Search Results for: bitter

Bitter ~ A Flash Fiction Mystery by Carolyn Greeley

Oct 20 2017, 6:09 am in , ,



         The woman thrashed across the bed. Sheets and covers tangled her legs. She clawed at her throat, fighting to breathe. Specks of light floated before her eyes as she strained to see through the darkness.

     Familiar male laughter rumbled over the ringing in her ears.

     Jane Harris gasped awake. Her heart pounded as she struggled upright and flipped on a lamp, focused on her surroundings. She scanned her small Manhattan bedroom. Empty. The scent of sour sweat sickened her as she raked trembling fingers through her hair.

     She hadn’t heard the last of her ex-boyfriend.

     Slipping out of bed, she checked the window latch before heading to the kitchen. Lights flicked on as she went.

     See? He’s not here. No one’s here. He can’t hurt me again. Her hand tightened into a fist. He won’t.

     She inspected the apartment, then entered the bathroom. Stared in the mirror as she filled a cup with water. The woman reflected looked alien: hollow blue eyes and snarled hair framed an ashen face. A quick swallow, then she faced her bedroom again. And thoughts of Tom Ridley, her ex of two months past.

     Memories chased away sleep. The first bruising grab after she teased his football team’s loss. The belittling of her choice of Miles Davis over his AC/DC. The time his punch cracked her ribs because he claimed she’d flirted with another man.

     As if I’d ever do that. I can’t even think of other men. Another slow breath. But at least I finally ditched him.

     Spring blossomed the next week. The dream didn’t return, and Jane enjoyed the mundaneness of spring cleaning, errand-running, and doctor visits that marked her personal season change. Routine brought a gratifying calm.

     One evening, an eerie sensation crawled over her as she left the dentist. Dusk crept into the streets. Lights winked on but didn’t dispel sidewalk shadows. She glanced around. Nothing unusual. Still, tingling iced her spine. Entering a boutique on her block, she ducked behind a display, and turned to look outside.

     Tom Ridley pinioned her with his stare.

     Minutes ticked by.

     He didn’t move. She couldn’t.

     A clerk approached. The distraction startled Jane, and she bumped into the rack, dislodging items. She stammered an apology, then looked toward the window.

     Tom had vanished.

     Oh, God, where is he?

     Fumbling fingers dialed her friend Helen. Voicemail. She hesitated, then slipped out. Phone and keys in hand, she peered around and hurried home. The deadbolt slammed behind her.

     Over the next week, Jane’s life deteriorated. The standoff with Tom left her jittery, fearful of other surprises. Her nights became restless, nightmare-plagued. She suffered through long days with an achy head and an acid stomach.

     “Maybe visit your dad for a couple days,” Helen suggested. “Get your mind off things.”

     “I’d hate to worry him. He and Tom never got along, and hearing this would upset him.” She shook her head. “I’ll just hope that was the end of it.”

     That night, Jane writhed across the bed. Rough hands choked her again. This time, though, she awoke gagging. She stumbled to her bathroom, spat out the mouth guard she slept with. She’d cracked off a piece and swallowed it.

    What a joke! This is supposed to help?

     Her dentist instructed her to sleep with the guard because stress had her grinding her teeth. She returned to bed, but nausea and sleeplessness overwhelmed her.

     Her boss frowned when he saw her the next morning, noting her sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes. “You look like death with a side of fries. You need a doctor.” He patted her shoulder. “Go on, get outta here.”

     Great, I’m freaking him out, too. I guess the doctor isn’t a bad idea.

     She’d tried over-the-counter remedies. Nothing helped. Still queasy, she felt more drained every day. The negative pregnancy test result brought relief, but even one less major stressor didn’t alleviate her symptoms.

     Something else was wrong.

     “Don’t worry, Ms. Harris,” said the doctor. “We’ll have your results in a few days. The office will call to follow up. In the meantime, try to get a good night’s rest.” Her hand twitched, wanting to smack him.

     She headed to the dentist next, to replace her mouth guard. The entrance flung open, and Jane jumped as a man dashed out, nearly sideswiping her.


     She stumbled backward. Her uneasy gaze scanned the area for help before she noticed his lab coat and supply bag. She’d forgotten he was a technician for one of her dentist’s suppliers, though they’d met during his rounds.

     His gaze pierced her. “You feeling okay, Jane? You look like hell.”

     She ignored him, hurried inside, feeling daggers in her back.

     The dentist took Jane’s guard to return to the supplier. Because Tom had left, the lab dispatched another tech for the pickup.

     Now we wait and see….

     Three nights of solid sleep helped, but a call from her dentist disquieted Jane. The tech examined her mouth guard and found it wasn’t made of the usual material. Molded to last for years, it shouldn’t have broken. The tech was running tests to determine its chemical composition.

     The phone rang again. What now? Her doctor’s words chilled her. Her bloodwork showed unusual inclusions; she was to return to the office immediately.

     Jane listened to the doctor as a steady buzz intensified in her head.

     Traces of arsenic.

     “What? Poison?” She hugged herself tight.

     “Exposure occurs in numerous ways. From the volume we detected, it was small but prolonged. Let’s go through any changes in your routine over the past two months to see if we can isolate anything unusual.”

     Jane’s horror escalated as they dissected her life. She described her recent improvement and the conversation with her dentist. She shook her head. But she couldn’t ignore her mouth guard as the likely conduit.

     And Tom Ridley the only suspect.

     The arresting officers found his apartment abandoned. Fear, fury streaked through Jane when she heard. Soon after, she began to plot her revenge.




                     Carolyn Greeley is the award-winning author of Emerald Obsession.                       Equal parts city slicker and beach bum, she concocts mystery-adventures, combining elements of both locales. Contemporary action and historic exploits infuse her stories, creating an engaging escape. A former Manhattanite, she now lives in St. Augustine, Florida, where things like cellphone photography, wine-and-cheese adoration, dictionary reading, and investigating everything are perfectly acceptable pastimes.  Visit her at   Follow her on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, GoodReads, and Pinterest.



Christmas from Germany to Arizona

Dec 18 2017, 5:10 pm in , , , ,

Happy Holidays!

     The holiday season is upon us, and with it comes a tide of memories and traditions. I spent many of my early childhood years on an Air Force base in Stuttgart, Germany, and my parents adopted some of the customs of the region. We’d put our shoes outside the door on December 5th for St. Nicholas (his feast day is Dec. 6th) and if we were good, they were filled with goodies the next morning.

                                                                                                                                                                        We also had an Advent Calendar filled with chocolate, and nutcracker soldiers on our mantel. And something I didn’t recall until I was shopping at Cost Plus years ago…soft gingerbread cookies, frosted.







     When the military moved us to Texas (this time living off-base), we were introduced to new cultural traditions. Lining the sidewalks with luminarias, visiting the River Walk for beautiful lights and mariachi music, and eating tamales on Christmas day are all part of the local traditions in San Antonio. And, Las Posadas was a recreation of the Mary and Joseph’s journey from door to door, seeking refuge. The church would often recreate this in a nearby neighborhood.


     For the past several years, we’ve celebrated Christmas in northern Arizona, where snow is not unheard of. With three kids, I’ve maintained the tradition of the tree, stockings, and advent calendars. We deck the house out with lights. When my daughter was in ballet, part of our annual celebration was watching her dance in The Nutcracker while the local symphony played. 


     This year, we’ll have our Annual Gingerbread Houses (preassembled because, for me, nothing drives away Christmas cheer like having to assemble one of those things). We’ll bake snowball cookies because they’re my husband’s favorite, and decorate sugar cookies because my youngest loves those. And since my daughter loves the soft German-style gingerbread cookies, we’ll be making a visit to Cost Plus, too. At our house, Santa will more often find beer than milk, but no worries—he always makes it to the next house.



     A bittersweet note this year is the Polar Express. If you haven’t heard of it, it was an animated movie (starring Tom Hanks in multiple roles) based on a popular book. As we are a railroad town, a local train company (which usually travels to the Grand Canyon) puts together a Polar Express experience annually, and the movie is recreated for thousands of lucky children on an hour-long train ride in an old-fashioned train car. Santa even hands out a souvenir bell at the end, as he does in the movie. We’ve done this a couple times in the past, but this may be our last time. My youngest is still a believer, but, sadly, this will probably be the final year. He’s already questioning things, but seems eager to keep believing, so I’ve been vague in my answers unless he presses me. He hasn’t yet.

     Wherever and however you celebrate the season, Happy Holidays and good tidings to you and yours!


                                                Anne Marie



Anne Marie has always been fascinated by people—inside and out—which led to degrees in Biology, Chemistry, Psychology, and Counseling.  Her passion for understanding the human race is now satisfied by her roles as mother, wife, daughter, sister, and award-winning author of romantic suspense.  

She writes to reclaim her sanity.

Find ways to connect with Anne Marie at There, sign up for her newsletter to receive the latest information regarding books, appearances, and giveaways


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