An abrupt departure, p.1
An Abrupt Departure, page 1
part #1 of A Bleeding Hearts Valley Thriller Series
An Abrupt Departure
A Bleeding Hearts Valley Thriller
P.D. Workman
About An Abrupt Departure
Welcome to Bleeding Hearts Valley, a standalone series of interconnected thrillers in one twisted midwestern suburb.
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An abandoned apartment holds deadly secrets.
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When Graham Hall, owner of "Hall it Away" junk removal services, steps into an abandoned apartment, he expects to take out the trash—literally. But what he uncovers is anything but garbage. What he finds sends chills down his spine: personal items like family photos, passports, and essential medication that no one would leave behind willingly. As he digs deeper into the job, he uncovers a hidden journal filled with entries that suggest a growing threat.
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The apartment is riddled with contradictions—priceless electronics and jewelry untouched, neighbors and landlords offering conflicting accounts of the tenants' sudden disappearance. Graham's curiosity spirals into obsession as he pieces together the unsettling puzzle.
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Dumpster dive into this suspense-filled thriller today and uncover whether truth or danger awaits at every turn!
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Keep coming back to Bleeding Hearts Valley to uncover more dark secrets. But before moving in remember, you can never trust your neighbors.
P.D. WORKMAN
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A mystery from USA Today Bestselling author, P.D. Workman that will keep you turning the pages!
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“I’ll read anything by P. D. Workman that I can get my hands on.”
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“Every book by PD Workman that I've read has been a gripping one, however different the genres are, going from lighter mysteries to really dark ones... this is one of my favourite, most dependable authors.”
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“[P.D. Workman’s] stories are so believable and you can’t help but feel like you know these people. You find yourself crying, laughing and feeling the characters emotions. Now if an author can make you cry and feel every emotion in a story, she is one hell of an author.”
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“P. D. Workman, does not shy from probing the deep psychological scars of childhood trauma, mental illness, and addiction. Also characteristic of this author, these extremely sensitive issues are explored with extensive empathy, described with incredible clarity, and portrayed with profound insight.”
Copyright © 2025 by P.D. Workman
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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ISBN: 9781774688663 (KDP Paperback)
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ISBN: 9781774688687 (Large Print)
ISBN: 9781774688700 (Digital)
ISBN: 9781774688717 (Auto-narrated audiobook)
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A BLEEDING HEARTS VALLEY THRILLER
Welcome to Bleeding Hearts Valley, a standalone series of interconnected thrillers in one twisted midwestern suburb.
Keep coming back to Bleeding Hearts Valley to uncover more dark secrets. But before moving in remember, you can never trust your neighbors.
* * *
Unhinged, by Danielle Fear
I Saw You Sweetheart, by Erica Damon
An Abrupt Departure, by P.D. Workman
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To the Survivors
who struggle
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Mailing List
Preview of She Wore Mourning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Also by P.D. Workman
About the Author
Chapter
One
She hoped she would never see him again. And she was terrified he would never return.
Each time she drifted back into consciousness, her body ached all over, and she wanted to move. She had never realized before how lucky she was to be able to walk around and do whatever she liked. Even in circumstances where she was expected to behave a certain way and had felt herself trapped, it was nothing like what she was faced with now, lying in that dim, dank room.
Even when she had felt like she didn’t have any choice in her old life, when she was supposed to sit still and be quiet and listen to someone drone on in a meeting or lecture, she’d still had choice. She could change her position whenever she felt like it. Move her arms and legs. She could even get up and walk out, murmuring an excuse if she wanted to be polite, and go to the restroom. Or even go home. What did it matter if someone got upset or angry? That wasn’t the end of the world.
Now, she would have given anything to be able just to change her position, stretch her shoulders, or sit up. But she could barely move a muscle. The manacles dug into her flesh, rubbing her wrists raw.
She wanted him to come and release her from her bonds. Give her something to eat. Walk her to the bathroom. She didn’t care if he stared at her. She would put up with that. She wouldn’t even complain. She would be perfectly easy to get along with, do anything he said.
But at the same time, she never wanted him to come back again. If he didn’t return, and she died there, lying bound on the bed, at least it would be over. She wouldn’t have to cower in terror before him, worried that anything she did, anything she said, looking at him too long, or having the wrong expression on her face could set him off. He would scream and rant, get in her face, hit her or twist her arm or something else that would have her screaming in agony.
He had taken her sweetheart from her, and she knew in her heart of hearts that she would never see him again. Never see her boyfriend with that loving, devoted puppy dog expression on his face. Never catch him in a poignant moment as he stared off into space, not realizing that she was watching him.
She felt like her heart had been torn right out of her chest. He was gone.
She feared that in another day or two, she would be too.
And she feared that she wouldn’t be, and it would go on forever.
Chapter
Two
The landlord, a man of average size and build, much like Graham himself, might have been handsome if he had bothered to clean himself up. But Marcel was a greasy, sloppy pig of a man. His hair was greasy and stringy, longish but not down to his shoulders. His skin glistened with oils as if he had greased himself up before Graham had arrived. He wore a shapeless, decades-old band t-shirt, the worn name and picture no longer discernible, with stained gray sweatpants. He had probably been sitting in front of the TV in them for a month or two.
He gave Graham a pleasant smile and unlocked the apartment door. “Marissa recommended you,” he said. “I don’t usually like hiring outsiders, but she said that ‘Hall it Away’ had done a good job for her. She said you’re a hard worker and she was impressed with your work on her barn.”
Graham nodded. “I like to be productive. Work with my hands. My parents brought me up to know the value of hard work.”
Marcel nodded in agreement. “Young people these days just don’t get it. They are afraid of hard work. You have to commit to a job. Be willing to put the time and effort into it. Sitting around in the basement playing games isn’t going to get you there. I don’t know how they think they are going to get anywhere in life.”
He swung the door open and they entered the apartment. Graham could tell from the warm, stale air that it had been shut up for a few days. But luckily for
Or sometimes it was vomit.
Or dirty diapers.
Graham was still new to the business, so he hadn’t experienced some of the things he had heard about on message boards from more experienced junk removal experts. Dog or cat carcasses. Toilets that had continued to be used long after they were clogged up and overflowing. Or not used.
Human beings really could be disgusting.
But the little apartment Marcel walked him into was not like that. Abandoned, but not disgusting.
“I need all of the personal items removed,” Marcel told him, turning in a slow circle to survey the apartment contents. “The large furniture can stay. I can rent it furnished. But only the large pieces, and only if they are in good repair. I’m not a slumlord.”
“Okay,” Graham agreed. “Just give me a minute to look around, and then I can give you a quote and get your signature on my standard contract.”
Marcel nodded. He went into the kitchen area and opened the fridge to double-check that there was no food about to go bad in it, while Graham took a quick turn through the other rooms—two bedrooms and a bathroom—to get an idea of how much he would need to haul and how much he would be able to sell or recycle. The job would take a few days; that much was clear. Marcel’s tenants had not taken much with them when they had abandoned the apartment. There were still clothes hanging in the closet, blankets and pillows on the bed, and some toiletries abandoned in the bathroom. From the looks of the empty spaces in the drawers, closets, and bathroom, they had packed two to four suitcases and left everything else behind.
More work to clean up, but also a good opportunity for a profit.
Graham returned to the kitchen and set his computer tablet on the counter. The clean counter. Even though they had been leaving, the tenants had wiped down the kitchen after their last meal.
“Okay, just give me a minute…” Graham plugged numbers into the quote sheet and turned it around for Marcel to see. “How does that look?”
Marcel glanced at the total and nodded. “Very reasonable,” he approved. “Are you sure you can do it for that much? You aren’t going to add on extra surcharges for dump and recycling fees?”
“The price is guaranteed,” Graham assured him, indicating the red lettering next to the signature line. “You will not be charged any extra fees.”
“Okay, then,” Marcel agreed. He used his fingertip to sign the quote. Graham pulled up the second document. “These are my usual terms. Do you want to read through that?”
Marcel scrolled through the agreement, doing no more than skimming the headings. Not surprising. Most people didn’t even bother to do that; they just gave the screen a few flicks to scroll to the bottom and signed it.
Marcel finished skimming the document and signed it. “Great, so you will have it cleared out before the beginning of the month so I can show it and get someone in here on the first?”
“It will be ready to show,” Graham agreed.
“Excellent,” Marcel approved. He gave Graham a nod and a ready smile. “Hall it Away.”
Chapter
Three
Maybe “Hall it Away,” playing off of Graham Hall’s last name, was too cute for a junk removal business, but Graham liked it, and his clients seemed to find it memorable, at least.
Of course, it was only spelled the right way on half of the correspondence he received. People were too quick to correct H-A-L-L to H-A-U-L without realizing why it was named that way.
Before starting on Marcel’s job, Graham needed to pick up some additional supplies. When he had started the business, he had not anticipated how quickly he would go through things like heavy-duty rubber gloves. He also wanted to take his truck through the auto wash after the previous day’s load. He liked his vehicle to be an advertisement for the business and wanted people to associate Hall it Away with a sense of renewal and cleanliness rather than something dirty and smelling of the dump.
It was very different from how he had envisioned his life path ten years earlier. Back then, he figured he would be living “the good life” by now. Sipping expensive whiskey seated in a club chair with buttery soft leather cushioning his backside at the end of a long day speculating on the markets. Wearing only the most expensive bespoke suits, surrounded by people who knew how successful he was.
But he hadn’t anticipated the kind of stress that went along with handling the kind of transactions he had. He had seen the glitz and glamour of the high-finance lifestyle and had not anticipated the gut-wrenching feeling of a huge loss. Or the relentless backstabbing that went on, camouflaged by smiles and compliments. He hadn’t anticipated all of the people who looked like friends, but were actually bloodthirsty sharks.
He was glad to be out of that business and far away from his origins. He was better off where he was, tucked away in Bleeding Hearts Valley, running a junk removal business that, in a month, made only a fraction of what he had previously made in a day or in a single transaction out east. It was better to have left the stress and anguish of that life behind him and be doing hard physical work with his own two hands.
Graham pulled his truck over in front of Scarlett’s Secrets, a thrift store he had passed a dozen times but had never ventured into. He had told himself more than once that he needed to make Scarlett Stone’s acquaintance. Their businesses could be synergistic, but he didn’t know whether she would see things the same way. He ducked under the lower branches of a tree that needed to be trimmed back. The newly leafed buds smelled green and fresh, and clusters of red, tubular flowers had just emerged a couple of days before.
A bell tinkled over the door as he stepped in. The interior of the store was pleasant and well-organized. Good lighting, even without the sunshine streaming in the front window. Everything seemed clean and tidy, with the racks not pushed too closely together as they were in so many of these stores. He could see vintage and antique finds lined up on the shelves on one wall. Beneath the glass in the display cases by the cash register was jewelry too valuable to display where people could easily walk off with it.
The woman behind the cash register, checking a price tag, was in her early thirties. She had dark hair twisted up in a knot or loose bun. She adjusted her square-framed glasses to look at him, and he saw her glittering green eyes for the first time. He drew in his breath sharply.
