Davis Voicemail

1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-1-6678-9212-2
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 244 Seiten

Still in a bit of a haze from her afternoon nap, schoolteacher Samantha Harris is shocked to discover that a brutal murder has taken place in her quiet hometown. She's determined to deliver justice, but with the killer possibly watching her every move, Samantha's next step could potentially be her last.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Davis, Jack E.

Leseproben

Chapter One My name is Samantha Harris and one cold November morning, I was awakened by my dog Daphne licking my face, which she typically did every morning around 5:45 like clockwork. Daphne was a miniature dachshund, all brown with a long pointy nose, short stumpy legs, and a grey patch of hair on her head. She was a girl’s best friend, especially here lately. Tragically, it was just the two of us after my dear husband Jack died one year earlier in a car accident. Jack and I were high school sweethearts and we married right after graduation. We were just two weeks shy of our twentieth wedding anniversary when Jack succumbed to his injuries. He was my rock and when he died, I felt like a shell of my former self—like a piece of me was missing—and I didn’t think I could go on without him. The day Jack died, I had been writing my manuscript for another novel all day; I had already written a few books and was somewhat of a celebrity here in St. Lux, Michigan. However, that day I distinctively remember Jack yelling into the office where I sat working while Daphne slept under my desk near my feet, “I’m done with yardwork Sam, and I’m on my way to the supermarket. You need anything?” “Well, of course,” I jokingly replied, “the register would be nice.” Sadly, I rarely, if ever, broke concentration when I was working on a new novel and usually when I wrote, everyone around me fell into oblivion. I hate to admit it but when I was in the zone with my writing, I don’t think I would’ve even noticed Daphne doing a handstand right in front of me. But that day something was different. I got up as Jack was putting on his coat and told him I loved him, hugged him, and gave him the biggest kiss on the cheek before he left the house. Jack was on his way to get a bottle of our favorite wine to go with the steak dinner he was preparing. If I’d known “be back in fifteen minutes” would be the last thing he said to me, I would’ve held him just a little while longer. I’ve often beat myself up for letting him go out that door. How could I have been so consumed with my book? I thought to myself. It was hard not to question everything I believed in during that time, and I’ve often wondered if God had a bigger plan for me. A bigger plan for why I was here and my loving husband Jack was gone. Although life hasn’t been the same since Jack’s death, I was starting to resemble my old self again. I was back to work at Holcomb Elementary where I taught second-grade English. I loved being able to shape and mold a young child’s mind, especially at that age when structure plays such a pivotal role in determining who they become. Also, I went skydiving with one of my best gal pals, Maureen Smith. Maureen was Jack’s half-sister on his birth mother’s side. Since Jack was adopted out of foster care when he was around age three, he didn’t know of any siblings. We found out about Maureen a few months before his death when she phoned us out of the blue. Unfortunately, Jack didn’t know too much about that part of his life; he’d only mentioned his birth mother, Harriet Smith, a handful of times and he never knew the name of his biological father. It took Jack a few weeks to warm up to Maureen, but when I finally convinced him to give the relationship a try, he and Maureen got along swell. Jack would often tell me I was too trusting of people, especially when Maureen initially reached out to us. However, those fears diminished over time once they formed a sibling bond that even I couldn’t break. Lastly, I even began writing again, although this proved to be much more difficult than piecing together lost childhood memories or jumping out of a plane. Writing has always been incredibly special to me. Something that I greatly enjoyed but, subconsciously or otherwise, I now associated it with my husband’s death. I remember I was still at home in my office writing when I received a phone call from one of our longtime friends, Sheriff Rodney Lucas. He was calling to tell me Jack had been in a terrible car accident. A phone call that I remember all too vividly; a phone call that changed my life forever. I didn’t know the severity of Jack’s condition at that time; I just knew he needed me by his side. Then a few seconds later, Sheriff Lucas informed me that Jack was being transported to Oak Grace Hospital just outside of St. Lux. However, all I could do in that moment was stare down at the scribbled-on paper that covered my desk. The paper with the make-believe families I created. This type of life-changing accident was supposed to happen in stories; this terrible thing is what I usually made up in my imagination, I thought to myself. With tears welling up and holding Daphne in my arms, I asked the Sheriff, “W-Will my husband be okay?” But, of course, at that time Sheriff Lucas didn’t have much information other than reassuring me repeatedly that Jack was a fighter. We talked for maybe another minute but for what seemed like an eternity before the Sheriff offered me a ride to the hospital. “I-I can drive myself there, Sheriff,” I whimpered like a small child. “Nonsense,” he replied. “You’re in no condition to drive anywhere. I’ll be right over, Sam.” Sheriff Lucas said firmly, then we disconnected. The next thing I remember is Rodney pulling into the driveway about the same time I was putting down the phone. St. Lux was a small town but he must’ve been driving a hundred miles an hour to get here so soon. I knew he was Jack’s best friend and cared for him deeply, but all I could think about in that moment was my dear friend Kathleen. Kathleen was Sheriff Lucas’s wife and the four of us all met while in high school. While there, we were known as the “final four” for years, and truthfully, I didn’t want Kathleen receiving that same phone call that I’d just gotten. I put Daphne down as she whined a little, presumably picking up on my own state of shock. But I remembered to thank Rodney as I got in the car, then explained the irony of speeding while going to meet Jack at the hospital who was just in a car accident. Rodney understood, smiled, and agreed as we backed out of my driveway and headed towards Oak Grace. At the hospital, the receptionist lady at the front desk let us know that Jack was in the operating room. We both sat quietly in the cold, empty waiting area until Rodney was called away on another police matter. When he ended his call, I was still sitting in my chair with my hands covering my face. I’m not sure what I was even thinking in that moment. I just felt the chaos of a million tangled thoughts, and I was unable to make sense out of any of them. Rodney walked over to let me know he was leaving but would try and make it back before Jack got out of surgery. Then he knelt in front of me taking both of my hands and we said a prayer together. Afterwards, his phone started to ring and I jumped nervously, as if it could be Jack calling, saying he was alright. However, Rodney interrupted my fantasy when he said it was work calling again. After his phone call, Rodney asked if I was going to be okay and I shook my head yes, then he proceeded on his way. It seemed like a few seconds later Jack’s surgeon was tapping me on the shoulder. I tried asking if everything was okay, but the words wouldn’t come out. However, before she said a word her facial expression exposed the truth and something in my heart told me nothing would be okay from that day forward. Then Dr. Jones informed me that Jack’s internal injuries were too severe and there was nothing more they could have done. She told me Jack died on the operating table, and immediately I felt something in me died too. I did sense his presence around me for a few seconds as if his spirit was saying goodbye. But after that, I was sure he had left for good. Maybe it was survivor’s guilt, but I stopped doing anything that brought me joy. No friends, no vacations, and I was like a zombie at work. Kathleen and Rodney would often invite me out, but I was almost afraid to see them as it would heighten my loss and theirs too. I didn’t even write again for the next year, mostly because I didn’t want to go back to that dark place I was in when I first learned of Jack’s accident. It was like I couldn’t concentrate and would have to relive the same morning of Jack’s death if I put myself back in that writing chair. But eventually, I realized Jack was gone, and I was doing him a disservice by using his memory to rationalize my fear of moving on. So, I redecorated the office and emptied myself of that painful reality so that the imaginary world could flow through me again. And just two days before everything went haywire, I went down into the basement and grabbed my old desktop computer. I had packed it away right after Jack’s funeral and hadn’t thought of it since. Tired and out of breath after carrying it up the basement stairs, I placed it back in my office on the wooden table Maureen and I had picked up from the local thrift store just a few days earlier. Right then, all the ideas and characters I had in my mind for the past year started to come to life on paper. I hadn’t realized how being so deeply invested in this one thing could completely take my mind off all other problems. I started to notice how therapeutic writing really had become for me, and honestly, it made me feel whole again, even if it was just for short spurts. However, while I was still lying in bed thinking about becoming a better person, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and realized that it was almost 6:00 a.m. Poor Daphne was not impressed and started to let me know that she’d been...