Amy M. Schaefer
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From the Front Porch

I am an "accidental blogger". When I launched my writing career in March of 2014, one of the things that I decided to include was my journaling, which I have always found to be a comforting and therapeutic endeavor.  It was a big risk to open myself up in such a public forum, but it has taught me that, for the most part, we share far more experiences than we think. It's comforting to know I'm not alone!  (*the "Button Text" is the link to my first novel)
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The Guard Shack

3/3/2015

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Picture
Belt image from etsy.com.
Below is an excerpt from my up-coming novel A Fragile Balance, which is the sequel to Desperate Measures. Stay tuned for release dates on this next chapter in Abby's story!

The Guard Shack

Special Agent Ian Taylor crouched in the thick underbrush, studying the movements coming from the guard shack that sat about a hundred feet ahead of him. The moon cast eerie shadows over the grounds of the compound. a a light breeze blowing warm and clean from the mountains nearby. Abby was in there somewhere, damn her hide for moving forward without him. Why that little fool would go looking for her friend at the home of a dangerous killer was beyond him, especially since she knew he'd be furious. What the hell had she been thinking? He kept tight control over the emotions threatening to consume him. He'd be pissed later, if he found her alive. He wasn't sure what havoc he would wreak if he found her dead, but the thought alone made dark things inside him boil like an angry sea.

He'd counted five guards, which didn't mean there weren't more inside that were unaccounted for but he didn't dare wait much longer. Abby had already been out of contact for two days, according to her kid brother who'd contacted Ian hours ago. He would deal with whatever he came across. Years of training would ensure his success...besides, in this mission failure wasn't an option. When two of the guards walked towards the main house, presumably to take a break, he made his move. Keeping to the shadows, he slipped around the back of the shack. The guard posted at the door was alone, turned facing away. Agent Taylor quietly crept behind him quickly snapping his neck, then pulled his knife from his boot and went inside.

The stench was God awful, like other places of horror he'd been and would rather forget but he pressed forward, searching. Where was the other guard, Goddamnit? At the end of the hall, he saw one of them sitting in a chair, the legs of it off the floor as the man dozed against the wall. Agent Taylor silently slit his throat and broke the lock on the door beside him. He opened it, slipped inside and closed it back softly.

As he scanned the room, the first thing he saw was a body curled up in the corner. His stomach lurched and he was grateful for however long it had been since he'd last eaten lest he lose the contents of his stomach like some green new recruit. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and turned to take in the rest of the dank space. A woman, bound by the wrists which hung from a hook in the ceiling, stood above a drain. Her head was slumped over but he knew...Abby. She was wearing nothing but a torn tank top and panties, her bare legs blotches of bruises. She was stretched so that she had to stand on tiptoes and her feet were bloody from the effort. He went to her and the minute he touched her shoulder, she convulsed, trying to get as far away from his touch as possible. She lifted her head looking wildly around.

"Shhhhhhh," he said near her ear. "It's me, Abby. It's Ian. Don't scream, please."

He put his head up between her arms and lifted gently, taking her down off the hook. He could feel her sobbing against his chest, although she made no sound. Ian held her tightly, studying her face and noting the bruises and marks there, memorizing the places he could see where they'd hurt her.

"I didn't tell them anything, Ian. No matter what they did or threatened to do," and at this she shuddered violently, "I didn't say anything. They didn't break me."

"Shhhh," he comforted her. "It's okay baby, I've got you."

She squeezed him as tightly as possible and whispered against his chest, "I think Nara is dead." Her voice shook.

"Don't think about that now," he told her. "We've got to get out of here."

Ian lifted her into his arms but she was shaking her head.

"No, please. Take her first. I'll be okay."

"Abby," he growled, but she wouldn't be deterred and he didn't have the fortitude, at the moment, to deny her anything. Seeing her like this did dangerous things to him and most of them weren't good things. He gently set her down next to the woman lying curled in a ball. He felt for a pulse. Alive. He said a prayer to whatever God was listening, scooped Nara up into his arms and quickly got her to the cover of the woods. Then he was back and Abby was in his arms again. He carried her to safety, putting her next to Nara, who hadn't moved or made a sound. He knelt in front of Abby and lifted her chin.

"Look at me, baby. I need you to focus." She nodded that she understood, watching him and trembling. He pulled a small gun from the bag he'd brought that was sitting next to a tree nearby, came back and put it in her hands. "Anyone comes into these woods, shoot them. Do you understand?"

"Yessir," she whispered. "Hurry?" she said, choking back a sob. Ian leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers and putting his hands on her face, tenderly caressing the soft skin he already knew by heart. He wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure her or himself, but it didn't matter. She was alive. Nara was alive. And someone was going to pay for what had been done to them.
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    About The Author

    I grew up in rural North Carolina. When I was only nineteen, I moved away and became a military wife. My only aspiration at that tender time in my life was to create an adult life that "fixed" all of the "injustices" of my childhood. Secretly, however, I wanted to reach for the sky! I wanted to be a writer and find ways to "save the world" (my mother used to say, "You have Save the World Syndrome".). Mostly, I wanted to matter.

    Since then, I have learned to reach well beyond what I ever dared to think was possible. I've learned not to allow fear to stop me from whatever future I want to create!

    What keeps me grounded? My Tribe! What provides the wind beneath my wings? A well of reserves filled with unstoppable passion!

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  • Amy M. Schaefer, Writer
  • Blog: From the Front Porch
  • Novels
  • Short Stories
    • Children's Books
  • About the Author
  • Contact
  • Photo & Art Gallery