A bit of tid

Hello all

Sorry for the blog silence, I have been working away. Yes, on Whiked but also at my new (day) job.  It’s a big adjustment, going from a workplace I’d been at for almost eight years, where I knew most of the people and most of the systems and felt super confident about what it is I did, to a new workplace where I don’t know anyone, don’t know the systems and feel insecure in my abilities.  Quite a change!

However, that is neither here not there and you aren’t here for my thoughts about my new job!  Or, maybe you are…I shouldn’t assume things.

In any event, here is something I’m working on. I believe I’ve told you all about my Batman story (really need to stop calling it that!).  I’ve decided that it will probably never be published, as the resemblence that that comic legend who shall not be named is too strong. Still, I do like it so, for your reading pleasure, please observe the following snippet.

After the jump, peeps!

Prologue: A Dark Silence

He entered on silent feet, though there was no one to hear.  Darkness shrouded the room, the faintest sliver of light escaping the curtained window to send a shard of illumination across the empty bed.

His room.  His bed.

His body ached, but he was used to the pain and so he paid it no mind.  Making his way to the bed, he shed his clothes, the t-shirt he’d donned after he’d returned and bathed, the jeans that had replaced his protective trews.  Pulling back the covers, he slid inside, staring at the ceiling, his hands laced beneath his head.

Silence pushed.

It wasn’t within him to push back.

Within moments, he was on his feet and clothed once more.  Another and he was striding down the hall, retracing the steps he’d taken so recently through these silent halls, these darkened rooms.

Too silent.  Too dark.  Sleep was no comfort to him.  Greater comfort could be found with the monitors and news feeds, where he could keep vigil over his city.  Where he could keep his protected.

Silence echoed, grew strong, wide.  Empty.

The elevator, when it arrived, did so quietly.  Just as quietly it took him down, into the bowels of the estate, the cavernous hollow of which only his forebears had knowledge.

The elevator doors slid open.  The cave had a sound of its own, a constant faint rumble that lessened the tension in his shoulders, soothed the aches in his body.

Making his way to the console, he slid into his chair.

The monitors blazed.  News grabs informed him of the latest crime wave, the upcoming museum benefit.  The computer flipped through criminal profiles finding patterns, an attempt to stop violence before it began.  The latest email from Research and Development awaited his attention, as well as the financials of the company.  Unlike R&D, his CFO wouldn’t wait much longer.

That was for later, though.  Finally, in the glow of information, he relaxed.  Now, there was no silence, no darkness.  Now, the city could slumber, safe under his watchful gaze.

Cassandra Dean

Cassandra Dean is an award-winning, best-selling author of historical and fantasy romance. She is a 2018 recipient of the coveted Romance Writers of Australia Ruby Award. Cassandra is proud to call South Australia her home, where she regularly cheers on her AFL football team and creates her next tale.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.