A Voice in the Wilderness (Part 3)

By Holly Glass

Local reporter and bonafide burnout Caroline Hedstrom may not have what it takes to become a hard-hitting journalist, but she’s seen enough to know a thing or two about how the world works. For her, life is pretty easy: Write a story, take a paycheck, and go home to the bottle and the barn out back. But when a wave of grisly violence rattles her North Dakota home, Caroline is at a loss for words. As she digs deeper into the story, Caroline discovers just how hot a good search can be, and how dangerous her pride really is. Will the thrill of desire be enough to tether Caroline to the real world, or will her thirst for truth push her over the edge?
A sadistic killer strikes again and the bodies start to pile up. As fear and mistrust hit their peak, Caroline learns about an enigmatic leader — known only as the Revelator — who is building up his faithful ranks. The deeper she digs, the closer Caroline comes to losing control of her body and soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Mar 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781094407210

Holly Glass

Holly Glass uses romance to explore the complexities of gender identity, the joys of sexual fluidity, and the possibility of personal liberation in a highly gendered world. Her goal is to cultivate intimacy and health by telling stories that are authentic to life and love outside of the hetero-norm.

Book preview

A Voice in the Wilderness

I don’t mind waking up alone, especially after I’ve shared my bed with someone. Sometimes, the morning solitude feels like an added gift. In those thick, pulsing nights, I get to find out how someone else’s body works and hear my own sighs reach new heights. Then, when it’s all done, I get the beautiful silence of my house and the mellow joy of coffee enjoyed alone on my back porch. I don’t have to worry about making conversation during the most ungodly hours of the day. The quiet of a lonesome sunrise is a welcome chaser to whatever touching and trembling happened the night before.

Nevertheless, I’m oddly unnerved by the solitude of this particular morning. When my eyes open, the movement is sudden and snapping. There’s a familiar jolt in my torso, the kind of sensation that follows a dream about falling.

The morning is silent, as the still-rising sun is just barely sending its fingers of light across the fields. In any other state, a quiet of this caliber might put a person on edge, like the pregnant pause just before something bad happens in a movie. Outsiders might wonder what was wrong with this place, but those of us who grew up here know the silence for what it is.

Unless we’re the ones who are wrong. Unless the whole state is one big calm before one big storm.