On her website, he checked under the tab for Personal Appearances. Orelia was to appear on two local radio stations, a breakfast TV show, and visit a dozen bookstores in this and neighboring states.

Two appearances were in the city this week.

Hmm, interesting. He had an idea. What a stroke of luck. Maybe fortune had turned in his favor.

Immediately he began making notes. He wanted to create a script of sorts to convey authority and conviction. He put himself in the mindset of the character he’d play, and he imagined the delight if he succeeded with even half the phone calls.

This new plan, added to the accumulating Fiverr reviews, raised his mood to the euphoria he’d experienced during publication of his second book. That was back when his luck began to fade or, more accurately, had been drained by Orelia Mason.

Impossible that her good fortune and his decline were coincidence. Crazy as this sounded, he knew he was right. For he understood luck now. Luck wasn’t unlimited. Luck wasn’t something shared fairly among hard workers and dedicated souls. The idea a rising tide lifts all ships was garbage, honest-to-goodness-do-gooder trash. Success in the publishing world meant readers chose one author over another.

Despite popular belief, there were limited numbers of readers. Numbers weren’t growing either. They’d drifted away to other pursuits. Playing apps on their phones. Binge watching Game of Thrones or Darker Things—or Black Things or Stranger Things, whatever the latest big show was called. Posting pictures of themselves, their pets, their food on Instagram or Snapchat or whatever was the latest social media thing.

In helping Orelia embark on a publishing career, he’d given away his mojo and his readers. They weren’t reading his books because they’d devolved and become Orelia Mason mindless, idiot fans.

Orelia Mason, everybody’s new favorite author. That was the one phrase repeated in so many reviews. Count on Orelia Mason to deliver a good story.

Well, that would change.

He read over his script, polishing here and there, and then read it aloud several times. Perfect. Names, addresses and phone numbers were listed on an A4 sheet next to the notepad.

William Barnes picked up his cell and dialed.

His heart beat was a banging drum and as the phone buzzed on the other end he drew in three deep, calming breaths. Despite the gnawing in his stomach, he noticed one thing he hadn’t anticipated. He felt damn good, like a powerful drug suddenly fueled his mind.

But when the voice answered in a split second, his nerves disappeared. The performance was flawless, his voice conveying the exact tone he’d practiced. Yes, yes, this would work!

He was getting good at messing with her.

Now he understood the term addiction. The feeling was of ruling the world. He smiled. Correction, not the whole world, just Orelia Mason’s world.

17

After the last session with Nem, Ken Shepherd referred her to a colleague. The earlier recording he’d made of her visit unsettled him. His desire was to help anyone, but he wasn’t convinced he could help her or if she was, in fact, in need of his assistance.