Transparency Charles Royce (phonics reader .TXT) 📖

hand on her tummy. “Hey there, little Shawn. We’re cleaning up this big bad world for you, one monster at a time.”

C h a p t e r   8 1

“BABY, BABY, WAKE up.”

“What? What is it?” Micah’s eyes open to darkness. He feels a hand squeezing his. “What’s happening?”

Lennox squeezes tighter. “There’s someone in the house.”

Micah looks around, to his left, to his right. He can’t distinguish shapes. Or color. He blinks. Suddenly he sees a female silhouette coming toward their bed.

The woman holds up a knife and thrusts forward.

“No!” Micah screams.

He can feel Lennox’s hand begin to crush his own.

The ominous figure continues to jab in the air above them.

“No! Noo! Nooo!”

THE SOUND OF his own cries awakens him. Not realizing he’s fully awake, Micah squeezes what he thinks is Lennox’s hand even harder.

“Ow!” says the bald man beside him—tattooed, muscular, tan-colored skin. The man unleashes his hand from Micah’s grip, reaches for his wire-framed glasses on the hotel nightstand. He turns on a lamp, looks at Micah’s face. “Baby. You’re white as a ghost. Another nightmare?”

“Yes.” His long blond hair seeping with sweat, Micah wipes his brow. He rubs his eyes, abs contracting as he leans forward. He looks around the room—open suitcases next to the door to the bathroom, a bottle of wine next to two empty glasses, two rings in a dish underneath the bedside lamp. “But this? This one was different.”

“They’re all different. You think you need to see somebody?”

“Hey, did you set up another camera in—”

“Yes, and this time they won’t find it.”

Micah laughs. “You don’t know Shawn like I know Shawn.”

“It’s fine. I set up the one upstate too.”

“Did you talk to the contractors?”

“It’s all okay, baby.” The man pats Micah’s hand, then turns over. “Shh. You’re safe. You’re with me. Go back to bed.”

Micah leans back on his pillow, turns onto his side. He looks out the window at a view of Big Ben and the London Eye. He closes his eyes. “Sorry. Maybe I do need some help.”

“After the house is built, we’ll find somebody for you,” says the bald man. “Someone in Corsica, or maybe close by.”

Micah turns on his back, looks at the ceiling. “We’re gonna have the perfect life.”

“Don’t forget about our boat,” Micah’s new husband says. “It’ll be ready next month.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Charles Royce is an established author of mystery and suspense. A former creative director at Variety Magazine in Los Angeles, Royce has a background in art direction, songwriting, graphic design and even mental health counseling.

With the Naïve Series under his belt, he is currently in the editing phase of his fourth novel, Into The Fold, a new stand-alone mystery coming in 2022. In addition to being an author, Royce is also a screenwriter. With his writing partner Phillip Cordell, Royce has completed two screenplays, one called Pretense, a legal thriller adapted from his debut novel Naive, and the original feature film Reel, currently in pre-production.

Royce resides in Nashville, Tennessee with his partner of seven years.

AN EXCERPT FROM SYNC

Book Three of the Naïve Series, Available now

A VAST AND cloudless sky bleeds into blue sea. A lone figure stands at the edge of a cliff, atop a bleached and rocky terrain overlooking the Mediterranean.

Micah’s eyes are closed in deep meditation, his spirit strengthening a resolve to quiet his thoughts, allowing them to come and go with the breeze as best he can. Wisps of dusky hair crisscross like snakes, while his long overcoat flaps in unison with the seagulls swirling around him. He wraps the lapel around his bearded face to shield him from the wind.

A rumbling begins to roar in the distance while flashes rattle across his mind.

A cat hissing.

Duct tape stretching between two small hands.

A friend and his wife playing in the yard with their son.

A man in a red dress.

A knife stabbing a naked back.

A plastic bag smothering a face.

A baby hurtling down the street in a carriage.

A body being dumped in the ocean.

A woman’s eyes bulging, her jaw cracking.

The rumbling grows louder. Too loud.

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