The Call
Welcome to my debut novel – The Call.
Nate, a journalist, awakens to a horrifying discovery in the remote Comoros Islands, as the call to prayer echoes around him. Summoned to assist with the crisis, Juliette faces battles on both professional and personal fronts. As their relationship blossoms amidst the chaos, Nate and Juliette confront not only the threat of an unknown virus but also the shadows of their own pasts.
This timely novel spans continents and years, delving into the indispensable bond of family and friendship amidst the backdrop of globe-trotting adventures. The Call unfolds as both an exhilarating medical mystery and a slow-burn romance entwined in international intrigue and past trauma.
With vivid descriptions of exotic locales, sensual food, and provocative music, The Call invites readers on an unforgettable journey. Buen Viaje.
Copyright 2024 Cathy Schieffelin
Opening of The Call
Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar. Ashhadu anna la ila ill Allah…
Deep voices, chanting, resonate around me. It’s musical and familiar, yet jarring in Arabic, a language I don’t understand. Webs of mist cloud my vision, foggy and disorienting. Where the Hell am I?
I crack open my eyes. Sun has broken on the horizon, rays warming the sky to colors of peaches and roses. My head pounds, making me wonder if I have a wallop of a headache or if I’m part of the crashing waves in the background.
Waves? We aren’t near water. What is that?
I blink, hoping the claustrophobia will subside. The chemical smell of pyrethrum and the grit of salt on my lips brings me back. Rolling to my side, I gaze through the musty mosquito netting. Anjouan—a tropical speck floating in the Indian Ocean, part of the Comoro Archipelago. My work takes me to many far-flung places, but this, by far, is the most remote. That’s right, we left Morocco yesterday.
Early morning is my favorite—the calm and quiet before reality stirs. The reality that my relationship with Emma is over and I’m alone once again. The reality that there’s more to these tiny islands than meets the eye. Hard to imagine Al-Qaeda has infiltrated this pristine paradise. I’m also grappling with the realization that my team, sleeping nearby, is here at my request.
Gavin didn’t bat an eye even though Dani gave birth last week to their first child, Sam, who arrived a few weeks early. Gavin would have missed the delivery anyway, I tell myself. But I convinced him and the others to fly here to root out a possible terrorist cell incubating in this Eden.
There must be half a dozen mosques within earshot, as the muezzins’ voices rise and fall in dissonance and harmony. Despite the cacophony of voices projecting from loudspeakers, there’s something soothing about the call—it slows my racing heart and clears my mind. It must be near six a.m. because in this part of the world, balanced delicately on the equator, the sun rises and sets at the same time every day. Soon it’ll be too hot to lie on this roof.
I push up off the dingy mattress and disentangle from the clammy netting, my limbs stiff and achy. I’m too young to be feeling this geriatric. I miss my regular runs and trips to New River. My last big climb was in Yosemite with Emma…a lifetime ago. I shake my head, wanting to dislodge her face from my mind. I need to get back to it; when I don’t climb or train, I lose the finger strength needed for tackling harder pitches. Climbing helped me move past that awful breakup.
Breathing deep, jasmine and vanilla bean permeate the air. The rest of my team sleeps nearby, encased in bed nets. An empty bottle of Johnnie Walker rests next to Jorge. How can they sleep through these prayers?An Arabic symphony resonates deep inside me. Growing up in rural Kentucky, home to Baptist preachers selling snake oil and salvation, there’s something familiar about this place. It’s a different kind of spiritual awakening.
Copyright 2024 Cathy Schieffelin
Wildflowers Press 
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