Max W. Miller Spotlight
Let’s get started with Egyptian Moon – Book 1 – Return
A freshman is faced with adapting to college life while resisting reincarnation. How will Megan Smart survive an ancient Egyptian soul who is determined to RETURN. And who in God’s name is this teal eyed stalker and what purpose does he has in mind for Megan?
After she touches an artifact at a New York museum, Megan Smart has a sexually charged vision involving an ancient Egyptian couple. When she leaves home to attend the same college as her star quarterback boyfriend, Tyler, she is caught making-out with a dark eyed stranger at a frat party. Normally shy and reserve, Megan struggles with what she’d done and trembles because of the irresistible attraction she feels for this gorgeous stranger.
At the point of mental exhaustion, Megan goes home to meet with an empathic doctor, who had been training her mother in astrology. Instantly, Dr. Epstein taps into the root of Megan’s personality changes. Megan had connected with a past life—one who intends to take-over hers.
EXCERPTS
Chapter Two
Maybe the color of the doors formed the crust of my edginess. Why red doors? Did it stand for Bloody Room, or Murdered by Zombies? To calm my emotions, I breathed in and kept a firm grip on Tyler’s hand, trying to think about anything other than Frankenstein and zombies. How did I ever let Dad talk me into this Plan ‘B’?
I forced myself to concentrate on every move Dr. Brogan made. Getting the door to open was a complicated process, involving keys and keypads. After he’d tapped out a tune on the keypad, he inserted a separate key for each door. When he’d unlocked them, he left them closed and turned to us. A smile of pride and accomplishment shadowed his face.
Something in my gut twisted in a painful bunch. Was it because I couldn’t understand how this man could seem so all right when faced with what Dad had confirmed to him this morning—his wife had an inoperable brain tumor and would probably not live past three months.
I thought about Dr. Brogan’s personal problems for a few more moments, and then moved my gaze on to the bright red doors—if not Frankenstein and zombies, what was behind them and why did it terrify me to find out? Tyler let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my waist. I glanced over to see if Mom had tuned in to give Tyler the glare—as she does very often. They were staring at the doors. As for me, I wanted to stare at anything other than the doors.
Before he pushed them open, Dr. Brogan turned to face us with a look of triumph. I wiggled my arm around Tyler’s waist. My heart pounded, and I breathed as if I’d been jogging. My reaction to him preparing to open the doors tilted over into just plain bizarre, totally crazy.
My head felt giddy, like the first time Tyler and I drank beer. Dr. Brogan said something to us. It sounded like … like a foreign language to me. I strained to understand, glancing around to see if anyone else was tripping out over his words too.
Everyone looked normal, and I wasn’t about to say something stupid like: "What the hell did you just say?" Having a neurosurgeon for a dad afforded me minimal symptom diagnostic skills. I knew how to perform CPR, stop massive external bleeding, do a bootleg tracheostomy in an emergency, and a few minor Boy Scout maneuvers, but hearing a garbled language coming out of Dr. Brogan’s mouth had fallen into an area Dad hadn’t prepared me for.
I kept looking over at Dad, hoping he’d get a clue that his friend was having a cerebral vascular accident, better known as CVA, even better known as a stroke. But Dad just nodded, agreeing with the garbled words coming out of Dr. Brogan’s mouth, and motioned for me to pay attention to what the man was saying. So be it. It was on Dad if this man ended up stiff on one side or kicking on the floor.
Just as suddenly as Dr. Brogan’s language had changed, it leveled out to where it sounded like English. "Eli." His voice carried an escalating ring of excitement. "I hope you guys enjoy seeing ancient history and not through a thick glass case but in their most natural condition."
Mom sighed with a hum loud enough to echo through the hallway, and then she rolled her eyes. I glanced over at Tyler, observing his eyeballs rolling back to white, scanning both directions down the hallway. I was sure Tyler feared he’d never make it back on the streets of New York.
"Have any of you read about the Amarna letters?" Dr. Brogan continued.
Mom used this opportunity to express her biased opinion. "I rarely opened the Egyptian study guides at the house. Egypt is a culture I let Eli and Megan share together." She glanced back at Tyler. "Some races and cultures I simply do not understand."
Tyler drew in and then exhaled. Dad rubbed Mom’s back as if to say "stop talking."
Dr. Brogan wrinkled his brow for a few seconds before regaining his former excitement. "Yes, well, the Amarna Letters, or tablets, as they were also called, were politically motivated in nature and mostly written in Akkadian/Cuneiform, the writing system of ancient Mesopotamia, rather than of ancient Egypt. I want to show you the ones we’ve just acquired. They’re in extraordinary condition to be thousands of years old."
With that brief introduction, he completed his partial twist of the knobs, pushing the doors wide. His hands took to the air as if he were a circus ringmaster. "Welcome to the Authentication Hall, our processing work room."
Dad stood at the door, waiting for Mom to walk through. Tyler unhooked us from the waist, then stepped back to let me walk in front of him. At first my feet acted as if a block of ice held them in place. Tyler touched my lower back; the warmth from his hands helped to melt the ice off of my courage. I stepped forward, wondering why a wind had pushed back my hair. I hadn’t seen a wind push back Mom’s hair when she stepped through.
The temperature in the room was cool. A swirling of frigid air circled my ankles. I took baby steps, like I did getting off the elevator. The spacious room had an unexpectedly soft appeal--creamed walls, purple and cream-colored tile flooring, lavender sofas spaced along the borders of the room.
I kept stepping, losing sight of Tyler and my parents. My throat felt bone dry. I would have killed for a Coke. And what was going on with my vision? The room began to look blurry.
"Sweetheart," Dad called to me in a muffled voice. I should have told Dad and everybody why I’d stopped moving, that the room had come to life. I had every intention of saying something if only we were still in the same place. The room that had come to life was not the same one we’d walked into together.
"Megan, what’s wrong with you, girl?" I could hear what Tyler said, but Tyler wasn’t in this new room either. Somehow, things had really gotten messed up. I stood alone in this beautiful, colorful room. I couldn’t see my parents, Tyler or Dr. Brogan. The people I’d just walked through the red doors with had turned into voices sounding like gurgles spoken under water.
Oh, my gosh! The room filled my eyes with gold like I’d never seen, mixed in with indigo blue, all designed around blood red and shades of purples. I felt a pull of excitement, the energy inside this room wanted me to stay. Somehow I knew that if I did, I’d never see my family again.
"Megan, Megan." Mom’s frantic voice rang out, right before she clutched my shoulders and shook me like she would a rag doll. I blinked and felt something pulling hard against Mom, something trying to keep me in this awesome room. It held me, not like Mom’s hands on my shoulders, which came with no pain. It weighted me down from within, and for a second, I thought it would rip me apart rather than let me go. I writhed and stumbled backward, finding myself holding my sore stomach, but surrounded by Mom, Dad, and Tyler again.
Mom braced the side of my face with her hands, her green eyes seared into mine. "What was that all about?"
My head bobbled. I didn’t know what had just happened, so how could I tell her? "What was what all about?" I answered, easing her hands away from my face and cupping one side of my forehead with my own hand.
"That gibber jabber you were saying."
"What gibber jabber, Mom? I don’t … I don’t know what you’re—" I stumbled away from her questions. Tyler scooped his arms around my waist. I wished Mom would let it go, give me a chance to process for myself what just happened to me. Of course, she continued to make an issue of whatever had happened during my—
"Eli, you heard her say something, right?"
"Like what, dear?"
"Like something, I don’t know, something inaudible. She was standing there, grinning like a hyena, and that’s when she said that jibber jabber. Didn’t you hear her?"
"I don’t know, Katie, she really didn’t say much of anything. And, dear, it’s not nice to call your daughter a hyena."
"I didn’t say she was a hyena. I said she was grinning like one; that’s a distinct difference, Eli, and you know it."
Their voices sounded like drums beating inside my head. I clung to Tyler with my head against his chest. Mom knew something had happened to me. Dad would never be able to convince her otherwise. Personally, I didn’t know what to tell either of them.
They lowered their voices, still keeping alive the discussion about whether I’d grinned like a hyena or not. Dr. Brogan, who had walked on ahead, came back. "Why don’t we let Megan sit down at one of these work stations for a moment?" he suggested. "She’s probably just a bit overwhelmed by our Authentication hall."
Tyler held on to me and followed Dr. Brogan to a table. I glimpsed the double rows of thick metal tables. Some had one or two pieces of dusty clay on them and one had a—
"Holy shit!" Tyler yelled, pulling me away from the table with the mommy on it.
"Oh, my God," I echoed behind him.
"Calm down, guys. An Egyptian mommy can’t hurt you in this world. They’ve moved on to another kingdom." Dr. Brogan laced his comment with laughter.
Tyler and I clung to each other, looking back at that lump of freeze-dried beef jerky body, totally convinced that it could still hurt us. "Didn’t I tell you they torture slaves down here? That thing looks like a black man who’s been tortured to death. Man, I’m ready to get the hell outta here."
I managed a low-keyed giggle at Tyler. "It’s an Egyptian mummy, Tyler, not your great-great-granddaddy," I teased.
"Yeah, well, it just might be my great-great-granddaddy, after he’d been tortured to death."
Dr. Brogan chose a table away from the mommy. "Okay, okay, I’ve moved Megan to a workstation further away from our new acquisition." He laughed while Tyler glanced back at the mommy before helping me onto a stool that felt like soft leather. I leaned back and the chair formed to the contour of my back. "Tyler, you stay with her and when she feels steady enough, you guys can join us on the tour. Don’t touch these tablets, okay? We’re still working to authenticate and we don’t know how fragile they are."
We both agreed not to touch.
I propped my elbow on the table and braced my forehead with my hand. I jumped when an unexpected touch from Mom’s soft hand combed through my hair. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah, Mom." I prayed she wouldn’t start up again. No such luck. "Good, good, now tell me what happened back there?"
"Nothing. God, Ma, I just stumbled and said a few curse words and then I said a few other words so you wouldn’t know I had cursed," I lied. I already told her the truth—that I didn’t know what she was talking about, which technically, I didn’t, because I had no idea what they saw me do, but I wasn’t about to tell Katie Smart that. With her new career, she’d attempt to hypnotize an answer out of me. I blinked twice.
"I don’t know if I believe—"
"Aw, come on, Katie Girl, let’s take a look at this fascinating junk Daniel has in here. Meg’s fine and Tyler’s staying with her."
Putting on his peacemaker hat, Dad soothed the troubled waters, although Mom raised her brow at Tyler staying at the table with me. Under protest, Mom finally left me and Tyler e and went with the men.
Mom barely tolerated Tyler when we were supposed to be just friends. Since our relationship blossomed into much more than she ever hoped it would, Mom despised him.
Tyler was beating the odds for a black coming out of poverty. He’d left for MNU last year and would be a sophomore when I started my freshman year there in a couple of days.
Mom knew I’d planned to attend MNU, graduate with a bachelor’s degree, and then apply for their law school. Tyler and I had chosen MNU for two separate reasons. MNU offered him the best athletic scholarship program while offering me access to the greatest law school in the nation. Of course, Mom saw it differently—just a chance for us to do our thing with no supervision.
After Mom had gone, Tyler started talking. "You all right, babe, feeling better?" he asked, rubbing my back and shoulders.
"I’m good," I said, tapping one manicured fingernail on the metal table. I stared at the ancient, hand-crafted tablets in front of me: the ones Dr. Brogan said not to touch. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that these old pieces of clay still smelled fresh. "What language did Dr. Brogan say that these tablets were written in?"
"Megan, do you really think I was listening to the doctor’s speech?" He continued to rub and caress my shoulders. "How’s that feeling?" His strong warm hands always felt good to my skin, but today they reassured me with his inner strength.
"That feels good," I said.
The seven tablets lying on the table came in two colors of clay, some yellowish and some more terracotta. They intrigued me more than I would have imagined. My eyes focused on one particular tablet broken into four pieces.
"Maybe later on tonight, I can make you feel even better," Tyler whispered.
I relaxed even more in the chair. "You know we’ll be sleeping in the same hotel suite with my parents, right?"
"Right." He moved his fingers in a wide, deliberate pattern, one he knew I liked, one moving from my back to under my shoulder blades, edging forward toward my breast. I closed my eyes for a second, then I remembered something odd about the tablet I’d focused on. The four pieces were almost evenly splintered across—as if they’d been measured and purposely broken in a certain way.
I looked up at Tyler, God, he was so gorgeous, like a bronze statue, cut in the right places. He took away my interest in the dusty ancient clay. "The suites have three bedrooms, one for me, one for you, and one for Mom and Dad."
He ran his fingers down the side of my face. "Yeah, I know." His voice made the right low, almost growling, sound.
I began to feel better than I had since I stepped behind the red doors. "Maybe we could make-up some kind of excuse to get out of the suite for a couple hours."
"Exactly." His deep brown eyes melted into mine, and then they looked away, grew wide, and gawked out at something. "Your mom’s headed this way, walking real fast." Tyler slumped to the leather stool next to mine. "And she has the ‘kill Tyler Simmons’ look on her face."
I held my head down so Mom wouldn’t see me giggling at Tyler’s comment.
"Tyler, I think Megan is well enough to join us. You two are missing quite a bit. Daniel is showing us a sarcophagus he just acquired. More interesting than I envisioned. Tyler, you should come and see it."
"What’s that you’re looking at, ma’am? A sarcop—" Tyler asked.
"Sarcophagus, an Egyptian coffin."
"Whoa!" Tyler pushed his stool back. "Oh, no, ma’am, I don’t need to see no coffin with an unknown Egyptian in it."
Mom actually smirked at Tyler. "Oh come on, Tyler," she said, reaching for his arm. "I’ll protect you from the bad Egyptian ghosts." She gave him no choice except to get up and come with her. "Coming, Megan? I think you’re well enough to walk on your own with all the excellent massaging Tyler’s been giving you."
I rolled my eyes at her as she carried Tyler away. The big bad quarterback looked back at me, asking for help I could not give him. It was kinda funny to see how all of a sudden Mom got interested in Egypt.
I tapped my hand on the table, still looking at the broken clay tablet. How did it break so evenly? I let my gaze drift down the different pieces. "What’s written on you?" Tapping my hands a little closer to the bottom piece, I remembered the beautiful room. "What’s the message and who wrote it?"
About Max …
She was born in Savannah, Georgia, but has lived in North Carolina with her husband and two children most of her adult life. Max has experienced dreams and visions all her life. "The Supernatural is very natural," Max said.
Max enjoys writing science fiction, fantasy, and all things paranormal. Egyptian Moon explores the paranormal realm of a continued lie cycle. Reincarnation.
"Remember the dream of the places you’ve never been. Could it be memories from another time?"
