Marti Healy

“The eerie, still, darkness was flickered and slivered by small receding flames, and was wrapped in the brown smell of burned beans and tobacco smoke and human sweat, and Kit had the sense that he was somehow simply a spectator to another side of reality – observing, listening.”
― Marti Healy, Blinding the Moon

“The night around them had become thick with blue shadows and unnatural breezes, and the sounds of scavengers and lost things. There were scurrying movements and distant dogs barking, the shouts of faraway humans using indistinguishable words. It sounded like neither the city nor the country to Kit. It sounded like a long way from home.”
― Marti Healy, Blinding the Moon

“The corridor was concrete-damp and shadow-dark. Even in the midst of the Texas summer heat, the halls of the prison could be chilled with trapped air that seemed years old, aching with stale sadness. It’s what Kit felt first – until the dank, wet cold lay heavily across his exposed neck and arms. It stank like men’s sweat from fear and unwashed garments. Kit was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of pending doom and violent grief. He heard the weeping behind him – turned and saw nothing, then vapor, then Chief Santana himself. It was like a water reflection or someone seen through fog. The footsteps then came; not as hard-soled shoes, but with the soft shuffling of old bare feet against cement floors. The vapor and cold dissipated as suddenly as they had come. And Kit suspected the ghost had come because of him – something to do with him. But exactly what eluded him.”
― Marti Healy, Blinding the Moon

“Do you believe a place can have its own distinct rhythm? I do. Just as surely as the pulling of tides. Just as meaningful as a beating heart. And just as mysterious as the throaty purr of a well-stroked cat. I believe every place has its own unique rhythm. And I believe we are either in or out of sync with it.”
― Marti Healy, The Rhythm of Selby