Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries) (Prologue, page 1 of 1)


Previous Page
Next Page

It was the sound of something falling, a chair perhaps, that startled him in his winter sleep. He was still enveloped in the grogginess of slumber and it was minutes before he found himself rising from beneath the comfort of the quilt to the edge of the rumpled bed. He was still a prisoner in the land of those inmates of his mind, the rascal story tellers who made the most absurd tales seems as natural as butter on toast. The cold floor on his bare feet shocked him to further awareness as he felt about for his slippers. Warily, feeling his way by hand, he left the bedroom and climbed the stairs to investigate. With heart racing he began to sense what he would find beyond. Her door was ajar and the chill from an open window washed over him as he cautiously approached; now somehow knowing what lay beyond. He pushed the door further but hesitated entering, as if remaining outside would somehow absolve him of responsibility for what lay beyond. The pale glow of the moon shone through the uncurtained window, casting an elongated shadow from the overturned chair.

She turned slowly, propelled by a tender breeze from the cold night air that filled the room with a chill of death. Her long blonde hair, unfastened now, cascaded about her shoulders. She had changed to the white dress, the one she'd worn to dinner that night and the hem touched the tops of her bare feet, which pointed downward. Her hands were by her sides, turned out, as if offering benediction for what she had done, as if to say, peace at last. The silk cord was fastened to the brass gas lamp that centered the ceiling of the room, the other end tightly knotted about her soft white neck. He could picture her, holding the hem of her gown, climbing onto the chair, perhaps even smiling, before kicking it away, and waiting the few agonizing moments until death took her hand and led her to its darkness. He was frozen to move toward her, knowing in his heart it was too late. Too late for anything. As he watched, spellbound, she revolved toward him, but he quickly closed his eyes lest he look upon her once beautiful face.

Previous Page
Next Page


Rate This Book

Current Rating: 3.4/5 (418 votes cast)



Review This Book or Post a Comment