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Excerpt from The Accidental Sleuth:
Emma Winberry looked around, frantically searching for a familiar face. Her clothes were in tatters. Two greasy men gripped her arms pulling her up to a platform. “What’s the charge Citizen?” shouted a shabby fellow wearing a dirty white wig and a long filthy magistrate’s robe. “Fraternizing with the aristocracy.” One of the men pointed at Emma and spat. “Guilty! Off with her head!” The gavel banged, sounding her doom as they dragged her away. “Wait,” she shouted. “This is the wrong century. I belong in the twenty-first, not the eighteenth.” She looked up in terror at the guillotine blade dripping with the blood of the previous victim. “Nate, help me. Nate!”
“Emma, Emma, wake up. You’re having another nightmare.” Emma woke with a start, looking wildly around. “Oh Nate.” She clutched at him, gripping his arms. “Easy, easy, it’s all right. You’re safe.” He pulled her trembling body close, rubbing her back and murmuring words of comfort. “I was going to the guillotine,” she said, crawling further into his arms. “This is the third night this week you’ve had these dreams,” he said, with a worried look. “Is something bothering you?” “Nothing I’m aware of. I wish I knew what they mean.” “Lie down and try to go back to sleep.” “No, the dream might continue. I’ll have a little warm milk and stay up a while. You go back to sleep.” She kissed him tenderly, slipped out of bed, padded into the kitchen and looked around. It was so modern. It had taken some getting used to after her old-fashioned kitchen in Brookfield, but she soon found the conveniences a real plus. The butcher block island in the center of the room was her favorite. She did some serious baking there. While the milk warmed in the microwave, Emma thought about her dreams. They all posed a danger to her. Usually when she had disturbing dreams they were about others and meant something unpleasant was going to happen. “Okay, Guardian Angel, now what? I told you before I don’t want this ‘gift,’ this ‘sixth sense.’ I resign.” The ping of the microwave made her jump. She took the cup of milk and walked into the atrium. She felt at peace in this room, surrounded by her beloved plants. The floor-to-ceiling Thermopane windows let in the light, but kept out the elements. Emma took a deep breath, looked past the roof garden, past Michigan Avenue and out at Lake Michigan. The full moon reflected on the unusually placid water, only tiny wavelets marring the surface. As she sipped the milk, she took deep abdominal breaths until she felt calm. Perhaps it was the book she had been reading the past few nights, a mystery involving some pretty gruesome crimes. She shook her head and took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. She was about to get involved in something unpleasant again, whether she liked it or not.
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Helen Osterman © 2007 |