On Friday we announced that S Alini’s Anonymous is our Thriller of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the thriller, mystery, and suspense categories: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!
Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Thriller excerpt:
Anonymous – a suspense thriller
by S Alini
A New York psychiatrist’s life is turned upside down when an anonymous blog appears, documenting everything she does, revealing her most private secrets, and predicting murder.
Linda Garrett has it all: a successful husband, two great kids and a thriving psychiatry practice. It’s a happy life until a blog appears, documenting everything she does, and disclosing her most private secrets. This begins to fray the knitting that holds her family together, opening up things they’d hoped to leave in the past. But when the blog predicts their imminent deaths, Linda realizes what’s at stake and works frantically to find its creator.
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
Chapter 1
The pair of eyes, closed and quivering, had a dash of green eyeliner Linda noted.
“You can take as long as you need,” she told Gwen.
Gwen remained silent. Her plump hands were held together in her lap.
“There’s no hurry at all,” Linda told her.
Linda sat back in her own chair, satisfied that she had shown enough empathy. Not that she didn’t care. She cared a lot. But when your job was to care, it was pleasing sometimes to know that you looked like you did.
Her face pleasant and turned directly at the client, hands holding pen and pad, she waited. She didn’t mind waiting. She did so quite often. Waited and waited until whenever the client was ready.
She noticed that Gwen’s mouth, which was set a little to the left of the rest of her face, did not move at all. It seemed to be the focus of her concentration.
Gwen’s eyes were closed and tremulous, but her mouth was resolute.
Linda relaxed and looked around at her office. It was a little too large, she still felt three years on. The location and the rent had just been too good to pass up.
That’s the thing about New York. The rent decided everything for you.
Linda returned her thoughts to Gwen McConnell. She noted how the trembling eyes seemed to always be on the verge of opening. But they wouldn’t.
“If you don’t say it, we can’t really make much headway can we?” Linda asked. “Solving the problem starts with stating what it is, don’t you think?”
Still Gwen remained silent. Linda waited.
Seventeen years of a psychiatric practice had taught her the value of waiting. Arriving at something before the client was ready could sometimes be problematic. One had to wait and let the client lead the way to all the nooks and crannies of his or her life.
Linda Garrett was in her early forties. Her pantsuit and bundled hair, aiming for modesty, failed to downplay her extraordinary beauty.
She was gregarious, and found it easy to speak softly, thoughtfully, earnestly to her clients. She hoped it didn’t come across as too practiced.
Sometimes she pretended to stumble with her words, just so it wouldn’t sound too proficient, too glib.
Gwen was proving to be a challenge. She’d made three sessions and, for each one, had come in and sat and clammed up. For the whole hour. And so Linda waited. And waited.
Perhaps a little more prodding?
“Gwen, you made an appointment to come and sit here and talk to me. I think you did so for a reason.”
Still, Gwen said nothing.
An alarm beeped discreetly.
Chapter 2
Linda pressed the alarm off, then returned her attention to Gwen. But Gwen rose heavily.
“We don’t have to stop,” Linda offered. “I can stay, and it’s off the clock.”
She wanted to get to the bottom of this. Gwen stood still for a few moments, just staring at the floor.
“Three visits without saying anything… it’s not the way to solve your problems is it?”
Gwen continued appraising the floor.
“Okay. I won’t keep you if you wish to leave,” Linda told her.
Gwen seemed to step to the door with relief.
“Ahm… same time next week?” she asked in her childlike voice.
“Sure. We can meet, same time next week,” Linda told her.
Linda opened the door and walked Gwen out to the front office.
“Thank you,” Gwen said as she left.
“You’re always welcome,” Linda gave her standard goodbye, not certain exactly what she was being thanked for.
She closed the door after Gwen, turned and shrugged at Allison the receptionist. Allison shrugged back with a smile. Diminutive and perky, she was the office assistant and could always be counted on for moral support.
“Last one, yay!” Linda said just to make conversation.
“Yay,” Allison Jeni concurred.
Linda headed back to her office. Returning to her door, she found a post-it-note stuck right over the title PSYCHIATRIST.
“Need to talk,” it said.
Recognizing Kelly’s handwriting Linda walked across the small, cozy hallway to Kelly’s door. She knocked just above the bronze title KELLY GINSBERG, MARRIAGE COUNSELOR.
No answer.
She knocked again.
No answer, but she heard a thump and voices from Saul’s office down the hall.
That door, bearing the title SAUL GINSBERG, PSYCHIATRIST, flung open to reveal Kelly and Saul Ginsberg grappling with a large gray rug.
Chapter 3
“She’s taking my rug!” Saul cried out.
“It’s a horrid, smelly thing!” Kelly yelled and tugged hard to drag the rug out.
Moderately pretty and full of energy, Kelly was too thin – a result of keeping up with every new diet and exercise – to stand a chance.
Saul pulled and Kelly slipped and got dragged. Linda immediately waded in. She grabbed a piece of the rug right beside Kelly and pulled. Saul dug in but the two women were too much for him. His shoes slipped on the tile and he held onto the door.
Linda knew that he was serious. He wanted his rug.
Saul tended to dress as though he didn’t care about much. And he furnished his office in the same manner. That lack of concern, marked by the worn desk, the old shelves and this dirty, stained rug, meant a lot to him.
So he was quite earnest in his intention to keep the filthy rug. Yet, she couldn’t help noticing, his mouth still held a smile. Unshaven, he had a gruff, worldly charm about him that remained even when he was serious.
Nonetheless, the women managed to drag him and the rug out to the front office. Allison opened the front door as they succeeded in draging the rug through it.
Outside, the cool evening air hit them. But they wouldn’t be deterred. Mack, the elderly janitor, stared on. He’d been asked by Kelly to wait there. She had something for him, she’d said.
“To Goodwill, please!” she called out to him.
He stepped forward and dutifully took hold of the rug. And at that point Saul gave it up. He wouldn’t stop them from taking it any longer. To the trash yes, but to charity, no.
So he stood there and watched Mack drag it off to the alley.
“How dare you have your patients even look at that?” Kelly scolded him.
“I thought it was my office!” Saul said with mock outrage. “My office, my practice, my kingdom!”
“No husband of mine will have that in his office,” Kelly declared, but she was smiling. “It reflects poorly on me.”
“Oh. How rude of me to not be mindful of how my office rug reflects on my wife.”
With the same mock outrage Saul stormed past Kelly to get back into the office but was met by Linda, who air slapped him. He playfully snapped his head accordingly, then followed his wife back inside. Linda followed behind them both.
Back in her office she packed up for the day. She made quick notes of the last two sessions and checked her calendar to mentally prepare herself for the clients she would see the following day. Then she grabbed her oyster grey coat.
“Score one for the ladies,” Allison remarked as Linda walked out of the front office.
“I say score one for good taste,” Linda replied. “Did you need anything else?”
“Nope. Have a great evening,” Allison replied, as she also gathered her things.
“Goodnight,” Linda told her and stepped out.
Outside, Linda found Saul chatting with the two cab drivers. Linda walked down the building steps and approached Kelly.
“You wanted to talk?” Linda asked, remembering the note.
“Oh. Yeah. Let’s do it tomorrow,” Kelly said, lowering her voice.
Linda furrowed her brow. Something was wrong.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Kelly said.
Saul opened the door to the first cab and Kelly entered. Saul got in with her and shut the door.
“Thanks for the assist,” Kelly said, peeking out. “We’ve saved his patients a lot of mental anguish!”
“Which is bad business!” Saul yelled. “You want your patients anguished so they keep coming! This is why women will never rule the world. Goodbye, Linda!”
Then he looked toward his rug, which lay by the steps.
“Goodbye, dear rug! Wherever life takes you, just stay tough. Lay low; keep your head close to the ground. I’ll miss you dear rug!”
Their cab pulled away and Linda entered the second cab.
Chapter 4
Abdul beamed upon Linda’s entrance to the cab. An Egyptian immigrant in his late forties he was cleanly shaven and plump.
“Hey, Abdul,” Linda greeted him and struggled to not cough. The air in the cab was thick with incense. She wished she hadn’t made the mistake of praising him for it once. It was out of politeness, because he appeared to want her approval of it. Now it seemed discourteous to ask him to stop.
“My Linda, my Linda,” Abdul Muktar said.
He turned and took a good look at her as though anxious to make sure she settled in without any problem. Then he changed gear and proceeded to drive.
“How is your day?” Linda asked him.
“Oh fine, fine.”
He stared in the rearview mirror, seemingly waiting for something. Linda pressed the window down a few inches, for air. She watched the rows of elegant brownstones passing by. The motion of the cab comforted her.
“Yesterday I make dinner for my wife,” Abdul volunteered.
“Oh you did?”
“Like you say,” he continued.
“And did it work?” she asked.
“She say never make dinner again.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. She not like it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“S’okay. S’okay.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have suggested it,” Linda continued.
“I think she not like anything.”
“Oh wow.”
“No no no,” Abdul said. “S’okay. Not your fault.”
*
The subway train had its usual early evening crowd of commuters making their way home. Linda was fortunate to find a seat. She decided to catch up on news.
As the train rattled along, she looked up from her e-reader. She found an infant Hispanic boy staring at her. Playfully she stuck her tongue at him. The toddler gaped, not expecting this. Then he stuck his tongue at her. And they went back and forth.
Linda decided finally to let the boy win by having the last go. She turned and saw a very obese man in a low brim hat watching her. He stuck his tongue out too. He wanted in on the game. Linda smiled politely and returned to her e-reader.
Chapter 5
The Garretts lived in the Stony Brook hamlet of Brookhaven, on the north shore of Long Island. Their palazzo style colonial, with beige walls and elegantly detailed craftwork, told of a modest opulence. It was big but not too big, and evocative of warmth and comfort and the highly educated.
On this night, however, it had a certain peculiarity: at the highest point on its roof a medieval Knight was doing a handstand. This handstand was held for half a minute before the knight appeared to sway unsteadily. At that point he got down on his feet.
After a moment of preparing himself he slowly positioned his hands on the dark shingles and raised his legs, holding himself on his hands once again. He held the position, twitching only slightly to maintain his balance.
Linda pulled slowly up the stone driveway in her Acura. Her eyes were fixed on the pathway illuminated by her headlights. She was on the lookout for Gracie, their tabby cat, who was fond of outdoor jaunts.
Linda caught the glimmering protuberance on the roof and looked skyward. Peering as she drew closer, she realized what was going on and held her breath.
She parked in front of the garage and stepped out as calmly as she could manage. She looked up at the medieval Knight and spoke in that urgently quiet tone one uses when the intent is to alarm one particular person and not the neighborhood.
“Nicky,” she said.
“Yes, mom,” the Knight doing the handstand uttered. He spoke in a youthful but very labored voice.
“Get down from there right now,” Linda demanded.
“Yes, mother,” the Knight replied.
But then Linda realized what was likely to come next.
“Wait –” she exclaimed.
But Nicholas pushed off his hands and did several flips across the roof, leaping off the edge. He landed in a pile, feet first.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch,” he cried painfully and pulled back the visor on his helmet. “It’s my foot, it’s my foot. If you’re wondering.”
And he held his left foot as his mother looked on.
“My poor foot. My poor, poor foot. I promise to take care of you from here on out, little foot.”
Noting his mother’s silence he looked up. Even in the dark he knew the anger in her eyes.
“This is not appropriate behavior, yes,” he acknowledged. “And I ought to know better.”
He waited but she did not bother to reply.
“You wanna know how the play went?” he asked.
But Linda was too angry to speak. She just marched on into the house.
Nicholas remained in the grass, nursing his ankle. Smallish yet confident, he was a free spirit; a product of a doting upbringing. He had his mother’s long lashes and features that were generally regarded as pretty.
Chapter 6
Linda stepped into the foyer and took a deep breath, determined to not let Nicholas ruin her day.
She peered out at the living room and saw what she’d expected to find there.
Amidst the opulence – a cultured and tasteful opulence – Oliver was seated in his leather recliner watching TV. Although graying, his build suggested a muscular and athletic past and gave him a posture that exuded strength.
“Hi, hon,” Linda called out to Oliver, as Gracie snuggled up against her shin.
She knelt and grabbed the cat. She hugged and kissed the tabby, caressing the swirling grey and white stripes that coated her. Gracie acted nonchalant, as was her custom. Linda kissed her more.
“Hey, you pretty girl you. What’ve you been up to?”
As she doted on Gracie she noted the silence from Oliver.
“Hi, honey,” she called out again.
“Hi,” Oliver replied without turning from the TV.
Linda stared, puzzled. She was accustomed to a much more enthusiastic welcome.
“What’s my Marine want for dinner?” she asked.
“Jennifer’s making something already,” Oliver replied.
“Okay. Good,” Linda said. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Well I had an interesting day,” Linda said. “I had this patient again who doesn’t talk.”
“I know,” Oliver told her.
“I mean, she’s not mute, but she just doesn’t want to tell me anything about what’s going on –”
“I said I know.”
Linda was surprised. His tone was not very friendly.
“You know? How do you know?” Linda asked him.
Oliver smirked but didn’t explain. Like it ought to have been obvious.
“How do you know?” she asked again.
Chapter 7
“Look. If you don’t mind, I’m watching something,” Oliver said. “I don’t mean to be… you know; but if I can just watch what I’m watching, whatever the hell it is, without being interrupted. Is that okay?”
Linda furrowed her brow but started up the stairs anyway. This was completely out of left field. They hadn’t fought in at least two years. What could have gotten into him?
Linda walked into their bedroom and took off her coat. She closed the door, undressed completely and went into the bathroom. She got under the shower and tried to let the warm spray massage her.
This was her ritual, to wash away the outside world at the end of each day. This night, however, the water was not quite as soothing.
She thought about Oliver. What could be eating him? She hadn’t done anything that she knew of. She ran through the past week, her interactions with him.
Her mind wondered to Kelly’s note. Must have been pretty important for her to write a note and post it to the door. They talked all the time, why didn’t Kelly feel she could just pop in? And then what made her not want to discuss it when Linda asked?
Linda got out of the shower and toweled herself off. She got into her yellow bathrobe and walked into her closet to find something to wear. She heard the bedroom door open and Oliver appeared.
“Linda,” he began, which immediately distressed her. He only called her that when he was angry. “It’s not for me to tell you how to run your practice. Okay? We already know that. But when you start something like this, don’t you think you should let us know?”
“Start what?” Linda asked him.
“Your online stuff, whatever they call it.”
“My online stuff? What’re you talking about?”
“You didn’t think we’d find out?”
And with that he turned and stormed away.
Authority was not natural to Oliver. But he was a man who believed that it was expected, given the Marine Corps stint, a successful career, and his bulk. He had the outer shell, but not the tough inner mettle. And he was frustrated.
Linda continued the task at hand. She pulled out a green t-shirt and turned to the pants. She grabbed an old pair of jeans and proceeded to step into them.
She was buttoning up when Oliver returned and held up an Ipad.
“What?” Linda asked.
“You tell me,” Oliver told her.
Linda looked at the IPAD screen. On it was what appeared to be a Blog. The title was Lindagarrettblog.com.
Below this title was a wide bit of space, followed by some text. The font was Garamond, the letters wide, making it easy to read. And so Linda proceeded to read.
“My name is Linda. I’m a
successful psychiatrist in
New York. A psychiatrist.
In New York. This is not the
beginning of a great knee
slapper. It’s a statement of
fact for me. What you’re
reading is the start of
an examination of my life.”
Chapter 8
The text was superimposed on a painting of a nude woman covering her privates. And this woman, Linda realized, bore a strong resemblance to her.
Linda furrowed her brow, puzzled. Then she chuckled in disbelief.
“You find this amusing?” Oliver asked her.
“No – well, I don’t know what the heck it is.”
They heard the clank of metal as Nicholas appeared behind them. His helmet was now off, and he held a large sword slung over his shoulder.
“Yes, I do find it quite amusing,” Linda now said to Oliver. “I find it quite hilarious. This is crazy. Whose idea was this?”
She turned and stared into the eyes of her husband and her son.
“You’re trying to say that it’s not yours,” Oliver said.
“Yes. Of course I am,” Linda said. “Because it’s not mine.”
Oliver shook his head, bewildered by her gall.
“Look, just because it has my name doesn’t mean it’s mine. Or that I created it. I’m telling you I have never seen this before. It’s not mine. It’s just not mine.”
“Not hers, she says,” Nicholas declared. “Not hers. Not hers. Not hers. Not hers?”
Raising his sword Nicholas gave his father a theatrically suspicious look, which Oliver ignored. Giving up the attempt at levity, Nicholas stared over his mother’s shoulder, his chin comfortably resting on her.
“It does look like you, mommy,” he told her.
“Yes, but, I mean it has to be some kind of joke.”
“Look, just admit – ” Oliver began.
“Will you stop?!” Linda snapped. “I don’t even know how to set up a blog!”
“Then who the hell – ” Oliver continued.
“Take it easy… father person,” Nicholas said, raising the sword.
Oliver gave him a look intended to show he was not in the mood. Nicholas noted his father’s angry look. But he continued nonetheless.
“Cool it, sperm provider figurehead. It’s not the end of the world. I promise. So, you know, chill out.”
Chapter 9
The family was in the kitchen. Oliver, Linda and Nicholas were seated as Jennifer portioned out Shepherd’s pie on their plates.
Jennifer was bookish and slightly plump. Yet she had a self confidence and poise that comes from having had a childhood spent being adored.
“So this is my second stab at this, so,” she declared. “It won’t, you know, taste like mom’s pie.”
“Did she just say mom’s pie? Mom’s pie?!” Nicholas said. “I will not have you talk of my mother like that.”
“Shut up,” Jennifer told him. “FYI, your jokes stopped being funny like when you started saying them.”
“Not funny?” Nicholas asked. “Not funny. Okay, perhaps. Perhaps not funny. Insightful and moderately interesting, definitely. Well, all right occasionally. Occasionally insightful and interesting at a moderate level. So I vote that I continue telling my jokes. A form of self expression, an exercise of my first amendment right, guaranteed under the etcetera etcetera…”
Choosing to ignore him, Jennifer turned to her mom.
“Did they tell you… that we know?” she asked.
“It’s already been discussed,” Oliver declared.
“And I missed it? Was there a fight?” Jennifer asked playfully. “Fight, fight, fight! You never fight anymore – I miss your fights. Now you’re just another boring husband and wife. What gives?”
“Be quiet,” Oliver told her, but he was half-joking.
“Yeah, do be quiet, sibling person,” Nicholas told her.
“So tell us about your blog,” Jennifer continued.
“It’s just some stupid joke,” Linda said. “And… I think I have an idea who’s behind it. I’ll see them tomorrow and have them stop. It actually gave me a scare when I saw it.”
They ate in silence for a minute.
“Love the shepherd’s pie, by the way, dear,” Oliver told Jennifer.
“Yeah,” Nicholas said. “And of course he’s not just saying that because he fathered you… and thus naively holds himself responsible for your self esteem. It’s not that at all.”
They ignored him and continued to eat.