Monday, August 15, 2011

Some of my favorite ...

I was thinking, it might be kinda fun to share some scenes from The _Byte Series.
This is a harder than I thought - but still fun. Actually it's VERY hard and time consuming, but yep, still fun.


Killerbyte: (from chapter 13, The sound of silence.)

We stood together watching more flies emerge from the top of the curtain and buzz about the light bulb. I had hoped we’d enjoy at least a day’s reprieve before anything else happened. I watched another few flies emerge. Dammit!
“Oh, fuck-a-doodle-do. I’ll do it.” I edged forward with my hand outstretched and flicked the far side of the shower curtain. It barely moved. “Welcome to Friday night in Lexington.”
I stepped forward with more purpose. What’s the worst it can be? I ripped back the curtain in one fast movement. I had to swallow hard and clamp my hand over my mouth and nose. I heard Mac gag next to me. I gulped back bile and stared at the slumped body in the shower cubicle. Flies crawled all over it. I moved as close as I could. I tried not to breathe. Disgusting didn’t even come close to describing the mess. I couldn’t see anything distinguishable. I leaned in and lifted back a piece of torn fabric from what I thought was a sleeve. Maybe there’d be a watch or something that we might recognize. Vomit rose in my throat as I held the fabric out of the way enough to see what appeared to be a tattoo, a mermaid. Roy Matheson, DEA.
Oh, Jesus dammit. Roy is dead. 4urxtc was Roy!
“Roy.”
I stumbled back in an effort to get away. My feet slid on a small towel. I felt Mac’s hand brush past my arm as I fell.
I heard my name and Mac said, “Oh shit, this isn’t good.”
I tried to say ‘I’m okay’ but the darkness swallowed me.
When the night comes, it comes with vengeance. No gentle billowing of soft clouds, just thunderous black storms, pounding and unrelenting, shaking my soul.

Terrorbyte: (from Chapter 29, Kidnap an Angel.)

I looked at the carpet under my feet. That Sunday replayed for me in the pattern on the carpet. Lee and Caine emerged from a doorway at the end of the hall. Behind them I saw a surgeon. They both stopped and spoke to him. Then to each other. Caine and the surgeon hung back. It was Lee who walked towards me. A noise behind me made me turn. And I saw Sam. He was walking slowly, but he was walking. Sam stepped up beside me. There were no words that needed to be said. He stood so close I could feel the air pressure change as he breathed. We waited for Lee to deliver the news. Lee told me what I already knew.
We stood, the three of us, with our heads bowed, arms around each other in a tight circle. The three musketeers. Praskovya appeared. Lee and Sam dropped their arms, shuffling followed as Praskovya joined the circle. Shoulder to shoulder we stood alone in our silence. Caine came over; he tapped my shoulder. I moved my arm down and let him in.
There were no words to be said, and no words I wanted to hear.
And I still didn’t want to hear whatever it was everyone wanted to tell me.
The psychologist coughed. My vision faded back into the floor.
“Why do you say no one can help?” she repeated.
“I can’t see how anyone can help.”
She uncrossed her legs then crossed them again. It seemed like a pointless act.
“Why do you say that?”
I took a breath and stilled my inner grumblings. “Because it’s true.”


Exacerbyte: (from chapter 2, Another One Bites the Dust.)

Nothing I like better than waking up confused. My eyes took their own sweet time adjusting to being awake. A wispy aura of mystery shrouded everything. The ceiling above me was not mine; mine was pristine white. This one was watermarked, fly poop-covered and pale tan. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Still had my boots on. Still had my clothes on. Both good things. I let my mind do a quick inventory of my limbs and pockets. I seemed intact but my pockets felt empty and I could tell I wasn’t wearing my holster. My dry mouth, the odd taste in the back of my throat and the nausea suggested drugs. Chloroform maybe. Does anyone still use that shit?
Sun filtered through grime-coated windows. The rays felt warm on my face as they slid between roughly-nailed boards. Boarded windows are never a good sign. I stood up. From nowhere a hand shoved me, tipping me off balance. I landed with a thump on the bed. A cloud of dust rose.
“What the fuck!”

Flashbyte: (from Chapter 24, It's All Coming Back To Me Now.)
“What the hell was that for?” Kurt asked, gawping at the cold coffee running down the wall.
“Why can’t I remember?” I snarled and struggled to my feet. “Why can’t I?”
Lee took a dish towel and started to wipe the wall.
Kurt sighed. “Come on, let’s see if we can figure this out,” he said to me. My feet didn’t walk, even though I told them to. “Ellie?”
Waves of anger rolled through me.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?”
His tone changed, he turned Special Agent on me. “Conway, sit back down.”

Swarming crazy thoughts of never filling in the gaps flooded over everything. Kurt took my hand. I slapped it away. My wrist twisted behind my back, in two strides the side of my face was pressed against a wall. I kicked backwards hoping to connect with his shins. Kurt’s grip tightened, he bent my wrist further. His object was instant submission and he achieved it
“Hit me once, shame on you … hit me twice, shame on me,” Kurt whispered in my ear.
“Everything okay over there?” Lee asked.
I couldn’t see him but I knew one word from me and Kurt would be on his ass. How could I know that and not remember my kid? She was just a name. I needed more than a name.
“We’re good,” Kurt replied. “Aren’t we Conway?”
“Yeah fuc’n awesome.”
Kurt released his grip a little. I pushed back, twisted, and pulled my arm free. I couldn’t even feel my ribs anymore. Blind rage flowed in my veins. My right fist connected with the side of Kurt’s face. My left hit him under the jaw. I connected face again with my right fist and the next thing I knew I was on the ground with Kurt straddling me. He had my arms pinned to the ground above my head. I bucked, getting my feet flat on the ground. His face was three inches above mine.
“Stop!”
“Get off me.”
“Calm the fuck down.”
“Get off!”
“No.”
Energy sparked. His eyes grew dark. His tongue flicked over his lips. Things stirred within me. “Doc, I …”
“Yeah, Conway,” his voice matched mine. Quiet, husky, unsteady.
So close.
He rolled off me and lay on the floor. Lee looked down at me.
 “You two kids had enough now?” he asked, reaching out for my hand to help me up.

Soundbyte: (from Chapter 13, To the Fire. WIP)

I was in bad shape. First Kurt and the Kevin Costner thing and now Misha is something from a trashy romance novel. I was seconds away from seeing him as Doctor Luka Kova─Ź from ER. And it wouldn’t be the first time Misha had become Luka to me. I had to do something to stop the insanity. I was in a room full of larger than life men and had no privacy to speak of, so no hope of a quick and dirty phone call to Rowan.
I tried to concentrate on the relationship between Iain Campbell and John Brown. We knew Iain was army with a classified record and Brown didn’t exist. So where did they meet. Where would someone like Campbell meet a non-existent killer like Brown?
And what did it have to do with the Bleich family? And the Sutherlands? And Maria Doyle was what to whom? And who was actually related to whom? I was starting to fully appreciate the Days of our Lives aspect of the case. All that was missing was someone lying comatose at the bottom of a set of stairs and another person buried in an avalanche and we’d have the makings of about five new episodes. Which led me to wonder which one was Tony DiMera and which of the players was Roman Brady. Of course he could be played by several actors and lose his memory numerous times and chances are he was related to everyone. Then it hit me, Mark Valley wasn’t just Christopher Chance he played Jack Deveraux in Day of Our Lives. Intertwined relationships were everywhere. Pretty sure Deveraux was played by several actors over time.
The tangents spun on and on. The darkness climbing higher. Mac leaned over a thick concrete wall covered in graffiti, his voice echoed into a brick alley way, “Come on, babe. You can do this.”
I blocked out the soap opera aspect of my earlier thoughts and focused on one fact. One thing I did know. Four members of one family were dead. That I knew was truth. Clawing fingers reaching for that last solid thought trying to drag it into the abyss. I watched as the Bleich parents contorted in agony as they were sucked downward into a fiery pit.
“Earth to Ellie.”
Flames leapt and the whole room smelled like a barbeque.



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That was fun, but very very difficult to choose scenes.


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