Here is a excerpt of my new book, 606 University:

The scream pierced the night’s stormy lightning and aroused the unconscious man like a blast of a billiard ball break. Lee W. Hickok, MD was shocked awake. He wondered for a moment if it was he who had died. It was a haunting echo, shot through the upper floor of the old fraternity. Perhaps the sound was the only thing that could awaken the drunken man. The hysterical cry drilled through his cortex. For it was such a tormented and tortured shriek, etched as a ratchet into his intoxicated brain.
He lay in the adjacent television room, alone and plastered beyond the world. Shivering on the cracked linoleum floor, he froze from the icy Galveston cold.
The television fuzzed with static against the backdrop of the stationary television pattern. The well-used TV stood against all odds on the old three-legged low table, the broken leg propped up with a stack of yellowed medical journals.
He pulled himself upright to sit against the black leather couch stained by other drunken visitors and imprinted by ancient cigarette burns. In his right hand, an empty mug decorated with the Zeta of Phi Chi insignia; in his left, an empty bottle of Kentucky aged Jim Beam Bourbon, sweet amber. He put them both aside and struggled to get up, one cowboy boot half-ajar on his foot. He kicked away the boot, and stumbled to the doorframe to collect his thoughts. He gazed across the empty party room, the balcony’s sliding-glass door stood open. The Houston Astro black and orange shower curtains--the frat’s tribute to Halloween--billowed into the room in the near storm winds. At the foot of the balcony stood a puddle of water, the floor wet and pounded from the wind and rain. He slipped as he made his way across the slippery floor.
With difficulty, Lee W. struggled to get up and looked out of the bottom of the balcony on his knees. The deluge blew, and he struggled with the sliding doors trying to close them. He tried to forget, but the scream returned to his mind, and he pulled himself up looking for its source.
He hoped for something else. She lay lifeless and sprawled out on the circular drive, her neck twisted in an awkward position. He knew her identity and realized her death the moment he spied her. Vomit came to his throat, and he turned and rushed to the restroom, where the toilet ran, overflowing. He heaved into the bowl, forgetting its dysfunction, and turned to hurry down the stairs to the ground floor. He was out the front double doors quickly and into a fracas.
A small crowd gathered at the site of the growing tragedy. There was chaos in the air.
“Where did she come from?”
“Who is she? Oh, it’s her!”
“Is she dead?”
The storm blew and covered the site with rain. Many dropped to their knees and examined the girl. The moon was full and cast an eerie well-lit scene. She had mahogany colored red hair with long curls now thrown haphazardly down her back. She wore a tousled black sweater pulled up revealing a black bra-strap, with a short dark tangled skirt over black nylons and viciously crumpled legs. Her head, twisted with violence, her lifeless eyes an eerie turquoise green, oddly beautiful but motionless. Blood oozed from her mouth, now caked around her red painted lips. An out stretched left arm brutally twisted and fractured seemed to grab her small dark purse.
Lee W. stood on the outside of the gathering crowd just staring and not believing. His nausea would not pass as the rain soaked him. A girl to his right asked her name to which the urologist whispered: “Siobhan, Siobhan Maloney.”
“She was pretty,” the girl said quietly. Lee W. nodded in silent agreement.
“No pulse,” one said after feeling her carotid. “She is not breathing,” another said dropping and putting a cheek to the side of her twisted head.
A man in a navy blue blazer and khaki pants made his way separating the group. He dropped a tattered black doctor bag at his side, kneeled by the victim, and removed a black cardiology stethoscope. With only one earpiece, he placed the chest piece under her torso.
“Are there breath sounds,” asked many from the crowd?
He shook his head “no” in response to the question.
“We have to turn her!” The man said to the crowd. He encouraged help and the group lifted her up, stabilized her twisted neck, and turned her onto her back. The man continued to listen for breath sounds. Absent these, he began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. A girl dropped to her knees on the other side of Siobhan, felt her sternum with her palms, and began chest percussions.
The girl called out: “one and two and three and four and five,” stopping her CPR briefly as the man lifted only the victim’s jaw while keeping her neck in position and blew in two one second breaths. This process continued back and forth back and forth, as the group stood in shock and viewed the sad resuscitation.
“She was on my internal medicine rotation.”
“Her parents own Siobhan Medical Care in Dallas.”
“This is bad news.”
“Stop CPR,” the man said to the girl and the group as he felt for a carotid pulse. Absent that pulse, the two began CPR again.
After some discussion from the group, a young woman made her way into the fraternity main house. She looked around frantic, and then found the telephone. She flooded the room with light as cockroaches escaped, racing away into the walls. She ran to the wall-mounted phone and dialed 911 quickly.
“Yes this is Galveston County Emergency services. How can I help you?”
“Yaw-all we need help. Please come quick. She dropped out of the balcony, broke her neck I think. We’re doing CPR now.”
“First, where are you located?”
“Phi Chi, the fraternity.” The girl rustled around and found an old phonebook sitting on the debris-laden floor. She tossed away a plastic beer cup and shook liquor residue off the book. Looking at the front page, she returned. “Let’s see. Yaw-all I can’t read it,” she said searching the book with desperation. The girl rubbed the page until it was somewhat dry. “Okay, yaw-all, it says here 606 University. We’re at the fraternity Zeta of Phi Chi at 606 University…”