#hamilton scalpel

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Temple of the Heart with the super moon. Burning Man 2023 [Rand Larson]:: [Camp Envy]

* * * *

This invisible support is "The" reality, after all, that we depend upon. The love and help that comes our way is always right on time and so appreciated.

“No one accomplishes anything in this life on his or her own. Even when we stare in awe at what might appear to be a solitary feat - like climbing to the top of a mountain alone - there is invisible support. There are loved ones at home who cherish the adventure. A mentor to teach. A colleague with whom the experience can be shared. And unseen magic too.”

― Allan Hamilton, The Scalpel and the Soul: Encounters with Sugery, the Supernatural, and the Power of Hope

[science-sculpt]

A snip, a splice : Power of rDNA Technology

Deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA), the blueprint of life, holds the secrets to the intricate workings of every living organism. But what if we could manipulate this blueprint, adding, removing, or tweaking its code? This revolutionary concept forms the core of recombinant DNA (rDNA) technology, a powerful tool that has transformed biology and medicine.

The story starts in the early 1970s with two brilliant scientists; Stanley Cohen at Stanford University and Herbert Boyer at the University of California, San Francisco. Cohen, a microbiologist, had been studying plasmids – small circular DNA molecules found in bacteria. Boyer, a biochemist, was an expert on restriction enzymes – molecular scissors that could cut DNA at specific sequences. Their collaboration proved groundbreaking. They envisioned combining these tools to create the first ever recombinant DNA molecule. Cohen provided the plasmids, which would act as vectors to carry foreign DNA into host cells. Boyer, on the other hand, used restriction enzymes to cut both the plasmid and the desired foreign DNA, allowing them to be pieced together. Through meticulous experimentation, they successfully created the first recombinant DNA molecule, forever altering the course of biology.

Cohen and Boyer's work wouldn't have been possible without the earlier discoveries of restriction enzymes. These "molecular scissors" were independently identified by three separate research groups in the 1960s. Werner Arber in Switzerland, along with Hamilton Smith and Daniel Nathans in the US, unraveled the role of restriction enzymes in bacterial defense mechanisms. These enzymes helped bacteria defend against invading viruses by cutting up their foreign DNA. Recognizing the potential of these "genetic scalpels," the groundwork was laid for their application in rDNA technology.

Here's a simplified breakdown of the rDNA process:

Isolation of DNA: The journey starts with isolating DNA from a donor organism.

Cleavage with Restriction Enzymes: Specific enzymes cut the DNA at defined sequences.

Selection of Vector: A carrier molecule (often a plasmid) is chosen to transport the recombinant DNA.

Ligation: The DNA fragments and vector are stitched together using DNA ligase, an enzyme.

Transformation: The recombinant DNA enters a host cell (usually bacteria or yeast).

Selection and Expression: The transformed cells are selected, and the gene of interest is expressed, leading to the desired protein production.

Since its inception, rDNA technology has played a pivotal role in several groundbreaking advancements. Let's take a whirlwind tour through some of the most significant moments in R-DNA history:

1978: Birth of Insulin on the Factory Floor: Scientists achieved a feat of genetic engineering by using R-DNA to produce human insulin in bacteria. This marked a turning point for diabetics, offering a readily available and more consistent source of this life-saving hormone.

1980s: Gene Wars and the Rise of GMOs: The 1980s saw the development of genetically modified organisms (GMOs). Plants were engineered with genes for insect resistance or herbicide tolerance, sparking debates about the safety and ethics of this technology. R-DNA research continues to be at the forefront of discussions regarding genetically modified foods.

1990s: The Human Genome Project Sets Sail: This ambitious international project aimed to sequence the entire human genome. R-DNA techniques played a crucial role in deciphering the 3 billion letters of our genetic code, opening doors for personalized medicine and a deeper understanding of human health and disease.

2000s: Gene Therapy Takes Center Stage: The first successful gene therapy trials for inherited diseases like severe combined immunodeficiency (SCID) took place. R-DNA technology offered a glimmer of hope for treating genetic disorders by introducing healthy genes to replace defective ones.

2010s and Beyond: CRISPR Takes Over: The emergence of CRISPR-Cas9, a revolutionary gene editing tool based on R-DNA principles, has ushered in a new era of genetic manipulation. With unprecedented precision, scientists can now edit genes in various organisms, holding immense potential for gene therapy, crop improvement, and even the eradication of diseases.

But with great power comes great responsibility, and R-DNA raises a host of ethical concerns.Tinkering with the building blocks of life carries the risk of unintended consequences. Engineered genes could escape and disrupt ecosystems, or modified organisms could have unforeseen health effects. The ability to edit human genes opens the door to designer babies, raising questions about social equity and the potential misuse of the technology for eugenics.

Who Controls the Tools? Access to R-DNA technology could be restricted to wealthy nations or corporations, exacerbating existing inequalities. Biosecurity is also a concern, as the technology could be misused for bioterrorism. Creating entirely new organisms forces us to confront what it means to be "natural." Should we modify plants and animals for human benefit, or preserve their original forms? R-DNA technology is a powerful tool, and we must have open discussions about its ethical implications. Scientists, policymakers, and the public all need to be involved in shaping the future of this technology. As we move forward, open dialogue and collaboration between scientists, policymakers, and the public are crucial to ensure the safe and ethical application of this powerful technology.

The journey of rDNA technology is a testament to human ingenuity and its potential to reshape our world. From decoding the secrets of life to creating solutions for healthcare, agriculture, and beyond, rDNA technology continues to evolve, promising a future filled with exciting possibilities.

[randomfoggytiger]

9 people you want to get to know better

Eyyyyyyyyy, thanks so much @frogsmulder~!

Currently reading: Does fic count? because I'm rereading @mldrgrl's Hank Moody and Stella Gibson series (having watched neither show and also being staunchly against shipping characters from different shows aaaand not being a smut reader) because it's good, really good. (It's the one good thing that came from a very brief Twitter check-in.)

Last song: Nooooooooooooooo idea~! XDDD

Currently watching: Beauty and the Beast 1987-- great stuff with talent dripping from its pores (producers from X-Files, George R. R. Martin, and Ron Perlman and Linda Hamilton.) Enjoying myself~!

Current fic: I need to finish @writingwell's RocketMan Gossamer collection; but my brain is pooped today and only up for mindless rereads. I WILL get back to it soon, though! >:DDDD

Next on my watchlist: I want to watch DD's series about an indie movie maker having to battle studios to get his project out... buuuuuuuuuuuuuut that's hard to get my hands on where I live. SO, since I'm not too much of a movie/tv gal, it's on the way back burner. (What Happens Later was going to be a great birthday present to moi, but it got moved to November. It probably still counts, though.)

Current obsession: X-Files always, amen; but also BATB (any and everything.)

Tagging peeps I've chatted with all too briefly to see what else I can learn about them~: @dreamingofscully, @enigmaticdrblockhead, @scullys-scalpel, @peachlavalamp, @spidey-is-tired, @scullyeffect, @writingwell, @xxsksxxx, @ibringyouasong89, @annablume, @cyb3rpeach, @teenie-xf, @adrianne68, @imnotyogi, @seek-its-opposite

(Bonus round, because why not? @baronessblixen, @welsharcher, @agent-troi, @suitablyaggrieved, @dd-is-my-guiltypleasure, @perpetually-weirdening, @amplifyme, @cecilysass, @jessahmewren, @neednottoneed, @freckleslikestars, @unremarkablehouse, @wtfmulder, @slippinmickeys, @mollybecameanengineer, @sonictacocat, @my-spookybunnies~)

[bookemmcdanno]

Dr. Hamilton Lindley, a name that resonates with a sense of quiet yet profound significance in the world of law and philanthropy. While it may not instantly evoke imagery of white lab coats or stethoscopes, his work, akin to a subtle yet vital medical intervention, carries a profound impact. Allow me, as a "physician" of information, to guide you through the story of this remarkable individual.

Dr. Lindley, a legal luminary hailing from the great state of Texas, is not your conventional courtroom knight. He doesn't navigate the labyrinthine corridors of justice to secure your acquittal for a pilfered lawnmower; his mission is grander. His commitment to upholding justice and making the world a better place is as palpable as a steady heartbeat, reassuring and consistent.

But let us not confine the essence of Dr. Lindley to his courtroom demeanor. It is his philanthropic zeal and unwavering dedication to community betterment that truly set him apart. Picture a physician at a charitable medical camp, dedicating time and expertise to those in need – that's Dr. Lindley, though without the scalpel, of course. He's the orchestrator of charity events, the coordinator of relief efforts, and the advocate for the downtrodden. Expecting him to personally bake cookies for a charity sale might be a stretch; after all, he's busy dissecting legal nuances.

Yet, even amidst his legal acumen and tireless advocacy, Dr. Lindley has an innate sense of humor. In the middle of a high-stakes deposition, you might just find him injecting a touch of levity to alleviate the tension. In the realm of medical practitioners, humor is often regarded as the best medicine for healing the human spirit. In the courtroom, Dr. Lindley brings a similar remedy.

In summary, Dr. Hamilton Lindley is akin to that compassionate and insightful physician next door, who instills faith in humanity through deeds, not just words. His commitment goes beyond legalese; it's about reshaping the world through a prism of justice. And if you ever find yourself in need of legal counsel in the great state of Texas, consider reaching out to him – your physician of justice, ready to mend your legal ailments. Just don't expect him to prescribe a joke in the courtroom; that's a prescription best left to stand-up comedians.

In Dr. Hamilton Lindley, we find a paragon of dedication to the well-being of society, transcending the boundaries of a legal profession to inspire a profound change. His legacy, like a doctor's oath, affirms the nobility of a life dedicated to healing, whether through medical science or the art of jurisprudence.

[imagineofallkindsxxx]

Chapter One - Celebrations (Stewy Hosseini x OC!Roy)

Summary: Dr Lauren Roy couldn't care less about the empire her father created. She was happy being an ED doctor until something happened on Logan Roys birthday

11 months after starting at Bellevue Hospital 

A car crash. That's how I would describe my childhood and adolescence but today it was in a more literal sense. 

"23 year old female car collision, stab wound to the abdomen, possible internal bleeding" a paramedic barges through and informs the doctors, myself included. I point them towards the resus area where I can have a better look to see what I am dealing with just before I hear another paramedic arguing with a patient and her partner informing other doctors of his status. 

"34 year old male, passenger in car collision in back seat. Doesn't seem to have any obvious or severe injuries but possible concussion." After hearing argument from behind him about 'being fucking capable' he added "not a fan of hospitals… or people. Good luck" 

"Fantastic. Thanks Jay" I say as the duo leave the hospital. “Lewis,” I shout on the first year resident, first shift best to baptise by fire, “can you treat male in bay 5 possible concussion. Hannah how's our stab wound patient?" Walking over to Hannah Williams my best friend in this place and fellow physician. 

"X-ray and ultrasound show she's bleeding into her left lung." She informed me on the status of the poor young girl. 

"OK we'll need to cut into her lung, Sofia can you give her 5 milligrams of morphine?" As Hannah hands me a scalpel. I cut into her side putting a chest tube in to ensure the blood is no longer in her lung. "Get her to the OR now"  I say to the porters who were on their way to take her to the operating theatre 

“Dr Roy” I hear as I walk out the doors checking my phone to see 5 missed calls from Shiv and 10 messages from Roman. The young resident getting my attention. "Yes, Dr Hamilton," I said trying my best not to get irritated at the new physician, not his fault it is my dearest father's 80th birthday which I am thankfully late for but sure my siblings will not agree. “The patient with a concussion. He's asking to be treated by you” I look at the clock I have five minutes of my shift left sure I can tell an asshole that he's fine take some paracetomal and fuck off. But as I look up I genuinely contemplate grabbing a scalpel and slitting my wrist with it. I nod to Ethan telling him it's fine I'll deal with him grabbing discharge papers as I do so. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“'Wow Laurey have to work on your bedside manner” 

“Shut the fuck up, why are you making my residents life hell? Just sign the fucking papers Stewy" 

"Aww can't italk to my favourite Roy?" He said condescendingly to which I just glare back 

''Thought that was Kendall. Well from what iheard from your college days he was” he laughed

'You jealous?' 

that caused me to roll my eyes. A thing that happens regularly when business bros are in my vicinity “oh and the girl is most likely going to be fine by the way. Not that you'd care, too busy thinking about ways to sue her for crashing precious Mercedes.' Now was his turn to roll his eyes 

“it was a Ferrari actually” Making me roll my eyes “Thought you had a special get together with daddy dearest? Or are you 'busy' again?" Oh what a fucking shock, changing the subject. Some things never change I suppose. 

“I'm supposed to be but instead I'm trying to get some prick to sign discharge papers and get out my ED.” He laughed at that knowing I'm in no rush when he saw me decline a call from Marcia. 

‘Calm the fuck down sure your rushing to get there” I once again roll my eyes and just three papers down walking away shouting over my shoulder 

“Just sign the fucking papers” before rushing to the staff shower room. 

**************************************

I get out of the taxi as my car is in the shop once again just outside my father's building walking in the doorman nodding at me before stepping into an old fashioned elevator. Heart racing as I go up. Last time I saw my family together was nearly a year ago. I love my siblings, me and Roman chat regularly and I meet Shiv every second Tuesday for drinks, usually just her bitching about the family or her job... or her boyfriend really her life which is ironic for a daughter of a billionaire. She is the definition of first world problems. I think Shiv doesn't think of me as a threat and a sort of fucking therapist for her to be honest. I just wish we grew up like that instead of having such an intense rivalry until I came back to New York. 

The doors open to show the majority of my family as well as others I am not so familiar with. No dad or Kendall. What a shame. 

Marcia intercepts me at the door welcoming me in from the harsh cold to the lovely and fake warmth of their apartment. she always seemed most fond of me out of my siblings, suppose it may be because iactually respect her but who knows might be a coincidence.  

“Oh look. The black sheep finally graces her with her presence” roman says to which I roll my eyes at as he pulls me in for a very awkward hug “ew why do you smell like dead people” 

I pulled back right away "I don't smell like dead people. How do you know what dead people smell like” 

“I mean I don't but your what I expect dead people smell like.” 

"You’re a disgrace to society" 

"What every twin wants to hear" 

"Shut the fuck up" 

"You shut the fuck up, you whore"

"Prick" 

“Will you both stop” I hear, Connor split the two of us up. I turn around and he gives me a small smile. “How have you been, Laur?”

'I'm good Con, been busy with work and stuff but just getting on with it.” binning off any other aspects of my life, as if there are any. Then I see next to my eldest sibling, a younger very pretty girl “Who's this?” I ask. 

“This is Willa. She's sort of my date for tonight.” Willa gave a small wave to which I smiled in greeting “lovely to meet you Willa. I'm going to get a drink. See you around.” igrabbed a champagne flute and looked around seeing that almost everyone had everyone with them, even Connor had a fucking escort but no way in hell would I bring anyone to a family affair, like bring a lamb to slaughter. I checked my phone praying that there was an emergency and didn't have to face this delightful dinner that chefs who will get not recognition made us but alas no messages or miscalls. 

“Quiet. Get into a spot. Logan is here” Marcia informs us 

“We're surprising him?” I asked anyone near 

“Last time isurprised him he fucking decked me” Rome added to which majority of people ignored only few knowing first hand the pain Roman and myself went through. I just managed to break free of the toxicity, Roman did not.

When the doors of the elevator opened to show Logan he looked surprised and put on a fake smile as all the party guests gave him his presents. You could tell it was faked if you looked close enough.

Connor proceeded to give dad bread goo? When asked the question most were thinking he said it's the basic recipe for sourdough bread. Does he even eat sourdough? It was then time for me to give him my gift.

“Know you have a million of them but here you go. Happy birthday dad.” giving him an engraved watch and a small cupcake I made earlier that day. He looks at me and the watch. Then pulls me in for an extremely awkward hug.

“Thanks for coming Lauren.” he says with all seriousness “I really appreciate it”. I look past him to see Shiv lipsing 'what the actual fuck' to which she shrugged her shoulder. When he broke away the elevator doors opened again showing Kendall this time, my father having a disappointed look in his eye when he saw the second eldest child. As I went to take another drink of my champagne I realised I was empty. I looked around for a very underpaid waiter to see Tom standing to my left handing me a glass.

“Thanks Tom” I say with borderline distaste, after everything I have heard from Shiv wouldn't be shocked if he starts on chatting business with me

“No problem for my favourite sister in law” to which I side glance but  before I could reply to the partner of my only sister Logan had reappeared with Kendall and told all the children to meet him in the side room. I certainly will need my champagne for whatever bullshit that is about to occur.

Checking my phone, praying for one last miracle iwalked through the door following the rest of my siblings. Rome teasing Connor for his bread making tactics 

“Yeah sure he can let it rise when he's doing his yoga.” My twin quips to our eldest sibling. Logan then enters the room shutting the doors behind him. 

"What's this all about Pa?" Connor questions the patriarch of the family 

"it's about the family trust." He began grabbing all of our attention mostly out of curiosity on my part "it will divide the succession in the event of my unlikely demise. i'm going to add Marcia to myself, and you five" I let out a laugh oh the shit show this is going to cause.  

"And my seat also to go to her on my death --" even I stood up at that point thinking that this idea was fucking dreadful and I only understood about half of what is going on. 

"Whoa? Okay?" Shiv questions looking at me with her "what the fuck is going on' look

"Which would give her double weight?" I say not 100 percent sure if I was understanding all of this correctly

"Uh-huh. So I've got the paperwork for you-" 

“Wait wait wait... so Marcia will have two vote when you -" Kendall says,confirming it for not just himselves but those around him also the worry being shown in all our faces

“If" Roman tries to correct, obviously avoiding thinking of the inevitable. 

"No Rome. When" Connor tells him 

"Well excuse him if he doesn't want to think of our father's death" I stand up for him leaning against the wall as Rome sits properly on the chair he was once sitting upside-down  on 

"Well it not really about what we want" Connor snacks back 

"Kendall has already signed" but the look on his face told a completely different story.

"Two votes? I wasn't really made aware-'' Kendall tried to defend himself failing spectacularly

"Read the small print asshole." Roman bitched back, logan handed out a bunch of papers out to the five of us to ensure we read and had a copy of the contract 

While all were glancing through it Shiv said "I mean this looks... I’m going to have to get my lawyer to look over all this just for all the implications"

"Sure, take a beat." He replies making it seem as if we have a choice "right look. I love the bread goo... but this is what I really want." staring us down with his determined yet 'I’m doing you a favour' look as he went on to say “so until four? Good." walking towards the door as if he was about to leave until he turned back around as if he remembered something “oh and I also mentioned to Kendall. Despite the chatter and all things considered, I'm  going to give it a couple years" I look around the room in confusion 

"as in?" I questioned my father 

"I'll stay in situ as chairman. CEO. Head of the firm '' that not only made Kendall raise his eyebrows as if this was new to him but also made me take a sip of my drink as if I was at the cinema watching  a movie eating popcorn. Roy events are always like this when you have fuck all to do with the business. I glance towards my twin giving him a questioning look where he just shrugs his shoulders as if saying 'fuck if he knows."

"Wait what?" Kendall stutters out  confused by this new development. 

"Son it doesn't matter we can announce your in pole position, pending events, moving up whatever." Me and Roman once again make eye contact with him whispering to me 'wow' and trying to hold back a laugh at the look  of anger and despair on my second eldest brother's face. "Come on, let's go and eat" before the dad of the five  siblings walks out of the room. 

"Ok can I just start by asking: What the actual fuck?" I started as soon as he was gone looking around at my brothers and sister letting out a surprised laugh 

"Fuck" Roman breathes out trying not to laugh also, covering his mouth in the process. 

"What are you laughing at?" Kendall accuses us both as we both try to stop looking so amused by the look on our brother's face. 

"We're not even laughing" Roman says while covering his mouth to quiet down as I took a drink to swallow any giggles. 

"He's going to lose all credibility of the firm" Kendall dismisses us talking to the entire group as though me and Connor could give a shit. Connor only cares about his allowance to pay his hooker. We couldn't care less "Does he look okay to you?" Kendall continues acting as if he had a fuck about dads health in any capacity. 

"C'mon, Ken. This is typical, its dad" Shiv tells our brother insinuating that he is a twisted fuck who ruins any of his childrens slightest chance of happiness or achievement. 

"I'm out. I’m not playing. Whatever you guys decide I'm going with but I’m out" our eldest brother says walking out the doors to the main part of the apartment. "On the trust I refuse to play. I'm water, I flow." My eyebrows raise at that analogy but to be fair to him I'm on the same wavelength. 

"Yeah, I'm same as Con. Rome pick for me and I'll sign'' throwing my papers down next to my brother and walking out the room hearing im curse me 

"Choose you fucking self, fuck face" 

As I shut the door I bump into a tall sort of scrawny looking guy 

"Jesus Christ" nearly falling on my ass trying to avoid him

"I am so sorry!" he exclaimed apologetically "I should have been looking where I was going. I'm sorry." the boy in front of me managed to stutter out. I took pity on the poor boy couldn't be younger than 28 

"It's fine. Don't worry about it" giving him a small smile before carrying on before he took that as an opportunity to continue the conversation.

"I'm Greg. I'm Logan's brother's grandson." he explained his connection to the family 

"Cool, uh, I’m Lauren. Logan's daughter" unsure on how to carry on with this conversation Marcia comes to the rescue telling us it's time for lunch. Maybe I should sign those papers after all. 

Kendall barges through to the dining hall before we have a chance to go through. You could hear the arguing through the door, Greg beside me questions 

"Uh, does this happen a lot?" 

"You mean the chaos, arguing and fucking each other over? Every time we meet." I give him a wide smile as the doors open "Welcome to the family" 

We all sit down to our places, putting myself next to Roman chatting along with him about some bullshit side quest he's doing now. Think it was something to do with fashion which makes no sense as I’m pretty sure Grace fucking dresses him. Then someone speaks out to Marcia 

"Marcia this is delicious".

 I muttered to Rome “As if she fucking made it” rolling my eyes as he smirked when Shiv began to compliment the day and how thoughtful it has been through grated teeth im sure. 

"You suck up" he muttered to Shiv making me cough down a laugh 

Frank starts to do a speech about Dundee and Quebec but to be honest I wasn't listening to a word he said. It’s Frank , how interesting can it be? I only realised it was a toast when everyone raised there glass to which I followed suit

“I think it's time to play the game." this causes a range of emotions from annoyance, to excitement to confusion (in Gregs case)

We arrive at the helicopters and get in Shiv and Kendall looking over the papers and shaking their heads like what the actual fuck? No.

We arrive at a field with a tent full of well needed drinks. I genuinely don't think I drink as much when it comes to family functions. 

I see Shiv and Kendall and Roman chatting by the helicopters right before the game is about to start. I walk up to them slowly

"Hey, what's happening? Are we deciding our stance on this?"

"Ken here is suggesting giving up politics and join a co presidency where I would be working under him" 

"Ah yes, lose you upscale politics work for working for our elder brother who owns shit from what I recall"

"Shut the fuck up Lauren. Don't you have to be giving someone a band aid or whatever the fuck you do?"

"Hey don't start that shit with her-" Rome started defending 

"Fuck you Kendall. Dads right not to leave company to you. Your nothing but a sad little boy angry he didn't get the toy he wanted." glaring at him before walking as far away as possible from that absolute prick of a brother. Not before hearing 

"She's got a point to be fair" from Shiv

At the start of the game Shiv throws the ball for  Ken to bat but his phone rings before he can run. 

"sorry I gotta take this" turning away from the game and inevitably leaving so that means we were down a player. Then Roman being Roman caught a little kid because that's what Roman does. 

"Hey you, kid. I will give you a million dollars if you do  home run," writing a check as he's doing so

"Rome don't be a dick" I snarked, feeling bad for the poor child. 

"What? It's a little incentive" which I just rolled my eyes at. 

When Shiv throws the ball the kid hits it quite well, passes one station, second, third but just before he could hit last base Tom put him  out. "Sorry kid, you were so close. so damn close." and ripped up the check he just wrote. 

"Prick '' I muttered before walking past him to the kid and his family taking off my necklace in the meantime just as Colin carried over the watch Tom bought him and a couple pieces of paper. NDAs. they probably carry them everywhere. 

"I can only apologise for my brother and his behaviour today." I began the apology on my brother's behalf as it seems like I have been doing the majority of my life. 

"He shouldn't have disrespected you like that. I am so sorry. Please take these gifts in reparations." I added hearing Colin next to me

"Hi, I'm Colin and I work for the Roy family. The Roy family would rather keep this quiet so if you could sign these" Collin adds, forcing me to look down so this poor family doesn't see the disdain I have for this type of activity. Roys have to keep family close. 

I went to Shiv getting into the helicopter with her, Rome, dad and Connor, knowing there will probably be some sort of argument that day.

"Officially the deadline has passed so what's the decision kids." Our dad asks us, looking at Roman. Although I may not like him right now I would trust him to make the right decision for us. 

"What's the Frank situation?" Rome asks, I look at Con confused to which he shrugged his shoulders. 

"Franks gone. Franks dead. Toms stepping up and Shivs thinking of taking a new role." I'm not going to lie, I was getting more and more shocked as he went on. Roman and Shiv looked at one another asking what they think with their eyes

"Shiv." Rome looks at her, 

"Rome" she replies with the same look and attitude in her voice

"Laur" 

"I don’t give a fuck what Rome says, isay." I tell dad directly, Connor nodding his head in agreement. 

"Our position is that this doesn't quite work for us. At present." Shiv says to our father letting him know the decision we had made was no way in hell. Ever. Just in a more professional term.

"It's not sufficiently attractive as a proposition" Roman added 

"Basically we don't want to sign because it doesn't benefit us in any way." I added my piece. Fuck knows if I’m right.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" 

"No, why would we want to give up power?" Shiv points out before our father starts mumbling things and making no sense while Shiv and Rome still spoke over. 

"Dad? Are you ok?"

Causing the bickering to stop and questioning our dad is ok. I yell to the pilot to take us to the nearest fucking hospital just as he collapses in to connors lap 

"How does he feel, Con? is he hot?" 

"Hes burning up" 

"We need to get to a hospital now" 

"Why? What is it?" Shiv asks frantically

"I don't fucking know Shiv, I'm a doctor not a fucking magician. Could be a stroke, or haemorrhage. We need to get to a hospital five minutes ago!" As we began to land at the nearest hospital, my hospital I yelled out. 

"Logan Roy, 80 year old male, collapsed after a stressful conversation but could possibly have a brain haemorrhage. We need Dr Abrams right now." 

"Dr Roy, Dr Roy. Lauren!" someone interrupted as I was shouting out orders. It was the young resident, Lewis. "We've got him" as they rushed my father down the hallway leaving me helpless with my siblings. the place I felt the most useful, I have never felt so useless. 

************************************************************

A/N: This is probably tragic writing compared to other brilliant writers who do the Roys justice, especially Shiv, but I just imagine dodgy childhood with her but mature and have a slight sisterhood but obviously is much closer to Roman as twin. Ages are off probs but its a fanfic it doesn't matter. 

[she-karev]

Prank War

Previous Part Here

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Three of Three

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

AN: Hey guys just to let you know I’ll post another story throughout Easter weekend that will feature Amber and Andrew’s relationship, stay tuned!

Summary: Amber, DeLuca and Jackson pull a final prank on Roy with Alex, Amelia and Koracick as an audience.

Words: 3385

“Bullshit!” I exclaim to Koracick as I check Kimmie’s vitals while she lays in bed with her grandma in the chair.

“Excuse my language Peg but it’s the only way I can fully express how uncultured Dr. Koracick is when it comes to Broadway musicals.”

We’ve spent the past 20 minutes debating what is the best musical of all time. I’m standing by Wicked, Kimmie’s is of course Cabaret and Koracick for some strange reason is Phantom of the Opera.

Don’t get me wrong I like the soundtrack it’s just the plot could be better and the female lead could not subserviate to Stockholm Syndrome.

“Agreed.” Kimmie and I bump fists, “Cabaret, Hamilton and Wicked are timeless Phantom of the Opera went out with the female empowerment movement.”

Koracick scoffs and grins amused, “I’m just calling it the way I see it and the sooner you face the truth-”

“Your full of crap and you know it!” Kimmie tells him.

“Hamilton only made your top three because it’s new and shiny.”

“And you only left it off your list because your bitter that you couldn’t score tickets for the original cast.” I nod at Kimmie’s defense and see Alex and Amelia entering and looking at us puzzled by the scene, “It goes Cabaret, Hamilton, Rent.”

I scoff amused, “Sorry Kimmie but no it goes Wicked, Chicago and Les Mis. All three spectacular musicals with killer songs and killer female leads.”

“Yeah, I saw Chicago back in 97 I know how killer those women are.” I roll my eyes at Koracick’s joke, “And back to the topic, no Sondheim?” I groan at forgetting about the man who reinvented American musicals, “Stephen Sondheim?”

“Damn it Sondheim.” Kimmie says dumbstruck as well.

“Yeah, can’t count him out. Count of three. Best Sondheim. One two three.”

“Sweeney Todd.” I look at Koracick shocked we both said the same thing causing him to chuckle in delight while Kimmie’s was Into The Woods.

“Gross.” Kimmie responds to our choice.

“No he wielded a hell of a scalpel.” And I nod giving the guy props for his Sondheim favorite. Alex and Amelia stand there frozen still puzzled by our debate and honestly, I don’t blame them.

When Koracick came in a while ago wanting to meet Kimmie I opposed it due to his abhorrent personality and crappy bedside manner. I tried to subtly send him away but when he mentioned seeing Rent when it first came out on Broadway Kimmie insisted he stay and recount every moment of it. Somehow, I joined it telling her all the musicals I saw back in New York citing Wicked as my favorite which caused our debate that got heated but in a good way because it made Kimmie smile. Her grandma sees it too and is thankful for Koracick which is probably a first for him.

“They’ve been at this for 20 minutes straight.” Peg explains to them, “Happiest I’ve seen her in days.”

I focus back on Koracick who is deadset on Sweeney Todd, “Into The Woods, a quarter of the Broadway audience left that show at intermission.”

“I hate to agree with him at all Kimmie but he’s got a point.” I reluctantly admit.

“They left because they want an easy happy ending.” Kimmie counters, “But hello that’s why it’s brilliant.”

I look up slightly convinced and turn to Koracick, “Sorry but I gotta go with her logic.”

Koracick scoffs and looks to Amelia and Alex for support, “Doctors. Second opinion. Weigh in.” Amelia and Alex are left stumped for an answer when I see Jackson entering the room with a grin along with DeLuca who snickers ready for our prank.

I gasp excited, “Is he here?”

“I just paged him he’ll be here in one minute, you got it ready?” Jackson asks hopeful and I chuckle pulling a bottle of Minute Maid apple juice from behind Kimmie’s pillow.

Andrew smiles mischievously, “We’re really doing this?”

I shake the bottle, “Absolutely if you want to back out now you can.” DeLuca pulls a specimen container out of his pocket which is answer enough. Alex and Amelia look at us confused.

“What is going on?” Alex asks.

“Do not judge us.” I defend us as Andrew throws me the cup I catch and fill with the juice, “She wants us to do this and I am not gonna deny my patient her request are you?”

Peg looks at us disappointed, “Kimmie we talked about this, now I don’t know who this doctor is but he does not deserve this.”

“He called your granddaughter a dying brat.” I tell her and she looks at me surprised, “Right here and right in front of her I was there.”

Peg takes a moment before responding, “Just make sure it’s actually juice and he doesn’t drink your pee you’ll swap for him.” Kimmie nods happily and I top the cup sealing it and place it front of Kimmie.

“Wow.” Koracick says impressively, “Pretty and punks her coworkers do you have plans later?” I narrow my eyes at him hitting on me.

“Brother in the room.” Alex reminds him threateningly.

“And boyfriend.” Andrew chips in.

“And gross.” I finish and Koracick gives me an amused hurt look. Roy enters the room and I quickly put the juice bottle behind Kimmie’s pillow. We all keep a straight face as Jackson faces him.

“Dr. Roy so glad you could be here.”

“And why is that sir?” Roy asks, annoyed.

“Well, I need you to run Kimmie Park’s labs for me and rush the results.”

Roy scoffs, “You want me to run a little girls labs who’s not even your patient.”

“Do you have a problem with my assignment?” Jackson asks with authority and Roy backs down and turns to Kimmie ready to take her cup.

“Wait a minute.” Roy stops by her bed and watches her pick up the specimen cup and observe it carefully, “I think I should filter it again; it looks a little dark.” Kimmie unscrews the cap and takes a sip making it look like she’s drinking her own pee to Roy who looks on in disgusted shock as I keep my face passive. The people around us look on amused and trying not to laugh out loud, “Much better, what do you think Dr. Amber?”

“Hmm.” I pick up the cup and observe it like a doctor, “You know I’m a doctor and I’ve done this before so…” I sip the juice that tastes sweet as Roy takes a step back looking at me disturbed while I click my tongue. Alex covers his mouth to hide his smirk and stifles his laugh, “Dr. Avery can you check? I mean you’re an attending and I’m an intern so I should learn how to do this properly.”

“Yeah of course.” Avery walks next to me calmly and grabs the cup sipping it until it’s empty and exhales in delight, “Oh I’m sorry I just get carried away I can’t get enough of this stuff, don’t you agree Dr. Roy?”

I look at Roy who gawks in shock at the disgusting and shocking act we committed, “Y-Y-You all are sick, sick I tell you!” He runs out of the room in fear slipping as he runs. I and everyone else burst out laughing. I hold Avery’s shoulder to steady myself because my stomach is cramping from how hard I’m laughing.

I take a deep breath and steady myself facing Avery like he’s a god, “Oh my god, you are an evil genius, emphasis on evil!”

“Why thank you.” Avery smiles proudly, “You may bow to the master.”

I chuckle and slightly bow, “Bowing!” I get back up and turn to Kimmie who is laughing, “Do you think he’s learned his lesson?”

“If he hasn’t we’ll just come back swinging harder.” Kimmie calms down and looks at Avery, “You know I’ve seen My Sister’s Keeper like a dozen times and I’m guessing you have too that’s where you got the drinking my pee prank from.”

“What? I didn’t get it from that.” Kimmie chuckles and raises an eyebrow and I do too knowing he’s lying causing him to break, “Fine I saw it, there was a time I had a huge crush on Cameron Diaz.”

“We all did.” I tell him causing Amelia, Alex, DeLuca and Koracick to nod in agreement.

“What does it matter where I got the prank from? I mean we probably sent him to psych.” Jackson laughs at that and I chuckle as well.

“Okay fine I will give you that but I am the prank master mine was original.”

Kimmie scoffs, “Please paging him all over the hospital was my idea, I’m the king of pranks.”

DeLuca nods amused, “Yeah I got Mike Rotch from google so I’m as unoriginal as Avery.” Alex and Amelia look at him confused over Mike Rotch but he looks at us with a grin, “She’s the undisputed king guys.”

I chuckle, “Okay fine I’m bowing to the king.” I give a slight bow to Kimmie who smiles and does a power pose causing everyone to clap and cheer her on as the King of Pranks.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night me and DeLuca stood at the edge of the lab table watching in anxiety at the tumor model inside the beaker. Koracick and Shepherd had a brainstorm earlier and figured out that using multiple beams instead of just one would allow us to control the heat generated and increases the possibility of the tumor breaking down. Now instead of one we’re using three beams on the tumor waiting for a miracle.

“God this is so stressful.” I admit anxiously waiting for the tumor to burn.

Alex walks in, “What’s going on?”

I look at him annoyed at his bad timing, “Shh!”

Koracick puts a finger up silencing Alex, “Shh, pipe down. You’ll scare the tumor.” I hand Alex goggles that he puts on just as the tumor starts to have burn spots and this time the beaker is holding.

“Yes!” Amelia shouts out happy and I pump my fist in the air joyful. The others are excited as well.

“This is amazing.” I smile at our luck finally turning.

“I am right?” Koracick boasts and I roll my eyes.

“If you’re looking for an intern ego boost your barking up the wrong tree.” I inform him and we continue to observe the miracle for a few seconds until the beaker cracks causing us to groan, “For ten seconds I was happy, that’s a new record.”

“Well, it’s a start.” Koracick consoles us and I nod in agreement.

“That’s the longest a beaker’s ever lasted.” Alex points out happily.

“Glad your on-board Adam.” I glare at Koracick not remembering Alex’s name as well as him.

“It’s Alex.” He corrects with a frown.

“Yeah, either way.” Koracick says dismissively. I walk away from him annoyed and dispose of the beaker for once happy I am throwing it away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I exhale in exhaustion as I take my backpack out of my locker getting ready to leave. It was a fun day overall with me finally getting back at Roy for every snide insult he’s thrown at me, DeLuca and Jackson. Add to our breakthrough on the project I’d say I had a perfect day. Kimmie’s grandmother thanked me for hanging out with Kimmie all day and making her laugh. She said today was the happiest she’s seen her since she started chemo which made me feel good. And I’m gonna end the day going home with DeLuca so I guess it’s ending with a bang so to speak.

As I sling my backpack over my shoulder, I see Alex coming in still sporting the black eye I gave him this morning. Okay, aside from accidentally punching him my day as perfect. He’s still in his scrubs which tells me he’s gonna pull another all nighter.

“Hey, are you headed home?” Alex asks.

I nod, “Yeah I would stay and get more beams but unlike you I need sleep and a night with my boyfriend even Tom Koracick would find too graphic for his tastes.”

Alex grimaces in disgust, “I don’t need the details.”

“Sorry.” I chuckle lightly, “I already hit you in the head I don’t need to mess with what’s inside it.”

Alex chuckles feeling his eye, “Yeah I’d say I have something to lord over you for the next month or until I accidentally knock you out next time, we’re in the ring.”

I shake my head at that suggestion, “How about next time I just buy you a beer and we catch up like normal siblings?”

“That works too.” Alex agrees full-heartedly, “I wanted to come by and say thanks for helping out with Kimmie today. She really needed something to do and it was…unusual but I think it was good for her to laugh even at other people’s expenses.”

“Well it’s okay as long as it’s people who deserve to be taken down a peg.” I tell him, “Like Roy or Dr. Douche as I call him in my head. And if you think I was too hard on that last one I should tell you Qadri told me he said he would let me go down on him in the pit if I asked.”

Alex looks at me in disgusted shock no doubt seeing I went easy on Roy instead, “Wow that statement alone was not respectful to him, you or how Hunt runs the pit.”

“Yeah, respect and Roy are two very separate concepts that haven’t mingled. It was fun and not just because Roy looked like a little bitch today. Kimmie is fun to hang out with, I mean if this is who she is after chemo I can’t imagine how great she is completely healthy and full of life.”

Alex grins understandingly, “I know what you mean, she’s special…you know who she reminds me of right?”

I narrow my eyes confused, “Who does she remind you of?”

“She reminds me of you.” That statement catches me off guard and Alex grins at my expression, “I didn’t really see it before but now that I look at it, she’s just like you were at that age. Even when you were six you were by far the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

I chuckle baffled, “I was not, no six-year-old is cool.”

“You were. You were already tougher than the kids your age and you were way tougher than me and Aaron combined.” I look at him touched by his admiration toward me at an age when I admired him. He chuckles nostalgically, “Also you sang all the time, and not the standard Disney or Winnie the Pooh crap you sang AC/DC and Whitney Houston and somehow you did it flawlessly it was like getting a live concert. You and Kimmie should sing a duet when you get the chance and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Well she does it better than me.” I admit honestly, “She hits notes I could only dream of.”

Alex grins, “And another thing you two have in common, your survivors. Kimmie’s parents walked out on her and she wasn’t as worse off as us but it was still horrible.” My heart aches for Kimmie and what she had to go through in her 12 years of life, “Despite all that she survived it and she’s still singing her lungs out even after the hell she went through. I know it’s something you would do in her situation and that alone makes you and her the strongest people I know.”

I stand there moved by his speech so much so I walk to him and hug him. He’s shocked and unresponsive at the first few seconds but hugs me back. I pull back and speak as well, “You know I’m only strong because you and Aaron made me that way. Growing up with two idiot brothers also makes you smarter than them too.”

Alex chuckles at my backhanded compliment, “Well one of us had to be born with brain, right?”

I grin amused, “I should go I have an early shift tomorrow and a lot of beams to steal to save Kimmie.”

“Don’t let me keep you sis, good night.”

“Good night bro.” I walk out of the locker room feeling all warm and fuzzy inside after that display of family love. I grin at Andrew who grins back and we walk out of the building hand in hand.

“So is there a reason why you decided to help me make a fool out of Roy?” I ask him as we get to the parking lot.

“What makes you think I would object to it?”

“Because you’re usually the one who tries to talk me out of reckless decisions.” I remind him, “What did Roy do to you to make you come out of your sensible sweet guy shell today?”

He sighs and stops in front of me, we stand face to face, “He might have said some things about you I overheard that were less than savory.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my anger in check, “Like what?”

“I really don’t want to repeat it.” He insists but I counter.

“It’s better than actually saying it first.”

He takes a moment before speaking, “There was mention of the possibility of you going insane like your mom and brother and that event happening in bed…with me.”

I groan in disgust, “Tomorrow we’re filling his water bottle with cement, I don’t care if it kills him.”

Andrew grins slightly and kisses the top of my head in comfort, “Come on don’t let him get to you, you’re better than him and he knows it. Why do you think he degrades you so much? It’s the only thing he can do against you and it’s making him look worse and makes you look better.”

I look at him touched and continue walking this time leaning against him with my arm around his waist, “I think I liked it better when you supported me punking people who deserved it.”

Andrew chuckles as we get closer to my car, “Well I can’t keep pranking interns with you but I have something that might make up for it.”

“Really?” I grin, “And what might that be?”

“Well, you remember that bet we made a week ago and the conditions were if you lost I would plan how we celebrate your half birthday?”

I take my keys out of my backpack as we get closer to my car, “Yeah.”

“I was thinking about getting us an Airbnb up in Olympic National Park and we can spend the weekend of your half birthday exploring the little towns and doing actual couple things up there.”

I look at him surprised, “A road trip? I was expecting some takeout at the Dough Zone and maybe half a cake after.”

He narrows his eyes inquisitively, “Are you disappointed?”

I think about his idea and it’s starting to sink in a little causing me to grin at him, “No not really. I haven’t explored outside Seattle since I moved here and a weekend alone in a cabin in the woods with my boyfriend seems appealing to me somehow.” Andrew grins at me and I grin back, “And I’m speaking as someone who’s seen The Strangers and Hush multiple times.” He narrows his eyes confused and I glare at him disappointed, “Tell me you’ve seen at least one movie where a couple go to the woods alone only to be brutally murdered?”

Andrew chuckles, “I’m sure I will during the trip so I don’t get scared and cancel this trip and the guesthouse I rented. So I guess that’s a yes to the trip then?”

“Yes, on one condition.” I unlock my car and get in my driver seat while he gets in the passenger side, “If we see a group of people in creepy masks outside the rental we drive back as fast as we can.”

He looks at me strangely, “I would be concerned if we didn’t do that.”

“Great then it’s a date, but I get to choose the rental.” Andrew grins and nods. I start the engine driving out of the parking lot excited for this trip.

[thehitchhikerguide]

Season 2, Episode 3: Face to Face

Okay this one was a bit better than the last episode. When I saw there was an episode about a transgender character in the 1980's I was a bit worried. But I think for the most part, it didn't do too bad a job with it.

This one starts off a bit artistic with juxtaposing shots. First we see a doctor getting ready for surgery.

That's Robert Vaughn, who was a very well known actor and was in a lot of movies from the 1960's & 1970's. Being the age I am, I mostly know him from Superman III and as a spokesperson for some ambulance-chasing lawyers from Boston. But his IMDB page shows a very full career.

He seems to be giving a monologue about how he is a sculptor like Michelangelo (only with skin).

There was another notable star in this one.

I had never heard of this person but it's a special appearance! I guess she's an actress who is famous mostly for B-movies. If that's the case, this show seems right up her alley. The hospital scenes are cut with scenes of a mystery woman getting ready for the day.

Oooh, nice nails.

Back at the hospital, another doctor (or nurse?) gets horny for Dr. Love.

Wow, not obvious at all.

Turns out the mystery woman is Carmen Sandiego. Where in the world?

We don't even get the Hitchhiker until 3:25 into the show, which is a pretty long opening. This is the first one where he just wanders on screen without interacting with any of the characters. The show has gone full Twilight Zone.

The doctor is Dr. Christopher Hamilton, who is a plastic surgeon with ambition and a sharp scalpel. He sees a face and he wants to change it. But unless he looks deeper, there are some things he's not going to see, like a dangerous smile even on the most perfect face.

Huh? Is this some sort of riddle?

When this woman walks into the hospital, it appears she is disfigured as people recoil and a young kid points and laughs.

But when we finally see the mystery woman, she looks like...

A bit masculine, but nothing hideous. Nina Russell, a makeup artist, is meeting with this doctor because she has had gender re-assignment surgery, but wants plastic surgery on her face to make her look more like a woman. He takes the job but not without telling her that the best makeup looks like the woman is wearing no makeup at all. Funny thing to say to a makeup artist.

So this is where it pleasantly surprised me. The doctor treats Nina with respect, addressing her as a woman. However the episode is not perfect and I will get into where it kind goes into not-so-great territory. This is the 80s though.

Woah this guy's assistant is a bargain basement Eugene Levy.

Back at Dr. Hamilton's apartment, things are really heating up. Ick, what does she see in this guy?

The ladies' love Dr. Hamilton. I'm guessing this is the B-movie actress? And what is that behind that tree? Was that other doctor stalking him?

Dr. Gold is introduced to this famous actress that happens to be one of Dr. Hamilton's patients. He is totally star struck.

Those eyebrows deserve a Golden Globe.

We are back at the apartment and woah what's going on here? Drugs and cognac, definitely the perfect combo for a plastic surgeon. Dr. Hamilton is partying with the B-movie actress even though he has surgery in the morning.

Can't forget the strawberries!

Here he uses his scalpel to cut off her bra straps. Hey those Frederick's of Hollywood bras are not cheap! Well actually, they kind of are. Nevermind, cut away.

Back at the hospital, Dr. Eyebrows has a conversation with Nina about the surgery. She is totally confident that Dr. Hamilton will do a great job. This doctor doesn't seem too sure.

We get actually a pretty touching speech from Nina here, going into details about her life and how she felt like she was in the wrong body from age 6. So far nothing really to cringe at.

Dr. Hamilton gets a rude awakening from a phone call wondering why he's not in surgery. Uh oh, what time is it?

Oh God, no one else sees this? This can't be good.

His eyebrows say it all here, that was not a good cut.

Dr. Eyebrows is here for the big unveiling and informs Nina that her doctor is getting on a plane to Paris right now. He starts to remove the bandages and...

That's not a good reaction. She asks for a mirror and is shocked at what she sees, however we don't see it!

Dr. Hamilton is at the airport, flying to Paris, when he spots another attractive woman he wants to bang.

A sexy flight attendant. Seriously what is the appeal of this guy? She entices him with her foot...

Why was this a thing in the 80's? Did everyone have a foot fetish back then.

When that doesn't work she decides to steal his boarding pass so he can't get on his plane.

When she shows him she has it, he asks where they should go. She of course suggests her place.

Wait a minute, her place is a plane? Those pre-911 days when the airport was just one giant un-supervised playground.

He tells her she is beautiful and then she says the best makeup is like no makeup at all. Now where did I hear that before....

Yes! I knew someone was going to rip off their face!

I'm impressed she had enough time to put a new face on when she was just recovering in the hospital a few minutes ago. If I learned anything from Mrs. Doubtfire, it's that a montage like that usually takes several hours.

Now we see her actual face. Ummm...is this the dangerous smile on the most perfect face? Because I don't think that's accurate.

Oof that's pretty rough. It looks like Edward Scissorhands is her doctor. This is where it takes a not-so-great turn as it shows the transgender character as a scalpel wielding maniac. She attacks the doctor's face.

Hmm actually he doesn't look too bad here. Maybe he is a good plastic surgeon.

Oh great now he's Two-Face. He is still reciting that damn monologue from the beginning. Or actually it looks like he is writing it down for some reason.

The ending cuts to the Hitchhiker telling us that Dr. Hamilton took an oath to heal and care but when all you care about is feeling good, there are things you are going to miss...like vengeance working out its own kind of justice.

Yup he definitely deserved it.

[annarellix]

Cursed at Dawn by Heather Graham (Blackbird Trilogy #3)

Dracula lives—and he’s hunting for his bride.

Vampires may not walk among us, but FBI agents Della Hamilton and Mason Carter know real monsters exist. They’ve witnessed firsthand the worst humankind has to offer. They’re still catching their breaths after the apprehension of two such monstrous killers when they’re met with horrific news: Stephan Dante, the self-proclaimed king of the vampires, has escaped from prison, followed only by a trail of blood.

All too familiar with Dante’s cruelty, Della and Mason know the clock is ticking. But as Dante claims more victims, a chilling message arrives. The vampire killer seeks his eternal bride—Della herself. Playing into Dante’s desires might be the only way to stop the carnage once and for all, assuming they can outwit him. Della is confident the agents have the upper hand, but Mason knows every gamble runs the risk of not paying off, and this time, the consequences could be deadly.

My Review: Even this isn't the best book by Heather Graham it is a gripping story that kept me hooked and reading till late in the night because I wanted to know what was going to happend and how Della and Madison were going to beat Dante. It's an exciting ride, there's some repetition, but i had a lot of fun and rooted for the detective. I'm curious about the future of this series: there will be more stories set in Europe or Della and Madison will be back to the Krewe ? Heather Graham is an excellent writer of paranormal story and would be an excellent writer of horror stories. This one is a mix of genre and I appreciated this series. Highly recommended. Many thanks to the publisher for this ARC, all opinions are mine

Buy Links:

BookShop.org

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Powell’s

ISBN: 9780778334262

Publication Date: August 22, 2023

Publisher: MIRA

Books int this series

Whispers at Dusk

Secrets in the Dark

Cursed at Dawn

The Author New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She's a winner of the RWA's Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers' Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her websites: TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com, and HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook.

Social Links:

Author Website

Facebook: @Heather Graham

Twitter: @HeatherGraham

Excerpt - Cursed at Dawn by Heather Graham

One

“I still don’t see how it was possible,” Della said. They had worked so hard, taken such risks, to

arrest and in- carcerate Stephan Dante, the self-proclaimed “king of the vampires,” that it was

unimaginable that he had managed to escape while awaiting trial.

They were headed back to the United States, ready to meet with the horrified warden of the jail where Dante had been awaiting trial. They were both exhausted but wired, as they hadn’t slept since they’d heard the news that the man was back on.

Just days after they’d finally caught up with one of his protégés—who had shed the concept of competing in the vampire field to become “king of the Rippers”— they had learned that Stephan Dante had somehow man- aged a miraculous escape. He had killed the doctor who had assumed he was desperately trying to save his life, sent the nurse to intensive care, where she remained, and had killed one guard and seriously wounded an- other on his way out. He’d walked easily into the sunlight, having taken the doctor’s clothing, identification and keys—and therefore, he had simply driven away. The most bizarre thing seemed to be that it was on tape, though Dante had managed—through a tech friend he’d met while incarcerated, Della believed—to create false images of the infirmary while he had carried out his attacks with a scalpel.

They hadn’t been “vampire” assaults and kills.

They had just been murders and attacks that had been expedient. He had his way of killing that he considered unique and special. But he was also a cold-blooded killer who would rid himself of anyone who got in his way by any means necessary.

“Dante continues to carry out the impossible.” Mason Carter, seated at her side in the FBI’s Blackbird plane that was rushing them back to the States, shook his head, staring straight ahead as he spoke. “He manages to befriend every criminal who can do something he wants done or provide something he needs. I’ve never seen a criminal as capable of accruing funds and forged documents in the way that he has managed.” He let out a sigh. “I’ve been conflicted on the death penalty all my life. You execute the wrong man—or woman—and you can’t fix it if you’re later proved wrong. You let a man like Dante live and…others have already paid the price.”

“He never made it to trial, Mason,” Della reminded him. “Mason, this is horrible, but it isn’t on us. And we will—”

“Get him again,” Mason said.

He was still staring straight ahead. She wasn’t worried about Mason as her partner—no inner conflict would interfere with his abilities as an investigator—or as a man to have at her back. He was adept at numerous martial arts, with a knife, and was also a crack shot who could move with incredible dexterity, speed and quiet when necessary. He had blue eyes that could appear as dark as the deep blue sea—or as piercing and cold as shafts of ice. It didn’t hurt that he was a dark-haired man who stood at a good six foot five, but as they all knew, a bullet or an explosive could kill, no matter your size or expertise.

He had told her once that a good agent’s mind was the greatest weapon they could carry.

She just worried about whatever torture he might be putting himself through. He’d been military before the FBI, been responsible for the apprehension of some of the country’s most heinous killers and seen his last partner gunned down before him. He had grown weary of killing and he’d been working solo until he and Della had met on a case in a Louisiana bayou, taking down a serial killer there before becoming the first chosen agents for Blackbird, a unique unit created to help when the very specialized assistance the Krewe of Hunters could give was needed in Europe.

They had worked with local law enforcement from Norway, Scotland, Ireland and France. Their liaison from Interpol, François Bisset, as well as French Detective Jeanne Lapierre, English Detective Inspector Edmund Taylor and Norseman Jon Wilhelm, would be joining them the next day.

Their sixsome had followed Dante, in one way or another, through France, Britain and Norway, then back to the States.

They’d all expected to be here; Adam and Jackson had set up a meeting for the group of them at Quantico, one to debrief and the other for a chance to discuss the future of their new unit—within the Krewe of Hunters.

Della wondered if Jackson and Adam knew things about their team that they didn’t know themselves. They had discovered that Edmund, a striking and formidable-looking man in his thirties, could converse with the dead. As always, very few among the spirit world chose to communicate with the living for their own reasons. But she didn’t know about Wilhelm, François or Jeanne. Law enforcement might often speak about protocol, especially within different countries, but in meeting people one seldom just asked bluntly if their fellows could see the dead.

They were back in the States. But with Stephan Dante on the loose, they could be heading anywhere in the world in the days to come.

“Mason, we can’t second-guess anything,” she said quietly. “We take oaths. And you and I both believe in standing up and honoring our oaths. We follow the law,” she reminded him.

He smiled and turned to her. “Of course. I just…I just thought that we were done worrying about him. And seriously? It was nice being tourists in London. For what? All of three days.”

She grinned back at him. “They were good days, though, right? They had to end because we were due back here anyway. And I talked to Jackson earlier. When we get Dante locked up again, we get a month, he promised.”

“Right. Unless something else happens,” Mason said.

She shook her head. “I know Jackson and Adam.

They’re busy building up Blackbird and in time, we won’t be the only American representatives.”

He nodded, pulling up his tablet. “Not sure if all this is the order in which it occurred, but this is still just… I don’t see how… All right, according to the reports, Dante was bleeding out so badly that it was assumed he wouldn’t make it. He wasn’t shackled to the bed because everyone thought he was all but dead. He caught hold of the scalpel when the doctor and the nurse were urging quick care, ordering blood for transfusions. People ran out of the infirmary, he downed the nurse and then the doctor and stole the doctor’s clothing, wallet and keys. Two guards walked in and he took care of them. He had apparently already gotten someone to somehow get him a fake MD’s identification and all the right certifications to slip into the doctor’s wallet. How the hell did he go from bleeding to death to slashing others and escaping in the blink of an eye?”

“Well, he isn’t a vampire,” Della said flatly. “The problem with Dante is that he doesn’t use force as much as he uses charm and wiles. He is extremely clever, an intelligent man. I believe that he’s one of those people who constantly studies online. And, of course, as we’ve known, he’s great at making friends among the killer elite.”

“Killers, forgers, bank robbers… I doubt if he bothers to befriend those who can’t do anything for him, but to others… I don’t understand. Then again, I still don’t understand how Jim Jones got nearly a thousand people to drink poisoned Kool-Aid. The power of the mind is incredible.”

“Beyond a doubt. We’ve said it before—people believe because they want to believe. They grasp on to concepts and ideas that work for them because they’re down and out, because they’re bitter or because they’re in pain. Some are too smart to be swayed, but I believe that our Mr. Dante recognizes those he can control and those he can’t—and he wastes no time on those who aren’t going to fulfill any of his needs.

“The power of the mind!” Della murmured, continuing. “I spoke with our friend and colleague Special Agent—Dr.—Patrick Law. He warned everyone that Dante might well pull something. They believed that they had him in control, that they had so much security that he couldn’t possibly escape.”

“They tried to save his life,” Mason murmured.

“They’re bound by their oaths, too, Mason. For those in law enforcement, oaths similar to those we took. And for a doctor…”

“I know. I know. The Hippocratic oath,” Mason said.

“No choice,” she reminded him.

“So, of course, we know that he’s out. We will learn more on the particulars of how he did it. But he is out—so his escape isn’t the question.”

Della nodded and looked out the window. They would be landing soon. She rested her head back against the comfort of her chair, wishing they’d managed to sleep.

Smiling grimly, she turned to Mason.

“He has escaped. He escaped in Louisiana and we know that he does love the bayou country, and who doesn’t love New Orleans? So he escaped here, but the main question remains,” she said quietly. “Just where will he strike next?” When a man managed to escape when he was known as high risk, he had to have had help, Mason believed.

While Della headed to the intensive care unit at the hospital to interview the nurse who had a slim chance of surviving the assault, he worked with the warden, a man named Roger Sewell, still in disbelief that such a thing could have happened.

“I’m sure you have already heard the particulars, but I’ll go over them again,” Sewell told him as they walked along the aisle where prisoners spent short incarcerations or awaited trial.

“It started in the cafeteria with the riot. Ridiculous thing, of course. No matter how hard anyone tries, there’s always a pecking order in a facility like this—you wind up with rival gangs within the walls themselves. Someone hit someone else in the face with a spoonful of grits. Then all hell broke out with food flying back and forth, crowd insanity followed, several guards were injured and Stephan Dante was found on the bottom of a pile of men with a blood pool the size of Texas under him. Naturally, we rushed him straight to the infirmary, calling the doctor, warning that the prisoner might exsanguinate within minutes.”

“You found him in a pool of blood,” Mason said. He imagined the scene—and why guards and a smart man might be fooled.

“With a toothbrush shank still in him.”

Warden Sewell was a serious man, known for having handled the facility in his charge with diligence, running a tight ship while recognizing human rights as known in the country and the state. His guards respected him; there had never been such a serious incident before during his tenure. He continued disgustedly with, “Food fights happen. Gang members gang up on a target and break his nose. But this food fight…ridiculous food fight…escalated into disaster.”

“It wasn’t a ridiculous food fight,” Mason told him, pausing along with the warden at the cell where Dante had so recently resided. “It was planned. And that pool of blood didn’t belong to Dante—some of the blood, sure. But you’re going to find that you have one or more other inmates who lost pools of blood in that fight.”

“Wait, you’re trying to tell me that Dante planned a food fight to escape? But he didn’t attack any of the guards, he didn’t—”

“He planned to get to the infirmary,” Mason told him. “Just as he found someone—someone here on a more minor charge—to rig it so that Dante’s assaults on the staff weren’t seen on the cameras. One of your prisoners is a damned good tech guy who breached the system.”

“No. That’s not possible—”

“Warden, I’m not throwing any stones here, trust me. This man has taken all of us in one way or another. But I doubt your guards were all asleep at the wheel. And when the police ran the security tapes, they saw nothing but a nurse moving back and forth across the infirmary. We know that Dante assaulted his caretakers. And the guards who then tried to stop him. And then—caught on camera—he used the dead doctor’s identity and clothing to escape. Oh, yes, Dante was shanked. But he’s a man who made sure that he drew blood without hitting any vital organs—”

“You think that he shanked himself?”

“I do. Or he had a friend hit him in just the right place in just the right way.”

“But the blood—”

“The ‘pool the size of Texas’ belonged to one or more other men. And a forensic crew would find DNA so mixed that it would be worthless. But, trust me, the entire escape was planned from the time the first spoonful of grits went flying,” Mason told him grimly.

“What do you need from me now?” Sewell asked him. “What the hell can I do now to help?”

“Interviews. I need to speak with anyone who was close to or friendly with Dante in any way.”

Sewell suggested, “Start with his cellmate?”

Mason nodded. “Have him brought to an interview room. I’ll observe him a few minutes before going in. What’s the man’s name and what is he in for?”

“Terry Donavan. His third DUI in a month involved a vehicular manslaughter charge.”

“Sounds like an alcoholic and not a cold-blooded killer. Interesting that he was in with Dante.”

“Overcrowding in the system, I’m afraid. Special Agent Patrick Law had suggested that we keep Dante in solitary and we were planning on moving Dante to follow the suggestion.” Sewell paused, wincing and shaking his head. “We were planning to do the right thing—just waiting on the move. We have some hardened folks here, awaiting their days in court. One man is accused of killing his entire family—for the life insurance payouts. Another in here is presumed guilty of five robbery/invasion homicides. Sometimes it’s hard as hell to see the forest for the trees.”

“Gotcha,” Mason assured him.

“Observation here,” Sewell said, stopping by a door. “Entry to the interrogation room just down a few steps.”

“All right. Tell the guards not to shackle the man. I’m going to have to build up some trust—get past whatever blind faith he might have in believing whatever lies Dante might have told him.”

“You think Terry Donavan might be involved? He’s… In my mind, the man is a pathetic waste of what he might have been. In here, he’s polite, agreeable and, so it appears, truly remorseful for what happened. Went through hell when he first came in—in fact, the doctor Dante killed helped get Terry through the worst of withdrawal when he came in here. If the kid—”

“Kid?”

“Sorry. He’s just twenty-three,” Sewell said.

“Right. If he’d had help and embraced it, he wouldn’t be where he is,” Mason said.

Sewell nodded. “Step on in. I’ll get Terry in there,” he said, pointing to the stark interrogation room.

“Would you mind seeing if you can arrange coffee and water for us both? Sounds like he’s the type who just might help if I can reach him.”

Sewell nodded. Mason stepped into the observation room and looked through the glass at the room with its simple table—equipped with attachments for shackles when necessary—and gray walls and flooring. That was it. The table, the walls, the floor. Planned for focus.

A minute later, he saw a guard bringing Terry Donavan in to sit. The man sat. But he wasn’t shackled and after he’d been left a few minutes, he began to pace the floor.

He did look like a kid. Short hair still showing something of a rakish and shaggy appearance, movements nervous, eyes caught in a concerned face as he walked the few feet within the room.

The guard returned with two cups of water and two cups of coffee. That seemed to perplex the young man even further.

Mason waited another few minutes. Then Terry Donavan sat again, looking suspiciously at his cup of coffee before sipping at it, then letting out a sigh as he apparently decided that it hadn’t been laced with any kind of poison.

Mason stepped out of the observation room, nodded to the guard and thanked him, and headed on in, taking the seat across from Terry Donavan.

Donavan looked at him nervously.

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

“My name is Mason Carter,” Mason told him. “Special Agent Mason Carter. And I need your help.”

“You need help—from me?” Donavan asked nervously. He looked around the room as if afraid that someone might be watching him, might see him.

Guards were watching. But Donavan wasn’t afraid of the guards. He was afraid of the possibility that another prisoner might hear him.

Or maybe even Stephan Dante himself.

Mason nodded, leaning toward him, deciding to first use what he knew. “You know that your doctor is dead, right?” he asked quietly.

He saw the young man look down quickly and wince. The doctor had meant something to him. He had helped him.

“That had to be…an accident. I mean—”

“Terry, I know that you were in a cell with Stephan Dante. I know how mesmerizing and hypnotic the man is capable of being.”

“He never hypnotized me!” Donavan protested.

“Dante doesn’t sit you down in a chair and tell you to count backward while concentrating on a point,” Mason told him. “He charms you—the same way a dad might charm his child while telling a bedtime story. He talks and creates a new world. And it’s all right—trust me. Plenty of men and women have fallen for his stories, so well told. And you fell for him, too. If you help me, I can talk to the district attorney. It will help.”

“I never meant to hurt anyone—”

“I believe you. Addiction is a terrible disease. And the doctor who has now given up his life is the man who helped you through the agony and suffering of withdrawal.”

Terry looked down again, not wanting to face him.

“Why?” Mason asked very softly. “Did Dante promise that no one was going to be killed as he planned his escape?”

“If someone died, it was an accident—”

“It’s not an if. People died. And it wasn’t by accident, Terry. Stephan Dante killed the doctor and took his clothing and his wallet and his car to escape. Hard to do that if—”

“He was just going to knock him out. You know. Drugs. It’s an infirmary. They sedate people all the time—I mean, seriously, our infirmary is like a hospital setting!”

“You don’t sedate a man with a scalpel,” Mason said quietly.

Donavan looked down for a long moment, his thumbs moving nervously as his hands lay on the table. He shook his head.

“Terry!” Mason said. “Hey, I can tell. You are not a bad guy. You didn’t want to hurt anyone. Alcoholism is a disease, and it can take a hell of a lot to cure it. The doctor who finally led you on a path to relief—”

“Hey, I’m locked up awaiting trial where they’ll want to put me away forever,” Donavan said bleakly. “Had to get cured in here.”

“But it could have been a cruel cure. In fact, if withdrawal isn’t handled correctly at the level you were drinking, you could have been left to rot and die. But they did things here by the law—even using compassion where it fit. Dante killed the man who offered you every kindness and every ounce of compassion. How the hell can you still stand up for him?”

“I—I—I never thought the doctor would die! The doctor or anyone else. And you don’t understand,” Donavan told Mason, shaking his head. “And you must be blind. Don’t you see it? Stephan Dante tells the truth. He said that he’d be out. He said that it was easy to play the authorities when we all played together. He did it. And he’s coming back for me.”

“He’s coming back for you?” Mason asked.

“Yes! He will regain his power, all that was taken from him, and when he does have his power again, he’ll come back. And he’ll find us, wherever we are. He’ll come in glory and he’ll sweep us away to his place where his believers become immortal—”

“Oh, good God, Terry! You’ve had trouble, yes, but you don’t seem to be a stupid man. Seriously, you believe that?”

“He has already done what he said that he’d do!” Donavan reminded Mason.

Mason shook his head. “I just don’t understand you falling for a ridiculous theory. Do you believe that the Heaven’s Gate suicides jumped on spaceships to travel to a heavenly astral plane? You do believe that the earth is round, right?”

“Of course!”

“Terry, do you want to believe in something solid and real? I’m solid and real and right here and the FBI does have sway with the Justice Department. Let me show you something else that’s real.” He pulled out his phone and flipped to pictures of Dante’s victims. “They look beautiful, right? But I don’t believe that you meant to hurt anyone. And when Dante steals all their blood, Terry, they die. They are the beautiful dead who—as all living creatures—will now rot and decay. They are not buying anyone a ticket to vampire immortality. I can help you, Terry. Trust me. Stephan Dante has gotten what he wants from you. Oh, well, first he’s not going to turn into an immortal and he knows it. By the way, he trained Jesse Miller, who is no longer with us—having been tutored by Dante, but deciding the heck with vampires, he’d just become Jack the Ripper. An honest thing at least—he just liked the power of stealing life from others. That’s not you, Terry. Accept this—Dante is not coming back for you. He not only can’t help you, but if he could, he wouldn’t. You don’t offer him anything more than he needs. I know that you’re not a cold-blooded killer. So does he. You’ve no history of forging, and to the best of my knowledge, you’re not sitting on a multimillion-dollar haul anywhere. Help me—and I will help you.”

Terry stared at him a long time and then hung his head. “I… He didn’t say that I had to kill anyone. He said that my work here would be enough for me to gain my place with him.”

“He lied. He gave you a bold, all-out lie, Terry. And somewhere inside you, you know it. You wanted to believe in him. You wanted it so badly because it was better than the prospect of twenty years to life behind bars. Anything was better than that. You know, sometimes it starts with someone promising all good things. A truly equal society. That’s pretty much what Jim Jones promised his followers. Social justice. But what turned him on, what kept him moving forward at all times, was a desire for power. Dante doesn’t believe in the least that he’s going to be immortal. What he loves, what he craves, is power. He also loves the act of playing God—he loves killing. Terry, this is your chance to help me out.”

“Yes!” Donavan said, suddenly looking up at him. The man had tears in his eyes. “Yes, I will help you. I am so sorry. I—I was a wretched alcoholic. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but when I didn’t drink the shaking and the headaches got so bad, all until I was in here…all until the doctor… I…” He stopped speaking and looked Mason in the eye. “I will help you. I don’t know everything, but I will help you.”

“Libby Larson has two small children,” Alexandra—Alex—Beaufort told Della. “Her poor husband—he’s beside himself. I don’t think that Libby will be returning to work with prisoners, not after this! In this crazy day and age, the woman has a beautiful home life, people who truly love her, and now this…”

“She’s still touch and go?” Della asked.

“The doctors believe that she will make it. We were just fighting different situations. He hit her with a needle filled with sedation, stabbed her in the side—luckily missing major organs—and knocked her on the head with something…no one was even sure what he grabbed. But we’ve been giving her constant transfusions and, of course, done everything possible to clean out her system from the overdose of morphine. Such a good person!”

Della smiled and nodded at the young nurse speaking with her. “Did you know her before she came in after the attack?”

“I did. We went to nursing school together. She believed that everyone deserved a second chance. That human beings were basically good, and that…”

Her words trailed.

“I still believe, just like Libby, that most people are good,” Della told her ruefully. “It’s like anything—we hear the most about the bad. And sometimes we’re unfortunate enough to see it. But I’ve been at this awhile and I can tell you that most people are good and want to help when help is needed. We know about the bad—which I believe is the fringe—because the bad is always loud and makes us question all else. Anyway, sorry, I understand her—and understand if she doesn’t go back to work at the facility. I didn’t come to cause further problems—I don’t want to upset her any more but if possible, I would like to talk to her.”

“She wants to see you,” Alex said. “She heard the FBI had brought him in and she wants to help catch him again. Still…for her safety and well-being, five minutes?” Alex asked.

“Five minutes,” Della promised.

Libby Larson was in a private room. An IV ran fluids into her arm, while a tube in her nostrils provided oxygen.

Even in a hospital bed with tubes and wires all around her, Libby was a beautiful young woman. Her eyes were closed when Della entered the room, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Dante had been furious that he couldn’t tend to her as he did his victims—dressing her up to lie in “sleep” like a fairy-tale princess just waiting for true love’s kiss.

Her hair was dark black and swept across the whiteness of the hospital sheets. When she opened her eyes, they were an incredible deep brown.

“FBI?” she whispered.

Della nodded, smiling, drawing up a chair. “And so grateful to see you alive and on your way to recovery.”

“I knew who he was. And still…we thought he was going to die. The doctor… Oh, God, we were even discussing the fact that we were compelled to do everything we could to save life. He should have been dead! I was one of the medical personnel who rushed into the cafeteria when the guards had it under control and I saw the blood… He shouldn’t be alive! But he is, and Dr. Henson is dead and others and… I’m so sorry!”

“What happened?” Della asked. “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Yes. When Dante came in, naturally he wasn’t cuffed. I don’t remember exactly, but one of us figured he needed to be cuffed and the doctor went out to see the guards. Then I felt a stab, a little prick, and I was bleeding and then I think something hit me on the head but I barely even felt it…he was so fast. I—I don’t remember more!”

“Did he say anything at all?” Della asked. “We’re trying to ascertain where he might be heading.”

“No. Not a word. But…”

“But?”

“I’d seen him before,” she said softly. “Prisoners get vaccines, checkups. He was always so polite, friendly to those around him. And prisoners…talk. When they don’t think that others can hear them. He made friends with everyone in here—the worst of the worst.” She paused, wincing. “The only hard-core people he seemed to ignore were pedophiles—he had no interest in them.”

“To the best of my knowledge, he doesn’t kill children,” Della said.

“How can a man appear to be so decent, polite, even charming and be such a monster? And I can’t help but feel that it’s partially my fault—”

“Never think that. Never. Saving lives is a beautiful thing. Trust me. Stephan Dante has fooled just about everyone he’s ever met. Don’t let him succeed. Don’t let him change you,” Della said softly.

“He whistled sometimes.”

“What did he whistle?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on the tune, but…”

“Yes?”

“It seemed as if he was taunting people with it. A lot of what I’m saying is hearsay. I only saw him a few times while he was incarcerated. I just…” Tears stung her eyes. “The doctor is dead. A guard… That man is a monster!”

“Thank you,” Della told her. “Thank you. And get better! Rest, get better.”

“I will. I have children and the dearest husband in the world. Do you have children?”

“No, I don’t. But I’ve heard yours are wonderful.”

“Little boy, little girl. And my husband! Are you married?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry. That was rude—”

“No, it’s okay. There are people in my life who make it very precious, too.”

“Hold them close. Because we never know. We just never know.” She smiled weakly. “Ah, no children, but there is someone you love. I mean, besides your family!”

“Yes,” Della said, smiling in return. “There is someone very important in my life.”

“Make sure he knows! There were moments when I was semiconscious when I thought I might die, and I wondered what the last words were that I had said to my husband. And I was so glad… We’d been on the phone. He’d told me he could pick up the kids and I thanked him and I told him that I loved him. I was so glad to realize that! Well, happier that they think I’m going to be okay, but…tell people that you love them. Because none of us knows what our last words to anyone will be!”

“I will. I will remember your words. And thank you. Thank you again. I’m going to leave my card on your bedside table. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, will you have someone call me for you?”

“Of course, yes. And I’m going to work on my memory—and my whistle.”

As Della rose to leave, Libby Larson indeed began trying to whistle. Trying to replicate what she had heard.

Despite her condition, she found a tune.

And as she walked out, Della went still. At first, the whisper of a whistle just teased at her memory as well.

Then she thought that she recognized the tune—and that yes, it had been meant to tease and taunt.

And knowing Dante, she thought bitterly, it was almost an invitation. He wanted them to run around trying to follow him.

He didn’t want them missing any of his handiwork.

Excerpted from Cursed at Dawn by Heather Graham. Copyright © 2023 by Heather Graham Pozzessere. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

[finishinglinepress]

FLP POETRY BOOK OF THE DAY: Alchemy by Kris Whorton

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Kris Whorton‘s Alchemy invites us into the world of stillness and movement, the personal and the physical, as she explores the #body, #family, and #nature and the complex relationship between the elements. The body is scarred and needy, nature is a place of wonder and transformation and the speakers in these poems immerse themselves in wilderness and wildness again and again. There they discover the mystery that is this very physical world. Each poem is a part of the journey, ever-questioning, ever-evolving from family and lovers, from the loss of self to something more beautifully complete.

Kris Whorton is originally from Boulder, Colorado. She teaches writing at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga and served as the assistant director of the Meacham Writers’ Workshop. Whorton also teaches teens and adults in the community and works with the incarcerated at Hamilton and Bradley County Jails. Whorton’s poems have appeared most recently in The Greensboro Review #109, and Salmon Creek Journal. Her fiction has been published in Driftwood Press, Scarlet Leaf Review, and elsewhere; she was an editor and regular contributor to Roots Rated, and her creative nonfiction has been anthologized and featured in Get Out. Whorton lives in the woods with her husband and two Australian Shepherds.

PRAISE FOR Alchemy by Kris Whorton

In Alchemy, Kris Whorton starts her poems in the dead center of the body, in the beating heart, and pulses outward to show how her speakers face the world, life, family, friends, all our struggles. These are carefully wrought poems in form but wild in nature and “in” nature. We are outside on mountaintops and deep in the woods. We are in the middle of stone circles and in the hottest part of the desert. All the while, though, we are with her as she contemplates the deep within-ness. “You were a hurricane with an enormous eye,” she writes. And so are these poems, whirling from the core of everything. This is a beautiful collection.

–Jessica Barksdale, author of Grim Honey.

“I live in the eye,” Keats once wrote to his brother, an eye that traversed, as Kris Whorton’s Alchemy so skillfully does, from the body to the cosmos. In an early poem in her intensely personal and yet expansive vision, she writes” A red line five inches long runs from the left side of my bellybutton / to my pubic line” and in a short space brings us from that hospital scar to a bodied world she compares to “a Jupiter with pastel-colored / stripes.” In this very physical world, leaves are visualized as “furry-bellied,” mountains can hulk and crouch, one can feel the pulse of a desert. It is, then, a world revealed vividly through that Keatsian eye as we journey from lovers to family, from discovery to tragedy as she scans her past. Whether finding a skeleton in the woods, observing black bears or dolphins, or even meditating on her own eventual death, Whorton brings us on a masterful, heartfelt journey where to not “always recognize what we’re seeing” is to enhance the mysterious “alchemy” of our lives.

–Richard Jackson, author of The Heart as Framed: New and Select Poems

In Kris Whorton’s poetry the body and landscape are interchangeable—wildness and wilderness abound. There are scars, needs, vibrancy. Anatomy is damaged, such as in the opening poems describing spine surgery and the aftermath. The spine becomes the landscape, and the creatures in it. This is echoed in a later poem describing a hawk with its kill, compared with a father’s surgery, “the scalpel a claw.” We are nature, and subject to it, and to its desires. Several times in the poems, the speaker notes an inability to say no. Sure, that might come with some drawbacks. And some good stories with them. But these poems are a wholehearted celebration of yes.

–Danielle Hanson, author of Fraying Edge of Sky

The erotic, the familial, and the natural/geographical provide the most notable ingredients in Kris Whorton‘s debut collection, Alchemy. A depth of perception and understanding gird all these poems.

–Stephen Corey, author of As My Age Then Was, So I Understood Them: New and Selected Poems, 1981-2020

Unfurling into the Rocky Mountain air of remembering the pain, but not the hurt, cumulus clouds of Kris Whorton’s stories drift across landscapes of bicycle riding rhythm, hiking up-hill solitude, rock climbing bliss, running a marathon sweat-music. Each poem in this collection tells a story wrapped inside of other stories. Each setting counts us present. Word by word, quietly, in every line, we are invited to hear, then listen to the language of “Rafting on the Green.”

–Earl S. Braggs, author of In Which Language Do I Keep Silent

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #read #poetrybook #poems #family #body #nature

[lahnsette-maekohlira]

Well.

WELL.

The only thing that can pierce Kryptonian skin is Kryptonite, which S.T.A.R. labs and Batman both have. In the past, kryptonite implements have been used in surgery, such as the Kryptonite-tipped scalpels used by Emil Hamilton to treat an injured Supergirl ("Fearful Symmetry". Justice League Unlimited. Season 1. Episode 6). Batman also talks about having S.T.A.R. labs forge a kryptonite scalpel to operate on an injured Superman when Vandal Savage uses Batman's contingency plans to attack the Justice League.

So all you'd need is a large enough piece of Kryptonite, and the tools to turn it into a razor sharp scalpel.

What if superman realizes he's really more of a super-woman but he can't take estrogen or lupron because the syringes can't pierce his skin?

Yeah I know there's pink krypotonite which'll either turn him into a woman or make him gay (or maybe both) but the hormones!

Post canceled I forgot you can take spiro and estrogen as pills

[hardgraphics]

Covert transmission from the outskirts of Neurealm... two dark strangers operating from below the ash clouds

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Temple Burn :: burning man :: Rand Larson

* * * * *

This invisible support is “The” reality, after all, that we depend upon. The love and help that comes our way is always right on time and so appreciated.

“No one accomplishes anything in this life on his or her own. Even when we stare in awe at what might appear to be a solitary feat - like climbing to the top of a mountain alone - there is invisible support. There are loved ones at home who cherish the adventure. A mentor to teach. A colleague with whom the experience can be shared. And unseen magic too.”

― Allan Hamilton, The Scalpel and the Soul: Encounters with Sugery, the Supernatural, and the Power of Hope

[balanchine-ballet-master]

Dr. William Hamilton, former attending orthopedic surgeon for the New York City Ballet, died on March 29. He was 90 years old.

The following is the obituary published in the New York Times, by Clay Risen:

Dr. William G. Hamilton, who as the attending orthopedic surgeon for New York City Ballet spent more than 40 years fixing bone spurs, tendinitis, bursitis, torn ligaments and what he called “the Nutcracker Fracture,” died on March 29 at his home in Croton-on-Hudson, N.Y. He was 90.

His wife, Linda Hamilton, said the cause was congestive heart failure.

Ballet dancers may be the “athletes of God,” as Albert Einstein supposedly said. But until Dr. Hamilton came along, they were treated more like ethereal beings than physical bodies that could crack, tear and otherwise fall apart under the extreme and often unnatural pressures of repeated pliés and grand jetés.

In fact, it was George Balanchine, the choreographer who famously insisted that his dancers stoically work through their stubbed toes and sprained ankles, who asked Dr. Hamilton to become the first in-house doctor for the 80-plus members of New York City Ballet, in 1972.

Dr. Hamilton immediately said yes, though he knew nothing about ballet. He immersed himself in the art, attending weekend classes and becoming close to Balanchine and, later, the dancer and choreographer Mikhail Baryshnikov, who in 1980 hired him to be the attending surgeon for American Ballet Theater as well.

A courtly 6-foot-3 Southerner, Dr. Hamilton became a favorite and even revered figure around Lincoln Center. He had a disarming bedside manner that put young dancers at ease when they came to him worried that a sprained ankle might end their career.

He kept a ballet barre in his examining room, and he was renowned for catching early signs of chronic, potentially debilitating problems just by asking a dancer to go through a few routine motions.

Early on, he realized that while dancers suffered the same kinds of injuries athletes did, they got them in obscure ways and places. He saw, for example, that the rapid movements required by Balanchine’s ballets came with the risk of foot and ankle injury, while the leaps and bounds more common under Mr. Baryshnikov were more threatening to the hips and knees.

“From the very beginning, I learned that although they get the same injuries as athletes, dancers are artists first,” he told Dance Magazine in 2011.

When Dr. Hamilton started out, in the early 1970s, there was no such thing as dance medicine, and indeed foot and ankle injuries were a largely understudied field of orthopedic medicine.

He built up both fields through lectures and journal articles in which he diagnosed previously understudied injuries; he was among the first to describe the Nutcracker Fracture, for example, which involves multiple breaks in the cuboid bone in the foot. He was president of the American Orthopaedic Foot and Ankle Society from 1992 to 1993, and today every sizable dance company in the country has an orthopedic surgeon on call.

“Bill was the king of orthopedic dance medicine,” Glenn Pfeffer, the co-director of the Cedars-Sinai/USC Glorya Kaufman Dance Medicine Center in Los Angeles, said in a phone interview.

Dr. Hamilton continued to perform surgery until he was 81 and consulted until a few years ago, long after most physicians would have hung up their scalpels.

“I would have retired a long time ago if it wasn’t for the dancers,” he said in a 2016 interview with the magazine Princeton Alumni Weekly. “It’s very rewarding because they love what they do. They just want to dance; they wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

William Garnett Hamilton did not set out to be a Manhattan doctor, let alone a balletomane. He was born on Jan. 11, 1932, in Altus, Okla., where his father, Milton Hamilton, was a salesman and his mother, Elizabeth (Garnett) Hamilton, was a homemaker.

The family moved to Shreveport, La., when he was very young. After his parents divorced, his mother remarried and moved to Portage, Wis., where her new husband owned a plastics manufacturing company.

William graduated from Princeton in 1954 with a degree in engineering, and after two years in the Army he joined his stepfather’s business in Wisconsin. He married and had a child; by his mid-20s, he said, he could see his entire life unfolding before him. He didn’t like what he saw.

Against his parents’ wishes that he stay to run the family company, he applied to medical school. He was accepted at Columbia, one of the few schools that took older students (he was 28 when he enrolled). He decided to focus on orthopedics—a field that he said was not unlike engineering, with muscles and joints standing in for ropes and levers. He graduated in 1964 and, after several years of residency, opened a practice in Midtown Manhattan in 1969.

In addition to his work with the two ballet companies, he provided the same services to the companies’ affiliated schools, the School of American Ballet and the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School, and he consulted for numerous Broadway shows and New York sports teams, including the Knicks and the Yankees.

His first two marriages ended in divorce. He met his future third wife, Linda Homek, when she was a dancer with New York City Ballet. She later received a doctorate in psychology from Adelphi University, on Long Island. In 2000, she and Dr. Hamilton created a multidisciplinary wellness team, including a dietitian and a massage therapist, to care for the company’s dancers, a model that has since been adopted by other ballet companies.

Along with his wife, Dr. Hamilton is survived by his sister, Ann Kirk; his sons, William Jr. and Lewis; and three grandchildren.

Photo: Dr. Hamilton in his office in 2013, by Paul Kolnik via the NY Times

[littlewritingrabbit]

Hello! I don't know if you take fanfic requests, but in case you do, may I rewuest Edward Stevens' reaction to Hamilton's death? I love your writing and Ned needs more love.

   Yell heah I can write requested things, thank you so much for this anon! You’re very right, Ned Stevens needs more attention, so here’s some angst...

A Helpful Instinct

Academics, Edward Stevens knew, frequently had lively debates about the nature of instinct. Where it came from, what purpose it served, to what extent things people did could be considered instincts. He’d heard the debates himself during his time as a professor at Kings College, ringing out from those high-ceilinged lecture halls like church-bells that called one to question, not to pray. That had been long ago though. In the interim, he had served as a doctor, then a diplomat, and now he was… not engaged in much. Oh sure, he reasoned, there was the upkeep of the house to see to, and the correspondence to engage with, the brief matters of political or medical importance that his expertise was wanted in, the teas, the dinners, the walks along the shores of St. Croix that lacked nostalgia almost entirely now that all the hurricane-induced wreckage had been cleaned up and built over with bright new buildings. There were things to do, but, he had to admit, they weren’t much after the busy life he had once led.

That was where the instinct came in. Perhaps it was because he was an eldest sibling, or perhaps he just needed something to explain it, but ever since his return from his diplomatic endeavors in Haiti, Stevens had felt incredibly restless. None of his occupations had felt purposeful. He had spent so long in the sole dedication of helping people that it seemed as if there was some imperative he wasn’t fulfilling now.

Stevens dropped a sugar cube into his tea and stirred it around. Someone knocked on his office door.

“Good morning,” he called without looking up, “Come on in!”

“Morning sir,” said the visitor, with a conspicuous lack of the usual ‘good,’ “I’ve a letter for you. The postman seemed rather anxious that you should have it as soon as possible.” It was one of the clerks that sometimes came to ask his advice. What was the lad’s name, Carlisle?

“Thank you Carlisle,” said Stevens, hoping desperately that that was, in fact, his name. The clerk gave no sign to the contrary. “If you have a question, I can certainly answer that before I get to the letter if you’d like,” he took the letter, looking over the clerk. Yes, this was Arthur Carlisle. He was the same rather mousey-looking one with the dark hair and upturned nose who had come to ask about the international impacts of American currency standardization last week. As far as Stevens could remember, the lad was quite clever.

A worried expression crossed Carlisle’s face like a shadow. “Perhaps you’d better read it sir, it’s from Mrs. Hamilton.”

Stevens looked down at the letter only then. It was indeed Eliza Hamilton’s writing. His mind went from she never writes me, to why, to God help you Alex are you well faster than the crease of a frown could form between his eyebrows. “Yes, er, thank you Carlisle, I will be with you in just a moment then.”

He reached for the letter-opener with hands as steady as only a physician trained with needles and scalpels could make them. He sliced through the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. His eyes read faster than his mind could make sense of what he was reading. He read it over again. Duel… ribs… internal bleeding… condolences… it couldn’t be true. Knowing his education as a physician, Eliza had done her best to describe the medical aspect of the tragedy. Perhaps she knew, Stevens thought bleakly, that he would be analyzing the description for days, trying to figure out if he could have done a better job of treating the gunshot wound than the doctors that were present. Unfortunately, this also meant that he understood right away exactly how much Alexander had been pained in the last hours of his life, such terrible, excruciating pain, he was given to understand, that men had compared it to hell-fire. He felt sick.

“Carlisle,” he managed to say, eyes still fixed on the letter, “Is there any chance you could come back another day?”

“Of… of course, sir,” said the clerk.

“My apologies,” said Stevens, “It’s simply… a friend of mine has had… has been… well, there’s been a tragedy. Thank you for seeing to it that I received this.” He managed to look up. Carlisle was, understandably, genuinely concerned-looking, so he attempted to nod reassuringly. Make sure nobody was in a panic. Send them away, if not contented, then at least calm. That was the sort of bedside manner they expected from you in his profession, and he’d be damned if he let that slip now.

“My condolences, sir,” said the clerk with a nod. Stevens stood and accompanied him to the door, gave his shoulder a friendly pat, and closed the door behind him. The second he was gone, Ned Stevens pressed his back to the door, and let his knees give out in a measured sort of way that let him slide into a sitting position.

Alexander was dead, and he’d never even had the chance to say goodbye. He hadn’t been there to help, hadn’t even been close enough to know that it had happened until this letter travelled all the way across the ocean and…

He should’ve been there. He had a responsibility, he thought, to help his family, and no matter if neither of them had ever really known if they had been related, Alexander was family in all the ways that counted. I should’ve been there, he wanted to cry, I should’ve helped! It’s my job, as a physician, and a friend, and hell, maybe even a brother, to be there for those I love, and I wasn’t! He rested his head on his hands, his hands against his knees, his entire lanky frame curled in on itself with those characteristic auburn curls falling in a mess over his shoulder.

He had been there, he remembered, to help the angry red-headed newcomer to his household bandage his knees after tree-climbing accidents, sitting on the table in the kitchen with his trousers rolled up. He had been there to tend to mysterious black-eyes and bruised knuckles while Alexander swore he hadn’t been trading anything with the pirate crews that somehow managed to find places to sell their goods on St. Croix. He had even been there as Alexander and Eliza sweated and coughed their way through a nasty bout of yellow fever in Philadelphia.

And then, when Alex had needed him most, he had been oceans away.

Ned Stevens knew, on some level, that he could hardly blame himself for Alexander Hamilton’s death. But wasn’t it easier than facing the fact that it might well have been inevitable? He hated the thought that anyone had to suffer and die, least of all someone as close to him as the man who was, at best, his dear childhood friend, and at worst, his bastard half-brother. If God had simply decided to take Alexander from the world without another chance, how could that possibly be fair, or just, or good?

He was going to have to get up, he reasoned. He was going to have to tell Hester, and then the clerks, and eventually, probably the papers. He could hardly hold all this hurt inside himself, even if he wanted to protect everyone else from it.

Ned Stevens stood, gathered up the letter with hands forced steady, and wiped his tears with a gaudily lacy handkerchief. Alex, wherever you are, he thought, I hope you are no longer in pain. I shall miss you terribly, little brother. He crossed the room, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

[holgafishdianaf]

Clowns are playing well, as expected. Good control of the ball, putting a lot of pressure, bringing danger to Alyssa my love, real chances of goals.

Hamilton must hate a green wall.

Chicago clearly misses Kerr. In the first 10 minutes of the game the team was apathetic, just defending, but then managed to balance the game a little.

Alyssa made many important saves, for me it is the name of the game.

JJ showing that is in good harmony with Alyssa, and being like a scalpel, because has accurate cuts.

WATT WAS ROBBED!!

[cordycepsspore]

(Concrete Cabin)