Cellar Door
Authors: Suzanne Steele
Kindle Edition
©Cellar Door
Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced within this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover photo © Dollar Photo Club
Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele
Edited by Eda Price Editing
Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by Suzanne Steele
Thank you for downloading this e-book.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.
All content herein is protected under copyright law.
This e-book is Rated 17+
To the Reader
The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from but are drawn to like a moth to a flame.
If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. Many times my heroes carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. Each and every character I write about has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which at times the reader may not always agree with. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional but, nonetheless, it is real.
Stalk m
e
…
Suzanne Steele’s Blog:
http://suzannesteelesblog.wordpress.com/
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Acknowledgements
First and foremost I want to thank God; without him none of this would be possible.
I want to thank my family who carry the weight of everything so I can write. I love you guys and I couldn’t do what I do without you.
I want to thank my editor, Eda Spivey Price, who came at a time I needed her most. Eda you are a Godsend and I will forever be grateful to you for believing in me when I wanted to give up. You were just what I needed to keep writing and pursuing my dream.
Table of Contents
I rush down the hospital corridor, a stack of books balanced precariously in my arms. Books are pretty much my life, always have been. They are friends who have never let me down, no matter what.
I learned long ago that words would be a way of life for me—my lifeline. They sheltered me when I was the girl pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in the school library. They comforted me when yet another meet-and-greet with prospective adoptive parents proved pointless. As I grew up, books became the motivation for all I endeavored to do, and now they are the foundation of all I have become. From the volunteer work I do in the hospital to the ghostwriting I do for a living, words shape every aspect of my life. Words make it possible for me to live the secluded life I crave, and that works for me. Where most people would go crazy in what I term
my writing cave
, it’s exactly where I want to be—always. My idea of heaven is to be utterly alone, writing. Completely unrealistic, I know; but, oh, if I could, I would.
One of the things I’ve chosen to do with my love of literature is to volunteer at a local hospital. I read to patients; story time for adults, I guess. Today I’m reading in the hospital’s psych ward. I used to read to the patients at Our Lady of Tranquility, where some of Louisville’s most severely mentally ill patients reside, but the medical director there abruptly decided that my services were “less than conducive” to the welfare of his patients. I’ve never figured
that
one out, but he was nice enough to make some phone calls on my behalf and now I volunteer at the city’s main hospital. Sometimes I read to children with cancer, sometimes to elderly patients with dementia, it varies.
Today I’m reading to patients on the hospital’s general psych unit. You won’t find any truly dangerous patients here. Those are housed in a special wing at Our Lady so I don’t have to worry about that now. This group is a lively mix of the hospital’s inpatient and outpatient population.
I pause as I enter the large living area where my usual group of patients has already gathered and an atmosphere of orderly chaos reigns. The energy in the room abruptly changes when I appear in the doorway. I make friendly eye contact with patients I recognize from previous visits as I pass by. A low murmur rolls through the group and I feel like the Pied Piper as several patients stand and follow me across the room.
Our reading corner is ready, the hospital staff having already placed folding chairs in a semi-circle. I’m about ten feet away from my destination when a man steps in front of me, stopping my progress and that of the patients following behind me like little ducklings. I look up, prepared to greet whoever it is, but the words freeze in my throat and I abruptly take a step back. This guy’s standing a little too close for comfort.
A gray hoodie obscures his features as he tucks his chin and stares down at the floor, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen him before. Most patients here don’t stay long before they are either discharged for home or transferred to Our Lady of Tranquility. He’s not wearing the standard, hospital-issued patient wrist band, so he must be a visitor. I can’t imagine what he could want with me.
When he speaks, his voice is a low, raspy whisper that puts my nerves on edge. “Get out of my way, don’t look at me. There’s nothing here for you to see.”
Okay, my mistake, maybe he
is
a patient after all. I back up, more out of confusion than fear, baffled at this guy’s odd behavior. Who the fuck does that—practically singing some bizarre rhyme?
“Don’t ever look me in the eye, or I’ll make sure you’re the first to die.”
This guy’s juvenile syntax scares me more than his threat. During my volunteer stint here, I’ve run into plenty of people talking to themselves, but this? This is creepy as hell. I move out of his way and, with a deep breath, continue toward the group of chairs where patients are beginning to gather in anticipation of what they have come to term
story time
.
I take my seat and set my books on the small table next to my chair. I use a few precious seconds to gather my composure and present a calm façade to my enthusiastic audience. When I look up, prepared to make small talk before we get started, what I see sends a frisson of anxiety skittering through me.
The hooded man is still here, watching me intently from across the room. I still can’t see his face but the hostility that emanates from him is nearly palpable.
What did I ever do to
you
, fella?
All thoughts of small talk fall away and I dive right in to tonight’s first selection, Edgar Allan Poe’s
The Raven
. I wonder if the hooded stranger can hear Poe’s darkly poetic words from where he stands in the shadows. I hope so. Perhaps the tormented words of a kindred spirit will soothe his troubled soul.
