C. S. Warner
A science fiction mystery.
Buy the first eBook here:
Owner of a private security company, Vera King, can't seem to be rid of her ex -especially when he keeps bringing her so many tantalizing and mysterious jobs.
Cold and alone, Jeffrey Kenneth awakens in a bizarre hospital-like room in the basement of an empty house on an isolated island. After a daring escape he is rescued by a passing cargo vessel and brought into the care of security expert Vera King. Mysteries continue to unfold as they search for his captors.
About the author:
C.S. Warner grew up with a love of horror and supernatural films – as evident in her writing. Because of that passion, she has worked on ghost tours and as a paranormal investigator to give her stories life. Using her experience as a foundation for her writing, Warner creates worlds for her readers to get lost in.
The sensation of rushing water consumed him. A corkscrewing whirlpool recklessly swirling from side to side raged within his head; it was deafening... suffocating. With a deep inhale, his lungs stretched in pain as if it were his first breath. Though he tried to open his eyes, there was only black; they felt glued and with a hard blink he ripped them open with excruciating force. His eyes were dry, but then, a hazy gray light slowly flooded in. For a moment he struggled to focus, but it was as if he were staring into a thick fog. His arms were heavy, made of lead, as he fought against the still strong dizzying feeling, and they fell limply back with a ‘smack’ onto a cold metal surface. What… wait… where am I? The thought finally formed; he was becoming more coherent, slightly more able to decipher some form of thought through the overwhelming queasiness.
One, two, three blinks later the fog steadily cleared and slowly his other senses began to awaken: he was cold, very cold, his jaw trembled, and... “OOOWWW!” The noise exploded out from deep within him and his weak arms flung around to his left side. There was a sharp piercing pain running from his ribs to his pelvis; it burned. Tracing his finger gently along his skin he found what felt like a zipper. Like a magnet, his head stuck to the hard surface beneath, but then with the same determined force that he had used on his eyelids, he jolted it up and looked down, still swirling, and made out a poorly stitched line. I’m tied together like a rag doll! His confusion turned to rage.
“UUHH, UUHH, AAHH!” Only unintelligible noises blurted out. Frantically, he looked around. He was lying naked on a metal slab in a small room; it reminded him of a patient room in a doctor’s office. Cotton ball filled jars, stark white cabinets, laminate countertops, and an array of small, yet terrifying, metal instruments. To his right, a large brown door stood closed and although he desperately wanted to scream out, “Help me, please!” he thought better of it and instead tried to calm his breathing and think.
What’s the last thing I remember? Nothing, there was nothing. What’s my name? That came quickly, Jeffrey… I’m Jeffrey… I’m in pain… I… Wait, I remember! He began to replay the last few months in his head: he was sick.
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