Excerpt Monday: Bolt Action by Victoria Roder

Bolt Action

by Victoria Roder

 

With a Ruger Blackhawk .357 under her pillow, a Browning A-Bolt Stainless Stalker rifle in her broom closet, and a Saturday Night Special in her road-hog cookie jar, Detective Leslie Bolt's sarcastic attitude and inability to trust, alienates her from most people, including her sister. "The State Quarter Killer" is selecting victims that appear to have nothing in common except for the State Quarter placed under their lifeless bodies. When her sister goes missing, Detective Bolt must conquer her own past to capture the serial killer before her sister is the next victim.

Lying in the dark shadows of my bedroom, I awoke with a start at a slamming sound. Every hair on my arms crystallized as I grappled under the pillow for my Ruger Blackhawk .357 and flashlight. Baby, my cat, scared to near death, screeched and ran from the bed. My heart luched in my chest. In the silence of the night, the sound of the Ruger cocking ricocheted off the walls.

 

In an attempt to become undetectable in the darkness, I inhaled the slowest breaths possible without passing out. Convinced someone observed, perhaps studied, my every movement, I summoned my courage with a prayer.

 

I flipped the flashlight on and scanned my bedroom. For the third time this week, nothing, no one present.

To ease my mind, I proceeded through my duplex with stealth-like movements, as if I were responding to an armed intruder call, Keeping my wrists crossed with my Ruger in my right hand and the flashlight in my left, I crept from one room to another, turning on every light available. With my duplex lit up like a landing strip, I positioned the flashlight on my oak edn table. Confident the twelve-and-a-half inch barrel of my .357 protected me, I jerked open every closet door, hoping someone waited inside to be shot. I believed an apprehended suspect might be my chance at sanity, puttting to rest the repetitive noises and sensation of being watched.

 

With a prdator-like approach toward the bathroom, I noticed the shower curtain stirring. My pulse throbbed in my esophagus, threatening to cut off my air supply. Creeping into my nineteen-fifties Pepto Bismol pink bathroom, with a trembling hand I grasped and jerked open the curtain. The sound of the rings scraping against the rod made a deafening screech.

 

YouTube Video Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EqcYL_G7h7s