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“Do you remember your first kiss?” Adrian Lucard asks Will Taylor—right before offering him a second chance to save his first love, Ami. Is it a lunatic’s promise? A dream that will end leaving only the reality of Will’s hollow life?
Ami Fleming disappeared during their sophomore year in college and if Will wants to alter the past, to save her, he must pay a price. He must confront not only his self-doubt and aching heart but also find the strength to confront Professor Raker and the secret truth about that day back in 1999.
Can he reclaim his life? Can he find within himself No Greater Love?
35 Pages, Sweet
“I really have to talk to you,” I whisper trying not to show how scared I am.
“There’s something I need to tell you…”
The familiar tap, wooden cane on linoleum, interrupts me, catching me in mid-sentence, making me realize I need to be silent now and hide my fear. Professor Raker closes the door and sits down behind the desk dropping his briefcase and pulling wire-rimmed glasses from his inside coat pocket. He runs one hand through his black hair and lays the cane in front of him on the desk. It is almost a ceremony as he aligns the yellow legal pad with the corner of the desk and opens and closes both hands as if stretching his fingers.
He is a tall man, probably over six feet, and wears a loose-fitting suit and tie. He has strong facial features, his skin taut and smooth. Maybe he’s had cosmetic surgery, but no one ever gets close enough to see it. He is careful to defie the area around him, an unseen barricade where no one is admitted, and except for the age spots on his hands, nothing definite makes me think he might be older than he looks. He coughs and sniffs to ensure all of us are awake before he begins his lecture, occasionally pausing, glancing up from the biology textbook before him. I think he looks too often in Ami’s direction. It is not a mere look of admiration for her beauty; it is covetous, wanton.
I watch him as he asks questions, listens to answers and nods with approval or interrupts with a slicing retort as if his views, his words, are the irrefutable truth that should amaze and astonish. Once in a great while you can hear a hint of an accent but it is hard to decide which language it is. He seems as if he is always on guard, alert and watching. He avoids eye contact with me, though, as if he sees in my eyes that I am dissecting him, examining him. I am glad he is uncomfortable.
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