Behind Blue Eyes | Helen Deakin
September 3, 2015
September 3, 2015
Behind Blue Eyes | Helen Deakin
Do you love a book that keeps you guessing………………………………………………?
Behind Blue Eyes is an electrifying mystery/thriller with an exciting forbidden romance weaved into its intricate web of intrigue and suspense.
Despite his troubled past, Bradley Harper had never really had anything out of the ordinary happen to him. Life seemed good. Then one day, everything changed.
It started with a brutally mangled dead bird in his yard. Then every day, another appears in the same spot. Then there’s the strange notes, the horrific and sometimes gruesome pranks and soon, death comes for those he loves. Not even the chemistry laced relationship with the lovely Anita Greenall can stop his mind from heading down a dark and unstable path.
But the biggest torture is the questions: who’s doing it and why him? Soon he will find out, as he comes face to face with the monster that has been making his life hell and discovers, what really hides behind blue eyes.
An intense, gripping debut novel that will wrap its fast-paced pages around you and won’t let go.
Behind Blue Eyes | Helen Deakin
Bradley awoke to the faint, high-pitched sound of wrens twittering away in the trees, torn from a dream in which he was drowning in a sea of bloody feathers.
For a moment he had forgotten where he was and wondered why the mattress beneath him felt different to that of his nice comfortable Sealy. As he clawed his way up out of the land of sleep, he remembered that Danny had persuaded him into a weekend camping out on old Patterson’s property, where they had camped with Danny’s Uncle Matt on many occasions.
The property was located just out past Clifton and belonged to a friend of Danny’s grandparents. He had allowed them to camp there whenever they wanted as long as that whenever they came out they would bring him a six pack of beer and a Playboy magazine. Danny and Bradley still held him to his agreement every now and then.
Danny had suggested they spend a couple days camping out under the stars and doing some fishing to give Bradley a break from the stress of running his business all by himself. But the real escape had been from those damn dead birds and of course the letters that had started to arrive once or twice a week. They were not threatening in any way—which was why the police would not assist him in such minor matters as dead birds and silly letters that did not directly promise him harm in any way. They were only ever as short as a couple sentences or a paragraph at the most. Sometimes it was as short as only one sentence but they were strange; unsettling—creepy even.
‘One, two, skip a few, 99 a hundred dead birds’
‘Mary, Mary quite contrary how does your garden grow?
With blood stained bells and rotten smells and dead things all in a row.’
‘Hush little baby don’t say a word, mammas gunna give you another dead bird. You’re up and down and in and out, I make you pout just like a trout. I make you cry, you fear my lie, you’ll think of me as time flies by. You scream to me in your sleep. Riddle me this, little Bo Peep. Who the hell am I?’
But despite the letters and the birds and the bottle of red paint that had been thrown at his house—something Bradley now thought was connected to it all—the police had said that there was little they could do. They had agreed to put a detective car nearby to keep a watch on his place for twenty-four hours only, just to see if there was any suspicious activity (and a lot of good that did considering there was still a dead bird in his yard that morning but for the first time in a different spot; up the back yard as if it had been thrown over his back fence this time) and they said they would send a patrol car past his house every now and then just to keep an eye on the place but they couldn’t offer their service any further unless he was directly threatened. They told him to photograph every bird, retain every letter and keep a record of the dates they appeared. So if the harassment went any further they would have the evidence there.
He crawled out of his tent and the sun hit him full on in the face. Why he had pitched his tent with the door facing east he didn’t know but regretted it now. Danny was nowhere to be seen. He was probably down at the creek somewhere, fishing already as he liked to get an early line in.
Bradley chucked some extra wood chips on the fire and poured some water into the camp kettle. Enjoying the smoky smell of burnt wood, he sat back and began the wait for boiling water by hot coals, taking in his surroundings with a lighthearted euphoria. There was nothing more beautiful and peaceful than sitting out in the scrub with nothing but the quiet rustling of trees and bird song, the bush crickets and the random crackling of the campfire—no one around to bother you; no distractions; just pure serenity. He could stay there forever, just taking it all in.
It was a shame that the beatitude of this blissful serenity had to be so rudely interrupted by the continuously reoccurring thoughts that plagued him relentlessly.
Who was behind all of these things happening to him?
Why were they doing it?
Was it just all a bunch of harmless pranks or something more sinister?
Throw into the mix the noxious worm his mother had planted in his mind the night of the party and you had one troubled young man. He still thought about that conversation now and then. It breached itself less frequently as time went on, yet it still played on his mind when the thought did arise; when that hungry little beast of a worm decided to surface out of hunger, needing to feed on his madness.
Curiosity—or maybe more of an overbearing need to know—had got the better of him one afternoon when the power was out, after sitting for an hour alone with nothing but his thoughts and he had whipped out his mobile and called his mother.
Henry had answered the phone of course and before Bradley could get anything more out of his mouth than ‘put mum on the phone,’ his pugnacious father had bellowed in his ear, something about the nerve of him; how dare he call and hung up. Bradley had regretted his actions at once and sat there for the next hour and a half that the power was out, not only dwelling on the potent need to quell the discomfort of the stomach worm but praying that his mother hadn’t copped the wrath of the creature on his behalf.
Lost in a world of ambiguous and twisted thoughts, Bradley hadn’t even realized that the kettle was finally bubbling away. Once he saw that the water was ready, he made himself up just enough powdered milk to make his cuppa then grabbed a piece of bread, stuck it on the roasting fork and went about making some good old campfire toast. He forced his thoughts to something more pleasant and that wasn’t hard either for she was an aromatic flower he found his thoughts buzzing around rather regularly.
He hadn’t seen Anita too often since the incident with Derrick but that just made his feelings for her even stronger. He longed for contact with her and every bit of his body seemed to ache for her as if he had some kind of debilitating disease and she was the medicine that was the only cure.
Everyone has that special someone that crawls up under their skin, digs in and won’t go away and Anita had that particular effect on him. He had considered trying to find a way to wrap his tongue around the words to describe how he felt but he just didn’t have the nerve to and at the end of the day, she was an unavailable woman and he had never been the type of person to try and move in on another man’s woman (‘There’s a first time for everything,’ a little voice says) even if that man didn’t deserve her.
Take the fact that he liked her so much it hurt and that he knew she liked him back but they couldn’t take anything further than this unspoken, secret attraction they both held onto; add to the equation a cheating jerk who probably would never let her go because he knew he had all the security of a good relationship plus he could get away with getting some on the side. Mix it all together—don’t forget a little salt and pepper for flavour—and you had a recipe for more mind twisting paraphernalia to put on the pantry shelf full of metaphoric, sour tasting nutriments such as ‘Mums secret gut worm recipe’ and ‘dead bird soufflé.’
So, going against every moral fiber in him that told him admitting love to an unavailable woman was wrong, he started to mentally prepare himself for the conversation in which he would express his deepest desire to her; his deepest desire being her.
It may not be morally correct to make a move on another man’s lady but he felt he needed to delineate just how deeply he felt for her; to try to talk her into getting rid of Derrick so they could take a shot at it. Because he was so sure they were meant to be together and he really needed something nice in his life right now and—for him—it didn’t come any nicer than Anita Greenall.
NEED TO READ MORE OF HELENS THRILLER……
BEHIND BLUE EYES
You can also read another one of Helen Deakin’s spine tingling
extracts from her *cue suspenseful music.………paranormal horror novella book ‘The Clock Stuck One’ on our mag here