The Work of Author R V Biggs
Latest news, updates, extracts.
Here you will find information on new work or extracts from existing novels or maybe even teasers from upcoming releases.
A teaser from the as yet untitled Book 4.
9th May 1991
A heavy downpour splattered around as fourteen-year-old Rachel Amis hurried away from home—the sound of the slamming front door echoing inside her head. Heedless of the rain that mingled with tears of anger and horror coursing down her cheeks, the young teenager hoisted a bulky rucksack onto her shoulders and squeezed her arms through the straps. With every step she increased the distance between evil and herself. But then fine tendrils of panic prickled her neck, and fearing the sudden grasp of firm hands, she leaned forward into a run.
Weaving a path between umbrella carrying pedestrians, Rachel raced towards Willenhall town centre and the nearest bus stop. Lengthening her stride still further, using strength and stamina honed by years of school sports, she rounded a corner and hurtled past market stalls laden with goods, busy with mid-afternoon shoppers. Driven by the same energy she shared with someone she was destined to meet years later, she hurtled onwards, ignoring the shouts of irritation as she uncaringly splashed through deep puddles. Through the town centre she continued, towards the main road that would take her to Walsall and, she hoped, sanctuary.
With deep controlled breaths, she quickened her pace still further as she spotted a bus heading towards a nearby traffic island. Desperation filled her soul when, for a moment, she knew she would not reach the bus stop in time. But then the traffic around the island slowed, and the bus came to a halt. Two hundred metres and twenty seconds later, she all but slid to a halt by the bus stop and yanked her hood over her head, hiding her face from potential pursuers. Moments after she joined the queue, the screech of brakes assaulted her ears as the bus stopped alongside where she stood. Impatient to get aboard, she resisted drawing attention to herself by jumping the queue, instead keeping her head down and listening with all ears for familiar but hated voices.
But after seconds that seemed like hours, she threw a few coins into the tray, climbed the stairs, and settled into an upstairs seat, away from the pavement, face hidden as the bus moved out into the flow of traffic.
For the moment, she felt reasonably safe and tried hard to convince herself that the people she had left behind were too drunk and too stupid to guess where she had gone. She had money in her pocket, stolen from home without guilt or chagrin, and a destination in mind—somewhere she had always felt safe, even loved, and with someone she was certain would keep her that way.