Faye Kellerman - Suspense Magazine

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The Anomoly ThAT InTrIgues
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The True sTory BehInd “The enTITy”
By donald Allen Kirch
Sneak Peek
inSide new ReleaSeS
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StePhen BeSeckeR
maRie FoRce
l.J. SelleRS
and
JeFF ShelBy
September
2011

STEVEN JAMES continues to raise the
bar in suspense writing. The Queen takes
readers to a new level of suspense and is
the best book in the Patrick Bowers series
hands down!”—SUSPENSE MAGAZINE
While investigating a mysterious double homicide in an
isolated northern Wisconsin town, FBI Special Agent Patrick
Bowers uncovers a high-tech conspiracy that ties together
long-buried Cold War secrets with present-day tensions in
the Middle East. Amid the hazardous winter weather and
harsh landscape, Bowers must piece together the puzzle
before it’s too late.
In his most explosive thriller yet, bestselling author Steven
James delivers a pulse-pounding, multi-layered storytelling
tour-de-force that will keep you guessing.
PATRICK BOWERS THRILLERS
“A MASTERPIECE OF A THRILLER.”
n
—Special Agent R. Wayne Smith, FBI (retired)
WWW.STEVENJAMES.NET

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Ashley Wintters
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D.P. Lyle M.D.
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Stephen Brayton
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From the editor
Summer is winding down. If you are into
sports, you will have baseball playoffs and the start
of pro and college football. It also means that the
new fall TV lineup is here. Every year, the TV
networks change their lineups and bring out some
new shows. Some make it past the first year mark,
while others make it through a handful of episodes.
Last year there were a couple of shows that had
potential, but just couldn't make it. Here are some
that you won't see: The Event, Undercovers, Chicago
Code, and Detroit 187. However, in this fall lineup we see some shows that might actually
make it past the first season.
I know everyone is waiting for the beginning of Two and a Half Men to see what
Ashton Kutcher’s role will be, and how Charlie Sheen’s departure will be explained. But
beyond the suspense of the first episode, I will have to say that Two and a Half Men has
jumped the shark and will fizzle out quickly. That said, let’s take a closer look at some of
the new mystery/suspense/ thriller shows:
American Horror Story, October 5, 10 p.m. is an F/X show that looks very promising.
A couple moves to Los Angeles, only to find out that their home has something living in
the basement.
A Gifted Man, September 23, 8 p.m. on CBS is a show about a surgeon that can see
dead people. His deceased wife helps explain the afterlife.
Grimm, October 21, 9 p.m., on NBC is intriguing. A detective discovers that his
destiny is to save the world from characters that come to life from storybooks.
Hell on Wheels, November 6, 10 p.m., on AMC is a post-civil war setting where we
find Cullen Bohannan, a confederate soldier, on the hunt for the Union soldiers who
killed his wife.
Homeland, October 2, 10 p.m., on Showtime, is a political suspense /thriller series
based on events in Iraq that stars Claire Danes.
Once Upon a Time, October 23, 8 p.m., on ABC asks, “You think fairy tales aren’t
real?” Well, a ten-year-old boy discovers they are and you will meet many of your
favorites in this family suspense.
This is just a sampling of some of the new shows, but also we have Prime Suspect,
Terra Nova, Persons of Interest and Revenge. Check out your TV listings for the dates
and times of those shows. You could always watch the same CSI and NCIS shows, and
hopefully know that this does not happen in the real world. I suggest you take some time
to find something different and check out some of the new shows to hit Fall TV. This is
one of my favorite times of the year, and not just because of sports! Don’t forget that fall
heads into winter, which is when all the cool summer blockbuster movies start coming
out on DVD, along with the past seasons of TV. And all of this is just in time for another
snow-filled winter for most of the United States. Happy watching and let us know which
shows you are interested in and give us some reviews! Until October, which we always
have a lot of fun with...“Time to get your fiction ON!”
John Raab
CEO/Publisher
Suspense Magazine
"Reviews within this magazine are the opinions of the individual reviewers and are provided solely to provide readers assistance
in determining another's thoughts on the book under discussion and shall not be interpreted as professional advice or the opinion
of any other than the individual reviewer. The following reviewers who may appear in this magazine are also individual
clients of Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine: Mark P. Sadler, Starr Gardinier Reina, Ashley Dawn (Wintters),
DJ Weaver, CK Webb, and Terri Ann Armstrong.”
1

CONTENT
Su S P e n S e m ag a z i n e
S e pte mb e r 2 0 1 1 / Vo l . 0 2 6
Fatal Destiny by Marie Force . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
The Unwanteds: a Conversation with lisa McMann by Mark Sadler . . . . 7
Magic, Monsters, & Mythical Creatures: Dragons by CK Webb . . . . . . . . 10
Quite Contrary by Laura Kathryn Rogers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
ask your Writing Career Coach by Tiffany Colter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
Contributor's Corner with DJ Weaver . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
the saMaritan by Stephen Besecker . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Stephen England: On Life and Writing by Weldon Burge . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
something about Miss Wicker by Lisa McCourt Hollar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
stranger Than Fiction: Behind The entity by Donald Allen Kirch . . . . . 31
Featured artist andreea Cernestean . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
suspense Magazine Movie reviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
inside the Pages: suspense Magazine Book reviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
the arranger by L .J . Sellers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
The anomoly That intrigues by Bob Mayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
Writing time by Stephen L . Brayton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
liQUiD sMoke by Jeff Shelby . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
earthworm soup by Vanessa Cavendish . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Just for Fun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
By Andreea Cernestean

chaPteR 3
“I want to see Roberto first,” Sam decided.
“Been a while,” Freddie replied.
Sam didn’t like to think about the six months she’d spent
undercover with the Johnson family. The investigation into a
far-reaching drug ring in the city, a special assignment she’d
been handpicked for, ended so badly she still had nightmares
about the hail of gunfire that took young Quentin Johnson’s
life.
Intellectually, Sam knew it hadn’t been her fault.
Yes, she’d ordered her officers to return fire, but how
could she have known that Marquis Johnson would be stupid
enough to bring his young son to a crack house?
In all the months she’d been undercover with the
Johnsons, she had never once seen Quentin in that house.
She was still struggling with the outcome more than nine
months later.
“Don’t go there, Sam,” Freddie said, knowing how she’d
suffered in the aftermath of that calamitous night.
“Hard not to.” For months after the incident, she had
repeatedly woken in a sweat, after hearing Marquis’s tortured
screams in her sleep. Sam shuddered. Only to close her
father’s baffling case would she take a step back in time to the
lowest point in her career.
“What do you think Roberto knows?”
“Everything that goes on in Washington Highlands.
I should’ve thought to ask him about Reece’s house before
now.”
“Don’t feel bad—I didn’t think of him, either.”
They arrived at a public housing complex on Southern
Avenue. As Sam and Freddie made their way from the
parking lot to a first-floor unit, they caught the attention of
those gathered outside. The residents of the crime-riddled
neighborhood knew cops when they saw them. Before Sam
could knock on Roberto’s door, a gorgeous young woman
SuspenseMagazine.com
Fatal
Destiny
Special Preview from Marie Force
MarieForce
with long dark hair and eyes opened it. She eyed Sam
suspiciously.
“What do you want?” she asked. “We got no trouble
around here.”
“I’m not looking for any trouble,” Sam said. “Is Roberto
around?”
She looked Sam up and down. “Who wants to know?”
Sam showed her badge. “Lieutenant Holland. MPD.”
“Let her in, Angel,” came a voice from inside the
apartment.
Giving Sam a glare, she stepped aside to let Sam pass but
put up a hand to stop Freddie. “He said her.”
“She doesn’t go in there without me,” Freddie said.
Sam turned to see Freddie and Angel locked in a battle of
wills. Just as she was about to tell him to wait in the hallway,
Angel backed down and let him by. He gave Sam a satisfied
grin.
“Long time no see,” Roberto said. He held up a closed
fist to Sam.
Sam returned the fist bump, looking down at the
good-looking young man in the wheelchair whom she had
befriended during the Johnson investigation. As one of
the lower-ranking members of the Johnson organization,
Roberto hadn’t much registered on Marquis Johnson’s radar,
which is how Sam had been able to get close to him. He had
short dark hair and world-weary eyes. He’d seen far too much
far too soon. “How goes it, Roberto?”
He shrugged. “Good days, bad days. Today’s been a good
day. You ain’t gonna change that, are ya?”
“Nope. I’m wondering what you know about Trace
Simmons and Darius Gardner.”
Roberto let out a low whistle. “What’s a nice girl like you
asking about a couple hard-core bangers like them for?”
Sam smiled at him. The shootout in the crack house had
changed his life too—in some ways for the better.
While the bullet wound had stolen his legs, it had also
3

Fatal Destiny by Marie Force
given him a way out of a life that was going nowhere fast.
Sam had helped him get a job as a clerk with the city.
Sam filled him in on what’d happened at Reece’s house
and the possible connection to Simmons and Gardner.
“I read about that dude taking you hostage. You like to
keep it real, huh?”
Sam rolled her eyes. “A little too real lately.”
“For what it’s worth, I ain’t never heard either of them
brag about shooting no cop—and those two?
They woulda talked.”
Sam kept her expression neutral to hide the rush of
disappointment. She knew she should be used to it by now
after so many dashed leads, but the letdown never got easier
to take.
“That don’t mean they didn’t do it, though,” he quickly
added. “They both got long sheets, and doing a cop would
put ’em away for a long stretch. They mighta kept it on the
down low cuza that.”
“What do you know about them?”
“Simmons busted outta the foster system a million times
’til they finally gave up on him and let him go.
He’s been on the streets since he was a kid. Rotten little
bastard. Takes care of number one. Gardner’s a total douche
bag. That girl who said he raped her?”
Sam nodded.
“She’s my second cousin. I saw her right after it happened.
No doubt he did it.”
“Why’d it get squashed?”
“No fuckin’ clue. The U.S. attorney tossed it and never
told us why.”
Something stunk to high heaven there, and Sam planned
to find out what.
“You can’t go from me to them,” he said, looking like a
fearful kid. “You’ll get me iced.”
“You’re not tied up in that shit any more. Are you?”
“Hell, no. That don’t mean nothin’ to them though. They
hear I’m squealing to a cop, and my life ain’t worth shit. You
know that.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
Roberto studied her for a long moment. “You still dream
about it? That night?”
Sam nodded. “Not as often as I used to, but when I do…”
“It’s bad,” he said, his tone full of understanding. “I hear
Quentin…”
“I do too. That’s the part I can’t forget.”
“Such a cute kid with two assholes for parents. Worst
thing I ever did getting mixed up with Marquis Johnson.”
“At least you figured that out before you ended up in jail
or dead.”
“Came damn close to dead,” he said, his hands resting on
useless legs.
“How’ve you been adapting?”
“As well as anyone ever does, I guess.” He glanced at
Angel. “Thank God for my girl. She’s got my back.”
“I’d like to get you together with my dad some time.”
“He’s in a chair too, right?”
“Yeah. C3-C4.”
Roberto winced. “That blows.”
“Big time.”
“If you want me to meet him, I’m down with that.”
“We’ll set it up. After the wedding.”
His face was transformed by the innocent smile.
Not that long ago he’d been living a life of crime, and
Sam couldn’t be more proud of the changes he’d made. “I’ve
been reading all ’bout you and your senator.” He let out a low
whistle. “Fancy, fancy.”
Embarrassed, Sam rolled her eyes. “Not all that fancy.”
“Whatever you say, lady cop. I watch the news. I see the
way that guy looks at you. He’s diggin’ you big.”
Roberto’s teasing words sent a twinge of discomfort
through Sam. She had to stop holding Nick at arm’s length
and find a way to reconnect with him before the wedding.
Now that she had taken the chance of pregnancy off the
table, maybe it wouldn’t be so damned hard to look into his
amazing eyes and not see the pain he tried to keep hidden
from her.
Losing their baby had hit him hard too. He had grown
up without a family of his own. More than anything, Sam had
wanted to fill that void for him with a house full of kids. But
now… She just couldn’t go there anymore. Not even for him.
“Hey, yo,” Roberto said. “Where’d you zone out to?”
“Sorry.”
“Didn’t mean to bum you out.”
“You didn’t. Thanks for the info.” She lifted her fist to
him. “It was good to see you.”
Rather than fist bump her, he curled his hand around
hers in a gesture that touched her. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
He released her hand. “Have a nice wedding, Sam. You
deserve to be happy.”
“So do you.”
“I’m getting there.”
“Keep up the good work. Make me proud.”
Following Freddie out of the apartment, Sam ignored
the glare she received from Angel. Outside, she took deep
breaths of the unseasonably cool air.
“He seems good,” Freddie said. He’d worked behind the
scenes to support Sam while she was undercover and knew
better than anyone what she’d been through during that
difficult assignment.
“Better than the last time I saw him. That’s for sure.”
Seeing Roberto took Sam right back to the horrible days that
followed the crack house shooting.
She’d snuck into the hospital under the cover of darkness
to check on the young man who’d become one of her only
friends among the Johnson crowd.
At first Roberto had been furious to learn her true
identity, but when Sam offered to find him a way out of his life
of crime, he’d come around and let her help him. Knowing he
was just a kid who’d been sucked into something way bigger
4 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

than he’d ever bargained for, Sam stepped up for him with the
U.S. attorney. As a result, they’d declined to prosecute him as
one of Marquis Johnson’s group of drug runners.
Sam figured the permanent loss of his legs was punishment
enough for the petty crimes Roberto had committed to earn
favor with Marquis.
“You did a good thing for him, Sam,” Freddie said when
they were in the car. “He’s gotten his life back on track.”
“So it seems.” Who, she wondered, was going to help get
hers back on track?
“What’s next?” Freddie asked.
“Let’s go see Faith Miller. I want to know why that rape
charge got quashed.”
“So do I.”
Sam and Freddie waited twenty minutes in the U.S.
attorney’s reception area for Faith to return from court.
“Ah,” she said, lighting up when she saw them waiting.
“Here comes the bride!”
“Very funny,” Sam said. “Thank God it’s almost here so I
can be done with all the bride jokes.”
“Just FYI,” Freddie said, “I’d planned on another six to
eight months of jokes.”
Sam rewarded him with her sweetest smile. “Not if you
expect to continue carrying a gold shield, Detective.”
Faith laughed at their banter and showed them into
her office. She was one of the identical triplets who served
the District as assistant U.S. attorneys. While Sam had also
worked closely with Hope and Charity, she was friendliest
with Faith.
“What can I do for you?” Faith asked.
“Darius Gardner,” Sam said.
All the color drained from Faith’s face, and she sat
perfectly still behind her file-laden desk. “What about him?”
Sam watched Faith closely. “You remember the case?”
The AUSA shrugged. “Rape accusation a few years back.
Didn’t go anywhere.” She affected a casual tone of voice,
but Sam caught the slight tremble of her hand. Glancing at
Freddie, she saw that he’d noticed it too.
“What the hell is going on here, Faith?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know what you mean. You asked about a case,
and I answered you. What more do you want?”
“I want the truth!”
“Why do you care about an old rape case that never
made it to court?”
“Why do you remember an old rape case that never made
it to court?”
The two women stared at each other.
“I asked first,” Faith said.
“Fine. The place where he ‘allegedly’ raped that girl is the
same house where Clarence Reece lived.”
“The guy who killed his family and carjacked you.”
“Right. Cruz, the clippings?”
Freddie handed her the plastic bag containing the
clippings about her father’s shooting.
Sam placed the bag on the desk in front of Faith.
“This was found in Reece’s place. Before he offed himself
the day he carjacked me, he told me the stuff belonged to
a former tenant who’d left it there and never come back to
SuspenseMagazine.com
claim it.”
“And you think that’s Gardner?”
“I don’t know. He was one of several people who lived
there before Reece moved in.”
“Who are the other people?”
“Trace Simmons is one of them.”
“I know the name. Gangbanger.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Are you going to tell me why
hearing Gardner’s name freaks you out so badly?”
Faith’s eyes shifted to Freddie and then back to Sam.
“Give us a minute, will you, Cruz?” Sam said.
“Of course.” He got up and left the room, closing the
door behind him.
Sam waited patiently, giving the other woman a moment
to collect herself. “What happened, Faith?” she finally asked.
“This stays between us.”
“I need to hear what’s staying between us before I agree
to anything.”
Faith gripped a pen with both hands.
Sam had never seen the usually cool, unflappable
prosecutor so undone.
“I want to help you find the person who shot your father,
Sam, but I’m not talking about Gardner.”
“Then I’ll go to Forrester,” Sam said, referring to the U.S.
attorney. “I’ll ask him why a slam dunk rape case was thrown
out by one of his AUSAs before it ever got to court.”
“Don’t.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
“For Christ sake, Sam! Just leave it the hell alone! You’re
wading into something you can’t even begin to understand.”
“You’re seriously saying that to me? What the fuck, Faith?
What waters do you think I won’t understand after twelve
years on this goddamned job?” The other woman’s hands
were now visibly shaking. “Whatever it is, you can trust me
with it. You know that.”
When Faith looked up at her there was none of the
hard-nosed prosecutor Sam had come to know and respect.
Rather, she looked into the eyes of a very frightened woman.
In a low, soft tone, Faith said, “He threatened to have my baby
niece Molly killed if I didn’t drop the case.”
Sam tried to digest that. “And you believed him? Surely
you’ve been threatened before.”
“Not like this. There’s something truly evil about this guy,
Sam. You bet your ass I believed him.”
“Who knows about this?”
“You and me. Hope had just had Molly. I couldn’t exactly
share this with her or Charity. If Forrester ever found out, it
would end my career—and theirs, if they knew. I never told
anyone why we declined to prosecute.”
“What did you tell Forrester?”
“That I didn’t think we could win. He’s a politician. He
wants wins. It didn’t take much to convince him to dismiss
the charges.”
“How about the special victims detectives?” She could
only imagine what her police colleagues had thought about
their solid case being tossed.
“Gardner claimed the sex was entirely consensual. I told
the SVU detectives it would turn into a he said, she said in
5

Fatal Destiny by Marie Force
court.”
“And you knew that wasn’t true.”
“The pictures from the victim’s rape kit haunt me,” she
said with a defeated sigh. “Nothing about that encounter was
consensual. I have no doubt I could’ve gotten a conviction.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
Faith’s green eyes flooded with tears. “They said they’d
chop up the baby and send her back to us in pieces.”
Fury, hot and potent, streaked through Sam. “Start at the
beginning. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Sam, please. I’m asking you as a colleague and a friend—
leave it alone.”
Sam rested her elbows on Faith’s desk and leaned in. “I’m
going to nail his ass to the wall, and you’re going to help me.”
Faith shook her head and wiped the tears from her face.
“Molly is almost three now. How can you ask me to risk that
beautiful child—my sister’s child?”
“How can you sleep knowing you’ve let a violent rapist
roam free all this time?”
“I haven’t gotten a full night of sleep in years.”
“Faith, come on! You took an oath!”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about oaths! She’s my niece!
Tell me how well I’d sleep if I go after this sleezeball and
something happens to her!”
“You need to talk to Hope about this. She’ll tell you the
same thing I’m telling you.”
Faith snorted with disdain. “She’ll agree with me. We’re
talking about her child. Don’t you have nieces and nephews,
Sam?”
“Four,” Sam muttered. “Fifth one on the way.”
“Put yourself in my place—what would you do if
someone threatened to chop one of them up and mail him or
her back to you in pieces?”
Sam couldn’t even get her head around the idea of it, so
she didn’t try. “How did he get to you?”
“One of his buddies conveyed the message along with
up-close photos of the baby with a gun pointed to her head.
I have no idea how they got that close to her, but it certainly
got my attention. The next day,
Gardner and I came face-to-face in the courthouse. He
smiled at me…” A shudder rippled through her willowy
frame, and her face lost every bit of remaining color. “The
evil… Just pure evil. I knew, right in that moment, that he’d
have Molly killed if I pursued prosecution.”
“I have to ask you… Has anything like this ever happened
before?”
“If you’re asking if I’ve been threatened before, the
answer is yes. Almost weekly. But I’ve never before or since
backed away from a prosecution because of a threat. This one
was different.”
Sam sat back in her chair, frustrated and furious. “I wish
you’d come to me.”
“I wish I’d felt that was an option.”
“You need to tell Hope about this.”
Faith shook her head. “Never.”
“I’m going to get him, Faith. I’ll dig and dig and dig until
I find something I can bury him with. If he didn’t shoot my
dad, I’ll find something else. And then I’ll take my case right
to Forrester himself so Gardner won’t have any reason to
come at you or your family.”
“What about your family?”
“I’ll take care of them.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Sam. I’ve seen a lot of evil in
my time in this office, but I’ve never gotten the vibe from
anyone else that I got from him. I can’t even describe it.”
“Leave it to me. I’ll take care of him. And when I’m
done with him, he won’t be threatening anyone, let alone an
assistant U.S. attorney.”
“Be careful. Be very, very careful.”
Sam flashed a cocky grin. “Always am.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Not this time. If I leave you out of it entirely, there’s no
way it can come back on you.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
“You can thank me after we throw the book at this guy.”
“Believe me, I will.”
“See you at the wedding?”
“I’ll be there.”
Sam left Faith’s office and found Freddie flipping through
a magazine in the reception area. “Cruz, let’s hit it.”
Startled by her sudden reappearance, Freddie leaped to
his feet, and the magazine went flying. He stopped to retrieve
it, tossed it on a table and hustled after her. “Where’re we
going, boss?”
“To nail a scumbag.”
“One of my favorite things.”
Marie Force is the bestselling, award-winning author of
“Fatal Affair” and “Fatal Justice,” books one and two in her Fatal
Series from Harlequin's Carina Press. “This novel is The O.C.
does D.C., and you just can't get enough" (RT Book Reviews,
4.5 stars for “Fatal Affair”). In its July 2010 issue, RT Book
Reviews named Marie a "Future Star of Romantic Suspense."
Book three, Fatal Consequences; the Fatal Wedding novella,
“Fatal Destiny;” and book four, “Fatal Flaw,” are coming soon.
Marie is also the author of “Everyone Loves a Hero,” “Line
of Scrimmage,” “Love at First Flight,” “True North,” “The Fall,”
and “The Wreck.”
Since 1996, Marie has been the communications director
for a national organization similar to the RWA. She is a
member of RWA's New England, From
the Heart, and Published Authors'
Special Interest Chapters.
While her husband was in
the navy, Marie lived in Spain,
Maryland, and Florida, and she
is now settled in her home state
of Rhode Island. She is the mother
of two human kids and a feisty dog
named Brandy.
September 15 -
18, 2011
Bouchercon
St. Louis, MO
www.bouchercon2011.com
6 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

SuspenseMagazine.com
The Unwanteds
A Conversation with Lisa McMann
Interview by Mark P. Sadler
It all began when an employee at the office where I spend my day time hours approached
me asking if I wanted to borrow a book she just finished: “Wake,” by Lisa McMann. My
business associate talked of a world of entering other people’s dreams to solve mysteries,
and, knowing that I review novels for Suspense Magazine, thought I might be interested. She
went home at lunch and brought me her copy. I had it finished before I went to bed that night.
I was so amazed at the story—a young girl who classifies herself as a dream catcher, using
her abilities to help the authorities nab the bad guys by entering other people’s dreams, and
eventually learning how to manipulate them—that I knew I stumbled onto something exciting
and fresh.
The book is classified as young adult, but is quite riveting for adults, too. I wanted to know
more so immediately ordered the next two in the series, “Fade” and “Gone,” from my local
library, but more than that, I e-mailed McMann and told her I was so amazed by her work
that I wanted to do an article for Suspense Magazine. When I found out her new novel, “The
Unwanteds,” was a few weeks away from publication, I decided to review that and introduce you
to one of my new favorite authors.
Originally from Michigan, McMann moved to Arizona in 2004 with her husband and his job. She had been in the realestate
business and writing part-time until then but decided the change of location would be a good opportunity to write
full-time, and the ideas for her novels really took off. Her children were not quite teens yet, but remembering the drama
and excitement and the learning to become independent as she became a teenager, she opted to write
about teens and their issues.
Her own teenage years were awkward. As a child of working class
parents—her father a factory worker, her mother a hair stylist—McMann
often felt out of place at the private high school she attended, never quite
having the right hairstyle or the latest fashionable clothing. She found
solace in reading and writing at an early age.
Her formative years in reading where influenced by the likes of C.
S. Lewis, Madeleine L’Engle, and Roald Dahl. One night not long after
moving to Arizona, McMann had a dream she mentions the phenomena
on her website. “I dreamed that I was in my husband's dream, watching
what he was dreaming about.” From this encounter came the idea that
brought forth her edgy trilogy that I stumbled over a couple of months
ago. The characters in the trilogy go on to help catch a ring of pedophilic
school teachers, cover subjects like alcoholism and teenage sexuality, and,
in general, frankly covers issues that many teens are wrestling with. As
7

someone who believes that
parents should be aware of what their
children are reading, I think these books
open avenues for frank in-home discussions
about teenage angst.
“The Unwanteds” is a step away from
the thriller writing and is influenced more
by the dystopian fantasy that she read so
fervently as a teenage girl. It also follows
the path of a teenage boy who discovers he
has powers of wizardry in the enchanted
world of Artime. It brings to mind another
young chap who made the big time with
his wizardry powers, and in my personal
opinion, out-Potters the Potter himself.
With the beginning of a new series,
featuring Alex Stowe, this could be the start
of something amazing.
McMann mentioned to me that she
recently had the pleasure of meeting Max
Borkholder, the talented thirteen-year-old
who plays autistic teenager Max Braverman
on the TV series Parenthood. This chance
encounter happened at the Los Angeles
Times Festival of Books, which started me
thinking, the age and actor are just about
right for the Alex character…I wonder if
McMann had the same thought.
A little about McMann the person
rather than the novelist? Well she is most
comfortable relaxing with her husband
of twenty years, hanging with her two
teenagers, swimming, cooking—her
favorites are brisket, pulled pork and
chicken corn chowder—or sitting down
with a celebrity memoir. She also enjoys
tennis memoirs and reads other young adult
fiction—to keep up with the competition,
no doubt!
You can keep up with Lisa at her
website http://lisamcmann.com, where
you’ll find out more about her other books.
They include the young adult novel “Cryer’s
Cross,” a story that addresses obsessivecompulsive
disorder in teens, and her
upcoming thriller, due out next February,
titled “Dead to You.” “The Unwanteds”
was released Aug. 30 at a launch party at
a Tempe, Arizona bookstore. I was there,
waiting to get my copy autographed. I hope
you were, too.
Suspense Magazine Review of
“The Unwanteds" by Lisa McMann:
On the island of Quinn, your future is decided at the age of thirteen. Once a
year all the youths and their families gather for final judgment. By this point most
know what role they will be assigned to. If you have been reported to the council as
one who has expressed undesirable qualities, artistically inclined, then you are one
of the Unwanteds. Alex had known for three years, his parents kept him informed
that he was an Unwanteds. So, as he and his twin brother Aaron sat waiting for their
names to be called out, he was reconciled to being sent on the Purge.
Aaron was a “Wanted,” he had a bright future at the university and probably
in the future government. Many of Alex’s friends joined the ranks of the Wanteds
and the Necessaries, the rest of them where loaded on to the bus for the drive to
The Death Farm.
Once the Eliminator got their hands on these Unwanteds they would join a
succession of generations of poor souls cast into the Great Lake of Boiling Oil.
Shaking in their shoes and ready for the worst, they were surprised as their shackles
magically fell to the floor and a white-haired, old man strode toward them and
delivered the news that he was Marcus Today the ruler of Artime, and they were all
now part of the biggest ruse of all time.
By the time they met all the other residents however, it did not take long to
assimilate into their new life. Now circumstances happen—as they always do with
twins—that brings to the attention of the residents of Quinn that something is just
not right behind the gate to The Death Farm.
“The Unwanteds” is the first in a series of a delightful world of young adult
stories that feature a young male wizard. For my money, this story is actually better
than the other wizardry tales that came before and is an absolute gem that should
not be missed by adults or teens.
Reviewed by Mark P. Sadler, author of “Blood on his Hands” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine
Suspense Magazine Review of
“Cryer's Cross" by Lisa McMann:
The ghosts of the poor children virtually abandoned and many beaten to death
in the confines of one of Montana’s worst reform schools over a hundred years
ago, are crying out from the grave to be saved. The teenagers from Cryer’s Cross,
a small, one-room school town, are disappearing, two are gone, Tiffany and now
Nico, leaving no trace or clue. They simply just vanish.
Kendall, Nico’s lifelong friend is distraught after his disappearance. Her whole
life is interrupted, the school’s soccer team is disbanded, Juilliard turned her down
and two new teenagers have moved into town, as if to take over the place of the
missing teens. At least it keeps order in her OCD-riddled mind.
Unable to rest with her friend gone, Kendall finds herself drawn to the new
boy, eighteen year old Jacian, when they are thrown together as the town imposes a
curfew and travel restrictions on the teens in town until the mystery can be solved.
As school continues, Kendall keeps noticing the desk Nico sat in keeps getting
out of place each morning. She notices since she has to align them all in correct
order every morning. She realizes this is the same desk Tiffany—the other missing
teen—sat in last year and graffiti is scratched in the desk top that she doesn’t recall
seeing before. It reads "Please Save Me." Sitting at the desk she too is put under a
spell as the voices of the past call for her help. Will Jacian be able to figure out the
town’s secret in time to save Kendall from being the next to vanish forever?
McMann is again at her top-draw best as she weaves another young adult novel
into a story that crosses all ages and simply becomes a great yarn that anyone will
want to read.
Reviewed by Mark P. Sadler, author of “Blood on his Hands” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine
8 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

Tyley is a master at weaving a
complex, multilayered plot.”
—BigAl's Books and Pals
The lives of two strangers, Greg Jenkins
and Megan Brighton, become inextricably
entangled when they each sign up for a
dinner dating agency. Greg's reason for
joining has nothing to do with looking for
love. His recently divorced sister Sam has
disappeared and Greg is convinced that
Dinner for Twelve, or at least one of its
clients, may be responsible. Neither is
Megan looking for love. Although single,
she only joined at her best friend Brenda
De Luca's insistence. When a client of the
dating agency is murdered, suspicion falls
on several of the members. Then Megan's
friend Brenda disappears without trace,
and Megan and Greg join forces. Will they
find Sam and Brenda, or are they about
to step into the same inescapable snare?
ALSO BY VICKI TYLEY

agons
DMagic, Monsters, & Mythical creatures
THERE ARE WONDROUS
qualities to be found in the human
psyche, and one of the most
fascinating is the imagination.
With a single thought or idea, we
can create whole worlds filled with
the most incredible beings and
creatures. One of the most famous
of these mythical creatures is the
dragon.
Whether real or fantasy, the
belief in dragons is entirely up
to you, but they are a part of our
culture and have been for many
years. Part reptile, part bat or bird
and one hundred percent mythical
creature, dragons have captivated
humans for thousands of years. The
origins of this fantasy-like beast are
blurred and cloudy, but some facts
of the dragon’s beginnings are clear.
The word dragon was first
introduced in the English language
in the early 13th century from
the old French dragon which in
turn comes from the Latin word
draconem or Draco, meaning huge
serpent or dragon. The dragon itself
however, can be traced back in
history to much earlier beginnings.
The dragon has roots in Ancient
Near East mythology, including
Canaanite (Hebrew, Ugaritic),
Hittite and Mesopotamian. Greek
mythology and Christian mythology
both contain descriptions of this
serpentine creature and many
believe references can even be found
in pre-historic Germanic material.
Some even believe spitting cobras
may have added to the origins of the
fire-breathing dragon.
The earliest depiction of the
oriental dragon is the Chinese
By CK Webb
dragon, with its first images and
tales dating back as far as the
16th century B.C. The Chinese
Archaeologist Zhōu Chong-Fa
believed that the word for dragon
was equal to the sound that thunder
makes.
In many cultures, dragons
were viewed as menacing, hideous
creatures that needed stamping out.
One entity that was instrumental
in vilifying dragons throughout the
middle-ages in the western world
was the Catholic church. From
the stories of the Garden of Eden’s
serpent to the demon spawned
from hell and the virgin-eaters
that St. George battled, the church
found dragons to be a useful tool for
teaching. Stories of dragon slayers
soon became stories of heroes
fighting against the devil himself
10 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

and often those heroes were given sainthood by the church.
Vikings were another group that helped to give rise to the fear of dragons. They would often carve
huge depictions of the creature on the front of their ships then cruise up and down the coastlines
wreaking havoc on all that they encountered. Through the mists and fog, dragons would appear to glide
across the water, destroy whole villages, terrorize the people in them, then creep quietly back into the
night. In these times, dragons only brought death and destruction and it is only natural that they became
hated and feared.
One of the most famous dragons in history wasn’t a dragon at all, but rather a man with a reputation
as the most sadistic and ruthless ruler of his time. Vlad III Dracula, Prince of Wallachia is known to
most by his more common name, Vlad the Impaler. A cruel and methodical warrior for the church,
Vlad Dracula is famous for impaling his victims in a most unusual manner that took hours and even
days for death to occur. His father, Vlad Dracul, was a member of the monarchical chivalric order for selected
nobility known as Societas Draconistrarum, which is Latin for Order of the Dragon. A member of this order would
be referred to as Dracul, a noun of the Latin word Draco, meaning “dragon.” His exploits in battle as well as his
family name earned him the title of the most ruthless dragon in history as well as a place in Bram Stoker’s famous
classic novel, “Dracula.”
In literature, dragons have held a special fascination for us and for centuries we have devoured their stories.
From Beowulf to Harry Potter, dragons are deeply rooted in the written word. Many authors wrote of these
mythical creatures and their stories are still being told even today. From Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky, C.S.
Lewis’ cold northern dragon and J.R.R. Tolkien’s famous middle earth chronicles, dragons have been a part of
our fantasies and fantasy worlds for hundreds of years.
Through books, dragons would evolve in many ways and vary from one telling to another. In C.S. Lewis’
“The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,” written in 1952, an unnamed elderly dragon dies and then Eustace
Scrubb becomes a dragon when he puts on a bracelet from the dragon hoard.
Even Ray Bradbury tackled the dragon tale when he wrote The Dragon in 1955. Written as a short
story and featuring a pair of knights who set out to fight what they believe is a dragon. After they are killed
by it, it is revealed that the dragon is really a steam train!
One of the most famous characters in recent years had his share of dealings with dragons. J. K. Rowling’s
Harry Potter series launched in 1997 and spent the next ten years captivating not only children, but adults as well.
Norwegian Ridgebacks, Hungarian Horntails, Swedish Short-Snouts, Common Welsh Greens, Hebridean Blacks,
and even a Chinese Fireball make their debut in the Harry Potter series. Dragons are mentioned throughout the
books. They are portrayed as having incredible amounts of magic and are considered extremely dangerous by
most characters. Private ownership of dragons is strictly prohibited though one notable character, Rubeus Hagrid,
hatches and raises one of his very own.
Movies have found a special place for dragons and having them in a film almost always draws a crowd.
Dungeons and Dragons, Dragonheart, Reign of Fire, Dragon Wars, Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire, The Never
Ending Story, Aragon, and How To Train Your Dragon all featured this mythical creature and found a permanent
place in our hearts forever.
Real-life dragons can be found predominately on the Indonesian Islands. Weighing in at up to two hundred
and twenty pounds and growing up to ten feet long, Komodo dragons are the real stuff of nightmares. Though they
are not as strong as a crocodile, komodo dragons have been proven to have a far worse bite. A venom-like toxin is
injected into the prey which stops blood coagulation and causes the prey to eventually weaken and fall while the
komodo nibbles at his leisure.
As children, we dreamed of dragons and longed to climb on and fly away to wonderful new worlds full of
exciting new adventures. When I was a child, it was Puff the Magic Dragon with his very own theme song; today it’s
Dragon Tales for kids. Dragons are mythical creatures and can be frightening or magical, menacing or mysterious.
Dragons have gone from cave drawings to the star of our books and films. They have been a part of our lives as
children and even now as adults we fear and revere them. Dragons will continue on as long as there are storytellers
with wonderful imaginations and people eager to visit the wonders they create.
SuspenseMagazine.com
11

Quite
Contrary
mary conway was forty-seven, and looked it.
She was like a brown wren. Her grey-brown hair was
hurriedly combed back and kept in a perpetual ponytail.
She never wore makeup. Her plain, honest face might have
been called handsome if she smiled. She never did. She had
about five standard outfits all of which were suitable to wear
to market, to go to her job as an accountant or to clean house.
She wore tan, flat comfortable loafers. Her children, Bob Jr.
and Nella, both grown and living in neighboring towns, had
never seen her look any other way.
Mary was a creature of habit: each morning she got up,
gently shook her husband's shoulder and listened to a torrent
of abuse as she pulled on her faded, quilted robe with blue
cornflowers on it. His voice would trail off by the time she
reached their postage-stamp sized kitchen. Each morning
she would pull out three eggs, four strips of bacon, frozen
biscuits and apple juice. She would set coffee to going and
soon, its inviting, rich smell would fill the house. By the time
the food was done, the alarm had gone off twice, the second
time being tossed to the floor by Bob’s angry fist.
He would sit down, bleary eyed and scowling, usually a
bit hung over. He would gulp down his juice and coffee, all
the while telling her how undrinkable they were. He would
then demand more. Often, Mary, keeping a nervous eye on
the mug and glass he drank from, would be there with a refill
before he could demand it. However, she never seemed to do
it quite fast enough.
By the time Bobby had eaten, showered, shaved, dressed
and was on his way out the door, Mary had been called
everything foul that a man could say to a woman. Accused of
sins that most anyone would be hard put to find her capable:
By Laura Kathryn Rogers
sloth, indolence, stupidity, incompetence. Mary would listen
to it all without comment, and when Bobby was through and
gone, would turn to her immaculately-organized kitchen and
quickly put the breakfast debris in order. She would marvel
that while he complained about her food, told her he hated
all of it, yet each day he would wolf it down—as if starving.
Demand more often than not, and complain about it as
well, and then, clean his plate, never a kind word or show of
gratitude, just a normal day in the Conway home.
She quickly got ready for work and drove the four blocks
to the accounting firm owned by John Jacobs, and co-run by
his daughter, Cindy. She worked for John since she was out
of college, just prior to her marriage to Bobby, some twentyfive
years before. Here, John and Cindy complimented her
problem solving skills, her analytical thinking, her way of
bringing order out of the most chaotic mess of forms and
business records. Her amazing ability to find tax breaks and
loopholes when one would have thought all was lost for their
clients. Here each year, John and Cindy brought her birthday
cake, balloons and flowers and sang to her. It was almost as if
they knew she probably would not be remembered otherwise.
That day became busy early on, with three customers
each with tangled and delinquent tax issues. Mary got done
with hers first, about noon, sending her relieved client out
the door with a smile and a calming word. She’d been able to
reduce his late penalties and save him more than five hundred
dollars he feared he would have had to pay. The client stopped
to brag about her to John Jacobs. John smiled over at Mary
and gave her a proud wink. He’d frequently given her pay
raises and even asked her once to consider being a partner
in the accounting business. Mary demurred, not wanting the
2011 Short Story Contest Submission
12 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

esponsibility. Besides, Bobby needed her. The extra hours at
work would take her away from him.
About one that day, John stuck his head out of his office
and caught her eye.
“Mar, I have to get some stuff done that won’t wait.
You finish this for me, all right? Cindy’s going to a school
conference in just a few minutes, too so we both will be outta
here. Can you close the office? Take some time off if you
want. With pay, of course.”
Mary gave him one of her rare smiles. Soon, she was
alone in the cool, quaintly furnished office. The work she’d
been given was very simple. Just before Cindy left she stopped
by Mary’s desk to groan about her daughter, Elizabeth.
“She’s got an “F” in geometry! Can you believe it? I loved
math! And she’s reading Vogue in class. I can’t make the girl
think if I beat her! Were your kids this bad?”
Mary thought about it and shook her head. Bob Jr. was a
CPA with a young, nervous wife and he made a point of only
visiting when his father wasn’t there. Nella was a schoolteacher,
teaching remedial reading and was expecting her first baby.
She never came home, but phoned Mary frequently. They’d
often tried to protect Mary from the streams of verbal abuse
from their father, but this often got it directed at them. By
the time they got out of school, it seemed they were worn out
even trying to be a family except long distance.
Mary sat and started to work on her checkbook, then
remembered suddenly, that her car insurance was due.
Usually, she would pay it as soon as she got the bill, but this
time she’d gotten sidetracked and today was the last day of
grace. She got up and hurriedly did the few things needed to
close the office.
The insurance clerk was new and didn’t know her. The
transaction was done in minutes. Mary paid for the whole
six months in cash, as she always did. She paused in her black
Chevy Impala for a moment, wondering what to do next.
Go back to the office? No, nothing to do. Go home? Why?
Mary had to admit to herself that she didn’t look forward to
another tense, unhappy evening alone with Bobby.
A bright, new sign next to the insurance agency caught
her attention. It was a day spa. A huge advertisement had
a special running: a haircut, a massage, a facial, a makeup
evaluation and application and color analysis, all for a very
reasonable price. Mary couldn’t remember the last time she’d
done anything fun for herself, certainly nothing to improve
her appearance or to relax. Before she thought it through
much, she locked her car doors and was headed into the new
spa.
She wondered if looking a bit better for Bobby might
make him treat her better. Maybe some of his attitude was
her fault. Maybe she was just too plain, too mediocre. Maybe
if she really knocked his eyes out, he would treat her with the
kind of courtesy that he once had when they were dating so
many years before.
SuspenseMagazine.com
By 3 p.m. the brown wren had been transformed. She had
her hair trimmed with nice layers making the wispy, baby
fine mane look almost youthful. She enjoyed her massage and
facial and let the stylist do her makeup as much as she wanted.
She was told that her best colors were ‘cold’ colors such as
the deeper blues, greens and reds. Acting on this advice, she
went to a boutique nearby and spent an unbelievable amount
on a dress and matching shoes. She wore them out, leaving
her plain, drab work clothes in the shopping bag in the car.
She noted when she looked in the mirror, her blue eyes
seemed to sparkle, not quite so old or weary looking. She
stopped, bought a sweet-smelling perfume, and, in the way
of a woman not used to extra grooming, put a little too much
on her new dress.
She felt a bit giddy. She remembered once more how
Bobby had been during their courtship: witty, full of
wisecracks, very charming and often very sweet. What
happened? She fast-forwarded through memories of their
two children being born, both of them taking on demanding
yet satisfying jobs, buying their home, the kids growing up...
She couldn’t put a finger on where it all began to change.
Why had he grown more hostile to her as years passed? Why
had it seemed to all change almost as soon as they were
pronounced man and wife? For some strange reason, the
man he was before the wedding and the man she lived with
all those years after, seemed utterly different.
She walked along, noted how she got a few admiring
looks from men about her age and was quietly amazed.
She window-shopped for a bit, wanting to enjoy the fun
experience of being admired, of feeling like she could spend
a few hours just pleasing herself. She paused in front of a gun
shop.
Bobby was a gun fanatic and had what amounted to a
small arsenal in their basement. He also had books about
guns, movies about guns and literally every thing a gun
fanatic might want. Mary treaded lightly when cleaning and
dusting around his beloved collection, and so, was quite
familiar with all that he had and didn’t have. In the window
was a very rare revolver, it looked to be of antique vintage.
She wondered if Bobby would like to have it for a gift. She
didn’t have to wonder long. It would delight him.
Within minutes, Mary bought the gun, a book about
it, a few accessories and a few clips of ammunition that the
employee—who told her he was a new worker—insisted
would go along with any ‘real’ gift, and was on her way out
the door. Mary had never bought a gun before, but had read
novels about such things and was surprised when she wasn’t
asked for identification, nor any record was made of her
buying anything there. Soon she was out the door and back
in her car, ready to go home and give Bobby the surprise of
his life.
It was 3:45 p.m. when she got home. To her surprise,
Bobby’s red Mazda pickup was in the drive. So was a small,
13

lue, two-door Honda. Mary frowned. Had one of the kids
gotten a new car? And why would Bobby be home before
his 6:00 p.m. shift ended? He never took time off, but then,
neither did she. Closing the office early never happened.
Today was just a fluke.
She let herself in silently, clutching Bobby’s gift in a white
plastic bag, smiling, hoping this would put Bobby in a good
mood. Maybe they would have a pleasant evening together...
Down the hall, she heard a woman laughing. Not her
daughter. Ice grew in Mary’s heart. She slowed her steps even
more. At the door of their bedroom she saw them jostling
about in her and Bobby’s bed. Some dreadful instinct told her
that this wasn’t the first time her husband brought someone
home when Mary was gone.
The next few minutes were an eerie calm for Mary. She
went into the living room, loaded the gun like an expert and
walked to the door of the bedroom.
“Hi, Bobby,” she said, feeling a bit surreal.
“Whaaaa?” was all her husband could manage before her
gunshot, the first she’d ever fired, found its way to his throat
and silenced him forever.
The woman, someone Mary thought she knew slightly
from Bobby’s Rotary events, screamed once, before the
second shot, also perfect, landed in her temple and ended
her life as well.
Mary, still calm, turned and walked out of the house. The
street was quiet. If anyone noticed her drive up, so be it. She
was planning to turn herself in anyway. Eventually, that is.
No point in pretending it didn’t happen.
She got in her car and started calmly driving, away
from town, away from her office, past the city’s industrial
plant, towards the town where her daughter, Nella lived and
worked. She stopped, turned around and went back to the
industrial plant. As if watching someone else do the deeds,
she broke the gun into three pieces with unusual strength.
She found some vats of bubbling chemicals that smelled
horrible. She dumped each piece separately in three different
ones. She then threw the bullets, accessories, receipt, bag and
all other things connected with the purchase in a big boiling
vat nearby. In the car, she looked at herself in the mirror as if
looking at a stranger. She smiled...so calm. Why, she looked
almost ten years younger, at least.
She carefully brushed the style out of her newly done hair.
With some baby wipes that she kept in the car, she removed
all traces of her makeup. She looked around, and when she
saw she was totally alone, stepped out of her new, expensive
dress and was back into her old, drab work clothes within
five minutes. The dress and new shoes also found their way
into a bubbling tomb.
She drove quickly back to the office, walked around it,
opening it up as if she’d never been gone. She sat down at
her desk and pulled out her checkbook. Two minutes later,
John and Cindy Jacobs walked into the office, Cindy pulling
a defiant looking thirteen-year-old Elizabeth with her.
“Hey, gal, didn’t I tell you to take some time off? Why are
you still here?” John asked, smiling.
“I’m doing some personal stuff.” Mary said sweetly. She
held up her checkbook. “Balancing things.”
“Shouldn’t be hard for you.” Cindy said, admiringly.
“That is the one thing I can’t do. When I was married, my ex
did all that stuff. Can you imagine that? An accountant who
can’t balance her checkbook?”
“Hey girls, I’d love to keep this going, but I’m hungry. I’ve
got a great idea. Mary! Why don’t you and Bobby join me and
Cindy for supper tonight? My treat.” John asked.
“I’m not sure if that would be possible.” Mary said.
“Oh, c’mon, you two never do anything together. Give
him a call.”
“He might not be where he could take a call,” Mary said.
“Isn’t he the foreman at that factory? Sure he can take a
call. Hey, I’ll call myself. He won’t turn me down. What’s the
number there?”
Mary told him and John dialed it. He frowned after
talking with someone for a few minutes.
“Now that’s amazing, Mary. You really should have
closed the office today of all days. I’d forget today’s your
anniversary,” he paused, “he’s home, waiting to surprise you.
He told the fellas he had to go home early. Funny thing, I
thought you got married in May.”
“I did,” Mary said calmly. “May 15, 1975.”
Again, she felt the calm sweeping over her, an odd sense
of peace making her feel as if nothing would ever touch her
again.
John’s frown deepened.
“That’s bizarre. Why would he tell folks he needed off
from work for that reason then? Must be some mistake. Want
to call him at home?”
“Sure,” Mary said, evenly. She dialed the number, listened
and shook her head. “No answer,” she said.
“Well, this is just strange,” John said. He pulled his car
keys out of his pocket and shook them in the air as if it helped
him puzzle the situation out. “Okay, well, never mind. That
leaves you. And it’s not your anniversary. So, you come eat
with me and Cindy. Bobby will just have to fend for himself.
He can do that, right?”
“I’m sure he can,” Mary said.
Cindy and Elizabeth backed out of dinner at the last
second, so that left John and Mary to dine at a small seafood
and steak restaurant on the edge of the town’s picturesque
river. They chatted happily, and before long, the day turned
to evening. As they got back to the accounting office, John
handed her his cell phone.
“Call him again. That’s just out of character for him, to
say he was going home for a reason he wasn’t.”
Mary dialed obligingly.
“Same result,” she said after letting the phone ring a
14 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

dozen times.
John Jacobs frowned, “This is very weird, Mary. I’m not
comfortable with you going home alone. I’m going to follow
you with my car. I’ve got a funny feeling about this.”
“I really don’t think...”
“Mary, I’m your boss and your friend. Humor a worried
old man, okay?” John gently insisted.
Mary led the way to her home. When they got there,
both had to parallel park because the truck and the Honda
took up most of the available parking space. John looked at
the Honda curiously.
“Were you expecting guests?” When she shook her head,
he glanced at the dark house. Put a hand up in the air as if to
tell her to halt. “Let me see your house keys. You stay right
there. I’m going to walk through just to make sure you are
safe.”
Mary sat in the car, fighting the urge to laugh out loud.
This was turning out perfectly. She might not turn herself in
after all. The idea of doing this, so completely out of character,
then actually getting away with it? So unusual, so amazing...
so...
John returned, his face ashen.
“You don’t want to go in there. And I think it's best that
I call the police.”
The following hours were full of questions, crime-scene
tape everywhere, fingerprinting dust, more questions. Mary
heard herself answering each one perfectly, as if far, far away.
Telling one lie after another, as if she’d thought them out
for hours. She heard John telling the police that she had the
chance to go home early, but she chose to stay at the office
and balance her checkbook. Yes, she was a very hard worker,
dedicated. She’d worked for him almost thirty years, an
outstanding woman. John would personally vouch for her.
Anyone who knew her would.
John recounted how they tried to call Bobby for dinner,
first at his job, then at home. Where they’d gone to eat. What
had happened after. The police took endless notes, more
photos, and finally the coroner came and the bodies of Bobby
and his female friend were finally taken away.
“You can’t sleep here tonight,” John said. “I’m calling
Cindy...you stay with her and Elizabeth. She won’t mind.
We’ll call Nella and Bob Jr. You shouldn’t be alone at a time
like this.”
Mary agreed to all John’s suggestions and left her home,
getting into John’s car and driving with him to his daughter’s
house.
In the weeks that followed, Mary was interviewed
repeatedly. Her story never wavered. Neighbors all spoke
of her quiet devotion to home and family. No one heard
anything that quiet afternoon, though the sound of the
gunfire should have carried in the small subdivision. There
had been no evidence of a break in, nothing to point to a
murder-suicide.
SuspenseMagazine.com
The only thing they knew for sure was that Bobby Conway
was found dead in his bed with an equally dead woman who
was not his wife. Ballistics reports were traced to the right
gun, but there were no records of such a gun being recently
sold, anywhere. The gun did not match one in his collection.
When asked, Mary said honestly, she’d only had occasion
to fire a gun twice in her life. It wasn’t a great interest to her.
It was her husband’s hobby, not hers.
The police puzzled over her calm, matter-of-fact way, but
talked to enough people to know Mary was not a woman of
much emotion. They chalked any extra apathy up to grief or
depression about her husband’s death.
With time, the case turned away from Mary and went
nowhere in a hurry. She sold the house, found a bright,
cheery apartment closer to her job and decorated it in a fun
way that was far different from the sterile decor of the home
which she and Bobby shared. As months passed, a change
occurred in Mary. She colored her hair back to the nice,
chestnut-brown she had as a young woman. She began to
wear makeup. She wore flattering clothes. She’d always been
thin, but now she seemed to care more about eating well and
filled out her clothes with a few needed pounds. She began
to joke and laugh a bit, and John Jacobs, long ago a widower,
began to look at her with something more than ‘friend’s only’
eyes.
He didn’t show it at first because he was after all, her long
time boss and also, because he wanted to be sensitive about
her new status as a widow. Finally about thirteen months after
Bobby’s murder, he asked Mary on a dinner date. This began
a mutually happy pattern of dating, spending time together,
and as even more time passed, her children and his daughter
Cindy spending time together. Everyone got on very well.
Just before the third anniversary of Bobby’s death, John
planned a romantic supper and towards the end, proposed
marriage. Mary, surprised but delighted, accepted. The two
were married in a private ceremony some five months later.
Everyone agreed that John Jacobs made a wonderful change
in Mary. She seemed like a totally different person.
One night, while they cuddled in front of a roaring
fire, John thought of their decades' long friendship and the
strange series of events that made them a couple.
“Do you ever wonder who killed Bobby, Mary?” he
asked, gently.
Mary took a sip of wine and gave him a tender look,
“Why, I did, of course.”
A chill surged through John. He
looked at his new wife closely. Her
eyes were twinkling. There was a
hint of a smile on her lips. John
Jacobs took a deep sigh of relief,
and held her close to him.
That Mary, he thought.
She certainly was a card.
September 18 -
23, 2011
Fall For The Book
Fairfax, VA
www.fallforthebook.org
15

Collaborative Writing
Ask Your
Writing CAreer
CoACh
with Tiffany Colter
This month I want to address the issue of collaborative writing. Your writing
career may bring opportunities to work with other people to produce written
pieces. These could be as short as a blog/article or as long as a novella or a book.
Whatever the length, there are some things to keep in mind when working on a collaborative piece:
1. Be clear about expectations and deadlines. This is a lesson I learned the hard way. We cannot assume
that another person knows what we mean. Be extremely clear.
2. Put it in writing. This ties in with the first point. I don’t expect a long, legal contract necessarily, but
what you need to do is write down exactly what you mean and then discuss it with the other person. That
allows you to clear up misunderstandings.
3. Who is paying for what? If someone is hiring you to collaborate with them, find out if they are paying
for outside proofreads or if they expect you to do that. How many edits/revisions do they expect you to do?
What level of writing is each person doing? How many meetings do they expect? How much phone/interview
time? What amount of research do they expect you to do?
4. Is your name going to appear on the book or not?
5. Are you expected to be a part of the marketing?
6. How much is each person earning (if co-authoring a book) or what will you be paid specifically (if
you’re doing a work for hire).
These are all things to keep in mind whether you’re co-authoring a novel or someone is hiring you to help
them write their memoirs. The goal is to avoid conflict, but what if there is a disagreement? Here is what I
suggest to help resolve tension.
1. Accept responsibility for your part.
2. Don’t assign blame.
3. Avoid name-calling.
4. Go back to the original agreement to see where there is a breakdown.
5. Know when to count your losses and walk away.
I find that it is important to remain professional at all times when it comes to my writing. I love what I do
and can become quite enthusiastic about my work. This has led to me doing more than a person paid me to do.
It has also led to quite a bit of frustration.
It doesn’t have to be like that. If you communicate effectively, put forth your best effort and have reasonable
expectations, collaborative writing can be one of the best times you have as a professional writer.
Share your collaborative writing experiences on the Suspense Magazine Facebook wall.
16 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

DJ Weaver
Weaves a Tale of Mystery & Suspense
DJ Weaver was born in Pascagoula, Mississippi, and relocated to north Mississippi in
1980. At Mississippi University for Women and at Mississippi State University, she took
paralegal and human resources management courses, and has worked in the clerical field
for twenty-five years.
DJ, along with her daughter and best friend, CK Webb, recently completed the
first two in the three-novel Innocents series. She also writes in a variety of other genres.
When she isn't writing, DJ develops and maintains WebbWeaver Review blog, where she
reviews books and interviews published authors regularly. She serves as co-chairwoman
of WebbWeaver Book Club and also writes book reviews for Suspense Magazine.
Most recently, her co-authored book “Cruelty to Innocents” is available in e-book
form. Published through Suspense Publishing and available where e-books are sold,
“Cruelty to Innocents” is about a kidnapper who targets children in various 911 situations.
The parents are in the middle of helping victims of an accident or mugging or even a fire,
and as they leap into the unknown to help perfect strangers, someone takes and murders
their children. No clues are left for the authorities. Sloanne Kelly, whose deceased father
used to be a cop, comes back to her hometown because her godchild is one of the victims
and time is running out. With the help of her best friend, Shawn Tyler, Sloanne comes
face-to-face with dangerous criminals and fights to find the children that have been taken.
DJ is a fifty-something mother and grandmother who now works part-time and makes
her home in Millport, Alabama. Suspense Magazine would like to give you a little glimpse into who DJ Weaver is as our pick
for September’s Contributor’s Corner.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): What specifically—if anything—brought you to writing?
DJ Weaver (DJW): Actually, my daughter/co-writer is the culprit. I had done a little writing in my younger years, but never
really considered myself a writer per se. She came to me one morning with a lovely story idea which we threw back and forth
until we came up with this great book premise. Since she doesn’t type, she asked if I would be interested in putting our ideas to
paper and see how it all worked out. Well, who knew I had some hidden skills? We found I was pretty good at character and
story development and also at adding detail and a bit of humor to flesh out the already wonderful story. It didn’t take us long to
write our first book, “Cruelty to Innocents,” which is being well received and then write the second book in the Innocents series,
“Collecting Innocents,” which we hope will be out before the end of 2011.
S. MAG.: The mother/daughter relationship is the most complicated, sophisticated,
magical, love/hate relationships in the world. Why write with your daughter? Any
problems one wouldn’t expect between mother and daughter? Where is the line
of relative/writer if any?
DJW: Yes, it is a complicated thing, writing with my daughter, but the best part is, we
know what the other looks for in their own reading and we always try to write what
SuspenseMagazine.com
Interview by Suspense Magazine
17

we would want to read. Of course, we have our disagreements about some things, like where we want the story to go or how a
certain character should approach a situation, but we know what we want our final outcome to be so we compromise on how to
achieve that outcome. There have been days of writing in which stomping, screaming and frowning are the order of the day, but
then we are a mother and daughter and even though we don’t always agree, we are adults and can work it out. I don’t know if
there really is “a line,” so to speak. We are both out to achieve the same thing and we always outline a premise before we start the
actual writing process so that negates many of the differences we may encounter. When we sit down to write the “relative” part of
our relationship just seems to slip away and we become two writers who work together as any two writers would.
S. MAG.: The Innocents series is a great premise. Whose idea was it or was it a collaboration from a brainstorming session?
DJW: The original premise of “Cruelty to Innocents” was completely CK’s idea and we both saw it more as a movie, but knew we
could write it as a novel. Once we started the outlining, we realized that we had a great starting premise that could be expanded
into a series and we were really excited about where we could go with that expansion and the characters we were bringing to life.
We knew we wanted the characters to continue with their story so we wrote an outline for the second book, “Collecting Innocents,”
but found we needed several more characters to make the story pop and make it go in the direction we felt it would go if it were a
story on the news, instead of a thriller. Before we even had a chance to write book two, we already decided what would take place
in book three and the ultimate outcome of the story line.
S. MAG.: What do you do to unwind and just enjoy life?
DJW: I read quite a bit as I do reviews for Suspense Magazine and for our own review site, WebbWeaver Reviews. I love to read
and watch movies of all types and I think that fact is one reason I enjoy writing so much. We have always made it our mantra
to write something original that we would want to read ourselves and since I have been reading and watching movies since I was
very young, it’s easy to keep to that originality idea.
I have grandkids who I love to spend time with, although they are getting a little old to want to hang out with “Nana.” I have two
dogs that are like kids, well actually worse than kids and I try to be as active at my church as time permits. I help with the Matt
Miller Food Pantry here in my small community and I’m presently looking for part-time work. I do a lot of social networking and
posting on our website which is almost a full-time job, except I don’t get paid.
S. MAG.: Do you make up stories for your grandchildren?
DJW: I have in the past, but they have mostly outgrown the storytelling phase and moved on to the “tell us what you did in junior
high or high school” phase. Since this can be very dangerous territory for any grandparent (snicker), I try to keep these stories as
straight-laced as possible. I never want to hear either of my grandkids say, “Nanny did that when she was in high school, so why
can’t I?” Anyway…you get the idea?
S. MAG.: With life dictating art and after writing a book like “Cruelty to
Innocents,” do you think now you’d possibly reconsider helping someone you
saw in jeopardy?
DJW: “Cruelty to Innocents” was never an “eye-opening” thing for me. I have
never been under the delusion that there aren’t evil, sick people in the world who
do the very things depicted in our book. I know if I can imagine it, someone else
has already considered or done that very thing. Evil exists in the world and there
will always be those individuals who believe they can get away with anything, no
matter how illicit and depraved it may seem to the ordinary person. The media is
full of stories that echo our book or are much worse and unfortunately, and I feel
that anyone who doesn’t realize that fact is just not being realistic. I probably am
a little more wary about situations I may come across, but it has nothing to do
with the writing of this book. It stems more from hearing the news or reading a
newspaper article and seeing what some people are actually capable of. Our world
is not a perfect place to live, but it would be far less perfect if we didn’t try to help
one another or try to help others understand there is always a better way.
There you have it. Another bit of information on one of the many people
Suspense Magazine is privileged to have working with them in order to bring
you your favorite publication for all things mystery and suspense. Check out
their reviews and interviews on WebbWeaver Reviews.
18 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

CHARLIE WEST JUST
WOKE UP IN SOMEONE
ELSE’S NIGHTMARE.
He’s strapped to a chair. He’s covered in blood and
bruises. He hurts all over. And a strange voice outside
the door just ordered his death. The last thing he
can remember, he was a normal high-school kid.
But who is he really? And more to the point…
how is he going to get out of this alive?
To view the book trailer, a special
message from Andrew Klavan and
download a free chapter, visit
www.thehomelanders.com

The SamariTan
STephen BeSecker
Special Preview from Stephen Besecker
PROLOGUE
Bronx (november)
Like any experienced big-game hunter, the man shouldering the highpowered
sniper’s rifle ignored the elements and focused on opportunity.
The temperature hovered near thirty degrees Fahrenheit. Around him, light
intermittent flurries—the season’s first traceable snow—fell, driven by gusts
reaching fifteen miles per hour. At his back, the eastern horizon slowly
brightened, ushering in a late November day.
The hunter wore black insulated boots, a black Gore-Tex hoodie, and
thermal underwear underneath his dark blue jeans. He blended in perfectly
with the flat, tarred roof of the Bronx building, and except for two eyeholes in
the mask, known in military circles around the world as a balaclava, his face
was completely covered, his composed expression hidden.
As he’d done for the past hour, the hunter kept his movement to a minimum.
After weeks of exhausting reconnaissance, the first steps toward the inevitable
shooting war in and around the five boroughs of New York City were about to
be taken.
The sniper’s rifle—a single shot M40A3 semiautomatic with a speciallymade
sound suppressor—rested comfortably against his right shoulder. He’d
chosen a point of reference 324 yards from his perch. Pressing his eye to
the Leupold scope, the hunter sighted a dented garbage can and once again
calculated the wind’s influence at this distance. Minimal. No problem. Control and discipline were his watchwords this
morning. Breathe slowly was his mantra.
Just as he’d been taught, the hunter practiced patience, overcame emotion, and demanded calm. His resting pulse rate,
which he’d monitored over the past three months, was a controlled sixty beats per minute. Steely eyes peered through the
holes in his balaclava as his right index finger rested on the M40’s trigger. Like the snowflakes passing through the scope’s
view, the seconds melted away. The time of reckoning was fast approaching.
The rifle’s barrel rested on a bipod some sixty feet above 161 st Street. Things were quiet in the middle-class neighborhood.
That was about to change.
On the opposite side of the street, a brownstone door opened and closed. An olive-skinned, third-generation Italian-
American man, his hair slicked back with a generous amount of gel, stepped into the cold morning air, his breath visible with
every exhalation. The target rubbed his gloved hands together to keep warm.
The hunter shifted his weight just so. As he’d anticipated, his heart rate increased slightly as his index finger curled around
the trigger.
The target, a man in his late twenties, wore a black leather jacket, designer jeans, and black Gucci shoes. He moved into
the scope’s kill zone.
Like dozens of mornings before, the man he intended to assassinate, a high-ranking member of a powerful New York
City crime family, stood on the top step outside his home, his head turning left and right, observing the street.
The hunter now centered the crosshairs on the target’s left eye, relaxed, slowly emptied his lungs, and gently squeezed
20 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

the trigger. There was a metallic click, and a distinct pop, and a tongue of
fire leapt from the end of the sound suppressor as the rifle bucked. Locked
in the moment, the hunter felt and heard nothing; the results were all that
mattered.
Three hundred twenty-three yards away, the target’s head exploded as
if a stick of dynamite had been placed inside an overripe cantaloupe. The
.762-millimeter round tore through his handsome face, liquefying his brain
and sending shards of skull rocketing against the wooden door that led into
his brownstone. A fine pink mist quickly dissipated in the light snow. The
man crumpled to the concrete steps, then slipped onto the sidewalk like a
sack of sand, his body mostly hidden by a hedgerow.
A Honda Civic passed without pause, the driver oblivious to the
murderer or the victim in his midst. An elderly woman wearing an oversized
winter parka, taking her toy poodle for an early morning stroll, didn’t see
a thing. Neither did the two boys on their way to the Catholic elementary
school.
With his head tipped back, the hunter’s brown eyes moved away from
the scope and quickly assessed the situation. Killing the target was supposed
to mitigate the pain that began back in August, and it had to some degree,
but the relief lasted only seconds. Now he felt no satisfaction whatsoever.
Oddly enough, he experienced no emotion at all—and maybe that was for
the best.
A car horn blared like an alarm clock. As if awakened from a dream,
the hunter was suddenly conscious of the cold, the ache in his lower back,
his heavy breathing, and the activity on the street below. An older teenage
boy wearing a New York Giants jacket now stood over the headless corpse.
Shrieking for help, the boy stumbled backwards over the dormant hedge.
“I’m sorry about that, kid,” the hunter murmured. He calmly picked up
the ejected shell near his boot, broke down the rifle, and stuffed the three
sections into a tattered duffle bag. Before he headed for the fire escape at the
back of the three-story building, he tossed a different shell casing near the
brick parapet, peeled off his balaclava, and shoved it into his bag.
Two minutes later, the hunter was strolling west on Prospect Avenue,
the cold morning breeze at his back.
Like many young boys growing up in Western New York,
Steve Besecker had every intention of becoming a professional
hockey player. Nevertheless, at the ripe young age of fifteen, Steve
realized that his hockey talent did not measure up to his passion
for the sport, and he began rethinking his future. The professors
and Franciscan community at St. Bonaventure University opened
Steve’s eyes to philosophy, business marketing, and creative
writing. He earned a St. Bonaventure degree in Marketing Management, while
also earning the distinction of being assistant captain of St. Bonaventure’s
varsity hockey team.
With the help of various creative writing teachers, and the guidance
and tough love of retired Doubleday editor Bill Thompson, who worked with
Stephen King, John Grisham, Pat Conroy, Peter Straub, and many commercially
successful authors early in their careers, Steve developed the character of Native
American Kevin “Little Crow” Easter, the CIA hunter and protagonist of “The
Samaritan” and subsequent planned thrillers.
Steve’s an active member of both the International Thriller Writers, Inc.,
and the American Society of Journalists and Authors.
Steve lives in Western New York and is presently writing another thriller
that includes Kevin “Hatch” Easter, Gray Taylor, and many of the characters
from “The Samaritan.”
SuspenseMagazine.com
21

Stephen
england
On Life and Writing
WHEN YOU THINK OF COUNTERTERRORISM
POLITICAL THRILLERS, Tom Clancy, Brad Thor, and Brad
Meltzer may come to mind. Soon, you may be adding Stephen
England to that venerable list. His new novel, “Pandora’s Grave”—
the debut novel of his Shadow Warriors series—is an action-filled
espionage/military thriller sure to impress many readers and
rightfully garner him many fans. And, at the age of twenty-one,
he has many years of writing ahead of him!
I asked Stephen to talk with us about his experiences
during the creation, editing, and self-publication of
“Pandora’s Grave,” among other things. He kindly
agreed to the following interview:
Weldon Burge (WB): “Pandora’s Grave”
includes many Christian, Jewish, and
Muslim characters. Did you write
character profiles before starting
the novel, to keep things straight?
Interview by Weldon Burge
Stephen England (SE): Not really.
I learned so many things about my
characters through the course of the novel. I’m afraid it would have been a very boring
book if I had attempted to lock them away at the start. To give an example: about
halfway through “Pandora’s Grave” I realized that the character of Bernard Kranemeyer,
director of the Clandestine Service, was really little more than another faceless bureaucrat.
A major problem considering the major role he plays in the story. But then it occurred to
me one day—what if? What if he was a retired Delta Force operative, an amputee who lost his
leg in an IED attack? It was quite literally as though someone had turned a light on for me. It’s
22 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

those types of revelations that make writing so rewarding
for me, those moments when you turn a corner and
something fits so perfectly. I can’t imagine Kranemeyer
any other way now. That’s who he is.
WB: Impressive was your objectivity and balance when
it came to the contrasting religious motivations of the
characters. How much research did you do concerning
the three major religions to provide this balance?
SE: I firmly believe it helps when you have absolutely
no agenda going into the book. I didn’t have an axe
to grind. That said, it’s impossible to write about the
modern-day Middle East without dealing
with the developing clash
of civilizations between
the West, with its Judeo-
Christian underpinnings
and a radical interpretation
of Islam, which has yet to
leave the Middle Ages.
I did a lot of research into Islam
for the book, read the Qur’an
and many of the hadiths.
What I found is a religion
that is full of schisms and
contradictions. Some verses of
the Qur’an do explicitly call for
violence, while others preach
peace. What we here in the
States have to understand is
that while there are elements
of Islam at war with the West,
Islam is also at war with itself
over the future of their religion.
I tried to capture this through
the wide variety of Muslim characters in “Pandora’s
Grave.” They may all read from the same book, but they
don’t all believe the same thing. On the other side, my
main character, Harry Nichols, struggles to balance his
Christian faith with the deceit and violence demanded by
his job as CIA strike team leader.
WB.: Also impressive was the verisimilitude (the
appearance of being true or real) in the book. The
characters and the details of their paramilitary missions
seemed realistic and accurate. How much research went
into the technical military aspects of the book?
SuspenseMagazine.com
SE: Quite literally years of research. As a longtime fan
of Tom Clancy, I was very concerned with getting the
details as accurate as possible without sacrificing story.
Now, is the book completely accurate? No. I had to cut out
about twenty layers of CIA bureaucracy just to maintain
a halfway manageable cast of characters. And if I had
to do that for a novel...well, it gives you a whole new
appreciation for the weight of what the men in the field
labor under.
WB: What was your biggest challenge when writing the
novel?
"...if you’re going
to self-publish,
you have to be
self-motivated
and self-critical.
If you aren’t,
there’s no way
you can succeed."
SE: My biggest challenge undoubtedly
stemmed from the fact that I’ve been working
on the Shadow Warriors series, of which “Pandora’s Grave”
is the debut novel, for the better part of a decade. And
I’ve thrown out five or six manuscripts in that time—for
different books in the series—before I arrived at one I was
happy with a few years back. But to go back and rewrite
the introduction to the series, to lay the foundation for
Nichols and his associates, that was challenging.
WB: Did you work from an outline, or did you pretty
much improvise?
SE: No, we have no outlines here. I have three things in
23

mind whenever I begin a story: a premise, a few scenes
sketched out in my mind, and a climax. In “Pandora’s
Grave,” it was the terrorist attack on Israel. But getting
from point to point, well, that’s a journey of discovery, for
me as much as the reader. And I prefer to keep it that way.
WB: If you could meet your lead character, Harry
Nichols, in real life, what question would you ask him?
SE: I’m really not sure. You see, I know him better than
anyone else already, and if I met his real-life counterparts
in the Clandestine Service, well, I respect them too much
to pry into their affairs. It is my sincere prayer that I have
honored their service with my portrayal of Nichols and
the brave men and women who surround him.
WB: If you could go back in time and start over
with “Pandora’s Grave,” what would you have done
differently?
SE: Already done. “Pandora’s Grave” underwent at least
three complete rewrites, so I think I changed everything I
wanted to write differently. A number of things changed
over the course of the novel for the simple reason that the
situation in the Middle East has changed so dramatically
over the years.
WB: Do you have a certain type of scene that you don’t
like to write, or avoid completely?
SE: You might say that. The Shadow Warriors series is
unique in that it is written for the Christian market while
retaining the hard-edged action you would expect from
a mainstream thriller. But it’s no accident that the novels
are free from profanity and sex scenes. That was by design
and I’ve gotten some very positive feedback concerning it
from a wide variety of people.
WB: Your first novel, “Sword of Neamha,” was historical
fiction set in pre-Roman Britain. Considering that you
prefer counterterrorism thrillers, why did you opt to
write your first published book set in the Britain of two
thousand years ago?
SE: At the time,
I was in the
middle of rewriting “Pandora’s Grave” and I wasn’t getting
anywhere fast. I needed a break from writing about
counterterrorism, so I turned to my other great passion,
historical fiction. Doing a different type of writing is
better than no writing at all. The decision to publish
“Sword of Neamha” was in some ways a trial balloon: to
see if independent publishing was a viable option. I was
very pleased by the reception it received and I returned
to the writing of “Pandora’s Grave” with renewed energy.
WB: Both of your novels have been self-published via
Lulu. When you decided to write your first novel, was
self-publishing already in your overall strategy?
SE: In a word, no. Of course, I started writing about
nine years ago, when independent publishing was truly
dominated by the vanity press. Print-on-demand and
particularly electronic publishing have revolutionized
the industry, and social media has given writers the tools
they need to get their name and their message out there
cheaply. And in today’s economy, with the publishing
houses tightening their belts and relying ever more heavily
on their existing stable of authors, I believe independent
publishing may be the future.
WB: What advice would you offer writers who plan to
self-publish and market a novel?
SE: I’ve said it for some time: if you’re going to selfpublish,
you have to be self-motivated and self-critical.
If you aren’t, there’s no way you can succeed. The last one
is perhaps most important. If you can’t be critical of your
own work, you’d better find someone who is. There’s a lot
of really good independent fiction out there—there’s also
a lot of trash. Don’t add to the trash.
WB: What’s your next project?
SE: Well, without giving anything away of the climax of
“Pandora’s Grave,” which is a complete story in and of
itself, there is a plot point left unresolved.
That plot point blows up, quite literally, when two
bombs go off in the U.S. in the first few hours of “Day
of Reckoning,” the second novel of the Shadow Warriors
series. “Day of Reckoning” continues the story of Harry
Nichols, as well as introducing a new terrorist threat, this
time against the homeland. The CIA has never operated
24 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

on U.S. soil, but all that’s about to change. People can go
to www.stephenwrites.com for further information about
the sequel.
WB: Where do you see yourself in ten years?
SE: Assuming nothing of what I’ve written about actually
comes true? Well, I’d like to think I will be a successful
author at that point in time. But I’m afraid the next ten
years will be very difficult ones for the country as a whole.
Here’s praying we make it through.
WB: If we looked at your bookshelf at home, which
authors would we find?
SE: Well, if you had time to look through thousands
of books you’d find everyone from modern greats like
Brad Thor and Daniel Silva to the classics of Victorian
juvenile fiction: G.A. Henty, Edward Stratemeyer, etc.
And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the volumes
of nonfiction. I’ve had a lifelong love affair with books
and I trust it’s just beginning.
WB: What are you reading now?
SE: As far as fiction goes, I’m currently enjoying Ryne
Douglas Pearson’s novel “October’s Ghost,” a highly
entertaining thriller about Cuba. I’m always somewhere
in the middle of three or four non-fiction books, often for
research, one of which—at the moment—is Christopher
Andrews book on MI-5, “Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”
That’s actually research for the 3 rd book in the Shadow
Warriors series, which has yet to be announced.
WB: If you could collaborate with any writer, living or
dead, who would it be and what would you write?
SE: Goodness, that’s a tough question. I’ve enjoyed so
many authors through the years. If I had to pick the one
who has probably been most influential upon my present
course of writing, it would be Tom Clancy. His books from
“Hunt for Red October” on have defined my conception of
what a thriller should be.
WB: One last question, just for fun. If you could remake
a thriller movie, which one would it be, and what would
you change in the film?
SE: Just one? It’s hard to choose, but I can say one thing
SuspenseMagazine.com
I would change: ban all sports cars from spy movies.
Yes, I know I’m a killjoy, but real spies drive the most
nondescript cars they can find, the type of vehicles you’d
never look at twice...or remember. I’m sorry, but a fireengine
red Corvette does not make a good tail car, I don’t
care what Hollywood says.
Thanks, Weldon, it’s been fun talking with you!
Thanks for a great interview, Stephen. Suspense
Magazine wishes you success and joy with your future
work. If you’d like to learn more about Stephen and his
work, visit his website at www.stephenwrites.com.
Suspense Magazine Review of
“Pandora's Grave" by Stephen England:
An archaeological team, including a number of
Americans, disappears high in the Alborz Mountains of
northwestern Iran. Days later, imagery from U.S. spy satellites
reveals detachments of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard
Corps converging on the area. With the presidential election
only months away, President Roger Hancock authorizes a
covert CIA mission into the mountains of Iran to rescue the
archaeologists. Little do the rescuers know of the ancient evil
they must face, or that the events could lead to the next world
war—or even the apocalypse.
So begins Stephen England’s thrilling counterterrorism
novel, “Pandora’s Grave”, the first in his Shadow Warriors
series.
The lead character, Harry Nichols, is a church-going
Christian, but also a highly skilled paramilitary operations
officer who leads his team into dangerous regions of the
Middle East, often on what seem like suicide missions. He
faces moral dilemmas in his profession and is forced to make
hard decisions, and this makes his character deeper and
richer as the novel progresses. All the characters are well
developed and thoroughly believable.
There is machismo and brutal violence aplenty, but
England tempers this with a sensitivity and humanity rarely
exhibited in espionage/action stories. There is little “black
and white” here—the villains and the heroes are not always
clearly discernible, adding to the overall suspense.
I was most impressed with England’s ability to maintain
objectivity as he developed his Muslim, Jewish, and Christian
characters throughout the novel, displaying a keen insight
for character motivation based upon religious conviction,
political ideology, and personal moral (and often amoral)
predilections. There were many opportunities where the
writer may have started to “preach,” but England deftly held
his hand and created a balanced narrative, leading to a wholly
satisfying conclusion (and, of course, a taunting taste of the
sequel to come).
Reviewed by Weldon Burge for Suspense Magazine
25

t was the end of the day
Iand Miss Wicker’s math
class shifted uncomfortably as the
final minutes to the day ticked by,
agonizingly slow. It was Friday and the
bitch was writing a long list of geometry
equations on the board. Maria sighed,
blowing her hair out of her face. The
hell she was going to spend her weekend
working on math. She glanced over
at Jason, hoping to catch his eye. She
frowned, seeing how attentively he was
watching the front of the room. What
was it about that bitch that fascinated
her man? Looking around the room,
Maria revised her unspoken question,
what was it about that bitch that
fascinated the entire male population
of the school? And some of the females,
she appended, seeing the lovelorn look
on Felicity Thomas’ face.
The kids that weren’t staring at
their teacher’s backside were furiously
scribbling, trying to copy the figures
before the bell rang. Lazily, Maria held
up her cell phone, zoomed in on the
board and snapped the picture just as
Miss Wicker turned around, revealing
all the shapes and numbers.
“Miss Sanchez, cell phones are not
allowed in class.”
Maria rolled her eyes and sighed,
“Just taking a picture of the board so I
can do the assignment.”
“Notepaper works just as well.
Rules are rules.” The bitch held out her
hands waiting for Maria to hand her
the phone. “You can get it back next
Friday,” she said patiently, raising her
eyebrow, indicating she didn’t expect to
be argued with.
Maria glared at the woman and
then began to make her way towards
the front. Despite her feet dragging she
almost made it before the bell rang.
“Oh, I’m sorry Miss Wicker,” Maria
said, moving towards the door with
the tide of students, “but school’s over.
Gotta go!”
Just before she cleared the room
she heard Miss Wicker call out, “Jason,
I need a word with you please.”
Maria glowered at the woman.
What the hell did she want to talk to
Jason about?
Miss Wicker closed the door
behind the last of her students and
turned towards Jason. The boy appeared
nervous.
“Don’t look so scared, Jason,” Miss
Wicker said, “I’m not going to bite
you.” She laughed then at the crestfallen
look from the boy. “Well, not yet, she
amended. I need to discuss things with
you.”
“I thought you said I needed to
forget about you,” Jason said.
“I did say that,” Miss Wicker said.
“That was before.”
“Before,” Jason asked.
“Before,” Miss Wicker repeated.
“And this is now.”
Jason licked his lips as his teacher
sat on the edge of her desk, leaning
towards him slightly as she undid one of
the buttons on her dress. Jason looked
towards the door. He knew Maria was
probably waiting out there for him. If
he made her wait too long, there would
be hell to pay. But Miss Wicker...it had
been a month since she sent him on his
way.
“You’re just a boy,” she had said
to him, pulling her shirt back on and
covering up her breasts.
She hadn’t even bothered with a
bra that day, encouraging him to reach
under the blouse and feel the two soft
mounds, then beneath her skirt and
the discovery she wore no panties.
He’d never been with a woman before,
not even Maria, though she tried.
Afterwards, Miss Wicker turned cold,
telling him to go back to his girlfriend.
He tried almost every day this month
to get her to give him a second chance.
“What’s changed,” he asked, afraid
to hope she was serious and wouldn’t
spurn his attention again.
“Certainly you have noticed,” his
teacher said, moving her hand to her
belly. Jason looked and noticed for the
first time a slight swell in her abdomen.
“I’m pregnant,” she said. “You’re the
father.”
***
aria walked behind Jason,
wondering why he wasn’t
Something
About
Miss
Wicker
speaking to her. She waited outside the
classroom for nearly forty-five minutes
before he emerged. His hair was a
mess and his shirt looked wrinkled.
What’s more, she thought she had
caught a glimpse of Miss Wicker inside,
buttoning her blouse.
“What did the bitch want,” Maria
asked, following him down the hall.
“Don’t call her that,” Jason said.
“Bitch,” Maria said defiantly, “she’s a
bitch. BITCH! BITCH! BITCH!”
Jason slammed out the front
entrance to the school and towards his
car, refusing to even look at Maria. The
girl was confused, sure, Miss Wicker
was attractive, maybe even hot by some
standards, but she never considered her
competition. She was old after all. At
least in her late twenties, maybe even
early thirties. And besides, Jason was a
virgin. Maria tried every way she could
think of to get him to fuck her, but he
was always adamant about waiting for
marriage. Maria liked that, even if it did
mean she had to satisfy herself every
Friday night. There was no way she had
seen what she thought she saw when
Jason opened the door.
M
2011 Short Story Contest Submission
By Lisa McCourt Hollar
26 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

Jason was walking fast and Maria
was having trouble keeping up. She was
almost jogging trying to shorten the
distance between them.
“Jason, wait up,” Maria yelled,
increasing her pace. “I’m sorry I called
her a bitch. I know I promised to watch
my mouth! I’ll put a dollar in that damn
jar of yours. Two dollars since I said
damn!”
Jason didn’t slow down. He didn’t
even look behind him to see if she
were catching up. Reaching his car,
Jason opened the door and climbed
in. Maria started running as she heard
the Plymouth Sundance roar to life.
Stunned, she watched her boyfriend
drive off, leaving her behind.
Jason navigated his car almost
on auto pilot, his mind replaying
everything that transpired after school
between Miss Wicker and himself...
“How can this be,” Jason asked,
stunned and more than a little shaken
at the news that he was going to be a
father.
“If I have to explain it to you,” Miss
Wicker had said, “then perhaps you are
just a boy.”
“Miss Wicker...”
“Susan,” she said, putting a finger to
his lips. “I think Susan is appropriate,
considering.”
“Susan,” he continued, “we were
only together that one time.”
“All it takes is that one time,” Susan
said.
“What...what do you want me to
do,” he asked, thinking about how his
mother was probably going to kill him.
“Won’t they try to put you in jail? That’s
happened to other teachers, right?”
Suddenly Jason was afraid for her.
“That’s only when the student is a
minor,” Susan said, “you are eighteen.
They might want to fire me, if they find
out, but they aren’t going to.”
“They aren’t? But how will you keep
them from finding out...unless you
aren’t going to have the baby.”
Jason wasn’t sure what he thought
about that. Would he be okay with her
decision if she didn’t carry the baby?
But if she wasn’t going to have the baby,
why bother telling him? Why make him
think he had a chance with her?
SuspenseMagazine.com
“I’m going to have the baby,” Susan
said, reading his mind, “however, I am
not going to tell them you are the father.
That will be a secret between the two of
us, at least for now.”
“Then what do you want? Why are
you telling me?” Jason was confused.
“You are my baby’s father. I want
you to do what is right and help support
him.”
“How,” Jason asked.
He felt dizzy. His mind wasn’t
working right and for some reason
Susan was undoing another button on
her blouse, which was making it harder
for him to think.
“Shhh,” Susan said, pulling him
towards her. She’d hiked up her skirt and
was wrapping her legs around him. He’d
tried to protest, tried to say they should
discuss what was going to happen next,
but then she had her blouse off and
Jason lost all thought, except one.
***
bet she tried to seduce him,
I
Maria thought as she walked
the few blocks from the school to her
house. That’s why he’s so upset. I bet
that’s it! The bitch tried to seduce my
boyfriend!
Maria unlocked the door to the
house she lived in with her mother and
little brother. It didn’t look like Mica
was home yet. It was Friday, so he had
probably gone to Shawn’s house after
school. Maria didn’t care, their mother
wouldn’t be home from work until late,
so she wouldn’t have to worry about
feeding him. Maybe he would want
to spend the night at Shawn’s and she
could go out early with the girls. Her
mother would be pissed if she wasn’t
there when she got home, but she’d get
over it. Even if she didn’t, Maria didn’t
care. She never did anything her mother
expected her to do anymore, and as
soon as school was over and she had
her diploma, Maria intended to move
out. She’d make Jason marry her and
take her away from the freaking town.
Maria opened the refrigerator and
pulled out some leftover pizza. Piling
some on a plate she headed up to her
room to call her “bestie” and make
plans for the night. When she opened
the door she almost dropped the plate
of pizza. Miss Wicker was sitting on her
bed reading a book.
“What the hell are you doing in my
room,” Maria screeched.
She considered rushing the woman
and clawing her eyes out after what she
tried to do to Jason.
Miss Wicker just smiled and set the
book down. Maria’s eyes nearly popped
with fury as she realized it was her diary
the bitch had been reading.
“Interesting reading,” the teacher
said, standing and walking towards
Maria.
“That was private,” Maria said, her
voice trembling, furious at the violation.
“Please,” Miss Wicker laughed,
“there was nothing in there no one
doesn’t already know, and really, I lied.
It wasn’t that interesting.”
“What do you want,” Maria asked.
“Your cell phone. You used it in my
class and you know the rules, you even
signed papers, agreeing to abide by
them. Rule number three states that you
will not bring your cell phone into my
class and if you do, you will lose your
phone for a week.” Miss Wicker held
out her hand, “Give me your phone.”
“You have got to be kidding me,”
Maria said, “I am not going to give you
my phone.”
“Then I will have to take it from
you.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see you try that,”
Maria laughed, thinking how much fun
it would be to knock the bitch on her
ass.
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in
her wrist and screamed as the bones
snapped, her fingers popping open and
releasing the phone.
“You bitch, you broke my wrist,”
Maria screamed. Her knees felt weak
and for a moment Maria thought she
might faint, but then adrenalin took
over and she swung at the teacher with
her other hand. Miss Wicker stopped
Maria’s fist half way to her, wrapping one
hand around the wrist and squeezing.
Maria’s knees did buckle this time as
she felt the bones crumble.
“You should have never taken my
picture,” Miss Wicker said. “Even then
I would have let you live, if you would
have just given me the phone.”
27

“It’s just a picture,” Maria said,
clenching her teeth against the pain.
Miss Wicker looked at the phone,
pressing buttons until she came to the
picture of her in front of the chalkboard.
“Just a picture,” Miss Wicker asked.
“I’m not all that photogenic and I’m
not fond of cameras. I don’t know, why
don’t you tell me, what do you think?”
Miss Wicker held the camera out,
facing Maria so she could see the image
on the screen. Maria’s eyes widened,
seeing the image of her teacher on the
screen. She stared at it, comprehension
beginning to show on her face and
then she screamed, realizing that Miss
Wicker would never allow her to live
now.
***
ason tossed in bed, the dream
J
he was having taking a dark
turn in his mind. He was back in the
classroom with Miss Wicker...Susan,
and she had her legs wrapped around
his waist and her skirt was pushed up
around her waist. Jason had his mouth
on one of her breasts and was groping
the other with his hand. He knew
Maria was outside waiting for him and
somehow that made this all the more
exciting for him. Maybe she would
open the door and come in looking for
him. Then he could quit pretending
he wanted to be with her and his
relationship with his teacher would be
out in the open.
And what a teacher she was. Susan
took his chin and lifted his face from
her breast and kissed him, slipping her
tongue into his mouth. He ached for her
and pulled her closer, thrusting his hips
against her. She started convulsing and
at first Jason thought she was climaxing,
but then as she shook against him, her
tongue began to grow longer, sharper,
spinier, snaking down his throat and
he tried to pull away. She held him in
place, holding his head firmly with her
hand.
Jason felt her tongue wriggling
inside his esophagus and something
sticky slid from her mouth into his.
She continued to hold him in this kiss,
allowing whatever she expelled to slide
down his throat. After a moment she
pulled away from him and smiled at
him, her tongue normal once again.
Jason felt as though he was going to be
sick, but then she pushed him backwards
onto her desk and climbed on top of
him and he forgot what happened a few
moments before. Rolling his eyes back,
he watched their shadows dance across
the ceiling, his writhing in ecstasy and
hers rocking back and forth, eight
spindly appendages jutting out from
the side. Looking back at his teacher,
Jason screamed. The creature sitting
on top of him smiled at him, black eyes
shining and bit his head off.
Jason sat up in bed, his scream
dying as he looked around his room.
It was morning and the sun was just
beginning to brighten his room. There
was a knock on his door and then his
mother came in before he had a chance
to answer.
“Jason, are you all right,” she asked,
sounding worried.
It was just a nightmare,” Jason
said, the memory of his dream already
beginning to fade, though he still felt
disturbed as a few images remained.
“Okay,” his mother said, feeling
his head to see if he were feverish. “I
was coming to wake you up anyway.
Get dressed and come downstairs, the
police are here. They want to ask you
some questions about Maria.”
“Maria,” Jason asked, confused.
“She’s missing.”
“I’ll be right down,” Jason said,
wondering what Maria was trying to
pull now.
***
etective Vaughn was troubled
D
after his conversation with
Jason Ramirez. The teen didn’t even
seem disturbed that his girlfriend was
missing. In fact, he seemed bored. The
boy claimed he stayed after school to
speak with his teacher and hadn’t taken
Maria home.
“She left without you,” the detective
asked.
“No, she waited outside the door
for Sus...Miss Wicker and me to finish
talking. She was mad when I came out,
wanting to know what we’d been talking
about.”
“What were you talking about,”
Vaughn asked.
Jason shifted uncomfortably, “That’s
private,” he said, his voice betraying his
nervousness.
“Teacher, student confidentiality,”
Vaughn asked.
“Yes,” Jason said, “we all signed an
agreement that what we discuss in class
or out will be private.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Vaughn said. “It’s
supposed to make kids feel comfortable
with their teacher if they can go to them
about their troubles without worry of
reprisal. The problem with that is it
makes it easy for a teacher to behave
illegally without worry of reprisal. And
it’s not enforceable in court.”
“We weren’t doing anything
wrong,” Jason said, “just talking. Miss
Wicker would never do anything
inappropriate!”
Vaughn was surprised with the
force Jason put behind his words, as
though he were worried his teacher
would be in trouble for something.
Why was that?
“So, Maria didn’t care for Miss
Wicker?”
“She was always calling her names.
She was jealous of her.”
“Why would Maria be jealous of
her teacher,” Vaughn asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason shrugged.
“She just was. Anyway, I didn’t want to
listen to her go on about Miss Wicker,
calling her names and asking me all
kinds of questions, so I left and let her
walk home. She only lives a few blocks
anyway, it’s not like she has to walk as
far as Miss Wicker. She lives clear across
town.”
“You know where your teacher
lives,” Vaughn asked.
“I think she mentioned it once,”
Jason said, looking uncomfortable
again.
Vaughn asked him a few more
questions but didn’t get much more out
of him. Now he sat in his unmarked
car waiting for the desk sergeant to call
him back with Susan Wicker’s address.
Interesting that a student would be
familiar enough with his teacher to
call her by her first name. Even more
interesting that he would know where
she lived.
Jason watched the detective drive
28 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

away. He was worried about Susan.
What if they found out they were
together? They would try and keep
them apart. He knew she had told
him never to call her at home, but he
thought this was important.
***
usan looked out the window,
S
the sound of tires coming down
her long drive reaching her sensitive
ears. Putting on her best smile, she
stepped out onto the porch to greet her
not so unexpected visitor.
Down in the basement she heard
her other guest crying. “Don’t worry,”
she whispered, knowing Maria couldn’t
hear her, “you’ll have someone to keep
you company before too long.”
Detective Vaughn stepped out of
his car, the hot air hitting him full in
the face.
“Damn, whatever happened to
spring,” he mumbled.
“Global warming happened, or
haven’t you heard,” Susan said, flashing
her teeth.
Damn, but she’s hot, Vaughn
thought. No wonder the Ramirez boy
is so crazy about her. I can see what his
girlfriend would be jealous of.
Susan Wicker smiled wider and
Vaughn had a weird feeling she knew
what he was thinking.
“I know what you are here about,”
she said, and for a moment Vaughn
wondered if she could read his mind.
“What would that be,” he asked.
“Maria Sanchez. I told her someone
would come looking for her.”
“She’s here,” Vaughn asked,
surprised.
“Of course she is. She’s my student
and my students are welcome here
anytime they need a place to go. She
had a fight with her boyfriend and she
wanted to talk to me about it. Poor girl
was ready to do something drastic. I
told her she should call her mother, but
you know how teens can be.”
“So why didn’t you call?”
“My students need to know they
can trust me,” Susan said. “As long as
you are here though, why don’t you
come with me and I will show you that
Maria is all right.”
Detective Vaughn followed the
SuspenseMagazine.com
teacher into her home. Opening a door
just inside she told him Maria was
downstairs in the basement.
“I have a spare room down there,”
she explained.
Vaughn descended the steps, his
apprehension building. There were
spider webs all over the place. The
famous words from Mary Howitt
entered his mind, ‘Will you walk into
my parlour? said the Spider to the Fly.’
“Here she is,” Susan said brightly,
stepping aside to allow the detective
into a separate room.
The light inside was gloomy and it
took a moment for his eyes to adjust.
The last thing he remembered seeing
before blackness overtook him was
the terrified eyes of Maria Sanchez,
wrapped in a cocoon of spider webbing.
When he next opened his eyes, the
room was dark. Next to him he heard
Maria crying softly. He tried to move,
but something was wrapped tightly
around his body, his arms pressed
firmly against his sides. He tried to
speak, but felt something sticky holding
his mouth shut. The taste made him
gag. Somewhere in the room he heard
a feminine laugh.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have long
to wait. The gestation period is almost
done.” The voice was Susan Wicker.
Vaughn tried to speak again, but it
was no use, all he could do was grunt
and that caused the woman to laugh
even more. “They always struggle,”
she said, “as though they can escape.
Interesting, even a fly eventually accepts
his fate.”
Then he heard her footsteps as she
left the room and ascended the steps.
***
Maria’s disappearance was the talk
of the entire school Monday morning.
The rumor was that she had run
away from home. Then someone said
that the detective investigating her
disappearance also vanished.
“The last person to see him was Miss
Wicker,” one of the girls whispered.
It was nearing the end of the day
and they were in Geometry class. Miss
Wicker had her back turned when Allie
Jenson whispered that to Stephanie
Bryant. Miss Wicker turned and smiled
at the girl.
“That’s true, he did come to see me,
but then he left. Where he went after
he spoke with me, I have no idea.” The
teacher put down the chalk she was
using to work a problem on the board
out. “I have a feeling you all need to talk
about Maria. Why don’t we forget about
geometry today and get our feelings
out.”
“Miss Wicker,” Jason said, breaking
classroom rules and standing up
without being asked to, “I’m not feeling
well.”
“Neither am I,” Matt Johnson said.
All of a sudden someone screamed.
It was Felicity Thomas and her mouth
was open, screaming as a crimson
rose blossomed across her shirt. From
beneath her shirt spiders flowed,
spilling out across the floor and looking
for sustenance. A moment later Tommy
Blevins gave birth to another stream
of spiders as they ate their way out
of his belly. Soon all the boys in the
room were writhing in pain, including
Jason who was realizing his latest
nightmare. The arachnids, once free
of their human hosts spread across the
room, a black wave of writhing death
covering Miss Wicker’s students. They
were hungry, consuming their flesh and
even drinking the blood that flowed
freely across the floor. A few students
attempted to escape, but the mother of
the hoard blocked the door, preventing
anyone from leaving.
Across the school the same thing
was happening in other classrooms as
the male population gave birth to the
babies she implanted inside them and
even a few of the females. When her
children finished their feast, she opened
the doors to the school and allowed
them out. They would make their way
across town, finding hosts to make
their homes in, just as she had with
Susan Wicker when she inadvertently
brought her home to America after her
trip overseas. A few of her children she
was taking home with her though. She
had a special treat waiting for them in
the basement before she discarded the
Susan shell and looked for a new host
and a new town.
29

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SuspenseMagazine.com
By Donald Allen Kirch
The
The
True Story Behind
enTiTy
original movie Poster for the 1982 Film
IN 1982, 20 TH CENTURY FOX RELEASED A HORROR
MOVIE WHICH TOOK AMERICA BY SURPRISE. IT WAS A
FANTASTIC STORY ABOUT A WOMAN WHO CLAIMED
TO HAVE BEEN RAPED BY A GHOST. STARRING BARBARA
HERSHEY, THE MOTION PICTURE WAS BASED UPON A
BEST-SELLING NOVEL BY VETERAN WRITER FRANK DE
FELITTA. THE NAME OF THE FILM WAS THE ENTITY.
THE FILM DID RATHER WELL AT THE BOX OFFICE
AND IS CONSIDERED A CLASSIC BY LOVERS OF THE
PARANORMAL.
What a lot of people do not realize however, is that the whole
story is based upon an actual event.
This really happened!
"Mr. Whose-It"
Two paranormal investigators were overheard one day, back in
1974, going over some facts in a Culver City bookstore by a rather
disturbed woman named Doris Bither. At first, she didn’t really know
how to approach them, but she was desperate enough to try. Doris
was being attacked by a ghost and she needed help. Upon explaining
her troubles to the investigators, Dr. Barry Taff and his associate Kerry
Gaynor, they decided to inquire further, discussing the case with their
fellow associates.
31

On August 22, 1974, both investigators visited a small house at 11547 Braddock Dr., in Culver City, fully expecting this to
become the fastest open and shut case they would encounter. They were not expecting too much—paranormal investigations
were often plagued with frauds and cranks.
little did they Realize, Both weRe StumBling into hoRRoRS and
unknownS neveR documented BeFoRe.
Doris Bither was a simple and rather petite woman in her mid-thirties. Attractive in her own way, the woman suffered
from a dark past filled with abusive men, alcoholism and self medication. She lived within the small home—which had been
condemned twice in its history for neglect—with her daughter and three sons. The children ranged from ages six to sixteen.
The investigators had to use their best “poker faces” upon entering the home. The house was in a shambles and the family
lived in conditions best labeled “squalid.” There was an unsettling the two felt when entering and a feeling of overpressure
in their ears while being within the house. Never ones to leap before they looked, neither man could get over how negative
everything and everyone felt. The house was neither healthy nor happy, to say the least.
The woman who claimed all these fantastic things held within her a dark and mysterious past. She suffered great abuse
from both her parents as well as from the men who had been in her life. Even her three sons held animosity toward their
mother. This got their interest, because any paranormal scholar worth his salt would tell you the unconscious mind suffering
from an abusive atmosphere was like a magnet to almost all paranormal activities. With just the right trigger, a troubled mind
could assume control, creating either poltergeist activity or psychosomatic trauma.
Doris’ claims were fantastic. She stated that during the course of her day, ghosts would attack her: some as innocent
as just “bumping into her” and others as serious as “spectral rape.” Both investigators took down all the information, but
knew from their past experiences that collected evidence from any ghost encounter was hard to prove in the scientific arena.
“Spectral rape” would have been impossible given the limited technology of the 1970s.
then doRiS Showed them heR Body.
Unveiling her clothes, the woman showed off bruises upon her inner thighs, teeth marks where it would have been
impossible for her to self inflict and cuts and scars resembling tiny hands upon both ankles and wrists. Stories taken from
the family upon later interviews corroborated what Doris had been claiming. Doris, from the start, stated that she believed
the ghostly rapists to be Asian men. The visions and nightly visits became so commonplace, that one of the children labeled
the specter “Mr. Whose-it.”
It took some coaxing, but Doris finally detailed her rape, stating that two of the spirits were tiny in stance...like dwarfs.
These dwarfs would end up holding her down, allowing her to fight, and seemed to gain great pleasure from her actions.
While fighting these spirits, the taller, more powerful and dangerous of the group would end up having his way with her. The
woman’s oldest son admitted to seeing his mother being tossed about, and when he tried to help her, was thrown across the
room. He saw no one other than his mother during the whole event.
Doris’ sanity was soon questioned. And, really, how could you blame the paranormal investigators?
Rape was difficult enough to prove. How was one to gather evidence or record anything left by a ghost?
It had been theorized by one staff psychologist that the woman manifested the “ghostly rape” to help
cover up her subconscious gilt of masturbation. Another suggested the bruises were from an angry
boyfriend, topped off by a pair of false teeth used to help create the spectral bite marks. None of these
were beyond the world of plausibility, but could not be proven either. During most of the encounters,
Doris was around her children and had never been left alone. Although skeptical, no one within the
investigative group could envision Doris doing all of these things within eyeshot of her children.
Convinced they were dealing with an actual phenomenon, a team of photographers, independent
investigators and high-speed cameramen were brought in. They literally set up a campsite inside the
tiny uncomfortable home. Doris Bither’s life was soon placed under a microscope.
original book cover for the bestselling novel
"The entity," written by Frank deFelitta
nothing—at FiRSt—haPPened.
32 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

Paranormal Studies takes with it patience learned over time. Hauntings and ghosts do not have to live under the same
rules or timetables as humans have to. Like Dracula, time is on their side. Doubts were cast and almost all were ready to call
it quits when all hell soon broke loose.
Doris decided to take things into her own hands. With cameras and machines clicking around her, the desperate woman
sat on her bed, yelling up at the spirits. There were at least thirty investigators in the tiny room, all hearing this woman curse
up a storm.
a gReeniSh miSt StaRted to PRoduce itSelF within a coRneR.
As the thing took form, everyone was surprised to see the outline of a man’s torso floating in the air. The entity was rather
large and it was reported by more than one investigator that the ‘being’ had a lot of muscles. At no time did the spirit show a
face or human identity. One investigator soon fainted; a victim of too much
heat and excitement.
Investigators were soon disappointed to discover that none of this
encounter would come out on their film or in their photos. These people
were not cub reporters, they all knew their trade. Whatever the thing was, it
did not wish to be recorded. The only evidence of the encounter was a nowfamous
picture of an arc of light surrounding Doris, along with a few orbs in
the air. What makes this picture fascinating, is that the arc of light appears
smooth and is not contorting to the corners of the room. To a skeptic, this
is an important fact: it means that the arc of light was not a projection. If
it were, it would have been subject to the walls and would have appeared
as such in the photograph. The arc of light, within the picture is directly in
front of a corner and is independent from its environment.
SuspenseMagazine.com
The now famous photograph of the ghostly figure.
The figure upon the bed is that of the victim.
to thiS day thiS PictuRe RemainS a PaRanoRmal mySteRy.
The eldest son would later claim that activity within their home often intensified when he started to play certain music. His
favorite music was from the groups Black Sabbath and Uriah Heep. At one point a barrage of orbs attacked the investigators
when the boy started to play his music. The entity seemed to react violently towards any song mentioning Satan or devil
worship.
all thiS went on FoR aBout two and a halF monthS.
There are some fascinating theories as to why this case has never been solved, and indeed why it continued to plague
this woman and her children. Poltergeist activity can sometimes be manifested by negative energy. The name “poltergeist” is
German for “angry spirit” or “ghost.”
Doris’ addiction towards alcohol and her abusive nature, added with her belligerent ways towards her own children,
could have been an important catalyst. She repeatedly refused professional help, often drinking heavily while those around
her tried their best to stop her.
Also, there were no reported paranormal activities when Doris was away from the home. Each and every encounter was
with her as the eye of the storm. When intoxicated, Doris seemed to call up the ghosts on cue. When not under the influence,
the investigative teams got nothing. Could the foggy cloud of alcohol have been used by Doris as a means to help free her
natural psychic abilities?
like all thingS theRe came an end to thiS hoRRiFic inveStigation.
doRiS BitheR waS Soon leFt alone with heR demonS.
After a few more months of attacks, and an odd smell of decay coming from the kitchen, Doris and her children packed
up leaving their small Culver City home. The hauntings stopped. No one living within the home since has reported anything
33

out of the ordinary.
Doris, sad to say, did not profit from the story, investigation, best-selling novel or motion picture based upon her rather
fantastic experiences. Instead, she and her children bounced around several more homes and apartments in California and
then moved to Texas. From time to time, she would make contact with those who still cared, informing them that the ghosts
followed her and still continued with their attacks.
One last note: Doris, while living in Texas, tried to claim yet another ghostly rape and that she had been impregnated by
her attackers. An investigation was launched and no evidence of a fetus was ever found. Medical records indicated that the
physician labeled the whole affair as “an ectopic or hysterical pregnancy.”
The power of the mind is almost unlimited. It has been proven, studied and suggested that if a person believes strong
enough anything is possible. Perhaps, after so many years of abuse, Doris Bither cried out for attention the only way her mind
would, or could, allow?
There is evil in this world. Of that there is no doubt. All one has to do is turn on the local news and see constant proof of
that. Most evil preys upon those who have no means or belief structure in place to combat it. Evil looks for those who have
no hope. Doris was at the bottom of a poverty-driven abyss, looking for any way out. One dark night, she desperately prayed
for much-needed attention, and someone she did not expect to be listening answered her call.
Doris Bither has not been heard from or seen since the late 80s. Her children have never come forward and no further
information has been made available to those parties still interested in her fantastic claims.
to thiS day thiS caSe RemainS Both oPen and unSolved.
To learn more about this author and his work go to: www.donaldallenkirch.com
34 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

SuspenseMagazine.com
Featured Artist
Andreea Cernestean
Following in her Father's
Footsteps
Soul Collector
35

Andreea’s first encounter with
art was at a very young age. Her
father was into pencil drawing
(mostly portraits and sketches) so
she’s sure she inherited his passion
for visual arts, even if she did take
a different path and choose digital
media over traditional.
When Andreea signed up to
DeviantArt, it was because she was
fascinated by the diversity and art
displayed there. One of the first
works she added to her favorites
was one of photomanipulation. It
was so amazing that she knew it
was what she wanted to do. She’d
found her calling.
Now, five years later, in her
own estimation, Andreea’s a fairly
accomplished artist. She believes
to have tried everything associated
with photo manipulation: from
fantasy to surreal, from landscapes
to conceptual art, and from dark to
sci-fi. She says she probably couldn’t
pick just one genre in which to
work. She enjoys a broad vision
about everything she tries and
detests having to stick to a pattern.
She also enjoys experimenting a bit,
and even though she does her art
primarily for fun, she still sticks to
her core artistic beliefs.
In January 2010, Andreea
won first prize in the Renderosity
Contest and a Holiday to Remember
Contest for the 2D Category. In
2008, she was featured in SNAP!
Magazine.
Suspense Magazine is thrilled to
have this opportunity to sit down
and talk with gifted artist, Andreea
Cernestean. Enjoy!
The sweet escape
36 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): Your father did traditional drawings and you
went digital. What made you choose a different artistic genre?
Andreea Cernestean (AC): I’ve used traditional medias too in the past. I did pencil
drawings and watercolor paintings. But I was completely drawn to digital medias
the moment I discovered Photoshop. And on a humorous note, but completely true
if you think of it, digital media makes it easier to undo and try again.
S. MAG.: When did you first realize you had artistic talent?
SuspenseMagazine.com
Making of Coffee
The Offering
AC: I’ve always had family and friends say I’m quite gifted when it came to
drawing. But I just figured that’s something that comes without saying, having family and friends support everything I did. So
it was no more than a hobby at first, a way to unwind and get my mind off things and a way to express myself. The first time I
realized it was more than just doodles and messing about with tools in Photoshop was when I got my first Daily Deviation on
DeviantArt back in 2007. I had been following the Daily Deviations for months on end before it and saw some spectacular pieces
featured and it was so rewarding to be given the same distinction as artists I admired. It made it all feel worthwhile, especially
for having gone through the paces all on my own as a self-taught artist.
S. MAG.: You’ve won a few artistic accolades. Do you have a special place in your house where you keep them?
37

AC: Absolutely. Every award, regardless of it being big or small, holds a special place in my heart. And they are all in my room.
S. MAG.: Have you done a piece that you felt such a connection to that you kept it for yourself?
AC: No. It’s the exact opposite. There have been several that came from a special place in my heart and felt more personal to me
than others, but I wanted to show them all the lot more. So people would see there’s more meaning to some than meets the eye.
S. MAG.: Have you ever been approached to do a book or album cover?
AC: Yes, I have. It’s always so rewarding to know other artists (musicians and writers) appreciate my craft and want to work
with me.
S. MAG.: What is it about photo manipulation that makes it your favorite?
AC: I guess it would have to be the endless possibilities of changing a picture. And taking bits of several photographs and creating
a completely different new one.
S. MAG.: Do you have a piece that you will never show to anyone?
AC: I haven’t so far, but I can’t speak for the future. Maybe one day I’ll make one that will feel so personal I could never share it
Witching Hour
38 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

with anyone.
S. MAG.: Is there something
you want to do artistically,
but haven’t yet had the
opportunity to do it?
AC: There’s a lot I’d like to
try, but haven’t had a chance
to. I’d like to experiment
some more with sci-fi art,
I find it quite fascinating
and I’m always left in awe
seeing the amazing futuristic
sceneries or robots/androids
others are able to create. I’d
like to learn to paint without
a reference, no more than
just a sketch in my head that
I can reproduce on a canvas
in Photoshop. And I’d love to
learn more about 3D.
S. MAG.: What did your
father think when you
realized you had his talent?
AC: He was a bit reluctant at
first, mostly because he didn’t
know if it was something
I was taking seriously or
if it was no more than a
teenager’s phase. But he’s
supported me all along and
for that I am grateful.
S. MAG.: What can we
expect to see in the future
from Andreea Cernestean?
AC: The same as before. A
Phoenix
little bit of everything. I like
to try different genres and
ideas and those who’ve followed my art for the past years told me they like that
element of surprise, never knowing what comes next.
Suspense Magazine was happy to have found Andreea and we hope she
continues with the obvious joy she garners from her talent. Check out some of
her beautiful images at http://www.DeviantArt.com.
SuspenseMagazine.com
Howling
39

movieS
Shuttle
2008
Genre – Thriller (R)
Mel (Peyton List) and Jules (Cameron Goodman) after flying back from a girls-only
Mexican vacation, find themselves stranded. With their choice of shuttles, they choose
to go with the cheaper one, dragging two, cute guys they meet inside the airport with
them. Typical young girls. The guys could have a ride with one of their brothers, but at
the insistence of the other, choose to go with the pretty girls instead. Typical guys.
Choices have consequences, good and bad. There are crazy switch-ups in this movie.
Waiting inside the shuttle is the driver and one nervous, male passenger who seems to be
scared of his own shadow, whining at every turn and complaining about how long it was
taking to arrive home to his wife and children. Sometimes the cheaper way to go can be
the deadlier. Their short drive home drops them into a one-way trip straight into hell. As
captive passengers they’re suddenly at the mercy of a frightening driver (Tony Curran)
with a hidden agenda and no way out.
This movie was chock full of surprises and twists all over the place. It had me gasping and screaming and loving it all at
the same time. Edward Anderson directs this heart-stopping, thrill ride of a movie. Even though I detested the ending, make
sure you watch this movie…with the lights on!
Reviewed by Terri Ann Armstrong, author of “Medieval Menace” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense
Magazine
Frozen
2010
Genre – Psychological Thriller (R)
Friends Parker (Emma Bell), Joe (Shawn Ashmore) and Dan (Kevin Zegers) all head for the slopes for a
great weekend of skiing and snowboarding in New England. What could three high school students possibly
do in order to get to the top of the slalom together when they don’t have enough money? Convince the
chairlift operator to let them take one last run before closing, of course.
Did you ever have one of those days where you wish you could just go back to the beginning and do things
differently? That’s the kind of day these three friends are having when they find themselves stranded on the lift
in midair, alone and freezing. No one will be back to the slopes for days so their chances of surviving become
slimmer with every moment.
How would you pass the time? They started by trying to decide what the best way to die would be: being
eaten by a shark or burning to death, you know, fun stuff like that. I appreciated the homage they paid to 9/11
and those who were lost in American tragedy. Deciding which ones are the top three breakfast cereals wasn’t
doing it either.
It doesn’t take long for Dan to decide jumping off the lift is the best answer
to their problems because doing nothing would only ensure their deaths. Every
new situation brings its own set of troubles. It’s the problems you don’t think of
that pop up first…and they’re usually the worst ones.
Adam Green does a phenomenal job directing this thriller. I found myself
saturated in panic. The fear is ratcheted up notch after notch as time passes and
their demise becomes more likely. My heart pounded in my ribcage trying to
escape and a couple of times I even thought I was going to lose my lunch over the
terror I felt for these kids. As for the ending, check this movie out. This is a great
flick to watch if you like suspense, it’s loaded!
Reviewed by Terri Ann Armstrong, author of “Medieval Menace” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine
40 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

Jenna just
wanted a baby,
but her doctor
had other ideas.
The doctor
and her lover
conspire to
kidnap Jenna and
steal one of her
eggs. But from
the beginning,
things go terribly
wrong.
In 2023, ex-detective Lara Evans
just wants to win the Gauntlet, a
national endurance competition, but
a mysterious assailant wants her dead.
Can she stop the killer and survive
long enough to claim victory?
“L. J. Sellers is again in top storytelling
form with twists and turns you won’t see
coming.” -OverMyDeadBody.com
“Another great read from one of my
favorite authors.” -Bookbitch.com
“L.J. Sellers weaves an intricate web of
action, intrigue, and romance in this nearfuture
thriller.” -Scott Nicholson, Liquid Fear
Sula overhears
a shocking
discovery at the
drug company she
works for. She tries
to find missing
data that will
save thousands of
patients, but soon
she’s running for
her life.
Available as
$2.99 ebooks and in print.
http://ljsellers.com

Suspense Magazine Book Reviews
Inside the Pages
a Bedlam of Bones
by Suzette A. Hill
If in some alternate universe P.G.
Wodehouse, Agatha Christie, Hugh Lofting,
and Patricia Highsmith collaborated on a
series of mystery novels the result would likely
resemble the novels by Suzette A. Hill.
These novels take place in a small, selfcontained
world where it will always and
forever be the 1950s, cats and dogs engage in
drawing room banter, everyone calls each other
by old public school nicknames and no one is
without a skeleton in their closet, including the
good vicar.
In the fifth in the series, the perpetually
bewildered Oughterard has returned from
France with his animal companions, Bouncer
the dog and Maurice the cat, to his village
vicarage. Here he hopes to put behind him
the recent murderous events recounted in the
previous novel. But calamity and misfortune
appear to pursue the vicar as eagerly as
Bouncer chases rabbits. No sooner has Francis
settled in with a cigarette and a drink than he
discovers that old schoolmates Bishop Horace
Clinker and dodgy art dealer Nicholas Ingaza
have received blackmail letters. Soon his
sister Primrose, is drawn into the affair. Who,
wonders the vicar, could the blackmailer be?
Is it Rupert Turnbull, whom Francis believes
killed Basil Birtle-Figgins during the recent
trip to France? Lavinia, Basil’s widow, who
has taken up with Rupert? Or perhaps Freddy
Felton, the disreputable remittance man newly
returned to England.
The story is mostly told from the vicar’s
viewpoint with occasional chapters recounted
in first person (first animal?) by his pets who
serve as a furry, four-legged Greek chorus,
providing background information. Of
particular delight are the many secondary
characters including Mavis Briggs, the selfappointed
village poet, Maud Tubbly Pole,
a mystery author who bears a substantial
resemblance to Agatha Christie, and a pleasant,
blind piano tuner named Savage who beats a
mean jazz timpani.
“A Bedlam of Bones” makes for a fun, if
quirky read though new readers to the series
will be best served by starting at
the beginning with “A Load of
Old Bones” and working their
way through the rest to this one.
Reviewed by Andrew MacRae for
Suspense Magazine
the Blood royal
by Barbara Cleverly
Barbara Cleverly takes readers to London in 1922 with the ninth Joe Sandilands
mystery in “The Blood Royal.” The Romanov family has been assassinated and a series of
high profile, seemingly related attacks have Sandilands and his CID branch struggling to
discover who may be responsible while trying to protect the next potential targets.
The Romanov murders and London in the roaring 20s individually are ripe with potential story
lines, but put together Cleverly hits a homerun. Readers are left weighing their own knowledge of
historic events against some clever misdirection by the author. Sandilands not only has to worry
about the potential for those loyal to the Tsar looking for revenge against the British royal family,
but he also has to contend with dealing with problems from the Irish and those for and against home
rule. The multiple story lines and potential culprits make for a break-neck speed and a feeling of
‘anything could happen, anytime.’
Above all else, the introduction of Lilly Wentworth gives the story a much appreciated female
touch while creating a character that is bound to become a fan favorite. In a profession focused on
protecting, while at times ignoring female members, Wentworth is determined to be the best ‘officer’
she can. This soon attracts the attention of Sandilands who includes her in his unit and makes her a
central part of this, and hopefully future stories.
The ending is nothing short of spectacular in both its high concept and execution. It’s almost
impossible to see coming because it is so cleverly handled and very entertaining. The red herrings left
are resolved in unique and satisfying ways as well.
“The Blood Royal” is a mystery novel that defies expectations by adding to a series and keeping
it fresh while attempting bold new maneuvers. If this is the direction the Joe Sandilands mysteries are
going, then fans will do well to jump on board now and pick up the back catalog.
Reviewed by Luke Henderson for Suspense Magazine
Ghost trackers
by Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson with Tim Waggoner
A paranormal novel that is much more than the title suggests. Drew, Amber, and
Trevor come back together after fifteen years for a class reunion. As teenagers, they were
interested in everything unnatural and the Lowry House was their prime target. They went
in the house, but when they came back out were unable to remember what occurred. But now, many
years later Greg, another classmate who wanted merely to be their friend, not only led them to but
put them smack dab in the middle of a very dangerous road to a paranormal discovery. The memories
they weren’t able to recall attacked their conscious as did the evil presence itself. And Greg is the host
for the Darkness.
An eerily magnificent portrayal of evil at its best being fought by three people who seek to put an
end to Greg’s murderous quest. An excellent read, one you will find hard to put down.
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “Deadly Decisions,” published by Suspense Publishing,
an imprint of Suspense Magazine
hot, shot and Bothered
by Nora McFarland
“Hot, Shot and Bothered” is the second in the continuing adventures of Lilly
Hawkins, a television news photographer with a small station in Bakersfield, California.
The plot centers on Lilly’s assignment to cover a deadly forest fire racing through the
California Mountains. After barely slipping in to the area before the mandatory road closures, Lilly is
overwhelmed at the devastation she is witnessing firsthand. This is the story of a lifetime.
She has no time to also cover the accidental drowning of someone described by locals, including
the police, as a reckless party girl...until she learns the victim’s name. When Lilly knew the drowning
victim, Jessica Egan, thirteen years ago, she was a principled environmental activist and not a bit
reckless or wild. Lilly is immediately suspicious, fearing that Jessica’s drowning was no accident. And
could the raging fire be a desperate attempt to divert attention away from the drowning?
Even Jessica’s family doesn’t seem interested in finding out what really happened, but Lilly can’t
let it go. For a brief moment, thirteen years ago, Lilly’s life intertwined with Jessica’s in a profound
way and her sense of obligation to the dead girl makes Lilly risk her life to uncover the truth.
Nora McFarland tells a great story with an important moral lesson—rare in mysteries these days.
The vivid descriptions of the rapidly approaching fire are so real they left me breathless. Literally.
Reviewed by Susan Santangelo, author of “Moving Can Be Murder” for Suspense Magazine
42 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

one Grave at a time
by Jeaniene Frost
New to the Night
Huntress series by
Jeaniene Frost, I was
pleasantly surprised
as I stepped into the
sixth book in the
series, “One Grave at a
Time.” Typically, when
jumping in mid-story, it’s easy to find
yourself lost in the tangle of what
could have occurred vs. what you’re
newly learning. Not the case with
Frost. Though there was certainly a
past between the characters—one
that I now intend to go back and
discover—her concise writing style
and ability to blend just enough backstory,
kept the pages turning, which
only led to peaking my interest for
the past that much more.
It seems as though it would be a
monumental task to learn and develop
the mainstream skills most would
imagine undertaking when becoming
a vampire. However, Cat Crawfield
hasn’t had normal characteristics
since the day she turned. She’s got a
few very interesting abilities that she
receives from the food she ingests,
which is another uncommon aspect
to this vampire. Cat doesn’t feed on
humans and right now, she’s a beacon
to the dead. Not the fresh from the
grave zombie-types, but the dearly
departed who are linked to the earth
and now spend their days in spectral
form. Thankfully, Cat’s never far from
her co-master vampire husband,
Bones or she’d be in life-threatening
danger because these considerable
powers are on borrowed time.
No one is more surprised than
Cat when her uncle, the recently
departed Don Williams—former
head of an elite group of Homeland
Security—can’t seem to move on.
With her new-found powers, you’d
think she’d be able to do something
to help the man who meant so much
to her, but it’s not to be and when
she’s tasked with killing a ghost and
centuries-dead, former witch hunter,
she needs all the support she can get.
A distinctive blend of darkness
and light, Frost will ignite your
curiosity, stimulate with sexual
tension, and keep you entertained
with razor sharp wit in her
paranormal world.
Reviewed by Shannon Raab with
Suspense Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com
murder in Burnt oranGe
by Jeanne M. Dams
Jeanne M. Dams continues her Hilda Johansson Mystery series with the seventh installment,
“Murder in Burnt Orange.” We’re once again taken to the evolving life of Johansson and her turn
of the century outlook on the world. Her inquisitive nature and mystery solving prowess are put
to the test as she works to solve a recent outbreak of localized mayhem related to the changing
landscape of American business with unionization.
Dams is a master at capturing the emotional toil that women in this period were going through. While
Johansson has a brilliant mind, she is limited in her position as a woman, a position that is chained further
by her being pregnant. Throughout the novel we’re treated to a perspective on women with child during this
era that borders on outright prejudice. Dams makes it easy to feel the same frustration Johansson does with
perfect, perspective story telling.
While that restrictive nature may worry some readers, Dams is able to keep up a quick pace and offers a
well written novel. Character development, like that of the well-executed John Bolton, is partly to thank for
that pacing.
The mystery revolves around what we would now consider domestic terrorism, such as sabotaged mass
transportation, arson, and more. What are unclear are the ties it has with the widening popularity and visibility
of the union movement in South Bend, Indiana. Are the union and its organizers trying to bring down antiunion
business leaders, or are those leaders attempting to frame the union? The ultimate solution is satisfying
and well-plotted.
The setting is fascinating with Johansson already a unique character, now struggling to get involved in a
case that she has limited access to. Johansson’s dual dedication to finding justice while understanding her own
working class roots play well against the unfolding scenes. She empathizes with the unions in question not
only because of her history, but her present state.
Overall the story is a delightful read and a welcome addition to the Johansson series.
Reviewed by Luke Henderson for Suspense Magazine
the choirBoys
by Joseph Wambaugh
In 1975, a police unit working the night watch in Los Angeles indulges in off-duty, drunken, hedonistic
orgies. For them, the ‘choir practice’ sessions are a coping mechanism, a way to vent and let off steam to keep
from exploding from the pressures of their job and the world around them. They work hard and play even
harder, until caution is thrown to the wind one time too many, resulting in a tragedy that brings them all down.
These cops are not the 'white nights in blue' of so many clichéd TV shows. They are all-too human, with
all the faults, weaknesses and character flaws they have to contend with as they fight both the criminals on
the street and the bureaucratic hierarchy they work for and gripe about in private. This is one of the best
police-themed novels in that it describes the affect police work has on the officers. Maybe once idealistic, these
officers are now embittered and disillusioned and just struggle to make it through the day like everyone else.
Written by a seasoned, former police officer, the characters and situations described throughout this
novel have an authentic feel about them. By turns, harrowing and hilarious, with characters you can both laugh
with and loathe in equal measure, this remains one of the author’s best works.
Reviewed by John Walker author of “Wrath and Remembrance” for Suspense Magazine
in desperation
by Rick Mofina
How far would you go to help a sister you hadn’t seen in over twenty years? Or a niece
you’ve never met? What if your sister wasn’t telling you everything about her past and that lack
of knowledge could determine whether her daughter is saved? These are the questions posed in
Mofina’s latest thriller. Chock full of characters, this is a desperate search for a missing girl…and
the truth.
As a teenager, Cora Gannon was gang raped. Unable to handle the situation, she turned to drugs and
eventually ran away from home. She sank lower into drugs and criminal activity. When she became pregnant,
she set about changing her name and her life. Now, as Cora Martin, she works as an accountant for a courier
firm with a boss involved with Mexican drug cartels. One night, two men posing as cops invade Cora’s home,
kidnap her daughter and demand she tell her boss to return stolen money. Helpless, she turns to the only
person she thinks can help–her estranged younger brother, a reporter for a world wide news service. Using
contacts and following leads, Jack Gannon travels to Mexico, Texas, California, and Nevada in search of any
information that will lead him to his niece. However, he suspects something in Cora’s past has come back to
haunt her.
Mofina juggles multiple characters and locations in this book: the frustrated FBI agent, the repentant
assassin, and Jack’s boss, who only wants an exclusive. Although the focus generally stays on Jack’s search, you
get glimpses of many people on the sidelines playing minor roles. With relatively short chapters, the story
spans several states and three countries, keeping you guessing where it’s off to next. There is a lot of action in
only a few days so you won’t be desperate for this to stay moving.
Reviewed by Stephen L. Brayton, author of “Beta” for Suspense Magazine
43

a mortal terror
by James R. Benn
Pearls, grenades, and playing cards placed on dead bodies, all set in wartime Italy.
What else could you ask for in a mystery? Despite the average sounding title and the
fact this reader is wary of historical mysteries, James Benn’s latest installment in the
Billy Boyle World War II Mystery series is a delight to read. It provided a complex and
intriguing conundrum and enough historical detail to keep me turning pages. This is a
well-written piece of literature full of mystery, murder, and the realism about some of the horrors of war.
Whether you’ve read the previous five novels in the series or this is your first outing, you’ll find yourself falling
right into line with no misstep.
Billy Boyle, a detective in training and working under the command of General ‘Uncle Ike’
Eisenhower, is assigned to investigate the murders of two American officers stationed in Italy. With each
person Boyle questions, he racks up more clues with no connections and finds himself chasing a killer
who will stop at nothing to cover his tracks. In the midst of the case, Boyle learns his younger brother
is being taken out of college to be an infantry replacement. Meanwhile, he sees soldiers suffering from the
effects of combat fatigue while preparing for a major battle.
Benn does his homework. I enjoyed the historical factoids about the war, Italy, and the time period. Since
this book deals with a disorder many soldiers suffer, I liked the fact he comes at it straight without pulling the
punches. He shows how even in World War II, the attitude about shell shock started to change. Although it is set
in wartime with death from many causes around nearly every corner, the graphic detail is kept to a minimum.
Still, you do feel for what these guys and gals went through, and it reminds you that soldiers are still today
fighting for freedom.
Plus, you get a darn good mystery on top of it.
Review written by Stephen L. Brayton, author of “Night Shadows” and “Beta” for Suspense Magazine
a Bitter truth
by Charles Todd
Bess Crawford is an English army nurse traveling home to spend Christmas with her family in a brief
respite from 1917 war-torn Europe. At least that was the plan before she encountered Lydia Ellis, a woman with
a badly bruised face fleeing her husband.
This is the third novel featuring WWI British army nurse Bess Crawford and in it, the author weaves a
complex tapestry of murder and betrayal out of an almost dizzying assortment of disparate threads. “A Bitter
Truth” features a large cast of characters, locations ranging from London and the English countryside to the
war’s front lines, port cities in England and France and enough murderous motives to daunt the most dedicated
detective.
In Bess Crawford, the author has created a believable and satisfying heroine. She’s plucky and resourceful
as one would expect, but she is also a product of her time and sensibilities. Part of the enjoyment of reading this
novel is watching as Bess navigates her way as an independent woman in a male-run world.
Most of the story takes place in and around Vixen Hall, a bleak ancestral home in a dank and dismal part
of Sussex. There, Bess finds herself a reluctant and mostly unwelcome guest of the Ellis family, an old and
aristocratic family burdened by too many tragic deaths and unresolved secrets.
When a guest is found murdered, Bess is caught up in the investigation. It is almost a
welcome relief when she is finally free of the house and its family and back working amidst the
horrors of trench warfare in a front line medical aid station in France.
But Bess has made a promise and feels duty-bound to keep it and scours the war-torn towns
of France for a child who may or may not be real. Meanwhile, back in England, the murder
investigation continues with deadly consequences.
Reviewed by Andrew MacRae for Suspense Magazine
the profession
by Steven Pressfield
In the not too distant future, Gent Gentilhomme is a soldier…er, mercenary. He is a former marine who
is loyal to his men and his leader, General Salter, who is no longer a General but the leader of Gent’s mercenary
army. In this future, mercenary armies are the way to deal with international issues and Gent is one of the best.
General Salter has his own agenda in this game. Gent has always been loyal and is considered almost a
son to him. He trusts Gent to see to situations he doesn’t believe anyone else can handle. Salter knows his men
and weapons and has a keen mind for strategies. His current “situation” is to exact his revenge on the men who
exiled him and took his title.
Gent doesn’t understand several things about his beloved General but is—as always—a loyal soldier. But
should there be a limit to loyalty? As Gent realizes the depths of Salter’s objectives, he will have to answer that
question himself.
Scarily realistic version of how the Nation could go! This book will entertain and scare you with its action
and realism.
Reviewed by Ashley Wintters for Suspense Magazine
set apart
by K.J. McCall
With the conflicting romantic
shades of the movie Witness
interlaced throughout, and a
frightening but all too realistic
possibility of government run
health care, “Set Apart” is an apt
title for McCall’s debut novel.
The gritty crime, corruption, and
scheming of Washington, D.C.
is contrasted with an idyllic
Pennsylvania community. Power
and prestige is placed next to family
values and neighborly relations.
A federal health care system
enjoys its one year anniversary.
Gordon Sand, a Washington
detective realizes there are missing
people who suddenly turn up a few
days later with no memory of what
happened. To relieve the pressure
of the job, he takes weekend visits
to his brother’s family in Dorsey,
Pennsylvania, where he slowly
falls in love with a widowed
neighbor. Sand must come to terms
with his two clashing worlds, while
seeking answers to the strange cases.
Meanwhile, Sand’s siblings, both
involved in the medical care field
(he a doctor, she a part of the federal
health care administration), see the
problems in the grand plan come to
fruition and wonder about the
future effects they will have on the
populace.
“Set Apart” paints a picture
that is sometimes difficult to
believe because of some of its
descriptions. Dorsey seems a little
too perfect. However, it is a decent
example of Americans just living
out their lives. On the other hand,
you have the elite pulling strings
and manipulating people’s lives.
While one part of the plot smacks of
‘urban legend’ (the one where one
wakes up in a bathtub full of ice and
discovers he’s missing a kidney), the
prospect of being judged by a criteria
set by those in control, is all too real
and scary. Don’t expect too much
gun-toting action or suspenseful
adventure with this one. Instead,
enjoy a little thought provoking
insight into a ‘could be’ world of
tomorrow.
Review written by Stephen L.
Brayton, author of “Night Shadows”
and “Beta” for Suspense Magazine
44 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

in seconds
by Brenda Novak
Vivian Stewart’s
(formerly Laurel
Hodges) life with
her two children and
purse design business
has become the
backdrop for murder,
in Pineview, Montana, the newest
place she’s run to in order to escape
her brother’s past criminal alliances.
Realtor Pat Steuben’s wife
Gertie, finds him murdered inside
one of their cabins for rent. He was
beaten to death.
Sheriff Myles King—the head
lawman in Pineview—is determined
to find Pat’s killer. It quickly becomes
obvious that Vivian may have more
than a few answers stemming from
the “thorny” past of her brother
Virgil. The problem? She’s not
sharing, determined to keep her past
as hidden as her fiercely growing
feelings of desire for Myles. The
dilemma with keeping secrets?
People you love can and will get
hurt…or worse.
Did I mention Myles is falling
for her, too? He learns of her
complicated past, and while the
sheriff in him needs to solve Pat’s
murder, the man wants to protect
Vivian and her children.
Even though we are privy to
who’s guilty from the beginning,
watching Novak’s characters leap
off the page was nothing short of
spectacular. At first, I felt she was
dragging out the inevitable, but
I read on and before I knew it, I
was happily sucked in. And as I
reached the summit of the story, I
was mesmerized as Novak brought
everything and everyone full circle
to create a magnificent ending that
did not disappoint. Her weaving of a
tale is an extraordinary mix of deadlyserious
moments with lust and
even teeny bits of humor perfectly
peppered throughout. The way she
sparks your imagination, allowing a
full-color picture to come into view
made for a very pleasurable read.
She expertly puts the pieces together
demonstrating why she’s so popular.
This was my first book of Novak’s and
I was captivated.
Reviewed by Terri Ann Armstrong,
author of “Medieval Menace”
published by Suspense Publishing,
an imprint of Suspense Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com
Baited Blood: A Madison Rose Vampire Mystery
by Sue Ann Jaffarian
Madison Rose comes home to find a dead body in her grandparents’ pool...and it won’t be the last.
Afterward, she goes inside to call her friend, Detective Mike Notchey, dry off and change clothes. When she
comes back outside, she sees the body has been moved. Once she catches her breath, she realizes he is indeed
alive...barely, and he’s not a beater (human), but a vampire.
Rushing inside, she wakes her adopted grandparents, Doug and Dodie Dedham, who just so happen to be
vampires. After they take him out of the pool and remove the stake from his chest, Detective Notchey shows
up. Better late than never.
Nothing ever runs smoothly in this story. Not only does the injured vampire, Keleta, speak a foreign
language, he has an unusual tattoo whose origin no one understands, almost no one that is. Surprise, surprise,
Doug has the exact same tattoo.
Since Keleta can’t tell them anything, they call in the head of the California Vampire Council, Samuel
LaCroix, who of course, is a vampire as well. He is in charge of keeping the peace between vampires and beaters
in his little part of the world.
This book made me laugh in more spots than I can remember: from the way poor Madison seems to
stumble upon the dead bodies, to how she wakes her sleeping, vampire grandparents, to the mixing of different
animals bloods breaking up the monotony of the every day taste of human blood, to the new words I was
introduced to such as “beaters.” Jaffarian entertained me from the first word to the last.
This story has lots of surprises, all of which gave credence to the story as a whole. A great read just in time
for fall, but I would recommend it any time.
Reviewed by Terri Ann Armstrong, author of “Medieval Menace” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint
of Suspense Magazine
Beat
by Stephen Jay Schwartz
Every once in a while I read a book that I liked, but one that I’d have a difficult time recommending to all
my friends because they wouldn’t find it entertaining.
“Beat” is one of those books. Schwartz’s second, he drags the reader into the dark, gritty world of a detective
with both an addiction to sex and a streak of violence in his past that he’s yet to come to grips with. The character
Hayden Glass is a twisted, self-serving man who was fighting his demons through a Sex Addicts Anonymous
group when he falls into the world of internet porn then falls for a lovely girl named Cora. He’s still falling,
driving halfway across California to see her, when she disappears.
A reader might raise an eyebrow at the idea of sexual addiction, and some are likely to hate Glass from the
start. But despite that broken side of him, the reader may begin to hope for him that he is human enough to risk
everything to save Cora from a human trafficking ring.
We know that seedy world Stephen Schwartz writes about does exist, but most of us pretend
not to glance at it, as if ignoring it makes it go away. His writing is tight, descriptive, almost to
a fault, like a horror movie we cringe and look away from during the goriest parts. The feelings
Glass has, the obsession he fights, and the knowledge he’s out of control are disturbing, and yet
ring true about a character whom readers cross their fingers that he triumphs in saving both the
girl and himself.
Reviewed by Val Conrad, author of “Tears of Like Souls” for Suspense Magazine
the keeper of lost causes
by Jussi Alder-Olsen
Don’t get confused by the title. You’ll soon find yourself enjoying “The Keeper of Lost Causes” with its
subtle humor, interesting characters, and a unique take on kidnapping. Although this reader is usually wary of
foreign police detective stories, I found myself moving through this story quickly, eagerly waiting to see where
it would take me to next.
Carl Morck is back to work in Copenhagen’s homicide department after a murder investigation gone
wrong, where one of his teammates died and another ended up paralyzed. He is promoted to Department Q, a
newly created department in charge of what in layman’s terms are called cold cases. Relegated to the basement
and with the help of his enigmatic “assistant”, Morck reluctantly eases himself into a five-year-old kidnapping
case of Danish politician, Merete Lynggaard, as well as keeping his nose into current cases, including the one
which temporarily put him out of action. The story jumps back and forth between the present day investigations
and showing the horror Lynggaard suffers at the hands of her tormentors throughout the years.
This story is character driven from the surly Mrs. Sorenson to the gruff, but empathetic Jacobsen to the
mentally damaged Uffe. Adler-Olsen doesn’t throw away minor characters, but brings them into
a new light and shows the effect they have on others. You really feel the anguish of Lynggaard in
her prison, the frustration of Morck with his assistant’s tidbits of knowledge, his wife’s constant
nagging, and his tenant’s quirks and sympathy for a confused Uffe. Despite the foreign locale,
the unpronounceable Danish names, and the fact this reader deduced the bad guy early on, this
award winning author’s story is delightful, suspenseful, and makes you root for the good guys.
Reviewed by Stephen L. Brayton, author of “Night Shadows” for Suspense Magazine
45

claim of innocence
by Laura Caldwell
A good story, “Claim of Innocence” was that, a very well-told tale of a courtroom murder
trial and a lawyer rediscovering herself on many professional and personal levels. It had all of the
layers: an edgy job, deep friendships, complicated family matters, and messy romances. Along
with all of that, it had those few tidbits, more strings I would say, thrown continually at the reader,
the hints of what is tying all of the plot lines together, what was really going on. All of these
elements together created the solid suspense that moved the story forward.
This novel had a lot of characters, and while told mainly in first person point of view of the main character,
Izzy MacNeil, there was a great depth to each of them. As a reader, I felt involved with each personality
surrounding Izzy to some degree, invested in each of them, even if it was to finally see them get what they had
coming. As well, there were a few characters that the author made me really think about, whether to feel sorry
for them or hate them, as Izzy was tugged by the same feelings. I became more and more aware of what a volatile
and slippery thing justice can be.
There were times, given the frequent changes in settings and brief changes in point of view, when the
questions seemed to outweigh the answers. But it only made me want to read faster…made the story that much
better. With many twists and turns and a few surprises waiting at the end, this story is especially worth the read
for court case, suspense fans.
Reviewed by Kiki Howell, author of “A Questionable Hero,” for Suspense Magazine
murder in the 11th house
by Mitchell Scott Lewis
The position of the Moon, Sun, and other planets can tell us so much more about people
than I realized. In this novel, Lewis uses laymen’s terms to depict an extraordinary way to solve
a murder.
Astrologer David Lowell is the father of Melinda, a smart, budding attorney who was given
a case that appears as if it’s an open and shut situation. She calls on her father and his expertise for
assistance. Johnny Colbert is accused of blowing up Farrah Winston, a federal judge. Johnny can be brash and
downright rude at times, but she’s also well-versed in bombs and becomes the number one suspect.
David and Melinda and a few other friends use astrology to help determine if Johnny’s innocent. When
David himself becomes a target, the question arises as to whether Johnny is behind the newest bomb scare.
Armed with not much more than suspects’ birthdates, David unearths corruption that leads to the untimely
death of Farrah.
You will be just as surprised as I was to find out who the guilty party is (or is that parties?). Besides the
who-dun-it in this story, Lewis fascinated me with how astrology can help solve a crime. A great read.
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “Deadly Decisions,” published by Suspense Publishing, an
imprint of Suspense Magazine
trick of the dark
by Val McDermid
Val McDermid, known for her Tony Hill, Kate Brannigan, and Lindsay Gordon novels, is
back with a standalone mystery featuring Dr. Charlotte “Charlie” Flint. Flint, a psychiatrist who
works with the London police as a profiler, has had her career turned upside down. Recently,
her testimony set an innocent, but troubled, man free. Released from custody, he murdered four
women. While Flint awaits a ruling on her future as a practicing psychiatrist, lecturer, and expert
witness, she faces two problems.
Although happily involved with Maria for seven years, she’s falling in love with Lisa Kent,
famed self-help guru. On top of that, an old Oxford professor of hers wants Flint to look into her daughter
Magda’s current lover, Jay Stewart, who made it rich with travel websites and a memoir of her traumatic
childhood. The professor suspects Stewart murdered Magda’s husband on their wedding day, a murder for
which the husband’s business partners are the prime suspects. Both Flint and Stewart used to babysit the
professor’s children while students at Oxford.
This complex mystery and romantic drama unfolds primarily in third-person narration but also includes
lengthy excerpts from Stewart’s new memoir, a work-in-progress describing her adult years, gently working
around the number of people close to her who have died mysteriously...and always to her advantage. As Flint’s
encounters with Kent grow increasingly complicated, she continues her investigation of Stewart, hoping to find
redemption in solving a mystery the police may have gotten wrong.
Although the synopsis may make the story seem lurid, McDermid keeps the tone subdued, carefully
developing several intelligent and driven women whose paths recross under dramatic circumstances nearly two
decades after first meeting. That the characters happen to be lesbian is both integral to certain plot points while
also incidental to their lives at large; that is, they are neither token characters nor gratuitous.
The multilayered story draws the reader in while effectively negotiating a number of plot twists. Although
marred by an overlong exposition in the end as the mystery is solved and explained, “Trick of the Dark” is a
compelling read.
Reviewed by Scott Pearson, author of “Star Trek: Honor in the Night,” for Suspense Magazine
the evil inside
by Heather Graham
Book four in
the Krewe of Hunters
miniseries more
than lived up to my
expectations for this
fantastic series. I was
thrilled to see that
the setting for this book was Salem,
MA especially as deep into history
as this author tends to get. She did
not disappoint this time either.
I enjoyed the old Salem history
we all know, nicely meshed with
newer legends and events from the
author’s imagination. The characters
in the town were as complex and
intermixed as the real people during
the witch hunts.
Each book in this series has
enough commonalities to keep you
wanting to read the next one with
rich histories of the towns and great
paranormal elements. But also, each
story has been different enough
plot-wise to keep a reader anxiously
turning the pages. There is always a
list of suspects and the reader never
knows who to point the finger at
until close to the very end.
This series was obviously very
well thought out with a fantastic
premise. Graham has a gift for
building suspense with a side of
romance. You get to points where
you want to know more about the
case and yet you also want more of
the key couple in the story. The nice
thing about this series too is that the
older characters you have previously
gotten to know always show up again.
As well, the paranormal
moments are quite detailed, quite
realistic and believable. The ghostly
encounters never get too crazy. They
act as I would expect them to. Plus,
the author limits the abilities of the
Krewe of Hunters, they just can’t call
to a ghost, they have to work and
then wait to see them. This adds not
only to the reality of the situation,
but also to the dark mystery of it all.
I am definitely going to have
to look into more of Graham’s work
now and I would highly recommend
each book in this series to anyone.
Reviewed by Kiki Howell, Author
of “Torn Asunder” for Suspense
Magazine
46 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

the niGhtmare
by Nancy Means Wright
The latest in the Mary
Wollstonecraft series from Nancy
Means Wright, throws the reader into
the dawning of the 1800s in London.
Wollstonecraft, a woman ahead of her
time in both thought and action finds
herself in love with Henry Fuseli
(painter of the iconic and titular
The Nightmare) but finds her desires
played against a mystery of theft
and murder all of which are thrown
against the stark reality of the state of
women, rebellion and obsession.
“The Nightmare” is a heavy
volume. By no means is it a summer
read that one breaks out on the beach
and lightly skims. It is clear that
Wright has painstakingly researched
this labor of love. Recreating in vivid
and cringe worthy detail, the at times
romantic and other times horrific era.
What makes the story unique
is that Wright offers no true answers
and delights in showing the near
hypocritical nature of almost
everyone involved. Characters stand
out in their terrifically human actions.
Heroine Wollstonecraft berates the
treatment of women then subjects
herself to humiliation and abuse from
Fuseli. Her own servant is a better
example of true liberation through
her disobedience and refusal to be
tied down to any social requirement,
including that of a new arrival.
As Wright portrays the story
with numerous undercurrents
including the state of the mentally
challenged, subjugation of wives
to their husbands, the French
revolution, prison, orphanages
and their occupants, and the slow
uprising of women’s rights, it is clear
that every detail is meant to serve
as a picture that allows the reader to
glimpse the confused, fearful and at
times angry state England was in.
The conclusion to the mystery
is satisfying if not somewhat
inconclusive. Wright is true to
character and form in that regard,
allowing her heroine’s thoughts to
be understood while allowing the
reader to come up with their own
conclusions.
Overall, “The Nightmare” is a
well written and thought-provoking
account that will keep the reader
interested. However, it is not an
endeavor to be embarked on lightly.
Reviewed by Luke Henderson for
Suspense Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com
lonG Gone
by Alafair Burke
How do you tell the difference between someone who is completely evil and someone who
commits an evil act, and then spends the next twenty-five years covering it up? And how far will
a victim go to exact revenge? These are the questions that Alafair Burke deals with in her latest
novel, “Long Gone.” It tells the story of an innocent woman who struggles to prove her own
innocence, discovering along the way that guilt and innocence can come in many different guises.
Alice Humphrey, the daughter of a wealthy and award-winning film director, has just been offered a dream
job managing a New York art gallery. The dream becomes a nightmare when she walks into the gallery and finds
the man who hired her, dead on the floor and the gallery stripped bare, as if it had never been there.
As the police begin the investigation, Alice quickly becomes a suspect. As she tries to prove her innocence,
she must dig back into her own family background and come to terms with memories she would just as soon
forget. At the same time, a New Jersey police detective—who is investigating the disappearance of a local
teenager—discovers a connection between the missing girl and the gallery.
Alafair Burke’s writing is taut and compelling. As one crime becomes entangled with another, the reader
is lead through a maze of complications that may prove the innocence of Alice Humphrey, but will also expose
long-buried secrets in the lives of people she loves.
Ms. Burke is the author of two series of crime novels, one featuring NYPD crime detective Ellie Hatcher,
the other featuring prosecutor Samantha Kincaid. “Long Gone,” her first stand-alone novel, will keep your eyes
glued to the pages.
Reviewed by Kathleen Heady for Suspense Magazine
the counterfeit madam
by Pat McIntosh
The last person Gil Cunningham expects to be calling on him, especially during his noon meal, is Dame
Isabella Torrance. The next unexpected thing to happen to him is his sister’s godmother threatening to leave
his sister—who is soon to be married—with nothing unless he does what she wants. It seems her other
goddaughter wants to have the only heir to an estate to which Gil fosters the man’s bastard son.
When all come together for the ‘official offer’ to be made, Magdalen Boyd, the Dame’s other goddaughter,
offers two parcels of land to secure the young boy’s future in exchange for his no longer being her husband, John
Simpill’s, heir. As Gil looks the paperwork over, he discovers one of the parcels has tenants that are less than
desirable. Also, questions arise about the Dame’s other lands and if she has rights to them.
When Dame Isabella Torrance is murdered, in a very interesting way, Gil and his wife Alys begin
investigating the possible motives. Gil is also investigating counterfeit coins that are pouring into his area.
When the two investigations collide, they learn there is more to both than meets the eye!
Intriguing characters and a captivating storyline will keep you engrossed in this book to the very end.
Reviewed by Ashley Wintters for Suspense Magazine
amonG the missinG
by Morag Joss
A bridge filled with cars collapses in
Scotland. The vehicle license plates are
captured on film. Few people escape, some
are found dead and the rest presumed dead,
but are in reality ‘missing.’ This unfortunate
incident entwines the lives of three very
different people.
One of the missing is Annabel. Newlywed
and pregnant, she uses the opportunity to
escape from a husband who has no desire to
let her keep her baby. Ron, recently out of
prison for an ‘accident’ and has no one to turn
to. Silva, an illegal immigrant who is waiting
for her husband and daughter to return and
fearing it may never happen.
The three are brought together because
of tragedy and focus on Annabel’s baby. As the
story progresses, each of their true characters
show through as well as their deceit. Each has
their own hidden secrets and agenda!
This is an interesting look at human
character. This book will stay with you for a
long time to come.
Reviewed by Ashley Wintters for Suspense
Magazine
murder By mocha
by Cleo Coyle
Cleo Coyle is the pen name for a multipublished
author who collaborates with her
husband to write the best-selling Coffeehouse
Mysteries. In “Murder By Mocha,” the latest
installment in this series, Clare Cosi, manager
and head barista of the landmark Village Blend Coffee House,
is expanding her business in a very enterprising way. Her
Village Blend coffee beans are being used to create a new java
love potion…Mocha Magic Coffee, billed as an aphrodisiac.
The product, which is expected to rake in millions of dollars,
will be sold exclusively on Aphrodite’s Village, one of the
web’s most popular on-line communities for women.
But the launch party for Mocha Magic Coffee turns
sour before it can get started when the Aphrodite editor
responsible for the product wakes up the morning of the
party and finds a dead man in her bed. Or is he really dead?
Squaring her shoulders, Clare decides the launch party,
which Village Blend is catering, must go on—a very bad idea
when another Aphrodite editor is found dead. Followed
shortly by another one. And what the heck is the secret
ingredient in Mocha Magic anyway?
Coffee-making tips and yummy recipes are also included
in this cozy, which is a delicious edition to a fun series.
Reviewed by Susan Santangelo, author of “Moving Can Be
Murder” for Suspense Magazine
47

the last detective
by Peter Lovesey
Detective Superintendent Peter Diamond enjoys the view of elegant streets filled with fine
and stately homes as he drives into Bath each morning. But at the same time, the policeman in
him cannot forget the dark, dirty backsides to those buildings, symbolic of the inner fears and
demons that can drive even the most upright citizen to murder.
This book is a twentieth anniversary edition of the first Peter Diamond novel by Peter
Lovesey and is being released concurrently with “Stagestruck,” the latest and eleventh in the series.
In this story Peter Diamond wears with pride the title, The Last Detective, bestowed upon him by a retiring
fellow officer. Not for him are the computers, databases, and DNA fingerprinting that have come to dominate
the police situation room. He believes that old-fashioned police work is the key to solving a crime. And the
crime in this case is murder...or is it?
A woman’s naked body has risen to the surface of a lake and Diamond and his team go to work. Who is she?
How did she die? Where did she die? With little to go on, this begins to look like an unsolvable puzzle.
Compounding Diamond’s problems are the circumstances under which he was transferred to Bath two
years prior—when charges of excessive force were filed against him. He expects to be exonerated, but two years
is a long time to wait. In the meantime he must not only continue to work to win the trust and respect of his
team, but keep his larger-than-life personality in check so as not to provide fresh ammunition that can be used
against him. Things come to a head when Diamond is yet again accused of using excessive force and his career
is threatened.
Peter Lovesey is a master of both plot and pace. The storyline of “The Last Detective” ebbs and flows in
a natural rhythm that allows a pleasing mixture of police procedural work, chases and suspense, moments of
introspection, and—always necessary in even the most grim business—humor.
Reviewed by Andrew MacRae for Suspense Magazine
the maGician's accomplice
by Michael Genelin
“Trust no one” should be Slovakian Police Commander Jana Matinova’s motto as she finds herself both
the hunter and the hunted in a rollercoaster of an adventure that takes her from her home city of Bratislava to
The Hague and elsewhere. This is the third novel by Michael Genelin featuring Jana Matinova, and this review
coincides with its release in paperback just as a fourth novel, “Requium for a Gypsy” is release in hardcover.
The story begins with the shooting death of a student trying to cadge a free breakfast at a swank hotel, an
event quickly followed by the murder of someone very close to Jana. The two crimes appear unrelated, but no
sooner has she begun her investigation than she is pulled off the case and sent into exile, tasked with serving as
the new Slovak representative on a multi-country team at Europol’s (The European Police Office) headquarters
in The Netherlands. It seems someone with high political connections wants Jana out of the way and out of the
investigation.
But what has happened to her predecessor on the Europol team? Martin Kroslak appears to have walked
away from his job, his lover, and his apartment without a word of warning—and why is there so little official
curiosity about it? But of more immediate concern to Jana is the problem of staying alive. It seems that no day
is complete without someone trying to kill her. Fortunately, in addition to being a capable detective, Police
Commander Jana Matinova has a talent for sensing danger—nor is she reluctant to use deadly force when it is
needed.
In his previous novels Michael Genelin proved himself adept at making real modern life in countries once
hidden behind the Iron Curtain, skillfully mixing mystery and intrigue with the routine of daily life. In “The
Magician’s Accomplice” he continues his success as he tells a tale of double-cross, deception and death.
Reviewed by Andrew MacRae for Suspense Magazine
Grace interrupted
by Julie Hyzy
I’m a great fan of Julie Hyzy’s first series the White House Chef Mysteries. And her second series the Manor
House Mysteries does not disappoint.
In book one of this series, “Grace Under Pressure,” readers are introduced to Grace Wheaton, newly hired
curator of the palatial Marshfield Manor. In book two, Civil War re-enactors have set up camp on the Manor’s
grounds. The group takes its play-acting very seriously and the unrest spills over into reality when one of the
actors—Zachary Kincade—is found stabbed to death.
Jack Embers, the groundskeeper, who has kindled a few embers of his own in Grace, falls under suspicion
when he’s linked to the death of Zachary’s brother many years ago. But when Grace—convinced of Jack’s
innocence—investigates the stabbing, she discovers that good old Zachary had many other enemies, including
several of the re-enactors, one jilted bride and two of her best friends. Unfortunately, Jack’s younger brother,
Davey, who is clearly a troubled guy, also becomes a suspect. Could the secret Davey’s been hiding also be
linked to Zachary’s murder?
Great atmosphere, likeable characters, a fast-moving plot and an adorable kitten named Bootsie make
“Grace Interrupted” an entertaining read.
Reviewed by Susan Santangelo, author of “Moving Can Be Murder” for Suspense Magazine
little Girl Gone
by Brett Battles
Logan Harper lives in Cambria,
California, his home town. Previously
a defense contractor, he now works at
his father’s garage, Dunn Right Service
and Auto Repair.
Neal “Harp” Harper, Logan’s
dad, has a best friend Tooney who
owns the coffee shop Logan stops
by every morning. Originally from
Burma, one of Tooney’s daughters,
Sein is sort of an ambassador for
her country, trying to free its people
from their horrid government. The
Republic of the Union of Myanmar
is not thrilled with what she’s doing.
She’s a thorn in their side and they’ve
figured out a way to shut her up.
Kidnap her college-aged daughter,
Elyse and exchange her for Sein.
Harp’s group of vet buddies—
better known as WAMO—enlist
the help of Logan after he witnesses
Tooney’s severe beating one morning
at the coffee shop. He decides to help
and finds himself on a trek across
Asia in an effort to find and rescue
Elyse from her captors before the trail
goes cold…or worse.
I found two characters
irresistible the second we met. Dev,
a member of WAMO, because of
his willingness to do whatever was
needed—no questions asked. And
then there’s Daeng, by all rites,
Logan’s savior. From the moment
he said, “Don’t expect me to call you
Mr. Harper,” I was captivated by his
nerve. The more he spoke, the more
I liked him, and when he showed me
the tiger tattoo on his shoulder, I was
hooked.
Armed with a gun, all the people
who agree to help him along the
way, and an insatiable need to try
and make up for a huge mistake (in
his eyes) that happened before he
was fired from his DC job, Logan
is determined to make good on his
promise. Maybe even dissipate some
of his guilt.
This book was exhilarating and
my first by Battles. He is now added
to my shelf of favorite authors. This
book is a winner!
Reviewed by Terri Ann
Armstrong, author of
“Medieval Menace”
published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint
of Suspense Magazine
48 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

split second
by Catherine Coulter
This sixteenth
in the series is
subtitled An FBI
Thriller, but, if
you’re expecting a
traditional thriller,
be warned that the
books have a cozy feel. The main
characters in the series are the
married couple, Dillon Savich
and Lacey Sherlock, and Dillon is
a bit psychic. But there’s another
couple that takes over this book,
Lucy Carlyle and Cooper “Coop”
McKnight. Another character,
it seems, is also psychic. Those
elements take away from the
thriller aspect, but there’s plenty
of action.
Lucy and Coop are
mismatched, the department logic
goes, so they’re paired on a case.
In fact, Lucy intensely dislikes
Coop and his playboy reputation,
but works with him for the sake of
professionalism. Both Lucy and
Coop harbor deep secrets from
their past and the secrets threaten
to surface and must ultimately be
faced as they work together. Their
case involves a guy who is picking
up women at bars, drugging their
last drink and then taking them to
their own places to murder them.
The guy has an unusual look, pale,
almost white skin, emaciated
artistic look, and a harmless
puppy-like demeanor that attracts
the women.
When the DNA of the pickup
artist is analyzed, they find out
just how unusual he is. The agents
are shocked to learn that the guy
is a female. They’re even more
shocked when the DNA is a match
to that of Ted Bundy. The agents
must put themselves in harm’s
way to catch this very clever serial
killer who is determined to carry
on Bundy’s gruesome tradition.
Another case, an attack on
gentle Mr. Patil who runs the
Shop ‘n’ Go that Savich and Dillon
frequent, runs in the background
and provides its own twists.
If the reader can go along
with a supernatural element, this
mystery is enjoyable, a blend of
thriller, cozy and paranormal.
Reviewed by Kaye George,
Author of “Choke” for Suspense
Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com
Blood of the reich
by William Dietrich
From the mountains of Washington, to the mountains of Tibet, from an aerie nunnery to a Nazi castle.
Dietrich’s latest book spans the generations from just before World War II to present day. Jump aboard and come
along for an adventure filled with explosions, sex, treachery, and the ever elusive treasure of a lifetime.
We begin in 1938 with zoologist and SS member Kurt Raeder, who is called to a meeting with Heinrich
Himmler. The Nazis are gearing for war and the head of the German secret police wants Raeder to help assure
Reich domination. Raeder is sent to Tibet to search for the legendary city of Shambhala and a power source that
will give Germany guaranteed world conquest.
Jump ahead to present day where publicist Rominy Pickett’s life is narrowly saved by a mysterious man
claiming to be an investigative reporter who knows about Pickett’s ancestry. Apparently, her great-grandfather
traveled to Tibet and may have brought home a secret so great people have and will kill to possess it. Together, they
sort through clues, avoiding danger at every turn, in order to find what the fascists of yesterday (and their followers
of today) sought in the mysterious land of Tibet.
Are you ready to be immersed in the lush northwest then climb the highest peaks in the world? Are you ready
to walk with Nazi loyalists and fly with a tomboy aviatrix? Oh, you know there’s going to be lies and false-faces. You
know there’s going to be death-defying chases and heroism involved. This book doesn’t drown you in scientific
chaos, but stretches your imagination into ‘what if’ areas. If you like adventure, look no further than “Blood of the
Reich.”
Reviewed by Stephen L. Brayton, author of “Beta” for Suspense Magazine
death toll
by Jim Kelly
“Death Toll” takes readers to the Norfolk coast and a murder mystery that started over two
decades ago beginning the exhumation of a murder victim and the surprising discovery of a second
victim on top of the casket.
Jim Kelly has achieved something with “Death Toll” that is both ambitious and rare. Kelly not only combines
the detail-oriented investigative work that fans of TV dramas like CSI will respect and genuinely relatable characters,
but also multiple plot threads. In this, Kelly has written as perfect a crime novel as a reader can hope to find today.
The initial investigation is spurred by a requirement to relocate graves allowing for the discovery of the
mysterious corpse on a casket. From there we discover racism, murder, abuse and general topics that many readers
might find mundane if not for the way Kelly portrays them through the eyes of his detectives and other characters.
While we are focused on the main mystery, a past case that ties together sons and their legacy as well as partners
and their allegiances, holds interest as much as the main plot.
Where Kelly truly shines are the details that make up each character. We don’t just see potential suspects and
witnesses as peripheral accessories; we see through brassy writing and expert detail what makes them tick and their
actions, though at times horrendous, understandable.
What is even more enthralling is that while the murder only happened in the 1980s, the backdrop of the
unique small town setting somehow makes the activities feel remote and far more distant. It is a theme that makes
the entire story unsettling. On one hand there are modern day events and technology, yet somehow set on the coast
of the small snowy town makes the reader feel like they are, even now, still somehow locked in the past.
“Death Toll” is a must read for fans of mystery and is a terrific entry point for readers that may be disillusioned
with the seemingly redundant TV offerings that the fall has to offer. For someone looking for real crime drama,
look no further.
Reviewed by Luke Henderson with Suspense Magazine
room
by Emma Donoghue
This novel takes us into an eleven foot by eleven foot storage shed that Jack and his mother call
home. Jack was born in this room and it is his reality. Mother has known the outside world however,
and until his fifth birthday Jack never knew that once, a long seven years ago, Mother was lifted from
the streets and kidnapped to be held hostage by their nightly visitor, Old Nick.
Told entirely from the point of view of this intelligent little boy, “Room” shows us the great love
that Mother has for Jack. They have a few books, the TV, a wardrobe—where Jack sleeps so Old Nick will never see
him—and whatever they can beg for as a 'Sundaytreat.' In return for Old Nick never seeing her son, she has given
up all attempts to escape and allows her body to be sexually violated whenever he needs her. Jack, awake in the
closet at night, counts the number of times Old Nick makes the bed squeak.
After explaining to Jack how she actually got in the shed, the two make an audacious attempt at escape, and
miraculously pull it off. I don’t want to spoil the surprise except to say it was the fastest I have ever read, skipping
paragraphs and pages to get to the finale which brought me to tears. The book, if written as a novella, could have
ended at their freedom. However, Donoghue has gone on to feed us a second well-crafted story, still from Jack’s
point of view to show the adjustments that the child had to go through to adapt to what we all think of as our reality.
This is a bright uplifting story that takes us from the near depths of a hellacious existence to a new life. I loved
the imaginative, original work Donoghue placed in my hands. It is one for the ages, a plausible, but dark story with
the light of hope shining as a beacon for all who dare read it.
Reviewed by Mark Sadler, author of “Blood on his Hands” published by Suspense Publishing and imprint of
Suspense Magazine
49

New in the New York Times bestselling series
“William Kent Kruger
is a writer soon to be on the top
of everyone’s must-read list.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Vince Flynn
Some nights,
Cork O’Connor
dreams his
father’s death....
O’Connor must
investigate a series of
decades-old murders
with a connection to his
own past.
Short-listed as a
Best Mystery for
2010 by the American
Library Association!
“One of Kruger’s best… A complex crime novel that contains meditations on the
difficulties of loving and the paths we take to reach God… Everything you want in
a great read: depth, action, and credibility.”
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Chills.
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Caught in the storm
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www.simonandschuster.com

SuspenseMagazine.com
Revealing
His TruTH
Debut Author Christopher Buehlman
Interview by Luke Henderson
Press Photo Credit: Becca McCoy 2011
If there is one word that perhaps best summarizes
the writing of author Christopher Buehlman, it is
unflinching. His debut novel, “Those Across the
River,” is powerful in its supernatural horror and
historical terror.
While his breakout debut is interesting on its own, the
author himself is just as compelling. The Florida native dabbles
in foreign languages, archery and poetry. He is also quite open
about a unique family history that may surprise his fans.
One word that does not summarize him is boring.
Buehlman takes a moment to discuss with Suspense
Magazine the inspirations for the novel. He also addresses
the book’s racial dialogue, which some readers may find
objectionable. And he shares about his own life.
Luke Henderson (LH): The town in your novel, “Whitbrow,”
has a very authentic feeling to it. Any basis for that?
Christopher Buehlman (CB): I have been around small
Southern towns from a very early age. My mom came from
Whitley City, Kentucky just over the border with Tennessee, and
I have vivid memories of summers there: sawmills, creeks, wasps
bobbing in the high grass, shotgun-shooting forays with uncles,
and BB-gun-shooting forays with cousins. I am adopted,
and at the age of twenty-three I met my birth mother and
have since developed a rich relationship with her and with
my sisters. They were living in Lafayette, Louisiana at the
time, and we went out on frequent trips to Breaux Bridge, Maurice,
Abbeville and other little towns where you can sit at a tilted table and fill
51

up on crawfish so spicy you sweat, wiping rust-red cayenne
pepper off your hands on rolls of paper towels and trying to
remember to operate delicately in the men’s room. I merged
what I knew about the small town today with what I saw
in the numerous black and white images of depression-era,
Georgia towns I pored over while building Whitbrow. Really
moving, fascinating stuff. I tried to do my homework carefully.
I’m glad you think my efforts paid off.
LH: In writing something that has such strong racial
undertones, did you at any point have any fear that what you
were doing might be lost in the message?
CB: I have already seen a blogosphere review or two from folks
who think the use of the n-word in the dialogue was gratuitous,
offensive, etc., so clearly the point does get lost for some. It
wasn’t easy for me to commit that brutish, dehumanizing word
to paper, but I know what I hear in the South, even today,
and I trust my ear. I don’t believe it would have been possible
to credibly reproduce the speech of 1930s Southern whites
while shying away from the routine use of strong racial slurs,
particularly when confrontations occur or when a member of
a black community visits a white one. The truth of our history
can be pretty ugly, but I don’t think it serves anyone to smear
makeup on it.
LH: What was the first idea you had before you started
writing this story? I like to think you started with the idea of
not crossing the river, did you?
CB: I love your questions, so I hate to tell you no...but, no. The
first idea was an image—a
lynching victim righting
his broken neck like an
escape artist putting his
shoulder back in the socket,
then pulling himself up the
rope and standing on the
branch. It’s an image which
I excised from the book, but
when the lynching party
comes back ashen-faced
and won’t discuss what
happened, that’s what
happened.
LH: Nichols’ wife is a very
enigmatic character even
before the climax of the novel, and she feels somewhat like a
movie starlet of the time. Any inspiration there?
CB: Watching 1930s films was a big part of my research. It’s no
wonder that Dora’s dialogue and mannerisms reflect some of
that. She’s a fun character. I miss writing about her.
LH: Where do you think the need for Nichols to know what
was across the river comes from?
CB: It’s his last chance to make it as a historian. Or rather, he
thinks it is. So it is. On a deeper level, he’s an urbanite who had
horrific experiences in the woods of Picardy in 1918, so the
feeling of branches and dried leaves under his feet is evocative
for him. He’s facing a new danger in a familiar setting. Going
even deeper, this book is loosely structured on a Greek myth
that those who care about such things should be able to identify.
And the river plays a similar role in both stories, defining the
lands of the living and the “dead.”
LH: One aspect of your story that I found fascinating was
the idea that people would live with a horror so nearby and
just gradually learn to accept it until one day people forget
what the horror was. Do you draw any parallels to today’s
"The truth of our history can be pretty
ugly, but I don’t think it serves anyone to
smear makeup on it."
somewhat remote and isolationist societal norms?
CB: I don’t think you have to specify that these are today’s
norms. This is what people do, and have done, since the
beginning of history. How many Mediterraneans live on
the slopes of volcanoes, enjoying soil fertilized by the lava
that poured over earlier settlements? Germans lived with
suspicious smokestacks in their towns in the 1940s and most
chose the very human compromise of turning away so as to
keep on living normally...until the bombers came. Most of us
have nuclear plants nearby. We want cheap power. We want to
believe that our white-coated shamans will follow the necessary
rituals to keep the imp in its bottle, but as the tragedy in Japan
pointed out, bottles break. The people of Whitbrow welcome
our likeable narrator into their community without knowing
he is the catalyst that will awaken their own sleeping destroyer.
LH: There are some very upsetting and graphic deaths in
the book. When writing death scenes, some authors handle
it with a certain reverence, while others do it as if they’re
ticking off a checklist. How do you go into it?
CB: The key is in the word you used: upsetting. Violence is
upsetting for most of us, so descriptions of it must be. And you
52 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

may notice that I was less interested in the act itself than in
the aftermath. We don’t see the death of Miles Falmouth’s son,
but we see the sheriff collapse in slow motion after he finds
the boy under the locust tree. The event on Frank’s staircase is
awful, but more awful is Frank cleaning the floor afterwards,
scrubbing until he can’t feel his hands, unable to make the
sponge-water stop running pink. When violence occurs in this
book, the reader should have the instinct to flee, not join in.
That’s the difference between faithful description and sanitized
glorification.
LH: The time period you put this novel in was ripe with
hatred, but in your novel the bigotry seems much more
subtle in certain areas. Why was that important to you?
CB: Because it’s truthful. Most bigotry is matter-of-fact and
banal, less a warm hatred and more of a cool certainty. An
avowed enemy railing about you is somehow less of an insult
than a bigot not looking twice at you because you’re not
completely human.
LH: In my estimation, you have one of the scariest portrayals
of a “child” in this novel. Did he ever give you the creeps as
you wrote about him?
CB: Yes.
LH: Any sort of music you listen to, to get you in the mood
to write?
CB: Lisa Gerrard is a favorite for almost anything I write. But
I do try to immerse myself in period music when writing a
period piece. Leadbelly got a lot of play during the writing of
“Those Across the River.”
LH: What sort of outside hobbies do you have?
CB: I sure do like archery. Chess as well, though I’m not
exceptional at either one. I enjoy cooking, but my roommate
in Milwaukee, where I’m staying through the summer, doesn’t
know that. I’m weird about setting up shop in someone else’s
kitchen. And I am a reasonably good cook, unless you have
something against garlic.
LH: What can we expect next from you?
CB: I’m nearly done with my second novel, “Between Two
Fires.” It occurred to me that I had never read a proper
medieval horror novel, so I decided to write one. It’s set in
1348, during the pandemic of the Black Death, which is
actually symptomatic of a new war between Heaven and Hell.
The Devil has read the Book of Revelation, too, so he tries to
bring on man’s end prematurely and cast the angels down. The
protagonist is a disgraced French knight who accompanies a
visionary young girl on a quest to Avignon, where everything
will be decided. It should be out in autumn 2012. Comparisons
with Stephen King’s excellent apocalyptic romp “The Stand”
are probably inevitable, so, for those who must categorize,
SuspenseMagazine.com
Suspense Magazine Review of
“Those Across the River" by Christopher Buehlman:
In “Those Across the River,” Christopher Buehlman takes
us to the small town of Whitbrow, Georgia around The Great
Depression. There Buehlman casts a spell that not only draws
the reader into the mystery surrounding the murderous terror
across the river but also into the lives of the characters that
have inhabited the area for decades and the dark history that
links our hero, Frank Nichols to this place.
Nichols is a disgraced professor who brings his soon-tobe
wife, the reason he is disgraced, to occupy a home he has
recently been left by a long lost dead relative. Upon arrival,
the couple is greeted with welcoming neighbors, quirky small
town traditions and one dire warning ‘don’t cross the river if
you can avoid it, and never cross at night’.
Those warnings go unheeded by Nichols who is there to
write a novel about a distant relative whose plantation used to
be across that river before a murderous uprising after the Civil
War. What he finds is not just a horrendous past but a very real
present horror, which is now willing to cross the river itself.
Buehlman does not shy away from accurately portraying
the bigotry that was still a socially accepted norm during this
period and while this brings grimaces from readers, it paints
a clear portrait and drives to the heart of the stained past of
the area. What makes the story connect emotionally is the
first person narrative by Nichols. His devotion to his wife, the
flawed townspeople, and his own past create perspective that
makes us feel even more frightened when the terror begins.
Fans of novels like ‘Salem’s Lot’ or classic radio dramas,
will find this story impossible to put down. The eerie feeling
of the foreboding past and the idea that we can never escape
it, along with a rich cast of characters and a perfectly depicted
setting, makes Buehlman’s novel a sexy page turner that is that
rarest of terror. Something that feels completely fantastical by
our rational minds, but believable by our deepest fears.
Reviewed by Luke Henderson with Suspense Magazine
think “The Stand” meets “The Name of the Rose” with a dash
of “Paradise Lost.”
Thanks so much for the chance to talk with you!
It appears that the same word used to describe his
writing describes Buehlman as well: unflinching. It is
difficult to see just where this interesting character will take
us, but fans will do well to tag along on the ride. While some
may find his direct and abrasive style off-putting, true fans
of the genre will be hoping that he doesn’t change as the
success that is sure to find him, guides his career. Thank you,
Christopher for sharing a bit of yourself with our readers
and your fans.
53

The
ArrAngerBy L.J. Sellers
Special preview from L.J. Sellers
Sat., May 6, 2023, 11:37 a.m.
Chapter 1
LARA EVANS ATTACHED THE LIFEPAC AND HIT THE MAN WITH TWO
HUNDRED JOULES OF ELECTRICAL CURRENT. His eyes popped open,
his pulse stabilized, and piss flooded his sweatpants. Terrific. He would live long
enough to regret cutting off two fingers in an attempt to collect disability funds.
She cauterized his bloody stumps and watched him breathe for a few minutes.
Gangrene or sepsis might kill him eventually, but she’d done all she could. Lara
stepped back from the sweat-soaked couch and packed up her equipment.
“You’re taking him to the hospital, aren’t you?” The man’s wife grabbed Lara’s
arm, her bony fingers pulsing with misery.
“You said he didn’t have a med card.”
“If you leave him in the twenty-foot zone, they have to treat him.”
“I’m sorry, but I could lose my license if I do.” Lara shoved the portable defib
into its pouch and strapped the pack around her waist. She had to carry it in
public at all times, the privilege of having a freelance paramedic license. With the growing
doctor shortage, anyone with medical skills was fully utilized.
“He has heart disease and needs an artery vac. This was our chance for treatment.”
“Oh crap.” Lara hated this aspect of her job. “Do you have a car?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll help you get him into the vehicle, but you have to drive him.”
Lara hurried to her med van and hauled out the wheeled gurney she rarely used. She and the gaunt wife struggled to get
the now-conscious but heavyset man onto the gurney, then into their small car.
“When you get to the hospital, pull him out, honk the horn and drive away.” Lara gave her a grim smile. “Good luck.”
Walking away from the noncs, as non-covered citizens were called, never got easier, but she dwelled on it less now. She’d once
been a homicide detective, a job that had toughened her for the new world.
She started toward her van and her iCom beeped. Another 909 emergency. The location appeared on her screen in
map form, a secluded home only a half mile away. Lara acknowledged the assignment with a push of her thumb and ran to
her vehicle. Her body hummed with adrenaline as she raced up City View. What would it be this time? The neighborhood
was probably too upscale for something like a gunshot wound or a domestic dispute with knife injuries. Lara scowled. She
54 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

hoped it wasn’t another VEx accident with a chubby middle-aged woman trying to improve her health with virtual exercise.
Someone had called for a freelance paramed instead of an ambulance, so it could be anything.
Lara loved these moments—rushing to a scene, not knowing what chaos she would encounter. In some ways, it was
better than being a police officer because she kept on the move and did a lot less paperwork. She missed the authority of
the badge though. She’d liked having people pay attention and feel nervous when she approached. It beat the hell out of her
current personal life: a forty-two-year-old woman with no partner, no children, no power.
Lara turned on Ridgemont, located the street number, and drove through the open gate. The house sat at the end of a
long drive, behind a tall screen of Sequoias. A black compact car soaked up sun in the driveway. The summer heat settled
in earlier every year. She parked next to the empty vehicle and glanced at her Taser on the passenger’s seat. The weapon was
bulky to carry, but some neighborhoods and situations required it. Lara determined this wasn’t one of them. She touched the
9-millimeter in her shoulder holster as she climbed out. The gun went everywhere she did, but for most volatile situations,
she preferred the Taser. Less blood, noise, and risk.
As Lara moved toward the house, the front doors burst open and a man barreled out. Behind him, a giant black dog
noisily gave chase. Lara backpedaled toward the med van to get out of their way.
The running man raised his arm and aimed a gun at her. Lara dropped to the asphalt as he fired. She rolled and pulled
her weapon, but his footsteps kept going and a second shot didn’t come. A car door opened, the engine cranked over, and
he raced down the driveway. Still facedown, Lara let out her breath. As she stood, the dog turned back and charged into the
house.
What now? The person who’d made the emergency call had likely been shot and still needed medical attention. Heart
thumping, Lara glanced down the driveway and watched the black sedan turn left on the road. Her muscles unclenched and
she decided to enter the home and check out the situation. She grabbed her Taser and tucked it into her waistband in case
the dog turned on her.
As she hurried up the walkway, she made a mental note of what she’d seen of the assailant: five-ten, lean, dirty blond,
thirty-something, and a squarish face. Lara slowed and moved cautiously through the open front door, weapon ready. The
big house was quiet and she crept through, taking in details. High ceilings, open floor plan, and two additional exits that she
could see. One leading to the garage from the kitchen, the other into a lush side yard. No people, no black dog.
She made her way down the hall to a room near the end. Weapon raised, she entered a bedroom. A large man, wearing
only black leather chaps, lay on the floor on his back. Blood had soaked into the pale-blue rug under him and sprayed the
white satin sheets on the bed. A familiar salty smell mingled with the wet metallic of the blood. As she stepped toward the
victim, Lara recognized the scent: a mix of sweat and semen.
She slipped off her medpack and knelt down. She heard shallow breathing and saw that he’d been shot in the shoulder.
The black dog lay nearby, whimpering and watching her. “Good dog. You stay.”
The man opened his eyes. “Thank god.” The dog started to get up, but victim snapped his fingers and it lay back down.
Lara began to pull out supplies. “You need the ER. Why didn’t you call for a regular ambulance?”
“It’s personal. I don’t want to report this.”
Lara groaned, not caring that he heard. She should have left after the jackass shot at her. It was too late now. She couldn’t
walk away from a bleeder. Lara lifted his shoulder to see if the bullet had gone through. He moaned and squeezed her wrist.
The exit hole was twice the size of the entry wound and bleeding heavily, but at least she wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet.
She laid his shoulder back to the floor. “What’s your name?”
“Thaddeus Morton.”
Lara froze. “The federal employment commissioner?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be Washington D.C.? Overseeing the Gauntlet?”
“I’m flying out tomorrow morning—if I don’t bleed to death.”
“Is this your house? I thought you moved to the capital.”
“I kept my home here and a friend house-sits for me. I come back whenever I can.” He grimaced as he talked.
Lara bit back another question and focused on her task. She grabbed a packet of gunshot gauze, a new product designed
to fill such a wound and slowly dissolve as the tissue around it healed. A Chicago ER doctor had invented the gauze soon
after the dark shift, as she called it. The Supreme Court had struck down a series of gun control laws and now weapons were
everywhere. So were gunshot wounds. An entire industry had sprung up to treat them.
“We need to roll you over so I can bandage the exit wound.” Lara gave him her best smile, which wasn’t much. “This will
hurt.”
“Do you have pain meds?”
SuspenseMagazine.com
55

“I’m not licensed for them. You know how the DEA is.”
Lara cauterized the major bleeders with a C-laser, sprayed the wound with antibacterial, then packed it with gauze. The
white material soaked with blood before she could get the skin-sealing bandage in place. The sealer, as medics called it, had
biologic properties that bonded with tissue.
She taped a padded exterior bandage in place and asked, “Who shot you, and why don’t you want to report it?”
“My lover.” He paused. “Going public was a political career killer even before the new Congress made homosexual acts
illegal. Not that I’m gay. I’m bisexual.”
Lara didn’t give a rip about his sexual practices, but she watched his face for signs of lying, a habit from her detective days.
She saw none. “What makes you think I’ll consider not reporting this? I could lose my license.”
“Because I’m the employment commissioner and you’re a contestant in the Gauntlet. I can help you if you help me.”
Lara’s pulse quickened. What was he saying? “Did you ask for me when you called the Paramed Service?”
“I didn’t have time. But I hoped it would be you.” Morton spoke softly, then waited.
Lara’s mind raced. The employment commissioner oversaw the contest, now in its third year, and he would rule on any
situations that required a judgment call. He could disqualify any competitor too, including her.
Lara was torn. Her desire to win the Gauntlet was like a tumor growing inside her. Oregon desperately needed the grant
money and the jobs that would be awarded to the winner’s state—and she needed a reason to keep getting up every day. Yet
having the contest handed to her was not what she had in mind. “I don’t want to win except on my own merit.” She almost
regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
“Be more specific.” He sat up and she noticed that he was attractive in a pretty-boy way with dark wavy hair and high
cheekbones. She’d only seen the commissioner a few times on the news, and the camera had not flattered him. Still, he was
almost fifty and the black leather gear he was sporting made her a little sad for him.
“I don’t want your help. I want to win clean.”
56 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

“Could I interest you in some cash?”
Lara laughed. “Taking a bribe for not reporting this incident would be worse than simply not logging the GSW.” She
began to pack her medical supplies.
“Tell me what you want. I can’t let this incident reach the police or the media.”
“Your boyfriend is a menace. He shot at me on his way out and should probably be locked up.”
Morton’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry.” He scooted to the bed and leaned against it. “He’s having a bad reaction to
some medication. He’s not usually like this.” The commissioner’s gaze slid away and Lara sensed he’d just lied to her.
“Does he have a criminal record?”
“No. He’s never hurt anyone before. He discovered I cheated on him and freaked out. Shooting at you was just a leftover
emotional reaction. He’ll calm down and be fine.”
“I want his name. For my own protection.”
Morton hesitated. “Richard Bremmer, but please don’t report this. I’ll lose my federal position.” He locked into her eyes.
“And everything that goes with it.”
Lara wanted to get the hell out. After a quick look at the dog, which hadn’t moved since Morton snapped his fingers, she
slipped her gun back into its holster and stood to leave.
“Are you going to report this?”
“I don’t know yet.”
In the van, she accessed her call log on her iCom and stared at the cursor, which was waiting for her to speak or type
something. Crap. She was required to report the GSW, so that was the safest thing to do. If she lost her paramedic license,
she’d be scrambling to find work like millions of others. She couldn’t go through that nightmare again. After leaving the police
department, she’d been unemployed for years. Then the gun laws loosened and health insurance got scarce, so paramedics
were suddenly in demand.
Yet, if she reported the incident, Thaddeus Morton would be investigated and likely removed from overseeing the
Gauntlet. His last act as commissioner might be to disqualify her. If she kept his secret and he stayed on as a judge, he would
owe her, and it couldn’t hurt to have someone in her corner while she competed.
If she brought home a grant, co-funded by AmGo and the federal government, Oregon would have money to spend on
jobs and social programs. AmGo would build a facility in Eugene that employed thousands. Teachers and police officers
would go back to work. Not her, of course. She had burned that bridge thoroughly. Still, she was a cop at heart and she hated
the way law enforcement had been crippled by the never-ending recession. Most departments now only investigated violent
crimes, and detectives had a couple of days to track leads. After that, the case went into the cold file and they moved on. It
was shameful. So many victims with no one held accountable.
Lara slammed out of the van and ran back into the house. Morton had changed into jeans and opened a suitcase on the
bed. He jumped like a startled cat when she burst into the room.
“How is the first section of the contest structured this year?” The Gauntlet had five phases that changed annually, and
the details were kept secret until the program went live.
“It’s an elevated maze.”
Lara made a quick mental assessment. “I’d like to be paired against someone tall and female.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Beyond that, I intend to kick ass on my own.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“I hope your accidental shoulder wound heals quickly.” Lara bolted from the room before he could say anything else.
No promises had been exchanged, but she felt a little dirty anyway.
September 23 -
25, 2011
WriTers’ Police
academy
Jamestown, NC
www.writerspoliceacademy.
com
SuspenseMagazine.com
An award-winning journalist, editor, and novelist based in Eugene, Oregon, L.J. Sellers writes
the highly praised Detective Jackson series: “The Sex Club,” “Secrets to Die For,” “Thrilled to
Death,” “Passions of the Dead,” and "Dying for Justice." She also has two standalone thrillers,
“The Baby Thief” and “The Suicide Effect.” L.J.’s books are available in print and on Kindle
and other e-readers for $2.99.
When not plotting murders, she enjoys performing stand-up comedy, cycling, gardening,
reading crime stories, social networking, attending writers/readers conferences, hanging out
with her family, and editing fiction manuscripts. To learn more about this talented author, go to
www.ljsellers.com.
57

SIMON TOYNE
Climbing the Literary Ladder
Interview by Suspense Magazine
Simon Toyne has been hooked on thrillers ever since he picked up his father’s dog-eared copy of “The Satan Bug,”
written by Alistair MacLean. When he did, he discovered there was more to life than Paddington Bear and Roald Dahl. But
his trip towards actually becoming a writer of such stories was a gradual one.
At first, Toyne was certain he wanted to be an actor. That is, until a degree in English and drama at Goldsmith’s College
in London made him see that he really didn’t. Actors told other people’s stories; Toyne wanted to tell his own. That birthed
a new dream: writing screenplays and directing films.
Toyne wrote and directed a few shorts and produced a couple of full-length screenplays that were intended to be his pass
to the big time. To find money for his work, he freelanced in television, starting as a runner in an editing service in Soho
making tea and toast for people. Gradually, he worked his way up the production rungs. His show-reel of self-produced,
self-written, self-directed, and self-edited films got him noticed.
Fast-forward fifteen years: Toyne is forty years old as a fairly successful TV producer with a good track record mostly
as a scriptwriter. Married with two children, Toyne now knows he is not going to direct feature films, but still has the desire
58 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

to tell a big story.
His oldest child was preparing to begin school, and he was sure that once she did, he would be locked in a cycle of school
terms and holidays. Where will he find time for his “big story?” Toyne knew if he wanted to write something paramount,
now was the time.
When fear of failure sparked a fire, he quit his job and moved his family to France for seven months with the intention
of writing a commercial thriller. He says they nearly didn’t make it. Toyne managed to only write a third of his novel during
their time in France. Returning as planned—because the money ran out—his daughter started school and he went back to
work at the same TV production company where he once held a safe job. It took another year and a half of writing in the
evenings and in between stints of more paid TV work to finish the book.
“Sanctus,” which was released in March, is the first book of the Sanctus trilogy. It’s being published in more than thirty
countries and translated into nineteen languages so far. Toyne assures us that the film rights are still available, however.
Suspense Magazine is pleased to bring you our exclusive interview with Simon Toyne.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): Your bio tells of how
you wanted to write something with a finish, unlike
screenplays. Now, you find yourself writing a trilogy,
which is magnificent by the way. Continuations,
especially of beloved characters, are always fun for
the fans. What made you decide “Sanctus” would be
the first in a trilogy or was that decided right from
its inception?
Simon Toyne (ST): Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it.
It became apparent while I was writing “Sanctus” that
there were going to be some big questions left at the
end and some interesting directions the story could
go. However, as it was my first book and I had no
idea if it would even get published, I kind of sat on
these whisperings and wrote it as a stand-alone with
a different epilogue. It was only when I’d finished, and
publishers became interested, that the question of what
I was going to write next surfaced. Then, like some
sort of confessional, I splurged out my ideas for how
the story could continue and–fortunately–everyone
else was as excited by my ideas as I was.
S. MAG.: Do your children understand what you’re
doing or are you still just dear ol’ Dad?
ST: They’re too young really to know any different.
They know I work at home and other people’s daddies
don’t. My seven-year-old is a total bookworm and is
slightly annoyed that we won’t let her read “Sanctus.”
Also my wife is a TV host in the UK, so she totally
out-fames me on every level, both with my kids and
their friends.
S. MAG.: It made a huge impact on you and your
life. So we’re curious, when was the last time you
read “The Satan Bug”?
ST: Not since that first time when I was about nine or ten. I read lots of other Alistair MacLean
(books), though, enough to realize that he wrote pretty much the same book every time. It must
have had a big affect on me as I’ve had a thing for plague stories ever since–from Stephen King’s
SuspenseMagazine.com
59

“The Stand” to Justin Cronin’s “The Passage.” The second book in the Sanctus trilogy—“The Key”—also has a major plague
storyline in it, which I’ve loved writing.
S. MAG.: Once you read your first thriller, what else did you try and cut your teeth on? Who’s the best in your eyes? Why?
ST: I was one of those nerdy kids who devoured books and I read everything. I taught myself to speed-read so I could get through
them quicker, then untaught myself again as I got older when I realized there was more to books than just plot–well, some books
at least. I also (got) a degree in English so read a lot of the classics. As a result I don’t really have one favorite author. There are
too many fine writers out there. The one thing my wide reading has taught me, however, is that it’s all about story. It doesn’t
matter what genre or style a book is written in, if the story is good and well told, you’ll turn the page to find out what happens
next and the world around you will magically disappear.
S. MAG.: It’s believed by some that single instances in our lives change our entire lives. So, when you took the midnight ferry
to Dieppe on Dec. 1, 2007, did it impact you other than the obvious? If so, how?
ST: Well, the story is that I’d quit my job to write a book and we were heading off to France for six months as a family, where
I planned to write it. We got caught in the storm when we were supposed to be sleeping on the midnight ferry and so ended up
staying in a hotel room in Rouen rather than driving straight through, and the sight of the cathedral gave me the seed of the idea
that became “Sanctus.”
I think you often look back on moments in your life and realize their significance long after the event. In this case I’d already
decided to try and change my life and that was why I was on the ferry in the first place. Would it have gone differently if I had
slept on the ferry and not detoured through Rouen? Who knows? “What if?” is one of the fundamental questions in literature.
It’s why Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” is one of the most popular ever written.
S. MAG.: Do you allow your wife to see your work before it goes to the publisher?
ST: Oh, yes. She’s my first reader and–after me–my harshest critic. She also doesn’t read thrillers, so if I can write something that
engages her then I know I must be on to something.
S. MAG.: Do you have some superstition that you feel has to be adhered to during the writing process?
ST: I don’t roll a quill in my hands and spit in the corner or anything like that. One thing I have done with both books is reread
“The Silence of the Lambs.” It’s the perfect thriller and reminds me of where the bar is.
S. MAG.: How has working in television helped you in your writing?
ST: In commercial TV, it’s drummed into you that the viewer is reaching for the remote every two minutes, so it’s your job to
constantly engage them. To do this you learn numerous narrative tricks, many of which apply equally well to commercial fiction.
Probably the biggest help was the discipline though. In TV you can’t hang around waiting for the muse to strike—you have to
write on demand and you have to write well. The best advice I would give to any aspiring author is to just sit down and do it. If
you have ten minutes spare, sit down and write for ten minutes. Don’t think about it, just do it–you can always rewrite it later.
Ninety percent of writing is re-writing anyway–something else I learned from TV. The first draft is like a rough cut, but the story
comes to life in the edit.
S. MAG.: Do you have plans to write a book that’s just for your children at this age?
ST: I’d love to, but at the moment I just don’t have time. I’ve been flat-out writing the second book of the trilogy for the past year
and, as “Sanctus” is being published in so many countries, I’ve been almost constant doing publicity, which takes up a lot of time.
I’ve been telling my kids an ongoing bedtime story called “The House on Haunted Hill” and maybe when I have a bit more time
I’ll finesse it and write it down. Then my eldest might stop complaining that she can’t read my books…maybe…
S. MAG.: After your trilogy is done, what’s next? Any ideas you’re playing with that you can share with us?
ST: I have a file full of ideas. When the trilogy is done I’m going to read through them all and pick the one I like best. At the
60 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

moment it’s a tossup
between a Victorian
detective series with a
supernatural twist and
an epic Arthur Haileyesque
standalone
that could take place
either in modern-day
America or ancient
Rome. Who knows?
Get back to me in
about a year.
Thank you, Simon
for indulging us as
well as your fans with
a little of the inside
scoop about you and
your first book. To
learn more about
Simon, check out his
website at, http://www.
simontoyne.net/.
SuspenseMagazine.com
Suspense Magazine Review of
“Sanctus" by Simon Toyne:
The biggest question going into reading “Sanctus” by Simon Toyne is whether the publishing world
is ready for another thriller based on the formula set forth by writers like Dan Brown and Steve Berry. Yet
while Toyne exhibits some plot devices and character actions that require a certain suspension of disbelief
on the reader’s part, he pulls off a debut novel that is sure to be a bestseller and a welcome addition to the
genre.
The story may feel familiar with a Christian power group hiding an ancient item (known mysteriously
as the ‘Sacrament’) and willing to kill anyone who gets too close to revealing it, but Toyne shines in his
ability to captivate the reader’s attention throughout the novel. Like many of these stories, it begins with a
death which catapults both unsuspecting characters and hidden watchers into action. “Sanctus” does not
want for action either, with each chapter kept relatively short and the pace moving at such unbelievable
speeds, it keeps the audience intrigued and breathless at the same time. I found it hard to set the book
down because it always seemed to be in the middle of a chase, action sequence or reveal, and as such I
never once felt less than totally entertained.
While certain character behaviors may appear slightly unrealistic at times, Toyne’s writing is skillful
enough that the reader never feels emotionally disconnected from the character perspectives.
What may be the biggest pleasure of the book is the surprising emotional narrative that begins with
the idea of familiar loss and rushes to the reveal of the sacred item and the strangely haunted feeling that
the reader leaves with upon conclusion of the novel. It is a quality writer who has the ability to not only
satisfy reader expectations, but who also creates thought-provoking questions after the final page is read.
The book is a strong debut for an author who I believe is going to be a force to be reckoned with.
Enjoy “Sanctus,” and keep your eyes on Simon Toyne.
Reviewed by Luke Henderson with Suspense Magazine
61

The
AnomAly
That
IntrIgues
By Bob Mayer
Your basic story dynamic is this: the protagonist (the character who owns the story) struggles with the antagonist
(the character who, if removed, will cause the conflict and story to collapse) because both must achieve their
concrete, specific goals (the external, concrete things they are each trying desperately to get, not necessarily the
same thing).
The protagonist must be someone the reader wants to identify and spend time with: smart, funny, kind, skilled, interesting,
different. Consider giving your protagonist an anomaly. What this means is they have something in their character that
doesn’t seem to “fit” who they appear to be. Russell Crowe in L.A. Confidential is, in essence, a thug cop used as muscle.
No one thinks he’s very smart. But from the very beginning of the movie, he goes out of his way to protect women in peril,
even when he has no vested interest. Why? That “why” is a hook that keeps you following his character. This anomaly gets
explained eventually.
How do we get a character anomaly out quickly? To give us some examples, let me use some popular TV shows:
• A private investigator with OCD. His name is Monk.
• A brilliant diagnostic doctor, addicted to vicodin, who hates people but saves their lives. His name is House.
• A southern belle in L.A., always wears dresses, had an affair in her previous job with her new boss. She heads a
major crimes unit in L.A. and is a superb Closer. (Fish out of water story).
I’ve watched a lot of canceled series on Hulu lately. Some had really good ideas, but the character just didn’t cut it. Some
examples:
• Life: What if a L.A. cop is wrongly convicted of murder, sent to prison, but then is exonerated by DNA and as part
of his settlement gets fifty million dollars and his gold detective badge so he can try to find the real murderer.
Good idea. The writing was decent. But the character just didn’t pop. The show lasted just one season. The anomaly they
tried to give the character didn’t work: he buys a huge mansion with his money, but he doesn’t put any furniture in it. Besides
not being very interesting, it doesn’t make sense.
• Standoff: A male-female hostage negotiation team who are secretly having an affair, and have it revealed during
a situation.
The writing on that show was actually very good. Some excellent episodes. But if your hero and heroine are involved
from the pilot, you don’t have that Moonlighting or X-Files sexual tension. Remember to consider extremes when writing
62 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

about characters in order to involve your reader more intensely. You can have a good character and a bad character. But
would the reader prefer to see an evil character and a noble character? Think of personalities as a pendulum and understand
that the further you swing that pendulum, the more involved the reader usually will be. Therefore, take any very positive trait
you can think of and try to find its opposite. Do the reverse. Then use those traits to develop your characters.
Your protagonist must be in trouble, usually not random. What this means is that the problem should occur to your
character because of who or what they are, not just because they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. That can only work
if the writing is fantastic and the character is unique, but otherwise it’s called coincidence.
The protagonist must be introduced as soon as possible. Right away is preferred; usually, we must meet the protagonist
by the end of the second scene. Right away you’re signaling something to the reader if you introduce the problem before the
protagonist and vice versa.
Your protagonist must have strong, believable motivation for pursuing her external and specific goal. Note I say external
and specific goal—something tangible. Don’t confuse goal with motivation.
We often empathize with a reluctant protagonist. Donald Maass in “How To Write The Breakout Novel” says that
redemption is the most powerful character arc. The problem is having empathy initially with a character who needs to be
redeemed. So we must see the spark of redemption in a negative protagonist very quickly. In the first scene where we meet
them, we must see them do something, often a very minor act, sometimes even just one sentence worth, that resonates in the
reader’s subconscious that the character has the potential for redemption.
There is a clip in the film Nobody’s Fool, starring Paul Newman, that I use to show this when I teach. The basic premise of
the movie is that Paul Newman’s character is a bum, a down-and-out handyman, renting a room upstairs in Jessica Tandy’s
house. His son has returned to town with his two grandsons, and Newman wants a relationship with them. The problem is,
when his son was born, Newman abandoned him. So the son is naturally blocking Newman’s attempts.
In the clip I use, Jessica Tandy’s character calls for Newman to help with an elderly neighbor who is wandering the
streets in her dementia. Newman, without putting on his shoes or his jacket, goes out into the snowy, cold street to help the
neighbor. Even though he is not the most likable when it comes to his past, this gives the viewers of the movie reason to
believe he is a redeemable character.
The protagonist, as she is at the beginning of the book, would fail if thrust into the climactic scene. This is something you
should check after your first draft is done. Take the protagonist from the opening, throw her into the climactic scene, and the
bad guy should win. Her arc is the change that allows her to triumph where she wouldn’t have before.
The protagonist drives the main-storyline story. You have one for one main story line. You will always have one protagonist
and one antagonist. In Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, who is the protagonist?
Butch.
Why? Because he always comes up with the plans. “You keep thinking, Butch. That’s what you’re good at.”
In Lonesome Dove, who is the protagonist? Even though we might love Gus the most, the protagonist is Call, because he
keeps the plot moving via the cattle drive. Also he is the one still standing at the very end, right back where he started from.
Remember that your protagonist is only as good as the antagonist is bad. There would be no Clarice Starling without a
Hannibal Lecter.
If your protagonist fails, what happens? This tells you what is at stake in your story.
The protagonist is the person on stage in the climactic scene, defeating the…antagonist.
Show, Don’t Tell
Actions speak louder than words. We’ve all seen people who are saying one thing while doing another. Which do you believe?
• Do your characters react “naturally.” Given their primary motivator, when faced with a decision, do they go to
that motivation even if it turns out to be a bad decision?
• Give the spark of redemption.
• How do your characters react in a crisis? This tells us their true nature.
Bob Mayer is the bestselling author of over forty books in many genres: thriller, science fiction, suspense, romance, and nonfiction.
With a unique background in the military following his graduation from West Point, including serving in the Infantry
and Special Forces (Green Berets), Bob has been studying, practicing, and teaching change, team-building, leadership, and
communication for over thirty years. He is the co-creator of Who Dares Win Publishing. To learn more about Bob, check out his
website at www.bobmayer.org.
SuspenseMagazine.com
63

There’s morning chores: getting
the kids dressed and off to
school or other activities,
along with work, and dentist
and doctor appointments.
Then there’s after-school
activities. And laundry,
meal preparation,
house cleaning, car
maintenance, social
time, shopping for
groceries and other
essentials. And don’t
forget church, lawn
maintenance, date night
with the spouse or with
a new acquaintance. And
balancing the check book.
What about writing
the next chapter in your
novel. Where do you fit in
this last activity with your
busy, busy schedule?
If you’ve thought about
becoming a writer, when do you find
time to start a project? Do you outline
and how much time do you spend on it?
How long do you take to draw up character profiles?
Then, there’s the all-important research on aspects of your
story to which you don’t have all the answers. Also, you’ve
heard about a writers’ critique group meeting weekly at the
coffee shop and you’ve been planning on visiting. How can
you fit it all in with everything else going on in your life?
Some people can’t but those who want to will find time...
make time. It’s as simple as that.
See, writing is something special. So are sewing classes,
martial arts training, bowling leagues, basketball games and
volunteer work, along with many other activity choices. If
you aren’t interested in an activity or not serious about it,
then it will fall by the wayside and you’ll take up something
more interesting.
However, I think writers are a special kind of people.
We come from all walks of life and yet, at a conference or a
critique group, can almost instantly form a friendship. Why?
Because we’re all attending for the same reason: to learn
more about writing. Whether you’re a beginner, about to be
published, or a veteran author, you attend these meetings
and conferences to learn about writing, to make contacts
with others who may be of assistance in the future.
So, if as a writer, you are special and you are serious
about writing, you will, as I said, make time to write. You will
set aside a portion of the day or the week and you will choose
a place in which you are alone with a laptop or pen and paper
and you will write. The time can be midnight or two in the
afternoon. The place can be a bedroom, a study or outside at
a park. I would suggest you distance yourself from as many
distractions as possible, which means no children, no TV, no
Internet surfing and no cell phone texting. Music is fine if you
are comfortable with it. If you are in a restaurant or a coffee
By Stephen L. Brayton
shop with people around, make sure
you are still concentrating on your
work and not eavesdropping on
the conversation at the next
table.
How long will your
writing session last and
how much do you write?
The answers are as many
as the number of writers
in the world today.
I’ve heard everything
from two hours every
morning from five
to seven, to every
afternoon between two
and four, from a chapter
a day to two thousand
words, and so many more.
Every writer must find what
works for him or her.
A good way to approach
this is to set a reasonable goal.
You may think five thousand words
are attainable or be satisfied with only
a chapter, a paragraph, even a single
sentence. Whatever works for you, do it and
congratulate yourself after you are done. If you
have written a single sentence before returning to other
activities, be proud of yourself for accomplishing something.
Maybe next time, you’ll strive for two sentences or an entire
paragraph. I’m not being facetious. I’m telling you: it’s up to
you, but write something, complete your goal and stick with
this goal on a regular basis. Of course there will be unforeseen
circumstances and you will work around them.
I’ve interviewed many authors and I always ask them to
share their writing method. The follow-up question is: Your
method may not work for me. Any suggestions? All of them, in
one form or another have the same advice: Just start writing.
What they mean is, your method will be molded as you
write. You will see opportunities and periods of time where
you can jot down a few notes (or sentences or paragraphs or
one thousand words), at work during break time or a lull in
the action. During a layover at the airport, waiting for the
bus, waiting for your kids to exit school or even a spare hour
or two when nothing worthwhile is on the television.
I once read a statistic from the Jenkins Group stating that
eighty percent of Americans want to be an author. However,
how many take the time—make the time—to fulfill that want?
Talk to other writers. Listen to authors speak about how they
schedule their writing. Read time management books if you
think they will help. Ultimately, though, it comes down to
you.
Do you want to write? Are you serious? If the answer to
both those questions is yes, then you will discover when the
time is right.
You can reach Stephen L. Brayton, author of “Night Shadows”
and “Beta” by going to www.stephenbrayton.com.
64 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

“Badal takes international intrigue to a
whole new level.”
Praise for
Joseph Badal
“Badal serves up a rogue's gallery of sharply
drawn characters presented in lean, muscular
prose that will always leave you wanting
more."
~Philip Reed, Author of ”e Marquis De
Fraud”
"Joseph Badal returns with another gripping
page turner set against the backdrop
of the 2004 summer Olympics in Athens.
Filled with compelling characters and
inside military knowledge, Badal has written
another timely story that is intriguing
and terrifying. You won't be able to put it
down."
~Sheldon Siegel, New York Times Bestselling
Author of “Final Verdict
"Joe Badal takes us into a tangled puzzle
of intrigue and terrorism, giving readers
a tense well-told tale and a page-turning
mystery."
~Tony Hillerman, New York Times Bestselling
Author
~ Steve Brewer, Author of “Baby Face”
NOW AVAILABLE WHERE
EBOOKS ARE SOLD
JOSEPH BADAL
www.josephbadalbooks.com

Faye
Kellerman
The Darling of the New York Times
Interview by Suspense Magazine
FAYE KELLERMAN is a native of St. Louis but
grew up in Sherman Oaks, Calif. She earned a bachelor’s
degree in mathematics and a doctorate in dentistry at
UCLA, and has conducted research in oral biology. Her
innovative first novel, “The Ritual Bath” was published
in 1986. The winner of the Macavity Award for the
Best First Novel from the Mystery Readers of America,
“The Ritual Bath” was the book that introduced us to
Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus. Said The New York
Times: “This couple’s domestic affairs have the haimish
warmth of reality, unlike the formulaic lives of so many
other genre detectives.”
Around the world, there are over twenty million
copies of Kellerman’s books in print.
The Decker/Lazarus thrillers include:
“Sacred and Profane,” “Milk and
Honey,” “Dave of Atonement,” “False
Profit,” “Grievous Sin,” and “Sanctuary,”
as well as New York Times bestseller
“Justice, Prayers for the Dead” which
was also listed by the Los Angeles
Times as one of the best crime novels
of 2001. Kellerman’s other bestsellers
include “Serpent’s Tooth,” “Jupiter’s
Bones,” and “The Forgotten.” The
novels “Stalker” and “Street Dreams”
feature Kellerman’s newest protagonist,
66 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

police officer Cindy Decker.
In addition to her crime series, Kellerman is also the author of the New York Times bestselling suspense horror novel,
“Moon Music,” which is set in Las Vegas and features Detective Romulus Poe. She’s also written an historical novel of
conspiracy set in Elizabethan England titled “The Quality of Mercy” and has also co-authored the New York Times bestseller
“Double Homicide” with her husband and fellow author Jonathan Kellerman.
Kellerman’s short stories and reviews have been anthologized in numerous collections including—among others—two
volumes of the notable Sisters in Crime series: Sara Paretsky’s, “A Woman’s Eye” and “The First Annual Year’s Finest Crime
and Mystery Stories.”
When she’s not writing, her other hobbies include gardening, sewing, and jogging. She is the proud mother of four
children and her eldest son, Jesse, has just published his fourth novel, “The Executor,” through Putnam. She lives in Los
Angeles and Santa Fe with her husband, their youngest child, and their French bulldog, Hugo.
Her New York Times bestseller “Hangman” is now out in soft cover. It’s a book with two main story lines. The first
revolves around the unusual hanging death of a nurse. The second line brings back some of her favorite characters,
Christopher Donatti and Terry McLaughlin. Also included is their fourteen-year-old-son, Gabriel.
Suspense Magazine is truly privileged to have gotten this opportunity to speak with talented author, Faye Kellerman.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): Your daughter Aliza has co-authored “Prism” and is now off to college. When writing with
her, what dynamics of your mother/daughter relationship entered the writing process, if any? What about experience vs.
a fresh perspective?
Faye Kellerman (FK): The first thing we had to do was figure out our assignments and work to our strengths. Since I was
writing my own novel, I knew from the onset that it would be difficult for me to write or even co-write two books at the same
time. After we outlined the book, took care of some of the characters and plot, Aliza did the actual writing. I did the editing.
And most of this was done via email so we never had to contend with hissy fits in person. The situation worked out very
well and with minimal conflict. I think this allowed her to get her thoughts out, and as a young adult herself, she added the
verisimilitude of a teenager that sometimes adults just miss. She is now off to college and is penning her own novel. I can’t wait
to see what she does.
S. MAG.: What do your children think of Mom being a popular author? Do they brag?
FK: To them, I’m just Mom. I’ve always been just Mom. Now that my two older children have children, I think I’ve been
elevated in my mom status. It’s not easy raising four kids and maintaining a career in writing.
S. MAG.: Where did Peter Decker come from? How was the idea of him
conceived?
FK: Wow, this is so long ago, I can’t even
remember. He’s been one of my best friends
forever. I think he’s also one of my alter-egos:
the guy I might be if I were a guy.
S. MAG.: In “Hangman”, what made you
bring back your characters Christopher
Donatti and Terry McLaughlin?
FK: Chris and Terry are extremely popular,
especially Chris. It also gave me a chance to
explore their progeny, Gabriel. It’s always fun
to invent new characters and follow their lives.
S. MAG.: Are you planning to maybe write a
SuspenseMagazine.com
67

children’s book for your grandchildren?
FK: A good thought. Maybe.
S. MAG.: Writing with your husband must have had its advantages and disadvantages. Tell us about the experience.
FK: Actually, it was all advantages. First of all, just like Aliza, we sent each other the manuscripts via email so there was never
any drama face-to-face. Second of all, and best of all, whenever I wrote myself into a corner, I just sent the pages onto Jonathan
and let him worry about it. We both worked well together, but it wasn’t together at the same time.
S. MAG.: In college you earned a B.A. in mathematics and a doctorate in dentistry yet you’re a bestseller. What changed
for you and when?
FK: This is a long, long story. Briefly, I always had a good imagination, but after I met Jonathan, I realized that perhaps I could
do something with it. I can honestly say, if it wasn’t for my husband, I wouldn’t be writing today.
S. MAG.: Way back in 1986 when “The Ritual Bath” was published, People magazine said Decker and Rina were, “Hands
down, the most refreshing mystery couple around.” Do you find it daunting to keep up with that praise? How do you keep
them “refreshing?”
FK: While I can’t exactly radically change the characters, I can put them into novel situations that force them to act differently.
That’s the hardest thing to do: to bring out alternate behaviors in people that you think you know…but you really don’t. Peter
and Rina continue to surprise and amaze me.
S. MAG.: So, Hugo has a mind of his own. What made you chose a black-brindle French bulldog over other breeds?
FK: Jonathan loves bulldogs. Hugo—nee Victor Hugo—is number three. His predecessor, Archie, lived for almost fourteen
years. He was a cream colored French bulldog. We just love the breed, but they are so stubborn. OMG, every time I think I’ve
got him figured out, he pulls a fast one on me. Sort of like my characters.
S. MAG.: What’s next for Faye Kellerman?
New From CK Webb & DJ Weaver
Cruelty to Innocents
The First Novel in the 911 Abducton Series
What if you were in your car alone with your small child and you came upon
an emergency scene? Would you stop to help? What if, while you are trying
to assist a victim of an accident or mugging, you lee your young child alone
in the car, thinking he or she would be safe. What if, instead of help, the call
to 911 brought a terrifying, sinister result?
“Explosive...ratchets up the adrenaline and forces you to turn the pages faster
and faster as you hope for the best, while fearing the worst.”
—John Locke, New York Times bestselling author of SAVING RACHEL
FK: “Gun Games” is coming out in January 2012. It is absolutely one of my favorites. I hope others agree.
Suspense Magazine was honored to have had this opportunity to speak to one of the greats. To learn more about Faye,
check out her website at, http://www.fayekellerman.net/.
68 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

chaPteR one
"You have an admirer," Liz Santangelo said.
She and I were on my patio under a San Diego sun that was threatening to disappear into a February storm. I was getting
ready to hit the water, and Liz was about to head to work.
Without turning to look, I knew who she meant. A woman in her late twenties, small, attractive. She'd bicycled past on
the boardwalk when Liz and I had first stepped outside. Now she was on the beach, off to our right, pretending to read a
book. She was trying to be unobtrusive. I wasn't the world's greatest PI but I knew when someone was keeping an eye on me.
I tied a knot in the drawstring to my board shorts. "I don't have a shirt on. Probably hard for her not to stare."
"She must be too far away to see your faults," Liz replied.
"Bah." I pulled the red rash guard over my head, stretched it over my chest and moved my gaze to the woman. "Just
intimidated by my looks."
The woman turned away when our eyes met. She closed her book, picked up her towel, and headed up the beach to the
north.
"Yes, clearly she's infatuated," Liz said.
The woman stepped off the sand, crossed the boardwalk, and disappeared down one of the many alleys that led to
Mission Boulevard. I didn't have an office and people regularly showed up on the beach, as it was the best place to find me.
Usually they came and talked to me instead of disappearing into an alley, though.
"A long time ago, you staring at her ass like that would've bothered me," Liz said, tugging on my hand.
I laughed and turned back to her. "Not what I was looking at."
Liz and I had finally uncomplicated our complicated relationship. After years of ebb and flow, we were riding the same
current. I was a private investigator; she was a homicide detective. We butted heads professionally, and that had screwed up
the personal side of things. But after working a case that made me reevaluate what was important, I had gone looking for
some normalcy and good in my life.
I'd found both in Liz.
She glanced up at the sky. "You really going to go surf in the rain?"
"Not raining yet," I said.
"Yet."
February was arguably the worst month of the year in San Diego for
weather. It could get downright cold and wet, making the city feel very un-
Southern California-like. Watching the thick gray blanket unroll above us on
the first day of the month, I thought we might be in for the local version of a
monsoon.
I grabbed my board and started keying in the tri-fins. "I can get in a little
SuspenseMagazine.com
Liquid SMoke
By Jeff Shelby
Special preview from Jeff Shelby
69

time before the stinking rain blows it all up."
"Rain is fine," she said, smiling.
"Rain sucks," I said.
She shook her head, but the smile remained.
Things were easy between us. No tension, nothing riding below the surface, no distrust. We'd seen each other at our
worst and decided that wasn't so bad. Our lives were better with the other in it. I was happier than I'd ever been, and it was
our relationship that was driving that.
"Oh, look," Liz said. "She's baaack."
I got the last fin in place and looked down the boardwalk. The woman had returned, this time with a longboard tucked
under her arm. She had replaced her T-shirt with a rash guard. She glanced our way and let her eyes sweep past us, like she
was just taking a look up the beach. She walked toward the edge of the water.
"Maybe she wants lessons," Liz suggested, her tone somewhere between amused and annoyed.
I stood. "My day is made."
"How's that?"
"Jealousy. It always makes my day."
Liz rolled her eyes. ''I'm not jealous."
"Said the really jealous woman."
She tried to hold in a laugh but failed. "Whatever. I'm leaving."
I leaned over and kissed her. I started to pull away, but she caught my arm and held me there for a moment longer before
letting me go.
"Tell her I have a gun and I'm more than happy to use it," she said.
I watched Liz head around the side of the house before turning back to the water. The woman was strapping the leash
onto her ankle, surveying the ocean in front of her. Maybe we had overestimated her interest in me, our suspicious natures
getting the better of us.
Time to go find out.
chaPteR two
I staked out a spot near the jetty, where the nice right break that sometimes appeared had failed to materialize. The
imposing clouds to the west had yet to kick up the larger than normal swells that winter storms brought.
The woman was wearing a bright yellow rash guard and a pair of black bikini bottoms. She had her blond hair pulled
back. The board was a little oversized for her, but she handled it okay, paddling into a couple of the small ripples she mistook
for waves.
She pretended like she was watching the horizon, waiting for the water to rise up in more respectable swells, but 1 caught
her looking in my direction twice before she finally turned parallel to the shore and paddled over.
"Not so good, huh?" she asked, as she glided up next to me. "I was hoping there'd be a little more going on out here."
"Not in the middle of the day," 1 said. "Usually just like this."
"Really?" She wrinkled her nose. Her tone was overly friendly. "I was told South Mission was a pretty good spot."
"It can be. Just gotta catch it at the right time."
She nodded like that made sense to her.
"How long are we gonna make the stupid small talk?" 1 asked.
Her gray eyes shifted away from me, and she pushed a few wet strands of hair off her forehead. "What?"
"You practically camped out on my patio for the last hour," 1 said. "I saw you walking the beach before you even got in
the water." 1 nodded at her board. "You rented that at Hamel's. And you just told me you've never been out here before."
Thin lines formed above her eyes as she thought about objecting. Then she shrugged. "Got me." She held out a hand. "I'm
Darcy Gill."
1 didn't shake her hand. "What do you want, Darcy Gill?"
70 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

"Nice to meet you, too, Noah Braddock." Her eyes flickered, and the polite friendliness she had brought over with her
disappeared as she retracted her hand. "Everyone on the beach said you'd be pissed off if I bothered you on the water."
"They were right."
"But I wasn't sure you'd speak to me if I just showed up at your door," she said. "So I'm sorry for ambushing you like this."
"Sorry enough to just paddle away?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Not that sorry."
"Didn't think so."
"I'm a lawyer," Darcy said.
"Congratulations."
"You're a private investigator, correct?"
"Yep. But I'm not for hire."
"Why not?"
I dipped my hands into the water and then ran them along my arms, goose bumps forming on my skin. I thought about
throwing out all my reasons, but she hadn't done anything to earn that knowledge. "Because I'm surfing at the moment."
She stared hard at me for a moment, the intensity of her eyes matching the looming clouds above us. Then she made a
face like she didn't care. "That's fine."
"Now will you swim away?"
"In a minute," Darcy said. "If you'll answer one question for me."
"One question and you'll leave me alone?"
"One question."
I didn't believe her, but I wasn't sure what else to do. "Alright."
"How do you feel about the death penalty?" she asked.
I looked at her like she'd grown a dorsal fin. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
I squinted into the blue-gray sky to the west. "That's your one question?"
"Yeah."
I laughed, then shrugged. "Okay. I'm in favor of it. Goodbye, Darcy Gill."
"Why are you in favor of it?" she asked. "No, no. That's two questions."
"Come on," she said. "You already told me you aren't for hire. Just answer me."
I resented her interrupting my quiet afternoon, but I wasn't ready to get off the water yet. And drowning her would have
been too obvious.
"Fine," I said. "I support the death penalty because I believe that there are some people who simply don't belong on the
planet. They aren't here to do anything other than damage the world."
"I agree that some people aren't fit for this world," she said, "but it doesn't mean killing a person is correct."
"No, it doesn't," I said. "But that's the way the world works, and that's my opinion."
"I have a client on death row," she said. "His execution date is in a month."
''I'm sorry to hear that," I said, watching the water spill off the jetty. "But I'm gonna assume that your client may have done
something that justified his current position."
"He did," she said. "He killed two other men."
"There you go."
"The problem for me, Mr. Braddock, is that my client won't talk to me," she said. "He's willing to accept the punishment.
But I'm not."
"Isn't that his choice?" I said.
"Maybe," she answered. "But I don't believe in the death penalty, and it's my job to see if I can change his sentence."
I sat there, the last of the sun beating down on my shoulders, knowing there was more to this conversation.
"You said you didn't care that I wasn't for hire," I said.
"I lied," she said, smiling, exposing a slight gap between her two front teeth.
"Then you've wasted your time," I said as I lay down on the board.
"I think I can change your mind," she said.
I started paddling in. "Then you're wrong."
SuspenseMagazine.com
71

I heard her thrashing in the water behind me, her small arms
working furiously to catch up to me. I stroked hard until my fingers
grazed the sand below the water.
"You haven't asked me about my client," she said, catching me
sooner than I'd anticipated.
"Sharp observation, Darcy." I stopped paddling, slid off the
board, and stood next to it, maybe twenty yards from the sand, the
water just below my knees. "I'm not interested."
She pushed off her board, fell awkwardly into the water, then
bounced up to her feet. She shoved her rental angrily toward the
shore and put her hands on her hips. "Ask me who my client is."
I put a finger to my chin like I was thinking, then pulled it
away. "No."
"I'm not going away until you ask," she said.
She had the feel of someone who would back that
statement up, nipping at my heels as I tried to kick her away.
"Christ," I said, reaching down to my ankle and unstrapping
the leash. "If I ask, will you go the fuck away?"
"Yeah."
"Even when I tell you that I'm still not interested? You'll go
away and no more of this shit?"
"I promise," she said.
"I heard that once already."
"This time I mean it," she said. "If you want me to go away, I'll
go away."
There was something in her demeanor that suddenly made me
realize I didn't want to ask the question. She seemed supremely
confident.
But I was stuck.
"Who is your client?" I asked.
"My client is Russell Simington," she said.
The name meant absolutely nothing to me. "So?"
Darcy Gill folded her arms across her chest, casting a long,
thin shadow across the shallow water. "Russell Simington is your
father."
The above is an excerpt from the book “Liquid Smoke” by Jeff
Shelby. The above excerpt is a digitally scanned reproduction of text
from print. Although this excerpt has been proofread, occasional
errors may appear due to the scanning process. Please refer to the
finished book for accuracy.
Copyright © 2011 Jeff Shelby, author of “Liquid Smoke”
Jeff Shelby, author of “Liquid Smoke,” is the author of “Killer Swell”
and “Wicked Break.”
For more information, please visit http://jeffshelby.com/, and follow
the author on Twitter.
72 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

Earthworm Soup
By Vanessa Cavendish
An old stink of muck and stagnant water filled the tunnel under the bridge where Bruce Street crosses over Keening
Creek. Jeannie Iverson stopped dead in her Converse tracks. She heard the quaver in her own voice bounding along
the vaulted concrete ceiling.
“We never came this far before!”
Jeannie was Billy Iverson’s little sister. She hung out with Jarrod Frye that summer, born organizer and politician at the
age of ten. A Lightning-rod for Change, they called him later on in years, though he had a rough time as a kid. His bare feet
slapped the wet, silt-on-concrete floor. He didn’t answer.
Jeannie caught up to him, dug her fingers into his arm and pulled him up short.
“How much further is it? D’you even know?”
She wanted to turn back then and there, but according to neighborhood legend, a cable swing dangled from a prodigious
oak tree up ahead.
“Tall as a skyscraper!” Jarrod reported. “If you was to climb to the top of it you might could touch the clouds!” He
reconsidered. “Low ones, anyway.”
“Yeah, low ones. Like fog.”
Point was, you could swing out over the creek and dive in.
“There’s a—kinda like a noose at the bottom. Like a stirrup, I mean. You stand in it and swing out. You only dive if there’s
water deep enough.”
“Which it ain’t.”
“Which no, it isn’t. But we can still check it out.”
She pictured him hanging onto that cable one-handed, riding into space, free hand cupping his mouth and him yodeling
like Tarzan of the Apes.
He pried her fingers loose from his arm.
“This looks inviting.” He turned and studied the side of the tunnel. “Maybe we could go this way.”
In the silhouette he cut, Jeannie recognized the familiar pose of Jarrod the Adventurer: hands on hips, chin angled in the
direction he meant to proceed. There before him, a couple of feet off the tunnel floor gaped the round, black hole of a storm
drain, big enough to stand in, almost. Ancient run-off from the streets of Keening dribbled and glopped from the lower lip
of it.
“How many miles into the belly of the earth do you suppose this goes? Must be an entire labyrinth in there! Can you
imagine? Every gutter of every street in town empties into this creek and it’s all connected. It’s got to be. Can you just picture
the extent of it?”
What Jeannie pictured, she’ll tell you, was a little boy—younger than her but not by much—wandering from one grated
shaft to another, wading hip-deep in cold earthworm soup, whimpering to the empty curbs above, unheard, lost and alone
forever.
A truck grumbled over the Bruce Street bridge, clearing its throat as the driver shifted gears.
Jarrod braced his hands either side of the pipe and leaned in, head and shoulders disappearing into another dimension.
His disembodied voice dropped some thirteen octaves.
“Hellowrrrrats!”
His echo rasped along the galvanized conduit, went slithering through dank eternities before it banked and bounded back
again, booming, hissing. Jeannie listened for the skittering of little toes clawing their way forward, high-pitched twitterings,
whiskered noses twitching, taking notice. Jarrod’s demented cackle overrode it, but she heard it just the same, or thought she
did: each tentative scrabble over spongy leaf-mold, each liquid swivel of an eye in its furred socket, each sniff at the humid
tunnel air, detecting the threat of human confidence in him and, on her, the sweat of human fear.
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His head rematerialized.
“The vermin approach. About a million strong by my estimation. Time to go.”
His big feet slapped the skim of water left standing since last week’s rain, walking fast away.
Jeannie bolted, arms pumping, eyes fixed on the slope of sunlit grass ahead, ears yearning for the sound of birdsong at
the far end of the bridge.
* * *
Jarrod was a year older than Jeannie—taller, stronger, braver—and he knew how to get other kids to do things: to build a
tree house, for one thing, in a cottonwood standing beside the creek bed. Keening Creek ran behind the houses on that side
of Fair Meadow Lane. Jeannie’s back gate opened on a steep, grassy slope, but Jarrod’s house sat lower, closer to flood levels.
That’s where the tree grew. For three days that summer, the neighborhood kids climbed up and down like a tribe of ants,
carrying sections of two-by-four, passing hammers up, nailing steps in place until they reached the perfect three-way fork to
support a floor of longer two-by-fours and scraps of plywood hauled up hand-over-hand by rope.
When the first stage of construction was completed, the tree house perched some fifty thousand feet up, with a hole in
the floor that you climbed through, a half-wall on one side and railings on two others—so high in the air, at any rate, that you
could feel the floor sway underfoot in a stiff breeze. Logan Reynolds went so far as to get seasick and hurled over the railing.
His breakfast spattered the silver-green leaves below and sprayed across the trunk. That attracted the Heinecke’s black-andwhite
cat, but Logan and Jarrod chased it off for its own good with broken-off twigs and left-over nails. Jeannie climbed down
and ran to her house to get some Pepto-Bismol to have on hand.
The tree house had one distinguishing feature. Jarrod sawed off a pair of upright branches along the side with no rail
and stretched a giant elastic band between them. He instructed the others to make arrows from half and quarter inch dowel
rods, which he’d requisitioned from his mother’s crafting supplies, by notching one end and tying broken pieces of glass to
the other with twine. Then he dumped a pile of birdseed from his pocket. He meant to attract a robin to pluck and fletch the
arrows.
“We have to bring feed every day, so they get used to us. Then we can catch them. Only two feathers per bird, though—
one from each wing, so they don’t get off balance.”
He laid a half-inch dowel across the sawed-off branches to complete his crossbow.
“This weapon’s to be used for defensive purposes only. In case we’re attacked by rival factions. And, for target practice.”
“What’s gonna be our target?” Jeannie wanted to know.
“Dieter. He’s the smallest. Hardest to hit.”
Dieter looked alarmed.
“Unh-uh!” he said.
“Just kidding, Deets! Jeez-Marie!”
The tree house lasted three weeks to the day. Dieter stepped backwards through the access hole.
Had he not been lucky enough to hit the next lower branch square and, had he not possessed the reflexes to latch onto it
and wrap himself around it, Jarrod later observed, “Deets woulda hit terminal velocity. He’da been toast.”
Jarrod climbed down to collect his brother and carry him to safety, but Dieter told, anyway. After that, Jarrod vowed
never to let Dieter in on another secret operation of his for as long as he lived.
Their step-dad marched down to investigate. Dieter came slinking along behind him, crying, wiping snot across the back
of his arm. Mr. McEarland conducted an on-the-spot appraisal of the construction methods employed by the Keening Creek
Tree House Consortium. His determination was not entirely favorable. He climbed down again with four homemade arrows
in his fist.
“Shit,” Jarrod whispered. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“You kids out of your minds? Where’d you get all this lumber?”
“Just laying around,” Jarrod said.
“Yeah, I bet. Laying around whose yard, I wonder?”
“Nobody’s.”
“I don’t even want to know. You understand what I’m saying? There better not be a tree house next time I come down
here. I’m giving you two days. I don’t want to see stick one of it left in that tree or anywhere nearby. You do that for me, Jarrod?
You make it go away and I’ll do my best to see that your mother don’t have a friggin’ heart attack. Kee-rist!” he said. “We got
a deal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what in the hell,” Mr. McEarland asked, pronouncing the long ‘e’ in ‘the.’ “What in the hell were you hunting from
up there?” He shook the arrows in his fist. “Rhi-fucking-noceroses?”
Jeannie giggled. She couldn’t help it.
Mr. McEarland looked at her, “What are you even doing here? You surely could find decenter company than these
knuckleheads, couldn’t you?”
She shook her head rapidly, as if she had an electric motor in her skull that got stuck on stutter.
“Ya’ll kids get on home and don’t you dare forget what I said! I never want to see anything like this again.”
Jeannie turned at the gate to her back yard and looked. Jarrod, Dieter and their step-father stood talking for a long time
74 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

under the tree house tree. Jarrod pointed up at the limb that broke Dieter’s fall. The three of them stood looking at it for a time
before Mr. McEarland raised his knee and cracked the dowels over it one by one and tossed them into the creek.
* * *
“Consortium’s been disbanded,” Jarrod said on the way to the cable swing. “Nobody else’s parents’ll let them hang around
with me. My dad made me go around and tell on myself. I’m never telling Dieter anything ever again, and don’t you either.”
“I won’t,” Jeannie said.
“Don’t tell him about the cable swing.”
“I won’t,” she promised. “Your dad didn’t make you go to my mom and dad. They never said anything to me about I can’t
hang around with you.”
“I don’t know,” Jarrod answered, as if she’d posed a question. “You’re a girl, I guess.”
She didn’t say anything.
“So it’s you and me. You’re my primary running buddy. For now, at least.”
“All right,” she said.
She liked the sound of that. She was on kind of like a probationary status with him, since they weren’t even the same age,
but he was Jarrod and she was the only one on any kind of status with him. For now, at least. She felt older, being his primary
running buddy.
“I can’t stop thinking about that little kid, though,” she said, feeling older.
“What little kid?”
“That kid.” She forgot that she hadn’t mentioned him, the lost boy wandering the drainage system. She knew he was
imaginary, but imaginary things could be like that—even more so than actual beings. You couldn’t get them out of your
mind, because they had no other place to go. “You know. Down in the storm drain.”
“When was that?”
She shrugged, “Still down there, I guess.”
“Why? What’s he look like?”
“He don’t get much sun, that’s for sure!”
“He lives down there?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t get it. Why?”
“Lost. Can’t find his way out.”
“Kee-rist!” said Jarrod.
“I know, huh?”
“What’s he live on?”
“Rats. He catches and eats them.”
“That makes sense. You can live on rat meat.”
“He can’t cook them, though. He don’t have no matches or lighter fluid or anything or any firewood down there, so he
just has to eat them raw.”
Jarrod nodded, as if he had been thinking along the same lines, “Plenty water.”
“I don’t know what he does in the wintertime to keep warm. Must freeze half to death.”
“Unless it goes deep enough. Like down in a cave you can keep warm, because it’s closer to the center of the Earth. Or a
mine shaft.”
“Probably,” Jeannie agreed.
“How’d he get down there, I wonder?”
“I guess he was an orphan. His parents put him out by the curb as a baby, and he just rolled over and fell down in.”
“No, the rats would’ve eaten him. He had to be older than a baby.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re almost there,” said Jarrod. “It’s straight ahead.”
He went first. He wanted to conduct a test to make sure the cable swing was in safe condition before he let her go. What
he called the stirrup was a loop of cable held in place by a clamp with two bolts. He made a show of jumping up and down in
it as he swung out over the creek bed and back.
“I can’t afford any more accidents,” he said, stepping off onto the slope and holding the cable for her to step into.
She held on with both hands, pressing her cheek against the steel cable, while he gave her a push in the small of the back.
The wind rushed through her hair going forward and then pushed it in her face on the return. He caught her by the waist,
carried her backwards up the slope and ran forward, pushing faster, so that she caught her breath and closed her eyes, afraid
that if she opened them, she’d look down and see no water in the creek, and if her foot slipped out of the stirrup...
She looked down. The ground blurred past going one direction, hung still and blurred again backwards. Jarrod caught
her and ran with her. This time she screamed, but a laughing kind of scream, and when she came to the ground again and
stepped out of the stirrup, she stumbled backwards and lay laughing and panting in the grass and let it be his turn.
“Aiyah-yaiyah!” he bellowed, swinging.
When they’d each swung twenty times, plus one for extra measure—Jarrod kept track with a stick in a patch of dirt—they
SuspenseMagazine.com
75

called it quits and walked back overland (instead of under the bridges) toward their own block on Fair Meadow.
“I wish it’d rain!” he said. “I wish it’d rain for about a week solid and swell the creek, so we could come back and dive. I’d
do a jack-knife and slice clean through the water. No splash at all!”
“I’ll do a jack-knife, too,” Jeannie offered.
“Like a whisper.”
“Yeah. Like a whisper.”
“I’ll swim right down and touch bottom.”
“Me, too.”
“I can hold my breath for ten minutes,” Jarrod said. “My dad’s got a stopwatch.”
Jarrod stopped at the corner of Vine Street and stood looking down through the grate of the storm drain. He kicked the
leaves that had backed up in the gutter and watched them sift down into the dark.
“I wonder if you could call down to him and tell him which way to go? We could lead him from one drain to the next
until he got to the creek and he could just walk out into the fresh air and be like normal again.”
“We could try.”
“Good idea. Who even knows what part of town he’s in, though? He could be anywhere.”
“It would take a long time just to locate him,” she agreed.
She didn’t even want to locate him.
A siren interrupted them. It sounded close, and then got closer. They saw the lights flashing all the way down at Mulberry.
“It’s coming this way,” Jarrod said. “It’s an ambulance.”
“I wonder where it’s going? I don’t see any accident.”
“Could be a heart attack or something, though. That’s what it looks like.”
“How can you tell?”
“Look how slow it’s going. They always slow down when they know the person’s already dead.”
Jarrod saw his step-dad come around the side of their house to see.
“Hey, Dad!”
He had only recently started referring to him as “my dad” instead of “my step-dad.” It still sounded odd to Jeannie. Mr.
McEarland stood in their driveway, waved his arms and the ambulance pulled to the curb and stopped. The siren wound
down as if it ran out of juice suddenly. The lights continued to strobe.
“Why’s it stopping at our house?” Jarrod said. “Hey! Why’s it stopping at our house?” Then he started running. Jeannie
ran, too, but Jarrod ran fast.
The EMTs climbed out of the ambulance and opened the doors in the back and pulled out the gurney and let its landing
gear snap into position, then wheeled it up the driveway toward Jarrod’s house. Mr. McEarland directed them around the side
of the garage. When he saw Jarrod he grabbed him and held him and wouldn’t let him go. Another siren wailed from far off,
coming closer, and soon Jarrod’s yard was full of firemen in their bulky pants and jackets and boots.
Jeannie stayed across the street, not sure what else to do. After a long time, she watched the EMTs come back around the
corner of the garage with Jarrod’s mom strapped to the gurney. They loaded her into the ambulance. She bawled out Jarrod’s
name, but his step-dad wouldn’t let him go.
Jarrod kept saying, “Let me go!”
But he wouldn’t.
Mr. McEarland said in a loud, calm voice, “We’re gonna get in the car. You, me and Dieter are gonna get in the car and
follow. We’ll stay right behind the ambulance all the way. We’re not gonna let her out of our sight.”
The firemen climbed back into the fire truck and left. The ambulance left. Mr. McEarland led Jarrod into the house
and came back out with him and Dieter, who looked completely bewildered. They got in their car and drove off after the
ambulance. Jeannie went home and told her mother what happened. Her mother made some phone calls, but didn’t find out
what happened to Mrs. McEarland until evening. Over the next few days the story kept changing, getting refined, until it was
established that Mrs. McEarland—or Amy Frye, as everyone still called her—had been holding an extension ladder steady
for her husband, while he cleaned the gutters in the back of the house. Then, without warning, one leg of the ladder started
to sink into the ground. She tried supporting the ladder, with his weight on it, to keep him from getting injured, which she
managed to do. But the ladder knocked her flat, twisted her leg behind her and broke her neck. Not all the way through, they
said at first. People kept saying it was fortunate that Amy Frye did not sever her spinal cord. That was the good thing about
it, they said. That was a blessing, because she died on the operating table, not in the back yard where her boys would’ve seen.
Jeannie didn’t see much of Jarrod for the rest of the summer. Her stint as primary running buddy was up after less than
a day. The other kids’ parents allowed them to play with him again, if they wanted to, but he wasn’t interested in organizing
anything. He started fifth grade that year; Jeannie went to fourth. They walked home together, since they lived so close, but
Jarrod had less and less to say. He reverted to calling Mr. McEarland his step-father. Then, less than two months into the
school year, a For Sale sign went up in their yard. They moved to a house in Kirkland School District. Jeannie and everybody
else still went to Murrow.
She could never remember exactly when it started, maybe late November or after Christmas break, but word got around
about the kid who lived in the drain pipes. She dismissed it at first.
76 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

“Oh, yeah; right!” she said and turned her pencil over to erase a stray mark on her math sheet. “I know all about it.”
But it wasn’t just Logan Reynolds talking about it. Anna Henderson brought it up at lunch and her crowd of followers
(who navigated the halls as a unit, like a school of fish) wouldn’t let it go. When Jeannie’d heard enough and tried to tell people
she’d made that story up herself, Deanna Kilpatrick contradicted her.
“No, really, Jean, it’s true.”
“It’s not! You can ask Jarrod. I told him about it as a…like a joke. Last summer.”
“Who?”
“Jarrod.”
“Jarrod Frye? Oh, sure! He doesn’t even go to school here anymore,” Deanna said.
That was enough to discredit Jeannie Iverson on the subject of the sewer boy. Even Sam Corwin, who had been friendlier
than just about any other girl in school up to that point, gave her a pained expression.
Next day Logan passed a note forward, folded the way she and Sam always folded notes. Inside it read, ‘You always think
you know everything. You don’t.’
She marched straight through her yard after school, out the back gate to the creek, and kept on until she reached the
bridge at Mulberry Street. The creek was dry. It had only started to rain. The bridge sheltered her from the cold and wet and
she didn’t care about rats, either. Even they were a figment of her imagination, although they were at least possible.
She did not stick her head inside the drainage pipe, as Jarrod had done under Bruce Street, but stood with her arms
crossed over her chest and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Hey, Sewer Boy! I don’t believe in you, just so you know! And I don’t
care who does! You don’t exist! You got that? You don’t exist, Sewer Boy!”
Satisfied when he didn’t answer, she turned and climbed the creek bank back to her house.
* * *
She skipped out of school after lunch the next day, knowing the office would call her mother at work, but she had no idea
where Jarrod lived and the only way to find him was to wait outside his school. She’d ridden past Kirkland in the car before.
She knew that if she walked to the cable swing and kept going up Washington Street, she would come to it eventually. What
she didn’t realize was that Kirkland School had exits on three sides. She picked the one facing Beech Street and hoped for
the best. When the bell finally rang, she kept her distance and watched in every direction except one, hoping that wasn’t the
right one. Kids poured out every which way, paying no attention to her. The teachers came outside and stood at the doors to
monitor, but none of them noticed that she wasn’t a Kirkland student. Finally, she caught sight of Dieter in a new red jacket.
He looked older, but still the same. She ran up to him.
“You go to school here now?” he asked, looking confused.
“No,” she said. “I have to see Jarrod.”
“He already left.”
“Did he go home?”
“Yeah, he has to. In case Dad needs him.”
“Oh. How’s your dad?”
Dieter shrugged.
“I need to see Jarrod. It’s important.”
“What about?” he asked, but she didn’t want to tell Dieter. They walked together but they had to stop at a store called
Major Mart so Dieter could buy some candy. The lady behind the register knew him by name. Their house was a yellow
bungalow on Cortland Street, next to a used car lot. Dieter sat on the porch to eat his candy. “Go on in,” he said.
She knocked first. Dieter acted put out, but he got up and opened the door.
He called in a sing-song voice, “Hey Jarrod! A girl is here to see you!”
If Jarrod was either surprised or happy to see her, he masked it. “Hi.”
They went through the house to the back yard to get away from Dieter.
On the way, Jarrod said, “I’ll just be out back, Ray. Deet’s home.”
Ray meant Mr. McEarland, who didn’t respond. Jeannie never laid eyes on him. They sat with their backs against the
garage. Jarrod rolled the sleeves of his tee-shirt up on his shoulders.
“Did you tell everybody about the sewer boy?” she asked him point-blank.
“What?”
“Are you the one that started it?”
He leaned his head back against the garage and puffed his cheeks.
“It’s kinda taken a life of its own, if you ask me.”
“Tell me about it! I can’t convince a single person it ain’t real. They don’t believe we made it up.”
“What do you mean?”
“People think the sewer boy is real. They go around listening for him and calling down through the grates.”
“That was your idea.”
“He’s not real, though, and people think he is.”
“You know that for sure?”
“Yes, I do, Jarrod. We made him up! Remember?”
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Jarrod extended one arm out straight, holding up his index finger, “First rule of evidence,” he said, “you cannot prove a
negative. People have known that since ancient times.”
“Well, I want you to stop telling people about the sewer boy, Jarrod. It gives me the creeps. He’s not good, you know. He’s
not normal and he isn’t going to return to normal, because he isn’t ever going to get out, because he can’t, because he’s not
real!”
“I’m not the one who told everybody. For your information, it was Dieter.”
“Dieter? You told Dieter?”
Jarrod shrugged, “He’s my brother.”
“I thought you were never going to let him in on another secret, after the tree house.”
He held up both palms as if warding her off, “Sorry!” He didn’t sound it, though. “I didn’t know it was such a secret.”
“Well, it was! It was between you and me. We were supposed to be running buddies, remember?”
She wished she hadn’t mentioned that. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew better. She knew for a fact
that he wouldn’t remember saying it. No more than she remembered it being her idea to go looking for Sewer Boy. Her eyes
stung. She got up and left. She wasn’t going to let him see her cry over not being his first choice of a running buddy. If he even
had one. Needed one. Whatever. It was a long walk home. She avoided the cable swing.
Every curb had its own sewer drain, though. She stopped at each and every corner to hock and spit. If there was a sewer
boy, she wished he’d be there peering up at her, so she could get him smack in the eye.
That night she started awake to find Jarrod crawling out of a mine shaft, sweating profusely, with a flashlight implanted
in his forehead.
“Abnormal growth,” he remarked, posing as an old-time doctor with a mirror disk. “Say, ‘Ahhhh!’” He studied the inside
of her mouth. “Shit!” he said. “Shit, shit, shit! He’s got your DNA. We have to excavate.”
Then she woke up for real.
* * *
The school year was nearly over the second time a horde of EMTs, cops, firefighters and onlookers swarmed the street
in front of what had once been Jarrod’s house, their attention concentrated in the middle of the street this time. A manhole
cover had been flipped over. Jeannie edged in as close as she could get. Something in her knew what was happening, a part
of her that didn’t need to think things through for the knowledge to function, to flow through her with lightning recognition
and go dark again, extinguished.
A fireman’s helmet appeared, then his grim face. Another head, a child’s with a pronounced whorl pattern, bobbed
against his shoulder. The child’s hair hung lank and greasy-black, matted, dripping. The fireman’s gloved hand cradled two
thin, naked buttocks. He passed the child to another firefighter. Jeannie saw plainly, before the second one scooped the child
up in his arms, carried him to a gurney and wrapped a sheet around him, that it was a boy. He kept his eyes squeezed tight
against the bright sun. The cut and wrinkled skin of his face gleamed pale and puffy as a grub worm, though his body had
a stringy muscularity to it. His ribs worked like the teeth of a trap, rapidly opening and closing. A network of scratches, old
and new, decorated his arms, legs, back and abdomen.
“What’s your name?” asked the firefighter.
He pushed the hair back from the boy’s face with his bare hand.
The boy slit his eyes. Jeannie saw the black centers, like two gaping drainpipes. If she’d been thinking, she might have
realized he’d be blinded in broad sun, wouldn’t see a thing but shapes hovering. Just the same, when he spoke, he might as
well have been pointing a rigid finger directly at her.
“I’m Eugene.”
He laid the accent on with a trowel, stressing the first syllable. (“I’m You, Jean!” was what she heard.) Then he coughed
up a wad of something half-digested, with remnants of fur in it, chewed stems of grass and leaves. The firefighter put a glove
on to pluck the glob of vomit from the sheet and toss it to the pavement.
“You been down there a while, haven’t you, Eugene?”
The boy tilted his head at the sound of the voice and scrunched up his face. His mouth opened wide, not in a grin but in
a mirthless slit from ear to ear. His teeth were small and legion, with spaces of pink gum between them, studded randomly
with specks of grit and vegetation.
“I dunno,” he croaked. “Ever since they put me there.”
The firefighter glanced at a police woman who stepped up close to hear. The police woman’s hips, exaggeratedly wide
owing to the equipment she carried on her duty belt, blocked Jeannie’s view.
“Who put you down there?”
“I dunno who. Them two kids. Them running buddies. But I got out now, ain’t I?”
“That’s right,” said the cop comfortingly. “You’re out now. You’re out now, safe and sound.” She allowed the EMTs in close
to examine the boy. “We’re gonna get you dressed and fed and get you where you’ll be safe, okay?”
She followed alongside the gurney and climbed into the back of the ambulance after they loaded him in.
The last to leave the scene, not counting Jeannie Iverson, were two men in coveralls, who stayed to flip the iron cover
back over the manhole. It gave a loud, hollow ring. They climbed in a Department of Engineering truck and were gone.
78 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

1. Laurie R. King, “Pirate King”
2. Lee Child, “The Affair: A Reacher Novel”
3. Lisa Gardner, “Alone”
4. David Ignatius, “Bloodmoney”
5. Jeremy Bishop, “Torment”
6. Michael Collings, “The Slab”
7. Kathryn Davis, “Hell”
8. Troy McCombs, “Damaged”
9. Jack Kilborn, “Afraid”
10. J.A. Konrath, “Origin”
11. A.R. Morian, “Dark Journey: A Novel of Horror”
12. Bryan Alaspa, “RIG: A Novel of Terror”
13. Aaron Polson, “The House Eaters”
SuspenseMagazine.com
J
U ST
F
O
R
F
U N
14. Eric Williams, “Walking Shadows”
15. Stephenie Meyer, “Twilight: The Graphic Novel
Vol. 2”
16. Steve Wands, “Stay Dead”
17. Joe Hill, “Horns: A Novel”
18. Keith Mayerson, “Horror Hospital Unplugged”
19. Bryan Belrad, “Rage of Night”
20. Stephen King, “UR”
21. Travis Thrasher, “Ghostwriter: A Novel”
22. Ronald Damien Malfi, “The Ascent”
23. Gordon Ryan, “State of Rebellion”
24. DL Atha, “Blood Reaction”
25. Steven J. Harper, “The Partnership”
79

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80 Suspense Magazine September 2011/vol. 026

Donald Allen
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