Where There Are No Roads: The Falling Awake Mysteries, #4

By Jenny Cutts

A bloody basement. A drifting boat. A stranger with stories of a shared dream.

 

The dawn after a disastrous night, a young man walks free from a fisherman's hut and finds a chance to get away. A loose boat is drifting by the jetty and a stranger is offering to help.

 

Between the clifftops and the open water, beyond the violence of the night, stars and stories shift the universe and everything changes forever. Yet what's done is still done and someone is going to pay.

 

And if he believes the stranger's story, will it help him to put things right or to sail away for good?

 

Part of The Falling Awake Mysteries series, Where There Are No Roads is a compelling short story set over one night by the sea.

Read this story to find out what happens when Reed meets another dream-walker… or does he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stopped Clock Press
• Release date: Apr 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781914001161

Book preview

Where There Are No Roads

The Falling Awake Mysteries, Volume 4

Jenny Cutts

Published by Stopped Clock Press, 2022.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

WHERE THERE ARE NO ROADS

First edition. April 3, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 Jenny Cutts.

ISBN: 978-1914001161

Written by Jenny Cutts.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Jenny Cutts

Where There Are No Roads

Where There Are No Roads

The boat bobs away from my hand.

My fingertips touch the wood, but it’s not enough to get a clutch. I grab the mooring ring with my left hand and lean out across the water again, reaching for the cuddy cruiser. The jetty creaks. A loose line trails in the sea a few feet away, but I cannae get it.

There is dried blood on my hand. His fucking blood. Must have been there all night.

I strain to reach for the gunwale again. The boat’s name is at eye level: Pollux. Fucking taunting me.

The boat bobs away again.

That’s my boat. Mine.

I perch back on my heels again and leave go of the bollard, shaking my hand to get some feeling back. The white of my knuckles dies away