Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2) (33 page)

Trent stumbled across the street to his car, wondering what the fuck had just happened. He was blinking as rapidly as possible in an attempt to clear whatever that chick had doused him with. He had his key fob in his hand but couldn't remember the exact position of the "unlock" button. By the time he'd found it, he'd already relocked the car twice and popped the trunk.

He collapsed in the driver's seat and frantically tried to start it up. He got lucky and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine had barely settled down when he threw it into drive and took off.

He drove with his left hand and assessed the damage. The gunshot wounds hurt, but they felt superficial. He was more concerned by the stab wound in his side. He had no way of knowing what kind of internal damage Holt's wife may have done. He searched around for the bottled water that he knew was on the floor. Some of the liquid had dripped into his mouth, and he recognized the taste.

Wing sauce? She took me out with fucking wing sauce?

He could hear the bottle rolling away from him as he drove. He leaned farther down, screaming at the pain in his side, but he finally got a few fingers on it. He drove with his knees while he opened it, and he blew through a stop sign before he realized that it was there.

Shit, he had to chill out. He was making himself a target by driving so recklessly.

He couldn't let himself get caught.

Not when he was so close to the fulfillment of a dream.

He dropped his speed. When he was relatively sure that he had the time, he poured the entire bottle of water into his eyes. It didn't solve the problem, but it made it a hell of a lot more bearable. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed what he already knew. His eyes were an angry red. If he had to stop anywhere (or, worse, was stopped), he'd be instantly memorable, either as a demon or a pothead.

He saw a familiar sign on his right. He pulled into the parking lot of a big box store and found a nice spot to wait it out. He believed that he had put enough distance between the Holts' house and him to eliminate the possibility of an unlucky traffic stop. Now, they would have to look for him.

He knew that it would only be a matter of time before the missus was able to give a good description to the cops. She even had a first name, and that might've been bad, if it had been his real name at all.

He couldn't believe how quickly she had turned it around on him. He had been so careful with her. Treated her with caution, kept his distance, and watched her like a hawk. And still she'd fucked it all up.

She had to know that the guest was coming. For two hours she had played dumb and waited patiently.
Two fucking hours.

It made him hate Holt even more. Bad enough that Holt had killed his half-brother. In his more honest moments, he recognized that Ricky had done it to himself. He had become obsessed with Holt, and it had driven him to do stupid things. He didn't have the details, would never have them, but Trent had no doubt that his brother's death had come at the hands of Holt. That was just how the universe worked sometime.

Even if Holt hadn't killed him directly, it would've been one of his minions.

That was still on Holt.

And now the guy's wife had beaten him, nearly killed him. He'd never planned on the guest, and she'd played him.

It was fucking embarrassing.

He needed to make a call. Get fixed up. Then?

He hoped the other chick was dead. He knew that he got a good one off, at any rate. He really wanted to get another crack at the wife, but he figured that wiping out the entire town would be a good consolation prize if he didn't.

TO BE CONCLUDED IN

"ORPHEUS: WRATH"

I took my first stab at writing a novel about two decades ago, when I was in my very early twenties.

It sucked, and it died an early, well-deserved death.

In the ensuing years, that book gathered significant company. I’d start writing a novel, then abandon it shortly. I had plenty of good ideas, but I was lacking a few skills, such as, I don’t know, skill and discipline. You know, minor stuff.

Then, about six years ago, I finally got serious. I buckled down, finished, and published
ORPHEUS.
I felt that, at the very least, I could say that I’d finished writing one damn novel in my life.

Then an unexpected thing happened. Some people read it. I made lunch money. Most surprisingly, the general consensus among readers was that it was actually pretty good. Many expressed interest in a sequel for which I’d left the door open (literally).

Who knew?

What happened during the five years since then? Well, another kid, for one, but also a series of excuses born of a genuine fear that I wouldn’t be able to write another novel as well-received as the first. I can’t imagine I’m the only writer who has ever experienced that, but I should have done a much better job of self-motivating.

Thankfully, I got over it, as I’m now putting the finishing touches on the book you’re holding
.
If you’re reading this, thank you. If you came back to read this after reading the first one, I love the shit out of you.

The good news for you (and me) is that there’s going to be one more primary ORPHEUS novel, and you won’t have to wait five years for that one. As of this writing, I’m about halfway through the first draft, and I know where I’m going with the rest.

Once that’s done, who knows what I’ll do next?

I’m kidding. I know the next six books I want to write, I just have to figure out the order. We’ll just have to wait and see together how it plays out. The one thing I do know is that I’ll be putting zombies on the shelf for a while. After
WRATH
it’ll be time to try something new.

See you in the apocalypse.

Dan DeWitt

May2016

Novels and Novellas

• Orpheus
  
• Orpheus Born (prequel)
  

Short Stories

• Underneath: Short Tales of Horror and the Supernatural
  
• It’s Not Really Halloween Until it Gets Dark, Anyway