ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS SAMPLE CHAPTER!

The book is arriving soon. Really soon. Before you know it, I'll be asking you to fork over some of your hard earned cash to read it. 


Until then, here's some free stuff.



16. TEMAZCAL 
   The heat was sweltering. The summer had been particularly rough and dry, and altogether uncomfortable. This was an angry heat, tailor-made for the suffering of those forced to live through it. In the backyard of the Jarvis family, tucked safely beneath the shade of a thick-trunked Oak Tree, sat the house of the family dog, Mr. Button. Built when Button was a pup, the years were noticeably rough on the modest dwelling. The rain had warped its walls and rusted the nails holding them perilously in place. Once a crisp, almost blinding shade of white, the paint had been peeling away for quite some time, exposing the worn and damaged wood beneath in softball sized clumps of pure ugly. The roof was little more than ragged jumble of partially rotted materials, and the likelihood of the structure's collapse grew substantially with every passing day. So pathetic was this shell of a once proud doghouse that Mr. Button had taken to lying outside rather than in. Even he was capable of understanding it was a disaster waiting to happen. 
   Despite the heat and the ever-present fear of being buried beneath a heap of rotted wood, jagged sheet metal and copper colored nail chips, eight year old Tommy Jarvis had been sitting cross-legged inside the funky-smelling piece of construction for hours. His hair was soaked with perspiration, his clothes drenched so thoroughly they could literally be ringed out. The dirt beneath him transformed into a moist, muddy-wet stew of yellow-tinted sweat and soil that smelled as bad as it looked. His throat was dry and his lips cracked to the point that that act of running his tongue across their surface no longer accomplished anything at all. 
   Despite his aching bones, and the fact that his vision had begun to blur, young Tommy had no intentions of leaving. 
   He was determined to remain exactly where he was. He wanted to sit there, and stay there, and keep himself angry, because anger was what he was feeling, and because it was all he wanted to feel. Would it have been possible, Tommy might have sat in that exact spot forever, until his skin peeled away, caught the breeze and fluttered off, until his bones turned to dust and became indiscernible from the ground beneath. 
   That would teach them: his mom and his dad, that annoying jerk Donald Rondage. That would teach them all. 
   From just outside the doorway, on the wobbly roof of the modest doghouse, came a series of knocks that gently rattled the warped timber of the surrounding walls. Tommy didn’t look up. Instead, he pulled his knees close to his chest, folded his arms around his shins, and buried his head against the dusty-moist denim of his pants. 
   “Tommy? Come on out, bud.” 
   It was his father’s voice. His father was the last person he wanted to talk to. His father would try to calm him down, try to make him forget how angry he was. He wanted his father to go away. 
   “Come on Tommy. You can’t stay in there all day. I know you think you can, and I bet you want to, but you can’t.” 
   “Yes I can.” Tommy mumbled into his drawn legs defiantly. And he believed it. 
   He would have stayed there all day, and all of the next day and the day after that. He would have done anything to prove his father wrong. 
   Then they’d see. Then they’d all understand. 
Outside the doghouse that Mr. Button previously resided and was now home to his son, Chris Jarvis wiped a puddle of sweat from his forehead and glanced briefly into the sky. The heat was unbearable, and he was overdressed. He wanted a cool drink. He wanted to go inside, to sit just below the vent on the ceiling in the living room and let the air conditioning chill his troubles away. As hot as it was outside, he imagined it was doubly bad for his son. Though the doghouse was in the shade, it was small, and the metallic roof was undoubtedly absorbing the heat and locking it within, essentially transforming it into a stinky, dog-smelling hot-box. According to his wife, Tommy had been sulking inside Mr. Button’s humble abode for hours, ever since he got home from school. Chris needed to get his son out. His day at work had been extra-long and more frustrating than normal, but his son was his priority. Rest could come later. 
   “Well, if you won’t come out, I’m just going to have to come in.” 
   Dropping to his knees, Chris managed to wedge the top half of his body through the tiny doorway before realizing it was as far as he could go. The heat inside was absolutely blistering. Less than a second after jamming himself in the doorway, he began to feel lightheaded. A moment after that, breathing became noticeably more difficult. A few feet away with his back to the rear wall and his knees pulled tightly to his chest, Chris spotted his eldest son. Though the boy’s face was buried in the folds of his light blue jeans, Chris could tell Tommy had been crying. This information didn’t make things any simpler: quite the opposite, in fact. 
   “So you want to tell me what happened, bud?” Chris asked calmly while digging his elbows into the dirt and propping himself up. 
   Tommy chose to remain mum. 
   With the top of the doorway slicing into his back and resulting in considerable discomfort, Chris took a moment to reposition himself before continuing. “Come on. I can’t help you if you won’t let me.” 
   Again his son remained stoic, his stringy blond hair dripping with perspiration created by the immense heat. 
   “You know, this isn’t how we handle problems in our family, Tommy. We don’t run away from them. We don’t hide away and avoid them, and we don’t pout. Things don’t ever change unless you change them yourself. I know that kind of sucks, but that’s just the way it is.” Reaching forward, Chris gently placed his hand on his son’s sweaty head and massaged the clumps of damp hair. “Tell me what happened and we’ll take care of it together. That’s another thing we don’t do in this family; we don’t handle things alone. Your mom and I are here to help you whenever you need it. Whatever happened, we can fix it. I promise.” 
   Tommy could feel the palm of his father’s hand on his head, feel it mashing against his skull, feel his fingers moving reassuringly across the tender skin of his scalp. Despite his anger and in spite of his frustration, the boy could not deny the fact that the simple gesture almost instantly caused him to feel better. His father always had the ability to fix him when he was broken, and with very little effort. It came so naturally. As much as any young boy of eight possibly could, he trusted his father. His father meant everything to him. 
   Chris smiled subtly as his son lifted his head from between his knees and glanced through watery-red eyes in his direction. The fact that Tommy even bothered to look up meant that he was listening, and if he was listening, maybe, just maybe he was hearing. 
   Stretching himself forward, Chris put his hand on his son’s shoulder and patted gently. “You want to come inside and we’ll talk about it?” 
   Tommy forced himself not to respond. He was still a bit too mad, and he wanted to remain that way. The fact that his father was attempting to coax him into the exact opposite was only making him madder. He was sick of getting picked on at school, sick of Donald Rondage shoving him in the mud and calling him names, sick of being the wall against which the ball was bounced. He wanted to be the ball for once in his life. He wanted to do the bouncing. 
   Though Chris had no idea exactly what happened at school to put his son in such a state, he believed he had a general idea. Tommy had been having problems with a boy named Donald for some time. His wife had talked with his teacher about it, but his teacher could only be expected to do so much, and apparently what she’d done wasn’t nearly enough. As Tommy buried his head into his jeans once again, Chris Jarvis was momentarily bought back to his own youth, to the fourth grade and to a smarmy little jerk of a kid by the name of Ricky Emerson. He hated Ricky. He hated him so much. For years Ricky made a habit of pointing out little Christopher Jarvis’s every mistake. The kid seemed to relish doing it, and the reaction it garnered from the other children. After an unfortunate accident in the second grade, Ricky even gave Chris a nickname: Christopher Pisstopher. The name stuck and followed Chris all the way through middle school before finally fading away. 
   Chris sighed, staring blankly into the distance while remembering Ricky’s greasy little face and those pants with the holes in the knees he was always wearing. Surprisingly, despite the onslaught of awful memories, he smiled. Tommy was a lot like he’d been at that age. He thought too much. Sometimes he felt too much for his own good. 
   There are certainly positives to being blissfully unaware. 
   Wedging his hand beneath Tommy’s chin, Chris lifted the boy’s face so he could look him in the eye. 
   A puddle of sweat had formed on his forehead and was now leaking down the sides of his face like splatters of rainwater against a pain of glass. “You know none of this matters, right, kiddo?” 
   Tommy’s eyes remained downcast, his features slippery with perspiration. 
   “You’ve got a long life ahead, and the years are going to throw an awful lot at you. I guarantee the day will come when all of this…stuff…when none of it means a thing. Believe it or not, it’ll even seem a little silly.” 
   Though young Tommy Jarvis could clearly hear his father’s words, he didn’t believe a single one of them. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t, not yet, anyway. 
   Words are weird that way. They can mean entirely different things at various points in life. While some might claim their meanings are unchanging constants, those some would be wrong. Words adapt and evolve like all things in the universe, even eight-year old boys. 
    “Come on. It’s time to come inside.” Lovingly squeezing his son’s shoulder, Chris began pulling him in toward the door in which he was currently wedged. “Your mom will kill me if I walk into the house without you. I’m not asking you to be happy about it. You can hate me if you want. That’s okay. Right now I need you to crawl out of this toaster and come inside. You’ve been out here long enough. It’ll be dark soon. Come on. Do as your father says.” 
   Though Tommy’s mind wanted to fight for his position and remain exactly where he was, his body relented. It had just about had enough. It was drained and worn, and left to stew in its own juices. It wanted out. After crawling from the beaten shell of Mr. Button’s once proud residence, father and son walked slowly across the yard and into the house through the glass slider in the back. Chris rested his arm on his son’s shoulders the entire way. 
   Tommy was happy to have it there. 
   A part of him wished it could stay forever.

ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS HAS A RELEASE DATE!

That's right, the final piece in the Forts Trilogy arrives on the 14th of next month! If you were planning on reading the series from the beginning and just haven't gotten around to it, there's no time like the present to get started. 
 The links are HERE and the first book in the series is still a measly $0.99 for all the kindle owners out there.
Get on it.

FORTS: ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS COVER REVEAL!

It's official!

The above image is the final cover for the thirds and final book in the Forts series, Endings and Beginnings!

The OFFICIAL WEBSITE is also in the process of being updated to reflect the look of the new book and I'll be adding some goodies on there over the next few weeks!

Steven

FATHERS AND SONS IS $0.99!

That's right, for a limited time the first novel in the Forts series, Fathers and Sons, is a measly $0.99.

That's almost nothing.

That's less than a Snickers bar.

It's slightly more expensive than a penny candy, but this isn't 1942 and those don't exist anymore.

There has never been a better time for all the Kindle users out there to snag themselves a copy.

Just click the link below!

SAMPLE CHAPTER - BOOK TWO - CHAPTER TWO

Liars and Thieves will hit in both e-book and print editions in the next couple months. In my eternal attempt to keep you interested, I'm going to be offering up some chapters leading up to to the release.

If you want to get caught up before Book 2 becomes available, the cheapest method is to snag yourself a copy the Fathers and Sons "Special Edition" for Nook or Kindle at the link below.

CLICK HERE

Okey dokey, enough with the babble.

Enjoy Chapter 2!

2. Family Visits

“Boys?” Edna Williamson called out from the bottom of the stairs. “Your father and the chaperone should be here soon! Why don’t you come downstairs?”

Both Tommy Jarvis and his younger brother Nicky clearly heard her words, yet neither made a movement toward the bedroom door. It had been months since either boy had been in the same room with their father. The abuse allegations, and subsequent investigation proving them to be true, resulted in their removal from his care and placement with a foster family. For almost half a year they lived with a couple of retirees named Ed and Edna Williamson. In spite of their comically similar first names, the Williamsons proved to be decent, caring people — not perfect people by any means, but good people — the kind of people Tommy and Nicky barely believed existed anymore. Neither boy had forgotten about their father, yet at the same time they were only now beginning to settle in to their new life with the Williamsons. Things were easier for them here, quieter and certainly a lot less painful. The truth of the matter was that neither boy found the idea of introducing their father back into their lives even remotely appetizing. A week and a half before, a social worker for the state sat the pair down, telling them that Chris had been attending his meetings, that he was sober, and remorseful, that he was making great strides, and was anxious to see them again. Of the two, Nicky was slightly more open to the idea of reuniting with their father, but then Nicky’s past experiences with the old man were quite different from Tommy’s.

The memories – the awful, stinging memories –just recently began melting away for the fourteen year old Tommy Jarvis. What would happen now though? What would happen, when after all these months, Tommy came face to face with his father? Would the very old, very thick anger boil up from wherever he’d managed to shove it down deep inside his belly? Would the pain attached to those memories like a nasty parasite feeding off a half-starved host prove too much to bear? There were some questions in life for which one simply didn’t want answers. For Tommy Jarvis, these were those very questions.

“Boys? Come on now, don’t dawdle . . .get your behinds down here.” Edna yelled out a bit more forcefully from downstairs.

Propped up on his elbows, Nicky reluctantly slid his feet over the side of his bed, sighing deeply. Across the room Tommy remained on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and sinking patiently with each breath. Tommy didn’t want to forgive his father, and he couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to expect him to. Even if the old man had changed – even if he never again laid a hand on him, or screamed at his little brother – so what? The damage had been done.

Some things, once done, can never be undone. It was as simple as that.

Things were by no means perfect with the Williamsons, but they were certainly better than anything the Jarvis brothers had experienced in a very long time. Tommy understood completely that he and Nicky’s time with the Ed and Edna was limited - a temporary solution at best. Temporary or not, it was something he wasn’t ready to let go of. Nicky was speaking again and doing better in school. Last week Tommy spotted his little brother talking to another boy outside the building after school ended. Nicky had a friend - a real, living and breathing friend. Things were getting better. For the first time in years, happiness – even on the tiniest of levels – seemed attainable. It could all go away with the snap of the fingers — or the stinging crack of a backhand across the face if they were forced to move back in with their father. Only recently, Tommy had experienced, for the very first time, the wonderful sensation of going to bed without a welt on his leg, a scratch on his arm, or a fractured bone inside his chest. Lately his sleep had been deep and comfortable and warm, his dreams non-existent. How utterly amazing it had been to simply sleep, free of nightmares and without worry. It was luxury he had forgotten existed. What did a life with his father have to offer? Why did he deserve a second chance? He didn’t.

“Are you coming down?” Nicky asked Tommy while standing next to his bed staring at his older brother from across the room.

Tommy breathed deeply, turning his head slightly in Nicky’s direction. “No . . .and neither should you.”

“We have to.”

“We don’t have to do anything Nicky . . .especially not for him.” Twisting his body sideways while pulling his knees to his chest and curling into a half-fetal position, Tommy turned away from the confused face of his little brother and toward the opposite wall.

At the bottom of the stairs, Edna Williamson was a moment away from calling to the boys again when she noticed Nicky slowly making his way toward her. Tommy, though, was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s your brother?” She asked the youngest Jarvis boy as he passed her on his way into the kitchen.

“He doesn’t want to come down,” Nicky responded softly, never turning in her direction.

From the opposite end of the room, Ed Williamson sighed with a deep, noticeable frustration while tugging his aching body up from a very comfortable position on the couch.

“I’ll go have a talk with him,” he grumbled, slowly beginning the long journey up the stairs.

“Don’t you go flying off the handle, Ed . . .this isn’t easy on the boy.”

“I know Edna, I know. Give me a little credit will you. I’m just going to have a little chat with him, that’s all.”

“If he’s not ready to come down, the social worker said we shouldn’t push too hard . . .especially not for the first meeting.”

Ed was near the top of the stairs now, his chest straining, his aged knees aching from the journey.

Stopping momentarily to catch his breath he looked down at his wife of so many years while rolling his eyes, “I remember what she said . . .I remember. If there’s anyone in this house that knows what he’s going through, it’s me. Relax. I’m not going to push the boy, trust me.”

The wrinkled, slightly more crooked than it was twenty years ago smile on her husband’s face instantly reassured Edna Williamson. She loved Ed. She loved him as much as the day they were married, though for entirely different reasons. Love is funny like that, having the uncanny ability to morph into something completely foreign while still holding onto the things that made it so unique, wonderful, and safe in the first place. The sixty-three year old Edward Williamson was a good deal different from the twenty-four year old version. In his heart though, despite the changes brought on by age and experience, he was still the same man she fell in love with and still a comfortably perfect fit for her.

Reaching the door to the boy’s bedroom, Ed stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts. Rubbing his hand across his balding head covered sparsely with stringy gray hair, he sighed deeply. His mind wandered back many, many years to his own father, to the unresolved issues he allowed to remain unresolved until the day his father died. As frustrated as young Tommy Jarvis had occasionally made him over the last six months, he cared about the boy. In fact, he cared about the boy so deeply that it surprised him. When Edna suggested they become a foster family, the one thing Ed never counted on was forming any real, serious feelings for the children sent to live with them. After his own son’s untimely death so many years ago, he simply didn’t think he was capable of such a thing anymore. Having loved a child so deeply only to have that love taken away – he always believed it left him hollow and incapable of reaching that peak again.

The appearance of the Jarvis boys had proved him wrong.

After mustering up a bit of courage, he pushed the bedroom door open gently, “Hey pal, why don’t you . . .” Ed’s voice quickly trailed off.

The room was empty. Tommy was gone. The window on the opposite wall was wide open, loose drapes flapping softly in the fall breeze.

Shaking his head, Ed calmly called out to his wife from the top of the stairs, “I think Tommy is going to sit this one out, dear.”

FORTS SAMPLE CHAPTER - THE PROMISE

Here's a little sample chapter from the upcoming book which is released on March 20th.

Hope you enjoy!

Steven







THE PROMISE

The long white hallway on the fourth floor of the Fairchild Medical Center was mostly empty and rather quiet. Occasionally a nurse or a doctor walked by with their head buried in a set of papers on a clipboard, their shoes clicking against the tile floor with every step. It was night, and with visiting hours coming to an end, most everyone, patients and family alike, had either drifted off to sleep or returned home. On an empty bench near the end of the hallway sat ten-year-old Tommy Jarvis. Too short to reach the floor, his legs swung back and forth over the edge of the bench. His hands rested softly on his lap as he twiddled his fingers quietly, trying his hardest to think about anything other than this place. Behind the door to his right are his mother and father.
For almost a year now his mother had become progressively sicker. At first the trips to the doctor were for small things like high fevers or sore throats or pain in her joints. In the last few months, the trips were more frequent. She was admitted to the hospital three weeks ago, and it was here that she remained. Every night like clockwork his father left him and Nicky with Auntie Carol and go to visit her. On the weekends – like today – he would bring them along. Nicky might be too young to really, truly understand every nuance of what was going on, but Tommy believed the young boy understood the basics of the situation. Their mother was sick, and she wasn’t going to get better.
She was dying.
No doubt Nicky couldn’t make total sense out of the concept of death, but he knew that a time would come very soon when he would never see his mother again.
Tommy looked up as the door to his mother’s room opened; his father stepped out with a sleepy-sad Nicky pulled tightly against his chest. He looked in Tommy’s direction. “Hey buddy…how are you feeling?”
Tommy didn’t know quite how to respond. The idea of summing up everything going on in his head seemed like a task more impossible than anything he had encountered in his young life. He saw no point in trying.
Chris Jarvis gently laid the half-awake Nicky down on the bench next to his older brother, softly brushing the hair from the boy’s eyes. When Chris looked down he noticed his hand was shaking. He could feel a torrent of emotions building up inside him, but forced himself to ignore them. He needed to be strong, even if he wanted so very badly to cry and scream, and denounce his faith in God, the universe, and whatever unseen force was putting his family through this. He wanted to yell at the doctors for not doing more, or curse the nurses for their pointless pitying looks, or simply run away and leave all the sadness and the stress behind, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do any of these things or a number of others. Not in front of his boys, and not now. These were things better left to the nights alone, shrouded in the darkness of his room, spread out across his marital bed with soaking wet eyes. He had to be bigger than that; he had to be better than that, for them – even if it hurt more than he could stand.
After taking a deep breath and wiping away a single tear in the corner of his eye, he knelt down in front of Tommy, gazing into the soft blue eyes of his eldest son. “Hey big man, your mom…your mom wants to see you alone for a minute. Would you like to do that? Are you going to be okay, or do you want your ol’ dad to go with you?”
Tommy noticed the shaking of his father’s hands as well. He spotted the very faint glimmer of wetness, catching the pale glow of the fluorescent lights, in the corner of his eye.
Despite trying so hard, Chris Jarvis could not hide his emotions well.
Tommy wanted badly to see his mother - to hug her and kiss her and hear her tell him that she loves him…and that she will always be there for him…but he knows that isn’t going to happen. Maybe it was the look on his father’s face or the eerie, bordering on downright frightening, silence coming from his mother’s room, but something inside the boy told him that if he went through that door, it would be for the last time. After today he was never going to see her again.
“Well buddy, is that something you think you might want to do? I know your mom would really like to see you.”
Despite his brain telling him to say “no”, Tommy nodded his head yes. He carefully slid off of the bench and moved toward the door to her room.
Gently his father patted him on top of his head, mussing his hair a bit, whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, buddy…everything will be alright.”
Despite his best efforts, Chris Jarvis wasn’t convincing anyone – least of all, himself.
Once he put some distance between his father and him, Tommy heard his father’s voice crack silently as he struggled to keep from breaking down right there on the spot. It was this very tiny, yet extremely telling moment that would stick with Tommy for years afterward, because his father’s voice would never sound the same again. Not only did Chris Jarvis’ voice crack on that day, but his soul did, as well – a crack so deep that it could never be repaired – spreading slowly, until the dam of his emotions shattered completely, devouring everything in its path.
The hospital room was dark, barely lit by the glow of a television set hanging high in the corner, the volume turned all the way down. As Tommy approached his mother’s bed he noticed how small and frail her body looked. The light blue sheet hung over her as if it were resting on a skeleton. Her breathing was labored, her face gaunt, her eyes sleepy, distant and dreamy. She looked far away, almost as if her mind were off somewhere floating above, just barely clinging onto the motionless form that had been left behind, propped up on pillows. Tommy saw her left eye move slowly to the side, independent of her face, as she spotted him standing next to the bed gazing up at her. A weary smile cracked to shape on her worn face, but even the act of smiling seemed a painful experience for her. Her mouth opened as if she wished to speak, but only a puff of air and a gentle hum, just barely a sound, escaped.
Somewhat ashamed at her inability to form sentences, she squinted, focused her mind and tried again, “T…Tommy…ho…how is Mommy’s…s…special little…guy?”
Her hand crawled across the bed sheets like a pale white spider moving toward Tommy. When it arrived at the end of the bed the boy reached up and held onto it gently. He wanted to squeeze it as tightly as he could, but didn’t for fear that it might cause her pain in some way.
“Mommy…is…g…going to go away for a while…bu…I don’t want you…to…ever forget how…much I…I love you…okay, baby?”
The tidal wave of emotions Tommy had been doing his best to keep inside started to make their way out of him in the form of hot liquid now streaming from his eyes. His face instantly grew balmy and tepid, his lip started to quiver uncontrollably and his neck felt wobbly, unable to properly hold the weight of his head. While trying to catch his breath and failing, Tommy looked up at the motionless form that only slightly resembled his mother.
In between deep breaths he did his best to form a sentence, “Bu…but I don’t want you to go.” It wasn’t much, but it’s the best he could manage before breaking down completely.
Megan Jarvis started instantly to weep uncontrollably, as she saw the tears pour from her little boy’s eyes.
She had cried so much over the past year that she found it amazing she had any tears left, “No…no…don’t cry, baby…you need to be strong for Mommy…you…you need to be st…strong.” Using every last ounce of strength buried within her, Megan leaned over the side of the bed, ignoring the incredible pain shooting throughout her body. Reaching down with one hand, she pulled her son toward her.
Tommy moved closer, his face now sobbing into the thin, flower-patterned fabric of her hospital gown.
“This is just part of life To…Tommy. Ju…just another part…” Megan stuttered softly, pulling her first-born’s head away from her shoulder so she could look him directly in the eyes, “All of life is beautiful…all of it. Even…the parts we hate, and even…when it reaches its end.”
Tommy wasn’t completely sure what she meant, but he absorbed her every word like a plant absorbing the life-giving energy of the sun, promising himself that he would never forget even a single one.
“You’re a very special…boy…Tommy Jarvis. I…I…knew from the moment I saw…your tiny little…face. Promise me…promise Mommy that you’ll enjoy life. Promise…me…that you’ll look for its beauty. Promise me, that…you’ll be happy. Promise me…that you’ll do…do…everything that…”
She stopped for a moment, her lips slowly opening as if she is thirsty before continuing, “Promise me that you’ll…that you’ll do everything you think…you can’t…” Her voice had begun to trail off. Her eyes slowly looked away from him toward something she could see that he could not. The hot air softly blowing from her mouth and nose became shorter and colder against Tommy’s skin. Her neck grew looser and her head heavier. Her hands slid off of his face, floating downward, weightless, and landed softly on the sheet covering her body.
Tommy climbed onto her bed, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her shoulder once again. Deeply he breathed in the smell of her hair, relishing it as it floated into his brain.
In between fits of tears, he whispered softly into her ear, “I Promise.”

FORTS BOOK THREE COVER

Been a while since I've had time to put anything up in the old blog - too long.

Anyway, today the streak ends!

Steve

WORK FINISHED - Forts Cover 2

Finished!

Finally!

I have no doubt that if you were in the room with me, you would give me a congratulatory high five, would you not?

Steve!

Work in Progress - Forts Cover

As I get closer and closer to finishing up the rough draft of the novel, I decided to put together a little an image/possible cover. I haven't decided it I'm going to do anything else to this piece yet, but I have some ideas.

Steve!

Sample Chapter - Forts

Been a rough couple of weeks for me. Nothing that I really want to get into, but lets just say that I've gone through better stretches in the past.

The bit of good news is that I am very near completion of the first draft of the novel that I've been writing for the better part of the year. My goal of finishing it before years end is looking like a possibility. Instead of scanning in, and posting an illustration this week, I've decided to put up a sample chapter from the book.

Remember, this is still a first draft, so don't judge me too harshly. Because if you do, I'll find you...

And send you a nasty email or something, I dunno.

That really was a hollow threat.

Anyway, enjoy.

Steve




The Promise

The long white hallway on the fourth floor of the Fairchild Medical Center was mostly empty, and rather quiet. Only occasionally did a nurse, or a doctor walk by with their head buried in a set of papers attached to a clipboard, their shoes clicking against the tile floor with every step. It was night, and with visiting hours coming to an end most everyone, patients and family had returned home. On an empty bench near the end of the hallway sat seven-year-old Tommy Jarvis. Too short to reach the floor, his legs dangled back and forth over the edge of the bench. With his hands resting on his lap he twiddled his fingers quietly, while trying his hardest to think about anything other than the hospital he currently found himself in. Behind the door to his right were his mother and father. For almost a year now his mother had been growing progressively sicker. At first she was making trips to the doctor for small things like high fevers, or sore throats, or pain in her joints. In the last few months the trips had become more frequent. Three weeks ago she was admitted to the hospital and it was there that she remained since. Every night like clockwork his father would leave both he and his brother with his auntie Carol and go to visit her. On the weekends – like today – he would bring both Tommy and his brother Nicky along. Nicky was too young to really, truly understand what was going on, but Tommy believed that the young boy understood the basics of the situation – his mother was sick, and she wasn’t gong to get better. She was dying. No doubt he didn’t completely understand everything about the concept of death, but he did know that a time would come very soon, when he would never be able to see his mother again.
The door to Tommy’s side opened and his father stepped out with little Nicky pulled tightly against his chest. He looked in the direction of his son, “Hey buddy…how are you feeling?”
Tommy didn’t know how to respond. The idea of summing up everything going on in his head seemed like a task more impossible than anything he had yet to encounter in his young life, and therefore he felt no desire to try.
Chris Jarvis gently laid the very sleepy Nicky down on the bench next to his older brother then softly brushed the hair out of his eyes. When Chris looked down he noticed his hand was shaking. He could feel a torrent of emotions building up inside him, but forced himself to ignore them. He needed to be strong. Even if wanted so very badly to cry, and scream, and denounce his faith in God, the universe, and whatever unseen force was putting his family through this. Even if he wanted to yell at the doctors for not doing more, or curse the nurses and their pitying looks, or simply run away and leave all the sadness and the stress behind, he couldn’t. He couldn’t do any of these things or a number of others. Not in front of his boys, not now. He had to be bigger than that, for them – even if it hurt more than he could stand. After taking a deep breath and stopping the growth of a single tear in the corner of his eye by wiping it away, he kneeled down in front of Tommy, and looked into the soft blues of his eldest son, “Hey big man, your mom…your mom wants to see you alone for a minute. Would you like to do that? Are you going to be okay, or do you want your ol’ dad to go with you?”
Tommy noticed the shaking of his father’s hands. He spotted a glimmer of wetness catching the pale glow of the fluorescent lights in the corner of his eye.
Despite trying so hard, Chris Jarvis wasn’t hiding his emotions well.
Tommy wanted so very badly to see his mother. To hug her and kiss her, and hear her tell him that she loved him, and that she would always be there for him, but he knew that isn’t what was going to happen. Maybe it was the look on his fathers face, or the eerie, bordering on downright frightening silence coming from his mother’s room, but something inside him told him that if he went through that door, it was going to be for the last time. After today he was never going to see her again.
“Well buddy, is that something you think you might want to do? I know your mom would really like to see you.”
Despite his brain telling him to say no, Tommy nodded his head yes. He slowly slid off of the bench and began moving towards the door to her room.
His father patted him softly on the top of the head, mussed his hair a bit then whispered through a shaky voice, “It’s okay buddy, everything will be alright.”
Tommy didn’t believe his words anymore than his father believed them himself.
Once he had put some distance between he and his father, he heard the old man’s voice crack silently as he struggled to keep from breaking down right there on the spot. It is this very tiny, yet extremely telling moment that would stick with Tommy for years afterward, because his father’s voice would never sound the same again. Not only did Chris Jarvis’ voice crack on that day, but his soul did as well – a crack so very deep that it would never be repaired – instead spreading slowly with every passing second, until the damn broke completely and drowned everything in it’s path.
The hospital room was dark. Only barely lit up by the light of a television set hanging high in the corner with the volume down. As Tommy approached his mother’s bed he noticed how small and frail her body looked. The light blue sheet hung over her skinny body as if it were resting on a skeleton. Her breathing was labored, her face gaunt, her eyes sleepy and dreamy. She looked far away, almost as if her mind was off somewhere, floating above, and just barely clinging onto the motionless form propped up on pillows in the real world. Her left eye moved slowly to the side, independent of her face, as she spotted Tommy standing next to the bed looking up at her. A weary smile formed on her worn face, but even the act of smiling seemed a painful experience for her. Her mouth opened almost as if she wished to speak, but only a puff of air, and a gentle hum that was just barely a sound escaped. Somewhat ashamed at her inability to form sentences, she squinted her eyes, focused her mind and tried again, “T…Tommy…Ho…how is Mommy’s…s…special little…guy?”
Her hand walked across the bed sheets like a pale white spider moving towards Tommy. When it reached the end of the bed he reached up and held onto it gently. He wanted to squeeze it as tightly as he could, but didn’t for fear that it might cause her pain in some way.
“Mommy…is…g…going to go away for a while…bu…I don’t want you…to…ever forget how…much I…I love you…okay baby?”
The tidal wave of emotions Tommy had been doing his best to keep inside started to make their way out of him in the form of the hot liquid now streaming from his eyes. His face grew hot, his lip started to quiver uncontrollably, his neck felt wobbly and unable to properly hold the weight of his head.
While trying to catch his breath and failing, Tommy looked up at the motionless form that only sort of resembled his mother. In between deep breaths he did his best to form a sentence, “Bu…but I don’t want you to go.”
Megan Jarvis started to cry almost instantly after seeing her son break down. She had cried so much over the past year that she was amazed she had any tears left, “No…no…don’t cry baby…you need to be strong for Mommy…you…you need to be st…strong.” She used every last ounce of strength buried within her to lean over the side of the bed while ignoring the incredible pain shooting throughout her body, and pull her son towards her.
Tommy moved closer to her and began to sob into the thin, flower patterned fabric of her hospital gown.
“This is just part of life To…Tommy. Ju…just another part…” Megan pulled his face away from her shoulder so she could look him directly in the eyes, “All of life is beautiful…all of it. Even…the parts we hate, and even…when it reaches its end.”
Tommy wasn’t completely sure what she meant, but he absorbed her every word like a plant absorbing the life giving energy of the sun, and promised himself that he would never forget even a single one.
“You’re a very special…boy…Tommy Jarvis. I…I…knew from the moment I saw…your tiny little…face. Promise me…promise mommy that you’ll enjoy life. Promise…me…that you’ll look for its beauty. Promise me, that…you’ll be happy. Promise me…that you’ll do…do…everything that…you think…you can’t…” Her voice began to trail off. Her eyes slowly looking away from him and back off into whatever it was that she could now see that no one else could. The hot air softly blowing from her mouth and nose became shorter, and somehow colder against Tommy’s skin. Her neck grew looser and her head heavier. Her hands slid off of his face and floated downwards, landing softly on the sheet covering her body.
Tommy climbed up onto her bed and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder once again. Deeply he breathed in the smell of her hair, and felt the softness of her skin on the side of his face.
In between fits of tears, he whispered into her ear, “I Promise.”