J.T. ELLISON, Day 22, Month of Romantic Suspense

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

Please welcome J.T. Ellison to B&N's Month of Romantic Suspense!

MEET JT

JT Ellison is the bestselling author of the critically acclaimed Taylor Jackson series, including All The Pretty Girls, 14, Judas Kiss and The Cold Room. Her novels have been published in 14 countries, and she was recently named "Best Mystery/Thriller Writer of 2008" by the Nashville Scene.

She is a graduate of Randolph-Macon Woman's College and received her master's degree from George Washington University. She was a presidential appointee and worked in The White House and the Department of Commerce before moving into the private sector. As a financial analyst and marketing director, she worked for several defense and aerospace contractors.

After moving to Nashville, Ellison began research on a passion: forensics and crime. She has worked with the Metro Nashville Police Department, the FBI, and various other law enforcement organizations to research her books.

Her short stories have been widely published, including her award winning story "Prodigal Me" in the anthology Killer Year: Stories to Die For, edited by Lee Child, "Chimera" in the anthology Surreal South 09, edited by Pinckney Benedict and Laura Benedict, and "Killing Carol Ann" in The Thrill Begins, edited by Lee Child.

She is the bi-monthly Friday columnist at the Anthony Award nominated blogMurderati and is a founding member of Killer Year, an organization that was dedicated to raising awareness for the debut novelists of 2007.

Ellison is a member of several professional writing organizations, including International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America and Romance Writers of America. She has an active following on Twitter under the name@Thrillerchick, and a robust Facebook community.

She lives in Nashville with her husband and a poorly trained cat.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

Q AND A: THE COLD ROOM

Interviewed by Janice Gable Bashman for International Thriller Writers Big Thrill Magazine

In your latest thriller THE COLD ROOM, you introduce the reader to the Conductor, a serial killer who keeps his victims in glass coffins until they starve to death. Draw us into the world of the Conductor and your protagonist, Homicide Detective Taylor Jackson.

The Conductor loves classical music, opera, and art. How much more normal could you get, right? There’s just one catch. He’s also a burgeoning necrosadist, with online friends he shares his fantasies with. Taylor Jackson, recently busted back to Detective by the Office of Professional Accountability, is trying to save face and solve one of the strangest murders she’s seen in years. And to top it all off, her fiancée, FBI profiler Dr. John Baldwin, believes he has seen this scenario before, on an international scale.

What makes Detective Taylor Jackson such a strong woman, and how does this help her catch the Conductor?

Taylor is a woman of convictions, of morality, of a code. She’s a hero, flawed but with incalculable focus. She enjoys a challenge, isn’t afraid of much, and has a badge and gun to back her up when times get tough. She’s also very stubborn and enjoys intrigue, and the Conductor presents a puzzle she’s not seen before. The fact that Baldwin has a foot in the Conductor’s world already is a help too – she has an excuse to work with him again, something she always enjoys.

Why is the Conductor such a fascinating serial killer?

His MO is relatively rare. He’s not interested in hurting women, which is a bit of a departure from what we normally see – usually fictional serial killers are psychopaths who are brilliant dynamos, always a step ahead of the cops. Gavin Adler is a regular Joe, making mistakes, testing the waters. I almost felt sorry for him – he’s driven by this compulsion to have sex with dead women, and he’s not sure how to satisfy that urge. He’s obviously a sociopath, unable to feel emotions properly, but he’s got human edges, like the adoration he feels toward his cat, Art, and his love for music and art. A well-rounded killer, our Gavin.

You stated THE COLD ROOM was the “by far the most difficult book [you’ve] ever written”—both structurally and emotionally? Explain.

For starters, the research on this book was both fascinating and repulsive. I started having rather horrible nightmares soon after I started the book. The story is huge in scope – spread among four law enforcement agencies and two continents, with new characters in Taylor’s life, and many, many plot shifts. I was trying to avoid falling into the trap where people would read it and say, “Oh, come on. No way.” So it was a challenge to write, and then at the eleventh hour, the book was pulled. We changed the release date, title, art, all the outside components, and I went back into the manuscript to flesh out some of Taylor’s story. I’m so glad we did, because the book ended up being so much stronger than it would have been. Lesson learned: always listen to your editor.

A professor in college told you you’d “never get published.” It was years before you started writing again and proved her wrong. What did you learn from this experience, besides the obvious response—that she was wrong?

Never, ever, let someone outside of your world derail your dreams. I respected that particular professor, and though she crushed me, looking back I see she was right. My voice was there, but I lacked that special something that makes writers into authors. But if she’d encouraged me just a little, I might have found that spark sooner. It’s the nature of the artist to need some bits of affirmation, but sometimes we can overemphasize that part of our lives. I advise all new authors to listen to their gut, and focus on their dreams.

You stated, “it takes a very specific personality type to make it as a cop, especially a homicide detective. The horror and depravity that they see every day . . . anything I write pales against the realities they live with day to day. There is endless capacity for evil in people. It’s such an honor to write their stories, and I strive to make the non-law enforcement world understand the people who keep them safe.” Why is this so important to you, and how do you think this comes across in your work?

After you do a few ride-alongs with law enforcement, you will be hard pressed to see them as anything less than heroes. I wanted to tell their stories, as accurately as I could, so the general public would have some idea of just how intense their jobs are. Cops get a bad rap in the press, with accusations of brutality and other illegalities, but 99% of cops are decent, honest, hardworking, long-suffering men and women who are just trying to keep the rest of us safe.

What’s next for J.T. Ellison?

The Immortals, book five in the series, will be out in October 2010. And I’m frantically running into my deadline for book six, The Pretender, which is a sequel to 14. There are a few shorts stories debuting this year as well. All that’s on my website, JTEllison.com.

What advice can you give aspiring thriller writers?

Read everything you can get your hands on, and work hard to develop your writing habit.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

The Cold Room

THE COLD ROOM Comes out FEBRUARY 23, 2010

HE CAN ONLY TRULY LOVE HER ONCE HER HEART STOPS

Homicide Detective Taylor Jackson thinks she's seen it all in Nashville—from the Southern Strangler to the Snow White Killer. But she's never seen anything as perverse as the Conductor. Once his victim is captured, he contains her in a glass coffin, slowly starving her to death. Only then does he give in to his attraction.

When he's finished, he creatively disposes of the body by reenacting scenes from famous paintings. And it seems similar macabre works are being displayed in Europe. Taylor teams up with her fiancé, FBI profiler Dr. John Baldwin, and a New Scotland Yard detective named James "Memphis" Highsmythe, a haunted man who only has eyes for Taylor, to put an end to the Conductor's art collection.

Has the killer gone international with his craft? Or are there dueling artists, competing to create the ultimate masterpiece?

**"WHAT JEFF LINDSAY'S DARKLY DREAMING DEXTER DOES FOR MIAMI, ELLISON'S JACKSON NOVELS DO FOR MUSIC CI...** NASHVILLE SCENE

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

All the Pretty Girls

14

Judas Kiss

The Cold Room

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

SHORT STORIES AND CRITICAL ESSAYS BY JT ELLISON

Prodigal Me
KILLER YEAR: Stories to Die For (2008)
Edited by Lee Child
(St. Martin's Minotaur)

X
Nashville Lifestyles (February 2009 Issue)
Click here to download

Chimera
SURREAL SOUTH '09 (2009)
Edited by Pinckney Benedict and Laura Benedict
(Press 53)

Killing Carol Ann
FIRST THRILLS (June 2010)
Edited by Lee Child
(Tor)

The Charm School: An Appreciation of Nelson DeMille's Groundbreaking Novel
THRILLERS: 100 Must Reads (2010)
Edited by David Morrell and Hank Wagner
(Oceanview Press)

What is Evil?
WANTED UNDEAD OR ALIVE: Vampire Hunters and Other Kick-Ass Enemies of Evil (August 2010)
Edited by Jonathan Maberry and Janice Gable Bashman
(Citadel)

Killer Year

Surreal South

First Thrills

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

THE TAO OF JT

ZEITGEIST FROM A THRILLER CHICK

LEAPS IN TIME (AND OTHER STORIES)

Friday, February 19, 2010 At 4:00PM

From Murderati February 5, 2010

There is nothing more remarkable than the moment you realize you are no longer a struggling debut writer, but a real live working author. I’m not quite sure I’d fully grasped that concept until now, as I begin the penultimate blog before my fourth novel goes on sale.

Trust you me, when I started blogging on April 7, 2006, when I had an agent but no book deal, I never dreamed that I’d be at this point. I’m not being modest, I really, truly, honestly never in a million years thought that in a mere four years, I’d be doing what I’m doing.

What I’m doing is writing book six, and thinking about book seven, and getting ready for copyedits on book five, and promoting the living hell out of myself and book four, and working on three shorts for anthologies, and remodeling, remembering to breathe and beginning my foray into a bunch of foreign markets.

I am blessed.

A momentary aside: I am not kidding when I say that. I KNOW I’m blessed. Yes, I work hard, very hard. But there’s always an element of luck and timing involved in publishing, two things that have been in ready abundance for me. I don’t know why that is. I wish to God I could share it with everyone.

But that’s what happens in this crazy world. Sometimes, if you’re very good and very lucky, you get a break. Sometimes, if you’re very good and very lucky, you don’t get a break. It’s not fair. It upsets me to no end. I want everyone to be happy, published, self-sufficient. I know that’s not the case. Because there’s a downside to the good – friendships lost, sleepless nights worrying about what’s to come, the fear of a book’s complete failure.

But the good, it outweighs the bad. It outweighs it ten to one.

There’s a moment in the promotion schedule that I always hit – what in the world am I going to talk about with this book? I’ve been suffering with that malady tremendously with THE COLD ROOM – on its surface, it’s a novel about necrosadism, though there is so much more to it than that. There’s a secret in the book. Something that I don’t want to talk about – that’s not true, I DO want to talk about it, but I’ll ruin it for the readers if I do – so I’ve been stubbornly clinging to the mentality that I don’t have anything but that to discuss. I’ve had a horrible mental block on this, and we’re only three weeks from launch day. I have a punishing schedule of appearances and travel, and no matter what I want or don’t want, I have to talk about this book. I’ve tried to make notes, and nothing’s coming together. I am doomed.

And then my editor needed a series of questions answered for the Polish translation of ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS.

ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS? Hell, I haven’t even thought about that book for years. Literally, years. How am I supposed to think about that when I’m trying to figure out what to say about book four? And write book six? And remember to breathe?

IAMNOTACOMPLETELYNEWAUTHORBUTIAMSTILLFIGURINGALL
THISOUTANDTHEREISAFINITEAMOUNTOFRAMINMYHEADAND…

So I got on a plane. Flew to my parents (it was a scheduled trip, but after the past month, and knowing what’s coming in the month ahead, I was really looking forward to being on a plane with no Internet for an hour and a half.)

I put on my earphones to discourage the negative Nelly next to me (note to flyers: NEVER open to your seatmate with a story about a plane crash. IT IS BAD LUCK!) settled in, and the second the bell dinged, I dove. I listened to some MUSE, some METRIC, then hit shuffle and closed my eyes. The first song that came on was Sarah McLachlan’s ANGEL.

Which is the theme song for book six.

Which I haven’t heard forever because I forgot I made it the theme song for book six.

Because I am an idiot.

And everything fell into place with one of those big huge cosmic CLICKS!

I suddenly remembered what I wanted to do with book six. I realized what I needed to talk about on the road for THE COLD ROOM. I remembered the joy and the agony of writing ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS, and where I was four years ago, no deal, no books, no worries. I remembered that I have people, people who love me even when I’m being selfish, who want so much for me and put up with my nonsense.

I found my center.

I opened my Moleskine and started writing. I laid out everything I wanted to touch upon during the tour. I worked on the standalone. I worked on a short story. I made notes on THE PRETENDER. I listened to Angel over and over, and the blood, sweat and tears I’ve been putting in for the past four years just flowed onto the page.

I got off the plane feeling better than I have in months.

2009 was a rough year for many of us. Ours was particularly rough on the non-JT side of the fence, but a great one for JT. Which threw a great big rift into my ability to keep the two separate. I’ve been spinning my wheels for months now – working but not feeling wholly involved, promoting but resenting it, writing but feeling a spark missing.

That fire relit itself on the plane, because I had to think back, truly reach back in my mind, to remember something about my debut novel. I’m sitting here on my parents couch, looking at the waves, remembering how it all began.

Funny how life works, isn’t it?

Next time, I’m going to bore you to tears with all kinds of details about THE COLD ROOM. It was the most difficult book I’ve ever written for a number of reasons, and I’m ready to talk about that.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

JT's website is here:http://www.jtellison.com/jt-ellison-front-page/

You can buy the soundtracks to each book here:http://www.jtellison.com/soundtracks/

INTO THE COLD

J.T. Ellison discusses her fourth Taylor Jackson mystery and how much she loves riding shotgun with Nashville's homicide police

by Lyda Phillips

at Chapter 16:http://www.chapter16.org/content/cold

Though she began her career working as a staffer in the White House, J.T. Ellison now lives in Nashville, Tennessee, and writes full time. Her novels—All the Pretty Girls, 14, and Judas Kiss—have earned her a reputation as a popular and prolific mystery novelist. "Fusing gritty cop drama with dark psychological thriller, Ellison distinguishes herself with exceptional character development, consistently breakneck pacing and a sense of authenticity," the Chicago Tribune says.

Ellison's fourth mystery novel The Cold Room once again features Nashville homicide detective Taylor Jackson. This time around, Jackson's investigation takes her into the twisted horrors of necrophilia and then through a macabre chase involving reenactments of famous paintings both here and in Europe. Ellison talks with Chapter 16 about Nashville, her writing, and the delights of research, which in her case includes some quality time with Nashville's boys in blue.

Chapter 16: How did you develop your detective, Taylor Jackson? Did she just come to you or is she based on individuals you have known?

Ellison: I got the idea for Taylor after reading John Sandford's Prey series. I was driving down Interstate 40, thinking about Lucas Davenport's icy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and that scar, and his depression, and realized I wanted to write about a woman in his shoes. A woman in control, who's strong without being strident, who commands the respect of her peers and her enemies. One who's worked hard and paid her dues.

Taylor literally leapt fully-formed into my mind, talking in that low, smoky drawl, and I was hooked. I knew I had to tell her story. She's a wonderful character to write—difficult, sometimes, but a lot of fun. I've never based any of my characters on real people, with the exception of some actual Nashvillians who know in advance they'll be appearing in the books, media folk and the like. There's usually one character name per book that's from a real person, one that was auctioned off for charity. That said, we're shaped by our experiences with people, so ultimately, my characters are an amalgamation of my life to date.

Chapter 16: How much research do you do for each of your crime novels?

Ellison: Oh my, I do a lot of research. I love it, too—research is one of the best, most exciting aspects of this job. It all started when I decided I wanted to write a cop and realized my expertise was fully informed by Law & Order , and I didn't know the first thing about how cops really operate. So I called down to my local homicide office, chatted up the kind detective who answered the phone, and finagled a ride-along invitation.

My first overnight patrol was quite an experience. The captain assigned me to an officer, and he immediately balked, said he wasn't going to take a woman out on shift. Another officer put up his hand and said, "I'll take her." We left right after that and got a call immediately. We jumped into the patrol car and took off, lights and sirens screaming, into the heart of the projects in Nashville. I asked him what kind of call it was, and he said "Stabbing." I said, "What do I do?" He said, "Stay on me."

By that time we're on Lischey, in a really bad part of Nashville, and he's already out of the car and running. I took off after him. We beat the first responders to the victim, who'd been stabbed by a man he was buying drugs from. It was bad, blood everywhere, his family crying … you can imagine how shocking it was. We caught the suspect, retrieved the murder weapon, then took him to the Criminal Justice Center in the backseat of the patrol car—a killer, literally breathing down my neck—and took him to booking. The man he stabbed died. When I got home, at six the next morning, I saw I had his blood on my boot.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

CHAPTER 16 INTERVIEW, continued:

Chapter 16: How long does it take you to write a novel?

Ellison: About six months. The first month is usually research, then four months to get a workable draft, and another month to edit. But since I write two books a year, I'm always editing a book, writing a book, and promoting a book. I've learned how to switch back and forth with minimal distraction.

Chapter 16: How do you define your niche in the mystery genre? Who is the audience you're thinking about when you write?

Ellison: I call my genre psychological crime thrillers. They aren't light or fluffy, and though there is a love story, they're definitely not romance. I want my readers to enjoy themselves—and think, if they really want to. My goal is to present an alternate reality, even if it's just for a few hours, where heroes reign supreme, the bad guys get caught, and our fair city gets a chance to be in the spotlight.

Chapter 16: How much prep work do you do before you actually begin to write?

Ellison: I'm not an outliner, at all. I usually begin with a scene that's very visual—something I can see playing out in my head. Then I write the book around that scene. I used to think those scenes were my openings, but I've found that they're usually in the middle or the leading up to the climax. I have a pretty good idea of where the series is going, and I'm usually thinking approximately two books ahead of the one I'm writing. It's the joy and bane of the series, having to pull threads through the entire body of work as well as the individual books.

Chapter 16: You now live in Nashville. How did you come to relocate here?

Ellison: It was a man. Isn't it always? My husband is a Nashville native, and we met in graduate school in Washington, D.C. He always wanted to come back here, so when the opportunity arose, we jumped on it. I was a little leery, but man, this city. It just grows on you until you can't imagine being anywhere else. I love the dichotomies—the Old South money, the beauty of the language, the rolling hills, the amazing culture, and, of course, I find the crime fascinating. We have the same problems as a massive city like New York or L.A. It's my inspiration, after all.

Chapter 16: The Cold Room is the fourth Taylor Jackson novel; are there more in the pipeline?

Ellison: Yes! The Immortals will release in October 2010, and The Pretender, which is the sequel to the second book in the series, 14, will be out in March 2011. And there are a few other stories I'd like to tell—stories that aren't Taylor-centric.

Chapter 16: How do you develop these twisted plots? Do you give yourself nightmares? What place in your own psyche do you tap to create these demonic villains?

Ellison: I do give myself nightmares. I've dreamed plots before. The Cold Room was the most difficult book I've ever written, for myriad reasons. The subject matter was disturbing, the book was revised several times as the characters dictated the story, and the research took ages. People ask me why I didn't go in a different direction, and as much as I would have loved to do that, this story was the one that needed to be told. But it's all worth it, in the end, when the story comes together and the nightmares end. To be honest, nothing I can come up with holds a candle to the tragedies so many people face in real life. There's real evil in the world. This is my way of combating it, of giving justice and redemption, one little story at a time.

Chapter 16: After a career in government and the private sector, how did you change directions and start writing novels?

Ellison: When we moved to Nashville, my experience lay in presidential politics and aerospace marketing, neither of which I was going to find here. I had no luck on the job front, and I finally got so stir-crazy that I went to work for our vet's office. On the third day, I blew out my back and ended up needing surgery. It was during my recovery that I came across the Sandford books, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

Continued:

Chapter 16: Were you quickly successful or was there a period of suffering while you shopped your work and threw wadded-up rejections at the wall?

Ellison: I wrote in a quiet vacuum for a long time before I started the whole agent search. After I finished my first novel, I sent queries to agents, and quickly found that it was too short for commercial fiction. So I rewrote the book, made it much more robust, and started researching new agents. In the meantime, I also was trying to learn all the facets of the publishing industry. I joined a site called Publishers Marketplace, which is our most valuable business tool, and I put up a website on the site saying I was looking for an agent. In the meantime, I'd narrowed down my list of agents to one who I was sure would be perfect for me. I was writing him a query letter when I received an email from him, asking to read the book. He'd seen my site on PM, and thought it sounded interesting. Talk about sheer serendipity. He signed me the following week, and we sent the book out. It got a few rejections, and he decided it would be best for me to write another. I did, and that one, All the Pretty Girls, sold almost immediately.

Chapter 16: How do you handle the promotion an author now must do to be a sales success? How do you balance the two talents: promotion and writing?

Ellison: That's the problem we're all facing. I'm not great at talking about myself and promoting myself. But it's a reality in this day and age, and I want to do right by the novels. So I blog and Twitter, and Facebook, and send out newsletters and hold contests. I try to focus my efforts on adding value to the conversation, giving advice and sharing my experiences with new writers. But it takes a tremendous amount of time, so much so that I'm dedicating one day a week to the business side of things. That frees me up to work on creative endeavors the other five days a week. I try to take one day a week off from everything so I can recharge.

Chapter 16: Do you have time to read these days? What kind of books do you read for pleasure?

Ellison: I read as much as I can. I love all genres, all styles. I love spy thrillers most of all, and crime fiction, literary fiction, popular fiction, some young adult … pretty much anything I can get my hands on. I always find time to read. It's like drinking water to me. I have to have it to live.

Published Monday, 15 February 2010

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

J.T. is on Twitter:http://twitter.com/thrillerchick

And on Facebook:http://www.facebook.com/pages/JT-Ellison/16793036491?ref=search

On MySpace:http://www.myspace.com/jtellisonthrills

There is an uncertified Wikipedia listing:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/JT_Ellison

J.T. is interviewed here:http://newimprovedgorman.blogspot.com/2010/01/pro-file-jt-ellison.html

And here:http://www.authorandbookmedia.com/2008/07/29/jt-ellisons-14/

http://page99test.blogspot.com/2009/01/jt-ellisons-judas-kiss.html

http://www.crimerant.com/?p=1171

http://www.reviewingtheevidence.com/review.html?id=7111

http://www.authorandbookmedia.com/2008/08/25/q-and-a-with-jt-ellison-on-14/

http://www.themysteryreader.com/ellison-pretty.html

http://www.examiner.com/x-5640-Nashville-Authors-Examiner~y2010m2d16-Reviewing-The-Cold-Room-by-JT-E...

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

THE COLD ROOM

(formerly titled EDGE OF BLACK)

Synopsis

Homicide detective Taylor Jackson thinks she's seen it all in Nashville—from the Southern Strangler to the Snow White Killer. But she's never seen anything as perverse as The Conductor. Once his victim is captured, he contains her in a glass coffin, slowly starving her to death. Only then does he give in to his attraction.

When he's finished, he creatively disposes of the body by reenacting scenes from famous paintings. And similar macabre works are being found in Europe. Taylor teams up with her fiancee, FBI profiler Dr. John Baldwin, and New Scotland Yard detective James "Memphis" Highsmythe, a haunted man who has eyes only for Taylor, to put an end to this horror.

Has the killer gone international with his craft? Or are there two "artists," competing to create the ultimate masterpiece?

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

THE COLD ROOM

Read an Excerpt

Gavin Adler jumped when a small chime sounded on his computer. He looked at the clock in surprise; it was already 6:00 p.m. During the winter months, darkness descended and reminded him to close up shop, but the daylight savings time change necessitated an alarm clock to let him know when it was time to leave. Otherwise, he'd get lost in his computer and never find his way home.

He rose from his chair, stretched, turned off the computer and reached for his messenger bag. What a day. What a long and glorious day.

He took his garbage with him; his lunch leavings. There was no reason to have leftover banana peels in his trash can overnight. He shut off the lights, locked the door, dropped the plastic Publix bag into the Dumpster, and began the two-block walk to his parking spot. His white Prius was one of the few cars left in the lot.

Gavin listened to his iPod on the way out of downtown. Traffic was testy, as always, so he waited patiently, crawling through West End, then took the exit for I-40 and headed, slowly, toward Memphis. The congestion cleared right past White Bridge, and he sailed the rest of the way.

The drive took twenty-two minutes, he clocked it. Not too bad.

He left the highway at McCrory Lane and went to his gym. The YMCA lot was full, as always. He checked in, changed clothes in the locker room, ran for forty-five minutes, worked on the elliptical for twenty, did one hundred inverted crunches and shadow boxed for ten minutes. Then he toweled himself off. He retrieved the messenger bag, left his sneakers in the locker, slipped his feet back into the fluorescent orange rubber Crocs he'd been wearing all day. He left his gym clothes on—they would gostraight into the wash.

He went across the street to Publix, bought a single chicken cordon bleu and a package of instant mashed potatoes, a tube of hearty buttermilk biscuits, fresh bananas and cat food. He took his groceries, went to his car, and drove away into the night. He hadn't seen a soul. His mind was engaged with what waited for him at home.

Dark. Lonely. Empty.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

CONTINUED:

Gavin pulled into the rambler-style house at 8:30 p.m. His cat, a Burmese gray named Art, met him at the door, loudly protesting his empty bowl. He spooned wet food into the cat's dish as a special treat before he did anything else. No reason for Art to be miserable. The cat ate with his tail high in the air, purring and growling softly.

He hit play on his stereo, and the strains of Dvorák spilled through his living room. He stood for a moment, letting the music wash over him, his right arm moving in concert with the bass. The music filled him, made him complete, and whole. Art came and stood beside him, winding his tail around Gavin's leg. He smiled at the interruption, bent and scratched the cat behind the ears. Art arched his back in pleasure.

Evening's ritual complete, Gavin turned on the oven, sprinkled olive oil in a glass dish and put the chicken in to bake. It would take forty-five minutes to cook.

He showered, checked his work e-mail on his iPhone, then ate. He took his time; the chicken was especially good this evening. He sipped an icy Corona Light with a lime stuck in the neck.

He washed up. 10:00 p.m. now. He gave himself permission. He'd been a very good boy.

The padlock on the door to the basement was shiny with promise and lubricant. He inserted the key, twisting his wrist to keep it from jangling. He took the lock with him, holding it gingerly so he didn't get oil on his clothes. Oil was nearly impossible to get out. He made sure Art wasn't around; he didn't like the cat to get into the basement. He saw him sitting on the kitchen table, looking mournfully at the empty spot where Gavin's plate had rested.

Inside the door, the stairs led to blackness. He flipped a switch and light flooded the stairwell. He slipped the end of the lock in the inside latch, then clicked it home. No sense taking chances.

She was asleep. He was quiet, so he wouldn't wake her. He just wanted to look, anyway.

The Plexiglas cage was the shape of a coffin with a long clear divider down the length—creating two perfectly sized compartments—with small drainage holes in the bottom and air holes along the top. It stood on a reinforced platform he had built himself. The concrete floor had a drain; all he needed to do was sluice water across the opening and presto, clean. He ran the water for a few minutes, clearing out the debris, then looked back to his love.

Her lips were cracking, the hair shedding. She'd been without food and water for a week now, and she was spending more and more time asleep. Her lethargy was anticipated. He looked forward to the moment when her agonies were at an end. He had no real desire to torture her. He just needed her heart to stop. Then, he could have her.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

Continued:

He licked his lips and felt embarrassed by his erection.

He breathed in the scent of her, reveling in the musky sweetness of her dying flesh, then went to the desk in the corner of the basement. No spiders and dust and basement rot for Gavin. The place was clean. Pristine.

The computer, a Mac Air he'd indulged in as a late Christmas present to himself, sprang to life. A few taps of the keyboard, the wireless system engaged and he was online. Before he had a chance to scroll through his bookmarks, his iChat chimed. The user's screen name was IlMorte69. He and Gavin were very good friends. Gavin responded, his own screen name, hot4cold, popping up in red ten-point Arial.

My dollhouse is nearly complete, Hot. Howz urs?

Hey, Morte. Mine's on its last legs as well. I'm here checking. Your trip go well?

My friend, I can't tell you. Such a wonderful time. But it's good to be home.

New dolls?

One. Luscious. Easy pickings. Like taking a rat from a cellar.

Gavin cringed. Sometimes Morte got to be a little much. But what could you do? It was hard for Gavin to talk to people, the online world was his oyster, his outlet. He had other friends who weren't quite as crude as Morte.

Speaking of which…he glanced at the listing of contacts and saw Necro90 was online as well. He sent him a quick hello, then went back to his chat with Morte.

When do you think you'll be ready?

Morte came back almost immediately.

Within two days. Did you do it like we discussed? You were more careful with the disposal than with the snatch, weren't you?

Gavin bristled a tiny bit, then relaxed. Morte was right to chide him. After all, he had made a mistake. He'd quickly learned that following Morte's every instruction was important. Very, very important.

Yes. It was perfect. I'll send you a photo.

He uploaded the shots, breath quickening in remembrance. So beautiful. Within moments, Morte responded.

My God. That is perfect. Lovely. You've become quite an artist.

Thank you.

Gavin blushed. Receiving compliments gracefully wasn't one of his strongest attributes. He glanced over his shoulder, knew he needed to wrap this up.

Morte, I've gotta run. Long day today.

I'll bet. You be good. Don't forget, two days and counting. I'll expect pictures!

Bye.

A picture flooded his screen—Morte had sent him a gift. Gavin studied the photo; his ears burned. Oh, Morte was amazingly good with a camera. So much better than he was.

Morte's doll had no animation, no movement. Her eyes were shut. Gavin turned his chair around so he could stare at his own dollhouse, his own doll, lying in the darkness. Alone. He'd need to find her another friend soon. If only Morte's girl was a sister. He didn't have a taste for white meat.

Another chime—this time it was Necro responding. He asked how Gavin was doing, if there'd been any news in the community. Gavin replied with a negative—he'd heard nothing. Of course, his ear wasn't to the floor like Morte—Morte was the architect of their online world. Gavin had found his friends deep in a sleepy sex message board, and was so thrilled to have them. They made his life bearable.

He chatted for a few minutes with Necro, read a rambling account of a perfect specimen Necro had sighted on some white-sand Caribbean beach, then logged out. He stared at the photo he'd downloaded from Morte. He was overwhelmingly turned on, and no longer able to contain himself. With a last glance at his doll, he went up the stairs, unlocked the door, locked the basement behind him and returned to his life. It was time for another shower, then bed. He had a very busy day ahead of him. A very busy few days. The plan was in motion.

He was proud of himself. He only checked the doll's breathing three times during the night.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

Continued:

Taylor Jackson was happy to spy an empty parking spot halfway up Thirty-second Avenue. Luck was on her side tonight. Parking in Nashville was extremely hit-or-miss, especially in West End. The valet smiled hopefully as she turned in front of Tin Angel, but she couldn't leave a state vehicle with a kid who didn't look old enough to have a driver's license, not without getting into all kinds of trouble. She drove past him, paralleled smoothly and walked the slight hill back down to the restaurant's entrance. She was looking forward to the evening, a girls' night with her best friend Sam and colleague Paula Simari. No homicides. No crime scenes. Just a low-key meal, some wine, some chicken schnitzel. A night off.

She was early, her friends hadn't arrived yet. She followed the hostess to a table for four right by the bricked fireplace. The logs were stacked tightly and burning slow, putting out a pleasant low, smoky heat. Even though the weather was warming, it was still nippy in the early mornings and late evenings.

She ordered a bottle of Coppola Merlot, accepted a menu, then lost herself in thought. The envelope she'd addressed before she left for dinner was burning a hole in her pocket. She took it out and stared at the lettering, wishing she didn't recognize the handwriting. Wishing she didn't have to address letters to federal penitentiaries, even if they were the chinos and golf-shirt variety.

Winthrop Jackson, IV

FCI MORGANTOWN

FEDERAL CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION

P.O. BOX 1000

MORGANTOWN, WV 26507

The edges of the envelope were getting frayed. She needed to decide if she was going to mail this letter or not.

She traced the outline of the address, her mind still screaming against the reality. Her father, in prison. And she'd been the one who put him there. Glancing to make sure no one was looking, she slid the single handwritten page from its nest.

Dear Win,

I am sorry. I know you understand I was just doing my job. I had no choice. I would appreciate it if you would stop trying to contact me. I find our relationship impossible to handle, and I want to get on with my life. Mom is still in Europe, but she has her cell phone. She can send you the money you need.

For what it's worth, I do forgive you. I know you couldn't help yourself. You never have.

Taylor

"Whatcha reading? You look upset."

Taylor started. Sam took the seat across from her, dropped her Birkin bag on the floor under the table and stretched her fingers, the joints popping slightly. She grimaced.

"Holding a scalpel all day does that to you. What's that?"

Taylor shook the page lightly. "A letter to Win."

"Really? I thought you'd sworn off dear old dad. Did you order some wine?"

"I did. It should be here any minute. Where's Paula?"

"She got called to a case. Sends her apologies. She'll catch us next week. It's just us chickens tonight."

Sam settled back into the chair, the firelight glinted red off her dark hair. Taylor still wasn't used to the blunt-cut bangs that swooped across Sam's forehead. She'd cropped her tresses into a sophisticated bob, what she called her mom do. Taylor thought she looked less like a mom and more like Betty Page with that cut, but who was she to comment?

"What are you staring at?"

"Sorry. The hair. It's so different. Takes me a minute."

"You have no idea how easy it is. Though I do miss long hair. Simon does too."

"I thought about cutting mine. When I mentioned it, Baldwin had a fit."

The wine arrived and they placed their orders. They clinked their glasses together, and Sam said, "Up to it, down to it."

Taylor laughed. They'd started that toast in eighth grade. Up to it, down to it, damn the man who can't do it…. The rest of the toast was a crude allusion to their future lovers' skill, though they had no idea what it meant at the time. In high school Taylor had embarrassed herself at one of her parents' many dinner parties by leading a toast with it. When the men roared and the women blushed, her mother, Kitty, had taken her aside and explained why that wasn't an appropriate thing for a young lady of breeding to say. She wouldn't tell her why, though, and Taylor and Sam puzzled over it for days. Now, as a woman, she understood, and always laughed at the memory of her disgrace.

She thought of Win then, and sobered.

"I'm trying to shut Win down, Sam. He keeps mailing, keeps calling. I don't want anything to do with him. He's poison, and I need to get him out of my life. What if Baldwin and I have children one day? Can you imagine ole jailbird gramps telling stories at Christmas dinner? He'll either corrupt them or embarrass them."

"You're thinking of having kids?"

"Focus, woman. We're talking about my dad."

"You'd make a great mother."

Taylor stared hard at her best friend. "Why do you say that?"

"Please. You're totally the nurturing type. You just don't know it yet. You'll be like a bear with its cub, or a tiger. Nothing, and no one, will harm a hair on your kid's head. Trust me, you'll take to it like a seal to water. When might this magnificent event take place, anyway?"

"You mean my immaculate conception?"

Sam laughed. "Baldwin's still in Quantico, I take it."

"Yes. He gets back tonight. That's why I wanted to meet downtown. I'm going to head to the airport from dinner."

"You miss him when he's gone, don't you?" Sam smiled at her, a grin of understanding. Taylor had never needed a man to feel complete, but when she'd gotten involved with John Baldwin, she suddenly felt every moment without him keenly.

Visit me at Becke Martin, The Family Treethyme and The Mysterious Garden Muse

becke_davis · 10-19-2006

FOR WRITERS

We all started somewhere. If you're just beginning your journey toward publication, these essays may help. Wishing you all the luck in the world!
- JT