Category Archives: lesbian fiction excerpt

Laura Book 4 Chapter 11

Despite Mother Nature’s attempt to distract, the author got her work done. Jesus, she’s in a mood tonight, huh? I mean Mother nature, not Roz.


Chapter 11

“Hey, Doc,” McCallister called when she spied Dr. Lythegow behind the ER reception desk, writing in a chart. “Got a minute? Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

He readily acknowledged her with both her name and a smile. “I happen to know where they give it away for free.” He gestured with his hand for her to follow. “Walk with me, Detective.”

Wordlessly, he led her down a corridor and then another. Midway, he stopped, slid his ID card into a security slot, and opened the door when it beeped.

“This is the doctor’s lounge,” he said as they entered the mauve and beige room. “It gives the impression that all we do is lounge around all day, doesn’t it?”

“You mean you don’t?”

He laughed as he went to the corner to turn off the television blasting a cable news channel. “Sit,” he said.

She did so and watched him head to another corner and pour coffee into two bone-white mugs. After she declined his offer of cream and sugar, he delivered the coffee and took a seat on the couch across from her.

“What brings you here this morning, Detective? What can I do for you?”

Continue reading Laura Book 4 Chapter 11


Laura Book 4 Chapter 9

We’re all chickenshits about something, Laura. The real plight of characters in books, though, is that our authors feel compelled to strew our secrets all over the frickin’ place, and readers feel compelled to read it. We deserve compensation! I’ll talk to our author. Maybe she can write in some extra occasions of king-sized beds. Being skin-on-skin with Claudia can make the most dastardly things somehow livable. Any remote possibility being with Holly does the same for you? 😉

In the meantime…


Chapter 9

Sunday night found McCallister on Granger Bridge with Holly’s head resting in her lap. Gently, she stroked her forehead to bring sleep, but as her breathing slowed, she sensed a clock ticking faster.

For seemingly endless hours that weekend, she reclined on the chaise lounge in Holly’s studio, feeling her eyes on her naked back, hearing her pencil give it form. A thousand times she tried to evoke enough courage to call her name, to roll over, face her, and just say it. And a thousand times, she failed. Monday would come, and they would be swept into routine. Time was running out.


Softly, she moaned but barely stirred.

“Hol, are you still awake?” She knew she wasn’t, but it was more a plea for her to return. “Hol?”

She mumbled, “Please tell me it’s not a jumper.”

“No. All’s quiet.”

“That’s good,” she said and snuggled into her.

“Hol, I need to tell you something.”

“Go ahead, babe.”

She stroked her head a moment longer and then said, “Hol, the woman who had the accident, the woman who can’t remember…” She found herself unable to utter the words. But, she knew she had to, even though she feared Holly’s reaction. Would telling her make it real—blow a hole clean through her reality—or would Holly see right through it and tell her it was all in her head? Either way, though, she knew she needed it to end: an agony that catapulted her between the extremes of hope and despair.

She thought Holly had drifted back to sleep so her sudden voice startled her.

Continue reading Laura Book 4 Chapter 9


Book 4 Chapter 8

Hey, Sutter, I think it’s time we told the world who the real chickenshit of our group is. But if they’ve been reading along, they already know who. That would be me. Would you keep posting these for me? Unless, of course, the author gives you hell for it. Tell her I started it, because I did, and send her to me.


Chapter 8

Early the next afternoon, McCallister drove toward the department’s garage for her mandated oil change. When her phone sounded on the passenger seat, she grabbed it to discover an unfamiliar number. “McCallister,” she greeted.

“Hi, Detective. This is J.”

Her stomach lurched.

“Sorry to bother you, but I ended up with your jacket yesterday.”

“Oh, I guess you did,” she said. “I’ll get it Monday when I stop by to see you.”

“Okay,” she replied.

She did not like the sadness that came with the simple word. A pang of guilt forced her to ask, “Is something wrong? Did you need me for something?”

After some silence, she said, “I’m sorry I’m such a needy pain in the butt.”

“You’re not.”

“Oh, yes, I am, and we both know it. I just don’t have anyone else. You’ve been so kind to me, and this time, I actually have something good to share, and I wanted to share it with you. Maybe it will make all you’ve done for me not seem like such a waste of time.”

“It’s never felt like a waste of time. Tell you what—” She glanced to her wristwatch. “I was headed to the station, but I’ll swing by and see you first. About ten minutes?”

The woman eagerly affirmed, and McCallister swerved into a right-hand turn.

Continue reading Book 4 Chapter 8


Book 4 Chapter 7

It’s pretty easy slapping chapters up here. I don’t know why the author thinks it’s so tough. And Sutter wonders why she hasn’t locked us up in some room yet for doing this. Sutter’s a chickenshit. Has anyone else noticed that?


Chapter 7

Wordlessly, McCallister drove them down the country road. She minded the odometer and slowed to a crawl when she knew they were in the vicinity of the woman’s crash site. After spying the small orange flags planted by County, she pulled over and came to a halt.

Both peered out the passenger window into forest that seemed far too thick to have allowed the passage of a vehicle. Yet, it had. A burned area about a hundred feet in attested to that, as did a charred tree with a large chunk missing. Surreal ice sculptures stood as creations by fire department hoses.

She minded the woman’s ponderous silence and then tried to assure, “It was dark that night. Even someone with a perfect memory wouldn’t find this familiar.”

“What in the world was I doing out here?”

Continue reading Book 4 Chapter 7


Book 4 Chapter 6

Sutter, you big chicken, this isn’t so big and scary.

Proof positive:


Chapter 6

At 10:00, Holly had just rinsed the last ice cream dish when McCallister approached from behind and slid her arms around her.

“Hol, would it be okay if I borrowed your baby car?”

She nearly dropped the dish as she spun around. “My baby car? It’s not spring yet.”

“Close enough, I figure.”

“Does that mean I can drive it now, too?” 

“As long as there’s no snow or ice, you can.”

“Yes!” she screeched.

She savored the smile that spread across her face. When her car came out of winter storage, Holly experienced it as a glorious milestone, the surest sign of spring. She realized she was so lost in her excitement that she forgot the original question. She tried again, “So, can I use your car?”

“Of course, you can,” she answered as she placed the dish in the drainer and grabbed the towel. “Why do you need it anyway?”

“Because a little red sports car does not look at all like a cop car.”

“True, but what does that have to do with anything?” Suddenly, her face twisted with dread. “A stakeout?”

“Actually, I’m going to spend the night in it, um, by Granger Bridge.”

“Laura, you can’t—”

“Hol, I have to do something. After the other night, how close another came to jumping, I have to. We can’t let our guard down. The number of patrols drops at 11:00 on weeknights so I’m going to pick up the slack, off the clock.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Continue reading Book 4 Chapter 6


Book 4 Chapter 5

And another…


Chapter 5

On one of the high school’s side streets, McCallister leaned against the hood of her car, impatience making her crave a cigarette, duty forcing her to resist. She tapped her foot and looked to the bike racks that lined a large parking lot. While she knew it was an unseasonably warm day, she ranked the thought of riding one up in the vicinity of a root canal.

Her mind then wandered again to the woman in the hospital, to their outing, to the prospect of taking her to the scene of her crash. To banish the intrusive thoughts, she retrieved her cell phone and texted Holly, a simple note to let her know she occupied her mind. Holly’s quick reply grounded her.

Soon, the school bell rang, and within seconds, the entire campus morphed into ordered chaos. Teenagers poured out of every door and headed in every direction. Voices rose. Doors slammed. Cars revved and hurriedly took positions in the processions that led to either exit. She wondered how, in this human haystack, she would find the three needles upon which her plan depended.

Madly, she scanned the faces of everyone moving in her direction. She felt nearly defeated until she saw three young men halfway down the block. Their steps lacked exuberance; their expressions possessed no pleasure from the school’s unshackling. They strode more out of mechanics than freedom.

Sure in her assumption, she focused on them. Right before she watched them turn toward the bike racks, she called, “Jonathan Morales, Lyle Keene, Neal Collier.”

In near unison, they stopped dead in their tracks and slowly pivoted.

Continue reading Book 4 Chapter 5


Book 4 Chapter 4

Yet another punchline.


Chapter 4

The next morning, McCallister stood just outside the hospital room and reminded herself to maintain a cool, professional distance. She would keep her word and take the woman out into the city, and that would be the end of it.

She braced herself and knocked.

“Detective!” the woman nearly yelled when she looked to the doorway. “I thought maybe you were going to back out.”

She glanced to her watch to discover that her reluctance made her uncharacteristically late by 20 minutes. “I’m late. I’m sorry. I’m not backing out,” she said as she entered. “But are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I’d be absolutely thrilled to get out of here.” She rose from the side of the bed, and with a gesture of presentation, she asked, “How do you like my outfit?”

She noted pink sweatpants, green tennis shoes, and a white T-shirt with a large flower on it. A mauve jacket hung over her arm, concealing her bandages. Fortunately, the woman did not await her reply.

As she put on her jacket, she said, “A nurse was kind enough to stop at a thrift store for me. I sure hope this was not how I liked to dress.”

Trying not to laugh at her remark, she assured, “You look fine. I’ll just make sure we don’t stop anywhere that requires formal attire.”

The woman sniggered as she neared her, and McCallister almost gave into a reflexive move backward. Except, this was the first time they stood face to face, and McCallister was taken aback to discover they were close to the same height. And indeed, her eyes were blue—not as blue as Holly’s but blue nonetheless.

“Last chance to back out,” the woman said.

She shook her head. “I don’t need it. Let’s go.”

Continue reading Book 4 Chapter 4


Even Even More Laura Book 4

Sutter says my attempts to look as though I’m not stealing are a joke. Here’s another punchline, then.


Chapter 3

McCallister peered inside the hospital room to see the woman sitting on the side of her bed, looking toward the window, seemingly deep in thought. The afternoon sun streamed in, and a swathe of it touched her leg.

After a deep breath, she lightly rapped on the door.

Immediately, the woman’s head turned, and a smile spread across her face. “Detective! Please, please, come in,” she eagerly invited.

McCallister did so, informing, “Dr. Lythegow said you wanted to see me.”

“I did,” she replied and pointed to the chair by the window.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she took the seat. “You look much better.” She quickly studied her to determine whether her remark proved anything more than polite. A deep red mark replaced the bandage that had been on her forehead. Her split lip had nearly healed.

“Physically, I feel a ton better. The other stuff, though…”

“You still haven’t remembered anything?”

She shook her head defeatedly and looked out the window.

“What can I do? What do you need me to do?”

“I’m not really sure,” she answered. “I’m sorry I bothered you, but I keep going back to your business card. I keep trying to figure out why I would have had it.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to her. She was curious herself, but listing the unverifiable scenarios she had run through her own mind did not seem a wise choice. Whatever she imagined came fastened to Dr. Lythegow’s description of the woman’s terror upon awakening. She did not want to be the one to send her back to that place, and so, she said nothing.

“It’s scary not to know who I am,” the woman told her. “It’s scary not to know where I belong in the world. They bring in a meal tray, and I stare at it, trying to figure out if I like green beans before I taste them. How do I know they’re green beans but not remember what they taste like?”

She shook her head, feeling bad for the woman’s frustration and frustrated herself for not being able to supply any answers.

“And how did I know your business card was printed in blue but not remember why I even had it?” When McCallister again shook her head, she added, “How did I know what blue even was?”

Because you have blue eyes, McCallister thought to say as she looked into them a bit too deeply. She nervously cleared her throat. “Deputy Nichols checked Missing Persons,” she assured. “There’s no one matching your description.”

Continue reading Even Even More Laura Book 4


Even More From the Laura Book

Okay, Chapter 1 apparently wasn’t enough to jog anyone’s memory. Here’s Chapter 2. Maybe it will help.


Chapter 2

McCallister’s cell phone sounded with the opening of the elevator door on the ground floor. Upon answering it, she learned that someone found the body of the teenager who had allegedly jumped to his death from Granger Bridge three days prior.

This was the third suicide in Granton in the past two weeks. All of them were adolescent boys, all from the same school, and all choosing the very same spot on the very same bridge to end it all. With young people, suicides were often like dominoes, and the community had procedures in place to keep those dominoes from falling. This time, they had not been so lucky. The professionals called them “suicide clusters,” and she hated the term. Stars clustered—flowers, diamonds, even peanuts. In her mind, it sounded too quaint, as though proximity was the gist of it, not cause and effect, not pain compounding pain.

She was a member of the Crisis Intervention Team that went into schools after such an occurrence. Her role was not seen as the supportive ones provided by the mental health workers. They were the nouns; she was the verb. She forced a dose of reality into minds that had yet to fully develop foresight. She carefully told the tales of cutting a noose, of trying to identify a young man’s face when half his head hung in little bits on the wallpaper, of telling parents the devastating news that the life they brought into the world had left. Now, fishing teenage bodies out of the river would one day land in the index of children’s stories that should never be told.

The first boy, Erik Scott, had been the backbone of a group of seeming outcasts. They were sophomores, into comic books and video games, and not one of them had ever been in trouble. Scott had been respected by his friends, and when he plunged over a hundred feet to the river, there occurred a lethal mix of pain and hero-worship. The second boy, Bradley Dake, followed within a week, and now, another one waited on the shore for his own body bag.

She sped to Riverine Park, juggling sadness and anger. Death was bad enough, but when it manifested itself in children, it took abhorrent to another level. Her anger came from a sense of failure, that the extra patrols the department ordered on Granger Bridge had not stopped this one. The press would have a field day.

She pulled her car through the array of squads and parked next to the coroner’s van. For a long moment, she simply sat there, absorbing everything and every face she could. She knew the coroner’s determination of drowning would come about through a process of elimination. Was he alive when he hit the water? Did he hit the water intentionally? Until those questions had answers, it was a crime scene.

She disembarked and headed for the uniformed group on the river’s shore.

“Is it him?” she asked.

“Fits the description, Detective,” an officer informed her.

She had hoped the boy had simply run away, leaving some of his belongings and a note on the bridge just for the sake of drama or the instillation of worry. She looked to his battered, discolored face, and she scarcely recognized him from the photos displayed on his parents’ wall. His clothes matched the portrait his mother had tearfully painted of the last time she had seen him.

Loathsomely satisfied, she turned her gaze to the medical examiner and asked, “Anything out of the ordinary, Hastings?”

Continue reading Even More From the Laura Book


More From the Laura Book

The prologue I posted a few weeks back from what Sutter calls the fourth “Laura book” was apparently not enough. Not one soul called with any information regarding its rightful owner. At this juncture, I have no choice but to post Chapter 1.

(Sutter, are you at all catching on to how this is done?)


Chapter 1

With a loud ding, the elevator opened and completed its delivery of Detective Laura McCallister to the second floor of St. Michael’s Hospital. Its disinfectant smell and hushed voices always made her nervous. She recalled keeping vigil some months back after Officer Phil Jansen had been hit in the head by the serial killer they hunted. She remembered more recently pacing the hall when her reporter friend, Kate Sutter, had emergency surgery for a ruptured appendix. But, she also knew she’d never forget Officer Rick Jessop’s face as he pointed out his newborn son in the nursery. Still, to say she detested hospitals would have been a delicate but wasteful choice of words.

After an uneasy scan of the hall, she swiftly approached a county deputy standing at the nurse’s station completing a report.

“What’s up, Nichols?” she asked him with a slight nudge to his elbow. “What do you need?”

“Sorry about getting you dragged in on a Sunday night, Detective,” he said as he cautiously looked up at her. “We’ve got a woman who just wrecked her car. No ID, but she had your business card in her back pocket. We’re hoping you recognize her. The doc says he needs next of kin, and I’d like to finish my report.”

Nodding her assent, she followed him to Room 217. He held the door for her, but she hesitated. She wiped her hands on her sweatpants and took an inconspicuous deep breath. With a stretch, she leaned her head into the room. The dim light did little to provide an adequate glimpse; she figured as much, but she had hoped nonetheless.

“Why don’t you go finish your report?” she suggested. “I’ll go take a look at her.”

He stood there, awaiting her passage, and when he realized she was not budging, he retreated. “Yell if you need me,” he said and headed back to the nurse’s station.

She forcefully wiped her hands again, berating herself for being ruffled by something undeserving of such a swell of emotion. Again, she took a fortifying breath and then entered. Slowly, she approached the bed, her steps marking every third beep of the machine that validated a beating heart.

Continue reading More From the Laura Book