three women. For her protection the police and her doctors give a press conference, announcing that because her amnesia is organically caused, her
memory loss is permanent. But, whether her memory returns or not is anybody’s guess.
I don’t want to die.
That single thought pounded through her mind as she hurtled through the woods. The blackness had dropped all at once, and now the trees were merely darker shadows against a dark night. The rain came down hard. Lightning cracked, sounding so much like a gunshot that she muffled a scream. But she had not been hit. She was still alive. She ran on.
Branches and bushes whipped at her, scratching her arms and legs. She tripped over an exposed root and crashed to the ground, but was back on her feet in an instant.
A brilliant flash of lightening was followed by thunder. Ka-boom. Everything that had been black a moment ago became white. Had she been spotted? No, surely not.
A crunching sound came from her right. She whipped her head toward it and picked up her pace. Her breathing was ragged, short puffs of steam in the frigid April air. It couldn’t have been more than fifty degrees. Sweat and rain mixed with the dirt and blood from her countless wounds and ran down her face and neck in rivulets. Thanks to the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she was numb to the cold and the pain, but she would feel it later—if she got out of here alive.
Please God, let me live.
But she’d had no real food for days, no water except the occasional sip. Her body couldn’t keep going much longer. She was close to collapsing.
Must. Keep. Going.
If she wanted to stay alive, she needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and her captor. She had no idea how long she’d been running or in which direction she was going. Had her kidnapper even noticed she’d escaped? Was that monster already on her trail, getting closer with every passing second? A horrendous thought came to her. She could be running in a circle, her every step bringing her closer to her jailer. A sob escaped her throat.
Dear God. Please. Please.
She squinted, trying to see through the inky night. There had to be a road, a house, something, and then she saw them. Some distance away there were lights, and her last vestiges of hope crashed.
Had a posse been formed? Were they closing in on her? In her panic, she tripped and came down hard, again. This time she thought she might have broken an arm. She was crying now. She’d come so close. But she would be caught. And she would die.
She looked up at the lights moving through the trees, and blinked. Could her imagination be playing tricks on her? She stared, and in moment of clarity she understood. Those weren’t flashlights. They were headlights. Headlights meant cars, and cars meant a road. Just ahead, maybe a few hundred yards farther, lay safety.
She had to keep going. She struggled to her feet, cradling her sore arm. She made her way, pushing through brambles and bushes until she came to a steep embankment. She crawled up and then over the guardrail. A car whizzed by, blaring its horn.
“Wait. Stop!” she yelled at the next one when it was still a distance away, but it drove by too. “Help me!” she shouted after it. She limped into the road, determined to make the next one stop. Tires screeched. There was a thud. And then she went flying through the air, coming to a bone-crushing thump on the hard pavement.
Through the mist in her mind she heard the sound of running footsteps, then a woman’s voice. “Oh, my God. Is she dead?”
A man’s voice, pleading. “I swear. It wasn’t my fault. She ran right in front of me.”
The woman again. “I think she’s still breathing. Call an ambulance. Now!” She leaned into her. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The words came to her from a great distance, growing further and further away, until they were only a faint echo. She drifted into nothingness.
What had she done to deserve this? Some underwear modeling, nothing more risqué than that. Had she brought this upon herself by attracting undue attention to her body? The idea was too awful to contemplate. She threw the compact back in the drawer and huddled under the blanket, in tears. What had that monster done to her? She couldn’t remember any of it, but rather than make what happened easier to accept, that made it worse. Her imagination was filling in the blank with silent screen images of herself being defiled in every imaginable way.
Life is precious. Life is special. Life is short. Life…can be taken. Domovitch takes her characters and exposes raw fear as well as twisted desire in her story, Scar Tissue. This first installment is the beginning of an absolutely riveting series within the crime fiction genre. She has a way of enthralling her readers with the story of a girl, the victim of a merciless sociopath, whose greatest desire is mutilation.
Ciara Kelly is alive…after being tortured and hit by a car in an attempt to escape. Being alive—it comes at a price though. This sociopath only has eyes for her, a beautiful model in the big city. But…when she gets away, it is only a matter of time before getting caught. Ending up in the hospital with no memory or recollection of the past few weeks, Ciara’s sister finally persuades her to move on with her life. A new state, a new name, a new career. How would anyone even know where to look for her? After her sister’s accidental slip about Ciara’s memory, her life is changed within the blink of an eye and that fear is ever present again. She can’t hide—her head will always have a target on it. When she finds her sister dead, she is forced to run again…always running but there is one thing that makes her stop. Ciara Kelly doesn’t have anyone else to help her…except for the police. The police that stopped searching for her killer, the police who sat outside of her front door while her sister was murdered. No, Ciara doesn’t have anyone who can protect her from this monster…and she knows that this time if he gets his hands on her…he will kill her.
Domovitch does a superb job with character development. Her characters have strong emotional backgrounds and the plot, while slightly predictable—is still very much creative and entertaining. This story is a fast-paced novel, which makes it very easy to read. The grammatical and spelling content are both fine, it won’t prevent the reader from enjoyment. If you are interested in crime fiction and suspense novels, this first installment is a must read.
A free copy was exchanged for an honest review of this fictional piece.
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Monique Domovitch lives with her physician husband and their two dogs. They divide their time between their farm on the west coast, their home in Toronto and the Florida Keys. She started writing later in life, after retiring from her television career, “proving that one is never too late to follow one’s dreams,” as she points out. When she is not writing or traveling, she is an avid redecorator. Which might explain why we move so much,” she says, laughing. “Once a house has been re and re-done, it’s time to move on.” Monique is working on her ninth book, a sequel to Scar Tissue, tentatively titled Seeing Evil.
1. What books have most influenced your life?
You may be surprised to know that the book that most influenced my life is not fiction. It is Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich. That book absolutely changed my life. It was like a revelation to me. The book was written in 1937 after 25 years of research by the author. It taught me that, anything I could imagine I could create. It is my belief that this book helped me become successful in my various careers. I teaches that all one has to do to make something happen is aim for a goal and get there one step at a time. Napoleon Hill’s book instilled this belief in me until it became an unshakable conviction.
2. How do you develop your plots and characters?
I would describe the process to be somewhat like painting. I begin with a rough sketch that give me a basic outline of the person and the plot, and as the layers of the story are added, much like layers of paint, the depth and details begin to appear. Many writers work from a detailed outline. I don’t. My method is more organic. I begin with a vague idea. All I know is the beginning, the end, and a bit of an inkling on how my characters will get there, and the story and characters crystalize as I write. This means I keep going back and forth between the chapters, filling in details the same way a painter might go back and forth adding color and shadow to his work. This method doesn’t work for everyone, but it does for me.
3. We all need a hero! Tell us about your protagonist(s)? Was there a real-life inspiration behind him or her?
I have, in the past, been inspired by real people, but in this case I can honestly say that Ciara Kelly is entirely a figment of my imagination. I worked as a fashion model in my early years and know just how important a model’s appearance is to her career. Her looks are her tools, the same way a sculptor’s hands are his. That’s why I chose modeling for this character’s profession. I wanted the scars to affect her not only emotionally, but very much in her career and in her personal life.
4. What is your preferred method to have readers get in touch with or follow you (i.e., website, personal blog, Facebook page, here on Goodreads, etc.) and link(s)?
I love to hear from readers. Love, love, love it. Anyone who wants to get in touch with me can contact me directly on Facebook. Or through my website on my contacts page, and I always reply. My Facebook page is https://www.facebook.com/authormoniquedomovitch/
My website is MoniqueDomovitch.com
5. A good villain is hard to write. How did you get in touch with your inner villain(s) to write this book. Was there a real-life inspiration for him/her/it?
I like to think that everyone has an evil side, but most of us, thankfully, keep it in check. I like to imagine what I might do if I let that evil side loose on my worst enemy, and I just run free with that. I always tease my husband that he’d better stay in line, because I know more ways to murder than you can shake a stick at.
6. What was the hardest part of writing this book?
Here’s the thing. Much as writing is my passion, I have to admit that I have a love-hate relationship with the process. Some days the writing goes smoothly and then there are days when every single word has to be dug from the depths of my soul. I wish that would make the writing better, but it doesn’t. All it means is that the writing was grueling that day. Thankfully those days are rare.
7. What was your favorite chapter (or part) to write and why?
I really enjoyed writing the scenes where Ciara works in the mortuary. I’m not attracted to that kind of work, but I do have a bit of a fascination for it, and it seems that my readers do too. Writing this involved a lot of research. I found the entire process astonishing. I had no idea how a body was prepared.
8. Did you learn anything from writing this book and what was it?
What I learned, is the same lesson I learn with each book I write. Every time I finish a novel I worry that this was my last book, that I will never be able to do it again, that somehow I lost whatever it was I had that made me able to write.
Starting to write a new book is always terrifying. The story is invariably bad, the lines are awful, the characters wooden. It is only after many revisions that I start to believe that the story is actually good. I guess you could compare the process to that of sculpting. At the start, all you have is a massive rock. It is only after many hours of chipping away at it that one begins to see the shape inside the rock.
9. Is there a message in your novel that you hope readers will grasp?
Keep your doors locked, everyone. J
10. What are your future project(s)?
Right now I’m working on the sequel to Scar Tissue, this one called Seeing Evil. And I’m happy to say that I just reached the stage where I can see that this book will be good, really good. In fact I think this one will be even better than Scar Tissue.