Using a Prologue as a Hook

On my previous post this evening, I mentioned hooks. What hooks the read to want to continue reading your wonderful words that ends up as a whole wonderful story. My personal preference is the Prologue. It gives me freedom to do some writing in the present tense; something I cannot carry through in my mystery/thriller books. I am going to post the Prologue of my first full length mystery story that I completed to publishing as an E-Book "The River of Tears". Below is that Prologue, let me know what you think. So far the people I know said it caused them to read further and a few of them were not fans of mysteries until then:

Prologue

She always dreamt of traveling the world. As she lay under the tree, she let her mind wander. She saw herself riding the prow of a large sailing yacht, face toward the sun, letting salty mist bathe her nude frame. The handsome hunk stuffed into bronzed skin at the helm was hers to bend to whatever whim breezed her way. Clouds slowly floated overhead hung from the blue canopy of heaven. The gentle roll of the Caribbean caressed her as the sun warmed every inch of her soul.

She had him stop in a lagoon on a small uncharted atoll. As the waves gently rocked them, strong fingers dug deeply into the muscles on her back and goose bumps flew out to the tips of her fingers and toes. In the next moment, she smiled back at the warm sun as she dove from the railing. With long strokes, the salty water kissed her smooth skin skimming the blue surface. The lush shore crept closer and the crisp citrus smells graced her senses as she slowed her pace. She switched to a strong but leisurely backstroke. She neared the breakwater and he was waiting for her with a skimpy towel.

A sharp pain screamed along the right side of her face. It yanked her out of her dreams. She instinctively moved her hand toward the source of her discomfort. A sudden jerk nearly broke her wrist mere inches from touching her face. She tried again to touch her cheek, this time the essence of cold steel cut into her wrist. Whimpering, she twisted her head toward her arm stretched above her head. As she turned, she contorted as stars exploded behind her eyes.

In desperation, she tried to pull her legs up to kneel, but they would not move. Ignoring the excruciating ache, she pulled on her left hand, which stopped midair with a hard jerk. In full panic, she pulled with all her might, first her hands then her feet. Shaking and writhing violently, she howled a cry that would send a pack of wolves scampering to the far reaches of the forest. Tears from her swollen eyes stung as they ran across her skin.

Painful sobs replaced her wails, as she became exhausted from her futile attempts to escape. Through the searing electric shocks produced from deep within her head, she heard the sounds of animals scurrying about, and felt warm rivers creeping down her arms, legs and just about every place else. She passed back into her dream, sailing the Caribbean under a blue Christmas sky and holding the hand of an angel.