you don’t need help?”

Sam stared at the screen.

“Don’t beat yourself up, hon. You’ll find her. You sure you don’t want a coffee or anything?”

“No, I’m good. I hope you’re right.”

“I won’t be long.” Detective Kerensa Washington bounced her well-padded body out the door and into the squad room.

Sam didn’t hear the door close as she scanned through the messages posted in the chatroom. She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching and unclenching her fists. Damn these guys. She’d like to get one of them in an alley—just once. She reached into the bottom drawer of her desk for a chunk of dark chocolate.

“Damn it. Where the hell is she?” She popped the chocolate in her mouth and chewed slowly, moving her mouse around the Washoe County mouse pad. She scanned the cyber-chatroom one more time. “Damn. I can’t lose another one. She has to be here somewhere.”

Sam leaned forward, lips pursed, eyebrows crinkled. “Come on; come on, ‘Invisible-Melissa’, check in, please. Don’t go to meet him. He’s not who you think. You have no idea what he can do to you. Please baby, don’t go.”

Desperation wrapped around her like an iron boa and squeezed so she could barely breathe. Another tear trickled down her cheek.

With a few more clicks she scanned the names of those in the online chatroom. ‘Searching-for-You’ hadn’t checked in since last night either.

https://beverleybateman.blogspot.com/

When Perrine Dupré dies under suspicious circumstances her daughter, Julie Ann Dupré, returns to New Orleans to find the truth about her mother’s death. She uncovers a family secret, hidden for years. Now someone is trying to kill her. Will the little dog who appears after her mother’s death help her? Is the sexy detective out to help her, or is he part of police corruption?

Detective Connor O’Reilly, a native of New Orleans, comes from a family of police. He’s an honest cop but realizes there is corruption in the division. His father may have died as part of that corruption. He meets Julie Ann, checks out her mother’s death and finds it was badly handled. Julie Ann deserves the truth and he wants to find it for her.

Julie Ann and Connor work together to unravel the real reason behind Perrine Dupré’s murder, Julie Ann’s mysterious past, and why people want her dead, while developing their challenging relationship. Can they both survive? And can their relationship survive?

  

Print Edition

https://beverleybateman.blogspot.com/

Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.
 
Mac is has been responsible for training women in special ops techniques so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.
 
Sara graduates and now she and her team have to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?

The office said he’d had a heart attack. Was he alive? Did she want him to be? What if her husband had to stay home for a few weeks to recuperate? Palms sweating, Sara’s breath came in short, shallow bursts at the thought.

The taxi jerked to a stop in front of the hospital emergency entrance.

Sara fumbled through her purse and counted out her meager number of dollar bills. Gordon didn’t allow her to have a credit card and he only allowed her to have a small amount of cash. She didn’t have enough money to pay the taxi.

“I’m so sorry. I left home without any cash. I...I ... Would you take a check?” Tears spilled over and trickled down her flushed cheeks.

The driver spun around. A short stubby finger waved at the sign over the rearview mirror. “Look lady, it says right there - No Checks.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. My husband has had a heart attack and I ... I don’t know what to do.” Sara ran her fingers through her hair and scrunched the tight bun at her neck.

The driver shook his head. “Aw, shit. Go ahead, lady. Write the check.”

Sara pulled the single crumpled check Gordon allowed her carry for emergencies out of her purse. When she touched the check a vision of Gordon floated in front of her.

She froze and rapidly blinked her eyes. She only saw the ghosts of dead people. Gordon didn’t believe her and forbid her to ever mention it.

Could he really be dead?

“Gordon?” she whispered.

“Lady, are you writing that check or not?”

“Yes, sorry.” Sara scribbled her signature on the bottom of the check. “Please, fill it in, and give yourself a generous tip. Thank you, thank you so much.” She clutched her worn purse to her chest, slid out of the cab, and scurried through the emergency room doors.

What if he was dead? She didn’t have any money. Gordon did all the finances and never shared anything with her.  How would she manage?

Twenty years ago, she could have handled it. Could she do it again? But he couldn’t be dead. Gordon would never allow that to happen.

His face flitted in front of her, fixed in an angry glare.

He had to be dead or she wouldn’t be seeing him. He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t want her to be free. If he thought she could see him he’d be furious.

Sara shuffled toward the reception desk. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for some sign of Gordon, listening for his voice, waiting for him to yell at her. She couldn’t believe he was really dead, even though she had seen him. She clung to the edge of the transition counter, her head down, chewed on her lower lip and waited to be noticed.

Finally a brusque voice snapped, “Can I help you?”

Sara looked up to see a heavy set, older woman in a loose blue top. The woman’s thick dark brows met in a v in the middle of her forehead.

“I’m sorry, I ...I’m looking for my husband. His office phoned to say he’d been brought here.” Sara shrunk into her body.

“Name?” the woman commanded.

“Gordon, Gordon Peters.” Sara stared at her worn black oxfords, then at the scuffed, gray linoleum with the red, blue and yellow lines that led to different areas.  Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe she should have waited for Gordon to call and tell her whether she should be here or not. But if he was dead she would have to make her own decisions. Her pulse raced. Her head pounded. For the last nineteen years she had never made a decision. Gordon made all of them for her.

“When was he admitted?” The woman reminded Sara of a sergeant major.

“I’m not sure, less than an hour ago. They told me to meet him here. Maybe he’s been discharged already?” She chewed her thumbnail. If Gordon had been discharged, he’d be furious at her for spending all that money on a taxi.  But she’d seen his ghost.

Tension twisted her stomach into knots. The pain caused her to clutch her purse tightly against her abdomen. She needed to get home and start dinner. She’d have to take a bus. Did she have enough money? She opened her purse.

The woman moved to a second pile of folders and pulled one out. “You’re his wife?”

Sara nodded. “Yes. Can I see him?”

A sob slipped out. If she didn’t find see him soon, he’d be furious. He’d think she was too stupid to even find him in a hospital and he’d be right.

His ghost floated in front of her. This time confusion mixed with his anger

“Have a seat, Mrs. Peters. I’ll have the doctor speak to you.” The sergeant major’s voice softened. She indicated a chair near the desk.

“No, please, I need to see him right away. He’ll be upset if I’m late.”

The woman rounded the desk and laid her hand on Sara’s shoulder. She squeezed gently for a second. “It’ll be okay, honey. You just sit down for a minute. The doctor will be right out.”

Almost the end of the year. Challenges continue, floods, mudslides, the ups and downs of the Covid pandemic and the confusion on how to respond to it. My response to it is to protect yourself and protect your family, friends, and the community.

The pandemic and the things associated with life around it, have affected many people in many ways. People say we have lost a year, or maybe two, of our lives, especially the older people.

I’m one of the people affected. I haven’t been able to write, either edit or work on a new novel. The joy of writing has gone. It’s not fun anymore. I have nothing to say on my website. I avoid anything to do with marketing and then feel guilty because I should be doing more.

After struggling for the last year, without any results, I have decided to take a break. If I’m not enjoying it and excited, that will show in my writing, should I manage to drag a few words onto a page. I’m not sure how long this break will last. For now, I’m closing my website temporarily. I’m hoping by taking a break and doing things I used to enjoy like playing the flute or painting, I might get a fresh outlook on life and want to share stories again.

If and when I get a great new idea for a story, feel motivated and excited and can’t wait to get words on paper, I will start writing and rejuvenate my website. 

I may post to my blog occasionally if I have anything I feel might be interesting, writing related or not.

If you have questions or comments about any of books or anything else, you can reach me there. https://beverleybateman.blogspot.com/

I want to thank my web person, Dee Carver, Contact@PersonalizedMarketing.info, for all her hard work and for working on ideas for marketing for me. If you’re looking for a web person you can find her at Personalized Marketing Inc. https://personalizedmarketing.info/