The Book
Genre: urban fantasy
About I Can See You:
“Emma stuck her face to the window to watch the rain. Lightning in the background drew a fiery specter in the sky while her eyes traced the water droplets running down the pane like tears.” Emma Willis is ten years old and has a secret. She not only inherited her grandmother’s power of sight, she can accomplish much more. Like most children without siblings growing up amongst adults, she is precocious yet at times lonely. When a murderer is loose in Newark, a maniac with a thirst for killing little girls, she begins to understand why her Granny Dottie called her sight a curse. She will need all her powers to catch a killer and help the people in her life: Detective Hank Apple, her teacher Christina Tyler, and her little family of three. Only … the madman knows who she is!Source: Info in the About I Can See You was from the press kit from the publicity team.
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Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Emma twisted her head side to side. She moaned, powerless to change her fate as an unfriendly force dragged her and pulled her along in spite of her protests. Her silent pleas weren’t caused by anything she found. Empty haze surrounded her until the long corridor began to take shape and revulsion beat a warning throb inside her head, the pounding in tune with her frightened heart.
Recognition heightened her fear. A lone bulb dangled on its rope swinging left to right. The dim light reminded her not to come any further as did the stench of rotting wood. An unseen force yanked her all the way in this time, making the moans and whimpers drifting toward her appear childlike. She wondered if the cries echoing around her came from the room itself.
She struggled to turn around, to return from where she’d come. By now she realized this trip was a mind trap, her body uninvited to the usual nightmare. Yet she could not shake the weight of doom keeping her prisoner while it moved her forward. She peeked through tear stained eyelids and glimpsed a door which creaked as it opened slowly, revealing nothing more than a black hole she had seen before and from which she might never emerge.
In the doorway, familiar grunts and a ghoulish sound wafted toward her and at once she sensed the painful memory of the sight sprawled before her.
Previously she’d refused to go beyond this point closing her eyes and screaming to make the visions stop. Now with the timbre of her voice imprisoned in fear little choice remained but to weather a mounting fever as she entered the wicked void.
Inside she stared at a gray haired man down on all fours like a rabid dog hunched over a small child her eyes wide and dry with terror. Emma attempted to scream, but anger had taken hold of her, anchoring her to the one-room hell as though she couldn’t leave without expending outrage.
With all the strength she could muster from the depths of her young soul, Emma yelled for the man to stop and leave the room. She closed her eyes and prayed to be allowed to leave. Yet by some strange occurrence, the madman turned and spotted her.
She wondered how the man was able to see her. She inventoried a round nose broad face with an eyebrow higher than the other as though he wore some grotesque mask. “Who are you?” he muttered. “How did you get in here?”
She lost her words. Emma could not believe he was actually talking to her. When he stared at her feetless legs, his eyes grew as big as her friend Tommy’s oxblood marbles the white streaked with red threatening to rip out of his head and hunt her down.
He took a deep breath and reached for her yelling, “Witch—You’re a witch. You wretched, filthy little bitch. I’ll show you.” His voice trembled with menace. “Guess who’s next?” His laugh shut her eyes tight and the scream rose out of her with the faint breath she had left.
She was still screaming when she sat up in bed, in her own room. The old elm branches swayed against her window soothing her to a makeshift calm.
A knock on the door and her mother came in, smiling as she did. “Bad dream again, Emma?”
She nodded, her voice tied up in knots inside her throat and her body still trembling.
Eloise sat on the bed and draped her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Want to talk about it?”
Emma shook her head her eyes slowly adjusting to the comfort of her room. The light from the hall poured in to cast a glow of pink on the armoire where she stored her favorite books and keepsakes. “I don’t remember anymore,” she whispered.
“That’s the thing about nightmares when you’re ten years old. They fade quickly and don’t leave a trace.” Her mother kissed her brow sorting through the tangled damp meshes clinging to her forehead. “Get some rest, sweetie.”
“Good night, Mom.”
The door closed again and darkness returned. She sank into her pillows her heart bouncing back and forth inside her chest as though the slippery organ didn’t want to be there. She yanked the blanket up to her nose even though June nights were warm and humid. She doubted she’d go back to the awful dungeon tonight. Yet, she still worried about the vile man personally addressing her. Then again in dreams anything was likely to happen. Didn’t mean he’d actually seen her, or knew who she was. Didn’t mean he was real either.
***
Early morning three days later, Hank Apple enjoyed a moment’s peace as he stood in the small office he shared with his partner their two desks facing each other. Door closed he stood by the glass partition on the south wall. A view of the precinct slowly filling up with the morning crew held his attention.
He’d concocted an herb mixture he readied to gulp down when Matthew Logan rammed through the place as though mowing a lawn, the intrusion prodding Hank to turn abruptly and spill green goo all over his white shirt.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hank shouted.
“Sorry, Hank. Didn’t know anyone was in here.”
“This will never wash out.” Hank grabbed a paper towel to blot the stain on his shirt.
“I’m just so … fucking upset.” Matt slammed the door closed and began pacing, rubbing his bald head as nerves took over. “What is that goop anyway?”
“Plants … never mind. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Matt stopped pacing. He seemed to hesitate. Fists at his side he announced, “Another orange bag was found—in a construction site dumpster …”
Emma twisted her head side to side. She moaned, powerless to change her fate as an unfriendly force dragged her and pulled her along in spite of her protests. Her silent pleas weren’t caused by anything she found. Empty haze surrounded her until the long corridor began to take shape and revulsion beat a warning throb inside her head, the pounding in tune with her frightened heart.
Recognition heightened her fear. A lone bulb dangled on its rope swinging left to right. The dim light reminded her not to come any further as did the stench of rotting wood. An unseen force yanked her all the way in this time, making the moans and whimpers drifting toward her appear childlike. She wondered if the cries echoing around her came from the room itself.
She struggled to turn around, to return from where she’d come. By now she realized this trip was a mind trap, her body uninvited to the usual nightmare. Yet she could not shake the weight of doom keeping her prisoner while it moved her forward. She peeked through tear stained eyelids and glimpsed a door which creaked as it opened slowly, revealing nothing more than a black hole she had seen before and from which she might never emerge.
In the doorway, familiar grunts and a ghoulish sound wafted toward her and at once she sensed the painful memory of the sight sprawled before her.
Previously she’d refused to go beyond this point closing her eyes and screaming to make the visions stop. Now with the timbre of her voice imprisoned in fear little choice remained but to weather a mounting fever as she entered the wicked void.
Inside she stared at a gray haired man down on all fours like a rabid dog hunched over a small child her eyes wide and dry with terror. Emma attempted to scream, but anger had taken hold of her, anchoring her to the one-room hell as though she couldn’t leave without expending outrage.
With all the strength she could muster from the depths of her young soul, Emma yelled for the man to stop and leave the room. She closed her eyes and prayed to be allowed to leave. Yet by some strange occurrence, the madman turned and spotted her.
She wondered how the man was able to see her. She inventoried a round nose broad face with an eyebrow higher than the other as though he wore some grotesque mask. “Who are you?” he muttered. “How did you get in here?”
She lost her words. Emma could not believe he was actually talking to her. When he stared at her feetless legs, his eyes grew as big as her friend Tommy’s oxblood marbles the white streaked with red threatening to rip out of his head and hunt her down.
He took a deep breath and reached for her yelling, “Witch—You’re a witch. You wretched, filthy little bitch. I’ll show you.” His voice trembled with menace. “Guess who’s next?” His laugh shut her eyes tight and the scream rose out of her with the faint breath she had left.
She was still screaming when she sat up in bed, in her own room. The old elm branches swayed against her window soothing her to a makeshift calm.
A knock on the door and her mother came in, smiling as she did. “Bad dream again, Emma?”
She nodded, her voice tied up in knots inside her throat and her body still trembling.
Eloise sat on the bed and draped her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Want to talk about it?”
Emma shook her head her eyes slowly adjusting to the comfort of her room. The light from the hall poured in to cast a glow of pink on the armoire where she stored her favorite books and keepsakes. “I don’t remember anymore,” she whispered.
“That’s the thing about nightmares when you’re ten years old. They fade quickly and don’t leave a trace.” Her mother kissed her brow sorting through the tangled damp meshes clinging to her forehead. “Get some rest, sweetie.”
“Good night, Mom.”
The door closed again and darkness returned. She sank into her pillows her heart bouncing back and forth inside her chest as though the slippery organ didn’t want to be there. She yanked the blanket up to her nose even though June nights were warm and humid. She doubted she’d go back to the awful dungeon tonight. Yet, she still worried about the vile man personally addressing her. Then again in dreams anything was likely to happen. Didn’t mean he’d actually seen her, or knew who she was. Didn’t mean he was real either.
***
Early morning three days later, Hank Apple enjoyed a moment’s peace as he stood in the small office he shared with his partner their two desks facing each other. Door closed he stood by the glass partition on the south wall. A view of the precinct slowly filling up with the morning crew held his attention.
He’d concocted an herb mixture he readied to gulp down when Matthew Logan rammed through the place as though mowing a lawn, the intrusion prodding Hank to turn abruptly and spill green goo all over his white shirt.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hank shouted.
“Sorry, Hank. Didn’t know anyone was in here.”
“This will never wash out.” Hank grabbed a paper towel to blot the stain on his shirt.
“I’m just so … fucking upset.” Matt slammed the door closed and began pacing, rubbing his bald head as nerves took over. “What is that goop anyway?”
“Plants … never mind. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Matt stopped pacing. He seemed to hesitate. Fists at his side he announced, “Another orange bag was found—in a construction site dumpster …”
Meet The Author
With a degree in commerce, Joss has worked as a consultant for more than twenty years, writing copy for marketing firms and assisting start-up companies launch their business. She recently made the switch from composing copy and promos, to writing fiction and prose. She is developing her style through courses and the support of other writers. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America and is presently working on honing three other novels for publication. Blessed with four children and five grandchildren, she resides in Montreal with her husband, a staunch supporter, and enjoys spending time biking, rollerblading, playing tennis, and swimming. She loves creating stories as she says they fulfill her need to think outside the box.
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