This week sort of got away from me, which means I’ve got nothing because I’ve been swamped with writing, helping my kids with their homework, Golden Heart judging and critiquing. So I propose we post excerpts from our WIPs, old proposals or books we’ve completed. Any scene will do. Comedy. Drama. Or something in between.

The following scene is from a paranormal I never finished. The crying shame is that it’s almost complete!  Just a few more chapters.  I know, I know, there’s no excuse.  It’s just that I got distracted with other stuff, but I hope to eventually come back to it.

——–Father Tierney settled in behind his desk. Jill took a seat across from him. Seven months ago she’d said a bit too much in the confessional during a moment of weakness, but the priest only knew part of the truth—that she’d killed her husband Steve in self-defense. She didn’t dare tell him the rest.
———But now she’d run out of options.
———“Can a soul escape from hell?” she blurted.
———He blinked a couple times. “W-why do you ask?”
——— “Just humor me, will you?”
———He leaned back and steepled his gnarled fingers. Several seconds ticked by. “Well, hypothetically speaking, in hell, the human soul is powerless to do anything, much less escape.”
——— “But what if the soul wasn’t human to begin with?”
———“Come again?”
———God. Did she really want to go there? “What if a man, or something that took the shape of a man—you know, like a demon? What if this demon had the power to jump inside mortal bodies … to control them?”
———The old priest’s face went pasty white. He swallowed a few times. “What are you saying, child?”
———“I don’t know what I’m saying. That’s the problem!” Tears stung. She wiped the corner of her eye with a knuckle. “It’s Steve. He’s come back and … well, I could tell you everything else, but you wouldn’t believe me.”
———He inched forward and handed her a tissue, his expression teeming with concern. “Look, I know I said this before, but it bears repeating. Many times there are natural explanations for what may at first seem supernatural.”
———She blew her nose. “I’m not crazy.”
———“I never said you were.”
——— “You didn’t have to. It’s in your eyes.”
———The priest glanced away.
——— “I’m not my father,” she told him.
——— He sighed long and hard. “I know your fears.  They’re legitimate.  Yet we’re talking apples and oranges, Jill.  Everyone knows that Richard—God rest his soul—had a disease. But your … situation is … well, it’s vastly different.”
———Not by much. Jill stared back at him. He’d had the same deer-in-the-headlights expression the day they’d watched the men in the white coats haul her daddy away. Knowing the family’s predicament, Father Tierney had come by to pray with them. She’d never forget the look on the priest’s face as the ambulance pulled off. It was the distinct look of pity, fear and helplessness.
———In truth, Richard Mills had been certifiable. Literally. Sure, the doctors labeled it a chemical imbalance, but it all boiled down to one thing. He saw people who weren’t there. Heard voices too. Paranoid schizophrenia is what they’d called it, but as far as Jill was concerned, her daddy was nuttier than a Chunky bar.
———And now Father Tierney thought the same of her.

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Okay, your turn.