Beachgoers fade into the periphery of my awareness; the rush of my breathing roars as loud as Niagara Falls. In the middle of a sweltering beach, I shiver, my arms prickling with goosebumps. Any second now, I know I’m going to die.
What the hell is happening?
Heaviness presses in on my chest, robbing the breath from my lungs and making each heartbeat painful. I reach to my right and back, searching for Tammy, trying to put myself between whatever this is and my child. The instant my fingers make contact with her shoulder, all the dread vanishes.
“The woman’s gone, Mommy,” says Tammy in an eerie calm tone.
I blink, gazing mesmerized at the empty beach for a second more before whipping my head around to stare at her. “What? What woman?”
“The one who was watching you.” Tammy points at a spot of open sand about ten feet away. “She’s not there anymore.”
I stare at the conspicuous lack of footprints, but can’t argue that the foreboding evil had seemed to be coming from that exact place. After snagging my purse, I stand, stuffing my hand inside to grab my sidearm, but not drawing it. Out of the corner of my eye, I note Danny and Anthony about two hundred yards off at the ice vendor, in line. No one nearby is acting odd… well, no one except for me.
After creeping a few steps forward, I crouch to examine the ground, but the undisturbed sand proves no one had been there. Ugh. Maybe the stress really is getting to me? How messed up is it that taking a day to escape stress winds up causing it? But, my kid saw someone. I twist back to face her. “What did this wom―?”
Tammy’s gone.
Alarm bells go off in my head. I spin about in a circle, searching, but don’t see any purple. She’s in a purple swimsuit with a little skirt frill and pink flip-flops. At the realization my brain is framing up her description for a police report, my panic turns everything around me to a blur of color and meaningless sound.
“Tammy?” I call, not quite screaming, on my way back to the hole she dug. Her flops are still beside it, like someone grabbed her and plucked her straight out of them. “Tammy!” I shout, turning.
A few people look at me.
No! This isn’t happening.
“Holy shit!” yells a man.
I stare at him and he dives to the beach from his chair. Oh, crap. My gun’s out. “Calm down. I’m a federal agent.” Back in the purse it goes. “Have you seen my daughter? She’s four? Purple bathing suit, black hair?”
He (and the woman sitting beside him) shake their heads, still staring at me like I’m a psycho.
“Tammy?” I call again, spinning in place.
Anthony and Danny are still at the ice vendor, not having noticed me shouting. Really? All it takes is looking away for three seconds and a child can vanish. I know this, but seriously?! Not Tammy! Not my daughter! Come on, Sam, think! I force fear and panic into a box and slam the lid down on their arms. Shaking with nerves, I try to assess my surroundings. Nothing in our ‘campsite’ is disturbed, nor are any adult-sized footprints obvious, other than the trail Danny left.
I don’t see anyone hurrying off with a small child in tow, no signs of a disturbance in the crowd, and most alarmingly, no screaming Tammy calling for her mother. A line of small depressions in the sand could be her footprints leading off. I follow the trail up the beach for about sixty feet, heading away from the water, but it’s soon indistinguishable when the tracks merge with an area of heavy foot traffic.
People jostle around me on both sides, their arms laden with folding chairs, umbrellas, coolers, and portable stereos. What’s wrong with them all? They don’t care that my child is missing? Why are they going on about their business like the Earth hasn’t just stopped rotating? One guy bumps me a little hard with his giant blue Coleman cooler, then has the nerve to glare at me.
With a snarl, I give him a shove that knocks him over sideways, and trot a few steps farther in the same direction the footprints led me. I spin, searching in a circle, but there are no four-year-olds in purple swimsuits anywhere in sight.
“Tammy!” I scream, getting a few looks.
Shit!
I yank my cell phone from my purse and open the contacts list, hunting for Denise Pagano, an FBI agent who I wound up assisting my second month on the job. We became fast friends, and I’m not above calling in a favor for something like this.
My head swims with lectures about the first forty-eight hours being the most critical when children are abducted. Stranger abductions are rarer than people think―but they’re also the most dangerous for the child. Tears stream down my cheeks. I know all the stats and timelines, but it’s not supposed to happen to my daughter!
Two seconds after I press the cell phone against my ear, my undirected gaze lands on a skinny little girl in a purple swimsuit, thirty feet away by a row of booths and stands near the parking area. It’s Tammy! She sways side to side, grinning up at an older gray-haired man with a large belly, white T-shirt, and blue Bermuda shorts. He’s smiling, but looking around more than at her. My stomach starts to clench, but I get the sense he’s wondering where her parents are, not hoping to evade being seen.
I sprint across the parking area, heading straight for them. The old man looks at me and points at Tammy as if to ask, ‘is she yours?’ My nerves calm ever so slightly when he reacts to my nod with a relieved slouch.
Tammy’s in the midst of telling this man about her favorite show, Barney & Friends. I heard a rumor that the CIA was considering using long-term exposure to it as an interrogation technique, but I’d gladly have it on 24/7 in exchange for never being this worried ever again. After vaulting a row of plain, backless benches between the storefronts and the lot, I swoop in on my kid.
She squeals with delight when I haul her into the air and squeeze her close. “Tammy! You scared me to death!”
“It’s all right, miss,” says the old man. “Your little sister’s fine.”
I lift my face from the crook of Tammy’s neck to peer quizzically at the guy. Either his eyes are shot or he’s giving me a compliment. “Little sister? Oh, thanks. She’s my daughter.”
He raises two bushy white eyebrows. “Pardon me. You look young.” He chuckles. “Guess everyone looks young when you’re my age.”
“Sorry, Mommy. Mr. Feagans looked lonely.”
The man waves to Tammy before tipping his fisherman’s cap at me. “Beautiful daughter you’ve got there. Speaking of beautiful, I’d best get on back to my wife.”
I nod at him, unable to decide if I should thank him for watching her or be upset that his evident loneliness attracted her.
“Sam?” Danny jogs up to me, masterfully balancing Anthony in one arm and three Italian ices in the other hand. “What’s up? Why are you all the way over here?”
I lean against him, still clinging to Tammy. She gets squirmy with the treats in sight, so I shift enough to let her grab one, and she goes right for the blue ice. “Looked away for a couple seconds, and she disappeared.”
Danny’s expression darkens. Before he can ask me how I can ‘just lose her like that,’ I explain that weird feeling I got, like someone was sneaking up behind me with a knife.
“She didn’t have a knife, Mommy.” Tammy shakes her head.
“You saw this woman too?” Danny blinks at her.
Tammy bites her ice, making both Danny and me cringe. “Yeah.”
“Please, don’t you ever run off like that again, okay?” I hug her tight.
Danny offers me one of the two remaining cherry ices, his expression softening. “You okay, hon?”
All the air in my lungs blasts out in a heavy sigh. “Yeah. I swear… our daughter is too nice. She’d trust the Devil himself if he said hello.”
A sly grin spreads over my husband’s face. “I can ask Mr. Westfield over for dinner if you want to test that.”
If there’s anyone in this world I’d gladly go to my grave without ever seeing again, it’s Danny’s former boss at the old law firm. “Let’s not.” Ooh. The ice
has actual bits of cherry in it. “I’m going to need another weekend at the beach to recover from our weekend at the beach,” I say.
Danny laughs, and we head back to our spot. As much as I try to enjoy the rest of the day, I’m unable to pull my eyes off Tammy and Anthony. I have no explanation for what happened. Tammy saw someone watching me, yet nothing had been there. My parents are all into that spiritualistic crap, and up until a few minutes ago, if anyone had asked me if I believed such a thing as true evil exists―not just ‘politicians screwing over the little guy’ evil―I’d have said no.
Now, I’m not so sure.
New Moon Rising
is available at:
Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK * Paperback
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Other Books by J.R. Rain
STANDALONE NOVELS
Winter Wind
Bound By Blood
Silent Echo
The Body Departed
The Grail Quest
Elvis Has Not Left the Building
The Lost Ark
The Journey (with Piers Anthony)
The Worm Returns (with Piers Anthony)
Lavabull (with Piers Anthony)
Jack and the Giants (with Piers Anthony)
Dolfin Tayle (with Piers Anthony)
Dragon Assassin (with Piers Anthony)
Glimmer (with Eve Paludan)
Lost Eden (with Elizabeth Basque)
Judas Silver (with Elizabeth Basque)
The Vampire Club (with Scott Nicholson)
Cursed (with Scott Nicholson)
The Black Fang Betrayal (with multiple authors)
VAMPIRE FOR HIRE SERIES
Moon Dance
Vampire Moon
American Vampire
Moon Child
Christmas Moon (novella)
Vampire Dawn
Vampire Games
Moon Island
Moon River
Vampire Sun
Moon Dragon
Moon Shadow
Vampire Fire
Midnight Moon
Moon Angel
SAMANTHA MOON ORIGINS
with Matthew S. Cox
New Moon Rising
Moon Mourning
SAMANTHA MOON CASE FILES
with Rod Kierkegaard
Moon Bayou
VAMPIRE FOR HIRE EXTRAS
Vampire Alley (poem)
Moon Dance (Deluxe Edition)
Moon Extras: Bonus Scenes
VAMPIRE FOR HIRE SHORT STORIES
Teeth
Vampire Nights
Vampire Blues
Vampire Dreams
Halloween Moon
Vampire Gold
Blue Moon
Dark Side of the Moon
Vampire Requiem
Moon Love
JIM KNIGHTHORSE SERIES
Dark Horse
The Mummy Case
Hail Mary
Clean Slate
Easy Rider (short story)
THE WITCHES SERIES
The Witch and the Gentleman
The Witch and the Englishman
The Witch and the Huntsman (with Rod Kierkegaard)
THE PSI SERIES
with A.K. Alexander
Hear No Evil
See No Evil
Speak No Evil
THE WATSON FILES
with Chanel Smith
Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Shakespeare
Sherlock Holmes and the Lost Da Vinci
Sherlock Holmes and the Werewolf of West End
NICK CAINE SERIES
with Aiden James
Temple of the Jaguar
Treasure of the Deep
Pyramid of the Gods
DEAD DETECTIVE SERIES
with Rod Kierkegaard
The Dead Detective
Deadbeat Dad
Ghosts of Christmas Present (short story)
THE ACCIDENTAL SUPERHEROINE
with Kris Carey
The Accidental Superheroine
My Big Fat Accidental Superheroine Wedding
MADDY WIMSEY SERIES
with Matthew S. Cox
The Devil’s Eye
The Drifting Gloom
WINTER SOLTSICE SERIES
with Matthew S. Cox
Convergence
Containment
ICE WOLF SERIES
with H.P. Mallory
Ice Wolf
MAJOR QUATERMAIN ADVENTURES
with Randy Keys
The Spear
ALEXIS SILVER SERIES
with Matthew S. Cox
Silver Light
THE SPINOZA TRILOGY
The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo
The Vampire Who Played Dead
The Vampire in the Iron Mask
The Vampire on the Train (short story)
THE ALADDIN TRILOGY
with Piers Anthony
Aladdin Relighted
Aladdin Sins Bad
Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman
THE WALKING PLAGUE TRILOGY
with Elizabeth Basque
Zombie Patrol
Zombie Rage
Zombie Mountain
THE SPIDER TRILOGY
with Scott Nicholson and H.T. Night
Bad Blood
Spider Web
Spider Bite
SHORT STORY SINGLES
Vampire Road
Skeleton Jim
The Bleeder
Vampire Rain
The Santa Call
COLLECTIONS
Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels
Moonlight & Monsters: Ten Vampire Tales
The Sands of Time
Dark Rain: Stories
Blood Rain: Stories
Black Rain: Stories
Red Rain: Over Forty Bestselling Stories
Naughty or Nice
The Indomitable Ten
Chronology
Primetime
Rainy Nights: Four Novels
Rain Dance: Four Novels
The Map: Four Novels
Crime After Crime: Four Novels
L.A. Rain: Four Novels
Murder Latte: Four Novels
Dark Spells: Four Novels
Vampires: Three Novels
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About J.R. Rain:
J.R. Rain is the international bestselling author of over seventy novels, including his popular Samantha Moon and Jim Knighthorse series. His books are published in five languages in twelve countries, and he has sold more than 3 million copies worldwide.
Please visit him at www.jrrain.com.
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And read his blog here.
~~~~~
Rod Kierkegaard, Jr. is a writer and cartoonist. He lives in Washington, DC.
Known in the US for his comic strip, “Rock Opera”, which ran as a regular feature in Heavy Metal Magazine, he is also the author of two French graphic novel collections, “Stars Massacre”, (released in the US as “Shooting Stars”) and “Rock Monstres”, both published by Editions Albin Michel, Paris.
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