Saturday, December 14, 2013

Duaghter Cell by Jay Hartlove Media Kit

November 29 - December 12

Cover blurb
How far can you genetically alter someone before she becomes someone else? Before she loses her soul?

Cover synopsis
Leading genetic researcher Randolph Macklin wakes up in Malaysia to find a four month gap in his memory, his wife dead, and his daughter in a coma. As he and his psychiatrist Sanantha Mauwad unravel the mystery, they find nothing and no one are what they appear to be. Ancient cults collide with cutting edge science in this tale of too much power driven by too much passion.

How did she get here? What was she doing dressed only in shorts and a t-shirt in the middle of a jungle she could only assume was on Malaysia. She needed answers.
The sound of children's laughter drifting on the morning air caught her attention. Maybe they could help.
A little boy and girl of perhaps four and six were playing in a puddle with an old tin can under the watchful eye of a girl who was about nine years old. Cheri was amused by their play, and stayed back in her hidden vantage of bushes and watched for a moment.
The innocence of their play seemed to belong here. It was a simple pleasure in a simple place. As tired as she was, Cheri wanted to be a part of it, to escape the confusion and ugliness of the hunger. She purposely stepped on a dry twig to get their attention as she moved forward out of the bushes.
"Hello," she greeted in Malay with a warm smile. "How are you?"
She anticipated any number of possible responses, but not the one they gave her. As one, they stopped what they were doing and stood up straight, as if caught doing something prohibited, their big dark eyes staring innocently at her from their expressionless, slightly downturned, little faces.
Cheri laughed a nervous, surprised chuckle and insisted, "No, please, go ahead and play."
When they didn't move she considered that their reaction might not be fear, but a trained behavior. Children just didn't play in front of adults. Or maybe it was white adults.
"It's okay," she tried again, stooping down by the pool and pointing at the can. "Don't mind me. Continue as you were." She picked up the can and handed it to the little boy with a big friendly smile. "Here, take it."
His gaze on her faltered as his eyes flitted to the outstretched can and back to her face. After a couple more quick glances at the toy, he turned to look up at the older girl for permission.
She looked down at him, over to the can, then straight onto Cheris eyes. The suspicion melted and a tiny grin curled the corner of her mouth. She nodded and the boy snatched the can greedily with both hands.
The little girl reacted instantly and, ignoring Cheri, latched onto the can and tried to wrestle it from the boy.
The nine year old introduced herself as Anitelle.
"My name's Cheri," she offered, shaking the girl's formally extended hand.
Anitelle started to tell her the other children's names but had to stop and break up the fight that had erupted between them.
A wave of lightheadedness took Cheri by surprise and she staggered to a large nearby rock to sit down. Her first suspicion was she had been squatting too long or had gotten up too fast. This thought was crushed by fear as nausea and racking cold chills thundered in behind the dizziness. She clamped her eyes shut and clenched her fists, refusing to let delirium take control again.
She was glad the children had busied themselves and she hoped she could regain her composure before they noticed her distress. Clasping her arms around her body, trying to get warm and stop shivering, she felt the sweat that had erupted from her every pore.
She took a deep breath and resolved to leave quietly. She knew she was fast losing ground to the fever but she would not let panic get the better of her.
Cheri opened her eyes just as the boy yanked the can from the little girl's grasp, cutting her finger on a sharp edge. The girl cried out, the sitter slapped the boy, and Cheri's hunger gripped her gut with the speed and strength of a hangman's noose. She wanted to look away, to get up and leave, but her body wouldn't respond. Saliva filled her mouth as her eyes fixed on the little red droplets. She was horrified that she could even consider blood as food. She tried in vain to turn away but her legs, as if driven by their own power, lifted her and walked toward the girl. As the world spun and blurred to her rational mind, she tried to cry out to the children to flee for safety but, to her horror, her voice came out soothing despite its menacing tightness. "Oh, you've been hurt. Let me look at that."

Jay Hartlove Bio
Jay Hartlove has been writing professionally for over 30 years, starting in the gaming industry with Supergame in 1980. He writes banking compliance procedures by day, he blogs about spirituality, and he teaches seminars on the craft of writing. Two of his short supernatural stories have appeared in the Hugo Award winning Drink Tank. He has posted the research he did for The Chosen at Like The Isis Rising Trilogy on Facebook.

Author’s Links:

Buy Links:

No comments :

Post a Comment