“Love makes people do crazy things. Everyone knows that.” — Britney King, Beyond Bedrock
I don’t know if I’ve told you guys lately how much I appreciate you. I have the best readers and I appreciate you and your ‘big mouths’ more than I can say. Yesterday, a reader named Jen reached out and asked me if I realized Bedrock was number one on Amazon in psychological thrillers. I hadn’t.
It made me smile. But mostly, it made me proud. Without you guys, people would not be continually discovering this series (or my work in general). Without your word of mouth, Bedrock would not be #1 (or rank well in thrillers overall). Thank you.
In other news, all of the updates/rewrites/ edits to The Bedrock Series are complete. It only took me most of the summer to do. 🙂 During the month of September, I thought it would be fun to share several excerpts from Beyond Bedrock. A little behind the scenes on this book: It was sort of a turning point for me as a writer when I realized I wanted to go just a bit darker and deeper into the human psyche. While Addison and William were/are intense, I needed a character who would give them a run for their money. And give me one, too. 🙂 That’s how Lydia/Kate was born. Lydia is very disturbed. She is also the main character in The Water Series where she morphs into Kate. Kate was fresh in my mind, just having come off of writing in that series, but I hadn’t realized how different she was starting out in Beyond Bedrock. She softens (just a tiny bit) in The Water Series but there is NOTHING soft about her in Beyond Bedrock. This was a pleasant surprise. 🙂
That said, here’s an excerpt and an example of the level of crazy I’m talking about. What I love about this character/book is that she gives us insight into how smart, dangerous and manipulative seemingly innocent people can be. We tend not to think we can be easily duped. We tend to want to see the best in people. Often, we believe what we want to believe. Lydia challenges our assumptions. I appreciate that. 🙂
Schizoid personality disorder. This is the official diagnosis. It’s amazing, really. Amazing that they think they can label a person using three words and BAM… that’s who they are. Well, let me tell you. THEY are wrong. They think some scribble scrabble on a piece of paper gives them the right to tell me who and what I am. Ha. THEY ARE THE CRAZY ONES!
I am not those three words. Nope. I am a whole lot more than that. For one, I am a human being. And two, (trust me, this is where it gets good) I am in love with you. Deeply, madly, in love with you. What can I say? Love makes people do crazy things. Everyone knows that.
Just this morning, I picked out a light blue top and jeans to wear. For you. For this occasion. To match your eyes, but also because blue signifies loyalty and honesty, and this is why I write. Because I will show them and I will show you. I am more than a label.
It wasn’t easy at first. When I began writing to you in here, I mean. Honestly, I had no idea where this whole thing would take me. I simply picked up my pen, set it down, and thought of you—I thought about what I wanted to say and the best way to say it.
It’s been several weeks now, and I can feel things winding down. I believe this chapter is coming to an end. And by the end, specifically, my time in this place.
This will likely be my final chapter to you and every writer knows it’s important to go out with a bang. As for what comes after, I do not know.
Because that’s the thing, my love. Something always comes after. Bangs don’t just occur, people just don’t go down, and that’s the end of it, you know? Someone has to pay. That is a true ending. Revenge. Retribution. Complete and utter destruction. That’s what love does, you see.
Alas, as I ponder how this part of our story will end, I realize endings are never truly endings and this brings me great comfort. That’s why it’s important to get this right. I know this deep down in my bones and so I carry on. I do the work. I balance the tray on my lap, consider my plan for a moment, and then place the notebook on top of it. I pause and consider how much to tell you, here and now, before we are finally together again, and so I simply stare out the window and think of your eyes.
As I watch the trees swaying in the wind, I think about the breeze and what it would feel like across my skin. If I had to guess, I’d say a lot like your lips. I feel like I’m forgetting the simple things. Things like the sound of leaves rustling, the warmth of the sun on my face, the smell of real food, not the slop they serve in here. Through the double-plated glass windows, I swear I can almost hear the birds chirping, and I think of you and the sound of your voice calling my name. It is then I realize I want my work and my time in here to have meant something. It has to.
It is also then that I truly understand the significance of her visits. This isn’t just about her. It isn’t about her getting the facts—her side of the story.
It is about our story. It’s about the story of our love. And then it hit me….
Who better to tell that story than me? That’s what this all means.
This was never about her at all.
It was about us.
You and me.
This is our story and it has been my love letter to you.
In the spirit of the colors I’m wearing, and since we’re being honest here, I want you to know I have written this for you. I have told our story in hopes you might come to understand the depth and the expansiveness of my love for you. So, that by the time we are together again, in just a matter of hours now, you will see things differently.
I don’t know how or why things got so mucked up, William. I don’t. I only know that I am in here and you are out there. I know you have been confused about our feelings for one another. And I also realize this, our story, my work in progress, will fix it all.
Today, as I write this, I am unlike the birds I can so faintly make out chirping just beyond these bars. These walls. I am locked away on a 5150 involuntary psych hold, which was extended from seventy-two hours to fourteen days. Tomorrow there is to be a hearing.
But for the past thirteen days now, I’ve been trapped, in a cage, living as an animal, essentially—and likely, I understand, at your doing. Not because I’ve done anything wrong—but because you have friends in high places.
How could such a thing as sweet and pure as love be wrong, anyway, William?
Riddle me that.
But the good news is… it won’t be long now.
They can’t keep me locked in here forever.
Plus, I have a plan. I’m sure you of all people understand that. And William, my dear William, if there is anything you should know, know that I am not angry with you. There’s not one ounce of bitterness in me toward you—only love. Always, only love. I want to be angry. Sure I do. But how could I be angry with someone whose love for me is so vast and so true that he has to keep me locked up just so he has me all to himself? It’s like a fairy tale, really.
It was brilliant, honestly. And so very you, William. Just like the blue shirt I wear, you’re loyal.
Not just to me, to your wife, as well. I understand that now. Even if I don’t necessarily like it… I understand.
You’re sending me a message.
Because underneath all of that loyalty, like the shirt I wear, you’re blue. The message you send is loud and clear—you want me as badly as I want you. I’m good at sensing these things. I always have been. But this doesn’t mean it’s easy, William. Being in here, your antics. Her. True love never is though, is it?
I do get upset from time to time and I do things. Bad things. Necessary things. Things I will tell you about someday soon— when we are together. It’s just a matter of time as I help you to understand. In the meantime, before we can be together, skin on skin, flesh on flesh, I accomplish what I need to share in my writing. It’s the only way now. I will trade her. My story—our story—will be my letters to you, and they will set the record straight. It will be like sending messages in a bottle and we will get it right.
Soon enough, though, I will be like the birds I hear in the distance, free from this cage. Free to express my love for you in all the ways that count.
Until then, it should bring us both great comfort to know, that in my mind, I am like the birds now—here, in this moment. I am free. Free from labels. Free to love who I want to love and to know he loves me in return. They can hold me here, physically, but they can never control my mind.
This story, the story of us, is proof. It is my song to you.
“Clever, intense and addictive.”
“A surprising debut. Epic storytelling full of edge- of- your- seat suspense.”
“Hypnotic and breathtakingly romantic.”
“Bold and in your face from the get-go.”
“A twisty and edgy page-turner. The perfect psychological thriller.”
“I read this novel in one sitting, captivated by the words on the page. The suspense was startling and well-done.”
“Dark and complex.”
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“A fascinating tale of marriage, secrets, and deception.”
“Fast-paced and thrilling.”
“A cunning tale that won’t let go…”