________________________________________Title: Murdermorphosis
Author: (refer to the cover)
Genre: Mystery Thriller
Synopsis: A beautiful woman, Tammey, is stalked by a psychotic killer, a figure from her past, Ryan. Ryan, for unknown reasons, works to force a confrontation between himself and Tammey, in order to collect a mysterious debt. Close to her breaking point, Tammey enlists the aid of Rodriguez Onitnarat, a police homicide investigator. Rodriguez, with the help of his partner, Stanton Buscemi, discovers, uncovers, experiences, more than what he expected. The cocoon of a murder investigation splits open to reveal a case that may flutter away on murderous wings.
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It's published by Turner Maxwell Books, a publishing company based in the UK. Murdermorphosis is currently available through their official website www.turnermaxwellbooks.com . At the moment, an ISBN# is not assigned, although we are going through the process of requesting one (it takes about two weeks). Once it's assigned, I'll post the information here, and hopefully, it will be available widely (through Amazon and more book retailers). It's listed close to the top of the page under the Latest Releases section. You can check out an excerpt, and, if by chance, you like what you read... order a copy (I'm starting to get the hang of this marketing and promoting thing.).
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This is an excerpt from the book. It's the first chapter in it's entirety, actually...
The Prey
A full, blood red moon, hung in the night sky. Car horns and city sounds occasionally echoed off building walls. On the tenth floor of an apartment complex, on a mostly bare, unlit building wall, a light shined through a small, almost a slit, bathroom window. A bare, feminine hand pushed the window open.
A shadowy figure, from street level, wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head so that his face remained in darkness, studied the window with malicious intent.
#
Tammey Nayr, a beautiful woman, late twenties, brunette, stood naked in front of the bathroom sink and mirror. Hair in a tight bun, she studied her reflection in admiration. She gently touched her cheeks and under her eyes. She caressed her breasts. She noted how her skin was unmarred with blemishes and how her body was the perfect degree of shapeliness. She prided herself on her appearance although she never outwardly expressed it. Many people, especially men, expressed it often. She did not need to.
Tammey, from a soap container located near the faucet of the sink, grabbed a bar of soap. She turned the faucet knob and allowed water to flow. She put her hands and the bar of soap under the flow of water for a moment. Her hands worked to create a soapy lather. She put the soap back in its container and after shutting her eyes, spread the lather liberally on her face.
Hands, clutching the thresh hold of the small window from the outside, unknown to Tammey, appeared. Knuckles turned white as the hands clutched the thresh hold tighter. The top of a head, covered by a gray hood, slowly, shakily, and steadily rose between the clutching hands. Eyes appeared. They studied Tammey as she washed her face.
Tammey bent her body, lowered her head near the flowing water, and washed the lather off her face. She turned the faucet off and blindly groped for a towel behind her. After successfully retrieving a towel, she wiped her face. Her head turned towards the small bathroom window and her eyes glimpsed, for a split second, the previously unknown watcher. She screamed. Her body reacted as if shot. She stumbled to the bathroom floor.
The head quickly dropped below the thresh hold of the window. The hands, just as quickly, followed.
A hand covered Tammey's mouth to stifle screams. She shook and trembled. Shakily, after a moment, her legs responded and attempted to support her body weight. She managed to stand, wrapped the towel around her body, and after another moment of consideration, walked slowly towards the small window. Reaching the window, Tammey took a deep breath and quickly shot her head out, to take a quick peek, and just as quickly, pulled it back in. Unsure, she slowly and cautiously stuck her head back out.
Nothing.
Tammey's head scanned the building wall, just outside her bathroom window. She stood there, with her head looking side to side just outside of the small window, reconfirming what her eyes saw. There were no fire escapes, pipes, ledges, or ropes near her window that a human would need to peer at her from the outside. Only bare wall.
She closed the bathroom window and locked it. She tested it to make sure it was locked securely. She walked out of the bathroom, shut the lights, and closed the door.
#
Dressed in pajamas, Tammey walked into the living room of her
apartment. She noticed that her balcony door was open. She gasped.
Still paranoid from her experience just moments ago, she scrambled to a wooden lamp stand, next to her couch, opened a drawer, and retrieved a small, black handgun. Steeling herself, with the handgun leading the way, like a hunter, she stalked towards the open balcony.
She stepped on to the balcony and jumped when pigeons, heard but not seen, reacted to her presence. She regrouped with a deep breath and looked around.
Nothing.
Sounds of traffic floated to her ears. Normal sights of the city greeted her eyes. She lowered her handgun, walked back into her apartment, and closed the door. She locked it, and after testing it, walked to the couch.
Tammey sat on the couch. She looked at the handgun and put it on her lap. She leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. She wondered if she was going crazy. Did I dream or imagine it? She thought.
She shut her eyes causing tears to roll down her face. As she sat on the couch questioning her sanity, another thought swirled in her head. She recognized the face. It belonged to Ryan, a figure from her past, a figure she thought, had hoped, she would never see again. What the fuck does he want? The question repeated itself in her head, over and over.
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Hope you guys enjoyed the excerpt...
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When I was a kid, I used to have imaginary friends. I question the honesty of those who deny ever having imaginary friends. I place them on the same level as people who deny ever masturbating. What are the chances?
Anyway, I gave it some thought, and am committed to treating this blog like an imaginary friend. I will assume only I can see it...
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