Disturbed Affections

By Janna Hill

Disturbed Affections consists of three short stories and two deranged love affairs. The Perpetual Series I and II and Door Number Four.

*Perpetual Darkness is told from the man's perspective; this is his side of the story. Max Hubbard is a drifter and like most transients he prefers living a life of anonymity. That is until he lays eyes on Abigail. "He merely followed his instinct, not giving any thought as to why he watched her."
*Perpetual Spring is told from the woman's point of view; this is her side of the story. After being forced into early retirement Abigail leaves Missouri and settles in the quiet countryside of La Grange. It's in this sleepy landscape she finds herself strangely attracted to the man who is watching her. "Some might consider him a stalker but she preferred to think of him as a guardian of sorts." Is this another Romeo and Juliet? No, but a tragic romance nonetheless.

*Door Number Four: Donald S. Crowley was a CPA by day; a bean counter; a number cruncher and a certified bore. By night he was as stimulating as the hero in his latest read with all the social skills of a brick and to make matters worse he was in love with a door. Not just any door, number four was special. Her alluring smile had caught Donald's eye when he was just a boy and she called him by name. Despite years of therapy and medications she still called to him. Now he would risk his life to see her again and to finally know what lay behind Door Number III.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J Hill Ink
• Release date: Mar 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386355588

Janna Hill

Janna Hill is an international author of fiction, short stories and poetry. She currently resides somewhere between the palm trees and pines and a forest in Texas. Her motto is: Fans are just friends and family I haven’t met… or wrote about yet. She has also been heard to say, home is where the blog is. You can follow her at home@ www.therealjannahill.com

Book preview

Disturbed

Affections

Three Short Stories

&

Two Deranged Love Affairs

By Janna Hill

Copyright © 2015 Janna Hill All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing by the author or a J Hill Ink representative.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

FORMATTED FOR DIGITAL USE.

Digital license: Thank you for downloading this e-book. Be advised his book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial use without express permission from the author. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download a copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Perpetual Darkness (His Side of the Story)

Perpetual Spring (Her Side of the Story)

Door Number Four

About the author

More Books by Janna Hill

Perpetual Darkness

(His Side of the Story)

The night was dark .... That’s how all of her stories began. As if the night was ever anything but. A more creative approach might have been a different start or at least a more beseeching entrance to the narrative. And why must it always be night? Why must it always be dark? Suppose she stretched the infinite boundaries of the night and found it lit with glistening stars. No, not glimmering or shimmering – these stars would be glistening like morning dew... like drops against a sunny window... like a single bead of sweat against a million glossy pores... opening and erupting, or even a rainbow tinged tear. Anything other than the night was dark.

That phrase is really testing my tolerance. I want to interrupt her, to offer a little creative criticism, but I’m not a writer. Writers have to have characters living within their thoughts – my characters are all dead.

Sometimes I attempt to force her imagination, by sheer will I implore her to expand her thoughts – for instance, the tale could begin with a breaking sunrise... with tepid yellows pressing through the grays of dawn before giving way to streams of blue. Instead of the crickets and tree frogs one might conjure noisily filling the darkness, consider the illusive bunting calling in the distance, the bright male cardinal singing, as he preens his downy coat... or a doves coo.

Her fingers caress the key pads, pausing at the letter k. She softly, without pressing moves her index finger forward, backward then side to side. I can tell by her expression she doesn't know where this story is going but I don't dare disrupt her.

If she would trim her fingernails, I believe she would be able to type slightly faster and more comfortably.

What word is she searching for? The night was dark... K... Kevin? Kathy? Katmandu?

I take a swig from the two-liter bottle and decide to stroll but I catch myself pacing, striding back and forth along the lattice fence of her tiny courtyard. Strolling implies leisure and I don't feel leisurely. I’m annoyed. Her writing is causing me stress, it is not stimulating, it is stressful and I really don't need any more stress in my life right now. Watching her sit there staring at that bloody laptop for hours on end and all she can come up with is the night was dark? K..! I am too irritated now so the last pacing lap against the fence I decide to keep walking. I need a smoke anyway. The night was dark...gees-sh!

The night is still dark but with my optic eyewear, I can see everything.  It's not in high definition color but I’m working on that. There is a certain appreciation for seeing things in black and white, basic truths lost in color can sometimes be seen in shades of gray. This pair is much better than the last; I have managed to tweak the design until they look nearly like regular prescription eyeglasses. The thick amber tinted shades gouge at the bridge of my nose. That’s a minor flaw, I tell myself as I steam the lens with nicotine breath and