About the Book:
Title:
Scar Tissue
Author: MC Domovitch
Publisher: Lansen Publishing
Pages: 396
Genre: Romantic Suspense/Thriller/Paranormal
When successful model Ciara Cain wakes up in
hospital, remembering nothing of the weeks she has been missing, her only clues
are the ugly words carved into her skin. According to the police she was a
victim of the Cutter, a serial killer who has already murdered three women. For
her protection the police and her doctors give a press conference, announcing
that because her amnesia is organically caused, her memory loss is permanent.
But, whether her memory returns or not is anybody’s guess.
Overnight, Ciara’s glamorous life is gone. Her scars have killed both her modelling
career and her relationship with her rich boyfriend. With nothing to keep her
in New York, she returns to her home town of Seattle, moves in with her sister
and goes about building a new life. But when her sister lets it slip that
Ciara’s memory is returning, the killer comes after her again. If Ciara is to
stay alive, she must keep one step ahead of the Cutter.
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Book Excerpt:
It was the pain that pierced the fog in her brain.
It seemed to come from all over her body, more intensely from her right leg,
where it pulsated to the rhythm of her heart. She tried to open her eyes, but
her lids felt…so…very…heavy. It was easier to fall back into the haze inside
her mind. She floated there, vaguely aware of somebody calling her name.
“Ciara, it’s me.” The voice sounded familiar, but
she couldn’t place it. “Please wake up.”.”” She drifted off again.
Time had lost all meaning. She wandered in and out
of a great void. She might have been sleeping for minutes or days. Occasionally
her eyelids fluttered for a few seconds, only to grow still again. One day when
she opened her eyes, the fog had lifted. The first thing she saw were old
acoustic ceiling tiles. Puzzled, she blinked. A beeping caught her attention
and she shifted her gaze to the side. Next to her was a monstrous machine.
Tubes were running from it to her and back again. Where was she?
She tried to speak, but there was something in her
mouth. She moaned, and then a woman was bending over her, her eyes full of
tears.
“Ciara. Can you hear me?” Her sister? Deirdre was here? All the way from
Seattle? She must be in a hospital. If she was sick, whatever she had was
serious.
“If you can, squeeze my hand.” She strained to
move, but her limbs were great weights. Her movements were sluggish. But she
must have squeezed because suddenly Deirdre was yelling, “She’s awake. Ciara is
awake.” But she was asleep
again.
Over the next few days, there were more and more
moments of awareness. The tube in her mouth was removed and she was given ice
chips, and then water. She couldn’t seem to get enough.
“Good morning, young lady,” a doctor said.
It was morning? She’d had no idea. He shone a
penlight in her eyes. She vaguely remembered him doing this before. She must
have drifted off again, because she blinked and he was gone.
A different doctor came to visit. He wore surgical
greens. He too peered into her eyes with a light and then asked her a number of
questions, starting with her name.
“Ciara Kelly,” she said in a voice she barely
recognized. From a corner of her room came an excited voice. “Oh, my God! She’s
speaking. That means she’s fully out of the coma, doesn’t it?”
She hadn’t dreamed it. Her sister truly was
right here in New York.
This is New York, isn’t it?
“It’s still too soon to be certain, but things look
good so far.” The doctor continued with his questions. “Can you count backward
from one hundred for me?”
She had to think hard. “One hundred, ninety-nine,
ninety-eight.” Had she gotten that right?
“Very good.” After another half dozen questions,
the doctor smiled at last. “Welcome back, Ciara. You’ve had a lot of people
very worried for a long time. Do you remember what happened?”
“I was in an accident?” she guessed.
“That’s right. Do you remember it?”
She wrinkled her brow in concentration. “I was at a
photo shoot for Prêt-a-Porter,” she said, naming a popular magazine.
“Oh, my God. I was supposed to fly to Milan today. I’ve got to get out of here.
My agent will kill me if I miss my flight.”
“You already missed that flight,” her sister said.
“You’ve been in a coma for a while.”
“In a coma?” Ciara looked at her blankly. “How long
of a while?”
There was a hesitation, until at last Deirdre said,
“Seventeen days.”
“Seven…” That was impossible. Why, that photo shoot
was only yesterday. She was sure of it. She’d been looking forward to her
flight to Italy and auditioning for all the glamorous designer shows. Could
that really have been over two weeks ago? She suddenly noticed her forearms.
She hardly recognized them as her own. They were so thin. She must have lost a ton of weight. Her first
reaction was one of joy. Even her agent would have to agree she was thin enough
now. She imagined what she might say when she saw her. Why Ciara, you’re a
perfect size two. Armani will adore you.
But from what her sister had just said, the collections were already half
over. And come to think of it, she had no idea what kind of shape she was in.
How badly was she hurt? Could she even walk? She flexed her toes and was
relieved to see movement under the bedsheet. At least she wasn’t paralyzed.
“What’s wrong with me?” At the same time she became
aware of a dull pain in her right leg. “Please tell me I don’t have a broken
leg. I don’t have time for that. I have to get back to work.”
Deirdre came closer, placing a comforting hand over
hers. “Work will have to wait. You have some healing to do first. You were
pretty banged up when you were brought in. You had a compound fracture of the
leg, not to mention a lot of cuts and bruises. But, didn’t I always tell you,
you have a really hard head, Ciara Kelly, because with the blow you got you
should have had a broken skull. Instead, all you got was a concussion.”
The doctor took over from there. “But as far as
concussions go, yours was a beauty. Your leg will be fine. We had to put in a
few screws, so from now on you might beep when you go through airport security.
Your cuts are healing nicely. All in all, you are one very lucky young lady.”
He called this lucky?
“What about my head? Am I… Will I…” She could deal
with all of that, but the thought of having a brain injury was too much.
“You did have a brain bleed when you came in. But
we were able to treat it without surgery. You’ve had an MRI, and from what we
can tell, except for a tiny bit of scar tissue in the posterior cingulate
cortex, everything is fine. If you had lingering problems, they most likely
would have shown up by now.”
“Posterior cingular…What does that area of the
brain do?”
“The posterior cingulate cortex,” he repeated with
a teasing smile. “That’s an area most people have never heard of. It’s one of
the most metabolically active regions of the brain, but the simple truth is
nobody really knows what its true cognitive role might be.”
“Are you telling me I might have brain damage, and
you don’t know how it might affect me?”
The teasing glint was gone, but his tone was still
light. “No idea whatsoever.” He picked her chart and scribbled a few words.
“But we’ll keep an eye on you and if we notice anything, we’ll deal with it
then.”
Her sister gave him a reproving look. “You’re fine,
Ciara. Don’t worry about it. They’ve taken every possible test and everything
looks perfectly normal.”
A nurse walked in at that moment, signaling for the
doctor’s attention. “The police are sending somebody over to question the
patient.”
“The police?” Ciara said. “Of course. The
accident.” They’d want her version of what happened. “Why can’t I remember anything between the
photo shoot and waking up here?”
The room became quiet. “That’s not abnormal,” the
doctor said at last. “You’ve only been fully awake for a few hours. It could
take days, maybe even longer before everything comes back to you.” Ciara
nodded, her eyes darting from the doctor to her sister. She had the feeling
they were keeping something from her.
About the Author
M C Domovitch is the author of nine
novels, four of which were published under the name of Carol Ann Martin (by
Penguin), another two under the name Monique Domovitch (by Carina Press) The
other three are published as M C Domovitch, Scorpio Rising, The Sting of the
Scorpio (Both now republished in one single tome) and Scar
Tissue. The decision to use a different pen name was based on her departure
from cozy mysteries and entering the Romance and Romantic Suspense genres.
Before becoming an author, Monique had
multiple careers, beginning with modeling. She won a modeling contest in the
70s and became one of Canada's top models. After retiring from the fashion
industry, she studied finance and joined an investment company. This led to a
new career as host of her own television show about investing, with the
television network, WTN. Following her retirement from finance, she decided to
pursue her true passion, writing. At a writing workshop at San Diego's Writers'
Conference, one of her unpublished books caught the eye of a publisher and of
an agent. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Domovitch lives with her physician husband
and their dogs. They divide their time between homes in Victoria and Toronto
Canada and Key Largo Florida.
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