Author's Note: Alrighty folks. My name is Erica Mowry, and I am an aspiring authoress. Several of my friends read my books (And my English teacher) and tell me I should get them published. However! They are my best friends, so I need more...unbiased, opinions. So, I opened up an account here to push all my ideas around, until I decide they're good enough to send to an editor my English teacher knows. Hopefully, another series of mine will someday see that editor and I'll get a review on it, but I'm currently revising it majorly, so that may take awhile. Thank you for reading my works, and I accept almost all types of reviews. Thanks again,
Erica Mowry

Summary: Amy Fitzpatrick’s life was perfect. She was pretty, co-captain of the dance team, and had snagged a hot guy for her high school’s homecoming dance. She and her best friend, Holly Manson, are taking over their school.

Then Amy and Holly pass the murder, where an innocent man was just shot, and the murderers spy Amy and Holly watching. When Holly is killed, another victim of the murder, Amy’s life falls apart.

Other than losing her best friend, Amy’s boyfriend dumps her, she loses co-captaincy, and everything is in pieces.

Then Holly returns from the dead. Fearing hallucinations, Amy allows her family to move away to a new state, and Holly only follows, and Amy learns that her murder is bringing bad tidings. If Amy doesn’t accept what Holly is offering her, soon they will both be dead, and the murderer will only move on in the world…

Murdered Angel
Chapter 1:

One minute, Holly Manson was watching me enviously, from where she stood behind the alter. The next, I blinked, and Holly was gone.

I looked around a few times, and even looked down in Holly’s coffin, but instantly looked away. Even now, I still have problems even imagining where the coroner had sealed Holly’s throat shut from where it had been torn apart by the bullet.

Holly’s long, straight, jet-black hair was sleek and shiny, loose in her face, and her eyes were (of course) shut. Her dress was pale blue, like her eyes, and the black wood of the coffin was shut to cut off below her waist. Around her neck, below the neat sewing and patchwork, was a golden chain and locket. The locket I gave her last Christmas. Upon sight of it, I instantly and deliberately looked away, staring up glassy-eyed at the priest.

I didn’t see the other Holly, the one dressed in her ugly plaid school uniform, crouched behind the alter.

In fact, I didn’t see that Holly again for at least a few hours. But I did see her again, and let me assure you, my hallucinations were far from over.

I looked over at Mrs. Manson, dressed all in black from her dress, shoes, makeup, and gloves, and she was sobbing into her husband’s jacket. I turned my gaze away, beginning to wonder if she had seen Holly, too, but I still guessed I was the only one hallucinating.

My family was at the service with me, my parents having been great friends with the Mansons in college. My mom and dad, and three older siblings. Rory would be the oldest at eighteen, in her last year of high school, plus she’s the annoyingly smart A-Making Machine of the Fitzpatrick family. Then there’s Devon, second oldest at sixteen, and football star.

Finally, there’s Jason, but he’s only about four minutes older than me at fourteen. Yeah, suckily, we’re twins. Nothing I can do about it, unfortunately. It’s like trying to give Rory a B+. It just can’t be done. Just get one thing clear, now – Jason and I have nothing in common.

Just thought I’d clear that up. I’ll go on more into my family later.

Anyway, we drove home after the service at nearly ten o’clock that night. I was so beat with mental and physical exhaustion, so I just slipped off my black ballet flats and crawled into bed, past caring about my sleeveless black dress, and I wrenched my onyx-encrusted barrette out of my long, curly sandy blonde hair.

Don’t get me wrong – I cared about Holly way more than those flats and barrette. She was my best friend since we were less than a year old, rolling around on a blanket while my mom and Mrs. Manson met for a Book Club meeting. However, I’d cried my eyes out for over three weeks for Holly. Now that the funeral was over, my eyes felt dry and burnt out. I just couldn’t cry anymore, despite all the emotions welling up inside of me.

Holly had been in a coma for nearly two weeks. I’d cried plenty all that time, especially after the doctors told us Holly would be brain dead if she ever woke up. That was when Mr. and Mrs. Manson finally decided they would have to pull the plug. But I still think I knew from the moment the gun cocked, that Holly was going to die.

I lay in bed for hours after I crawled in, thinking about Holly. Our good times, our bad times. The Holly I had seen in the church. That was, undoubtedly, a hallucination. I remembered antagonizing her little sisters, while her older brother, Jimmy, who was less than a year older than me (Holly was eight months younger than me) antagonized us.

I was almost ready to cry again when I felt the throw pillow she had made for me under my head. It was blue, with the words ‘Happy Birthday Amy’ ironed into it in green letters. The felt was fuzzy in my hands, and without thinking, I flung it down to the ground. I couldn’t take any of Holly right then. I didn’t want to cry again. I rolled a blanket over my face, rubbing it against my eyes so that there wouldn’t be any evidence of my tears.

When I pulled the blanket back, I rolled around, when I heard a loud whimper, and I sat up in the dark.

Sadie, our Golden Retriever, had leapt up onto my bed, and crawled down at the foot, kneading my blankets with her paws. I rolled my eyes, and laid back down, and instantly, felt the felt and ironed-on letter pushing against my scalp. I sat up, and pulled Holly’s pillow out from underneath my head.

I’ll admit now, I freaked out a little bit. Sadie was the only one who could have possibly moved my pillow, and she was at the foot of my bed. Our cat, Drea (Well, mostly my cat), could have moved that pillow, but she was tiny for your average American Shorthair, and chances were wouldn’t have the strength to move the large pillow. Not to mention, I don’t think she was in the room. She tends to go outside after in rains for some reason. Why, I don’t have any idea at all…

Either way, there was a pillow on my bed I knew I had thrown at the floor, and now, it was sitting in my hands, the luminescent birthday wish beaming at me. I hesitated, then pushed it back to the ground. I heard it swish onto the wooden floors. I laid back down, and felt no pillow except my normal one, and sighed, shutting my eyes, when Sadie whined again.

I sat up, on the verge of just kicking Sadie out all together, when I heard a loud, unhappy voice from the swiveling desk chair. It was all too familiar.

“What’s wrong with that pillow, Amy? You liked it when I gave it to you when we were twelve…”

I bolted up, snatched on the lamp, and instantly, my eyes widened so large, I’m surprised they still fit in their sockets without popping out.

Sitting in the chair, wearing her school uniform, complete with the un-tucked polo and untied tennis shoes, with her black hair done up in a sleek ponytail was Holly, spinning back and forth a few inches in the chair, her bright blue eyes now dull, and clearly, upset.

I let out a choked scream at the sight of her, sitting in my room.