Bone White Read online

  His mother smiles and continues to stir the tripe soup that she knows to be her son’s favorite.

  Arashk heads directly to his room, and after shooting a glance back to make sure his mother’s sometimes suspicious eyes aren’t following him, closes the door. She’s a wise woman and he loves her dearly, but she questions some of his interests. And of this one, he is certain, she would not approve. He sets the package on his bed and takes off his jacket, which he tosses onto the chair next to his makeshift desk of wooden crates and a slab of discolored bathroom countertop. The jacket slowly begins its descent, eventually sliding onto the floor in a heap. But he doesn’t bother to pick it up. His eagerness won’t allow it.

  He perches on the bed, picks up the package and places it on his lap. It is not yet Christmas, and he’s no longer a child, but he remembers the excitement of those mornings and it is similar to how he feels now. He’d saved nearly every leu he’d made working at the hotel over the last two months, minus the amount he gave his mother. He’d forgone caffes with girls, Timişoreanas with his friends. But, if his new purchase was indeed as the website described, it would be money well spent. And, hopefully, the first of many similar purchases.

  The American vendor he had ordered from caused him a decent amount of worry, though, and he knew he was taking a chance. He had seen stories on the internet that services like it existed, but most of the people on the message boards swore they were only urban legends. Then, one day, a link had been emailed to the address he had setup strictly for browsing those kinds of message boards, and he’d worked up the nerve to give it a try.

  Now, sitting on his bed with the subject of his fantasies securely in his grasp, he can barely contain his excitement!

  The package’s red, white and blue postage label was the first he’d ever seen and a trophy in and of itself. He had never before seen a package from America, much less received one personally. Pulling his father’s pocketknife from his pants pocket, he decides he’ll cut out the postage label and keep it as a souvenir. Keep it in the metal box under his bed, along with his father’s ring finger that Lupul had sent his uncle after he’d been taken. The finger had arrived wrapped in a blue necktie with silver threading, Lupul’s calling card, and that’s just how Arashk kept it.

  He starts at one corner and plunges the tip of the blade into the heavily taped package, mindful of not cutting too deep. Drawing the knife toward him, Arashk makes a slit the entire length of the cardboard box, then turns the carton around. With a slightly trembling hand, he does the same on this side until the top of the package is open on both ends. Impulsively, Arashk brings the box to his nose and breathes in deeply. The only smell he can detect, however, is the musty scent of old cardboard.

  Being careful not to damage the postage label, Arashk works the knife in and out along the top of the box until the two flaps pop up in the center of the overstuffed package. His heart is pounding and he can’t remember the last time he was this excited. Usually, the closest thing to excitement around Dumbraveni occurs when he and his friends make the two-hour trip to scare tourists seeking the remnants of a tired legend. He is always amazed at how many people actually believe that Dracula ever really existed. Especially Americans.

  Arashk takes a deep breath, then lifts the flaps open until they hang outward, revealing a blanket of white Styrofoam inside. He smiles knowing his purchase is in there somewhere, nestled safely beneath the packing material. Slowly, he begins sifting through the tiny foam pieces in search of his prize.

  Suddenly, his finger brushes against something hard, and Arashk jumps back, pulling his hand free as if afraid he’ll be bitten. Just as quickly, he chuckles to himself.

  “Imbecile.”

  Carefully, Arashk reaches back into the box, deep into the white foam and grasps the hard object. He lifts the item up slowly, spilling the Styrofoam pieces all over his lap and cascading onto the floor. When the top of the object finally emerges, like a ghost rising from the fog, a sharp intake of breath catches in his throat. It is the small, frail bones of a human hand, held fast to a varnished plank of wood with tiny silver wires. A young woman’s hand, as promised. Brilliantly white. Delicate.

  It is more beautiful than the website described.

  More beautiful than he’d ever imagined.

  * * * *

  Blackened

  A sequel to Bone White by

  Tim McWhorter

  Luke knows two unfortunate truths: sadistic killer Corwin Barnes is still out there; and someday, he'll come calling.

  A year ago, Luke put an end to Barnes's barbaric bone harvesting operation, but it wasn't without consequence. With a team of doctors, Luke has finally dealt with his heart-wrenching losses and the heinous crimes he uncovered. He's getting on with his life.

  But his nemesis hasn't done the same, and Luke could never imagine just how brutal Barnes can be.

  Available Now

  PlotForge, Ltd.

  PlotForge, Ltd. publishes worthy thrillers – novels that encompass great plots, great characters and great values. Stories that bring a new perspective to the reader. Stories that both entertain and engage. Founded to assist emerging authors navigate the rapidly changing market for fiction, PlotForge, Ltd. has become known among readers and in professional review circles for publishing quality fiction.