Witness Unalive

While writing seemingly ordinary events into a psycho-thriller, author Sharon Patricia Burtner weaves extraordinary details into the story, which sets Witness Unalive apart.Melissa discovers her suicidal young sister, Lenora, in the bathtub with her wrists slit, the murky red water still warm. But she is too late. There is nothing left to do but follow Lenora’s instructions and donate her organs.Victor Lawson is her lucky kidney recipient, or so he thought, until he can’t seem to shake a settling depression. He takes up drawing, and develops an allergy to scallops, formerly his favorite food. Victor’s family notices, too, as his behavior becomes more bizarre to the point of disrupting his job as a bus driver.While driving his route, Victor becomes obsessed with a stranger, stalking the hapless person, his fixation bordering on madness. Why is he compelled to furtively follow the stranger’s every move?Burtner’s stage experience is evident in Witness Unalive through the detailed dialogue the characters exchange. This, added to her psychology and paranormal expertise, gives the book its authenticity.Like Victor, you will be inexplicably drawn to each page of Witness Unalive as you learn where Victor’s obsession leads. What truth is he seeking, and who is the real victim?

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WITNESS UNALIVE Sharon Patricia Burtner As Melissa drove into Nora's apartment complex, for an instant Melissa felt relieved when she spotted Nora's car. Then temporary relief subsided into concern that Nora had been home during the phone calls and something was terrib1y wrong. A voice within told her not to panic, that perhaps Nora had just returned or was painting again and simply did not want to stop long enough to return her sister's call. That would be just like Nora, Melissa reasoned. She walked past an empty reception area with a worn, green leather couch, a large television and several somewhat-matching stuffed chairs on her way to the third floor. First, Melissa listened at the door. Then she called, "Nora, I'm here. You cannot get away with playing hooky. Nora, open the door. Are you painting? Is that why you can't open the door?" she asked, in a higher pitch than usual. Then she started banging harder and harder and screaming loudly, "Open the door, Nora, right now. This is not funny. You are scaring me. Nora, are you sick? Do you need help?" She jiggled the knob noisily. "What's all this racket?" asked an unshaven, middle-aged man who emerged from across the hall. "Go home, lady. Looks like your friend is gone." "Have you seen my sister?" "I see her sometimes, helped her carry in some groceries last night, or was that the night before?" "Did you see her today?" "No, she's probably at work, works at that theatre, doesn't she?" he asked. "She's not at work. They called me and said she hadn't come in." "Wouldn't be the first time that happened to me, Sister," he chuckled. As he leaned toward her, with a wink, Melissa could smell the alcohol on his breath, rum or something sweet. She held her breath until he swayed upright. "I'm worried," she said. "I'm afraid she's hurt herself." "She probably just doesn't feel like watching the phones ring." Melissa sighed. "If it will make you feel better, why don't you ask the receptionist to help?" "What receptionist?" "You must have passed her on the way in. Fuzzy brown hair? Her name's Meredith. She watches television with the guys waiting for the pub to open up across the street. Go on down. You'll find her, eventually." Melissa darted downstairs, looking about the room for signs of someone, anyone, who could help her. Seeing no one, she climbed the stairs, taking two or three at a time, back to Nora's apartment. Again, she listened as carefully as she could. She could hear nothing, not even a radio, water sounds or air conditioning. The silence seemed ominous. Attempting to break the bad omen, she yelled out loudly, "No-o-or-aah!" Two more residents opened their doors. One, a woman, screamed, "Will you please hush up?" Another woman simply shook her hand in disdain. Her orange lips were pursed. Before Melissa could respond, the man from across the hall popped out again, coming to her defense. "Have a heart, Ladies," he crooned, while giving the first woman a knowing nod and the second a sly wink. Instantly, they were quieted. "This young lady," he said, pointing at and swaying towards Melissa, "is concerned about her sister, our very own neighbor, on our very own hall. How the heck is she supposed to get her attention when she won't open the door?" "Won't open the door?" The orange-lipped woman asked. "Why, she always opens her door," the other one confirmed, stepping into the hall as she pulled the tie more tightly around her blue terry-cloth bathrobe. "Why, we'll help you," she said and began pounding the door with her fist. "Oh, Dear, if it would not be too much trouble," the woman began. They listened. The man even held a glass up to the door for Melissa to listen more closely. They all took turns listening and calling. "You should get Meredith," the orange woman suggested. She not only wore

About the Author

Native to Washington, D.C., Sharon Patricia Burtner has also lived in San Francisco, Seattle, Chicago, Brasilia, Brazil and Tegucigalpa, Honduras. One of two daughters, Sharon also has two daughters, Celeste and Freesia. Her sister is the conceptual artist Cary Burtner. Sharon has a B.S. in Psychology, a B.A. in Liberal Arts and a Graduate Certificate in Teaching English as a Second Language. Her previous publications include fiction, poetry and news articles, as well as the novella, SUSPECT OR SAINT?

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