Speak No Evil – The Book of Caspian – Part 1 Read Online Tiana Laveen

Categories Genre: Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
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Please note, that this book is adult in nature. Please be advised.

This is book 3 of a three book series. It is the final book of The Brother Disciple series. This specific book has been divided into two parts, due to its length. This is Part 1 of a double novel. (The second installment of book 3, is available at the exact same time.) This is a standalone. No cliffhangers.

After the untimely death of his mother, Caspian Emory did not utter a word for a long time. Raised by his adoring Aunt Angel, he often got in trouble and exhibited antisocial behaviors. Despite his inability to display emotion, Caspian was broken when his beloved teacher, Mrs. Florence, passed away. She’d given him a sense of belonging when he’d always been the outsider. A fish out of water who only connected with two other people who became brothers to him: Axel and Legend.
Now a successful reporter and writer, specializing in unsolved cold cases, he lives a good life filled with women, swanky parties, and southern country club livin’. However, all of that changes once he receives word that his beloved Aunt Angel has passed on. He’s asked by her only child, his cousin Noah, to come and help sort things out. Back in Portland, Kentucky, the doors to Hell and Heaven burst wide open. What was supposed to be the planning of a funeral is only the beginning of death, straggly loose ends tinged in blood, and fluttering white feathers of the past, present, and future. The last thing on Caspian’s mind is meeting an illustrious, talented and magnetic woman by the name of Azure, who makes him anything but blue…

Come along on a journey of twists of turns, hot passionate love, and deadly mysteries uncloaked, if you dare. Speak now, or forever hold your peace…

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

Madonna’s, ‘Dress You Up’ played on the little yellow CD player in my mama’s room. She had a stack of CDs she’d clung to from her younger days, as she liked to say. The room was full of brightly colored clothes strewn everywhere. Wash day wasn’t ’til next week. On her dresser were two lipsticks, some box with a word I couldn’t read, and empty pill bottles.

It was a pretty fall day, but the room smelled stuffy and old. I sat beneath her, my legs crossed, looking up high. Little bits of lint, those tiny balls of fabric and dirt, were covering her light blue slippers that she got from Walmart. She bought a new pair every few months. The month before, they were pink. I kept looking at the bottom of those slippers above my head. I didn’t like how dirty they were on the bottom. They’d gotten that way from the creaky oak floors that always needed an extra washin’.

We hadn’t lived in that old five-room house for long. We moved a lot, but Mama said we’d stay in this house for a while, since the rent was so cheap. It was just me and her, as well as her parrot named Sue. Sue was sixteen years old, and Mama loved her so much, but not more than me. She made sure to tell me that from time to time.

Madonna kept talking about dressing someone up in her love, but my little five-year-old brain couldn’t compute what that even meant. I wanted to ask Mama about that right then and there, because how could you dress up love? Love didn’t have a body. You couldn’t put a hat on it—or could you? I looked around the room, wondering if I should do something. I had tried climbing on the bed and pullin’ Mama down, but it didn’t work. I called out to her, but she ain’t answer. The phone wasn’t working, and I was all alone. ’Cept for Mama and Sue.

How did Mama get all the way up there to go to sleep?

Maybe that man helped her. Maybe Mama wanted to fly like an angel, and she fell asleep while doing it? I had heard a gruff voice the night before. Didn’t right know who it was. Mama made me stay in my room while she had company. Sounded like Mama and the man were havin’ a tiff, as she called it when grown folks got to arguin’. Fightin’ ’nd such.

I stood to my feet, clad in socks, wiped the tears off my face, and went to the living room. Grabbing one of my colorin’ books and the bin of broken crayons, I came back into Mama’s room. I sat down beneath her once again, flipped through the book, and started shading Big Bird, Bert and Ernie. They were all standing together. Big smiles on their faces. It was hard finding the right shade of orange for Ernie’s big, round face. I didn’t have the right words in my tiny head at the time, but it seemed like Ernie was mocking me. His smile was the biggest.

I didn’t get mad though. Just because I was upset didn’t mean that the characters of Sesame Street had to be, too, I reckoned. Once I accepted that as fact, I smiled back at Ernie, and lo and behold, there was a tiny, sawed-off piece of orange crayon, after all. Funny how a shift in mood could make things so crystal clear. The perfect shade. The music kept on playing while I did my best to make the picture look good. I began to bob my head, the way Mama would. Mama loved Madonna. I remembered another song of hers that Mama liked: ‘Like a Prayer.’ I knew what a prayer was. Sometimes me and Mama would sit down at the table and say one.

She said she wasn’t too religious but believed in God, and so should I. I asked her one time who God was, and she said all the good things and feelings in life. She said God wasn’t religious either. She said God was love. I asked her what God looked like, and she said whatever I wanted Him to look like. She said God ain’t have no face or body, so we could imagine Him how we wish. If everyone was supposed to love God, I figured, we’d envision Him however we wanted for sure, so we could love him all the more. The nicer lookin’ God was, the more we’d trust Him, right? Or maybe that didn’t make a lick of sense.

Maybe God looked the same to all of us, so we could recognize Him when we saw him? If He looked different all the time, then how would we know it was Him? I would have to ask Mama about that when she woke up from her nap.


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