What does an unreported crime
that occurred decades earlier have to do with a NYC cop? Everything.
Can a seemingly innocent boat ride forever change the life of a former Marine?
Find out when a Police Officer meets an eccentric scientist who claims to hold secret knowledge that has been hidden from the rest of society.
Is this all truly happening, or is he slowly losing his grip on reality? Unfortunately, neither conclusion between the two worlds is better than the other as the clarifying line between reality and impossibility slowly disintegrates, turning his world upside down.
He must dig thirty years into his past; deep beneath the veil and the mesh of murder, lies and deceit to find answers.
Follow the trail of events that will forever shape his future… and maybe yours.
Books have been a priority for as long as Michael Lorde can remember. Always reading or writing Michael has written for years, since the first book ‘Babbly’ was completed as a kid in the 1970’s. While growing up, this author loved sports of all kinds, and was on numerous sports teams at school, including track, basketball and swimming, to name a few.
Michael loves kids and animals and enjoys reading thrilling stories,
attending live performances, doing carpentry, and artwork. The Literacy Council, Special Olympics and Samaritan
House are causes that this author has participated in and contributed to in the
past and present.
Michael Lorde currently lives in Michigan.
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Excerpt from Blind Veil
Time to hide.
There was only one safe place in the house. He wasn’t a kid anymore. Could he still fit? If they found him hiding there he’d be trapped, but he was trapped anyway, here in the house. Simms opened the pantry door, almost knocking down an old can of peas. He caught it mid-fall. Careful not to disturb the dust, he placed it precisely from where it had fallen. They’d notice a clean spot. He grabbed the rope which hung at the rear corner of the pantry wall and pulled it to the left. It revealed an open space about three feet wide which dropped to a small enclosed area below the house. The total ceiling clearance there fell just shy of five feet, too small for a man his size to fit. The radio sounded outside the window. It crackled before spitting out whispers. Simms stepped over the pantry floor and into the tiny space and turned around. He hadn’t made a sound. He willed himself into the faux root cellar before twisting his hand around for the rope. He used it to carefully slide the panel back in place, keeping a tight grip on it to lock it in. He was sealed off from the pantry and the kitchen, but was so squished he couldn’t breathe. His ribcage was crammed in like an oversized sardine in a can. His lungs couldn’t fully expand. Standing blindly in the tight closet, he wondered how long he could stay in this position before passing out. Sweat dripped from his pores. A spider web clung to his cheek as he turned his head toward the sounds in the house.
Quiet footsteps meandered from room to room. The search was thorough. Twenty minutes later, they were now in the kitchen. Cabinets were being opened. He closed his eyes in the pitch black. He could feel them walking towards him. The pantry door swung open. The gun tip shone like a brilliant ring from the kitchen light. Between the slats, Simms could clearly see the militant head covering and the dark eyes of the man peering from behind it as he searched through the cabinet.
He felt safe. No one knew about this cubby hole he’d claimed as his personal hiding space as a child. It was virtually unseen from the searcher’s viewpoint. All the same, he didn’t breathe at all until the professional was satisfied with his sweep of the pantry interior and closed the door behind him.
Things sound so much clearer in the dark. He listened as they finally left the house. Fifteen minutes or so later, the engines of the all terrain vehicles faded into the distance. He was covered in sweat which stuck him to the walls that concealed him. Still, he waited a good twenty minutes longer before he opened the slat and poked his head out of the pantry door. He breathed deeply, then listened intently for sounds in the house, any sound.
It was silent.
Black and green liquid dripped from underneath Emmett’s truck, pooling onto the yard, beneath it. He could smell gasoline.
There was only one safe place in the house. He wasn’t a kid anymore. Could he still fit? If they found him hiding there he’d be trapped, but he was trapped anyway, here in the house. Simms opened the pantry door, almost knocking down an old can of peas. He caught it mid-fall. Careful not to disturb the dust, he placed it precisely from where it had fallen. They’d notice a clean spot. He grabbed the rope which hung at the rear corner of the pantry wall and pulled it to the left. It revealed an open space about three feet wide which dropped to a small enclosed area below the house. The total ceiling clearance there fell just shy of five feet, too small for a man his size to fit. The radio sounded outside the window. It crackled before spitting out whispers. Simms stepped over the pantry floor and into the tiny space and turned around. He hadn’t made a sound. He willed himself into the faux root cellar before twisting his hand around for the rope. He used it to carefully slide the panel back in place, keeping a tight grip on it to lock it in. He was sealed off from the pantry and the kitchen, but was so squished he couldn’t breathe. His ribcage was crammed in like an oversized sardine in a can. His lungs couldn’t fully expand. Standing blindly in the tight closet, he wondered how long he could stay in this position before passing out. Sweat dripped from his pores. A spider web clung to his cheek as he turned his head toward the sounds in the house.
Quiet footsteps meandered from room to room. The search was thorough. Twenty minutes later, they were now in the kitchen. Cabinets were being opened. He closed his eyes in the pitch black. He could feel them walking towards him. The pantry door swung open. The gun tip shone like a brilliant ring from the kitchen light. Between the slats, Simms could clearly see the militant head covering and the dark eyes of the man peering from behind it as he searched through the cabinet.
He felt safe. No one knew about this cubby hole he’d claimed as his personal hiding space as a child. It was virtually unseen from the searcher’s viewpoint. All the same, he didn’t breathe at all until the professional was satisfied with his sweep of the pantry interior and closed the door behind him.
Things sound so much clearer in the dark. He listened as they finally left the house. Fifteen minutes or so later, the engines of the all terrain vehicles faded into the distance. He was covered in sweat which stuck him to the walls that concealed him. Still, he waited a good twenty minutes longer before he opened the slat and poked his head out of the pantry door. He breathed deeply, then listened intently for sounds in the house, any sound.
It was silent.
Black and green liquid dripped from underneath Emmett’s truck, pooling onto the yard, beneath it. He could smell gasoline.
