Weston Kincade's A Life of Death - Sensational YA - Adult Paranormal Novel!

“Every man has a turning point in their life. I would have to say that mine is by far the most interesting story I’ve heard. I don’t know what set the events in motion. It defies all logic, but to this day I attribute it to sixteen days and a research project a lot like yours.”
Jamie let out an exasperated sigh at the reference to school, a sore subject they often argued about.
Alex chuckled with familiarity. “When I was your age, I looked at life a lot like you do. I was a high achiever until I reached high school. But, there was one fateful day that changed my life forever.”
“The day Grandpa died?”
Alex nodded. “I was never the same after that. It started before I even made it to Madessa High School. Life at home fell apart after your grandfather passed. Your grandmother sold the house and moved us into a small trailer park. We stayed there, in Tranquil Heights. She found what work she could, but things were never the same. Before a year had passed, she remarried. For the following three years, I walked to school, passing through town like a stranger. Before your grandfather died, I did everything by the book. I got good grades, did what Dad asked, and things turned bad. With your grandfather gone, I became different, isolated. That went on for years.
By the time I realized something was changing, I had started my last year in high school. “School had become a chore. Each day was the same; hours were spent in classes where I did as little work as possible, and I barely managed to pass. I had a pathetic excuse for a substitute father and didn’t look forward to going home, if you could even call it home. So, I always tried to make that walk from school last forever. It was never long enough. “Each day I stopped by my father’s grave at the old cemetery. At the foot of his grave stood an ancient pine. I often sat under its drooping branches and stared at his gray, unadorned tombstone. Other headstones mentioned time served in the military, like my father’s. At the time, I didn’t understand how something like that deserved to be remembered. It had been his decision, but I hated how much of his time it had stolen from me.”

A Life of Death

By Weston Kinkaid

When his son has a paper to complete for school, Alex tells a strange, mystical tale that captures his attention...just as he now has done for many readers... You'll want to be one of them if you enjoy the paranormal, the spooky, and the unique. Yes, at least for me, I'd not heard of the concept for A Life of Death. It is about a young boy who has begun to "see" the deaths of those from whom he's touched a possession. Why just the death? Read it... 

Alex's father had died and his mother soon remarried...into an abusive environment. Alex was confused, hurt and still grieving, so he wasn't willing to do much to put effort into the family either. He had gained two sisters, both of whom he ignored, at least at the beginning. Still they wanted to walk to school with him, although later he would speed up and leave them... It was while he was walking when the first time happened...

What am I saying?

 I tried to look around, but movement was out of my control. The jumbled words became clear. However, it wasn’t my voice. It was feminine and too proper. There was something else in the tone, too… fear. The same emotion filtered into my thoughts and through my body.

 “Please, Theodore, I didn’t do anything.” Suddenly, I was thrust backward, away from the large house. I slammed into something cold and hard… the iron fence. Pain pierced my thoughts like a lightning bolt. Hands tightened around my throat. My eyes settled on a man less than a foot away. He pulled me back toward him. Something about his chiseled jaw and cheeks looked familiar. Large, rough fingers tightened around my neck, and the middle-aged man slammed me against the gate. Again, pain lanced through my mind.

“The hell you didn’t,” he rasped at arm’s length. His anger engulfed his eyes, lighting them with a fire that could illuminate the night sky. It was an anger I had come to know well over the last three years with the drunk. “I saw you at the Independence party. You were pandering to any man that set eyes on you. You even blew kisses at the Quigley boy, off the veranda.” 

An old family home appeared
with a cast-iron fence. Rounded
 steeples perched atop each post.
 The enclosure guarded the
 majestic house, which had always
 belonged to the Brogand family. 
They were well respected in town,
 and their ancestors were some
 of the original settlers of 
this part of Virginia. 
~~~

“No, I was not,” I whispered, too prim and proper, but my voice quaked with fear. His words brought memories of the night to mind, a party of elite celebrating a country’s newly acquired independence. The styles were archaic, but vivid. It was as though I’d been there that very night. Mr. Quigley was a young man in his early twenties, and he was quite taken with me—no, her. It was difficult to distinguish between the two of us, like when you take some other form in a dream. You almost lose yourself and live within the vision. That has to be what this is––a dream. The memories stitched their way through my thoughts, overwhelming my conclusion and giving her lie away. She’d done everything Theodore claimed––flirted, stolen kisses, and more. “Please don’t do this,” she beseeched him. 

The objection infuriated the man further. His black coat strained against his muscle-bound form, and his arm quivered, tense and strong. I tried to fight back, clutching at his forearm, but it didn’t faze the brute. He was solid as a rock. His rage took hold, and he threw me into the gate, over, and over. My skull rattled at each impact with the unyielding metal 

spires, shattering my thoughts until the world collapsed into the blackest of nights.   * * *  

I stumbled away from the iron-wrought gate. The Brogand manor stood like a silent witness under the sun’s morning rays. The light flew through sparse clouds to illuminate the large home, but something dark lurked in its shadowed corners. The trees still held their multi-colored leaves, each of them preparing to leave on the winds of change. Homeless Bob hadn’t even caught up to me, yet. What the heck was that… a dream? If it was, it was a doozey. I wavered between school and returning to the trailer park. After a few indecisive moments, I picked the least dreadful of the two and proceeded to school. The rest of the way, I stared at the sidewalk, contemplating the vision as I meandered down odd streets that barely registered in my conscious thoughts. Was it a dream, or am I going insane?

~~~

Alex had been walking through a residential area, happened to touch a gate and had seen a young girl being murdered...or, really, for awhile, he had been that girl and she had spoke through him! By the time he had dragged away from the fence and mindlessly walked on to school, he was late, of course and went right into his Coach who was telling him to run laps...

Soon Jessie, a friend, asked about how he was, but it was only when he met Paige, with whom he could talk about his home life, that he shared a little...

A moment later, the only other person I found worth listening to caught up and matched my stride. “Hey, Paige,” I mumbled.

 “Hey, Alex, how are you?” Her gray gym shirt attempted to make her into a drab clone of the rest of us. But if the school had enacted a uniform dress code, it wouldn’t detract from her beauty. Brown curls bounced over her shoulders like ocean waves. She smiled as she fell in step. For brief moments, she turned her honey-brown eyes on me. They were like amber pools, deep enough to drown in.

“Not bad,” I lied. I wanted to tell her about the dream. I was sure she’d see through my fib, like Jessie had. But I still didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone. What if something was wrong with me? 

“Is the drunk still being a Neanderthal?” she asked in a subdued whisper. She liked the characterization. Having only seen him once, the reference was motivated by my stories of his brute behavior and the aftereffects of his tirades that I couldn’t always hide. Paige was the one person I could talk to about my home life. She hadn’t gone through anything like I had, but her caring soul was visible with just a look. 

“Yeah, pretty much. I just ignore him as best I can. One more year and I’m gone.” Paige sent me a pitying look. “How’s your morning?” I asked, trying to steer clear of me as the topic of discussion. I could tell she was concerned, but she humored me. 

“Fine. You missed Trig this morning. Mrs. Easely gave us a quiz.” I shrugged it off. “You think you did well?” “Yeah,” she answered. “What about you. What’ll you do?”

 “Eh… she’ll have me do a make-up, like usual.” 

~~~

Fear took hold, and a
 feminine voice tumbled across
 my lips, pulling my thoughts
 back to the overflowing
 bathroom.
 “No, I tried… I did…
I’m sorry.”
The child gave no sign
 of hearing.
~~~

And when, later, she suggested they work together on an English paper, he was thrilled because he'd wanted to spend more time with her... But then, that's when it happened again... Alex had gone to her home to work on the project and had gone to the bathroom... He bent over to admire and touch the claw-toed tub and immediately knew...

When he returned, he looked pale and Paige noticed so he mentioned the tub and maybe having stomach troubles. But then Paige shared the back story with him and how she hated the tub...

A visible shudder ran through Paige. “It haunts me every night.”

 “What do you mean?” Her answer made me less certain about the truth of the dreams. 

“Aunt Sarah hit her head and drowned in that tub. Why my parents kept it, I don’t know. They said it belonged to my great grandmother and they couldn’t bear to part with it… but each time I step out of it, I still feel dirty.”

 I nodded, knowing the feeling.

 “What caused it?”

 “The police said she probably slipped on the tiles, but I always wondered if it might have been something else.”

                                                                            ~~~

Alex thought more and more about what was happening and realized that what he was seeing was apparently true accounts of the deaths of different people!

So while he and Paige began to work on the paper which would cover the Civil War, a different type of investigation began--who had murdered the people he was seeing die?!! And when they visited the battlefield, he blacked out, having been involved as men died all around him. It was only when a small group told him, "it's not your time." that he realized he was alive...

By now Paige was used to things and sharing in the investigation...as well as working to complete their paper!

Secrets from the past are never easily discovered...and uncovered...but when somebody was right there at the scene, it helps quite a bit! But when terrible things happened at home, that was first priority...and made a connection with the police that moved things much more quickly. Readers get the chance to participate in searching and putting the researched clues together. Although the ending was hard to accept, it fit well into the story and was not unexpected...

Kinkaid's written a fascinating tale that will both share psychic scenes of murders in progress as well as the personal life of a teen within a terrible home life, as he struggles with the death of his father and a completely new family, including an alcoholic, abusive father, while discovering a gift that's he's received that's scaring him more than even his stepfather! The story flows easily and quickly becomes a page-turner as readers are thrown into horrible murder scenes at any time--i.e., when Alex touches something connected to death...

I'm looking forward to the next book in what appears to be a promising long-running series that can't help but have a very successful run. I recommend you get in right at the beginning with A Life of Death!


GABixlerReviews

Official Author Bio:

Weston Kincade is the author and editor of the science-fiction/dark fantasy series Altered Realities, the paranormal coming-of-age mystery A Life of Death, and co-author and editor of Strange Circumstances, a short story anthology about twists of fate. Some of Mr. Kincade's short stories, including "Prison Torment" and "House Al-Amin," have been featured in separate short story anthologies by Thadd Presley Presents. Weston is currently working on the sequels in his series and a few new books. To find out more about Mr. Kincade and his work, visit http://www.kincadefiction.blogspot.com.

Tagline
I'm an editor, author, and writing instructor and can't keep my thoughts to myself. I hope people enjoy them, but at least now they aren't banging around in my head.
Introduction
Editor at http://www.wakeediting.com, author, and writing instructor. I hope to help people through my experiences and writing. I enjoy books, movies, and much more.
Bragging rights
I have a great wife, have written multiple books, wonderfully supportive friends and family, and even a few wonderful fans.

Related articles

• Book Review: "A Life of Death"

Extraordinary Retribution by Erec Stebbins - An Excerpt...

1

By the time he reached the razor-wire, the Syrian landscape had shrugged off the delusion of the irrigated greenery around Damascus. Here, the Old Man, the desert, could not be hidden and refused to be banished. Cold even in the oppressive heat, crueler than the scalped links fencing out trespassers, the sands smiled sadistically, remembering centuries of slaughter and dreaming of future screams of anguish.

For the man in the truck, gazing across the landscape, the screams returned to him now. Howling, gasped, panicked. His own and many around him. Images of dank stone, blood and waste-soiled cells. Eyes. Faces. Tormentors and their hideous tools. The weeping of grown men echoed inside his mind as the winds stirred the dry sands around his vehicle. He squeezed the steering wheel tightly, refusing their summons, determined more than ever to rise above their damage and demons. He had come too far to be defeated now.

He stepped out of the begrimed pickup truck and slammed the door. Glancing over the barren land, he followed the fence line to the horizon. The entrance was at a large distance around the perimeter of the compound, hidden in part by an outcropping of desert rocks. His well-paid sources had been accurate: an entrance from the rear would likely go unnoticed. And what madman would ever break into this place? He did not expect vigilance.

 He moved around to the back of the truck and untied a dusty canvas covering the bed. Underneath were several heavy crates. He opened each, removing weapons and explosives, strapping them to his body, and moved to the passenger side of the vehicle. From the glove compartment, he removed a map, glanced at it fleetingly, and pocketed the ruffled pages. It was memorized.

Night fell quickly in the deserts of Syria. In the darkness and desolation, short metallic clips sounded and fell mute on the empty sands. As a shadow, he passed through an opening cut into the gray outlines of the fence and vanished into the blackness.

Through the sandy winds sweeping across the compound, lights twinkled from a handful of incandescent bulbs. Near the gated entrance, he left a guard inside a small shed, seeming to doze peacefully, the unnatural angle of his neck observable only at close range. Before him, a desolate stone structure was dimly outlined by the band of the Milky Way, a single window of light visible in the darkness. Voices could be heard, at times loud and rude, spilling clumsily from the room. Harsh, staccato bursts of laughter confirmed the presence of the prison guards inside. He darted past the window and pressed himself flat against the compound walls. He slid along the rough surface toward the door, arm raised, his hand ending in an extended, metallic cylinder. He made no sound until he spun and kicked in the flimsy wooden door.

He saw four men around a small table, cigarettes in their mouths, pornography and cards strewn haphazardly across the stained wood. As the door swung madly on its hinges and smashed into the wall, they jumped, confused, turning toward him. Even that small pause meant death.

He fired several shots in the confined space. The explosions were amplified and echoed throughout the stone chamber, spilling down the poorly lit hallway opposite to the gunman. Two of the men arched, their heads snapping backward as the bullets blew open their skulls. The whitewashed walls were sprayed red. As the other two men lurched upward and towards him, he spun, his right foot arcing like a sledgehammer coming down, whipping the nearest man backward onto the table. Glasses shattered, and cards dispersed as the guard rolled roughly and fell hard on the stone floor. The intruder channeled the momentum of the spinning motion, and his gun hand came whirling around toward the second man, who now stood unprepared, barely having obtained a fighting stance. His attempted blow was smashed aside, and his jaw shattered as the man’s gun arm brought the metal crashing downward. All four guards now lay still around the table, two dead, two unconscious.

The assailant aimed his weapon at the guard near his feet, firing directly into his head. He then turned and aimed at the other prone figure, rendering a similar judgment. He studied the faces carefully. “At night, five remain once the others leave for the day. And Mahjub works late.”He didn’t need to be told this by his informant. Yes, he knew Mahjub worked late. He would never forget. Nor would he forget his face. Mahjub was not in this room. He must be….below. He had been busy, perhaps.  But not now. By now, he would have heard the shots. He would be afraid.

The assassin smiled.

Two floors below, buried deeply in the Syrian sands, a long hallway with numerous cells ran its begrimed course. Broken men were locked behind stone-walled enclosures with iron doors. The cells were like graves: shallow pits scraped into the rock, devoid of light or even the space to stand. At the far end of the hallway, opposite the stairs, was a small room without a door. Inside Mahjub Samhan clutched a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. Both hands shook as he cowered behind an upturned table in the middle of the room. He cried out in a high-pitched voice.

“Kamil? Saif?” There was only silence. “Bassam? Nadeem!” He wiped the dripping sweat from his eyebrows and tried to focus toward the stairs. A solitary bulb dangled limply from exposed wires in the middle of the hallway. His left leg began to shake. “Answer me! Who is there? What is happening?”

Suddenly, before he could focus or react, a shadow seemed to leap from nowhere, an explosion slapped his ears, and the bulb burst. Shards of glass rained on the stone floor like small bells. A terrible darkness blotted out his vision. In panic, Mahjub screamed, firing shots wildly into the blackness.

A bright light leapt from across the darkness, blinding him. A sizzling rod landed only a foot away from the table. Momentarily confused and distracted by the fire, Mahjub stared down at the stick burning beside him. Explosive? Too late, he turned his weapon toward the sound of rushing footsteps from the hallway, the searing afterimage of the flame obscuring his sight.

A gunshot rang. His right shoulder exploded in agony. His knees buckled, and he fell backward against the wall, releasing a howl of pain as he slid to the floor. He dropped the knife from his left hand and reached over to hold his injured shoulder, grimacing as he felt the warm blood coat his arm and fingers.

He squinted against the light as it was raised above his head. He saw a tall, dark shape behind the flare, a gun in one hand aimed at him. In a swift motion, the table was righted and the flare violently wedged into the rotting boards like a candlestick. The figure crouched beside him.

“You always were a coward, Mahjub,” spoke the voice in accented Arabic. Trying to block the pain, Mahjub strained to place the origin. Saudi? Pakistani?He stared at the face partially concealed in shadow. He had never seen it before. Light hair, blue eyes…American? Nothing made sense. Had the Americans turned on them after all this time? Did they need to bury this operation so completely? With all the chaos in the nation, did they care so much now?

“You don’t recognize me, do you, Mahjub?” the figure asked, almost with amusement. “How fitting, to lie here in pain, your death awaiting you, and not know the first thing about your tormenter.”

Mahjub felt the panic well within him again. “Sir, please, don’t kill me. Whatever we have done wrong, we can fix. We will not speak. We will disappear. Please, not like this.”

Mahjub’s eyes widened at the sound he heard. The man with the gun laughed. Laughed at him! “Mahjub, how do you live outside this place?” The Syrian only looked at the gunman in distress.

“I mean, when you buy fruit at the market, mixing with decent people, or entertain your mother-in-law, do you think about breaking men’s fingers? Sodomizing them? Do you think of blood and vomit when you stir her coffee? Do their screams, their pleas for mercy keep you awake at night?”

“Sir, no, please, I don’t know…”

“You know,” said the man, his blue eyes seemingly glazed over, frosted, utterly cold. The shadowed form whispered ominously, “See, I know what you do, what you are.” Mahjub felt his blood run cold.

“These poor men here,” said the pale man, gesturing toward the hallway, “they don’t know who you are, but they know what you are.” The man spoke with such venom, a snake’s hiss. “It took some time to track you down.”

Mahjub began to cry, clutching his blasted shoulder, grime and blood on his hands and face. A man with such power over others, now powerless, weeping like a child. “Please….”

There was no pity in the cold blue eyes before him. “Consider me more merciful than you ever were.”

The man stood up and aimed the weapon.

“No!” Mahjub began to scream, but a final gunshot ripped through his throat, silencing his cry as he fell against the wall. He gasped vainly for breath, his healthy arm at the gurgling wound, his eyes swimming, his feet kicking madly as he drowned in his own blood. It was over in less than a minute.

The assassin spat on the dead man, turned, and carried a set of keys from the room. One by one, he unlocked the doors along the hallway as he walked toward the stairs. He spoke loudly. “They’re all dead! Leave now, if you can. God soon brings fire to this place!”

Soft sounds of bodies stirring could be heard within the cells. The hinges of one door ground behind him. When he reached the first step, he dropped the large keychain and ascended to the upper floors.

The truck made a startling sound in the desert night as he turned the key. Twenty minutes. That was enough. If they had not escaped yet, they were as good as dead anyway. He stared down at a small radio transmitter on the seat next to him. A red light blinked at the upper-right corner. He pressed the button underneath, and a bright orange glow flashed before him in the darkness. Several seconds later, the sound arrived, the rumbling blast from an explosion as the compound was blown into the sky, rubble and embers raining down on the dark sands.

The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.

He doubted Jesus had meant it that way. He shifted gears and raced away from the inferno.

It had begun.

~~~

Extraordinary Retribution Out Now! Erec Stebbins' Latest Stunning Followup to The Ragnarok Conspiracy!

EXTRAORDINARY RETRIBUTION

Sometimes evil is not born of madness, but madness of evil.

A ruthless killer bent on revenge exposes a global cover-up that threatens our democratic founda-tions. A rogue CIA agent partners with the brother of a slain colleague to unravel a mystery that extends to the highest corridors of power. Can they stop a madman before he completes his final act of Extraordinary Retribution?  

Out Early! Yahoo! See My Review Later Today!

kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/Extraordinary-Retribution-Erec-Stebbins-ebook/dp/B00GNR8466

Paperback:

http://www.amazon.com/Extraordinary-Retribution-Erec-Stebbins/dp/0989000478/

Hardcover:

http://www.amazon.com/Extraordinary-Retribution-Erec-Stebbins/dp/0989000486/

Spotlighted Author Julia Madeleine Starts Her Blog Tour....

Reblogged!


April 16th: Cafe of Dreams - book review
April 18th: Life In Review - book review
April 19th: Daz's Place - interview
April 23: Psycho Noir - interview
April 26th: Crime Fiction Lover - book review
April 27th: Jersey Girl Book Reviews - book review and guest post
April 30th/May1st: Musings of an All-purpose Monkey - book review and guest post
May 1st: Chin Wag At The Slaughterhouse - interview
May 4nd: Limerence Magazine - book review
May 7th: Lynnette's Book World - book review
May 10th: The Eclectic Reader - book review and book giveaway 
May 12th: Booksie's Blog - book review
May 14th: The Road To Here - book review
May 14th: Let’s Book It - book review 
May 15th: Book Junkie - book review
May 16th: Book Reader's Heaven - book review and guest post
May 21st/May 22nd: Colloquium - book review and guest post
May 28th: My Life In Stories - book review, guest post, and ebook giveaway
Unscheduled Apperences: Ginger Nuts of Horror - book review
I Meant To Read That - book review
Dead End Follies - book review

Author’s Bio:

Julia Madeleine is a thriller writer and tattoo artist living in the Toronto area with her husband and teenaged (future tattooist) daughter. For a year she lived in the country on a 30-acre property in the middle of nowhere which became the inspiration for her novel, No One To Hear You Scream. Find out more about her books at www.juliamadeleine.com


Reviews of Prequel and The Truth About Scarlet Rose will appear here at BRH on May 16th...

U.K. 2nd Best-Selling Author Bringing Latest Greatest to U.S.! Check it Out!

Amazon says that I'm the second-bestselling British author.
 To be honest, Lee is only ahead of me because he sells so many
 in the US! (from FaceBook Wall!!)

Nightfall

By Stephen Leather












There's been books and even one popular song about deals with the Devil, but Stephen Leather twisted that in an even more sinister way in Nightfall--a man chose to make a deal for "his son's" soul as opposed to his own! I must admit that I had some hesitancy in beginning since this type of horror novel can get very gruesome...

However, what actually happened is that the main character was so professionally experienced that he seemed able to approach the situation just as if it were a case. He immediately started to investigate, research and consider all options! For me, I was thankful that the horror became secondary; and what the author's choice in creating this character as he did was to actually transfer the novel into a mystery thriller that pulled me right in and kept me turning page after page to see what would happen. And the ending was perfect!

Out March 20th - you can pre-order NOW!

Jack Nightingale had lived a normal life, respected as a professional police negotiator until his last case. He had been called to try to talk a young child down from jumping and as he talked with her, he thought he was being successful since he got her to tell him that her father had been abusing her... But then suddenly she just jumped and he had been unable to stop her. It was the second phase of this case, though, that had resulted in his leaving his position.

Jack had gone to confront the girl's father. But while there, her father  jumped or was pushed from the window...

Of course there was no evidence to explain what had happened and Jack was not talking. In reality, he only remembered one thing--the man had turned to him and said "You're going to hell, Jack Nightingale..." Of course everybody thought Jack had pushed him and most felt that the man deserved it and that Jack was a hero. But his reputation could not sustain through the "possibility" though he was never charged.

Two years later, Jack had begun his own private investigation office, living close to the bone from case to case when he was contacted by a lawyer who explained that his father had died and he had inherited all of his estate. Of course, Jack felt it was a mistake--he had been adopted, but his parents had never told him he was not their biological son... Jack had also begun having weird dreams...

Cutting to the chase, Jack learned that his father had made a deal for his son so that he would have a wealthy financially successful life, which he'd had. But when Jack first went into the mansion which was now his, all of the furniture, paintings, etc. were gone. He learned that his father had begun selling everything to buy books--books on magic, witchcraft, demonology... Had he been trying to get out of the deal?

The investigation and research conducted by Jack is fascinating as he delves into what his father had done when he was born, what he'd done as he was near death, and as Jack's birthday approached. Jack's soul was due on his 33rd birthday... He realized that the deal must be true, because whenever he tried to discover more from his family or others, they were already dead by the time he reached them!

I enjoyed the comment on Leather's Facebook Wall, about Lee Child selling so many books here in U.S. and that is why he's second best-selling author in the U.K. As we learn more about him and read more of his books, like Nightfall, I am sure he will begin to be more in competition with Child! Highly Recommend--I thoroughly enjoyed this one!

About the Author

Stephen Leather was a journalist for more than ten years on newspapers such as The Times, the Daily Mail and the South China Morning Post in Hong Kong. Before that, he was employed as a biochemist for ICI, shovelled limestone in a quarry, worked as a baker, a petrol pump attendant, a barman, and worked for the Inland Revenue. He began writing full time in 1992. His bestsellers have been translated into more than ten languages. He has also written for television shows such as London's Burning, The Knock and the BBC's Murder in Mind series. You can find out more from his website, www.stephenleather.com.

Book Received Via
Wunderkind PR




GABixlerReviews

Dark Thriller Takes You Where You May Not Want To Go...

Image by ntr23 via Flickr

"WE ENSURE THAT NOTHING
EMBARRASSES YOU ANY MORE
SLIPS, MISUNDERSTANDINGS
DISMISSALS ARGUMENTS AND
ERRORS.

WE KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD SAY
WE SAY WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR
PROFESSIONAL AND DISCREET."

Sorry


By Zoran Drvenkar


Translated by Shaun Whiteside








I'm not totally sorry I read this book, but I do caution readers...this is a very dark thriller in my opinion. Be advised...

There are, basically, two separate stories that merge almost immediately. From then on, there is constant movement--action, if you will--that allows readers to see each character's "take" on the story. Specifically, the story moves from the point of view of various characters and also moves from the past to the present. If you don't sink into the story, you could become lost. At the same time, sinking into the story may be difficult and chilling...

Four childhood friends, at a specific point in their adult lives, fatefully meet again. Each of them has a past that has left them hesitantly looking toward the future, wondering what they can do. Kris is the one that comes up with the idea...after just losing his job, he nonetheless found himself talking to a woman and helping her through her own problem, sharing the right words that, in truth, should have come from the individual who had hurt her.

Later, as each of his friends arrive at his apartment, he remembers what had happened and realizes that he has a skill, the ability to say, "I'm sorry." And that is how the four go into business--a business, where individuals can pay to have somebody else apologize for something you've done. It was aimed toward businesses especially, such as when somebody was fired...

Without little effort, the business becomes a success!

And then You entered the story...

"You" is the character that hires the company, to apologize to a woman... But when everything is arranged and the trip is made to the woman's home, she is found hung on the wall, nailed by her hands and head... Still, Kris and his friends had been threatened, they tape the "apology" read to the deceased for their client who then adds... Oh, and while you are there...get rid of the body...

"You" begins to tell his story to readers, about how he was once a young boy with a close friend, who called themselves Butch and Sundance. But one day while they were out playing, a man and woman find them and take Butch away. He is returned later, changed... A month later they come again. Sundance wants to go in place of Butch, but they want Butch... They threaten the lives of their parents if the boys tell. It goes on for years...

Readers: Enter cautiously into the world of child physical and sexual abuse and his pedophile companions...

"Then Butch sobbed. Once, loudly. Karl immediately drew a knife from his belt. Butch fell silent. Karl tapped the tip against Butch's nose. He ran it over his cheek and wiped the tears away with the blade.
"Would you like me to pop upstairs to your parents and cut their lousy hearts out?"...

What happens, though, when an abused child becomes an adult?

Can justice occur? Can an apology suffice?

This book is very suspenseful and it fulfills the best of whodunits, simply because there is so much violence. It must be seen as uniquely well-written. Interestingly, in the acknowledgments by the author, you will see: "I've tormented you over and over again with this novel, until you found out how much I was tormenting myself with it and took me aside and told me it would all be OK"...or "I was full of doubts, because you love the darkness and forgive me my evil self..."for the thoughts that shouldn't be."

There are many thoughts that shouldn't exist in this world, especially about what ultimately happens to children. But it does happen and I believe this book portrays what could and probably has happened as a result. For that reason alone, I applaud the efforts of this author. But I can only recommend it to those who are willing to experience what happened to Butch and Sundance... You decide...


Book received via
Amazon Vine


GABixlerReviews