Creative writing began at age eight for Lorena Gay when she started to pen her first chapter novel, “Baseballs Don’t Bounce”. This potential literary masterpiece unfortunately did not make it past chapter three. Lorena, however, kept writing. While earning her BA degrees in English and Spanish at University of Florida, she completed her honors creative thesis on the 11M bombings of Madrid and published the short story “The Big White Blanket” in the literary journal, The Mangrove.
In her spare time she travels a lot, snowboards occasionally, watches Manchester United and the Pittsburgh Penguins, and tweets paronomastic comments to C-list celebrities. She’s an avid collector of cassette tapes, her most prized find being Salt ‘n Peppa’s Blacks’ Magic for 99¢ at Rock ‘n Roll Heaven in Orlando. Lorena currently lives in Portland, Oregon with her super awesome husband.
Chapter 12: Dying
A series of dark figures morphed into a daytime scene. People were hustling below me in downtown Atlanta. It was windy. I was on the roof of a building looking at the street. A group of five men emerged into the plaza across from me, and I spotted him. Emilio Hernandez. My mark. Two of the men were bodyguards, and the other two must have been associates. I didn’t know who Emilio was, or why I was killing him, I just knew I had to.
Chapter 11: Shepherds
“I’ll be back for you in one hour,” Jeremiah told me from the passenger seat. He rolled up the window and drove away, leaving Ruel and me a block from the safe house. I kept my head down the best I could to avoid any cameras. Ruel ushered me into an empty hallway belonging to an old apartment building. I followed him up wooden stairs that sagged in the middle, polished with the wear of hundreds of years of tenants’ daily treading. He unlocked a door on the third floor and led me into what looked like a minimally furnished apartment. I wondered how long Ruel planned to stay here.
Chapter 10: Organization
“Who are you working for?” Ruel asked, his voice in a low growl. Had the switch not gone off and I’d not made the changeover to my old self, I might have been scared of him. As it stood, I found it encouraging, almost sexual. I took my right foot, which was still on the bottom rung of the ladder, and kicked him as hard as I could in his testicles. He groaned and I kicked him again, just as hard. This time he loosened his grip on me, so my third kick was aimed slightly higher to throw off his center of gravity. As he shifted his weight to steady himself, I rammed my left elbow into his ribs, and my right hand flew to my coat to pull out the pistol. With the momentum of my elbow swing, my body spun to face him, the Glock’s barrel immediately finding his chest.
Chapter 9: Jam
I glanced in the mirror again. They were gaining and the traffic in front of me was slowing even more. With the cars mere inches from each other’s bumpers, weaving through traffic was no longer an option. I groaned loudly. We needed a better evasion plan. I swerved into the right-hand emergency lane and sped towards the onramp’s entry point on to the highway, slowing only to squeeze between a weathered hatchback and the onramp’s traffic control light. With a quick glance to my left to avoid merging into a car, I left the car in second and floored it. Our bodies pressed backwards into the cool leather seats with the force of the car’s speed.
Chapter 8: Quattroporte
“Emma, I need you to listen to me,” he said, and pulled away from my ear to look me in the eyes in order to emphasize the urgency of the matter. His brown eyes were fiercer than usual with flecks of orange surrounding the pupils. My heart jumped and I swallowed hard. He continued, “We have to leave Russia. Now. Pack as quickly as you can, but only what you need. Make sure it’s warm. Make sure you have your passport, do not let it leave your body. I’m going to pack. You have six minutes. Do you understand?”
