novel

There are demons within. And they're the deadliest kind.

It was supposed to be us against the world, Tyler and me versus everyone else. Now it's just me.

It's gonna take me a lot longer than a year without you to get over you.

Is there a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone?

Just do it. Now.

In the temple, I sit on the cool floor next to Grandfather, beneath the stern benevolence of the goddess's glance. Grandfather is clad in only a traditional silk dhoti--no fancy modern clothes for him. That's one of the things I admire about him, how he is always unapologetically, uncompromisingly himself. His spine is erect and impatient; white hairs blaze across his chest.

The right things often happen for the wrong reason.

That evening we sat in the courtyard of the hotel once more, watching the sun sink below the western isles. I told Alexi what had happened that day. I fancied I could glimpse the grey stone wall of Lismore House on its island hilltop, the red light of the setting sun glinting from the windows, and from there the wasted frame of Jonathan Blake gazing out across the sea, on nothing, his boy waiting for him to die. But it was my fantasy, simply the image on my mind, like the image burned on to your eyes when you have stared too long at the sun, the passing footprint of a creature long gone.

Did somebody die?___es,_ I replied.__ho?_ he asked, starting to freak out. I pulled out my notepad and asked him if he knew a Marcie Tucker. __arcie? Hm, Marcie, it doesn't ring a bell but_ Oh yeah, the temp who's filling in while my regular assistant is out, I think her name is Marcie. In fact, she was supposed to be here today. I was actually starting to worry that_ Wait. Is she___nfortunately yes,_ I said, __arcie was found in her apartment late last night uh_ no longer alive._ My bedside manner has never been my strong suit.Dr. Taggart looked distressed and began to ramble incoherently for a minute. I let him work through it though, I figured it was his way of grieving. I wouldn't have even paid attention to it except for the fact that it was kind of goofily, ineptly_ well, poignant:"Oh, uh, Oh my God. That's terrible. I uh_ I hope she didn't have any family. I mean, I don't hope she didn't have any family, what I mean is, if she uh_ if she didn't have any family then there would be nobody to get all bummed out about this and uh_ you know, when something like this happens, you always think about the poor, heartbroken family, so uh_ if she doesn't have any family then uh_ the bright side would be that nobody would, you know, have to be all bummed out."Hm. I guess I never thought of it that way. Awkward wording aside, he's kind of got a point there.

I__ an idiot for trying to avoid these feelings because they have caused me pain in the past.

If Miss Elton spoke water instead of words, then there would have been a repetition of Noah__ flood.

Writers are like onions, layers upon layers upon layers.

What__ the mission at hand? To save the Church? To save the pope? Uncover a menacing secret society within the Church? Eliminate the would-be assassins? Or could it be something else, something even more portentous and earth-shattering?

I remember when Elvis died. I wrote my sentiments with words of a little girl in my dear diary, "Many people wanted to see his body. They literally wanted to dig his bones out just to make sure that he was being buried. And I could not understand why. Why people could not leave him alone and let his soul rest in peace." I couldn't get it. I didn't grasp it at that time. In a head of a little girl it was hard to believe that there were mysteries to be solved. That there ruled a conspiracy theory that people thought it was odd that he was buried and the casket was never opened. They didn't believe he was dead! Oh yes. Elvis Lives! And as the world needs his songs, his words, his thoughts, his love, his light more than ever before.

I don__ mind my friends calling me __hornes,_ but the fact of people calling me __rickly Thornes_ draws the line.

That__ where they found the skeletons. Right where you__e standing.

Already, Seattle is taking hold of her. She still holds Sedona in the dry tan of her skin and in her hair, but the fine mist of the Northwest is making its way to places she didn__ know were parched.

The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.