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Just for fun! Here's a snippet from the start of my book! Chapter One, where the going gets tough! (Book hasn't been edited yet, so all spelling mistakes are mine to own. Copyright 2019, Gwen Knight).
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Funny the things you learn when dead.
For instance, I learned I wasn’t human. Not entirely, anyway. Imagine the fright I gave the poor coroner when I suddenly shot bolt upright on the cold table and started screaming. A medical marvel, he called me. I’d been dead for hours. Long enough for them to transport my body from the bloody street where they’d found me to the morgue. But thankfully, not long enough for them to perform the autopsy. It was bad enough waking up with a bullet lodged in your chest, let alone finding yourself cut open.
The coroner had taken it upon himself to spout off multiple theories, ranging from some sort of medical condition called Lazarus Syndrome, to dosing myself with a concoction of drugs to fake my death. Neither explained the bullet, something he’d graciously dug out of me after copious amounts of bribery.
Now, I stood outside my house, half-swathed in gauze and confused as hell. I shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t be breathing the damn air. The bullet had nicked my heart and shredded my insides. No one recovered from that.
No one human, anyway.
My entire life, my father had told me fantastical stories about my mother. Things I’d always believed to be nothing more than fairy tales. After all, vampires didn’t exist. I figured it was all one giant metaphor, a way for him to cope with my mother’s abandonment. He hated the “bloodsucking bitch,” as he often called her. I certainly never believed she drank blood. I’d always assumed he was referring to how she’d drained his bank account before taking off. My father had always been a tad eccentric—it’d been easier to think of his stories as nothing more than the ravings of a man driven mad by his ex.
Clearly, I’d assumed wrong, evidenced by the fact that here I stood, a so-called medical marvel.
I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and grazed the crumpled bullet. I’d pocketed it after extraction, unable to leave it behind. It meant something to me now for some reason. Proof that I hadn’t lost my mind, perhaps?
“I’m still alive,” I whispered, my breath fogging in the chilled night air.
Still alive.
But why? And how?
For the first time since his death, I missed my father. And not because I longed for his comfort, but because he had the answers I needed. Sadly, he’d taken those to his grave years ago. All that remained were his belongings, stashed in my basement, thrown into storage soon after his funeral. The thought of rummaging through all those dusty boxes didn’t appeal to me, but what choice did I have?
“Pippa?” an aged voice rose in the darkness. “Pippa, is that you?”
I groaned at the sound of my neighbor’s voice. I so didn’t want to deal with this right now.
“Pippa! I can’t believe it. They’ve been showing your face on the news all evening. They said you were dead!”
Annnnnd that’s what I didn’t want to deal with. The police had warned me about this when I left the station, that the news had been covering my death all night. Pippa Williams, professional bounty hunter, gunned down in the middle of the street while possibly apprehending a man who’d skipped bail.
That was the story they’d gone with—I hadn’t bothered to correct them. Honestly, I wasn’t sure the police could handle the truth. Hell, I wasn’t sure I could handle the truth.
“Pippa!” A wrinkled hand came down on my shoulder.
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. Patience wasn’t exactly one of my virtues. I just wanted to dive into my father’s belongings and figure out who—or rather what—the hell I was.
“Hello, Mrs. Lee,” I muttered.
“Pippa, dear. My God, are you all right? Th news said someone shot you! I’ve always said that job of yours was dangerous.”
I winced, then opened my eyes to find an aged face, blotted with liver spots, staring back at me. Her once sparkling blue eyes were now a faded grey, worn out by time. But deep down, I saw the compassion and warmth within. She meant well, I knew that. But some days, she was a hard pill to swallow.
“I’m perfectly fine,” I assured her with a weak smile. “The police told me the news stations would issue a retraction soon.”
“Oh, thank the Lord. When I heard what happened to you…” Her voice drifted off as her gaze dropped. “Is that a bandage?”
I glanced down and winced at the sight of the white gauze poking out above my jacket. I might have survived being shot, but the wound hadn’t entirely healed by the time I’d left the station. Every step was a new lesson in pain, every breath a torment. But hey, at least I was alive.
“You’re hurt,” Mrs. Lee pressed.
I shrugged, not entirely sure how to respond. I hadn’t yet found the time to consider what I’d tell people yet. My night had been slightly jam-packed with something as trivial as returning from the dead. Sure, the police had questioned me, but I’d mostly just sat there, staring, unable to contemplate anything. They’d finally released me when they realized they weren’t going to get anything helpful out of me.
I mean, what the hell was I supposed to say? Yes, officer, a freaking vampire shot me. A vampire. Let’s say that again for the people in the back who missed it. A. Freaking. Vampire.
Even worse, that self-proclaimed vampire said I was one, too. Half, at least.
And yup, I’d laughed in the bastard’s face. But who was laughing now? Not me, with my freshly-minted bullet hole.
Blinking back unbidden tears, I strode toward my front door. “Nice seeing you again, Mrs. Lee.”
“Pippa, wait!”
I shook my head, then quickly unlocked my door and slipped inside. Rehashing tonight’s events with Mrs. Lee was the last thing I wanted to do. With a long sigh, I leaned against the door until it clicked shut. Silence and darkness welcomed me. I used to find them comforting, but now it raised the little hairs on my arms. I’d had enough darkness for one lifetime, and the silence sent a shiver down my spine.
I squeezed my eyes shut and reminded myself, “You’re still alive. This isn’t hell. This is real.”
If that were even possible. I mean, what exactly was real? Returning from the dead? Wondering if you really were something other than human? This was all insane. What if it was all some construct in my head? Some delusional fantasy I’d created after I’d died. A fake reality, of sorts. What was crazier: believing I was some vampire hybrid, or that I’d lost my mind and trapped myself in a disassociated state? What if I really was dead?
No, I couldn’t think like that. If I stumbled down that rabbit hole, I’d never claw my way free. The only way to maintain my sanity was to treat this world as reality. My entire life, my father had claimed vampires existed, long before I’d ever died. That had to mean something.
Right?
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