After 36 successful romance novels about Edward and a lot of others, she was rolling in cash; could literally make herself an angel in the floor with it. But she was no angel. Demon instead — she knew this deep down in her heart, despite what surrogate father Keith B. told her back at the beginning of section 01. She’d sold her soul; ground angel she was in the end. Worthless.
—–
After waking up and reviewing the dream, she decided there was only one thing to do. Tell Arthur about Edward. No, not the *actual* truth. The reality in the novel, 5th in a series. If she did, maybe she could nip what was coming — blooming — in the future in the bud. She had to pull a Barney Fife.
“There’s someone out there in the dunes — do you see it, Arthur?”
“Mirage,” he waved it off. “I’ve seen it too. Then it disappears if you stare at it enough.”
Sure enough, Shelley watches the illusion fade to wavery nothingness. She turns, tired of facing the huge mountains of sand. She’s in the present. Arthur turns with her.
“We haven’t been to that island over there.”
“No. But I sensed you have a point to make. You hardly touched your dinner.”
“You know I don’t like vegetables.”
“Not the point.” He sighs. Sandman, he thinks. Must ask about Sandman.
“I—” Pause.
“Yess?”
“I… write.”
(to be continued)
Sunklands 