An Excerpt from my Epiphany, the rewrite of Heart's Desire (unedited, of course):
The house stood on a low hill, surrounded by forest as far as she could see. Sarah drove up the winding gravel driveway, expecting to see a wizened old man appear on the front porch steps with a shotgun, but this was rural Ohio, not southern Kentucky. And as far as she could tell, the house was empty and had been for some time.
Her house, if the deed spoke true. But why would her father have hidden it from her? She glanced at the yearbook on the passenger side seat and remembered the sparkle of her mother's smile. She'd never summoned up enough courage to ask. Perhaps here in Beth-hill, she could summon up enough courage to find some answers.
How did Mom die, Daddy? Why didn't you ever tell me? She'd found precious few mementoes of her mother's life after her father passed away. A yearbook from a school that didn't seem to exist, a class photo, and a handful of candid shots by an unknown photographer. She had inherited her mother's auburn hair and her father's gray eyes. In the color class photo in the yearbook, her mother's eyes were a vibrant green. Sarah's memories were sketchy at best, since she had been four when her mother died. And she certainly didn't remember this house.
Gravel pinged off the underside of her car as she maneuvered up the driveway. In places it was hard to tell where the lawn ended and the driveway began; no one had replenished the gravel and the spring rains had washed it all away. No one had painted the house, either. Although it seemed sturdy enough to her untutored eye, she realized it would have to be completely inspected before she moved in.
Moved in? Sarah blinked up at the peeling paint and the smooth, worn wood of the front porch. She had no idea if there were jobs to be had in Beth-hill, and she certainly had no intention of making a two-hour commute into the city. But moving in... she glanced at the surrounding trees; the flower garden gone to seed. The heady aroma of mint and honeysuckle hung on the air, and the buzz of bumblebees almost masked the sound of a chainsaw far, far away.
Sarah shook her head. The heat made her drowsy. She would have curled up quite happily on the porch with a book and a tall glass of iced tea, but she had not come to relax. She'd come on a fact-finding mission, however faint the hope of clues might be.
The slam of her car door echoed in the stillness. She pocketed her keys, but left her purse and the yearbook on the car seat. She'd seen no one on the road, and the doors were locked. The buzzing bees paid the sound no mind, but something rustled in the forest and a rabbit fled for the safety of a low hanging bush on the other side of the yard.
The worn porch railing was cool under Sarah's hand. It had once been painted white, but the years had stripped the paint from the wood, leaving it a silvery gray like the rest of the house. A coat of paint would be the first thing, she thought. A coat of paint, pots of red geraniums on the porch, an herb garden out back...
Sarah gripped the old-fashioned key and opened the storm door. The screen needed to be replaced; it was torn in places and rusty with age. The door creaked when she pulled it open, and any fear that the key would not fit vanished when it slid into the lock and turned soundlessly.
She let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she stood in the doorway and let her eyes adjust to the dim light seeping in from around the plywood fastened to the windows. The air smelled stale, redolent of dust and mold and faintly, lilacs.
She took a step forward and heard something skitter on the hardwood floor.
"Mice." Her voice echoed through the silent hallway. An exterminator would have to be put on the list as well.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the house was not empty as she had thought. In fact, as she walked down the hall and peeked into the various rooms, the house looked untouched, as if no one had set foot inside of it since her grandmother's death.
To her right was a formal dining room, complete with chandelier, cherry table, and a china cabinet full of gold-rimmed dishes and dusty wine glasses. To her left, what looked to be a parlor, or the living room. A faded couch held court with two mismatched lounge chairs and a wall of bookcases brimming with books. Sarah's fingers itched to inspect them, but she stopped herself before she stepped into the room. If the house and its contents belonged to her, she'd have plenty of time to explore and read.
A winding staircase led upstairs, but she decided to save that until last. She walked down the hall and found a locked door, a closet under the stairs filled to the brim with boxes, and a cavernous kitchen at the back of the house. The kitchen was brighter than the rest of the house due to the fact that the plywood had fallen off the back door. Sarah unlocked it and pulled it open, letting in a gust of hot fresh air.
The skittering sound came again, this time from under the table on the other side of the room. A faded tablecloth hid whatever animal had made its home underneath, and as Sarah approached, she saw the tablecloth move.
She lifted a corner and eased the dusty cloth up and sneezed as a cloud of dust rose into the air. A dark shape moved at the other end of the table, too large for a mouse. What was it? A cat? A rat? Sarah stepped back and let the tablecloth fall.
An orange and white kitten shot out from under the table and jumped onto the counter. She saw where it had come in; the window over the sink had broken and no one had thought to put plywood over it.
"Wait!" Sarah took a step towards it, but the kitten gave her a startled look and wiggled out of the hole. She watched it until it vanished into the forest, then turned and looked around the dusty kitchen.
A hulking, old-fashioned refrigerator stood in one corner, and a stove stood against the far wall. A wooden door with a calendar from 1982 hanging from a nail led to a pair of rickety stairs--the basement? She'd have to investigate that later on as well.
She didn't open the fridge for fear of seeing twenty-year old mummified food still inside it. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, at least, and when she tried the tap, it spat for a minute and then splattered her with water.
"Hmm." Experimentally, she flicked a switch. Nothing happened. So the electricity wasn't on? How did she have water, then, with no water pump?
"You must be Sarah Campbell."
Sarah shrieked and spun around. The man in the kitchen doorway stepped back and raised his hands, but she didn't think he was very surprised by her shout.
"I'm not here to harm you," he said while she tried to blink away the gray spots in front of her eyes. "I saw... your car, and..."
Sarah stared at him and clutched the whistle around her neck. He would have had to stoop to step inside, but he stayed on the back porch, peering into the kitchen like a curious cat. He wore a black leather trench coat, black boots, black jeans, and a sweater that looked to be cashmere or silk. His hair was white blond and spilled over the collar of his jacket in a wash of pale moonlight. His eyes were pale enough to be silver, accented by the black clothes.
"W-who are you?" And why was he wearing a trench coat and a sweater on a day like today? It wasn't terribly hot, but the humidity made up for that. And yet this man showed no sign that the heat affected him at all.
He cocked his head and stared at her for a moment. She had the distinct impression that he was amused. "You may call me Gabriel."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Just Gabriel?"
"Indeed." His eyes flicked around the room, searching for something Sarah could not see. "What bring you back to Beth-Hill, Sarah Campbell?"
His face blurred in Sarah's sight. "My... My father died a week ago. I found the deed to this house in a box of... things." She wiped her eyes angrily. "I don't even know you! Did you know my parents?"
"You might say that." Gabriel's voice did not lose that even keel.
"My... Did you know my mother?" He didn't look old enough to know a woman twenty years dead, but Sarah had yet to find a single lead. "I'm looking for a school that's supposed to be around here, too. It's called Darkbrook Academy. I tried to look it up, but it doesn't seem to be listed anywhere."
Gabriel's pale lips twitched in what could have been a smile. "It wouldn't be."
"But you know of it?" She should have brought the yearbook inside.
Gabriel nodded. "I know of it. If you like, I'll tell them you're here." He turned to go.
"Tell who?"
Gabriel gave her an enigmatic glance. "The Council, of course. You'll want to speak with them."
Before Sarah could question him, he stepped off the porch and vanished into the forest.
Sarah stood for a moment, staring after him. She did not understand what had just happened; it seemed too strange to be true, and yet she knew she was not dreaming. She shook her head and closed the kitchen door, but Gabriel's presence had ruined the mood of the afternoon. Once content to explore her grandmother's house, Sarah now wanted answers.
It only took her a moment to retrace her steps to the car. She unlocked the driver's side door to grab her purse and the yearbook from the passenger seat, but they were gone. Her water bottle listed sideways without the support of her purse, and water had already soaked into the upholstery. Sarah straightened it absently and slid into her car.
She had her keys, at least, but how had the thief broken in? The doors had been locked. Yes, she had been stupid not to lock her purse and the yearbook in the trunk, but rural Ohio wasn't a hotbed of criminal activity. Unlike the city where she lived right now.
"Damn!" What should she do now? Call the police from the diner she'd noticed five miles down the road? Search in the bushes to make sure the thief hadn't dropped any evidence? She leaned her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. She'd wanted a lark; an adventure. She'd wanted the house to be her own so she could move out of the apartment and breathe for once.
She'd wanted a miracle, and she'd gotten a purse thief. But why had the thief taken the yearbook as well?
She remembered Gabriel's parting words and tried to remember if she had seen pictures of some sort of Council in the yearbook. She hadn't paid much attention to the students or faculty, save for the half-familiar face of her mother. She'd been more interested in finding those few photographs than anything else.
A hot tear fell on the steering wheel. Another one soon followed, but crying about a stolen purse would get her nowhere. Sarah wiped her eyes and raised her head. She still had plenty of light left. She'd look around, just in case the thief had dropped her purse in his haste to get away, then drive to the nearest phone. And next time, she wouldn't leave it out in plain sight.
A cool breeze lifted her hair from the nape of her neck and played across the tops of the daisies that grew at the edge of what once had been a wonderful flower garden. Sarah saw a patch of trampled flowers and stepped into the weeds,
following a zigzagged trail towards the forest. Twenty feet away from the house, she found her purse, its contents spilled out across the ground.
Some of her credit cards had teeth marks--or something--perforating the edges. Sarah frowned down at them, then knelt on the matted grass and sorted everything back into order. The only thing missing was her license, as far as she could tell.
Sarah frowned at the empty slot for a moment, trying to figure out why someone would want her license and nothing else. She had sixty dollars in her wallet--untouched--and credit cards as well.
"You must be Sarah Campbell," she heard Gabriel say again. How had he known her name? And if he was the thief, how had he broken into her car and locked the door behind himself?
Suddenly uneasy, Sarah slung her purse over her shoulder and stood up. She saw no one; not even the rabbit had returned, but she felt eyes watching her from the depths of the forest. The solitude had seemed idyllic before, but now the house, its wild gardens and the forest around them both made her realize just how isolated it was.
She tried not to run back to her car. By the time she slid behind the wheel, the feeling had grown to monstrous proportions, so much, in fact, that as she glanced at the trees again, she expected to see Gabriel standing in the shadows.
As before, she saw no one. But the feeling persisted until her grandmother's house vanished from sight.
-------------------------------------
So, yeah, I told myself I wasn't going to do this, but... oh well. I now have three official WIPs for the next couple of weeks. I'm going to try to work on each one every day, so that should be okay. I'm going to leave the others to languish until after Florida, though.
So far, so good. It's not perfect, but I like this version a lot better than the last version. I always had my... reservatioins, I guess, about Sarah's motivations. Now I don't. Yay!
More later, perhaps.
The house stood on a low hill, surrounded by forest as far as she could see. Sarah drove up the winding gravel driveway, expecting to see a wizened old man appear on the front porch steps with a shotgun, but this was rural Ohio, not southern Kentucky. And as far as she could tell, the house was empty and had been for some time.
Her house, if the deed spoke true. But why would her father have hidden it from her? She glanced at the yearbook on the passenger side seat and remembered the sparkle of her mother's smile. She'd never summoned up enough courage to ask. Perhaps here in Beth-hill, she could summon up enough courage to find some answers.
How did Mom die, Daddy? Why didn't you ever tell me? She'd found precious few mementoes of her mother's life after her father passed away. A yearbook from a school that didn't seem to exist, a class photo, and a handful of candid shots by an unknown photographer. She had inherited her mother's auburn hair and her father's gray eyes. In the color class photo in the yearbook, her mother's eyes were a vibrant green. Sarah's memories were sketchy at best, since she had been four when her mother died. And she certainly didn't remember this house.
Gravel pinged off the underside of her car as she maneuvered up the driveway. In places it was hard to tell where the lawn ended and the driveway began; no one had replenished the gravel and the spring rains had washed it all away. No one had painted the house, either. Although it seemed sturdy enough to her untutored eye, she realized it would have to be completely inspected before she moved in.
Moved in? Sarah blinked up at the peeling paint and the smooth, worn wood of the front porch. She had no idea if there were jobs to be had in Beth-hill, and she certainly had no intention of making a two-hour commute into the city. But moving in... she glanced at the surrounding trees; the flower garden gone to seed. The heady aroma of mint and honeysuckle hung on the air, and the buzz of bumblebees almost masked the sound of a chainsaw far, far away.
Sarah shook her head. The heat made her drowsy. She would have curled up quite happily on the porch with a book and a tall glass of iced tea, but she had not come to relax. She'd come on a fact-finding mission, however faint the hope of clues might be.
The slam of her car door echoed in the stillness. She pocketed her keys, but left her purse and the yearbook on the car seat. She'd seen no one on the road, and the doors were locked. The buzzing bees paid the sound no mind, but something rustled in the forest and a rabbit fled for the safety of a low hanging bush on the other side of the yard.
The worn porch railing was cool under Sarah's hand. It had once been painted white, but the years had stripped the paint from the wood, leaving it a silvery gray like the rest of the house. A coat of paint would be the first thing, she thought. A coat of paint, pots of red geraniums on the porch, an herb garden out back...
Sarah gripped the old-fashioned key and opened the storm door. The screen needed to be replaced; it was torn in places and rusty with age. The door creaked when she pulled it open, and any fear that the key would not fit vanished when it slid into the lock and turned soundlessly.
She let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she stood in the doorway and let her eyes adjust to the dim light seeping in from around the plywood fastened to the windows. The air smelled stale, redolent of dust and mold and faintly, lilacs.
She took a step forward and heard something skitter on the hardwood floor.
"Mice." Her voice echoed through the silent hallway. An exterminator would have to be put on the list as well.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the house was not empty as she had thought. In fact, as she walked down the hall and peeked into the various rooms, the house looked untouched, as if no one had set foot inside of it since her grandmother's death.
To her right was a formal dining room, complete with chandelier, cherry table, and a china cabinet full of gold-rimmed dishes and dusty wine glasses. To her left, what looked to be a parlor, or the living room. A faded couch held court with two mismatched lounge chairs and a wall of bookcases brimming with books. Sarah's fingers itched to inspect them, but she stopped herself before she stepped into the room. If the house and its contents belonged to her, she'd have plenty of time to explore and read.
A winding staircase led upstairs, but she decided to save that until last. She walked down the hall and found a locked door, a closet under the stairs filled to the brim with boxes, and a cavernous kitchen at the back of the house. The kitchen was brighter than the rest of the house due to the fact that the plywood had fallen off the back door. Sarah unlocked it and pulled it open, letting in a gust of hot fresh air.
The skittering sound came again, this time from under the table on the other side of the room. A faded tablecloth hid whatever animal had made its home underneath, and as Sarah approached, she saw the tablecloth move.
She lifted a corner and eased the dusty cloth up and sneezed as a cloud of dust rose into the air. A dark shape moved at the other end of the table, too large for a mouse. What was it? A cat? A rat? Sarah stepped back and let the tablecloth fall.
An orange and white kitten shot out from under the table and jumped onto the counter. She saw where it had come in; the window over the sink had broken and no one had thought to put plywood over it.
"Wait!" Sarah took a step towards it, but the kitten gave her a startled look and wiggled out of the hole. She watched it until it vanished into the forest, then turned and looked around the dusty kitchen.
A hulking, old-fashioned refrigerator stood in one corner, and a stove stood against the far wall. A wooden door with a calendar from 1982 hanging from a nail led to a pair of rickety stairs--the basement? She'd have to investigate that later on as well.
She didn't open the fridge for fear of seeing twenty-year old mummified food still inside it. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, at least, and when she tried the tap, it spat for a minute and then splattered her with water.
"Hmm." Experimentally, she flicked a switch. Nothing happened. So the electricity wasn't on? How did she have water, then, with no water pump?
"You must be Sarah Campbell."
Sarah shrieked and spun around. The man in the kitchen doorway stepped back and raised his hands, but she didn't think he was very surprised by her shout.
"I'm not here to harm you," he said while she tried to blink away the gray spots in front of her eyes. "I saw... your car, and..."
Sarah stared at him and clutched the whistle around her neck. He would have had to stoop to step inside, but he stayed on the back porch, peering into the kitchen like a curious cat. He wore a black leather trench coat, black boots, black jeans, and a sweater that looked to be cashmere or silk. His hair was white blond and spilled over the collar of his jacket in a wash of pale moonlight. His eyes were pale enough to be silver, accented by the black clothes.
"W-who are you?" And why was he wearing a trench coat and a sweater on a day like today? It wasn't terribly hot, but the humidity made up for that. And yet this man showed no sign that the heat affected him at all.
He cocked his head and stared at her for a moment. She had the distinct impression that he was amused. "You may call me Gabriel."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Just Gabriel?"
"Indeed." His eyes flicked around the room, searching for something Sarah could not see. "What bring you back to Beth-Hill, Sarah Campbell?"
His face blurred in Sarah's sight. "My... My father died a week ago. I found the deed to this house in a box of... things." She wiped her eyes angrily. "I don't even know you! Did you know my parents?"
"You might say that." Gabriel's voice did not lose that even keel.
"My... Did you know my mother?" He didn't look old enough to know a woman twenty years dead, but Sarah had yet to find a single lead. "I'm looking for a school that's supposed to be around here, too. It's called Darkbrook Academy. I tried to look it up, but it doesn't seem to be listed anywhere."
Gabriel's pale lips twitched in what could have been a smile. "It wouldn't be."
"But you know of it?" She should have brought the yearbook inside.
Gabriel nodded. "I know of it. If you like, I'll tell them you're here." He turned to go.
"Tell who?"
Gabriel gave her an enigmatic glance. "The Council, of course. You'll want to speak with them."
Before Sarah could question him, he stepped off the porch and vanished into the forest.
Sarah stood for a moment, staring after him. She did not understand what had just happened; it seemed too strange to be true, and yet she knew she was not dreaming. She shook her head and closed the kitchen door, but Gabriel's presence had ruined the mood of the afternoon. Once content to explore her grandmother's house, Sarah now wanted answers.
It only took her a moment to retrace her steps to the car. She unlocked the driver's side door to grab her purse and the yearbook from the passenger seat, but they were gone. Her water bottle listed sideways without the support of her purse, and water had already soaked into the upholstery. Sarah straightened it absently and slid into her car.
She had her keys, at least, but how had the thief broken in? The doors had been locked. Yes, she had been stupid not to lock her purse and the yearbook in the trunk, but rural Ohio wasn't a hotbed of criminal activity. Unlike the city where she lived right now.
"Damn!" What should she do now? Call the police from the diner she'd noticed five miles down the road? Search in the bushes to make sure the thief hadn't dropped any evidence? She leaned her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. She'd wanted a lark; an adventure. She'd wanted the house to be her own so she could move out of the apartment and breathe for once.
She'd wanted a miracle, and she'd gotten a purse thief. But why had the thief taken the yearbook as well?
She remembered Gabriel's parting words and tried to remember if she had seen pictures of some sort of Council in the yearbook. She hadn't paid much attention to the students or faculty, save for the half-familiar face of her mother. She'd been more interested in finding those few photographs than anything else.
A hot tear fell on the steering wheel. Another one soon followed, but crying about a stolen purse would get her nowhere. Sarah wiped her eyes and raised her head. She still had plenty of light left. She'd look around, just in case the thief had dropped her purse in his haste to get away, then drive to the nearest phone. And next time, she wouldn't leave it out in plain sight.
A cool breeze lifted her hair from the nape of her neck and played across the tops of the daisies that grew at the edge of what once had been a wonderful flower garden. Sarah saw a patch of trampled flowers and stepped into the weeds,
following a zigzagged trail towards the forest. Twenty feet away from the house, she found her purse, its contents spilled out across the ground.
Some of her credit cards had teeth marks--or something--perforating the edges. Sarah frowned down at them, then knelt on the matted grass and sorted everything back into order. The only thing missing was her license, as far as she could tell.
Sarah frowned at the empty slot for a moment, trying to figure out why someone would want her license and nothing else. She had sixty dollars in her wallet--untouched--and credit cards as well.
"You must be Sarah Campbell," she heard Gabriel say again. How had he known her name? And if he was the thief, how had he broken into her car and locked the door behind himself?
Suddenly uneasy, Sarah slung her purse over her shoulder and stood up. She saw no one; not even the rabbit had returned, but she felt eyes watching her from the depths of the forest. The solitude had seemed idyllic before, but now the house, its wild gardens and the forest around them both made her realize just how isolated it was.
She tried not to run back to her car. By the time she slid behind the wheel, the feeling had grown to monstrous proportions, so much, in fact, that as she glanced at the trees again, she expected to see Gabriel standing in the shadows.
As before, she saw no one. But the feeling persisted until her grandmother's house vanished from sight.
-------------------------------------
So, yeah, I told myself I wasn't going to do this, but... oh well. I now have three official WIPs for the next couple of weeks. I'm going to try to work on each one every day, so that should be okay. I'm going to leave the others to languish until after Florida, though.
So far, so good. It's not perfect, but I like this version a lot better than the last version. I always had my... reservatioins, I guess, about Sarah's motivations. Now I don't. Yay!
More later, perhaps.
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