Memortality

Stephen H. Provost

Description

Minerva Rus can raise the dead. And it might get her killed.
Minerva’s life has never been the same since the childhood car accident that paralyzed her and killed her best friend, Raven. But when the long-dead Raven reappears in her life, now as a very attractive grown man, she discovers that her photographic memory has the power to bring the dead back to life ... heal her paralysis ... and shape reality itself.
Pursued by a rogue government agent who wants to eliminate her and her talents, Minerva must learn to control her powers to save herself and Raven. Because if she dies, he dies as well―again.

Informations

• Publié par: Linden Publishing
• Date de parution: 01 février 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781610353076
• Langue: English

Extrait

A DVANCE P RAISE FOR M EMORTALITY
Memortality takes a concept we ve all dreamed of and turns it into our worst nightmare. Innovative terror at its best.
-Bram Stoker Award-winner Michael Knost , author of Return of the Mothman
Memortality by Stephen Provost is a highly original, thrilling novel unlike anything else out there. From the haunting prologue to the thrilling conclusion, Provost has crafted an engaging, brilliant yarn that will keep you glued to the page until the very end. Stephen is clearly an author at the top of his game.
- David McAfee , bestselling author of 33 A.D., 61 A.D ., and 79 A.D .
A rich and complex world, with an ever-twisting and an immensely compelling story, Memortality is a terrific science fiction thriller that imprints on your mind like an unforgettable snapshot.
- John Palisano , Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Nerves and Ghost Heart
Fans of The Running Dream will love Minerva, a feisty protagonist with a special gift for helping the dead, who embarks on an action-packed adventure as she attempts to save her loved ones.
- Alexandria Constantiova Szeman , author of The Kommandant s Mistress
M EMORTALITY
Stephen H. Provost
Memortality Copyright 2017 by Stephen H. Provost. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and incidents in this book are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
Published by Pace Press An imprint of Linden Publishing 2006 South Mary Street, Fresno, California 93721 [phone] / [phone]
Pace Press and Colophon are trademarks of Linden Publishing, Inc.
ISBN 978-1-61035-289-5
135798642
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.
In loving memory of Lorelei L. Lollie Provost, whose courage in overcoming the polio that left one side of her body paralyzed helped inspire the character of Minerva Rus. Mom, if I could, I d bring you back in a heartbeat .
Contents
Preface
1. Motherhood (1996)
2. Minerva (2016)
3. Cigarettes (2001)
4. Paralysis
5. School (2002)
6. Midnight (2016)
7. Operative
8. Regret
9. Come-On
10. Progress
11. Breakfast
12. Taffy
13. Fair Trade
14. Therapy
15. Visitor
16. Assignment
17. Tingling
18. Letter
19. Park
20. Lab
21. Captivity
22. Doubts
23. Revelation
24. Turnabout
25. Outranked
26. Retreat
27. Proposition
28. Epiphany
29. Phantom
30. Confessions
31. Confiscated
32. Trust
33. Reunion
34. Between
35. Persuasion
36. Fatality
37. Missing
38. Cantina
39. Revived
40. Bus
41. Staircase
42. Pulse
43. Photograph
44. Starlight
45. Sleeping Beauty
46. Emergency
47. Cellar
48. Traffic
49. Neurogenesis
50. Visitor
51. Tea
52. Connection
53. Awake
54. Crosshairs
55. Geschenk
56. Contained
57. Rope
58. Chauffeur
59. Roadblock
60. Showdown
61. Epilogue
Preface
How many millions of people have lived, died and been left behind by history, their names and deeds whisked away to oblivion by the passing of time? The seventeenth-century blacksmith toiling in obscurity at his anvil. The medieval monk working silently away in an abbey. The triumphant war hero whose name-unlike those of Alexander and Bouidicca and Caesar-was never preserved in some ancient text. Or perhaps it was recorded . . . only to be lost when that text was destroyed by fanatics or burned with so many others in the fire at Alexandria s library.
Think of your own life. Perhaps you never knew one of your own grandparents, taken from this world before you even entered it. You will never know the sound of that person s voice, and you may know little about his or her life, other than what your parents passed along when they weren t too busy creating their own histories. Go back a generation further, or two, or three, and your ancestors are likely little more than names in the family Bible, if they re even that much to you.
No one can bring back the memories of those countless generations lost to history, but imagine for a just moment that you could preserve the memories of your own loved ones a little longer.
What if you could do more than that?
What if you could bring them back to life?
Motherhood (1996)
The flowerpot sat on the windowsill in Mary Lou Corbet s apartment, its soil giving rise to green stems topped by golden blossoms, their petals spread in homage to the sun. Mary Lou s plump orange cat, Petrushka, curled his body around the flowerpot as he walked past, mewing, and nearly toppled it onto the desk where she sat, penning a letter to her only son.
She thought about Jimmy always, because she had to. Not just because she was his mother, but because his very life depended on it. Sometimes, a mother s love provides even more nourishment to an adult child than to a nursing infant.
Mary Lou waved the back of her hand at Petrushka, who jumped lightly down onto the desk, then into her lap, and began kneading her belly.
She giggled. You were never too old to giggle. Not even in the 76th year of a life that had seen so much sorrow.
Silly boy, she chuckled, rubbing her knuckles gently near Petrushka s ear, then stretching both arms over him like an arching truss bridge and trying to settle her fingertips once again on her computer without disturbing him.
My dearest son, the words on the screen began. Know that you are in my heart and my thoughts always, as is your lovely bride.
Mary Lou still called Sharon her son s bride, even though they d been married for twenty whole years now. She always pictured her daughter-in-law the same way her son still thought of her: in the same white gown and radiant smile she d worn on her wedding day. Mary Lou had known her long before that; Sharon had grown up right across the street, and there d never been any doubt in Mary Lou s mind that, one day, this girl and her son would wind up spending the rest of their lives together.
Sharon wasn t just the perfect match for her boy, she was the perfect daughter-in-law, always offering to take her shopping or surprising her with a devil s food cake on her birthday. Some mothers insist no one s good enough for their little boy, but Mary Lou never thought that about Sharon. They were perfect for each other; for her, it was like getting two children for the trouble of one . . . not that Jimmy was any trouble, mind you.
Sharon was in her thoughts just as much as Jimmy was, but she knew she was getting older, and she wouldn t be around forever.
What would they do without her?
Like any mother, she worried, but she was convinced she had far more reason to worry than most.
A diesel truck rumbled by outside her window, exhaust trailing behind it. Mary Lou liked to sit at the window and watch the cars go by, but big trucks weren t supposed to be chugging along down residential streets. Weight limit 6 tons, the sign at the end of the block read. She was about to shout something out the window when she remembered her task, remembered her son and his beautiful bride, remembered to focus on them and the email she was writing.
My darlings: I woke up with a new ache in my shoulder last night. Nothing too bad, but please do hurry home. I miss you and I worry. You know I m getting on in years, and I won t be here forever for you, so each day is precious to me. Please, you must hurry and find a special child of your own to be there for you after I am gone. You re trying, I know. That s why you re not here with me right now. You know these aren t just the words of some doting old woman who wants a grandchild in golden years. You have always given me more than enough love between the two of you. It s not for me, but for you-while you still have time and before I m gone. Remember, I love you always. Mama.
Her finger hovered over the mouse for only a moment before she clicked it and the send button screen lit up on the screen. It was a new way of sending messages; she d just discovered it in the last year or so, but she liked it.
The email was on its way.
Mary Lou Corbet stared at the photo of Jimmy and Sharon on their wedding day as she got up, while Petrushka jumped down from her lap in the same moment. Her eyes were getting heavy, and it was time for her nap. She needed one every day now, it seemed. Looking back, she couldn t imagine how she d stayed up all night when Jimmy was fussing as a baby or, later, when she was working on some project for her business, Fireside Dressworks. Her dreams had been closer to nightmares back then, fueled by worries of losing her baby to some childhood illness or simply making ends meet to keep him fed and clothed.
Being a single mother had never been easy, and it was even harder back then, when whispers behind her back about fornication and that bastard child followed her down the street and into the grocery store, pharmacy, and post office.
Now, though, her dreams consoled her, because Jimmy and Sharon visited her in those dreams.
She picked up their photograph in its silver frame, turned, and carried it with her toward the bedroom, Petrushka tagging along, swatting at some gnat that whirred silently just beyond his reach. Mary Lou could have kept a second picture beside her bed, but then both photos might have become nothing more than part of the scenery, fading into the background of her consciousness-something she could n