Kent Wyatt writes Christian Suspense/Thrillers that will grab your heart and take it places you never suspected with a hint of divine intervention. Read a quick sample of his writing below. Kent’s novels have been honored by the American Christian Fiction Writers Genesis Contest, the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, and the Selah Award. His books are available on Amazon in Ebook, Kindle, and Paperback. 

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Have you ever tried Flash Fiction?  It is a condensed form of fiction writing that tells a story in few words.  Here is one of Kent’s flash fiction stories:

What He Had

The cup trembled in Daniel’s hand as he pretended to sip at his empty coffee. Without turning, he listened. There were no sounds of movement. The man must be sitting in the same place where Daniel had last heard him speak to the waitress. She seemed oblivious to the subtle changes in the man’s voice that betrayed nervousness. Most people wouldn’t pick up on it, just like they wouldn’t hear the foreign accent the man was hiding. Daniel’s tension eased the grip it had on his stomach when the woman left the man’s table. It wouldn’t be good if she suspected anything and panicked. Please, Lord let him keep on thinking no one knows.

But everything supported Whirly’s unexpected alert. Daniel had waited to be sure. Now, he was. But what could he do about it? Even with Whirly in the lead, the man could go for a detonator before they could stop him. He remembered how quickly it could happen.

He sat his cup down and reached to scratch Whirly’s head. The dog whined and his toenails clicked on the tile floor with the anxious movement of his front paws. The re-training hadn’t changed that part of him, the dog still had it. Any canine could smell, but Whirly had the ability to put it all together – people, places, emotions. That instinct had saved them two years early. They had escaped the worst of the explosion, but it had changed them both. Since that day, Whirly knew what could happen. Now he was scared, and Daniel could feel the fear like it was his own. Calm down. Don’t give us away, buddy. He put his hand alongside the animal’s muzzle. The dog’s gaze was riveted on the source of the odor that he had not smelled in a long time. Taking care not to let his own face turn toward the man, Daniel put slight pressure on Whirly’s head to redirect it.

He patted the dog’s side while he whispered reassurance. “Good boy.” The muscles in Whirly’s neck twisted and Daniel knew he was looking up at him in the same pose that two years ago inspired the newspaper photographer to start snapping pictures just before Daniel and Whirly had gone into the building that would later erupt in a fireball. Daniel heard the photo had won some award with the caption, “Man and animal communing in the face of death. Neither knowing they were about to step into a nightmare.” Now the nightmare was happening again.

Whirly’s head snapped back toward the man and the present threat.

Daniel didn’t know if the explosives were on the man’s person or in the bag that he had heard him place on the seat beside him. It was a hot day. It would be hard to get away with wearing bulky clothing: probably in the bag, detonator in his pocket? The man could leave the bag, walk away and set it off from down the street. But he might not wait if he knew he was discovered.

Daniel dug in his bag for the treats. He slowed his movements. You don’t want him to think you’re going for a gun. Daniel wished he had a gun. What would you do with it?

His duty weapon had been one more thing that his new life had ripped away from him and it added to the terror. When Joseph brought him home from the hospital he had told Daniel that his wife didn’t like guns in their house. It had been kind of him to give that excuse and to give him a place until he could adjust. He had to conquer the fear to live on his own again. In the burn unit, Daniel had discovered that he could handle pain, but he was scared to die. Finally, he had to let go of his life. He should be dead anyway. But now that lesson seemed far away.

Daniel’s hand found the plastic ziplock that held the dog biscuits. Pulling it out, he set it on the table where it could be seen. The spoon rattled and Daniel realized he was setting it on the plate. He moved it, taking care not to push something else off the table in his nervousness. Smile. Don’t look serious. He suppressed the urge to make some comment about the dog wanting a treat. He didn’t know if the man was watching or not. No need to cause him to look his way.

Daniel drew attention to himself wherever he went. When he entered a room, conversations would trail off or falter just enough to know that the speaker’s gaze was drawn to Whirly and then to Daniel’s scars. It had been the same when he had been in uniform. People noticed when a cop walked in. They probably did both for the same reason, but it felt different now.

He handed a treat to Whirly then gave him another to send the message that everything was all right. But it wasn’t, and Whirly could tell.

The restaurant was large. Daniel estimated there were at least fifty people inside. Fifty lives. He had heard at least four children. He was sure none of the diners thought they might die. Why would they?

Daniel didn’t know on the day it happened to him. After the days of pain, when he came out of the morphine fog, the chaplain read him a verse from James that compared life to a vapor that appeared for a little while and was gone. Before the explosion, he had all kinds of plans for his future. In a moment, they vanished like a vapor. He had learned the only time you have is the moment you’re standing in, and you better use it wisely because you never know.

Today he knew. But he couldn’t give that gift to anyone else because the moment he stood up to tell them they didn’t have much time, they would have none.

None, because he was helpless. What did he have? He wasn’t a cop. He wasn’t even a whole man. A bead of moisture trickled down his temple. He gripped the table to hide the shaking. I can get out now and save myself and Whirly. What more could he do? If I get up and walk out calmly…could he do that? If he stood up, could he keep from running?

A tiny sniff of a laugh left his mouth. Running? Where would Whirly run, away from the threat or toward it? Would the dog follow his fear or his training? What are you following? Letting go of the table, Daniel straightened. Reaching down, he found the familiar, furry back and stroked it.

He felt the scars on Whirly’s side where the hair had never grown back. Daniel couldn’t remember the other blast. Would he feel the explosion this time, melting away the flesh the other left?

Under his breath, he addressed the animal. “We make a gruesome pair.”

The dog’s quiet whine ended in a groan.

“Are we cowards, boy?”

If they left now, they would leave the others to the mercy of the unknown man. A man he couldn’t even describe. What was the use of knowing if he could do nothing? Nothing but pray the man would walk out and take his bomb with him.

Pray. The word reached something inside him. He bowed his head and shook it, teeth clenched. I’m not alive because of anything I did. Around him, the sounds of the other diners swirled. Souls waiting to die. He had given his life for them once, in the line of duty, and God had given it back to him. Why would you do that, God, if it was just to live it all over? I don’t know if I can do it again. He envisioned Samson in the Bible, placing his hands against the pillars, reaching for his second chance. But he was no Samson. He didn’t have that kind of strength.

From the booth in the corner, the man’s fork clinked against his plate. The plate was pushed away. Paper rustled, money being placed on the table. The man had finished his meal. Was it his last? Would he take the bomb elsewhere and die with it in some other place? Or was the meal just to get him in the restaurant? Would he walk out and leave the bomb with them? There are plenty of people here to make a statement. It was Daniel’s last chance to leave.

Plenty of lost souls. The thought invaded his mind.

Daniel raised his head. From the window, the warm sun touched his face. After a moment, he sighed. He took out his cell phone and held it under the table, feeling the numbers. Turning his ear in the man’s direction, Daniel used what he had.

There was a scrape of a shoe. A chair slid out. The man was moving. Daniel listened for the sounds that would indicate if…more movement…the man stood. He listened for the bag to slide across the seat, but it didn’t…just walking. He was leaving the bag. Daniel dialed 9-1-1 and set the phone on the seat beside him for the dispatcher to trace.

The man had to go by him to get to the exit. Daniel took off his sunglasses and laid them on the table. He eased his legs around, so he could get by Whirly. He marked every footfall, waiting. The man was just about to pass by. Daniel stood right in his path and felt the man’s body strike his.

“Oh, excuse me.” Daniel turned his face so the man could see his vacant eyes. “I’m blind.” Daniel began dusting at the man. “Please forgive me.” The man stiffened. Daniel moved his hands over him as if to straighten the man’s clothes, feeling along his arms with both palms until he came to his hands, making sure there was nothing in them. He grabbed the wrists but let the man’s arms swing free, ready to see where they went. Daniel leaned in and whispered, “I know about the bomb.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then the man’s right hand grabbed toward his pants pocket: the last confirmation. Daniel drove the hand back, so it missed the pocket. He let go with his left and used both hands to attack the man’s wrist with a strength no one would have expected. He rotated the man’s hand up and out, ducking under and behind the man, following the flow from years of practicing the move. He did not need to see it, just feel. He jerked the man’s hand behind him, then down and threw him to the floor.

“Fass!” Daniel hissed the word toward Whirly. The noise touched older programming in the canine, before his days as a seeing-eye dog. Daniel felt a rush by him. Whirly growled and the man’s body jerked and writhed as he cried out.

“Don’t move and he’ll stop.” Daniel felt the man’s pocket and extracted a small electronic device.

Out of habit, he yelled, “This man’s under arrest. Don’t touch that bag on the seat over there.” He wanted to reach for handcuffs that he didn’t have, to hold up the badge that now occupied a display case in his apartment along with his medal of valor. But all he had was the muscle memory of the armlock he applied to the man. As his breathing slowed, he became aware of the silence that pervaded the restaurant.

He heard a hushed male voice. “He’s a cop.”

Someone uttered, “bomb” in whispered speculation.

A gasp rippled through the crowd as they realized what he had.

                                                            ~~~~~

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