Monday, September 19, 2016

Who is Trent Miller?

Who is Trent Miller? A Character Interview

By now, you’ve heard all about Melinda James’ unearthly and harrowing life. Now, you can find out about just who Trent Miller is and what he has to do with Melinda’s craziness and his forays into the dark side.

Trent Miller is here with me today. He agreed to answer some questions and explain why he’s journeying into Hell.

So, without further ado, let me introduce you to Trent Miller:

QueenWriter (QW): Trent, I've asked this same question of Melinda. Who are you?

Trent Miller (TM): Just as Melinda was, I was created by Starr Gardinier. Some say I was put on Earth to help Melinda with her plight. Others argue that I’m the cause of the dangerous paranormal occurrences and what’s about to happen to Melinda.

QW: So, are you here to help or hinder?

TM: For reasons even unknown to me, I guess I am responsible for some of Melinda’s problems.

QW: Really? How are you responsible? What have you done to her?

TM: I can’t really explain everything in this short interview. Suffice it to say, it’s up to me if Melinda lives or dies.

QW: It sounds like you’re playing God with her life.

TM: Not at all. It’s actually Hell that is playing with Melinda’s life.

QW: Please explain. Readers are going to want to know.

TM: I can’t. Trust me, everyone will want to read the story for themselves.

QW: Okay, I get it. Now, I know you’re not a bad person. But so far from this interview, it appears as if you are…questionable, at the very least. Tell your readers and fans, who you are.

TM: I’m a lanky but good looking, young adult currently living—platonically—with Melinda (although the platonic part I’d like to change). I’m searching for employment so I don’t have to rely on her financial kindness any longer. I’m simply trying to carve out a place on Earth where I can live a peaceful life with Melinda. From all the events that have been happening, and that will continue to happen, I’m not sure that’s going to be possible. At least anytime soon. I met Melinda at a time in her life that her future path was uncertain. I’d like to think I helped her get through that. But what’s to come? I’m not sure I can save her.

QW: Are you saying Melinda is going to die?

TM: I’m not saying she is. I’m not saying she’s not. All I am saying is that I’m going to try to keep her from harm. I’m just not sure I can. I’m only human, after all.

QW: Can you give us a glimpse into your story? Something that shows the readers what it’s about?

TM: Starr has already told me that I can share an excerpt with you, but she won’t let me say more.

It’s dark and cold. I shiver as I stand there. I can’t see anything. I take the time to adjust my eyes. It’s a narrow tunnel. I can barely see the shape of it. From what I can tell, it reminds me of an extremely large pipe. I feel the sides and it’s metal. Maybe I am in some type of pipe.
I can’t see anything, so before I move forward, I take out my flashlight. I shine what light it provides down the corridor. Everything is rounded, even the floor. I have to walk in the middle to stay upright. It’s foggy and I can’t see that far. The only thing that comes to mind is a storm drain and the fog reminds me of being at the beach first thing in the morning before it burns off.
I continue straight ahead, shining the light left and right as I go, looking for a doorway or other exit. After some time, my legs begin to feel as if I’ve walked for miles. I stop to rest and sip on some water.
I keep moving and suddenly I’m falling. Not far, about two feet, but I wasn’t expecting it and land on my butt. The fall is enough to jar me, sending shooting pains up my back. I get up and stretch out my back. Nothing seems broken. I stretch one last time and continue on. The floor is suddenly at a steep downward angle. It’s so steep my toes are rammed into the tips of my tennis shoes with every step I take.
It seems as if it’s going further underground. After what seems like forever, I emerge from the pipe into a cavernous room. The first thing I hear is hushed whispers. It sounds like several people murmuring.
“Hello?” I call out.
Are there homeless people living down here? Do they need help? Or others, entities maybe, who are here to stop me?
“Hello? Is anyone here? Do you need help?”
I splay the light around. I don’t see others who could be the owners of the voices I’m hearing. Are they all in my head?
The floor is level now, no more downward slant and no more fog. The walls are made of rock and there’s another doorway on the left. It’s just as cold and I start jogging in place and blowing on my hands to get some warmth. I hear water dripping, but I can’t see its source.
There’s no choice but to keep going. After passing through the next exit, the path becomes much narrower and the whispers disappear. The floor is uneven and I stumble quite a bit. At one point, I fall and drop the flashlight. When I put my hands down to help myself up, I feel something squishy. Yuck. What in the hell is it? Fortunately, the beam is still on and I grab it and aim it at my hand. It’s black, sticky, and disgusting. There’s a puddle of water in front of me. I use it to semi-clean my hands then dry them on my jeans and get up.
It’s becoming hard to breathe and I lean against the stone wall. I’m lightheaded. Oh God, no. Don’t let me pass out here. I shake my head to refocus and call upon whatever strength I have.
I start walking again and I begin to hear wailing. I stop to listen. Sure enough, someone or something is howling. No, there’s more than one. I hear several different cries. They’re all around me now. I put my hands up to cover my ears. I have to use my wrist because one hand is holding the flashlight and I don’t want to drop it again. Is it just an echo? It sounds like several people are being tortured.
I try to tune it out and keep moving. The noises become louder the farther I walk. It’s excruciating to listen to. I can’t imagine the pain they’re in. Then a thought hits me. What if Melinda is crying out? What if she is one of those in agony?
The thought spurs me on. No amount of discomfort will stop me from getting to her. I take short breaths and sip as little water as possible. Suddenly, there’s a door in front of me. I sneak up to it and put my ear to the wood. Nothing. I put my hand on the knob and quickly pull it back. It’s like ice and I almost stick to it. Using my shirt as a glove, I slowly turn the handle. I scan the room with my flashlight and find it empty. I step in and see there are six doors. I decide to peek into each one.
I walk to the one to my immediate left and just as I reach for the knob, the hair on the back of my neck stands up and I’m overcome with a sense of apprehension and terror. I stop my hand in mid-air. Then I hear this evil laughter and like the cries earlier, it’s all around me. Bouncing off the walls like echoes. The cackles seem to go on and on.


QW: I heard you are suspected by the police for Melinda’s disappearance. But from what you just said, it sounds more like you’re trying to save her. Which is it?

TM: I’m sorry, I can’t say any more than that. Starr will have my soul.

QW: Okay. Thank you for joining us today, Trent. It was nice speaking with you.

If you want to know even more about Trent Miller, click on any of the links below:

Wild Rose Press:
Barnes & Noble:


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