by Ginger Voight

Created on: March 06, 2010   Last Updated: March 23, 2012

Skeletons shake loose in a religious Texas town when the daughter of a prominent preacher goes completely off the rails through self-destruction and addiction.

Excerpt from "Dirty Little Secrets", Chapter One

A tiny black river spiraled down a cracked porcelain sink and rusty drain, as the steam from the hot running water filled the tiny, dirty bathroom like a sauna. A slender, shaking hand wiped the fog from the mirror and Grace McKinney stared into her reflection; the bright blue eyes rimmed red, the limp black hair that clung around her neck, which appeared almost too fragile to hold up her head.

It was a face she'd seen every day for the last nineteen years, but there were times when she felt as though she was staring at a stranger.

Times like now.

Most of her heavy makeup was streaking down the drain, and her sunken eyes and pale face looked like that of a child staring back at her...begging for her to save her before it was too late.

As Grace turned off the faucet, she already knew they were far past the point of no return.

Her stomach threatened to rebel and force all the alcohol and pills she'd ingested back out of her system, like the toxic sludge that it was. She slid down onto the floor by the toilet and shivered violently as she waited for the painful dry heaves that never seemed to quit, even when the contents of her stomach had emptied and there was nothing left but burning bile.

She cradled the commode, trying not to sob because it would only make things worse.

She knew that because she'd been here many times before.

And despite that, she always found her way back.

She clapped her hands over her ears to keep out the reprimanding voices she alone could hear. They had been recorded over a short lifetime, but so frequently and consistently Grace feared she'd never be drunk enough, or high enough, or strung out enough, to be saved from their rancor.

What seemed like an eternity later she finally was able to pull her trembling body from the floor, flush the full commode and stumble toward the shower. She ran the water as hot as she could stand it, hoping as she stepped into the dingy small shower stall that it would scald away her transgressions.

She scrubbed herself raw with a tiny rag and some motel soap, even though she already knew it didn't matter how much she tried, she could better peel a couple of layers off of her skin before she could erase the memory of his touch.

But it had been a necessary evil.

She placed a hand on the shower stall to

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