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    The Bridge Over Miller's Creek: Dark Soul Trilogy - Book 2
    The Bridge Over Miller's Creek: Dark Soul Trilogy - Book 2
    The Bridge Over Miller's Creek: Dark Soul Trilogy - Book 2
    Ebook123 pages1 hour

    The Bridge Over Miller's Creek: Dark Soul Trilogy - Book 2

    By Paul Donaldson

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    About this ebook

    A drifter came into town, behind the wheel of a white 1960 Impala. Two fuzzy dice hung from the rear view mirror. He called himself Joey.
    Joey fell from Miller’s Bridge to his death on the rocks below,
    or is it possible he pushed.
    Now, five years later, another drifter comes into town, driving a white 1960 Impala with dice hanging from the rear view mirror
    and the grave of Joey the drifter is empty.

    Joey died, leaving the under-aged daughter of Joshua Miller heavy with child. This small town has come to hide their demons well.

    Wilson Pierce recovers from a coma with no memory. He arrives by way of Miller's Bridge in a car identical to Joey's.
    A dark force seeks revenge for a drifter's death. Is that force ushered in by Wilson Pierce or from beyond the gates of hell.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPaul Donaldson
    Release dateJun 25, 2016
    ISBN9781311346018
    The Bridge Over Miller's Creek: Dark Soul Trilogy - Book 2
    Author

    Paul Donaldson

    Born in 1957,Paul J Donaldson lives in a small town in Southeastern CT.He worked in the defense industry and is now retired to a quieter lifeHe has written poems and short stories since his teen years.Visit Paul's Blog: http://writerstemptation.blogspot.com/

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      Book preview

      The Bridge Over Miller's Creek - Paul Donaldson

      The Bridge over Miller’s Creek

      (Dark Soul Trilogy – Book 2)

      Paul J Donaldson

      The Bridge over Miller’s Creek

      by Paul J Donaldson

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2006 Paul J Donaldson

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Chapter 1

      Stephanie Hawkins pulled her white Firebird to the side of a state highway in central Pennsylvania. The sun had just risen fully over the eastern horizon. Stephanie hadn’t slept for a solid day. She rested her hands on the steering wheel, ten o’clock and two o’clock, exactly where her father told her to place them when he taught her to drive. She always did things the correct way, until evil touched her.

      The rear view mirror reflected the deep gray circles around her eyes. In her present state, she could not purge the dark images of the past few months from her soul. Like evil fingers crawling up her thighs. They penetrated her, entering where only one man had ever been. The extremities of darkness entered and into her womb. They impregnated her with vile thoughts. Images she could not have witnessed on her own, even in her most aroused state.

      She gripped the wheel with white knuckles. The sights before her closed eyes were erotic. She craved the acts of fornication. In the rear seat there was a blonde wig, purchased for more money than the fake mop was worth. With it she could be someone else. Someone without the morals of the girl who walked in the guise of righteousness while pondering on a sinful nature.

      She wasn’t the angelic creature others saw when they met her. Stephanie played the role well, but darkness knew what she really desired. She looked at her legs, sheer stockings exposed beneath a short black skirt. She ran a hand between her thighs. She felt her moist desire. In the past she would never have touched herself this way, now she couldn’t resist.

      In her side mirror the reflection of a vehicle approached. First she noticed the double headlights in the front grill and the chrome bumper. The vehicle moved at a clip well over the forty mile an hour speed limit. As it sped by the driver glanced her way. He was male, her type, as they all were lately. Momentarily the brake lights flashed beneath the horizontally stretched fins. The white car slowed. She thought it was a Chevy, at least twenty years old and in immaculate condition.

      She considered grabbing the wig and slipping it over her short black hair. The vehicle stopped, waiting. If the driver chose to back up he would meet Stephanie Hawkins. A thirty year old, more interested in dreams than actual men. The blonde wig would turn her into someone else. Would the driver of the vehicle want to spend time with someone else?

      The male driver hesitated for a moment, as if trying to decide if the price would be right. She hadn’t offered and he hadn’t agreed, or shown any interest beyond hesitation. They were nothing more than a thought without action. The brake lights flashed off and the Chevy accelerated toward its destination.

      Chapter 2

      The country bridge stretched its wooden planks out into the morning fog, a cloak concealing the actual color of the new day’s dawn. His footsteps echoed across the heavy boards and in the silent beginning of morning their reverberation seemed to fade into the surrounding mountains. Miller’s creak, shallow in summers past as it was now, lay a little more than fifty feet below. At the center of the narrow overpass the man with features masked by vapor turned to the left. With both hands he gripped the iron rail meant to secure travelers from a fall to the rocks below. He stared into the dense murkiness, seeing nothing but a conjured image from the past.

      A limp body against the night sky, a silhouette against the moon speckled water. The thawing spring of a time passed rushed beneath the bridge. The splash of a weight penetrating the surface of clear fluid and the sickening thud of ripe fruit being smashed against stone gave the vision its soundtrack.

      There was nothing to actually see, except the veil on the world. He breathed in the stale vapor, allowing it to fill his lungs and believing in the purpose it gave him.

      Enough for now, he spoke hoarsely into the fog.

      The day would soon burn through its disguise, only to be graced by a blue, cloudless sky. He returned to the eastern end of the bridge where a vehicle idled. Its headlights outlined a trail through the vapor, leading the man wearing jeans and sneakers back to its shelter. He climbed in behind the wheel and studied the low clouds clinging to the earth, caught in the wide spread beam of the vehicle’s lights.

      ***

      Harland Hecht didn’t mind working the graveyard shift. The tiny Pennsylvanian town of Wilkesboro usually slept through the night in quiet solitude. A deputy on the five man one woman police force, Harland found a much needed peace in the rural town. He stretched his legs out on top of the scarred Mahogany desk. Six cells, down a hall to his right were all empty. He hadn’t babysat an overnight villain in two weeks.

      Harland closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be difficult to drift off, dreaming about an unnamed female he recently hooked up with from down in Dubois. The one-night stand would stay vivid in his mind for a long time to come. He never shared the fact that he worked as a law enforcement agent and she shared nothing about her line of employment.

      Seven years in Wilkesboro, five years free of a nagging ex-wife, he had found the perfect way to spend his years past forty. In his mind he pictured the bar where he met his nameless lover, a longhaired brunette with breasts the size of grapefruits. The woman spoke with an accent from the Deep South and she drank more than most women he spent his hard earned cash on.

      In a way she had been nothing more than a prostitute, excepting twenty dollars worth of drinks from his wallet before agreeing to share her bed. Had he simply laid cash down on the bar to be shoved down her cleavage the act between them would have been illegal. He simply converted his currency to liquid and became a law abiding, off duty, cop.

      His right foot, crossed over his left on the desktop, began to tingle. The sensation interrupted his lingering fantasy. He re-crossed his legs, placing the left over the right, before closing weary eyes. In two hours he’d be relieved, the pleasant thought of bacon and eggs at the Main Street Diner replaced the dark eyed brunette.

      The floor creaked behind him. The ancient floor of a building erected in the late nineteen-thirties moaned as if an unfamiliar weight suddenly sought its support. The grimacing wood gave warning to the dozing deputy. He interpreted it as nothing more than the plight of old floorboards.

      The noise gently moved and the room’s temperature touched the hairs on Harland’s neck with a chill. He had locked the doors after beginning his shift at midnight. Only Sheriff Townsend or one of the other deputies could enter without disturbing him and he was certain he would have heard a key turning the door’s lock. He looked across the room to where his hat, lightweight jacket and holster hung. His imagination stole a chunk of reality from his tired flesh. He closed his eyes again as another timber creaked.

      Unnerved by the floor’s protest against motion and the dancing hairs on his neck, Harland spun around in his chair. The castors squealed out their own objection to the movement of his weight. The last utterance of sound came from behind him, close to the door leading out of the room.

      In the shadows, created by the single lamp on the deputy’s desk a figure unveiled itself from against the wall. Where once only a silhouette of light and dark had been, sneakers and jean-clad legs were now visible from the knees down. The rest of the uninvited visitor held tight to the darkness.

      Who are you, Harland firmly stated as he began to rise from his chair, "and how

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