Jason Carico is a grieving father, desperately trying to come to grips with the loss of his eight-year-old stepdaughter, Delta, who drowned two months ago.
But if she's dead, then why is there a little girl claiming to be Delta locked up in his basement?
Desperately wanting to believe her, Jason attempts to live a normal life while hiding his nightmare below. His anxiety explodes when his late wife's sister appears on his doorstep. Can he trust her? Would she believe him? And what will the police think if they ever find out the only African American man in town has a white girl trapped in his basement?
The haunting motto of Mother's death cult tolls throughout the book, "The Universe has a plan, independent from the wants of man."
Jason Carico is a grieving father, desperately trying to come to grips with the loss of his eight-year-old stepdaughter, Delta, who drowned two months ago.
But if she's dead, then why is there a little girl claiming to be Delta locked up in his basement?
Desperately wanting to believe her, Jason attempts to live a normal life while hiding his nightmare below. His anxiety explodes when his late wife's sister appears on his doorstep. Can he trust her? Would she believe him? And what will the police think if they ever find out the only African American man in town has a white girl trapped in his basement?
The haunting motto of Mother's death cult tolls throughout the book, "The Universe has a plan, independent from the wants of man."
The deer gathered along the side of Laboy Road, watching
the red truck rumble past. Jason made eye contact with
the alpha, a doe with velvet-covered antlers, and turned
his attention back toward the drive. Her presence unnerved
him. He first noticed her and the rest of her herd two months
earlier when former Deputy, now Sheriff Rojas drove him home
that night from the river.
Of course, that was just a coincidence.
Just like how the air conditioning inside his beat-up Chevy
died in August. Well, yes, no question that was a coincidence.
He had no time back then to make the repair, and he justified
his current laziness by the calendar. Air conditioning would be
a moot point in a couple more days. In the meantime, the
driverās side window would continue to remain open, like a long
lazy yawn. The confused leaves, unsure of what Mother Nature
intended, danced about in the breeze, their brilliant autumn
colors dying to be documented. His own personal Monet.
Except Jason had no interest in foliage, or nature, or anything
else for that matter. He wanted to get home. He checked the
clock to see 5:51 pm. The radio finished playing its song, and the
DJ filled the silence.
2 DELTA
āThat was Stargazer by Rainbow, one of my all-time favorite
forgotten classics. That wizard, man! Of course, this is your
favorite afternoon delight Nico, and youāre listening to 99.9 The
Edge living on the edge of classic and modern rock. You know,
with Halloween fast approaching, letās take a second to think
about Mia, the little eight-year-old girl missing sinceāā
Jason muzzled the radio and made the right from Laboy
onto the dirt path leading into the woods in silence. Officially it
didnāt have a name. Unofficially Jason referred to it as Carico
Road, named by his father years ago. The three-bedroom house,
previously owned by his father and built by his grandfather, was
an oasis deep in the middle of nowhere, hidden amidst a thick
vein of woods about a half-mile away from the main road. Even
after all these years, the town of Samchiās decision to not pave
the path leading to his home still bothered him. Jason learned at
a young age that the Carico family mattered little when it came
to town affairs.
The truck bounced along, Carico & Son emblazoned on both
sides, as Jasonās fingers drummed on top of the roof. Finally, he
pulled up to the swinging wooden gate, stretching across the
dirt road, and placed the car in park. The five-foot barrier
appeared to be brand new because it was, built back in August.
He stepped out and walked up to the three padlocks securing
the two swinging doors where they met in the middle.
Holding his massive key ring, he fingered through the
eleven until he found the appropriate three for the three locks.
Eighteen seconds later, he rolled them about in his large hand.
He knew full well his home-built effort wasnāt an actual
deterrent. For one, anyone on foot could simply walk around
said gate into the woods and come out clean on the other side.
And if they drove up, they wouldnāt need a tank to smash
straight through. He only had one goal when he amassed the
structure, time. The obstacle stood less than a quarter-mile
from his home. Close enough that he could hear any
TOM STARITA 3
commotion, far enough to give him an extra second to prepare,
to gather, and to run, if it came to that.
There was motion to his left, and he discovered the alpha
doe, a doe with velvet-covered antlers, staring at him from the
other side. They locked eyes, and an uneasiness filled Jasonās
stomach. Itās an animal, nothing more. Just a female with too
much testosterone. Her nose twitched, and Jason shifted one of
the locks to his right hand. She let out a loud snort and galloped
off to parts unknown. Jason let out a low sigh and relaxed his
grip. Talking out loud, Jason told himself to ignore the animal;
itās just a deer. He repeated it to convince himself, just a deer.
Focus on the tasks at handāmoving the car through, securing
the gate, and getting home.
After double-checking the locks to make sure they were
fastened tight, Jason hopped back in his car, now on the other
side, and continued on.
To the right of the house, set slightly back, was the two-car
garage Jasonās father built for his dadāJasonās grandfather as a
gift, back in 1967. Jasonās father had surprised his granddad,
who was off visiting his sister for a couple of weeks. The days of
hauling a six-foot ladder out of the basement had thankfully
come to an end. Initially, the right side of the building was for
the truck, the left side packed with tools and materials for
āCarico & Son,ā but now everything bled together.
Jason pulled into the garage and unloaded his tools, placing
them in the appropriate spots along the walls and the
workbench, saving the six-foot ladder for last.
Jason stepped out, hit the button, and watched the door
descend, making sure it touched bottom. Always make sure; he
might as well have the phrase tattooed somewhere since it was
constantly running through his mind. His own personal
mantra. Never assume. Always check. Always confirm. Always
double-check. The door dropped down, and Jason caught a
glimpse of his reflection in the small glass window.
4 DELTA
His face resembled the current status of the house: tired.
Dark rings had recently taken up residence under his brown
eyes, resting below a shaved head. Jason was a twenty-six-year-
old African American who felt like he was aging in dog years. If
he kept going like this, heād be lucky to see thirty.
Jason ran a dirty hand across the right side of his face,
brushing against the stubble. His attitude on shaving his face
had relaxed significantly. Stubble, stubble everywhere, so letās
all have a drink. He shook his head and admonished himself. He
couldnāt enter the house in such a negative state of mind.
Needing to buck up his confidence, Jason offered a fake smile at
the reflection, which morphed into a real one. In another life, he
could be quite the charmer, and that smile had worked wonders.
āYou ready?ā he whispered to himself as he looked down at
his watch. 5:58 pmāright on time. He walked the worn path
through what remained of the grass, crunching through the
former bodies of brilliance, ignoring those leaves of the Iroquois
trees holding on amidst their transition. All wasted on a man
without social media. He continued strolling the perimeter of
his ranch-style abode, doing what he always did, confirming.
The first thing he checked, the first thing he always checked,
was the recently sealed-up basement window on the right side
of the house.
Several robins laid spread out on the ground, their necks
broken. He grabbed the shovel he left leaning against the house,
scooped up the bodies, and sent them to the great beyond. Four
that time. Two robins the time before that. Running his hand
against the former window, he expressed gratitude to no one in
particular that he had found no damage.
This time.
What if something larger than a bird decided to crash
against it? He filed that thought under the domain of a Future
Jason problem and inspected the begging to be cleaned
windows of both bedrooms. Satisfied, he glanced up and
TOM STARITA 5
winked at the camera staring back at him, nestled in the corner
under the gutter.
Jason moved to the back of the house, finding nothing
unusual. The kitchen window didnāt budge an iota when he
pushed up on the ledge. Jason turned and winked again at the
second camera staring impassively back at him. He continued
his trek, examining the musty window of the master bedroom,
his fatherās old room. When that passed the test, he winked for
the third time at the corner camera.
Feeling satisfied, Jason returned to the front of the house
and walked the path up to the porch. Three steps led to the door,
and his eyes noticed it before he stepped down on the first
board. A decent-sized crack in the wood flashed a crooked smile
at him. Add that to the list of things needed to get fixed, cleaned
up, or raked before the first snow. A long list he would one day
set down on paper and then probably lose among the clutter.
The porch had an old metal tray table, and a couple of beat-
up wooden chairs with faded red cushions. An ashtray marked
the surface, filled with willing sacrifices, leftovers from his
father. Perhaps one day, heād deal with that too, and after that,
tackle his bedroom.
More tasks for that to-do list.
Having accomplished his mission, he let out one final wink
at the camera in the left-hand corner, covering the front door,
porch, and some of the path. Of course, he could have easily
entered the house five minutes ago and done the whole
production on the app he had on his phoneābut the motto
tolled like a bell, always make sure.
Jason held the screen door open with his hip and slid the
same key into the lock above and the knob below. The dark
brown door opened like a long-sealed pyramid. This wasnāt the
Wizard of Oz, and Jason certainly wasnāt Dorothy. The waning
sunbeams both displayed the dancing specs of dust destined to
join all the others and illuminated the dreary insides, the only
6 DELTA
colors to be found fading away. Years ago, his mom painted the
hallway yellow. He wasnāt sure what the color was now but
knew he couldnāt find it at the paint store.
Jason dropped his wallet on the table to his left and stood
inside what could be referred to as a mudroom. Hooks for the
jackets were on the wall to his right, mounted above an area for
work boots, shoes, and an assortment of other items long
forgotten and now used as domiciles for various insects. God
bless the multiple spiders for volunteering to be the houseās
personal security force.
Was that an outside sound or an indoor noise?
He remained grounded on the crusty mat and listened
intently. A minute passed, marked by the ticking of the kitchen
clock. Another minute passed before Jason allowed himself to
continue.
Walking down the hallway to the kitchen and the living
room in the back of the house, he passed two bedrooms on the
right and his fatherās old master bedroom, along with the only
bathroom on the left. Various crucifixes were nailed in places
where pictures once stood, their shadows sticking out behind
Jesusā lifeless body.
Only one picture remained, and it hung at the end of the
hallway. Inside the frame is a younger Jason, a happier Jason
with his dad, and a younger child. When he passed it, Jason did
what he always did; kiss his two fingers and touch the little girlās
beaming face.
The basement door, secured with three different locks,
greeted him after passing the bathroom but before entering the
kitchen. A gun rack with an assortment of guns hung on the
wall to the left of the entrance, smack dab in the middle of the
house. Like everything else, the rack was built by his handy
grandfather. Various types of handguns were held in place,
surrounding a hefty shotgun. There was a gun for every
problem imaginable and a couple extra just in case.
TOM STARITA 7
The kitchen design would be considered modern if this were
1995. Brown cabinets hung on the walls over a formerly cream-
colored linoleum countertop. Once yellow and now caked in
grease, the stove slept patiently, waiting for one of its three
working burners to be used. Jason popped open the fridge and
perused its contents. Did he want beer, beer, or baking soda? He
chose beer and flipped the cap off into the sink, where it found
its brothers. Jason took a deep pull, followed by another, and set
the bottle down on the counter. He didnāt have to recheck his
watch; the ticking of the old face hovering on the wall told him
it was time to get his act in gear.
Jason opened up the freezer above and dug around for one of
the many tv dinners. Tonight would be Salisbury steak; he
supposed that would be acceptable. Jason reached in and
grabbed a second, and popped them into the oven. Thatās when
he gave a sniff.
There was a smell inside the house. Not a new smell, either.
A familiar smell. The sort of familiar you begrudgingly
accepted. Something had seeped inside the bones of his house.
The only apparent solution was to mask the scent. For the past
couple of months, Jason had driven to several stores within a
twenty-mile radius to procure his own private inventory of
scented candles. Grabbing a book of matches out of the junk
drawer, Jason walked up and down the hallway, lighting candles
in every room. Autumn leaves, apple, pumpkin, vanilla,
jasmine, and lavender, all of those smells coalesced to mask
what lied beneath.
Jasonās footsteps provided the soundtrack, the echoes
reverberating off the worn hardwood floor. The record needle
scratched when a tiny voice floated up from the basement.
āHello?ā
The Story
There were several connected storylines in this book, but it wasnāt always clear how and why they were connected (for reasons I will get into later).
First, the character of Jason Carico was grieving for his daughter (and her mother). The scene where his daughter drowned was a memorable one, and I felt the desperation as Jason tried to get help for her. What didnāt make sense was how and why she came back, if she really was his daughter. Iām guessing it was related to the cult, somehow? If it was explained, I must have missed it.
Edited?
So there were some editing problems which I will come to shortly. The thing that confused me was in the acknowledgements the author thanked someone for doing the copy edits. Yet, there were mistakes with switching from past and present tenses when it wasnāt needed, and with the layout of dialogue. I realize he said anything he got wrong was him taking creative license, but getting things like this right improves the readability of the book, and has nothing to do with creative license.
Dialogue
There were several occasions throughout the book where the dialogue was laid out wrong. In short, this is an example of how dialogue should be presented.
āShe wants me to go to the shop,ā she said.
āI know that.ā He looked at her. āBut what does he want me to buy while Iām there?ā
Each new speaker equals a new line, but the author didnāt always do this. Iām not going to fill the review up with how to write dialogue, but Iāve included a link where he can learn more.
https://blog.reedsy.com/guide/how-to-write-dialogue/
Past and present tense
There were more occasions than I could keep track of when (outside of dialogue) the past and present tense switched, for example, using āwasā and āisā interchangeably. This, along with the dialogue issue, left me having to reread parts of the book, and it was distracting. I like a book that makes me think, but not for these reasons.
This might help.
https://www.nownovel.com/blog/writing-tenses-past-present-future/
My rating
Iāve given this 3 stars, although itās more like 2.5 stars (if it was possible to give partial stars). I think there was a lot of potential in the cult idea and the daughter storyline. However, the distractions made the story lose some of the tension. A quick re-edit would help the story flow better and improve the book.