“Choice?” Gina scoffs. “I’m dead to the world as Brianna Castille. And a fugitive no less, as Gina DeLuca, after that little showing at the ravine.” She looks out the window.
“Come on, Ginger,” Aubrey says playfully, poking fun at the hostility between her and Emily. “All families have some level of dysfunction,” she continues, looking around at the motley crew in the chopper. A lingering silence follows.
“Alright. I’m in,” Gina confirms. Looking from the window, she adds, “On one condition. The two men...”
“Lifers at the Louisiana State Pen,” Emily interrupts, confirming the whereabouts of the two men who murdered Lon and Braydon. “Alcatraz of the South,” she further elaborates on its infamous nickname.
“Done,” Dr. Ryan endorses.
Gina leans forward in Emily’s direction, her hand nimbly swiping the crucifix from around her neck.
Emily smirks with understanding and mutual respect, force, a concept she easily identifies with.
Gina holds the broken necklace and pendant securely in her hand, a tangible connection to her past.
Off in the distance, a desolate, spartan compound is visible. Buildings made of iron and stone hide in the foothills of rugged, mountainous terrain. A dwelling most suitable for a Vigilare.
Chapter 24
AT THE STATE correctional facility three-hours from Vanguard, Detective Tony Gronkowski waits in his police cruiser for a bus that never shows.
HOURS LATER, ROUGHLY midnight, upon his return home, he shaves in front of his bathroom mirror, capping off a much-needed long, hot shower. His mind busy with thoughts of the past few months—the case, Gina, Vigilare, the absence of her transportation. Preoccupied, he gets a little heavy-handed with his razor, nicking the skin on his jawline.
“Shit,” he mutters, rinsing the razor under the steady stream of warm water from the spigot.
The red, sticky substance slowly weeps from the cut to his flesh, running in a thin jagged line around the curve of his jaw and down onto his neck.
“Wooh,” he quips, shaking his head. “Ease up on the caffeine, Gronkowski,” he reprimands himself as his heartbeat hastens, resonant in his temples, brisk and steady, rhythmic like a drum. He thumps his hand against his chest a few times, agitated with the urgency by which his lungs suddenly require air in large quantities. Feeling faint, he leans onto the sink, breathing with great focus through his nose and out his mouth, attempting to squelch the adrenaline rush to his system. Burying his face under the spigot, he turns the water to cold, splashing it around him.
“Ah, much better,” he says, finally feeling some relief.
Returning to an erect position, he presses the blade to his face, his eyes making contact with the mirror. The razor immediately drops from his hand, its plastic surface tumbling off the sink below. His hazel eyes, reflecting colors around them as hazel eyes do, one in particular, sparkling emerald green.
Epilogue
So on it goes, the mission,
Understanding, finally, at last.
The Vigilare assumes her position,
A driving force comes to light in the form of her past.
Internal odds weigh heavily, a constant battle in her mind,
Remedied by visions, haunting nightmares, lurid dreams.
Is revenge truly sweetest? We shall see,
The future holds no boundaries for the supernatural, it seems.
In a world where nothing is as it appears,
Do the eyes, ‘the windows of the soul,’ hold the key?
Blood flows through good, as it flows through evil,
One Vigilare, two Vigilares? Could there be three?
A red hue emerges,
Where once it was only emerald green.
It rages, free of sparkle, a heavy, hungry light,
Merciless and destructive, arrogant and brutally keen.
To fall from grace,
Such is a divine one’s plight.
Be wary of your neighbor,
Tread softly, Vigilare, keeper of the night.
Shout-Outs
Tammy – My first read. When I sent you the first half—the only half at the time—you said, “I can’t wait for the rest!” That fueled the spark, my friend. I think we’ve done that as long as we’ve known one another. A little push here, a little push there; challenging each other to grow, evolve. Thanks for the never-ending support and faith. I love ya, Tam!
Mom – “On the road again, just can’t wait to get on the road again.” Are you ready for another road trip, books in tow? We keep up at this rate, they’ll be calling us Willie & Waylon. Ha! I’ve really enjoyed our time together this past year. Thanks for your unwavering encouragement. I believe I wrote the most laborious part at your house. Nothing like the smell of coffee at Mom’s in the morning to get me in the zone! And thank you for listening and nodding your head appropriately at all of my rambling in constructing the plot. And Morgan’s rambling, too. That girl’s got an opinion about everything (just like her mother…I snicker). I love you bunches!
Ange-a-belle & Nett-a-bett – I know you thought I was the oddest little sister in the world, when I would go off into the corner and sing and write by myself for hours, but that never stopped you from rallying for me, always. Ange, thanks for the writing breaks aptly filled with delicious treats. I swear you should have your own show on the Food Network. And Nett, thanks for the much needed workouts—one, to equally exhaust my physical self as writing exhausts my mental self, and two, to burn off all those delicious treats Betty showers us with! Thanks for everything. I love you both, always and forever.
Amy Hess Mead – My first customer ever. Gives a girl a nice dose of confidence seeing that first order in her Inbox (I smile). I’ll never forget the feeling it gave me. Thank you for that moment. You’ve always been a great source of support for me. And I see you fulfilling that same role for your uber talented, respectful, beautiful children. They certainly are something to be proud of, Miss Amy. I love and admire you.
Janet Kilgore – Lovingly referred to as JK. Thanks for being my grammar and punctuation compass. Boy, would I ever be lost in the words (ie. woods…ha ha) without you. As always, I enjoyed your company throughout the editing process, which I might add is a most humbling experience for me. I’m thankful to have such a good teacher. I’ll be your “grasshopper” any day of the week! Looking forward to the next one.
Steve Richey – They say, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Unfortunately, I think most people do. And if that’s the case, then I have nothing to worry about, thanks to you! Kick-ass job with the cover, Steve. I love it! So thankful to come across you in film class. I hope this is the beginning of a long relationship in pagination and cover design.
Scott McMahan – Hey gym rat! Takes one to know one, right? Thanks for all the input, proofing and encouragement. Hopefully the next one will be better than you thought it would be, too!
Kim, Carrine, & Nell – Have we really been out of school this long? Can’t be! I miss you guys. Thanks for your warm welcome last year and for all the help at the book signings. Even though we’re all Moving On as life does, I think of you often with a smile on my face and a squeeze of my heart. Friends for life. I love you guys!
The PA Posse – Nobody is as lucky as I am to have your support. Thanks for all the website hits and Facebook ‘likes.’ They always seem to come at the perfect time. Just as the monster of doubt rears its ugly head, it never fails, I get a new fan or someone sends me a nice message about how they enjoyed the book, or the music. It is then that I smile and emerge with renewed spirit, squashing that annoying little monster. Your encouragement, your acceptance, your kind words touch my life more than you know. Thank you. Muahs & Hugs!
To all the Indies out there – specifically Shelley Meyer and her staff at Wild About Music, Austin, Texas. Love you Shelley! From all of us without big name labels and publishers—thanks for giving us a chance, and an outlet for our work. Forever indebted. Rock On!
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br /> Finally, Miss Morgan (My Sweet Thing) – You are too cool kiddo! I am amazed at your awareness and presence of self at such a young age. You make me, and everyone around you so proud. And your wit—awe man, you make me laugh. I loved sitting in Mom’s kitchen with my laptop writing Vigilare, looking over the top of my screen to see you sitting at the other end of the table peeking back at me over your laptop writing your story. Writing is often a lonely, solitary act, but not with you around. I don’t think you even realized it but that spurred me on, just having you there, your presence always uplifting and inspiring. I know your mother did all the work in having you, but I swear I feel like you’re my own—I love you that much. I think you’ve been my biggest fan from day one. Thanks for always believing in Aunt Boo. I know the world holds nothing but great things for you, my little cherub, as you have nothing but the greatest of virtues to offer. I keep you with me always, in the pocket of my heart.
About The Author
Brooklyn James is an author/singer/songwriter inspired by life in the Live Music Capital of Austin, Texas. Her first novel, The Boots My Mother Gave Me, has an original music soundtrack and was chosen as a Quarter Finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Brooklyn holds an M.A. in Communication, and a B.S. in both Nursing and Animal Science. The Vigilare trilogy is an adaptation from a short narrative film, inspired by vigilante movies, such as The Punisher and Boondock Saints. She is currently working on the last novel in the series, as well as another book and music soundtrack combination. All songs from the soundtracks are written/co-written and performed by the author.
Listen free at:
www.brooklyn-james.com
or www.facebook.com/BrooklynJamesSinger.
Contents
Title page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Shout-Outs
About The Author
Vigilare Page 25
