The novel you are about to read is a work in progress. What I am posting here is the raw, unedited draft – complete with typos and mistakes… The finished project will be vastly different. I started this project in 2011 and it stopped working on it abruptly to let it cook for a while…
While I’m writing a much better version, you can read the old draft while the new one is being completed. Essentially, you get to read a version free, and if you liked what you read, you can purchase the complete polished version from book retailers everywhere.
I begin writing this before I wrote and published my first book. The writing is far from my best… but there’s a story here, kids. The title is a working title. And again, I stress this is a very rough draft, cringeworthy (at least to me) to read in some places, but I thought this would be a fun way for you to read a developing work, and then read a finished product.
Enjoy...
Chapter Three
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Mason felt Atticus’s gut. There was something hard inside. “Okay, pal. Let’s get this taken care of.”
Atticus crouched under the coffee table as Mason filled the syringe with lactulose. He did not resist Mason when he came for him. After wrapping Atticus in a towel, Mason shot the syringe of medication into the cat’s mouth. He held him tight as Atticus hacked and rebelled, then placed him on the kitchen floor. After an hour, Atticus attempted to push out the stool. When he couldn’t, he threw up. Mason waited an hour and re-administered the medication. This process continued throughout the night. By morning, Atticus still hadn’t defecated. He remained at the foot of the bed, curled up and defeated.
“Well, buddy,” Mason patted his head, tears in his eyes. “I’ll call the vet from school today. He’ll get you in this afternoon.”
Atticus replied with only a sigh. An extraction meant staying overnight at the vet. It also meant stumbling around the day after with the weight of a water pack. Atticus hadn’t been to the vet in six months. That was good. The vet had warned Mason that frequent trips for extractions would mean it was time to consider the options. The only real option was putting Atticus down, as an operation to remove part of the cat’s colon would only result in his inability to control bowel movements, leading to a significant decrease in the quality of his life. Mason cried on the way to school. And he prayed.
The girl’s name was Amber. She was thin, in her mid-twenties, raising two children on two jobs. One at the salon, another at Hammerhead’s in Ocean City. She’d never been interviewed by a homicide detective before.
“I understand you did a hair coloring last week.” Kintry was leaning on the counter by the register.
Amber was amused. “I did seven colorings last week.”
“I’m interested in the one you did for a young girl named Chloe. She had her hair changed from black to red. Do you remember it?”
“Yeah, I remember her.” Amber was stocking hair products on the shelf. “Nice girl.”
“She talk much?”
