Derek Barton's Blog

by Stephen King — Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Released on May 27, 2025448 pages

Synopsis:

From master storyteller Stephen King comes an extraordinary new novel with intertwining storylines—one about a killer on a diabolical revenge mission, and another about a vigilante targeting a feminist celebrity speaker—featuring the beloved Holly Gibney and a dynamic new cast of characters.

When the Buckeye City Police Department receives a disturbing letter from a person threatening to “kill thirteen innocents and one guilty” in “an act of atonement for the needless death of an innocent man,” Detective Izzy Jaynes has no idea what to think. Are fourteen citizens about to be slaughtered in an unhinged act of retribution? As the investigation unfolds, Izzy realizes that the letter writer is deadly serious, and she turns to her friend Holly Gibney for help.

The Review:

This is the seventh novel involving Stephen King’s popular eclectic character, Detective Holly Gibney. Her debut as a support character came in Mr. Mercedes (The Bill Hodges Trilogy), then the sequels Finders Keepers, and End of Watch. Then she played bigger roles in the novels The Outsider and in the title short story in If It Bleeds. Finally, in 2023, she was the main character in the novel, Holly.

Although King has faced some fan criticism for his seeming infatuation with Holly Gibney, in my opinion, he has created a stand-out character who has grown and has seeemingly come into her own inspite of her adult ADHD and OCD tendencies. Holly has proven herself to others, including her overbearing and destructive mother, that she has what is most important at heart and the strength to drive through any challenge placed before her.

That being said, Never Flinch is not quite as strong a story as I felt the prior novel, Holly, was. In Holly, King went back into his darker, terrifying art form and told a tale of barbaric cannibalism, focusing on a sadistic pair of elderly serial killers.

In Never Flinch, King tells a new tale that is more “true crime”-like and suspense-thriller. It was a good story, but it was not as satisfying, and honestly, what I want to read from the “Master of Horror”. While there is plenty of Holly Gibney content, as a reader, I found myself asking, “Just how often can one person actually find themselves in this much crisis or danger?” In other words, this is again the seventh time Holly and those around her encounter serious danger. In reality, I don’t think many people would associate with this person for very long. The ending, as well, comes a bit too easily and quick for me, which also diminished the impact of the tale.

The Rating:

RECOMMENDED READING! For rating purposes, I score this 4 out of 5.

By DEREK BARTON — Author of the ELUDE series (Parts I, II & III — a Horror/crime thriller), EVADE Series (Parts I, II & III)  & IN FOUR DAYS: a Horror-Suspense Novella.  Also co-author of the Hidden & The Hidden Within… All books available on amazon, kindle & Audible.com!).

(IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE FIRST SNEAK PEEK, CLICK HERE!)

“Jesus, Doc,” he muttered. “Am I going to be alright?”

“You are under the best care in Chicago, and I’ll be making weekly visits to the rehab to ensure your recovery is going as planned. The surgeries sound scarier than they really are, I promise. The brain damage you suffered can be handled. The movement in your arm and hand will resume by the end of the year. You are young. Your body can work miracles, you will see.”

Mitch shifted under the sheets. His back ached from the prolonged time in one position. “How long do you think I’ll need to stay in the hospital – I mean, the rehab facility?”

“Normally, for one skull fracture surgery, you can expect a twelve-week recovery period. However, since you suffered the dual cracks and adding in the time, you’ll need manual movement therapy, it may take you through July or August. That is, of course, provided you don’t have any infections or setbacks from the surgeries.”

Mitch felt his shoulders slump as a huge weight settled upon them. The news hit him hard.

His normal dark thoughts had descended into anger and misery. His life as he knew it was snubbed short and may be permanently altered. He was a prisoner to his body and what it demanded now to rebuild and recoup.

Don’t worry. You’re free now… We have a lot to plan for in the future. New pleasures like you have never had before. That wispy voice spoke in his mind, as if somehow spoken behind him. It had an unusual feeling with it. Like an itch you couldn’t reach, yet not necessarily uncomfortable.

Once you called me vile… I like that. You may address me as Vile. I’m here now.

You are free. And we are unleashed…

****

“That was pretty good. You got to the sixth.” Jo Anne replied. “It’s only been a few days since you arrived. It may be a long road ahead, so you must try to have patience—”

A blue flashing light suddenly came to life overhead near the entrance of their therapy room. “CODE GRAY ROOM 207! REPEAT CODE GRAY ROOM 207!” A female voice declared.

Jo Anne leaped from her metal chair. “I have to assist. Stay here, Mitch, and keep practicing. In ten minutes, you can switch and do those planking exercises I showed you yesterday, okay?” She rambled with distraction and bolted down the hall without waiting for his response.

The other two therapists in the room also left to answer the medical emergency.

Mitch pushed the wooden square away from him in disgust, and then looked about the room. Only four other patients remained, absorbed in their exercises.

He scooted his chair back and stood.

Yes. That’s good. Take it, take this opportunity. He will be alone… Vile’s voice, whispering from within the dark confines of his mind, urged him on.

The image of an elderly black man popped up. Mr. Coranell. Dwight Edwards Coranell. Room 403. Two rooms north of his own.

Two nights ago, Monday, January 28th, Coranell was brought in. The man had been injured in a fall in his grandson’s home. Along with the broken hip, the man suffered from long-term dementia.

At 9:33 PM, every night since his admission, Coranell began an unending tirade of cursing and indecipherable screaming. The medical staff had eventually been forced to sedate him. Quickly, Mitch learned that after three or more hours, the drugs would wear off and the litany of gibberish would play out again.

At 5:47 AM, Mitch demanded earplugs from the staff. He became so irate that he was also threatened with sedation. He stifled his true thoughts as he hated the fuzziness and mind fog that the drugs would bring. Being medicated would only delay his rehabilitation.

Now, as he crept along the hallway toward the stairwell, he grew excited and anxious. His hands became sweaty, and his heart raced with excitement.

Can you do it? Are you hungry enough for this, Mitch?

I am. I am! The old bastard deserves it, he’s got it coming!

Carefully, he poked his head inside the stairwell, scanning the steps leading up to the other floors. They were empty. He snuck through and ascended as fast as he could. His window would be short. Jo Anne and the others would surely be returning, or the nurse on their floor would be at her post.

Yes, it has to be now, Vile continued. You know you won’t have this chance again. Are you going for the blood? You could rub it on your face, maybe even taste it?

NO! I’ll be caught. I can’t. I… I will have to be happy with just the act of silencing him.

But… Vile objected. Its tone was petulant.

If they find me covered in his blood, I’ll never be allowed another opportunity.

The voice went quiet.

He poked his head in through the door to his floor, following his same scouting process. 

The room was dark, cold, and had that antiseptic clinic smell choking the air. A pair of monitors loomed over the bed. Wires and sensors were connected to Dwight’s prone form. The man’s heavy breathing rasped in and out, churning like an over-taxed engine. He was sedated and sleeping – oblivious to the world around him.

Mitch stood only a few feet away. His body was rigid. Sweat trickled from his brow and temples. He repeatedly clenched and unclenched his large fists.

Vile tried once more. What do you want to do, Mitch? He’s all yours for the taking. 

He did not respond. He remained frozen from the wicked combination of dark needs versus anxious fear. A wrong move or an overlooked detail could result in an investigation leading directly to him. 

Mitch was incredibly intelligent and always thorough. In all of his imagined scenarios, he scanned them from every possible angle, every point of view. In his mind, he had all the time in the world to execute his precise plans. 

But here, in the murky gloom of the man’s room, he didn’t have time as a luxury. The pressure choked his primal drive. His conflict paralyzed him.

Maybe I can get the pillow, he mused.

You are fucking kidding, right? You want to puss out with a lame smothering? NO! Make an example of him — make his mutation an affront! Throw it in their face! Vile was seething.

“Wh—what?” Mitch gasped.

Show them all this is what you’ll do when they stand in your way! They can’t expect you to accept this bawling lunatic! Rip his face off, put it on the chair by the door. Squeeze his throat till his eyes pop and then open—

ENOUGH! Mitch screamed inside his mind. His hands clamped to the sides of his head. I AM IN CONTROL HERE! I decide when and how. You want blood, but I want more than that… I want more than one old, tattered man who isn’t even awake to scream for me. Vile, you answer to me!

So… hooked yet? Don’t worry! You and Vile can satisfy your bloodlust in October when I officially release ECLIPSE PART I! Then the whole story series will be released in March or April, 2026.

Many times, I find myself stalling, pushing back, or even deliberately choosing alternatives to sitting down to write, even though it has brought me some of my happiest moments. Some call this a form of “writer’s block”, or they see it as procrastination. I like the term writing resistance myself as it is just that – an internal debate on whether I should write today or not.

Why am I resisting the call to be productive and creative? Why? There are dozens of reasons why, but when you consider it, writing is opening yourself up. It allows people to see your inner thoughts. You are also providing a window of opportunity to judge you and your work. That is an extremely vulnerable position. Resistance is, in many ways, a defense mechanism. Cleaning the stove, picking up the dry cleaning, or looking for that perfect spot to sip a coffee and people-watch is much easier and safer than putting your thoughts on paper for all to see and comment. The world and internet are full of trolls after all…

In my writing group that I host now on Tuesdays called Shut Up & Write (which is a national/international organization and has affiliate groups in almost every city and country around the globe – highly recommend attending one as it has truly given me a lot of great resources and tools to benefit my writing journey), we discussed our own forms of writing resistance.

This is a list of the examples they could attest to and that these have happened with their own writing experience:

Laziness

Insecurity 

Lack of focus

Perfectionism

Too many ideas at the same time

Didn’t value my work or its worthiness

Lack of computer skills

No accountability

Too many tasks/other responsibilities

No motivation

Imposter Syndrome

Burn out

No current inspiration

Bad time management

The Blank Page syndrome

Stress

Information overload/no direction to start

Looming Deadlines

Then we discussed possible solutions or tactics that might help you overcome these possible examples of resistance:

Smart Goals (short & obtainable)

Outlines – to me personally, this helps me defeat any Blank Page syndrome or Writer’s Block.

Change in venue

Small tasks

Genre reading

Writing ritual/routine

Internet-inhibiting Apps – these are apps designed to help prevent you to “going down the rabbit hole” on the internet vs writing or to get sidelined by social media platforms.

Project Planning/Defining

Big Idea Notebook

Turn off your Inner Critic! – freestyle writing is crucial during your first drafts.

Use writing place holders to move forward in the prose

Baby-step or sprint writing – I set a limit like 300 words per day (which usually gets me into writing mode and I write way past the limit).

Edit the previous chapter

Do something else but still be in creative mode – like ad design, marketing copy, or idea research

Research for your genre or idea

Read work out loud to yourself

Writing prompts – one of my personal favorites especially when I am in between projects (they can jumpstart  you!)

Writing resistance is a fierce temptation to give in to. Procrastination, research temptations, or simple internet scrolling can erode your productivity. Work up a writing routine or ritual. In other words, find and dedicate a  specific time and amount of time you want to work on your WIP (which is why the Shut Up & Write group works so well for me).

Like an actual muscle, unless you flex and use it, the writing muscle will not grow and strengthen if you don’t make it a priority. And if you go long enough, your writing muscle can atrophy! Developing good ways to sidestep your writing resistance can make or break your writing journey!

For further exploration and tips on Writing Resistance, check out an earlier post I did on tactics to avoid or reduce resistance. Repel The Resistance

It’s been a while since I’ve teased you with some new content…

I have an awesome new short story that I am submitting for a possible July edition to the magazine Wordpeddler’s Society.

This isn’t the full story, so don’t be upset. This is just a teaser:

FAST BY THE FADING LIGHT

“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”

The words echoed in his head. They haunted him and floated behind his closed eyes. His head throbbed with an ache at the back of his skull. Waves of nausea followed closely behind the painful pulses. The rest of his body felt non-existent and insubstantial. His limbs bobbed in icy water at his side and were numb. 

With an unbelievable amount of effort and will, he opened his eyes. Wind-swept tree canopies whipped about in all directions above him. They blocked out the evening’s dark skies. Patches of flickering orange flames were growing among the leaves. They jumped randomly from branch to branch. Curled, torched leaves fell among ashes in the air, slowly drifting toward him. 

His eyes were focusing in and out upon the danger, but his mind could not connect the dots. Where was he? …Who was he? 

He lifted his head a couple of inches to survey the area. A flowing channel, no, a rapid river stream, ran past his little rest stop. Somehow, his unconscious body had been carried into a shallow, branch-clustered inlet. His tall frame was snagged on several branches. 

Trees on both sides of the stream were brimming with fire. The sound of crackling and popping wood grew louder than the river’s babble.

“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”

Those words weighed down on him again. What did they mean? Who made that threat? Why? He fought the panic and tried to calm the brewing storm inside his head. 

“It’s gotta come back to me. I’m sure it will,” he said aloud. His voice was raspy and barely an audible whisper.

Water splashed and filled his mouth. He sputtered, coughed uncontrollably, and tried to sit up. The water was too deep and too crowded with branches for that. His left arm felt heavy and trapped under the surface.

Yanking it free, he discovered it was handcuffed. The other end was locked about the wrist of a severed hand! 

OH GOD! WHAT HAVE I GOT MYSELF INTO? He screamed inside, his arms pinwheeling in the water as he tried by reflex to get away from the bloody remains. It did no good, and the appendage now floated among the waves inches from his face.

The stump severed inches down the wrist was cut clean and precisely. Most likely with a sharp knife or tool. It was a deliberate act with no signs of hesitation marks. The nails were well-maintained and polished with a peach cream color. The fingers were slender and unblemished. It was a woman’s. 

Whose? I should know! Who was I handcuffed to? He shook his head slowly. His world was a blended mess of questions and surreal surroundings. 

The area around the inlet flashed as a series of gusts stoked the flames, and more trees caught fire. Smoke rolled in with the wind and choked the air. He pulled himself free of the mire of the mystery. A larger piece of a rotted tree trunk bumped into his legs. 

Yes, time to go, he answered the log as he kicked the piece free of the other branches. Then he curled his arms around a knot at the top of it. This would keep his head above the waves. He continued to kick with his legs to propel himself out of the bay of branches and head further downstream. Unfortunately, this carried him deeper into the heart of the forest fire.

Moments later, his own heart seized up as he spotted a tattered white blouse with gold lace trim. It partially dipped into the edge of the stream. Blood-spray and obvious patches of red blood soaked a good portion of the right side of it.  

A stretch of sandbar on his side of the riverbed peaked up among the waves. It was only a few yards from the blouse. A green-sequined skirt lay in the watery mud ahead. Next to it, a crumpled, faux-leather boot lay abandoned.  

I know that dress somehow… 

Using all his remaining strength, he scooped water with one arm, guiding the log to beach itself upon the sandbar. So far, the forest fire had spared most of the area. 

In the shallow few inches of water that flowed over the sandbar, he fought to get back to his feet, but it was a short victory. His vision suddenly blurred as the world seemingly spun out of control. A minute or two passed. The world slid back into place, and he rose even slower out of the water.

His head pulsed once again like rolling thunder. He pulled his right arm from the water and rubbed the back of his head. This only caused another sudden spike of pain. Snatching his hand back, he discovered his fingers were dripping with fresh red blood. More pain accompanied the effort. Gingerly, his fingers explored the back of his head and found a nasty gash that crossed the back of his skull under the nest of dark brown hair.

That might explain why I can’t remember anything, he thought. Then he patted his legs and discovered a black leather wallet jammed into a pair of dark blue slacks.

Inside on a laminated card, Nicholas Allen Troy stared up at him from a small picture. Age 32, brown hair, blue eyes. Lives at 287 S Fernwood Ct, Apt E5, Baton Rouge, LA  70806. Faint familiarity came to him as he studied the driver’s license.

He went by Nick, never Nicolas. Not even his family called him by his full name.

On his wrist was a broken watch. The silver frame was dented, and its crystal face was frozen at 11:43 PM. 

A sudden recalled memory hit him like a fist to the mouth.

Hope you enjoyed this! When the rest of the story is published and ready for sale, I will announce it in my newsletter!

Back in 2019 & 2023, I wrote blogs focusing on some of my favorite new horror films at that time. Hard to believe but two years have already passed, and it’s time to once again to review some of the latest film releases.

Here are five of the latest horror films I did enjoy:

5. Saw X

Yes, it is an old running series that has almost covered every angle possible… except this one. What happens when you offer a dying man a possible life-saving treatment, but in secret, you are only attempting to con him out of thousands of dollars? What happens when that same old man is a mass serial killer… and he finds out what you did?!

Not the best of the series, but I enjoyed the premise of this one, and let’s be honest, who doesn’t wish terrible things on con artists when prey on the elderly and dying?

4. Final Destination 6

Again, this is another installment in a long-running series. This was another interesting idea, and it also gave you a bigger picture look at why all these tragedies were occurring. In other words, it attempts to give you background reasons for the first five films. This is also the last film of horror legend Tony Todd (famous for his Candyman role), which made this a must-see for me.

3. The Conjuring: Devil Made Me Do It

This sequel delves deeper into the lives and investigative methods of the famous Warren couple. I enjoyed this one more than the original. I’m also looking forward to the next installment, The Conjuring: The Last Rites, which covers their “last case”.

2. Alive#

A spin-off film in the Train To Busan universe. In this Korean horror film, a man soon finds himself trapped and isolated in his high-rise apartment building while hordes of zombies ravage the rest of the city. I love this new take on a zombie survival film.

1. Talk To Me

Easily the scariest film released in quite some time. A teen struggling with the grief of her mother’s passing takes a daring challenge at a party: hold the severed hand of a now dead psychic who claimed to talk with the dead. Intense horror sequences and frightening imagery of Hell. Take note: This is in Australia so the accents take a bit to get adjusted to.

Honorable mentions (entertaining, just dumb fun films):

Sting

I’m arachnophobic so this one got under my skin!

Smile 2

Not as good as the first but had some cool frightening moments (like when her entire dance troupe stalks her in her apartment!).

Abigail

Silly but kept my interests. Creepy atmosphere.

Unhinged

Russell Crowe gives a great performance and carries this one. Not too complicated a story but you could easily see how this could happen in real life.

No One Will Save You

Great effort and intense psychological horror mixed with sci-fi horror. Didn’t feel the ending paid off but overall a fun time for a couple hours.

Unfortunately, there are a ton more films that I WOULD NOT recommend. These had potential but fail due to bad scripts or poor plots!

Heretic

Good acting from Hugh Grant as the killer, but they didn’t do anything with this story. Two hours waiting for something interesting.

Alien: Romulus

Another disappointing edition to this poorly written franchise. There is so much they could do but they fail to really capture the essence and treasure that the first two films were.

Longlegs

Ugh! What a waste of two hours! Nick Cage could’ve saved this film as its menacing psycho but he’s in it for maybe twenty minutes. Just dumb! And they didn’t even address why the film was called Longlegs!

Evil Dead Rise

Overdone gore and no real story. This franchise has turned into just another cash cow.

Salem’s Lot

A very poor adaption of Stephen King’s original novel. More than half of the film doesn’t even follow the book. They should’ve left this story alone. The 1979 film version isn’t perfect but at least it had heart and tried to be faithful to the novel.

I hope that the trend for horror films gets better and we see more original stories versus sequel after sequel. I’m always available Hollywood should you want some help!

Through Superprof.com, a private tutor app, I will be able to offer an online writers workshop and help guide new writers, providing tips and resources. Each of my lessons is personalized, results-oriented, and motivational.

At the assessment session, I will meet with you individually where we can determine your level, discuss steps to improve, and I will provide keys to unlock your true writing potential!. My lessons are casual to create a positive, non-judgmental environment, but at the same time, they will give you options for success.

Then, in the following sessions, we can meet with other new writers in a Google Meeting so that you can learn from others or share what works for you! Writing journeys do not have to be a solo endeavor.

I will gladly assist with any writing projects, review weekly submissions of up to 2,000 words, provide writing lessons or writing prompts, and help the student develop writing habits and rituals that will keep them successful and driven for years to come.

My lessons cater to adults and teenagers aiming to grow as creative writers.

My personal mantra is YOUR SUCCESS AS A WRITER IS MY SUCCESS WE WIN TOGETHER!

Last, I want to offer you the first assessment hour free of charge! Then, if you wish to continue working together, I will meet with you for $25 for one hour once a week.

To get the assessment hour AND make that first step toward realizing your dream of writing a novel or learning to create the writing career you’ve always wanted, PLEASE CLICK HERE!

The ease of access and the availability of audiobooks have increased dramatically over the recent years. The potential to reach more readers and have increased sales is too critical for you as a writer not to explore. In his article, Audiobook Statistics by Market Size, Sales and Demographics, Pramrod Pawar of Coolest-Gadgets.com states: 

In 2022, audiobook sales in the United States generated over USD 1.81 billion.The number of US adults listening to audiobooks has more than doubled in the past 10 years.Younger people are more likely to consume audiobooks, with 57% of Americans under 50 listening to audiobooks in 2021.Mystery and Thriller are the top genres, enjoyed by 55% of listeners.Science Fiction and Fantasy are also popular, with 48% of listeners enjoying these genres.

On a personal note, as a new author, I never thought I could have an audiobook version of my book. The investment costs and finding quality talent were quite daunting. However, when I took the plunge and started the ball rolling, I found the whole experience very rewarding and valuable. My story became a “play inside my mind” when I listened to the audio version for the first time. The Elude series is my best-selling books and I credit the audio version for the reason why!

So first, you create your account on ACX.com (a division of Amazon.com). Then you’ll need to “Claim Your Title” which is a button found at the bottom of the screen. You can use your book’s title, your author name, or the ISBN to bring up your book. From the list provided, you should then be able to see and select your book.

Decision #1: Are you going to work with a narrator or use previously recorded files. 

Here you will need to decide if you are open to getting narrator auditions or if you want to go with a known narrator (someone you have already contacted and worked out an agreement for them to do your story) OR if you have narrated the story yourself and already have a prepared file. ACX does have very specific requirements and quality expectations. (Here is the link to those standard expectations.) Be sure to review those and match them before submitting your story for Quality approval.

Decision #2: what kind of narrator do you want?

ACX has literally thousands of voice actors waiting to audition and willing to work hard on your story. To narrow down the list, they have filters for genre, language, accent, voice age, vocal style, and location. These will help you to select the few actors you want to reach out to directly. I’d recommend maybe a dozen to start. You will also get auditions sent to you if you want. 

Decision #3: what kind of financing amount are you willing to invest in the project?

One other key aspect you’ll want to determine is how you want to pay for the narrator’s service. Professional narrators can charge $200 to 400 per recorded hour upfront. One recorded hour is around 9,000 words. If you cannot afford that, another possibility is what is called Royalty Share. Amazon decides on the total sale price of the audiobook and then takes 60% of the retail price. The remaining 40% royalty is then split between you and the narrator for each sale. When you filter for narrators, you can set it to show only Royalty Share, Royalty Share Plus (narrators who will share the royalties as before but want a little extra upfront too), or Pay Per Hour Costs (ranging from $50 to $1000 per hour). 

Decision #4: working through the auditions and finding the right voice for your story.

It is very important you find the right person to tell your story. I know I have stopped listening to a story if I didn’t like the voice. Many other readers will too. The voice captures the reader’s attention and brings the story to life in a whole new way. You will get all sorts of types of actors and auditions. I have even gotten auditions read with very heavy accents or even “broken English” which is not at all what I was looking for. Be kind, be tactful, but be honest and know what you want. Once the recording is finished and published, it is extremely difficult to get corrections or changes made!  

Decision #5: determine due dates of the 15-min sample and when the final recording is due.

Once you have contacted the narrator that you like and they have agreed to do the project, you will send them a business contract through ACX. It will stipulate the payment plan and the due dates. Normally, I give the narrator one to three months to produce the recording based on the size of the project. The 15-minute sample is a recording the narrator will make and send to you showcasing their tone, pacing, accents, etc. This is a binding business contract but if I have a good relationship with the narrator, I will give them leeway for personal events like illness or other life disruptions. If you rush or pressure the narrator, it could impact the quality of the production. Should you and the narrator have any serious issues or conflicts, you can contact ACX Support to end the contract and stop the production. It is a hassle so be sure you really want to go that route. 

Decision #6: Approve and submit to Audible for their approval. Carefully review the audio files listening for mistakes, word omits, mispronunciations, file recording glitches. The narrator can send you the work chapter by chapter or they may send it all at once. I like to review as they go in order to stop errors from being repeated throughout the book (i.e. mispronounced names, etc). The narrator is expected to read and perform the writing as closely as possible. To reach a bigger audience, some readers look for a feature called Sync (formerly Whispersync) which allows a reader to go from listening to Audible to reading in Kindle and then back to Audible without losing their place in the book. That feature requires the narrator to be at least 96% accurate. 

Of course, there may be other considerations and/or minor decisions you will have to make during this process, but I hope I have taken away some of the mystery and fog hiding this key market from new writers. It’s been a great addition to my work and helped me reach even more readers.

For those who could not find the Vella series I started before Amazon closed its program, I thought I should post the first few rough draft pages for you to consume!

I am hoping to have this published by the end of summer.

Eclipse will have ties to both Elude and Evade series and will be strictly a non-supernatural true crime thriller!

A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?

Chapter 1

Mitchell stared at the paper, focused, and felt himself sinking into the growing spot of red ink his grading pen had left. His mind slipped deeper, spiraled then dove into the heart of it. His eyes blurred, his head grew heavy, and his thoughts revolved around the blood…

No, not blood… ink! Red pen ink, his inner voice scolded him.

No, it is blood! Or it could be, another voice insisted. The words were low and whispery. Hot, thick, gooey, smooth. You could make this happen. You know where you could get all this blood.

Mitchell imagined the liquid flowing through his hands. A pool of it, sloshing and washing up over his torso, flowing over his chest and up to his neck. In his thoughts and in reality, he stuck out his tongue trying to get a taste of the hot liquid. With—

“Whoa! Are you… Mr. Michaels, are you alright?” a student asked, standing at the corner of his desk.

Mitchell shook his head, slamming back into the real world. His fourth-period English class at Bogan High School materialized in front of him. “I’m sorry. What?”

The student stared at him. It was seventeen-year-old, Corey James.

Punk! Always a smartass, Mitchell’s inner voice snarled.

Mitchell murmured instead, “Mr. James, did you need anything?”

Corey sneered, “Do I need something? Man, you looked like you were about to make out with that homework paper.”

“That is enough. If you are finished with your work, please place it on the pile and return to your seat. Thank you.” Mitchell grinned pleasantly at him. Mitchell’s mask as the always-earnest and generous Mitchell Michaels slipped back into place. Corey scoffed, tossed the paper down, and shuffled over to his cluttered desk in the back of the room.

No one else had paid any attention to their interaction. The time remaining for their pop quiz was nearly over. 

Known among the school staff and his friends as “Gentle Giant Mike”, Mitchell stood 6’4”, weighed 260 lbs., had a thick head of dirty blond hair, and a beard kept short and trim. He towered over his students and most of the faculty, but his giving nature always won them over. Mentoring and volunteering his time had made him a standout among his peers. Most of his students thought the world of him.

Mitchell returned to his work on the assignment he had been grading. His eyes glanced a brief moment at the splotch of red his pen had caused. The ink had gotten on his finger and thumb as well. He picked up the broken pen and dropped it in the basket at his desk. He shot a glance at the digital clock hung on the wall behind the class. 12:14 PM. School was almost over for the day.

That was good. The mild hangover from some after-school drinks the night before had eroded his energy and his patience for the day. Brad Keller always convinced him and several of the other teachers that it would be a quick drink. The twenty-nine-year-old bachelor always had a charm and a looming presence about him that made it hard to say no to.

“Oh, come on, fellas. Live a little,” he would taunt them. Just like that and with a snap of his fingers, he snared them all. They would hit O’Mallory’s Tavern on the way home. Drinks that would lead to an inevitable fast round of poker.

“Not tonight, my friend,” he whispered to himself.

Mitchell liked and hated Brad Keller if that was even possible. The smooth salesman in the History Teacher was relentless. Mitchell envied the skill as he speculated that Keller also had a wild sex life.

Wind kicked up outside and a splatter of wet ice and snow flurries hit the windows along the south wall. An afternoon snowstorm had swept in off Lake Michigan. Premature for this time of year, but most people in Chicago learned to be ready for anything. Notorious for being fickle in the Midwest, the weather could not be predicted especially near the Great Lakes.

He would have to take everything home versus staying the extra hours at the school to grade yesterday’s homework and the pop quiz. Gina, his fiancée, expected him over tonight for dinner as well.

Mitchell wheeled his chair back from his desk and crossed to one of the windows. Snow had already fallen and gathered on the football field and near the parking lot. The skies were cobalt and overcast. A chill draft leaked in. He rolled his shoulders, stepped back from the frosty glass, and went to a beige wall phone. Mitchell dialed an extension.

“Mr. Michaels, here. Yes, Stan, I think you should consider an early release. The weather outside looks nasty. I imagine in a half hour the roads are going to be treacherous—”

His last words were drowned out by the uproar from the excited students. Mitchell waved at them and tried to minimize the noise in the room.

“Alright. Very good. Yes, you have a wonderful night too.” He ended the call.

A moment later a sharp bing sound came over the intercom. “Students. We will be closing early today due to the inclement weather. Please begin to make your way to the buses. Thank you.”

“Hell yeah! Thanks, Mr. Michaels!” one student, a small lanky kid exclaimed.

One of the school cheerleaders, Danni Codren who sat near the middle of the room spoke up. “May I use my cell phone to get my dad to come get me early?”

Others quickly repeated her question asking to also use their phones. Mitchell nodded. This was against school policy to use phones during school hours, but he saw no harm in allowing it now. School had been dismissed.

A PA system bell rang out and made it official.

The students filed out, laughing and overall giddy. They were high school students, but inside they were all still kids.

As the last of the line proceeded out, Corey came up to his desk with another paper in hand. “Hey Mr. M! Here you go in case you get lonely tonight. Enjoy!”

He flipped the paper onto his desk, cackling with laughter as he slipped through the door. The paper had on it a crudely drawn naked woman, her legs splayed open obscenely. The words LICK HERE with a black arrow pointing the way was written above her. Mitchell swept it up in his hands and crumbled it, his temper beginning to growl.

The storm outside also grew in strength and fury as if feeding off Mitchell’s mood. Now, blinding flurries of fresh snow pelted the windows incessantly. Mitchell took a long sip of his coffee, settled back in his chair, and worked to calm his nerves. Corey was a typical jock with the usual obnoxious behavior. Yet something about the mouthy teen got under his skin. He was expected to do well in a college football program somewhere as a running back. For that reason, he barely made any effort with his assignments and tests.

The plain digital clock on his wall displayed 12:45. He had to heed his own advice and started to gather his papers and texts into his work duffel bag. A few minutes later, he jogged with his hands up over his head to shield himself from the snow as he opened his gold Toyota Camry. He flung his bag in the backseat and waited behind the steering wheel.

A few minutes later, he cruised down the I-83, keeping it slow and steady on the slick roadway. He dug out his cell phone. He knew it would be better to call now versus when he reached the woody outskirts of Chicago. Cell towers were not as prevalent, his reception grew spotty. Despite the long everyday drive to and from Bogan, he loved the time of isolation and freedom it gave him. He would often listen to classical music or even lose himself in an audiobook.

Sometimes when the mood took him, he would allow himself a fantasy. A homicide fantasy would bloom in his mind, like a black and thorny rose. He would spin the encounter in his mind in every gruesome detail and direction he could. Mitchell liked to work out the opportunities, challenges, and the obstacles. He conjured every conceivable angle to how he would fulfill his darkest craving to kill a person in the scenario. He buried the needy feelings deep, as deep as his victims in his scenarios.

He called his fiancée. The phone rang twice and as expected, she picked up precisely on the third ring. Gina was a stickler for routine. Currently, she was a stay-at-home marketing exec for a large law firm downtown. Her hours were long, but at least she didn’t have the hassles of commuting.

“Hey, honey,” she greeted him. “How is your day going? Are you still in class?”

“No, Stan called school off early.”

“Wow, really? Why?”

Mitchell shook his head. She had a kind heart, but she would never be regarded as an intellectual. “You haven’t noticed the weather?”

The squeaking wheels of her computer chair could be heard as she scooted away from her desk. “Oh… yeah, okay,” she murmured, obviously looking out the window of her small, third-floor apartment.

“The weather station on the radio reported we will see a record four inches of snow coming in tonight. You okay if I stay tonight after dinner?”

She giggled, “Only you would use the weather as a way to parley a reason to spend the night in my bed!”

He cruised past a beat-up sign that announced it was 33 miles to Romeoville. He’d grab his overnight bag first from his condo and then head to Gina’s place in Lockport. He guided the Camry to the connecting ramp to merge onto I-171. Immediately, Mitchell found the road caked with at least a half inch of snow and not packed down much from other vehicles. He felt the back wheels fishtail a bit. He eased back on the gas and let it coast down to 30 mph.

“I don’t accept that as a rejection of my inquiry, Miss Dawson. I think you are the one who wants…” his words faded as the road took his focus.

Ahead the tarmac angled up as it crested a small hill. He gave it some speed to help clear the top. However, on the other side of the hill, the road appeared to be clear. It was spared the weather since it wasn’t facing the coming wind and storm. He kept the speed going at 45 mph when a patch of orange color darted across at the bottom. A large golden retriever had skidded to a stop and stood in the center of the road. It had dropped something from its mouth and was investigating with its snout.

“Stupid—” Mitchell shouted in surprise. His wheels found no purchase. A hidden, thin sheen of ice covered the freeway. He slid into the other lane and then back to the original. The car’s momentum carried him around and twisted it violently backward. He panicked trying to regain control, yanking the steering wheel on reflex in the spinout’s direction did not help.

Soon gravel ground underneath his tires and the car jerked downward as he launched from the shoulder. The Camry bounced and careened. Screams and pleas for Mitchell to answer Gina came from his phone that had been projected and lay neglected in the back seat.

Mitchell’s hands were torn free from the steering wheel as he rocketed over the center counsel. He crashed hard into the passenger window. His ear lobe burst open, and blood sprayed the interior with tiny droplets. He screamed in terror as he saw the massive tree trunk looming ahead, getting closer, closer!

Before his world shut off like a television set unplugged, Mitchell was launched forward and cracked the windshield with his head. He bounced back and crumpled into the wheel well. The front right fender took the majority of the incredible impact, but the rest of the car wrapped itself around the base of the tree.

There were several lacerations along his cheek, temple, and the top of his skull.

Blood oozed out… Hot, thick, gooey, smooth…  A small pool gathered along his neck and shoulders.

Happy holidays, everyone! I wanted to take a quick moment to update you on my newest releases, my current works-in-progress, and what I’m planning for in the near future.

NEW RELEASES:

**VICTIMS: A Horror Short Story Collection has been doing well, sold on Amazon & Kindle. S.W. Salzman, my narrator, is wrapping up his production of the Audible version and should be on sale before the end of the year!!

**Two new anthologies will be released before the end of the year. First, is The Weatherly Lane Anthology.

A malicious evil taints the land. Any who step into the house at 1214 Weatherly Lane suffers an unspeakable curse. Witness and live through the multiple encounters, decade by decade.

The second anthology from The Fear House Press is Gates of Hell Unleashed. There isn’t a cover yet, but this is in the works and set to be released soon. My story, Suicide Is For Suckers, will be printed within. It’s a tale of desperation and the drive to survive. Does anyone ever win when they sell their soul to the Devil? When more details and information are released, I will pass it along.

**Wordpeddler Society Magazine’s next issue, the Horror Edition, will feature ME and will be released also by the end of the year. In this edition, I am interviewed about my start, my motivations, and my writing process. Also, I have another short story (never published before) called Beneath The Surface. It’s a horrifying tale where summer camp thrill-seeking and curiosity leads to pure terror.

WORKS-IN-PROGRESS:

**Beyond the Barrier, the last in the Wyvernshield series, is in the final wave of edits. It is slightly behind what I hoped for, but it may be out by the end of 2024 or in the first weeks of January 2025. The cover is in the works—another knockout beauty by Joy Landa, who designed all the covers of this series!

**The Deity Staff will have an Audible version available in the first half of 2025. Again, this will be performed by the exceptional talent of Laura Richcreek who has done all of the prior books in the series. She has also agreed to lend her talents to Beyond The Barrier in the coming year!

FUTURE PROJECTS:

**Unfortunately, the serial killer drama, Eclipse, will not be continued on Kindle Vella. Amazon has decided to shut down the entire Vella program by February, 2025. Up to that date, you are able to read the released episodes for free! I will continue the novel, and with luck, it will be out by the end of next year. Eclipse is my first, true crime horror novel (no supernatural elements this time!). It also has ties and links to the previous two series, Elude and Evade.

A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?

**I have teamed up with a small indie press known as Phoenix Oasis Press and will be working with them on an upcoming literary anthology centered around the theme of “curiosity”. I hope to submit a new short story to them in March, 2025. Publication is expected around August. More details to come.

MISCELLANEOUS:

**I was interviewed recently on Historically Haunted Vodcast last week. Please click here if you’d like to check it out.

**Also, for anyone in the local Phoenix, Arizona area, I will be having a book signing at the SUPERHERO SATURDAY EVENT on January 18th, 2025 at the Metro Mall parking lot area. Come by and say hello! All items will be signed for free!

**Keep an eye out for me on BookTok, a part of TikTok. I hope to release in the coming year videos highlighting my content, new releases, my author life and my writer processes.

Thanks again for all your interest in my work and your support as always!

Hey there, Trick-or-Treaters! I have a little taste sample of my latest short story, which will be published in an anthology in November. I will provide more details later as the publication date approaches.

For now, enjoy…

SUICIDE IS FOR SUCKERS                                                                          By Derek Barton

[DAY ZERO]

The street lamps swirled ominously like frenzied lightning bugs all about him. Four walls of night surrounded and obscured the top of the parking garage. Everything before Chad’s eyes blurred and skewed in the whirlwind. The concrete beneath his feet bucked and rippled. It was like a giant’s hand grabbed reality and spun the wheel.

Vomit threatened to surge up his throat. Every sound was dull and muted. Even his heavy panting was barely audible. His back prickled with goosebumps as a sudden wind blew over his sweat-soaked dress shirt. The amber bottle of bourbon slipped from his grasp and shattered at his feet. He clutched at his car door with both hands, stood as still as possible, and waited for the world to slow down and stop.

Several long, drawn-out minutes passed. He eased into his driver’s seat, let his head rest against the seat cushion, and closed his eyes. His breathing began to subside.

The coke… what was in that coke? His mind reeled in the wake of the drug effects. I… I have had coke and bourbon together before and never felt like this. I’m gonna kill Maxie! She gave me a tainted score! That stupid bitch!

He opened his eyes. The streetlights were back at their posts. They dotted the city landscape before him like sunlit dew drops on grass. His tongue stuck to the top of his mouth, his throat was a dried-out husk. A deep-seated craving came over him for that bottle of whiskey.

Chad twisted his head around as he scanned the interior of the Malibu for a stray, abandoned bottle of water. Nothing. Only scattered napkins, straw wrappers, fast-food wrappers, and paper bags cluttered the passenger side.

He gave up the search when he spotted a crumpled pack of cigarettes. After bouncing one out, he found his lighter in the loose change tray of the car counsel.

It took only a few deep drags to feel a calm descend over him. The cocaine still ran frantically through his veins along with whatever else was in it. But now sitting in the car, Chad had a semblance of peace and control.

The view of the city below as it sprawled along the mountains and rushed to the shorelines of the Gulf of Mexico was still breathtaking. He wondered how he managed to destroy the beauty of his life in the face of such amazing natural grandeur.

The coke. Every time. The coke, his brain quickly spoke up in case he had somehow not realized that.

I am not stupid. Top grades in high school. Star in Track and Field. I graduated with a business degree from ACU. I worked and managed a bank branch for four years.

He was not an idiot, but still not smart enough to avoid being an addict for two and a half years.

Today at BNO Financial Bank ended abruptly at 12:25 PM. Vice President Douglas Bramton walked in on him doing three lines in the janitor’s closet.  First mistake. Escorted out of the branch building by security around 1:17 PM.

Call to fiancée, Tess Fields. Second mistake. By 3:11 PM, Chad was a single man again.

After finding Maxie and scoring a fresh stash, he drove over to the Total Wines & Whiskeys on Lehman Avenue. 4:02 PM. Third mistake.

Chad glanced at the Malibu’s dashboard clock. 2:11 AM. He shook his head in disgust. The last five hours were an opaque void. An abyss that could not be revealed or his actions.

The car sat idle and parked at a bad angle on an empty rooftop. Did I just get here? Or have I been here all night?

He sat up and scanned the hood. Doesn’t look damaged, so I doubt I hit anything.

Scoffing and shrugging his shoulders, he settled back. The heaviness settled on him, pressing him like a barbell into his cushioned seat.

Tess was not the love of his life, but she had been very good to him. She was a red-haired beauty with an actual head on her shoulders. In the beginning, they spent hours debating philosophy or conspiracy theories, then would spend the next hours having frantic, wild sex. They celebrated their first anniversary two months ago. He proposed to her a month later.

He couldn’t fight her logic and recalled her words of damnation. How do you expect me to trust you? I never saw you take drugs. Now you are telling me you just lost your job for coke? I don’t know you. After what happened to my brother… Her words had choked off in a sob.  I don’t know you. Never call here again, asshole! Click.

Three missteps. No, that was three strikes. You’re out, man. Game over.

Over and out?

He stumbled out of the car. His legs were pretty shaky. The wind picked up and as he approached the ledge, he felt the light spattering of raindrops.

First, Chad looked up at the fast-moving clouds in the overcast sky. A surging storm was sweeping in from the bay. He leaned over the waist-high stone barrier and scanned the street below. He was in a seven-floor parking garage. A busy street below even at this hour. Cars lined up going both directions and cars parked on both sides. There were no bystanders. No one walking the sidewalks or loitering in front of the few shops that called Descarte Roadway home.

Three strikes. You are out, Chad. Go home…

He took a deep breath and climbed on top of the barrier.

“That is a fine watch you have there, Mr. Beauvais,” a masculine voice called out. Smooth with a slight southern twang. The words hinted at notes of refinement and intelligence.

Chad snapped a look over his shoulder. A slender man, not gaunt or athletic, but trim, leaned against his silver Malibu.

“Wh-what?”

“I said you have a fine watch. A limited-edition silver and gold ’23 Bulova Octava. Yes, it would be a shame to damage it in your fall, don’t you think?” The man flashed a perfect smile with bright teeth, an earnest expression, and a wry grin.

Besides the carefree attitude, he wore a dark brown suit, vest, and a matching derby with a black band. His face was thin with a short beak nose over a reddish-brown goatee.

“I… it’s not for sale, man. Fuck off!”

“Posh, my good man, everything is for sale. Everything and every person has a price.”

The wind gusted and Chad teetered on the edge. His arms shot out to either side, helping him regain some of his balance. But the wind fought back. Pinwheeling, he felt himself start to slip.

The man strutted forward and snagged Chad’s belt, stopping the forward momentum. “If I could offer you one solution, one answer to everything… Would you give me your last seconds to hear me out?”

 “Look! I—”

“Or I could let go?” he said, stepping forward a few inches. Those few inches gave Chad an intimate, birds-eye view of the cement sidewalk. Below were the hard metal cars reflecting streetlamps. He heard and felt the rumble of speeding tractor-trailers making long-haul journeys across the state.

“NO! HEY, STOP! ARE YOU CRAZY?”

“Then let me formally introduce myself so we can have a civilized adult conversation. You may call me, Mr. Holmes.”

“Uh… I’m Chad—”

“Beauvais. Yes. Do you want to hear my offer now?”

Chad nodded, knowing there was little option. As quick as he had been ready to throw it all away, the act of climbing onto the ledge ended his drug stupor. Hanging precariously seventy feet or more in the air by his belt completely sobered him up. He never felt more alive. All five senses thrummed with a vibrancy nearly overriding his sanity. “What do you want, mister?”

“It is Mr. Holmes, I won’t say it again,” his grin had vanished. “It is not what I want, but what I can offer.”

Chad sighed with relief as the stranger helped him back into the garage, plopped down to rest with his back against the barrier, and said, “All right. I’m listening.”

“What would you say is your biggest obstacle in life? What has always got the better of you? Or who perhaps?”

“You tell me. You seemed to know.”

A black wooden cane with a curved handle resembling a snake appeared in his hand. He whipped it up and punched Chad hard in the chest. Mr. Holmes then brought it to a spare two inches from his left eye. “Time is of the essence, and I don’t take to fools. They say that every seventeen seconds a man takes his life. I do not need you; you need me. Are you going to drop your attitude, or do I throw you off the garage myself?” The steely look in Mr. Holmes’ eyes spoke the truth. He was ready to end Chad’s life.

“Sorry,” he gulped. His hand rubbed absently at the spot where the cane had struck. “Go on.”

“I will resolve that root of evil in your life. I can make whatever you name as your challenge, disappear forever. Imagine it. It’s not an offer of instant success, but true power to succeed on your own merits. You’ve always wanted to prove yourself. Make everyone eat their doubts!”

Chad couldn’t help himself, he giggled and then cackled. The words tumbled out. “Oh, man! You had me there. You got me good. Quite the sales pitch! What, are you some psychologist or maybe one of those police negotiators? That was clever, man! Distract me long enough to pull me down from the ledge. Uh, am I under arrest now?” He glanced about expecting police officers to leap from the shadows.

The cane wavered in the air as Mr. Holmes decided if he was being mocked or not. It dropped. He crouched beside him. His hand shot out and caught Chad’s neck in his empty palm.

“Five minutes ago, see what you almost did,” the ominous stranger whispered.

In his mind, a crowd gathered around a parked green sedan. A body flattened and molded into the top of the sedan. It was his body! One of his green eyes stared ahead lifeless. The other eye dangled on his cheek facing the ground. Blood ran in several, thick streams down the front windshield. One broken arm jutted in two different directions and sported the Bulova Octava with a shattered crystal facing.

“Suicide is for suckers, Mr. Beauvais. What is the root of your evil? Tell me.”

“I’m… I’m a drug addict. I can’t stop. I don’t even want to stop.”

“Easy. See, that wasn’t so hard to answer,” Mr. Holmes rose, straightened, and rolled his shoulders. The cane was gone again.

“Do you know where you are tonight? Do you know this address?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then in sixty days, you must come back to me. Stand before me and prove my gift has not been wasted.”

Chad struggled to his feet. “What do you get? What’s the price?”

A flash of his blazing white teeth split the stranger’s face as he smiled and winked. “You are a shrewd banker. Every soul is tainted. It is only natural. The world is filled with temptations and tests. So, every soul has a penance to pay in one form or another. I pay mine by saving good men, keeping the good from their foolish decisions. Suicide is for suckers, remember?”

He swiped at the creases in his suit slacks and smoothed out the wrinkles in his sleeves. “Do we have a deal?”

“Wait. You’ll wipe out my drug addiction. Just like that. And the only thing I need to do is to come back here? Or… or else what?”

“You pay my penance by your good karma and deeds in the world.” Mr. Holmes stopped. His eyes filled with blood. A growl began deep in his chest. “You fail me, then you’ll pay me in another way. For eternity!”

Chad watched as his hand with a will of its own extended and shook Mr. Holmes’ hand.

[DAY ONE – FIRST CUT]

Chad snapped awake, eyes wide and darting. He sat up and found himself in his apartment. Everything felt the same. Dirty sheets, scratchy blanket, and even his stained and wrinkled, white dress shirt. His pants crumpled up and lying on a chair next to a small window.

Three posters hung on the wall. One in a glass frame of a blazing blue Camaro, lights reflecting off the metal as it sat parked in a puddle, reflecting its dark image. The second poster was a movie poster. A copy of the Caddyshack movie. The last poster had a wine stain on one corner. It was a poor rendition of a runaway train merging into the silhouette of a three-masted sailing ship that streaked into the horizon, chasing the setting moon.

A short, black work desk sat opposite the bed. It had his car keys, wallet, cell phone, and a cigarette pack. Piles of napkins and a couple of pizza boxes were stacked on the corner. He did the majority of his work in the office.

All signs indicated home, his place on 77th Avenue.

He yawned, stretched, and pulled his legs free of the covers. Wow. I… I feel good, not even hungover!

Chad got up in his amazement and shambled down the hall into the bathroom. In the mirror, he looked like shit despite what his body indicated. His face thick with stubble, crusties rimmed his eyes, and there was dried drool and bourbon on his chin. His thoughts were slightly foggy as per the normal morning haze. But the newly unemployed had found he couldn’t remember how he got home.

Plucking open one of the sink drawers in the bathroom vanity, his fingers rummaged for his pipe and lighter. As his hand was wrapped around the glass tube, he froze. I’m good. I don’t want it.

The pipe dropped back into the drawer, and the drawer was shut without hesitation.

He smiled at his reflection. I am good. Holy shit, I really do not need a hit!

Above his collar, he noted a spot of red. Christ! Another new stain.

His fingers pulled back the collar to reveal a long scratch, razor-thin. It had bled in his sleep. The whitish tee-shirt had a half-circle of blood almost pie-plate size.

He ran water on a hand towel and blotted the cut. It helped.

Where did that come from? Chad mused.

The flash of an obscured face popped from memory. A dark brown suit, a stylish derby, a black cane. A murmur of conversation. What is the root of your evil? Tell me…

He splashed water onto his face, ignoring his thoughts.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter! It’s a brand-new day. Going to make something of it. Time to refresh the resume,” he said aloud, cheering himself on.

He glanced once more at the bleeding scratch. A cloud of concern passed briefly over his face.

I do hope you enjoyed the preview — I promise more details on the anthology will be coming soon.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!