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WolfSinger Publications

Don't Write What You Know;

Write What You Care About -- Passionately!

Mind's Eye
- F. Lynn Godfriaux

Suffering  from traumatic amnesia and the lose of her right leg Mattie Tyler is  living in small town deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains of southwest  Virginia. With a new identity and new friends she has been building a  new life as Mary Jo Majors.

The sudden appearance of her estranged husband, Jeremiah Tyler causes  her memory to return abruptly, but imperfectly. The pain and suffering  she went through previously has created a fog as thick as those  frequently found in the Blue Ridge Mountains clouding and obscuring her  memories; creating echoes and distortions.

When she witnesses a murder and the theft of a priceless gold coin, no  one except Jeremiah believes her. Many of those in her life try to  convince her the memory is false, something created out of the shadows  of her previous memories.

Now she must face past ghosts and present terrors to learn what is real  and what isn’t. Help comes from those she is most inclined to fear and  distrust: The spirit-like Ute Indian Joe Healing Water and the British  operative known as Hawk; a man whose name is enough terrify her.  Together with Jeremiah, they work to protect her from not only becoming  another victim of a pathological killer—but to also accept her memories  and face her future.


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Brilliant  orange glowed across the expansive southeastern Col­orado evening sky. A  gentle October breeze touched high desert vegetation, bringing with it a  breath of cold air and promising a starkly clear night. The Milky Way  would be especially brilliant once darkness fell. Even now, early stars  peeped through the curtain of lingering light, securing their spot for  the literal star-studded celestial show. In the emptiness below, a tall  pole jutted upwards, it’s small neon sign blinking against the darkening  sky as flaming orange faded to a rosy glow. Yellow light washed through  tiny windows of a squat gas station, recently rebuilt. A handful of  slowly disintegrating wood-plank buildings dotted the surrounding  landscape.

A  frantic, high-pitched man’s scream shattered the silence, echoed over  the plains, caught the attention of the two humans occupying the small  gas station.

Joe Healing Water’s hand paused in the act of handing his cus­tomer his change.

“Hang  on a sec,” the seventy-year-old Ute Indian muttered, stepping around  the counter and through the front door. His dark brown eyes squinted  towards the one-room adobe hut hunched across a large field. A weathered  barn leaned haphazardly, a gaping black hole indicating he had  forgotten to close the barn doors. Not that he had any livestock to  worry about. Joe narrowed his eyes against the residual light and  grinned when a vague shadow flitted between the one-room adobe and the  location of the outhouse. He spun on his heel and re-entered the  station, made his way around the counter and faced the customer, who  eyed him with a surprised and confused expression.

“No  worries,” Joe assured, retrieving a plastic grocery bag and filling it  with the snacks and drinks the man had just purchased.

“What  was that?” The middle-aged truck driver persisted, eye­ing the Indian  as he pulled at his long bristly brown beard. Heavy-set from years  behind the wheel of his rig, he wore an obnoxiously orange Broncos  T-shirt and blue overalls that stretched tight over his expanding belly.  His small brown eyes narrowed. “Sounded to me like someone’s in  trouble.”

Joe Healing Water shook his head. “Naw. Just our local Brit’s first encounter with a tarantula.”

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