Title: Tethered
Author: Carlyle Labuschagne
Series: Standalone
Genre: Supernatural Suspense
Publisher: Fire Quill Publishing
Release Date: April 1 2019
Editions: eBook & Print
Blurb/Synopsis:
A girl tethered to a serial killer by heart leads them to the undiscovered
bodies of The Devil's breath victims.
Tethered follows two sisters, Willow and Raine Viviers
alongside two rogue FBI brothers on what seems like an impossible task to
solving a dead end case. With no leads, and a corrupt government cover up,
their time is running out to stop the spread of a Serial Killer Cult before
another victim is claimed.
But they have a secret weapon...
Willow is a young adult who has just undergone a heart
transplant who's trauma has changed her, she's gained a strange supernatural
gift - she can see into the heart of the Devil's Breath Killer. She not only
feels the serial killer's urges, knows his thoughts, but can somehow get's
visions through the eyes of his victims too.
These visions are chaotic, menacing and evil, and Willow can
hardly make sense of her own reality without going insane. How will she
decipher and hone in her special abilities in time to save a missing agent and
stop another Devil's Breath Killing.
Chapter 8
Willow was told that at some time during the night, she had
sleepwalked her way out of her room and down a series of corridors, managing to
slip into the service elevator undetected and find her way into the vast
basement area a floor below the morgue. She'd traveled so far down underground
that she'd been discovered in the maintenance section; the area where medical
waste was stored until pickup.
Back in her room and safely in her hospital bed, Willow
fought the tendrils of sleep as she sat surrounded by her sketches. Her hands
and fingers moved of their own accord. Lines, curves, and soft edges blurred
together to form an outline of the face that haunted her. She grabbed another
piece of paper and started another sketch; her soul bleeding out onto the paper
in shades of gray and black, soft and hard edges, smudged, defined curves and
lines forming a heart surrounded by flowers captured inside a birdcage made of
rib bones.
Nurse Benson entered with a tray of hot soup. “Willow? I
thought you should eat before you sleep,” she said in her ever calming voice.
Willow half smiled back at her and pulled the blankets over
the sketches as if ashamed of the secret she didn't quite understand.
“I’m okay, thank you, Bertha.”
Willow and Nurse Benson had become good companions in the
last three weeks. Bertha was an older lady, who had no children of her own. Her
husband had passed almost four years ago. Taking care of Willow was her latest
purpose in life. Even after her shift ended Bertha came to spend time with
Willow every lunchtime, bringing homemade cookies and sometimes bread with her.
Willow hadn't the heart to tell her that her baking was awful. And Bertha's
friendship was a welcome reprieve from the boredom of the endless days in
hospital.
“Why are you really here, Bertha? Willow asked as the nurse
stood with an expression of someone keeping a secret they were looking to
relieve themselves of.
“I’m that obvious, huh?”
She placed the soup on the eating tray and wheeled it over
to Willow.
Willow smiled, and adjusted her position on the bed as the
delicious smelling soup got wheeled her way.
“I feel awful that I didn’t notice you were gone last
night,” Bertha said, unpacking a spoon wrapped in a napkin from her purse.
“It’s not your fault,” Willow took a deep smell of the soup
and her stomach growled.
“My child, in your condition you could have died! I feel
terrible. Your immune system…”
Willow interrupted her. “Bertha, if heart failure couldn’t
take me out, what makes you think anything else could?” She grinned sheepishly
as she dipped into her soup.
Bertha gave a tight smile.
“I’m not sure what happened,” Willow said between
spoonful’s. The soup was as almost as delicious as it had smelled.
Bertha sat down on the edge of her bed. “It’s not the first
time you’ve left your room like that,” she began.
Willow’s eyes narrowed on Nurse Benson, the spoon suspended
midair. “You never said anything before. I don’t have a record of
sleepwalking…?”
Nurse Benson took a napkin from her Mary Poppins like bag
and tucked it in the collar of Willow's gown.
“You need to slow your words, child. You know that accent of
yours can be hard to understand.” She sat back with her hands in her lap.
She looked at Willow, "Don't worry yourself about the
sleepwalking, it will blow over. A heart transplant is a serious trauma to the
body and mind child."
She tipped her head to the side. “Stranger things have
happened to heart recipients before.”
Willow arched her eyebrow in question.
“How about I bring you some articles about it?” Bertha
offered.
“Ja, Sure.”
She took another spoonful of soup. Her big green eyes
searching out the nurse’s. It wasn’t the best soup she’d tasted, but it was
made with love, and that in itself made each spoonful feel like it was calming
from the inside. Nurse Benson took her chart from the foot of the bed, noticing
the shift-nurse had given her a mild sedative. She looked up and smiled at
Willow.
They fell quiet as the sounds of the slow beeping machines
coming from other rooms filled the space. Nurse Benson shifted uncomfortably on
the bed, not sure if she should tell Willow that she was concerned about her
symptoms after all. Instead, she decided to give the girl the rest she needed.
The sooner she got out of the hospital the better for everyone involved in
Willow’s transplant. As sad as it was to see her go, it was a case of moving on
and forgetting.
Standing from the bed, she sighed and said, "You should
get some rest,"
Adjusting the strap of her purse. “You need your sleep.”
She returned to clasping her hands before her, reminding
Willow of a sweet old church lady, which she knew she wasn’t. She’d seen bertha
throw enough tantrums, often swearing at the staff.
Willow watched after Bertha as she made for the door.
“I don’t want to sleep. What if it happens again?” she asked
Bertha.
Dropping her eyes as she felt the shame of sounding like a
frightened child; the last thing she wanted when her recovery was about finally
becoming an abled adult.
Bertha stopped at the threshold and smiled warmly.
“Do you need me to stay?” she asked, almost as if she’d been
expecting it.
"I won't let you wander off again, child."
Willow felt pathetic, she shrugged and answered shyly, “Ja,
you can’t guard me all the time…”
“Oh. Yes. I. Sure. Can.” Bertha chucked her purse across the
room where it landed perfectly on the sofa-chair.
Willow gave a soft chuckle, almost choking on the soup.
Nurse Benson walked over to Willow, hitting her on her back,
“Easy child, breathe.”
Willow gasped, taking in a breath before the laughter
erupted again. Nurse Benson removed the soup from her tray.
"Okay, I think your meds have taken effect."
“This is me, happy, funny me.”
Bertha wiped her bangs from her face and smiled down at
Willow. “If I’d ever had a daughter, I’d have liked her to be just like you.”
Willow closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a swell in her
throat.
“We'd make an odd combo, you and me.”
“Why’s that?” Bertha stared at her through her lashes.
Willow fell back into her pillows. “Well, I don’t really eat
baked goods, and you seem to bake, like, a lot. And well I just keep eating
them because...” she blushed at her confession.
The medication had taken hold and her thoughts were suddenly
outspoken and as if coming from someone else.
Nurse Benson stifled a laugh. “I wondered when you would
actually say something.”
“You sabotaged my cookies intentionally then?” Willow’s
tongue was starting to drag.
She blinked, trying to push away the fog creeping over her.
“Stay with me please?” she pleaded, her eyes finally
drooping.
Bertha took her hand.
“I will. You don’t have to be scared.”
“Okay.” Willow’s eyes shut as the drowsiness took over.
“Oh, and please check in on Tyler in room…” she said, lids
still closed.
“I know. You do not have to worry about him. I’ll let him
know you’ll visit him soon.”
Willow tried to put up one last fight against the sleep,
having this overwhelming feeling, as if she might never wake up the same again.
First she had to say one more thing to Bertha, just in case she didn’t make it
back to reality.
“Bertha,” was all she got out.
What she had wanted to tell her was, how scared she had been
about what she’d seen and felt in that basement. But she’d slipped into sleep
too soon with the ominous feeling pursuing her. Singed behind her lids was the
non-distinct face that stood out in the shadows of that basement. A face that
only she had seen - with it the overly encroaching feeling, like one she’d
never experienced before. The haunting face was somehow part of her now.
