Visionary & Metaphysical Fiction; Christian Fiction
Date Published: October 11, 2023
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
What if your deepest, darkest fears were inked on your skin for the world
to see?
Famous plastic surgeon Derek Hollinger has it all: money, success, luxury
cars, and an L.A. penthouse near the beach. Who cares if he has no friends
or lovers? He doesn’t need anyone.
But Derek’s seemingly perfect life is shattered after a chance
encounter with a mysterious old woman. When he wakes up covered in tattoos,
the shadow of his traumatic past—one he can no longer
outrun—looms large.
Aided in his desperate quest for the truth by the young nurse he once
scorned, Derek’s only hope for redemption lies within his own damaged
psyche. What do the tattoos mean? Are they part of God’s plan for him,
a test of his lapsed faith…or a curse brought on by his own
arrogance?
And can he get rid of them before he loses everything?
EXCERPT
His practice and reputation would be ruined. His success now felt shameful and undeserved.
The doctor stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water. He stood beneath the scalding spray for as long as he could stand. Then he wrapped a towel around his waist and staggered back to bed.
Right before daybreak, he reached for the light switch on the lamp next to the bed. When he drew back his hand, he saw the tapestry of ink. Derek let out a strangled cry. Through the blurred veil of his tears, he saw the beautiful white tailored shirt and the pants he had worn to the award dinner lying crumpled on the floor. Picking them up, he searched the pockets and found the parking ticket from the hotel. The evening’s events flashed back.
After the encounter with the hoodlums on the street, he’d driven around the hotel to collect himself. Just after he stepped out of the car, an old woman had approached. He couldn’t understand what she was saying. A fog had seemed to encase him as he looked down into her painted face. Then a strange explosion had gone off inside his brain, drowning his senses. He’d felt her grabbing at his sleeve and desperately pushed her away. When he’d been able to see again, the old woman was lying on the ground.
I tried to help her. I did!
He remembered feeling startled and telling the doorman to take care of her. Giving the man some money and entering the hotel.
Derek rubbed his clammy forehead. Inside the banquet room . . . yes, that’s when he started to feel sick. Like a green cloud of nausea that drained the energy from his body.
He remembered the valet coming over. It had seemed like an eternity before he returned with the car. Derek vaguely recalled slumping behind the wheel, exiting the hotel property, and turning out onto the street. It had taken everything he had to concentrate on the road. All he could think about was making it home into bed. He could still feel the relief of pulling his car into the parking garage. Then the long walk through the lobby of the building, past the security desk.
“The security desk!” Snapping back to the present, he reached for the phone. Derek choked back bile when he saw the inked fingers on his outstretched hand, then quickly hung up.
What had happened to him? He wondered if he was having another nightmare, but it was all too real. He forced himself to pick the phone back up and hit the two digits for the security desk.
“Security,” a voice boomed out from the receiver. “Good morning, Dr. Hollinger, what can I do for you today?”
He swallowed. “Did you see anyone come up to my penthouse last night?”
“No, sir. Let me check the log.” There was a pause. “Nope. Nothing registered for anyone coming or going since you came back in Saturday night.”
He felt a chill. “What do you mean since I came back in Saturday night? What day is it?”
“What day is it, sir? Well, today is Monday, sir.”
“Monday—”
“Yes, Monday.” The guard’s voice sounded strange. “Is there anything I can do for you, doctor?”
“No. Thank you.” Derek severed the connection and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He looked at the clock. The red display said 5:36 a.m.
“I’ve been out for over thirty-two hours,” he muttered, staring out the window in disbelief. A feeling of utter isolation and loneliness came over him. “Not a living soul has missed me. I could disappear off the face of the earth and no one would even notice.”
He finally summoned the courage to return to the mirror and study his body. He was at least ten pounds lighter and illustrated with brightly colored tattoos from head to toe. “I’m unrecognizable,” he whispered, fighting down a burst of panic.
A large dark blue dragon wrapped from his side up to his right pectoral muscle. He lifted his left arm to find the sinuous body of a black snake curling around the limb. His right arm had a crouching jaguar on the inner forearm. And on his back—three faces. One in particular riveted his terrified gaze, sending a wave of queasiness through his stomach. He would never forget it. Could never forget it.
The face of the man who had beaten him to within an inch of his life.
Derek drew a deep breath, studying the other tattoos. On his shoulder sat an angel. He touched the black and red spider on his neck. The legs wrapped around the base of his skull. What did it all mean? How could this possibly have happened? Sticking out his tongue, he saw it was now black. Not an inch of his body had been spared.
“How am I ever going to live a normal life again?” he cried.
He covered his face and started to sob.
“There must be some way to get rid of them,” he muttered. “They can’t be real!”
About the Author
Writer, speaker, and certified life coach Monica Broussard is passionate
about writing fiction that contains elements of fantasy and keeps the reader
intrigued about the lead character’s motives. She also writes an
occasional article for her hometown’s magazine, SeaCliff Living. She
belongs to Toastmasters International and enjoys attending national writers’
conferences.
Born in North Carolina on a Marine Corps base, Monica now lives in
“Surf City,” Huntington Beach, California, with her husband of
thirty-seven years. She has enjoyed various occupations over the years, but
her favorite job is the one she’s doing now—writing.
Twenty-One Tattoos is her debut novel. For more about her writing, visit
her website, MonicaBroussardAuthor.com.
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Interesting combination of genres. I love the cover art.