British RP audiobook sample for contemporary thriller novel set in Liv
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (England - South East - Oxford, Sussex) British (General) British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Prologue. The night was dark, especially so behind the wheel of the hide of oak with tinted glass as it blazed past the three graces. Some of Liverpool's most grand and recognizable grade one listed buildings. It was darker still within the cab of the car where the driver sat in a fevered panic, tears, streaking makeup down her face. The evoke took the third exit off the roundabout and disappeared into a gaping tunnel entrance leaving Liverpool and the cluster **** that had been tonight. Well, and truly behind a ae girl pop diva and addict jived from foot to manicured finger nail over the event. No matter how far she drove, it felt like she could not leave it behind. It followed her from the rear almost like the very burden she was trying to escape was holed up in the back of her car, adding a drag of weight to her roaring engine. Her leg involuntarily shook against the pedal forcing a thrumming rhythm out of the engine. She still didn't realize that the air con was on full blast. Her phone rang a distinctive ring tone. It startled her, not her agent or her mum or any of her dealers. She scooped it off the passenger seat and tapped it on the magnetic dash holster and glanced at the screen. It was Marcus, her producer, she swiped to kill the call, then dragged the flat of her hand against her forehead and peeled a layer of foundation away that came loose from her sweat. The car exited the tunnel like a bullet and was suddenly illuminated from behind high beams singed her rearview mirror. Some one was driving right up her arse. She pushed down the accelerator and tried to put some distance between the vehicles. But then her own headlights caught the glare from a red and white striped barricade. A hard stop made of admittedly flimsy plastic on a slow moving hinge. The tunnel toll. She slammed the brakes, the car skidded itself to a stop millimeters from the barrier. She reached across the passenger seat and dug through her handbag for her credit card. She pulled out a few and finally selected the glitzy shimmering pink Monzo card usually reserved for hotel bars and late night fast food runs. It was her petty cash account. A bit of off the books play money. It wouldn't get her far but it wouldn't be disabled if her producer got the itch that she'd gone missing for a quick fix again, but she couldn't reach the card reader mounted on the wall of the toll booth. Come on. She grunted. She undid her seat belt and leaned even further out of the window to tap the reader. Still not, her arms weren't made for labor. They were made for taking photos on her phone and dancing. She opened the door just a crack and edged herself on the seat to buy herself an extra few inches. The car behind her was stopped, but she couldn't make out the face of whoever was behind the wheel. She glared at the vehicle suspiciously as if waiting for the driver to get out and charge her down. The card reader beeped. She threw herself back in the car and her card on the ground. ****. The barrier rose. She had to choose between escape and entrapment. She sped forward and left her card on the asphalt. The barrier swung closed again, keeping her high beam pursuer at bay as they paid their way through, she forced herself to exhale slowly. It was fine. She was in control. She felt relieved but not enough to slow down. A few minutes later, she was out of the urban sprawl and lit up the wirral countryside with her headlights on a mission for some solitude. Marcus called again. The screen buzzed and lit up the darkened back of the car. Once more. She swiped to kill the call missed and swiped again with a quick eye to the rear. The lights of the other car were long gone. Hands still shaking. She lost her phone on a bend and it clattered to the footwell. But the shadows that it cast were still present and still moving. Her eyes locked on to a mound in her back seat, a slump that rose as her rain jacket quietly slipped down to the floor. It was vaguely in the shape of a man. She screamed. The car mounted the curb and hit dirt. She spun quick to catch the wheel. She was driving over boggy mud, tearing up the soft earth as her car plowed through the unsettled field. The high clearance wheel arches got clogged up with clods of gunk and fertile muck as she bounced and shuddered her way to a sudden stop at the base of a tree. The evoke was halted, the front of the car was planted firm into the trunk of a sycamore. The headlight that was still working hit a moy fog beyond which closed in all around her. Everything hurt. That was good. She knew she was still alive. Some of her running mascara was mixed with blood and she felt it run down her cheek. She groaned as she tried to lift her head off the steering wheel, but she could only raise it enough to see that the windscreen was shattered. A mess of glass shards above the dashboard. She heard the back door open and then sensed a figure standing next to her. The man took a bracing breath and hauled her out through the bent door frame. It's ok. He whispered his voice as Wispy and see-through as the fog of the night, I'll be taking care of you now.