Why do I write paranormal? It calls to me, maybe because I grew up with the original Twilight Zone and Outer Limits. Maybe because The X-Files came out at just the right time for me. I don’t know, but it’s there and that’s what I truly enjoy reading. I do read other genres, keeps me fresh, but I always go back to paranormal or sci fi.
Some of you may have heard this story but in third grade I took A. E. Van Vogt’s Slan to school to read in my free time. Momma caught me and took it away, because “girls don’t read science fiction” – that might have done it and set me on the path of disobedience. I’ve read it ever since.
Now Hazardous to the Touch is out!
I like the paranormal to be mind related – psychics are a big hit with me, (Learning Trust, Before You) those with just a little touch of something that makes it interesting. That’s where this book comes in. Hazardous to the Touch is about a psychic, cut off from her family and any possible friends because of her gift (or curse if you go in that direction). She’s not content with her life, but used to it and staying in the shadows, until a serial killer comes to town. That thrusts her out of her comfort zone and she learns her strengths and budding new abilities.
I hope you enjoy it and I’d love a review.
Amelia was shaking as she let herself into her place. How had the detective done that? How the hell could that man get so close to her without her realizing? She felt everyone else standing outside at that house, their curiosity as well as their excitement. They didn’t know enough to be repelled and sickened.
She knew when people were close to her. Had for as long as she could remember, but he, this detective Capello, walked up and stood within touching distance without her realizing. She hadn’t known he was there until he actually spoke.
Was it the crime? Had she been that intent, that distracted by . . . no, she’d known what was in that room before she arrived on the street. He managed to get that close somehow without her being aware. What was different about him?
She needed to calm down and think. Heading into the kitchen, she poured a glass of iced tea. Then she wandered back into the living room and picked up the sketchpad on her coffee table. She returned to the kitchen and took a seat at the island. While she drank her tea, she began her sketch.
A credible version of the detective began to emerge. His eyes were dark. She always started with the eyes because they usually couldn’t hide what the person was thinking, at least not from her. His face was square with a strong chin and jaw line. His nose was a little large, possibly broken once in the past, but that gave his face the interesting touch that kept him from being pretty. He was definitely masculine. His ears were close to his head, and his hair long enough to curl slightly over them. His hair was thick and looked as though it would be soft to touch. The dark chestnut color worked for him. She’d noticed that even with only her quick glance at him.
The department probably thought he needed a haircut. She wouldn’t know those regulations, but it was a good length for him in her opinion. His hair curled slightly over his collar and was long enough in front to flop down over his broad brow, but not into his eyes.
His eyes, she thought about them again and added a line or two to her sketch. They noticed things. He took in her appearance with once glance, she was sure of that. He approached her, not any of the others standing there wishing to be part of the excitement.
Abruptly she closed the sketchbook. Why was she thinking about him after the devastation to that poor woman? How was she able to turn her thoughts from that? What word did she use at the scene—disrespectful? That’s what this felt like, Detective Capello shouldn’t be her focus. No, though she would never sketch the scene left in that bedroom. But even for a distraction, drawing the detective didn’t seem right.
Washing her glass, she tidied up, leaving no evidence that anyone had used the space. Returning to the great room, she flipped on some music, light jazz, and curled up in her favorite chair with her current book. She was alone. She was safe. She shook her head. How had he gotten so close without her feeling him?