Wednesday 28 February 2018

#BlogTour Hiding by Jenny Morten Potts @jmortonpotts @rararesources

A gripping psychological thriller with chilling twists, from a unique new voice.

Keller Baye and Rebecca Brown live on different sides of the Atlantic. Until she falls in love with him, Rebecca knows nothing of Keller. But he’s known about her for a very long time, and now he wants to destroy her.

This is the story of two families. One living under the threat of execution in North Carolina. The other caught up in a dark mystery in the Scottish Highlands. The families’ paths are destined to cross. But why? And can anything save them when that happens?

Purchase from Amazon UK -

Read an excerpt from the book: 

Chapter 6 (Once his father has been executed, Keller takes the trip he has planned for so long: to hunt down Rebecca Brown.)

This was Keller Baye’s first trip in an airplane. Frankly, he’d been expecting something bigger. What was he supposed to do with his legs, they were six inches too long for economy. The stewardesses were attentive though, he’d give them that. He liked to watch them stretch up to the overhead lockers. He liked the cloud of perfume which wafted into his nostrils each time they walked by.

He was pleased with his passport. Got a haircut specially for the photo and treated himself to a close shave at the barber shop. It had been months in the planning, this trip. He bought his flight to London Heathrow on a no-refund basis. If the execution had been stayed, he’d have lost the ticket. But here he was. A window seat too. It was breath-taking when you got up high above the Atlantic and into the clouds. He felt like an astronaut. The view alone was worth a thousand dollars. Nobody else seemed much to notice.

The toddler who’d been yelling at take-off was quiet now. And the airplane personnel were getting busy with something. The gentleman seated next to him was already asleep, jaw hanging. Keller wouldn’t want to look like this guy, not in front of those stewardesses.

But Keller could sleep just about anywhere. He’d nearly nodded off at the press conference after the execution. Of course, that may have been partial concussion. Something which felt like a rubber dumbbell had been brought down on his head as he banged at the glass of the window. He pounded at the window to the execution chamber but the glass must have been inches thick. Nobody on the other side of it reacted.

The guards hauled him back to his seat and threatened to throw him out if he moved again. Keller’s shoulders heaved up and down but he remained in his chair and watched his father die in silence.

He had no idea the press conference would go on for so long. But there had been many victims and of course each of them had a family. And it seemed as the afternoon sun slipped down the wall of the conference room, that these families would never shut up. On and on, all saying the same thing. They were good and mad at the journalists for asking Warden James about the prisoner’s state of mind leading up to the procedure. They were irate when the Warden was asked about any suffering that Othaniel Baye may have felt as he endured those dying minutes, at the mercy of the Midazolam. A reporter from UNC-TV questioned why a doctor with a stethoscope had had to be present when the heart monitor already confirmed death. That question annoyed the relatives too. What difference does any of that make, they wanted to know. It seemed each and every one of those relatives wanted to take the stand.

Venting spleen the PhD redhead wrote down in her A4 pad. Once the execution was over, she recovered quickly and was eager to make notes once more.

Venting just about everything, Keller thought, as the relatives ranted:

‘What you people fail to understand is that Baye’s feelings, Baye’s so-called suffering has nothing to do with it. Nothing. The point is the victims. The point is my father had to watch his own daughter die right in front of him. He had to see that happen. And then face the same thing himself, in the hospital. His ass hanging out, couldn’t even lie down. Days we waited. Five days and five nights. And then he died anyway. Who gives a fuck about stethoscopes and laboured fucking breathing? Who gives a good fuck?’

Warden James tried to create some calm and took the stand himself again. He was asked by a magazine lady what Othaniel Baye had requested for his last meal. Keller leaned forward. Suddenly he knew what the Warden would say. Keller felt almost omniscient, all the power was draining from these weaklings and channelling into him. The press perked up too. Hey, who didn’t love a last supper question.

‘Mr Baye asked for chicken tenders with fries and a side of corncakes. That is all. No, um, no appetiser. No dessert.’

‘Did he ask for something special to drink?’ a journalist wanted to know.

‘Any alcohol?’ another asked.

‘No. He did not ask for anything special. He just had water.’

The wife of the relative who had spoken last stood up. ‘What is wrong with you people?’ She rushed to the stand and almost pushed the Warden aside. ‘Who gives a rat’s behind. Cold dish of cyanide and save us all the trouble of this ugly day. Know what? I thank God this Governor ain’t gonna have any of this twenty five years in jail shit. Waiting, waiting.’ She shook her pretty, long hair. ‘They took ‘em out. In broad daylight. Our family members. Yours and mine.’ She poked her finger at the other victims’ families, as if their response was lacking. ‘Shot ‘em all up. In cold blood. All what’s happened here today is justice. Some of you people just not getting it. Justice! You media people are fucking full of it.’

She was ushered away and the rest came then with the same thing. Brothers, cousins, a grandfather. No end to it, till Keller felt his eyelids getting heavy and excused himself. He had been attracting attention these last years, since working out at the gym, but he’d always had some, with his square jaw and his blond hair.

‘That’s him!’ One of the victims’ families, a boy with a chuck of freckles over his face, stood up and pointed. ‘That’s the son!’

Keller was too tired for this. He turned around slowly. The boy looked barely out of his teens. ‘What? You gonna lynch me too?’ Keller wagged a lazy finger and exaggerated his southern drawl. ‘I think you done had your money’s worth for one day. Y’all take care now.’

About the author

Jenny is a novelist, screenplay writer and playwright. After a series of 'proper jobs', she realised she was living someone else's life and escaped to Gascony to make gîtes. Knee deep in cement and pregnant, Jenny was happy. Then autism and a distracted spine surgeon wiped out the order. Returned to wonderful England, to write her socks off. 

Jenny would like to see the Northern Lights but worries that’s the best bit and should be saved till last. Very happily, and gratefully, settled with family. 

She tries not to take herself too seriously.

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1 comment:

  1. I am a sucker for a great cover and this one made me come over and check out the post. Sounds like a good one.
    sherry @ fundinmental