Seer's Choice (Book 3 of The Seer Trilogy) - Excerpt Only

Seer's Choice - Excerpt (Chapter Five)

SEER'S CHOICE (BOOK THREE OF THE SEER TRILOGY)

By Maree Anderson

CHAPTER FIVE

This time I'm gonna do it right. Quick and clean. No more mucking about. Bet he won't even notice when I'm gone. He won't care. He doesn't care about anything except his effing work. Nothing'll change when I'm gone—

The young man's self-destructive litany went on and on, and his inner pain and shame scorched Rowan's soul until she knew she would do anything to make him stop.

Another voice penetrated her mind. Rowan, listen to me. You're a witness—nothing more. Don't try to intervene. Whatever happens to him it is not your fault!

A witness? She was expected to stand by and watch and do nothing?

No. She rejected the idea utterly. Why did she have to witness his suicide? What purpose could there possibly be for her to share his suffering and last moments on earth? It was cruel—unbearably cruel. She couldn't take it anymore.

Why is this happening to me? she screamed at the voice. WHY?

But the voice had faded away, leaving her alone with a damaged young man who was about to end his life. And in that moment Rowan knew one thing: she was not going to let him die.

Calmer now, she watched him fiddling with the locked drawer of the desk in his father's den. He broke the lock and a triumphant smile flit across his lips. He took out a case and fumbled with the combination lock. And she experienced a sense of inevitability when he finally got the combination right and opened the case to stare at the gun nestled inside. Reverently he stroked it, murmuring the specs his father had drilled into him. Kimber locked-breech semi-auto single-action pistol.

His father had showed him the pistol many times, boasting it had features specifically requested by the LAPD SWAT unit. He knew how to load a magazine from the stash his father kept "hidden". He'd been permitted to accompany his father to the range and even accorded the privilege of firing it. The pistol was his father's pride and joy... as he could never be.

He lifted the weapon from the case and hefted it in his hand, relishing the comfortable rubber grip. It would do the job. He rummaged around in another drawer and unearthed another box. Barely minutes later the pistol was loaded and ready to wreak havoc.

He released the safeties just as his father had shown him. And slowly he forced as much of the barrel he could manage without gagging into his mouth. Then he closed his eyes and Rowan could see no more.

Her calm fled and the words she'd been rehearsing flew out of her head. Don't do it! Please. There are people who love you... who'll miss you when you're gone. You have so much to live for!

His eyelids snapped open. He withdrew the barrel from his mouth and with studied care placed the weapon on the desk. Only then did his gaze flit wildly about the room. "Who's there?"

A curious dislocation, like something had latched onto her and yanked her out of Zach. "I'm here," she said. "Rowan. Me."

"What the fuck are you?"

Huh? The truth smacked her. She was no longer looking through his eyes, seeing what he saw. She still linked to his thoughts but longer inside him. "You can seeme, can't you?"

He squinted. "Yeah. You're sort of shimmery, though, like you're not really here. Lemme guess. You're the fucking Angel of Death, right?" His bark of laughter lacked conviction. He was spooked. But then, so was she. And then some.