Suspense, Mystery, Horror and Thriller Fiction
January 2012
Inside New Releases "Bloodrose" Andrea Cremer "Edge of Survival" Toni Anderson "betrayal" Robert Fitzpatrick & Jon Land
Sneak Peek Hauntings, at Releases From Zombies & Book Jaden Terrell and Reviews Neal Baer & Jonathan Greene await you inside The new thriller from the author of Final Price C r e di t s John Raab From the Editor President & Chairman
Shannon Raab Every year we say the same thing Creative Director in January, where did the past year go? Time seems to move at a lightening pace, bringing us Romaine Reeves CFO another year of the unexpected. Christmas has just ended and we head into the New Year with Starr Gardinier Reina very little holidays and for many of you, cold Executive Editor weather and snow. However there is a bright spot. Terri Ann Armstrong Suspense/thriller/mystery/horror genre has never Executive Editor been higher than it is right now. 2012 promises to be one of the best years that fans of the genre will J.S. Chancellor Associate Editor remember. With the expansion of e-readers and e-books, readers will have the tough choice of trying to figure out which books to load up on their Kindle or Nook, or which Jim Thomsen bookstore to browse around in, trying to find that next great read. I think what I like the Copy Editor best is the unexpected. If one thing is for certain, any predictions or looking ahead is sure Contributors to be wrong, or at least not right (maybe that is the same thing, but it sounded differently Donald Allen Kirch in my head, which is another unexpected place to go.) Mark P. Sadler Now we could sit here and try to announce everything that is coming up in the next Susan Santangelo year, but then this magazine would be larger than the Internet itself, and well that would DJ Weaver CK Webb probably get me lynched in a tree in the desert, so we have tried to condense as much as Kiki Howell we could in this issue. We will also have some changes coming to the website and to the John Walker Kendall Gutierrez magazine this year. We are not going to be theming issues like we did last year, except Kaye George for January, June, and December. We love to hear from you guys on how to make the Weldon Burge magazine better along with the radio show. Julie Dolcemaschio Ashley Wintters Speaking of the radio show, we are going to be kicking a killer (pun intended) year Scott Pearson in January with four shows in a row. Make sure you keep checking out the website, and D.P. Lyle M.D. Claudia Mosley click on the Suspense Radio tab to stay updated on who will be the next victim…sorry, Christopher Nadeau guest on the show. Also make sure you are a friend of ours on Facebook and follow us Kathleen Heady on Twitter, as we post some exclusive contests out there and you don’t want to miss out. Stephen Brayton Brian Blocker If you believe the Mayan calendar, then 2012 is the final year of existence for the human Luke Henderson race. If that is the case, I would like to thank you all for reading the magazine and I hope Andrew MacRae Lisa McCourt Hollar we brought you many years of amazing entertainment. Val Conrad It might be a little too early to do the “I’m thankful Laura Alden for...”, but I will be thankful that I won’t have to write Melissa Dalton Elliott Capon another letter from the editor, ‘cause I’m telling you it J.M. LeDuc gets harder and harder to come up with these things. Holly Price I have a lot of things on my bucket list, so I better Kari Wainwright David Ingram get going and start on item #1, which is to consume Bill Craig an entire cheesecake from the Cheesecake factory. Jodi Hanson Amy Lignor Most of my bucket lists items involve food, so the Susan May world better end or I’m screwed. I’ll be spending 2013 J.S. McCormick losing all the weight I just put on. Anyway, enough of Kestrel T. Andersen Lynne Levandowski my problems, have a great 2012 and remember to live in the moment each and every day, ‘cause you never Customer Service and Subscriptions: know what is lurking behind that door to your right. For 24/7 service, please use our website, See you all next month! www.suspensemagazine.com or write to: SUSPENSE MAGAZINE at dazzle-stock.deviantART.com, AshenSorrow.deviantART.com, wyldraven.deviantART. 26500 Agoura Road, #102-474 John Raab com, stock4profs.deviantART.com, Shoofly-Stock.deviantART.com, dreamofsandman. Calabasas, CA 91302 CEO/Publisher deviantART.com, taklayyankovic.deviantART.com, BrokenWing3dStock.deviantART.com, Suspense Magazine does not share our rockersiren.deviantART.com, Falln-Stock.deviantART.com, a-handy-stock.deviantART.com, magazine subscriber list to third-party Suspense Magazine darkrose42-stock.deviantART.com, gd08.deviantART.com companies. “Reviews within this magazine are the opinions of the individual reviewers and are provided solely to provide readers as- sistance in determining another's thoughts on the book under discussion and shall not be interpreted as professional advice Rates: $24.00 (Electronic Subscrip- or the opinion of any other than the individual reviewer. The following reviewers who may appear in this magazine are also tion) per year. All foreign subscrip- individual clients of Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine: Mark P. Sadler, Starr Gardinier Reina, Ashley tions must be payable in U.S. funds. Dawn (Wintters), DJ Weaver, CK Webb, Elliott Capon, J.M. LeDuc, and Terri Ann Armstrong.”
SuspenseMagazine.com 1 CONTENT Su sp e n se M ag a z i n e January 2012/Vol. 030
Kill Switch by Neal Baer and Jonathan Green ...... 3
Last Request by T .S . Mallow ...... 6
Contributor's Corner: Stephen L. Brayton ...... 12
A Southern Haunting: True Hauntings of the South by CK Webb . . . . .17
Suspense Magazine Movie Reviews...... 19
Featured Artist: Melania Morabito ...... 21
The Hygienist by Anthony R . Pezzula...... 26
Stranger Than Fiction: Mothman by Donald Allen Kirch...... 29
Inside the Pages: Suspense Magazine Book Reviews...... 33
Racing the Devil by Jaden Terrell...... 43
Destinations of Solitude: Part 2 by Starr Gardinier Reina ...... 56
The Sea of Treesby Kirsty Logan ...... 58
Zombies: A Crash Course by Chantelle Aimée Osman...... 64
‘Til Death Do Us Part by C .S . Challinor ...... 68
Just for Fun ...... 71 Kill
Switch By Neal Baer & Jonathan Greene Excerpt from Chapter 11
Claire stared out the windshield as Nick maneuvered the unmarked Impala through the throng of emergency vehicles clut- tered beside the Central Park Reservoir. A horde of news vans was setting up nearby, their microwave masts high in the air, preparing no doubt to beam whatever gruesome story awaited them back to their stations and out to the tristate area. A serial killer is on the loose. He’s struck again. And he’s my patient. Was my patient, Claire corrected herself. Curtin had told her to take the previous day off, and she’d spent it at home, not leaving the apartment, catching up on some pleasure reading, finally relaxed enough to fall into a deep sleep spooned into Ian’s warm body. Then Nick Lawler’s middle-of-the-night call woke her up, reminding her that she would never really be able to relax or forget until Quimby was caught. On the phone, Nick had been polite to the point of apologetic. He thanked Claire for giving him Quimby’s address and explained how Tommy Wessel was critically injured. Claire felt sorry for Nick, appreciating how uncomfortable it was for him to break the bad news while waiting for the request she knew was coming. “There’s been another homicide,” Nick said. W“ e’ve gotta stop this guy Quimby and you know him better than any of us.” He then asked, almost pleaded with her to accompany him to the crime scene. Despite Curtin’s admonition to stay out of it—he’d told her yesterday that Quimby was a police problem now—Claire didn’t hesitate for a second. They drove the short distance from her apartment to Central Park in silence, Claire focusing on the reflection off the windshield of the red teardrop light atop the dashboard. She hadn’t been in a police car since the day Amy disap- peared, and the novelty of it wore off the moment she spotted two attendants removing an empty gurney from the back of the medical examiner’s van. Lieutenant Wilkes was getting out of his beat-up unmarked Crown Vic as Nick pulled up beside him. Wilkes glared at Claire sitting in the passenger seat. “Who the hell is this?” Wilkes demanded as Nick got out of the car. Wilkes wore jeans and a sweatshirt, and his usually well-combed red hair stuck out like straw, giving Nick the impression that his boss came over right out of bed. “Quimby’s shrink,” Nick replied. “You brought a shrink to a crime scene?” Claire was out of the car by now and heard Wilkes’s comment. She decid- ed to kill him with kindness. “Claire Waters,” she said, extending her hand. “I believe you know my boss, Paul Curtin.” Wilkes shook her hand while cutting her off at the knees. Y“ eah, I know him,” began the lieutenant. “And when the sun comes up, I’m gonna tell him to have his own head examined, sending you here.” “He doesn’t know she’s here,” Nick told his boss. “I called her.” “We don’t need her,” Wilkes said, not caring that Claire was standing right in front of him. “We got enough problems, Nicky.” “What we’ve got, Boss, is three dead girls in two days,” Nick replied, his
SuspenseMagazine.com 3 voice low but emphatic. He gestured to Claire. “We know it’s She was in the lake. He dragged her out. Why? her patient who’s doing these murders. Maybe she can shed Her thoughts were interrupted as Assistant Medical Ex- some light on what his next move might be. She can’t do any aminer Ross emerged from the bushes. “It’s him, all right,” he worse than we have.” said, seeing Nick and Wilkes. Wilkes looked at him. The old Nick Lawler was back, the “What’d he do, drown her this time?” Nick asked. one who wouldn’t take no for an answer, the Nick who had “I don’t think so,” Ross replied, leading them to the body. closed more than a few murders that were stone whodunits “There’s no water in her airway. More like he murdered her and considered unsolvable. The lieutenant beckoned Nick first, took her for a romantic midnight swim, then dragged and Claire to follow him. her up here. This dude’s crazy.” “I hope you can help us nail this lunatic,” Wilkes said, They reached the body, covered by a white sheet, which turning to Claire, “because I’m told he really went off the Ross now pulled back. deep end this time. Are you squeamish, Doctor?” Claire gasped in pure terror. Nick grabbed her so she “We dissected cadavers in medical school,” Claire said. wouldn’t fall. The victim was another young blond woman. “I’ve seen death before.” Quimby had burned her eyes with lye as he had Catherine “This isn’t just death,” Wilkes returned. “It’s murder. And Mills and the victim from Coney Island, and he’d left his sig- believe me, there’s a big difference.” nature rope around her neck with the same Dutch marine Claire was sure she could handle it. “I’m a forensic psy- bowline. chiatrist, Lieutenant,” she said. “If I can’t deal with violent But this victim was soaking wet. death, I probably should find another line of work.” And her long hair was cut short. In clumps. By an ama- Wilkes didn’t have a chance to respond as reporters, gath- teur. ered at the edge of the crime scene tape, fanned out to sur- “We find her hair?” Nick asked. round and pepper them with questions. “Crime Scene did,” Ross said. “About fifty yards away.” “Do you have a name for the victim?” “Why cut it?” Wilkes asked. “Is this another blond girl?” “Because of me,” Claire replied, still shaking. “He was kill- “Are you thinking it’s the same guy who murdered Cath- ing me.” erine Mills?” Wilkes shot Nick a hard glance. “What the hell’s she talk- Claire knew enough to keep her mouth shut. ing about?” Wilkes looked straight into the cameras. “Hey,” he said, “She’s right, Boss,” Nick said. “you see us standing out here.” Then he pointed to the crime “Clear waters,” Claire continued, her eyes never leaving scene. “That means we haven’t been in there yet. Give us a the dead girl’s body. “Quimby calls me clear waters. That’s break, okay? You’ll get your story when we know what’s go- why he dragged her into the lake. That’s why he hacked off ing on.” her hair just like I cut mine. He wanted me to know.” He gestured to the three officers standing guard, and they “Know what?” Wilkes asked. lifted the yellow tape, allowing them to pass through. “That Quimby’s after Dr. Waters,” Nick said. “That she’s The reservoir was directly in front of them, though the next.” crime scene itself was several dozen yards away, hidden from “Or that this murder was my fault,” Claire barely uttered. view by leafy trees and thick shrubs. Storm clouds had gath- Nick turned to Wilkes. “Can you cover me here?” ered in the sky, blotting out the stars. Nick could smell the “What, you taking another day off?” the lieutenant re- rain coming and knew he had to work fast before it washed plied. the crime scene of any evidence. “No. I’m taking Dr. Waters to her hospital.” As they reached the jogging path along the water, Claire Wilkes looked at Claire. She was still shaking. He actually thought of the dozens of times she’d run this route. She could felt bad for her. see the glow of the klieg lights illuminating the crime scene. “Don’t worry, Doc,” he said to her. “We’re not gonna let As they got closer, she hoped the bravado she displayed to this whacko get anywhere near you, okay?” Lieutenant Wilkes was more than just talk. All Claire could manage was a nod. They rounded a corner. A Crime Scene Unit detective “You did us a solid,” the lieutenant continued, meaning was shooting photos of the ground along the water. Claire it. “I’m calling Paul Curtin to ask him to assign you to us. If noticed the grass had been flattened, the tips of you’re up to it.” each blade pointing away from the lake.
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 4 “I have to be,” said Claire. “Well, Doctor,” Curtin said in that condescending tone *** Claire hated, “you don’t have a say in this. I’m not losing a An unusual early morning thunderstorm crackled as fellow on my watch.” Curtin perused the crime scene photos from Central Park. Claire knew he wasn’t changing his mind. She nodded her He flipped through them and returned them to a manila en- reluctant assent. velope. “C’mon,” Nick said to her. “I’ll take you home.” “I can’t allow this,” he said to Nick and Claire. They were seated in Curtin’s office. LieutenantW ilkes had Published with permission from Kensington Books, an wasted no time making good on his promise to call Curtin, imprint of Kensington Publishing phoning him from the crime scene just moments after Nick www.KillSwitchThriller.com and Claire left. Curtin asked to see the photos, and Wilkes www.KensingtonBooks.com had dispatched a detective to print them out and bring them to Manhattan City. Neal Baer is probably “I have to do this, Doctor,” Claire pleaded with Curtin. most well known “He’s after me now.” as the Executive Producer behind a Curtin wouldn’t budge. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t stream of television be involved,” he said flatly. hits including ER, “But I have to find out—” she began. Law & Order: “Not by risking your own life you don’t,” Curtin retorted. Special Victims Unit “But what if this is my fault?” Claire asked. and most recently, A Curtin softened. “Nothing you did made this guy go out Gifted Man. and kill these women. He was doing that before you met Today, in addition to his "day job" on A Gifted Man, Baer him.” focuses his efforts using his gift of storytelling to change the world. In 2012, he will be launching a new social network “I cut my hair,” Claire responded. “And Quimby made called actionlab.org, which connects people with similar this victim look like me.” interests so they can help their communities together. He has “Claire. Listen to me,” Curtin said, looking directly into also signed on to serve as screenwriter for the upcoming movie her eyes. “There’s no way that what happened this morning version of Kill Switch. was in any way your fault.” Baer graduated magna cum laude with a B.A. in Political Nick decided to try to break the stalemate. “Dr. Curtin,” Science from Colorado College. He holds master's degrees from he began. “We would’ve banged our heads against the wall Harvard in Education and Sociology, as well as an MD from for days, if not weeks, wondering why this fruitcake dragged Harvard Medical School. Before working in television, he spent a year at the American Film Institute as a directing fellow. In that girl into the water after he did her. It took Dr. Waters 2000, he received an honorary Doctor of Laws from Colorado here about five seconds to nail it.” College. Curtin wasn’t giving in. “Under any other circumstances, In addition to awards from the Writers Guild of America, Detective, I’d be thrilled to have one of my students work- Physicians for Social Responsibility and the Feminist Majority ing with you. But I’m not going to paint a big bull’s-eye on Foundation, Baer has also received seven Emmy Award Dr. Waters’s back. She’s in my program, and her safety is my nominations; five for producing and two for writing, along responsibility.” with two Writers Guild nominations for best television drama “Taking her off the case won’t stop Quimby,” Nick re- writing. Dr. Baer currently lives in Los Angeles with his wife, sponded. Gerrie Smith, and his son Caleb. “That’s right,” Curtin shot back, “and that’s why I’m ask- ing you for a protective detail to guard Dr. Waters until Qui- Jonathan Greene spent eleven years as writer and Co-Executive mby’s locked up.” Producer on NBC's Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, his Nick stood. “My boss has already approved it,” he said. nearly forty teleplays earning the show an Emmy Award and nominations for the Edgar Award and the Humanitas Prize. “She’ll have a detective with her both at home and here at the Previously, he was a producer and executive in television news hospital.” and documentaries, and is a recipient of the duPont-Columbia Claire was tired of listening to these two men decide how Award. He is presently a writer and Co-Executive Producer she was going to live her life. “I’m sitting right here, guys, on the new CBS series A Gifted Man. A native of New York, in case you care about what I think,” she said to them. “And Mr. Greene earned a B.S. in Political Science and an M.S. in whether you do or not, I don’t need protection.” Telecommunications from Syracuse University. He lives with his family in Los Angeles.
SuspenseMagazine.com 5 By T. S. Mallow
The tavern was dim and sticky, as were most of its inhabitants. B huddled over the grimy bar, rolling the shot glass between his fingers, savoring the burn in his throat. It had been a shitty day. A shitty week. LastRequest“‘Nother one?” asked the bartender. B nodded and slapped down the glass with a clink. The bartender filled it with the lazy precision of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. B inhaled the raw fumes, put it to his lips, and was unceremoniously tackled from behind. Bourbon splashed over the counter. She spilled into his lap. “What the…” Her pale hands dug into his thighs as she pushed up, trying to get away from him, her movements awkward and jerky like a marionette. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.” A dark trail of blood ran from her nose. Her eyes, wide and pale green, locked onto B’s for a long moment before rolling back into her head. She collapsed, strings cut. He managed to grab onto her arm, but it didn’t prevent her from hitting the ground, only from hitting it hard. He slid off the stool, swinging around, looking for her assailant. The bar was deserted except for a pack of loud drunks playing pool in the back room. B crouched down beside her. The bartender peered over the counter. “She okay?” he asked. The girl moaned. B leaned in close. The only liquor he could smell was the Jack on his own breath. She wasn’t drunk. “I don’t know. Who did this?” “How am I supposed to know?” “Who’d she come in with?” “No one. She just came running in.” B turned his attention back to the girl. “Are you okay?” he asked. She rolled to her side, curled into a ball, holding her hands to her forehead. “It hurts.” “Call an ambulance,” B said to the bartender. She clutched his arm, “They can’t help.” B slipped off his jacket, folded it and tucked it under her head. “Can I do anything, get you anything?” he asked. She shook her head, “It’ll pass…” “Napkin,” B said to the bartender. He dabbed at her bloody nose, wiped her lips. She sat up slowly, rubbing her temples, staring at B as though she wasn’t sure he was real. “Are you okay,” he said. “Fine.” She seemed confused. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Me? Yeah. You didn’t hit me that hard.” He touched the blood on her lip and held up his finger. “Did someone do this to you?” “No.” She wiped at her face self consciously. 2011 Short Story Contest Submission
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 6 “You should get checked out by a doctor.” “I have been.” “Huh?” “It’s happened before.” She looked away. “Many times.” When she looked back, tears were rolling down her cheeks. “I need to leave.” B helped her to stand and shook out his jacket. It was caked in questionable debris; the floor was beyond filthy. “I’ll walk you out,” he said. “Where’s your car parked?” Her brow furrowed and she patted down her jeans, came up empty handed. “How did you get here?” he asked. “I’m not sure.” She moved toward the door. “I don’t even know where I am.” “The North end. Fifth and Corning.” “Fifth and Corning?” “Look, you’re a little messed up. I think it would be a good idea if I drove you home.” She flashed him a look. “I didn’t mean that as a come on,” B said. “I know. But you should stay away from me.” “Why? Are you contagious?” “You might say that.” He held the door open for her and they stepped outside. She inhaled sharply and looked down, her feet were bare. B raised his eyebrows and she looked away from his questions, scanning the street. It was oddly empty as though it was three in the morning rather than ten at night. The yellow light from the lamp posts pooled, clinging to the cool, moist air. Muffled noise floated down from the intermittent traffic on Fifth Avenue, half a block up. The immediate area around the bar seemed to be in a sound vacuum. A dark car rolled by and the girl placed herself protectively between B and the street. She watched closely as the car passed by on its way to someplace better. She turned to B, “May I borrow your phone?” she asked. He handed it over and she punched in a number. “Hi, Mr. Simpson, it’s Jade. Sorry to call this late...no, I’m fine. Would you mind doing me a favor? Would you mind checking out the back window to see if my car is there?” They waited. Jade hugged herself and rocked from foot to foot on the cold cement. “Okay, thanks. I’ll explain tomorrow.” She closed the phone with a sharp snap and handed it back. “Well?” asked B. “Car’s at home.” “Did you walk here?” Jade shook her head, “It’s too far. Subway maybe, I sort of remember a subway train.” “Sort of? I really think you should let me take you home.” She seemed to consider it, and then shook her head. “Look, you seem very nice,” she said, “but you shouldn’t be anywhere near me.” “Why?” She ignored the question. A yellow cab trolled slowly by on Fifth and Jade pointed. “I could take a cab.” B stuck two fingers into his mouth and let a shrill whistle fly. Jade waved her arms above her head. The taxi stopped, reversed and pulled on to Corning. Jade reached into her empty pockets and cursed under her breath. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” B said. “Where do you live?” “Downtown.” The cab pulled up to the curb. B opened the back door and helped Jade into the backseat. She settled in and thanked him. For a brief moment he considered sliding in beside her. There was an awkward silence as he tried to figure out a way to stretch out his time with her. Didn’t come up with anything. “Well, goodnight then,” he said finally. “Take care of yourself.” As he pulled back she squeezed his hand tightly. He leaned in again. Tears ran down her face. “Please watch out,” she said. “For what?” “Just be careful tonight.” She released his hand, turned away from him and wiped her eyes. B shut the door and leaned in the front window. He peeled off some bills and handed them to the driver.
SuspenseMagazine.com 7 “Give me your pen,” he said. B scribbled his cell number on the back of scrap of paper. “Call me if there’s any problems,” he told the driver. “She drunk? I don’t want no one puking in my cab.” B shook his head, “Give her that number when she gets home.” He slapped the top of the cab and it pulled away from the curb. Jade leaned through the window, “I’m so sorry,” she called out. “For what?” She didn’t reply. B watched the red taillights until they turned a corner and she was gone. He took a wary look around the deserted street then headed home. * She filled his dreams, jade eyes holding his, trying to tell him something, or not tell him something. He couldn’t figure out which. He awoke thinking of nothing but her. Called in sick. Laced his fingers together behind his head and wondered what the hell he was doing. Clearly she was a nut job, an intriguing one, but a nut job nonetheless. Over his second cup of coffee, B fired up his laptop, typed in a reverse directory listing on the number she called last night. He scribbled down the address and pulled up the location on his mapping app. * B turned off the car and sat looking at the boxy, brick apartment building across the street. A young couple stood between the doors. The man worked his key into the lock while the woman told a story, her arms animated. The man laughed and kissed her on the cheek before leading her inside. Now what? B made his way into the vestibule, holding the front door open for a young mother with a stroller. He scrolled his finger down the directory and found a listing for Simpson on the fourth floor. There was only one listing person on the fourth with her first initial: J. Charon. It was a bit of a leap, she could live on another floor or be married or living with someone. He buzzed up anyway. “Hello.” It was her; he was positive. “Jade?” “Who is this?” “B. The guy from last night at the bar. I wanted to check on you.” There was a very long pause. B reached for the buzzer again, but before he could press it she spoke. “You’re okay?” she asked. “What? Uh, yeah.” “What are you doing here?” “I was worried about you,” he said. “How did you find me?” “Mr. Simpson’s phone number.” He imagined her vividly in his head, her mouth close to the speaker. “I was going to call you today,” she said after a moment. “You were?” B smiled widely. “I wanted to mail the cab fare to you.” “Oh.” He didn’t bother to cover up his disappointment. “I’ll come down. Give me a minute.” She stepped from the elevator, clutching money. Her long hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. He beamed and she offered up a sad half-smile and a handful of bills in return. “Thanks again,” she said. “I’m not worried about the money; I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You were kinda messed up last night. You feeling better?” She nodded. “Want to grab some lunch?” “No.” She took a step back from him. “I was serious before, I don’t think you should be near me.” “Are you married?” he asked. “No.” “With someone?”
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 8 “Sadly, no.” “Then what’s wrong with lunch?” “I really wish you’d take this,” she said, hand outstretched. “Tell you what. I’ll take your money if you agree to have lunch with me.” She shook her head. “How about coffee. Just come out for a coffee and if, after that, you want me to leave you alone, I promise not to bother you again. Scout’s honor.” “I don’t...” “Please. Think of it as a last request,” he said and she flinched. He gave her his best trust me smile. “Let’s go for a walk,” she said. They stepped outside. “I see you brought shoes this time,” B said. “Excellent idea.” They strolled along the sidewalk, Jade’s hands thrust into her back pockets, her face turned to the sun. “What’s your name?” she asked. “My friends call me B.” “What do your enemies call you?” “I don’t know. Asshole, I would guess. Why do you think I have enemies?” “Everyone does. What does B stand for?” “It’s not good. I don’t want to completely turn you off quite yet. Maybe, if you’re really lucky, I’ll tell you next week.” She clenched her teeth and looked down at the sidewalk. “Do you have a family, B?” “No.” “That’s good.” They walked in silence for several blocks, brushing up against each other every so often. At first, she pulled away whenever it happened, but after a while it didn’t seem to bother her as much and B found himself doing it on purpose. They passed a travel agent’s office and Jade stopped to look inside like a child eyeing candy, her hands pressed to the window glass. B marveled at their size, tiny as though she were only a child herself. “I’ve never traveled outside of the country, have you?” she asked. “Some.” “Where have you been?” “There and there and there,” he said pointing to posters of Greece and London and Spain. “And a few places in the Caribbean.” “That’s good. It would be a shame to have never traveled.” They started walking again. “Sometimes I think I should travel to an island and stay there forever. All alone, just me.” “Wouldn’t you be lonely?” he asked. “I’m already lonely.” She met his gaze. “You don’t need to be alone to be lonely.” They wound up back at her apartment building and he followed her inside both sets of doors to the lobby with its ratty teal carpeting and worn chintz armchairs. She turned around and put one small hand on his chest. “You should leave now,” she said. “You still owe me coffee.” She sighed in resignation and he trailed her to the elevator. They rode up in silence. She unlocked her apartment and ushered him inside. Jade closed the door and leaned against it in defeat. “You really should stay away from me.” “So you keep telling me.” “I’m serious.” “Why?” “Because…” He waited for more, but all she did was wipe her eyes. “You’re crying again. Do you do it around everyone or just me?” He put a finger under her chin and raised it up, wiped her tears with his thumb. “Just you,” she whispered. He leaned in and kissed her softly. When she didn’t resist, he kissed her hard. They broke apart, B’s hands on either side of her, splayed against the door frame. “Do you always put this much effort into hooking up?” she asked.
SuspenseMagazine.com 9 THE SECOND NOVEL IN THE 911 ABDUCTON SERIES “A harrowing, edge of your seat thriller, the frightening premise sucks you in, while the twists and turns will keep you guessing to the last breathtaking word.” —Richard Doetsch, bestselling author of HALF-PAST DAWN )JHIXBZUSBWFMDBOCFMPOFMZBOEUSFBDIFSPVT#SPLFOEPXOWFIJDMFTMJĨFSUIF &NFSHFODZ-BOFMJLFDPSQTFTPOBCBĨMFėFME8IBUJGZPVXFSFBMPOFXJUIOP POFUPDBMMXIFOZPVGPVOEZPVSTFMGTUSBOEFE :PVSPOMZDPNQBOJPO ZPVSTNBMM DIJMETMFFQJOHJOUIFCBDLTFBU8IBUXPVMEZPVEP 0O*JO-PVJTJBOBUIFBOTXFSJTTJNQMFwZPVVTFUIF&NFSHFODZ$BMM#PY#VU XIJMFZPVTJHIBCSFBUIPGSFMJFGJOUIFLOPXMFEHFUIBUIFMQJTPOJUTXBZ BNVDI NPSFTJOJTUFSMJTUFOFSIBTIFBSEZPVSDBMM $BMMTGPSIFMQBSFDPNJOHJOGSPN&NFSHFODZ$BMM#PYFTBMPOH*JO-PVJTJBOB$ #VU XIFOUIF4UBUF5SPPQFSPSXSFDLFSTFSWJDFBSSJWFTUPBTTJTU UIFSFJTOPTJHO PGUIFWFIJDMF%BZTMBUFS UIFESJWFSJTGPVOETBWBHFMZNVSEFSFEXJUIOPUSBDFPG UIFJSUJOZQBTTFOHFSJOTJHIU 8IFOBQPMJDFPđDFS GPSNFSMZPGUIF"CFSEFFO1PMJDF%FQBSUNFOUTFFTBUXJTUFE8 QBĨFSOPGNVSEFSBOEDIJMEBCEVDUJPOBSJTJOHGSPNDBMMT IFDPOUBDUT4MPBOOF ,FMMZ OPXLOPXOGPSIFSXPSLXJUIDIJMEBCEVDUJPODBTFT5PHFUIFS 4MPBOOF 4IBXO5ZMFSBOE.BD.BDLFO[JF XJUIUIFIFMQPGSFQPSUFS#JSOFZ4VMMJWBO HPPO UIFIVOUGPSBLJMMFSBOEUIFJOOPDFOUDIJMESFOIFJTDPMMFDUJOH Available Where E-books Are Sold )Ĉ15)&*//0$&/548&&#-:$0.
“Are we hooking up?” “Feels like it, don’t you think?” “Then no and maybe.” Her brow furrowed. “No, I don’t ever do this, and maybe, this might feel like hooking up,” he said. “I’ll think of it as my penance,” she said. “Sleeping with me would be your penance? That’s not very flattering.” “No,” she said. “Not being able to see you ever again afterwards will be my penance.” “We’ll see about that,” B said. She smiled weakly and he took it as a green light, moved in for the kill, his hands and mouth all over her. Hers on him. * B sat on the edge of the bed pulling up his socks. It was early evening, the sun hung low, casting pink light and long shadows across her room. He had no control over the grin plastered to his face. He turned to her and ran his hand down her thigh. “You’re beautiful,” he said. She shrugged a huge sweatshirt over her head. “I’m going to miss you.” “Leaving town?” “No.” “Then why are you going to miss me? I’m not going anywhere.” She exhaled heavily and rubbed her temples. “Headache?” B asked.
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 10 She nodded. He knelt on the bed behind her and rubbed her shoulders. Nuzzled her hair. Kissed her neck. She whimpered. “Jade?” “Umm.” “What exactly happened last night?” “I blacked out. When I woke up I was with you.” “You were just walking along and you blacked out?” “No. I was at home. I had a horrible headache so I laid down. Next thing I know I was in that bar with you.” “Like sleepwalking?” She shrugged. “And it’s happened before?” “Yes.” “Always with a headache?” “Yes.” “Have you had tests? What does your doctor say?” “MRIs, X-rays, CAT scans: nothing. No tumors, no dark spots, no anything.” “That’s good, I guess.” She leaned forward, away from him, and put her head in her hands. She was crying again. “B, I have to tell you something...” “Okay.” “It’s bad.” “You can tell me anything.” “Every time I have one of these…episodes…I end up running into someone, like I did with you.” “Yeah?” “They always die…” “Who?” “The people I touch.” “They die?” “Yes.” B stared at her. “What do you mean?” “I mean within a couple of hours of touching them, they die. One woman drown, someone else was shot, a couple of others just dropped dead with no explanation.” “It’s got to be a coincidence.” “Twelve times?” “Come on. You’re exaggerating.” She reached into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out a manila folder. She tossed it onto the bed in front of him and it fluttered open. It was filled with newspaper clippings. They were arranged chronologically, many had pictures, accident scenes…a bridge. A few were nothing more than obituaries. She winced and held her head, “Oh, God. It’s starting again.” “Jade, your nose…” She touched her hand to her face, it came away bloody. She looked up in horror. “Go,” she said. He hesitated. “Quickly. Please. I’m so sorry.” He left the apartment building in a daze. Jade’s fear was a little unnerving but B was not convinced what she had told him was anything more than strange coincidence. It had been almost twenty hours and he was fine. What he did believe strongly however, was that he could fall hard for her. When she touched his body, it shook him to the core. When she held his eyes, it took his breath away. B turned around and looked up to her window hoping for a glimpse of her. He smelt the burning rubber before he heard the screeching brakes. But by then it was too late.
SuspenseMagazine.com 11 Contributor's Corner
Stephen L. Brayton Has a Long History of Writing Interview by Suspense Magazine
Stephen L. Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): How did you Brayton owns and become involved with The American Taekwondo operates Brayton’s Black Belt Academy in Association? Oskaloosa, Iowa. He is a Fifth Degree Black Belt and a certified instructor in The American Stephen L. Brayton (SLB): In 1991, I had been I’ve been Taekwondo Association. living in Oskaloosa, Iowa for about a year. I He’s also a writer. He began as a child, with a was employed at a radio station and involved in first short story that fictionalized a true incident community theatre. I saw a sign for two weeks free ” an avid about his reactions to discipline. During high classes at the local taekwondo club and thought it school, he wrote for the school newspaper and sounded interesting. After those two weeks, I never was a photographer for the yearbook. For a Mass looked back. I had to discontinue theatre, even reader since Media class, he wrote and edited a video project. though I enjoyed it, because the practices conflicted In college, he began a personal journal for a with martial arts classes. I earned my black belt writing class that continues to this day. He was in a little less than two years and immediately childhood, also a reporter for the college newspaper. During enrolled in the instructor trainee program. In his early twenties, while working for a Kewanee, 1996, I was helping another instructor at her enjoying Illinois radio station, he wrote a fantasy-based club north of town and when she was unable to story and a trilogy for a comic book. He has continue I took over and moved it to Grinnell. In written numerous short stories in both horror 2003, I assumed ownership of the Oskaloosa club. mysteries, and mystery. He has also written a paranormal I earned my Fifth Degree Black Belt in 2007. mystery, entitled “Night Shadows.” Sequels to “Nights Shadows” and his latest, “Beta” are in S. MAG.: Tell us a little bit about what brought a little rewrite/revision stages. you to write your first novel. Suspense Magazine has had the distinct pleasure of working with Stephen for quite some SLB: I’ve been an avid reader since childhood, science time now and we have been privy to his style and enjoying mysteries, a little science fiction, and respect for the written word. So for those reasons horror. I wrote a few short stories back then, but it fiction, and and so many more, we have chosen Stephen L. wasn’t until after my five-year high school reunion Brayton as our featured contributor this month I thought about writing a full-length book. I had for our corner. Enjoy! an idea where a character traveled around the horror. country to reconnect with his classmates in order
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 ” 12 to reestablish the bond they all shared in school. There were some of the authors we’d discover there? some supernatural elements to it and I thought of turning it into a series. When I moved to Oskaloosa and became involved SLB: Which bookshelf? The one at the top of the stairs, the in martial arts, I created Mallory Petersen, fourth-degree black cabinet near the bathroom or the top of the dresser? Maybe belt and private investigator. I plan to make her part of a series. the electronic book vault on the computer? Ellery Queen, John Lutz, Stanley Erle Gardner, Star Trek, Doctor Who, and many, S. MAG.: Can you explain a little bit about your “belt” rating many others. If I find an author I like, I try to collect as many system on your review blog? of his or her publications available.
SLB: It’s based on my taekwondo rankings. Everyone in S. MAG.: What is the best part about reviewing books for my organization starts at white belt. Once you learn the you? fundamentals and the basics, you move up in rank. As you learn more material and advanced techniques, you continue SLB: The free books. LOL. Actually, the enjoyment of reading is advancing until you reach what should be everyone’s goal, black what’s great. As I mentioned above, I’ve been collecting books belt. So when I decided to start posting book reviews, I wanted and reading for decades and this is a way for me to enjoy them to do something different from the usual star ratings seen in a little more. I get to share my passion for books by showing many blogs. Normally, books I’ve read have ranged what, for me, makes a particular book from blue belt to red enjoyable and what belt, which means issues other readers they are worthwhile might encounter. books to read, contain a good plot, S. MAG.: If you unique characters, could have lunch and the writing style with one person real is solid with few or no or imaginary, alive or editorial errors. Purple dead, who would it be? and camouflage I Why? view as still decent though maybe needing SLB: Well, having lunch something extra. with a dead person Yellow or below means would be no fun. LOL. there are some major How about an hour with problems the book. The Jesus? For me, he would author hasn’t learned as be the coolest. Can you much of the writing craft imagine the discussion? as he/she could and some What questions could I of the basics (spelling, ask? You know, it’s said he grammar, punctuation) are rode into town on a donkey lacking. Sometimes it’s a matter of character problems or and I would have thought he’d stick with the idea. I mean, do writing style, learning proper sentence/paragraph structure. you realize how much walking the guy did? You’d think his Of course black means excellent. Taekwondo students are still disciples would have chipped in and bought him a horse. Forget learning the basics in the lower ranks, are improving by camo, about the women washing his feet. How about massaging those and are showing some fine qualities in the higher ranks. tootsies every so often?
S. MAG.: If you have a free afternoon, what would you do? Those were some great answers! Now that you’ve met Stephen L. Brayton, our newest contributor to be put in the SLB: If the weather is nice, I usually like to go fishing. I may corner, you have some understanding of why we’re so proud take a drive and find a nice spot to read or write. I always to have him as part of our team now and in the future. If long for free time, but when I get some, I usually don’t have you’d like to read more about Stephen, check out his sites anything I particularly want to do and end up sitting around at www.stephenbrayton.com or http://braytonsbookbuzz. on the computer. Yeah, I know, I need a girlfriend. blogspot.com.
S. MAG.: If we were to peek at your bookshelf, who would be By Susan May
Toni Anderson is a former marine biologist who earned her Ph.D. at the Gatty Marine Laboratory in St. Andrews, Fife, Scotland. She was born and raised in the United Kingdom, but now lives in the Canadian prairies—about as far as possible from the ocean—with her husband and two children. She writes fast-paced adventure and suspense romance with strong female characters. “Edge of Survival,” her latest thriller was released in November, with one of the gutsiest, most intelligent heroines she’s ever written, Cameran Young (Cam), whose challenges are compounded by her diabetes. Thank you to Toni for taking the time to satisfy our curiosity on what she enjoys about writing, what genre she wouldn’t dare attempt and her musings on wanderlust. Toni Anderson answers our “Suspense 6” questions:
What were you doing when the idea for your new book “Edge of Survival” came to you, and what did you think? Toni Anderson (TA): I don’t even remember what I was doing. I was probably in the shower or walking the dogs. I do remember I was back in Scotland, my kids were tiny, and it was driech—a day when thick grey clouds are hanging heavily in the sky, but no rain so to speak. The story came to me in sections, and each section was a revelation. First, the opening scene and location, and then the hero with all his flaws. Next the heroine’s medical condition (I had a good sense of who she was, but not why). The police investigation had to work with and contribute to the overall story arc. The last piece of the puzzle slotted into place with such—I hate to use the term—“brilliance” but as I had help from a friend I suppose I can call him brilliant. Then I knew the story was ready to write. What did I think? *grin* I hoped I could do justice to the idea and that other people would like it as much as I did. What do you enjoy most about writing? TA: I like the solitude. I like the fact that when I write I’m no longer a mother and a wife and a daughter and a sister. I love being able to pursue my passion and get
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 14 the voices out of my head. I love untangling a web of thoughts and creating an actual story that makes sense (hopefully). I love the rush when it all goes well. I suspect I also love the hair-pulling days when the whole book sucks. I love connecting with people who ‘get’ what it is to be a writer and those who enjoy reading my books. Is there a bigger thrill than that? What genre would you love to write in but you don’t dare? And why? TA: I have an idea for a YA, but I don’t think it’s like any YA I’ve seen in today’s market. The story is a little controversial in terms of politics so I haven’t done more than let the idea bounce around my skull. It isn’t paranormal. It is very British. I’m not convinced I have the writing chops to pull it off. Maybe one day. If you could co-author a book with any other author—alive or dead— who would they be and why? TA: That’s a difficult question because I have so many favourite authors in many different genres. If I had to choose one it would probably be Nora Roberts. I love the fact she writes such a diverse array of storylines and isn’t stuck in a restrictive box of, say, just police procedurals or serial killers. Plus, she has such a phenomenal fan base, LOL. I admire her work ethic. I don’t know any other author who is as productive as she is. Even if I had to forgo sleep for a month I’d be thrilled to work with Nora. How have you, as an author, adapted to the digital age? TA: All my publishers have been digital-first publishers so I haven’t had to adapt at all. I love books in any form. It’s a time of great change in publishing (more change is needed). What I find bemusing is that many readers think that if they embrace digital it means they lose print. I don’t believe that’s the case. I love both formats and read both formats. They are not mutually exclusive. What question have you not been asked in an interview, that you wished you had? And your answer to that question please? TA: Where am I from? I come from a small town called Broseley in rural Shropshire, England. As a kid I always wanted to get away and explore the world. But now I’m older, and far, far from home, I miss it. It makes me think about what it must have been like a century ago when people travelled halfway around the world. They rarely returned and it must have been heartbreaking at times. Some people are born with wanderlust, but it doesn’t mean they don’t miss their family and hometown. Thank you, Toni. Suspense Magazine was honored to have this time with you. You can find more on Toni Anderson at her blog athttp://tonianderson. blogspot.com/p/bio-links.html.
SuspenseMagazine.com 15
A Southern Haunting True Hauntings of the South
By CK Webb There are a million reasons why someone might want to come to the South and a million things to do, see and experience while here. There are beautiful cities, rich, wonderful foods and historical buildings and sites that mark major turning points in the history of the United States, but nothing seems quite as intriguing as the South’s deep-rooted love and connection with…ghost stories. I have been asked dozens of questions about living in the South from the far-fetched (Do you have indoor plumbing?) to the truly absurd (Do you fry everything you eat?). In case you are curious, I do have indoor plumbing and don’t actually know anyone who still uses an outhouse. I don’t fry everything I cook, but if I could, I just might! The one question I have never been asked is, “Are there really that many haunted houses in the South?” My answer to this would be a resounding…yes! For the next several months, I will be tackling as many of the local haunts as I can and delving deeply into their pasts to see just what we can uncover. I will be interviewing owners, curators, and even those who believe they have seen a ghost in these famous (or not-so-famous) haunted places. I will also be sneaking out and trying to get a glimpse of these spectral beings and the properties they haunt, and even snapping a photo or two to get you, the reader, a little closer to the South. I set out to find as many haunted houses or buildings as I could, and then narrowed it down to the ones with documented sightings. These included any photos of full-bodied apparitions or unexplained orbs, any ElectronicV oice Phenomenons that were taken with clear disembodied voices. And, of course, any homes or buildings that are on the National Historic Registry and are open at any time for tours based on their individual hauntings. What I found was mind-blowing. In Columbus, Mississippi (where I was raised) there are five documented cases of hauntings within private residences, andall are available for tours in the early spring months and are registered as landmarks. My whole life I knew of only one, Waverly Mansion, and now I find four more have been there all along just under my nose. I could write for days and never come close to a complete listing of every haunt that I was able to find just in Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and Louisiana! So, I have decided to find the ones that I hold particularly near and dear in my heart and share them with you. SuspenseMagazine.com 17 Just down the road from my current home in Alabama is a very famous haunt that boasts an extremely interesting story to go along with its very long history. Pickens County courthouse is located in Carrolton, Alabama in Courthouse Square. Easily one of the more famous haunted buildings from this area, the courthouse has seen its share of Ghost Hunters and ghost investigations. With a little digging on the Internet you can come across a ton of information as well as some pretty incredible EVPs that are available from the investigations that took place there. The Pickens County Courthouse dates back to the early 1800s, but it would be November 16, 1876 that would change the town and add a harrowing twist to the courthouse’s history. It was on this date that the Courthouse burned to the ground for the second time. The first burning had come at the hands of Union Army soldiers during the Civil War. Carrolton Courthouse was the pride of Pickens County during those years mostly because it had been rebuilt during the Reconstruction Era, a time when money and resources were scarce for all Americans.
The locals became so outraged at the second burning of their beloved courthouse that they set out for some swift justice of their own. Although nothing was ever proven, the local people believed that a hooligan by the name of Henry Wells was the perpetrator of the heinous crime. Henry Wells was never given the opportunity to plead his case in court. His would be a much more malevolent type of justice. As a black man, at a time when racism was rampant, Henry Wells became an easy target. He was accused of burning down the courthouse, was arrested two years later in 1878, and charged with arson, burglary, carrying a concealed weapon, and assault with intent to murder. He was taken to the brand new jailhouse inside the newly re-constructed courthouse. When word of his whereabouts spread, an angry mob made its way to the courthouse. As the mob assembled at the base of the courthouse steps, Wells became afraid and (as the story goes) it was then that he began to shout: “I am innocent. If you kill me, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your lives.” Just as the mob was about to break through the doors and drag Wells from the courthouse, lightning struck and killed Wells instantly. What remained behind was a permanent imprint of Wells’ face etched into the windowpane in the room where he stood as he died that night. No one in the town noticed the window until daylight broke. While walking past the courthouse steps, locals looked up and saw the haunting image of Henry Wells looking down over Carrolton, Alabama. That same piece of glass is still in the window, and no amount of washing, scraping or the passage of time can remove the stain. If you go to the courthouse in Carrolton you will find an old historical marker which reads: If you walk just a few yards from that sign you will find a magnifying viewer that points to a lone window on the courthouse and for twenty-five cents, you can get a close up look into the face of Henry Wells. Just remember, if you are ever in this neck of the woods, be sure to bring your camera and maybe, just maybe, you might get a glimpse of this Southern Ghost.
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 18 MOVIES
The Adventures of Tintin 2011 Genre – Adventure (PG)
I came to the screening of Steven Spielberg’s The Adventures of Tintin with little knowledge of the character or the story. There was a dog, a red-headed guy, and something about a motorcycle and a boat. Not so my husband. He marched towards that cinema, kids and me in tow, recounting the wonderful adventures he’d read as a child. ‘Tintin and Asterix were it for me,’ he said. Tintin (Jamie Bell), an investigative journalist, and his dog Snowy, purchase a model ship called the Unicorn which carries a hidden secret. But there are others interested in the model ship and, are prepared to kill anyone who stands between them and the ship. Enter the villain, Ivanovich Sakharine (Daniel Craig) and, thus, begins a race to discover what is Ivanovich’s interest in the ship—of course, it can’t be good—and how to thwart him. In following obscure clues, as only Tintin can, he embarks on an adventure, crossing paths with Captain Haddock (Andy Serkis) who, unfortunately, is more trouble than treasure, with his brain addled by years of drinking. The two travel at a cracking pace, across seas and deserts via boats, planes, motorbikes, and even cranes to ultimately solve the mystery of the sinking of the original Unicorn. Fans of the books will be pleased to know, Inspector Thompson (Simon Pegg) and Thomson (Nick Frost) are there in all their bumbling glory—according to my husband, speaking exactly as he imagined them. By the end of the film, you will be breathless from the ride and giggling from the fun of it all. Using performance capture and accompanied by well-used 3-D, Spielberg and Jackson create a hugely believable world. So much so, you will find yourself repeating over and over, “It looks so real.” Five decades and two dozen graphic novels later, Tintin has won millions and millions of hearts of every age group, in nearly every country around the world. Thanks toThe Adventures of Tintin film, you can now include me and my harsh film critics, the nine and eleven year olds, in the world of Tintin fandom. Mr. Spielberg, bring on the sequel. Reviewed by Susan May (follow @susanmaywriter) for Suspense Magazine
In Sherlock Holmes’ own words, Sherlock Holmes: ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, A Game of Shadows whatever remains, however improbable, 2011 must be the truth.’ Genre – Crime Action & Adventure (PG-13) Getting to the truth of why you should or shouldn’t see Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows is quite a difficult game of deduction and it will depend on your powers of observation. Notice in one corner, we have Robert Downey Jr. (Sherlock Holmes), everybody’s favorite actor. Also in the wonderful actor area is Jude Law (Dr. John Watson). Alongside them, Noomi Rapace (Sim), and let’s not forget Jared Harris (Professor Moriarty). Now swing your observant gaze to the Director, Guy Ritchie, who literally created a genre of UK films with the 1999 Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels. Hidden away, where most people wouldn’t notice them, is an impressive production team headed by Joel Silver, with more than sixty films under his belt including the Matrix trilogy. The story begins with the death of the Crown Prince of Austria. All is not as it seems, and Holmes follows the slim clues to a gentleman’s club where he is, supposedly, out with Watson on his buck’s night. Here he meets the Gypsy fortune teller, Sim, who knows more than she is revealing. It’s not giving too much away to say that Moriarty is behind everything dastardly. Suspecting this, Holmes and Watson follow Moriarty across Europe in order to discover and thwart his evil game plan. There is a tremendous amount of running and jumping, fighting and gun exploding, much of it in slow motion, so we miss nothing. And there are many ‘follow the clue’ revelations, just like in the first film. My husband, an avid fan of the first movie, found this one exhilarating. He inferred, quite rightly, that it was true to Arthur Conan Doyle’s “Sherlock Holmes.” Downey’s Sherlock Holmes is aloof, uncaring and a downright narcissist. Watson continues to be his faithful, abused sidekick. Will you enjoy the new Sherlock Holmes? You must reach your own conclusions. The evidence is there for both sides of the argument. Reviewed by Susan May (follow @susanmaywriter) for Suspense Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com 19 MOVIES The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo 2011 Genre – Thriller (R) We serious moviegoers don’t like remakes. Especially remakes of European movies. Hollywood has this thing about underestimating audiences. They think we don’t like reading subtitles. They take a good story, already successful in a foreign language, cast some big name actors, Hollywoodfy it and presto, we have another reason to dislike remakes. We comment to each other, ‘Did you see the—enter European country of origin here—version? It’s sooo much better.’ Then there’s the book conversion film which encourages the same discussion. ‘The book was sooo much better.’ Unless you’ve lived on another planet, you will know that “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” is book one of Stieg Larsson’s Swedish Millennium trilogy, which has sold sixty-five million copies in forty-six countries, since its 2005 publication. The film opens with Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig) in a load of trouble. He works with Millennium Magazine and is convicted of printing a libelous story against billionaire industrialist Hans-Erik Wennerström. There is one bright light for him though, when one of Sweden’s wealthiest industrialists, Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer) hires Blomkvist to discover what really happened to his beloved niece Harriet, whom he believes was murdered by a member of his large family. Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara), an ingenious researcher, is contracted via Milton Security to investigate Blomkvist for Vanger. Lisbeth is an antisocial, pierced, tattooed, cold personality with a dark past. When Blomkvist moves to the Vanger family property, set on a remote snow swept Swedish island, he begins to unravel, step by step, the forty-year-old mystery of Harriet’s disappearance. Things become explosive when Lisbeth joins him in his quest as together, they follow the leads to a most surprising end. Now for the million dollar Millennium—or entrance price—question… Is there any reason to see this remake? The unequivocal answer is yes. Director, David Fincher, whose last effortThe Social Network, swept the Academy Awards® last year, teams with Steven Zaillian (co-writer “Moneyball”) and producer Scott Rudin to bring this story dynamically to the screen. And yes, it’s better than all the books and films combined. And, yes again, films of the other two books in the series will follow. Go see it. Reviewed by Susan May (follow @susanmaywriter) for Suspense Magazine
Defense ministers in Arab nations are systematically assassinated. All eyes stare suspiciously at Israel. The Middle East is a powder keg ready to explode. Only a handful of covert U.S. government officials are aware that the heads of Russia and China are targeted next and that the elderly and senile American ex-President is responsible. “Brought back memories of Robert Ludlum at his best. It’s all here: the shadowy conspiracy, the all-powerful villian, and the maverick hero.” ~Jon Land, bestselling author of “Strong at the Break” WR. PARK A prophesy 2,000 years ago is catalyst for a 21st century threat. Dacian She-Wolf descendants are responsible for deaths of powerful men worldwide. Rance Colby must find a friend, a retired Russian General. Rance Colby enlists his former covert team to assist. No one could have foreseen that the long dead Dacian King Decebalus and the Angel of Death Josef Mengele are the keys to the Dacian Resurgence. “Part Clancy…part Cussler…all Park. Pull up a chair by the fire and enjoy the journey.” ~James Rollins, International Bestselling Author Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 20 AVAILABLE WHERE DIGITAL BOOKS ARE SOLD Melania Morabito
Featured Artist Come Away WithLuneBleu-PhotoStock.deviantART.com Me ForestGirlStock.deviantART.com Falln-Stock.deviantART.com Almost Alice Almost Easy
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Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 22 mjranum-stock.deviantART.com, freaksmg-stock.deviantART.com, AshenSorrow.deviantART.com, Black-Ofelia-Stock.deviantART.com, Redgloom.deviantART.com, frozenstocks.deviantART.com, B- FantasyStock.deviantART.com, ZoeLaFleur-Stock.deviantART.com, JLStock.deviantART.com SquaredStock.deviantART.com Imagination Turned Personal
WonderlandInterview by Suspense Magazine Just eighteen, Melania Morabito lives in a part of Italy known as Vibo Valentia. She is a self-taught retoucher, photomanipultator, and graphic designer. For the last five years, her high school has been Graphic Advertising School. Melania has always adored art and technology. From those specific loves, her respect and passion for digital art has sprung. She feels mixing technology and art, is in her words, “awesome.” She believes a blank Photoshop takes the place of a canvas, a tablet takes the place of the paint brushes, and digital art—being so much more than just dots—shares the artist’s message and allows people to dream the artist’s view just like they do with traditional art. Her artwork represents what’s going on in her mind: feelings of rage, fear, etc. With them, she strives to reflect the reality mixed with her intense imagination, her own wonderland. Some of her pieces have deep stories behind them, like a mirror into her mind. The reason she tries to reach others with her art is to make people dream and feel what’s behind her work. When she does so, she says, it ends up being a piece of inspiration for her future works. Music also inspires her, and Melania feels her art is a lot like music. She enjoys Green Day and Evanescence the most, and says much of her work comes from deriving meaning from the music from of favorite groups. Melania also writes songs and plays the guitar and the piano. She enjoys video games as well, especially McGee’s Alice Series. Everything dark, gothic, and mysterious is interesting and intriguing for Melania. We find it so incredible that someone with such talent is only eighteen years old. Suspense Magazine is honored to share a little bit more about Melania and to showcase her artwork for you to enjoy.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): You have such amazing talent. Where do you think it stems from?
Melania Morabito (MM): It’s a little hard to say. Since I was pretty young, everyone told me I had a great imagination. Without it, my arts wouldn’t exist, as they’re the fruit of my imagination. Talking about skills, I’ve always been into the computers world and I loved Photoshop from the first time I discovered it. Learning this awesome application took me so many years, but I’m quite satisfied with my skills. Of course, this doesn’t mean I know everything about Photoshop and that I don’t want to improve what I can do. There’s always something more to learn and improve.
S. MAG.: What made you realize art wasn’t just a way to enjoy something, that it was your passion?
MM: I knew it when I realized that I couldn’t go more than a few days without creating something. It’s something I can’t live without. It’s a big part of my own life now. At this time, I can’t imagine my life without fashioning art, it’s like some kind of drug (of course in a good way!).
S. MAG.: Would you rather mix technology and art or use a canvas and brushes to create a work of art?
MM: I like both, but every artist can express themselves in the way they feel more comfortable, and I think that digital art suit me better than traditional art. Also I’m not really good at drawing, so using stock helps me a lot.
S. MAG.: You told us the reason for your art is to make people dream and feel what’s behind the
SuspenseMagazine.com 23 Silk Maiden The Wicked Night
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My Heart is Broken
Luria-XXII.deviantART.com, moonchild-ljilja.deviantART. jagged-eye.deviantART.com, SilaynneStock.deviantART.com, shochinbugstock.deviantART.com, com, Redgloom.deviantART.com, Falln-Stock.deviantART. Shoofly-Stock.deviantART.com, ForestGirlStock.deviantART.com, WCS-Wildcat.deviantART.com com Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 24 work. In doing so, that then becomes inspiration for future pieces. Has it always been that way? Can you give us an example of a specific inspiration you received from someone feeling what was behind a certain piece you’ve done?
MM: A good example can be my artwork “Wish You Were Here.” There’s a deep story behind it: it’s about the love I felt for a boy. If you look the artwork with other eyes, you can feel a mix of sadness and love inside. At that time I missed that boy so much, I was really sad. And here comes the inspiration for that piece. With “Wish You Were Here” I tried to enclose all my feelings inside the artwork, a kind of rant to express how I felt and feel and even a little better at the same time.
S. MAG.: Do you have a favorite painter and digital artist?
MM: My all time favorite artists are the ones who made me discover the digital arts world: Ana Cruz, Ana Fagarazzi and Omri Koresh. I love their artworks, their style, their skills…everything!
S. MAG.: Do you have a piece that you’ve been working on for a while, but still can’t get it to be quite what you imagined?
MM: I have so many artworks that I never ended, that I scrapped. Yes, some of them didn’t come out like I imagined them at first. Sometimes, I try my luck again and start it from the beginning with some changes: maybe a better background, or a different model. And sometimes, it works. But there are times that the concept is not the best one, so I totally need to scrap the whole idea.
S. MAG.: You enjoy music. Which do you prefer more? Playing guitar or piano? Does playing the music also become inspiration like listening to it does?
MM: I prefer playing the guitar, since I took some lessons as well. I have two guitars: an acoustic one and an electric one. The piano is just something I like. I don’t play it well as I’m self-taught. I’ve decided to take some piano lesson in the near future because I really want to improve my skills. Of course, playing and listening to music are a big source of inspiration for my artwork, especially listening to music. The majority of my pieces are named like my favorite songs, but it’s not a random thing. If a work of mine is inspired by a song, it means that’s the meaning of the song which inspires me. I always try to catch every word of the lyrics and make a work that is a live interpretation of them.
S. MAG.: Have you done a piece that you will never share with others?
MM: I don’t like to keep my art for me. If I don’t release a piece, it means that something in it is wrong or maybe I’m unsure about how it came out. Something that keeps me going ahead with digital arts is to share it with people. So yeah, the only artwork I will never share are the scrapped ones.
S. MAG.: What do you enjoy doing for hobbies? Where would we see you on a lazy day?
MM: Playing the guitar is my first hobby. I also really enjoy reading books, playing video games and making handmade jewelry. On a lazy day, you’d see me waking up at 11 a.m. and then sit in front of the computer for a couple of hours and play the guitar. Maybe also watching the television while sitting on my sofa, playing with my little brother and making a delicious cake as well!
S. MAG.: Do you have any plans to do a showing at a museum or the like?
MM: No, but I would totally love to have my artworks exposed in a show or something like that. It’s absolutely on my to-do list!
Suspense Magazine was so happy to give you this glimpse into the work and world of this month’s artist, Melania Morabito. You can find her on DeviantArt.com and enjoy all of her pieces. Thank you, Melania.
SuspenseMagazine.com 25 The Hygienist By Anthony R. Pezzula exter hated going to the dentist’s office. When he was a young boy, his dentist was an old man who would constantly yell at Dexter, ‘open wider,’ or ‘sit still,’ close to his ear in his deep harsh voice. Dexter’s fear of the old man just added to his anxiety of feeling helpless in that chair, harsh instruments approaching his mouth. Ever sinceD then he dreaded his dental appointments, afraid of gagging, the pain and the discomfort of having hands in his mouth. But Alba, she was different. She was the dental hygienist who cleaned his teeth every visit. She was gentle and kind, and took an interest in what he had to say, at least when he could talk without her hands in his mouth. She wanted to hear about his life, his job, and his interests. She made him feel relatively comfortable, he was still nervous, but had come a long way since his first visits to the practice. Before he started coming here, it had been years since he had seen a dentist due to his fears. But he had a toothache and no choice. On that first visit, the staff found him on the floor of the restroom in a fetal position. It was Alba who coaxed him off the floor gently leading him into the dental offices, assisting him into the chair and holding his hand while they prepared him for that first appointment. Those first few visits were rough. He would try to push the hands away when he felt himself gagging, or panic stricken. They would gently admonish him, especially Alba, who would explain the consequences of his sudden movements. He wound up sitting on his hands to try to control his impulse. But the bond with Alba became well established. He no longer dreaded his appointments like the one he had today. “Hi, Dexter,” Alba said opening the door to the waiting room, “c’mon back.” “Hi,” Dexter said putting down the Newsweek he was reading as he got to his feet and followed her to her dental office. “So how are you today?” she said motioning for him to sit in the dental chair. “Okay, how about you?” “Oh I’m just fine. Nice day out there isn’t it?” “Sure is,” Dexter said as he sat in the chair. Alba put a bib around Dexter’s neck, reclined the chair, and adjusted the light. “Now just relax,” she said, “just keep staring at the sticker near the light, and concentrate on my voice. Let your body relax completely, go to your comfort place, empty your mind completely. Concentrate on my voice, hear only that. Shut out everything else, any other sounds and any other thoughts.” Alba went on like that for a few more minutes, like she did every visit for the past few years, until Dexter was under the control of her voice. Alba knew everything there was to know about Dexter, where he worked, how much he made, where he lived. He wasn’t her only project, but he was her most successful. Over the past few years, he responded excellently to her suggestions. He pilfered money from his employer and brought it to her each visit. He was a willing subject who carried out her subliminal messages expertly. She was so confident in her control of him that six months ago, she planted a plan for him to rob a bank in a town a half hour away. During that visit, while cleaning his teeth, she outlined the details, the bank’s location, what disguise to wear, what to put in the note, every detail she could think of. She didn’t think a gun was needed, just the threat of one should be enough. This would be a test for her ultimate plan. If she could get him to do this, he would do anything. She didn’t fear that he might be caught. She arranged for him to forget any contact with her once he heard the Miranda rights speech. She had nothing to lose. “So, Dexter,” she said as she began picking at his teeth with her scaler, “do you have something for me?” Dexter nodded and Alba removed her tools from his mouth. “Yes,” he said, “in the trunk of my car.” “That’s good, Dexter,” she said resuming her dental cleaning, “my car doors are open. After you leave you may put the bag in my car as we previously discussed.” 2011 Short Story Contest Submission
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 26 “Ah ha,” he mumbled as he nodded. “Now, go ahead and rinse,” she said giving him an evaluating look. Dexter was truly a nerd, pens sticking out of his shirt pocket, his shirt collar open to reveal a few strands of chest hair. Outdated eyeglasses and worn pants reinforced the look. She learned over the years that Dexter lived with his mother in a large house in the suburbs. His mother was very rich, having inherited her husband’s wealth from the sale of his share of a manufacturing company he co-founded. Dexter was never real clear on what the company made except that it was some sort of medical equipment. Alba’s plan all along was to get at Mom’s money. But she had to know that she had tight control over Dexter. She knew that Dexter was the kind of guy who let his mother control him, so she had to be sure her methods would work. She worked hard to gain Dexter’s trust all these years, and make him completely comfortable in her presence. He was such a willing subject that she had no doubt she could exercise control, but felt it was necessary to provide tests for him to meet to be sure. She started out with small tasks and eventually escalated each task, always with some reward for herself. This latest robbery went off without a hitch and she knew for him to complete that task meant he was sufficiently under her control. Today was the day to implement her ultimate plan. “Dexter,” she began after he finished rinsing and sat back in the chair.H “ ow is your mother?” “Good,” he said just before she started picking at his teeth again. “Oh, but that’s not my understanding,” she said, “I know her doctor, who told me she is very sick, but doesn’t want to burden you with the news.” “Shick?” he mouthed around her fingers, getting a little agitated. “Yes, but you are very calm about this news, you can handle it in a relaxed manner,” Alba said as Dexter immediately began to relax. “Now,” she continued, “I have some medicine that will help her. You should give it to her, a little at a time. Slip it into her tea each night. She can’t know about it or she won’t take it. It’s a new drug and she might not be willing to experiment, but it is her only hope.” “Ony ho,” he mouthed. “Yes,” she said smiling that he was so willingly accepting all she said reinforcing her confidence in her plan. By the time of his next visit his mother would be gone. Dexter would inherit millions. Then Alba could talk him into supplying her with small regular sums to keep her living comfortably for the rest of her life. Nothing too big to gain attention, but significant and frequent enough for her needs. All in cash so there would be no records traceable to her. It would be like one of those lottery prizes that are paid out over a lifetime. She chose a drug that would eventually stop his mother’s heart with little trace. It would appear as though she had a heart attack, certainly feasible for someone near eighty. Even if there was some suspicion and the drug was found, her Miranda suggestion was still present in Dexter’s subconscious and there would be no leading back to her. She knew it was a perfect plan. “Only hope,” he repeated once her hands were out of his mouth. “Dexter,” she said leaning close to his ear and affecting her most authoritative, but gentle voice, “you must help her, you’re the only one who can. There is a package on the backseat floor of my car. When you put the bag you have for me in my car, take that package out. It contains the life saving drug I told you about. It is broken down into doses you should put in her tea each day. You’ll do that, won’t you, Dexter? You’ll do it for her, won’t you?” “For her,” he repeated, “for Mother.” “Yes, for Mother, it is her only hope.” “Only hope,” he repeated once again, convincing Alba he was all in. “Time to rinse again,” she said standing and getting her tools ready to polish his teeth. Six months later, Dexter was in the waiting room reading the latest issue of Newsweek. “Hello, Dexter,” Alba said opening the door to the waiting room, but hardly able to restrain her anxiety in getting him in her chair, “come on back.” “Hi, Alba, good to see you,” Dexter said, his voice a little hoarse. “Nice day out there, huh?” she said as she walked into her dental office, turning to motion him into the chair. “Yeah, nice,” he said unenthusiastically. “What’s the matter, Dexter?” she said as she put the bib around his neck. “Oh, my mom passed away a few weeks ago.” “That’s a shame,” she said smiling inwardly.H er plan was rolling along perfectly. “I can see you’re taking it hard, you look a little pale yourself,” she continued grabbing her scaler and mouth mirror to begin working on him. “Yeah, well I haven’t been feeling so hot myself, so I’ve been taking this medicine with my tea that my mom was taking.” Alba’s scaler and mirror clanged to the floor.
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Pictured Above 1) Silver Bridge Collapse of 1967 2) FATE magazine talking about Mothman
By Donald Allen Kirch here exists within the misty hills of the Eastern United States a legendary creature, Twho, when seen, is said to bring predictions of death and disaster. He is both a mystery and an omen of doom. From November 15, 1966 to December 15, 1967, he ruled the city of Point Pleasant, West Virginia, keeping most in forced silence and the rest of his victims in a controlled horror. He was simply known as the “Mothman.” Most of us know him as the sinister and mysterious force behind the 2002 motion picture starring Richard Gere. As mentioned in the novel “The Mothman Prophecies,” (which had been used as the source for the movie) this “creature” was based upon eye-witnessed events. This was real, and it did happen. Like most events, which begin as an American ghost story, Mothman’s started as a simple encounter upon a dark and rainy road. Two couples, Roger and Linda Scarberry and Mary and Steve Mallette, informed the local police of a tall and pale creature whose eyes projected a fiery red when their car’s headlights passed in front of it. Both couples had been driving near an old World War II munitions plant, heading toward the town’s version of “Inspiration Point.” They went further by describing the monster as having wings, the ability to fly, and that the wings themselves were over ten feet long when fully extended. At first, the public servants took the reports as those associated with young adults excited about “adult” situations, and calmly wrote them off. Other reports started rolling in, and people became quite nervous. Two volunteer firefighters later reported seeing a “large bird with red eyes” to the Mason County Moth m an Sheriff’s Department, and further investigations were launched. Claims by teenagers were one thing, but when trained professionals, who knew how to control their emotions started to report similar stories, doubt turned into terror. A terror that Point Pleasant is still talking about.
SuspenseMagazine.com 29 The sightings took a turn for the There has also been a fair share the sightings. In fact, upon her death in macabre when a local contractor stated of frauds: local reports of woodsmen 1970, Keel stated for the record, “I still that both he and his German Shepherd attaching red flashlights to their heads, can’t quite believe she is gone. We had had been terrorized by a giant shadow- trying to scare visitors in the area, or a lot of strange experiences together like figure with bright eyes which attaching red lights to helium-filled which we never told anyone about.” seemed to glow “like bicycle reflectors.” balloons, hoping to perpetuate a Also, John Keel did not suffer For several nights after spotting the legend. One report had a lumberjack from the loss of his wife as mentioned mysterious creature, the man claimed attack people with a trained albino within the plot of the movie. John Keel that his television set kept producing owl, creating terror as yet another was not married, and the scenes that a terrible feedback noise, and that his “Mothman flap.” included the Mothman frightening dog disappeared. No explanation for UFOlogists have re-interviewed the main character’s wife, were all just the dog’s flight had ever been explained. original eyewitness Linda Scarberry fictionalized plot lines. People started calling the creature several times. She still insists that her Many levels of fiction existed within the “Mothman.” story was true. Repeatedly, she stated the Hollywood version of the legend. While most accepted the existence that the Mothman appears desperate Take into account the bizarre of the Mothman, others looked for for communication: “It seems like it encounter reported by Woodrow a more natural explanation. Some doesn’t want to hurt you. It just wants Derenberger. Mr. Derenberger stated biologists stated that what people to say something to you. What that is, I that a rather frightening figure named were actually seeing in the dark was a do not know.” Indrid Cold communicated with him. subspecies of the sandhill crane, which Others state that their life has been Mr. Cold appeared of average height, was known to stand quite tall and have changed, hearing the sounds of flapping weight, and looks. The mysterious catlike red eyes when light was aimed at wings behind them, as they ran for their stranger had been reported as having them. Still, could there exist in nature lives, terrified. a conversation with Derenberger, but a crane that stands over seven feet Let’s break all of this down, and try was never heard saying a single word. People started calling the creature the “Mothman.” in height? This was among the most to separate the facts from Hollywood Through reports given by the witness, conservative reports of how tall the “ghost stories.” Most of us have never Mr. Cold spoke directly to the witnesses’ Mothman stood. heard of the Mothman and hadn’t until mind. MIB (Men in Black) sightings Investigators have claimed that the release of the film. were quite common during the famous since the release of the motion picture, In the film, Richard Gere played a Mothman Flap. In the motion picture, The Mothman Prophecies, in 2002, Washington Post reporter named John Woodrow was portrayed by actor Will there have been multiple sightings Klien. In reality, the man behind the Patton (Armageddon, The Postman). of the creature. The Mothman has “true” book the movie was based on The character played in the movie was been connected with UFO sightings was named John A. Keel. Keel never a fictional composite of several real and missing children reported in the worked for the Washington Post, but people and did not, in fact, exist. surrounding areas. Most attention was a paranormal researcher who had Encounters with the Mothman is still focused upon the 1966-67 gone to Point Pleasant for Playboy were somewhat dangerous to those sightings, where at least one hundred magazine to help investigate current who experienced them. There were people accounted for its existence. UFO sightings. It was while he was reports of eyes and ears bleeding for no The dark hills of West Virginia writing his article for Playboy that he apparent reason. Most suffered from have had their share of bogeymen. was introduced to the claims about the “eye burn” or klieg conjunctivitis due Some believe the Mothman is just Mothman. to intense exposure from ultraviolet a continuation of local legends and In the movie, Gere’s partner, the rays. One female witness remembered folktales. There are records of the local town’s sheriff, played by Laura hearing a “loud metallic sound,” which creature still attacking motorists Linney, was in fact the local news later caused her ears to bleed. Any in parked cars—mostly teenagers reporter for The Athens Messenger. Her medical doctor would tell you that exploring life’s “possibilities” in real name was Mary Hyre, and both bleeding ears was a sure sign of air darkened corners of the woods. she and Keel passionately investigated pressure changing suddenly.
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 30 As with most classic encounters the Mothman. character Connie Mills, based loosely with UFOs, most who experienced In the motion picture, Will Patton’s on Mary, found herself drowning in them suffered a loss of time. The young character, Gordon Smallwood, hears the river surrounded by Christmas couple mentioned earlier stated in their Indrid Cold state to him “99 will die, presents. Still, the point was chillingly original police report that although it Denver 9.” Twenty-four hours later, his made. only seemed a few seconds, both lost character learns of a plane crash, Flight All of Mothman’s encounters within over two hours of actual time. 9 out of Denver, which had resulted with the city of Point Pleasant strangely Unlike the motion picture, where the deaths of 99 people. This was just a pointed toward one occurrence: the most of the sightings and encounters fictional combination of all encounters collapse of the Silver Bridge. seemed to take place at a small cement mentioned in the book, where author Both the movie and the book factory, the real encounters took place John Keel stated that predicted plane were correct about this. The Silver at what was called the “TNT Area,” crashes “occurred right on schedule.” Bridge, which had been built in 1928, officially known as the McClintic What was behind all of these did collapse during rush hour on Wildlife Management Area, located messages from the Mothman? December 15, 1967. Unlike the motion about six miles north of Point Pleasant. The mystery continued to grow picture, which recreated the event in Within this confined area there are over with a breakout of resulting dreams. modern times, there were only thirty- one hundred igloo-like structures seven vehicles on the bridge at the built during the Second World War to time of its collapse. One odd event: store explosives in, namely dynamite. the traffic lights connected with the From the air, these structures are bridge had been malfunctioning all almost impossible to see. day and led to the traffic backup when In the movie, Richard Gere’s the bridge met its tragic end. In all the character is haunted by certain years electric signals had been used messages coming to him mentally. on the Silver Bridge, this was its only John Keel did report, for the record, “blackout.” that there were times when he was In the world of fact, more people certain that “something” was reading died at this encounter than were his mind. That he felt that he was mentioned in the motion picture. never alone, and the experience In the movie, only thirty-six people unnerved him. One scene in the were killed. The director of the film movie was almost dead-bang upon mentioned that the studio did not the truth: in the movie Richard Gere wish to have so high a body count asks Indrid Cold where his watch was, within the story plot, so he cut the hiding it within his hand. However in body count by ten. reality, it was a stopwatch which Keel Unlike the Richard Gere character misplaced and could not find at the within the movie, John Keel was not time of his strange conversation with in Point Pleasant during the collapse Mr. Cold. Mr. Cold, in a calm voice, of the bridge. He was in his apartment informed Keel where he could find in New York watching a live news his watch. He found it. event covering the lighting of the His last sighting was just before the
Chernobyl nuclear accident, in 1986.
Keel did try to keep a recorded Mary Hyre, the local reporter who national Christmas tree in Washington, record of these calls from Indrid Cold, investigated the sightings with the D.C. However, even that simple attempt but when played back, all he could hear author, confessed to having a recurring at normalcy was interrupted by a knock was static and a “metallic pinging.” nightmare in which she continued at his door. When Keel answered his Along with all of the sightings, MIB to see people drowning in a river door, a rather tall man dressed in encounters, and medical injuries, there and Christmas packages were always black told Keel, “The whole country were also prophecies associated with floating nearby. In the movie, the would black out once the tree was lit.”
SuspenseMagazine.com 31 Keel never learned the man’s name, destroyed his life. Mothman was his real intentions, and did not said to be the result of his curse. remember ever seeing him leave. Like Other Native Americans believe him all before him, when encountering to be the Thunderbird of legend. the Mothman or his MIBs, Keel lost A Thunderbird was said to be a tall track of both memory and time. At birdman that could cause great winds the exact moment of the lighting of with his wings and shoot lightning the Christmas tree, the event was from its eyes. interrupted with a “News Flash” of In the world of academia, local the collapsing of the Silver Bridge in college professors believe that the Point Pleasant. sightings have been nothing more People in Ohio and West Virginia than people seeing the rare sandhill stood in terror as they watched crane. However, this bird has never the Silver Bridge leave deaths and been reported within the Point shattered families in its wake. It was Pleasant area—ever! later investigated and discovered There is also a “Roswell” slant that the collapse was because of a here. Some scientists state that the defective eye-bar on the Ohio side Mothman was nothing more than of the bridge. Low maintenance and a local “weather balloon.” This last lack of funds led to corrosion of this claim is often considered a weak or eye-bar, which ultimately caused sick joke. Almost everyone disagrees the collapsing of the structure. After with this theory. How could a simple this disaster, the National Bridge balloon be mistaken for a mysterious Inspection Standards were soon figure of a man? created. Journalist Mary Hyre, one of the After all the reports, and after all main investigators, firmly believed the encounters, we come down to the that most of the sightings were that final question: what exactly was the of a large owl. The woods around Mothman? Point Pleasant are filled with both Most people believe him to be a white and brown owls, and although messenger of doom. He is often seen they do not grow any higher than two just before a disaster, where a great feet, they have a wingspan of over number of human lives are affected. five. This could, at night, make them His last sighting was just before the appear larger than they actually were. Chernobyl nuclear accident, in 1986. There was also a short-lived theory Since that time, his sightings have that it could have been a prehistoric been quite rare. dinosaur bird. As with most American legends, There are things in this world that there is a “Native” slant. There are man was never meant to understand. some who believe that the Mothman Demons and angels are best left was sent as a curse by Shawnee within the realms of fiction and Chief Cornstalk. In the early days of speculation. Perhaps, The Mothman Virginia, Chief Cornstalk and his son lives somewhere in between? If ventured through the dark forests of one dark night you hear the subtle what would later be known as Point flapping of wings behind you, and Pleasant, to warn the colonials about your ears start to tingle just a bit, run, a tribe of neighboring Indians, who don’t walk, to the nearest exit! sought to dishonor a treaty with the white man. The two however, were To learn more about this author and his soon captured and killed, being works go to, www.donaldallenkirch.com. mistaken for hostiles. It was said Comments about Stranger Than Fiction: that as Chief Cornstalk lay dying, True Stories of the Paranormal can be sent he uttered a curse to those who to, [email protected].
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 32 Suspense Magazine Book Reviews
Ghost in Trouble By Carolyn Hart InsideBailey Ruth the Raeburn is so happyPages that since being in Heaven she has gotten to be a part of their Department of Good Intentions! She gets assignments to help people on Earth that need it, and gets to The Jaguar solve crimes in the process so she is one happy ghost…er emissary. Her latest assignment is in the perfect By T. Jefferson Parker place, The Castle, where she has always loved, but maybe she should have listened a little closer to the In his new book “The Jaguar,” T. details. Jefferson Parker continues the story of Kay Clark is in danger and it is Bailey Ruth’s job to keep her safe. Bailey Ruth finds two problems with Charlie Hood, a Los Angeles County the assignment as soon as she jumps in. First, Kay Clark is an old enemy and second, Kay doesn’t want the Sherriff’s Deputy who’s been assigned help. Kay is determined to find out who murdered her old flame even though his death was listed as an temporarily to the D.E.A. accident. Bailey Ruth is determined to keep Kay safe and it seems the only way to do that is to help find the Erin McKenna, the lead singer and culprit. songwriter for Erin and the Inmates, is Several things stand between them and the truth. A mother protecting a daughter, a husband and kidnapped from her home by gunmen loyal wife with a long kept secret, an offended nephew, jilted young love, reclusive sister, andmany more! Not to Benjamin “The Jaguar” Armenta, the to mention she has to avoid the investigating officer who knows she isn’t of this world and try to stick by leader of the Gulf Cartel. They spirit her off Wiggins’ precepts. to Armenta’s decaying castle in the jungles This book is packed with wonderful characters and is refreshingly original. Bailey Ruth is a delightful of Yucatan. Erin’s husband, corrupt L.A. heroine that will keep you intrigued and entertained! Sherriff’s Deputy Bradley Jones, has been Reviewed by Ashley Wintters forSuspense Magazine working for a rival cartel for years. Now he has ten days to save his wife and unborn child. Cold Glory By B. Kent Anderson For help, he turns to Hood who has During the surrender at Appomattox, Grant and Lee were left alone for a short period, long-suspected the traitorous Bradley, but his concern for Erin makes him agree to Anderson surmises what might have happened in that moment and introduces the reader to a help. They set out on different paths. Hood secret treaty that the two generals agreed upon. carries the million-dollar ransom demanded When this sought after treaty is unearthed with a clad of civil war-era weapons in southern by Armenta while Bradley recruits other Oklahoma, Nick Journey, a small college professor and amateur historian, inspects the findings and is deputies and gunmen to free her by force. attacked by a secret society, the Glory Warriors, in an attempt to recover this forgotten treaty in an effort to Also assisting Bradley is the shadowy outlaw overthrow our government, home-grown terrorists. Mike Finnegan, whom Hood thinks is a When the key political figures are assassinated, RIO—a small investigative branch of Homeland devil and is obsessed with capturing. Hood Security—takes the threats seriously, but not knowing who to trust on the inside agent Meg Tolman and and Bradley must overcome both human Nick Journey have to put their trust in each other as they race to save the life of the President. The race takes and natural obstacles if they are to rescue them on a wild chase, with the Glory Warriors operatives hot on their trail. Erin. With well-built and engaging characters, Anderson throws in a part-time concert pianist as a Federal In the castle, surrounded by deep agent and a protagonist with a severely autistic child that allows converging relationships to develop and sets jungles filled with snakes and other predators, up the reader for the sequel: the next adventure. Erin can do little but pray Bradley and Hood In a tale rife with intrigue and suspicion, this debut novel from Anderson has something for conspiracy can rescue her. But then she’s presented with theorists, history buffs, Civil War aficionados, and mystery readers alike and is a fast-paced page turner a way to extend the deadline, and perhaps down to the final twist. win her own freedom. Armenta asks her Reviewed by Mark Sadler, author of “Blood on his Hands,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint to compose a narcocorrido, a Mexican folk of Suspense Magazine ballad that celebrates the country’s outlaws. This song will tell Armenta’s life story and Dead Calm will be his legacy. The castle though, houses Edited by Mark Ammons, Barbara Ross, Katherine Fast and Leslie Wheeler many dangers, not the least of which is This is an anthology of some terrific short stories by various authors. While there are too Armenta’s psychotic son, Saturnino, who many to name them all, I did have my favorites. is obsessed with Erin. It will take every bit In Coronation by Adam Renn Oleen, an unnamed writer interviewed Stephen, another of cunning she can muster to survive and author. He wanted to know how Stephen could write about monsters as well as he did. Being told protect the life growing inside her womb. it’s best to write what you know, he posed this question to Stephen. The answer was in a box that Stephen Fans of the previous Charlie Hood gifted to him. That is when he fully realized how Stephen could write with such clarity. Great story. books will be delighted he has returned. Cold Blooded Killer by Tom Sweeney was another well told tale. It’s execution day and the ‘killer’ of the Parker convincingly portrays Mexico, torn story will live on to do it again. apart by the wars between the cartels and My favorite is Death by Deletion by C.A. Johmann. I believe all writers will be able to relate with this the government, and between story. To quote just a part: “Click. Edit.” A must read. the cartels themselves. In summary, this collection holds some great anecdotes and I recommend you add this to your reading Reviewed by David Ingram for library this year. Suspense Magazine Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “Deadly Decisions,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com 33 Red Templar The Boy Who Shoots Crows By Paul Christopher By Randall Silvis What do the Knights Templar, “The Boy Who Shoots Crows” first impresses the reader with beautiful, quiet prose: the main Vladimir Putin, Rasputin, Fabergé character looks at the morning mist outside her farmhouse and whispers, “Sfumato,” before opening Eggs, and Stalin’s secret subway have the door to the sheriff, who himself wonders if he should knock more loudly. And the two main in common? They are all elements of characters enter as the story begins. The author sets the mood with descriptions of the countryside of this brash, bold, and bodacious mash- rural central Pennsylvania: a serene, peaceful setting, with just a hint of an ominous presence in the air. up of Dan Brown, Indiana Jones, and Charlotte Dunleavey believes she has found the peace she has been searching for after the break-up of her Grand Guignol theatre. marriage, but that peace seems to be always just out of her reach. She hates that the neighbor boy skips school One-eyed, retired U.S. Army and shoots crows in the woods near her house…just because he can. When the boy disappears, she joins the Ranger John Holliday is a twenty- townspeople in the search, although she is a newcomer and not really one of them. Sheriff Marcus Gatesman leads first century Templar, a position he the search as he becomes increasingly attracted to Charlotte. inherited with reluctance along with The apparent simplicity of the setting and the characters is in stark contrast to the complexities of their lives. a bankcard providing access to the The young boy’s mother is a victim of abuse herself, but is unsure how to react to Charlotte’s offers of help. order’s seemingly unlimited funds. He The author does what mystery writers rarely do, and even more rarely do well. But to elaborate would be to and his friend and boon companion, give it away. Edimburgo Alfonso, a tall, black Cuban “The Boy Who Shoots Crows” builds inexorably as the tension mounts. You know the “what:” a young boy with a talent for languages, piloting has gone missing. You want to know “how” and “why.” Randall Silvis leads the reader skillfully to a conclusion that aircraft and killing, are dragooned could have been known from the beginning, but he does not want us to know, he simply leads the way through the into yet another mission and this voices of the crows…and the stillness of his prose. This is abeautiful , horrifying book. quest takes them to Mother Russia in Reviewed by Kathleen Heady, author of “The Gate House” forSuspense Magazine search of a long-buried secret. A secret for which many have died searching for and has been fiercely guarded Bride of Night by fanatics far too willing to kill to By Heather Graham prevent its discovery. The book “Bride of the Night” is set during the Civil War in Florida. The Pinkerton Agent, Finn Dunne is The body count in this fast- tasked with protecting President Lincoln. His duties take him from the President’s side to investigate a possible paced adventure is not just high… assassination attempt and into very close proximity of the only possible threat to the President that ever got away it’s astronomical. Secondary from him: Miss Tara Fox. The characters are hybrid vampires who strive to do their duty to friends and country characters fall left and right as fast while keeping their identities secret and their nature hidden. The mystery of the villain is concealed until the very as the pages turn. The Vatican, the end when the heroine’s half siblings swoop in to save the day. U.S. State Department, the Russian The heroes Finn and Tara are surrounded by a cornucopia of great people: Tara’s childhood friend Richard Government, and the Russian mob Anderson, who is a Confederate blockade runner, and Seminole Pete, the man who acted as her stepfather. Finn (is there a difference?) and even the comes down on a Union vessel and they all end up on an island where they must work together to survive. The Templar’s own governing directors— danger of untrained vampires is a large threat on the island and eventually Key West. Everyone needs to forget ostensibly on Holliday’s side but regional lines to work against a common enemy, which is a powerful aspect of both conflict and resolution. distrustful of his access to their secret The time period has been well researched and descriptions of battle and peoples’ thoughts about war seem wealth—all conspire, connive, and accurate and well developed. The Caribbean feel of some of the minor characters add depth to the setting and sometimes cooperate in their efforts community that Tara grew up in and the reader will understand how important this place is to her. to control this howitzer of a loose “Bride of the Night” was a quick and compelling read. Be prepared for leaving the lights on and forget such cannon. menial tasks as laundry and dishes when you open this book. Tara and Finn have a whirlwind story in the South The scene shifts from Saint as they work together to protect President Lincoln and help save the community that Tara calls home. When you Petersburg to Moscow, to points close this book, you hope to see Tara and Finn again! It is a great historical, paranormal romantic suspense novel. between, and even further, and if Reviewed by Kestrel T. Andersen for Suspense Magazine Holliday’s mother ever told him to The Confession keep his mind out of the gutter he By Charles Todd didn’t pay attention, as there’s more This New York Times bestselling author is actually a mother and son team, and they’ve put out traipsing through sewers in this book another excellent Inspector Ian Rutledge mystery. than any novel by Victor Hugo. The book begins with an incident with a floater in 1915, which will trigger a confession when Unlike other writers in this the story jumps to 1920. Wyatt Russell, dying of cancer, walks into Rutledge’s office to confess to a popular genre, Paul Christopher five-year-old crime, but then becomes secretive. He does agree to a luncheon with the inspector, but Rutledge can does his homework. Frequent visits pull no more useful information from him, despite his best efforts. to Wikipedia while reading this yarn Rutledge’s sister, Frances, appears briefly in the beginning. His companion for the rest of the book is Hamish confirm much of what is presented MacLeod, his old nemesis and his shameful secret. A bit of intuition heaped on suspicion and doubt, after the as background and his description of confession, take Rutledge to Essex, where Russell is from. The inspector isn’t the only one with a secret. The Essex modern day street life in Russia rings town of Furnham, surrounded by whispering and treacherous marsh grass that could hide anything, closes ranks with the sound of truth or what passes to keep information away from him as he begins to dig to get to the bottom of layers of subterfuge and crime. for it in such stories. When he gets too close to ferreting out the facts, they even seem willing to do violence to protect their unnatural So, sit down, strap in, isolation and privacy. hold on, and enjoy a You follow a twisting road when you read this book. You won’t soon forget your trip to Furnham and the rollercoaster of a ride. people who may not be who they seem to be. Reviewed by Andrew Reviewed by Kaye George, author of “Choke” for Suspense Magazine MacRae for Suspense Magazine
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 34 Vigilante: A Shane Scully Novel An Uncertain Place By Stephen J. Cannell By Fred Vargas I admit it, I am a long time fan of this series and I love the character of Shane Scully, a cop but a human one with flaws and a family. Married to a high-ranking brass in the Los Angeles Fred Vargas propels us into a world of Police Department, he’s teamed with a movie producing partner, which gives him access to vampires, criminal intent, and sheer terror Hollywood insiders. with his next installment in the Commissaire But when a very well-known and out-spoken advocate against the police department is murdered it Adamsberg Mystery Series. With its unique is a no win case. Because of the victim’s adversarial relationship with the police department, some of the plot twists and interesting cast of characters, community will immediately scream cover-up. But when a sleazy TV personality shows up on the scene this story is sure to keep your interest piqued with his Vigilante TV, a program that allegedly focuses on police corruption and starts giving them false as the Commissaire launches into yet leads to pursue, the waters get muddied even farther. another in-depth investigation that is sure Scully however, realizes he and his partner are being played, especially when the Chief of Internal to grab you by the throat and drag you into Affairs is implicated in the murder. But Scully is a cop who thinks outside the box and soon is on the trail of the middle of the mysteries and mayhem the real killer and the mastermind behind it all. surrounding yet another ingenious crime. Once again, Mr. Cannell hits one out of the park as he has done so often with his award winning Nine pairs of shoes and severed feet have television series such as the Rockford Files and Silk Stalkings and Renegade. This is a must read for fans of the been discovered outside London’s Highgate mystery genre. Cemetery just days before Commissaire Bill Craig, author of “Decker P.I. Smugglers’ Blues” for Suspense Magazine Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg, the chief of police Red Means Run in Paris' seventh arrondissement, is called By Brad Smith to the scene of a highly unusual, ghastly This novel can be summed up in one word: delicious. Virgil Caine is a farmer in upstate New York murder. But Adamsberg does not believe with a skeleton or two in his closet. We join the story sometime after the wealthy record producer who shot the two incidents are related. Virgil’s wife had been exonerated in the incident. Within days of each other, the producer and the sleazy Early investigations into the murder, lawyer who had gotten him off are murdered—and Virgil is the prime suspect. He knows he didn’t do it with the aid of the victim’s gifted physician, and we know, so we approve when Virgil lets himself out of jail. He sets about trying to prove his innocence. Dr. Paul de Josselin Cressent, soon leads What is so refreshing and delightful about this novel is that while Virgil is likable and resourceful, he is Adamsberg to a possible murder suspect not the seemingly omnipotent super-detective that so many characters in stories like this end up becoming. While the one cop who is not the sharpest knife in the drawer is out to get him dead or alive, Virgil called der Zerquetscher or, the Crusher. Zerk, convinces the other detective (an attractive woman) of his innocence. Our amateur sleuth nonetheless has as he is affectionately labeled, has been the police solve the murders (a third’s thrown into the mix), which adds an element of realism to what is blamed for other murders in Europe similar just supposed to be an entertaining read. And the denouement is well within the bounds of believability, to the one Adamsberg is investigating. Clues nothing conjured up out of thin air. are eventually uncovered, linking Zerk to There’s a lot of wit in the writing. The characters say things that you would expect intelligent people these crimes. to say. Worthy of praise too, is the fact that we are not treated to a deus ex machina flip, a sudden epiphany, With Josselin’s help, Adamsberg delves as Det. Marchand decides that Virgil is indeed not the murderer—she comes to her senses slowly, along into his murder victim’s psyche, which with the reader. unexpectedly leads Adamsberg to Serbia, Did I say this novel was delicious and delightful? I forgot to mention entertaining and rewarding. It’s in Eastern Europe. There he discovers a good mystery with believable characters, presented with plenty of richness of characters and background. connections to his own past and to the Since Virgil raises horses, we may conclude by saying that this novel gets two hooves up. haunted happenings, where a centuries-old Reviewed by Elliott Capon, author of “Prince of Horror,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of horror has come to life, relating to the family Suspense Magazine Plogojowitz. Clearly finding himself in “An Down the Darkest Road Uncertain Place”, Adamsberg quickly finds By Tami Hoag himself caught up in the terrifying history I’ve read Tami Hoag’s earlier work and did enjoy them. But after reading the first chapter of that keeps the inhabitants of a small, Serbian “Down the Darkest Road,” I couldn’t believe I was reading the same author. While I do not feel village, Kiseljevo, at bay and puts his own life the vital changes were completely due to a different series, I absolutely believe it was because at risk. Hoag found a voice that screamed success. Vargas’ genius is unquestionable. Powerful…heart-wrenching…believable: just a few words to describe Hoag’s protagonist Adamsberg is an extremely interesting, Lauren Lawton. She is faced with a mother’s worst nightmare when her eldest daughter Leslie is taken and intriguing police detective, and it is easy to never seen again. Her husband can’t stand the guilt and kills himself, leaving Lauren to take care of Leah, get involved with his unusual investigations. her youngest, and alone, nurse the hatred of the man who turned her life upside down, Roland Ballencoa. “An Uncertain Place” is a highly imaginative Ballencoa appears blameless. He cannot be tied to the heinous crime and is free to stalk and select story that is sure to keep you riveted to your other prey. Lauren is out of her mind with grief and anger. She tries to turn the tables and go after Ballencoa seat, as you seek answers to the psychological herself. She hires a private investigator, who tracks down Ballencoa’s residence. And the stage is set. He puzzles surrounding the horrendous crimes invades her privacy…she invades his. He spies on her…she spies on him. committed. With so many gruesome While Lauren is fixated on justice for Leslie, Leah suffers her own pain. Only fifteen-years-old, she happenings, a bizarre plot, and surprising is left without a sister and father and her mother doesn’t remotely appear like the woman who raised her. twists, “An Uncertain Place” is sure to draw While detective Mendez tries to help Lauren, he is unable to stop the bloodshed that would obviously the reader in and satisfy the insatiable need come. Both Lauren and Leah fight the battle of their lives to save one other. we all have to explore the unknowns that I believe the rating system is up to five stars, but I’m going outside that box and rate this book at least threaten our own psyches and imaginations. an eight. If you have time to read only one book, you really should make it this one. You won’t regret it. Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “Deadly Decisions,” published by Suspense Publishing, an Reviewed by Lynne Levandowski for imprint of Suspense Magazine Suspense Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com 35 Need You Now Death Benefit By James Grippando By Robin Cook Reading a techno-thriller is much like watching one of those plate-spinning jugglers who performed on “Need You Now” opens with Sunday nights on the Ed Sullivan Show. One plate after another is set spinning atop sticks while hoops are spun news of a suicide—Abe Cushman, on arms, legs and ankles and there is always at least one beautiful woman who smiles and hands the performer yet the perpetrator of a massive Ponzi another plate to set spinning. We become so enthralled with the music and motion and the beautiful assistant that scheme, has leaped from the balcony we fail to notice an occasional dropped plate or sagging hoop. So it is with this latest book by the long-time master of his high-rise apartment—and of the medical thriller, Robin Cook. then follows that with the murder of In this novel, the beautiful woman is Pia Grazdani, a brilliant and beautiful (is there any other kind in these Gerry Collins, one of Cushman’s top stories?) fourth year medical student at Columbia University in New York City. Pia has landed a plum assignment associates. as an assistant to the even more brilliant but brittle Dr. Tobias Rothman who is engaged in two simultaneous fields Flash forward three years to of research—super virulent strains of salmonella and the challenge of growing complete and functioning human Patrick Lloyd, a financial advisor organs from stem cells. on Wall Street at the International Every story must have villains and in “Death Benefit,” we have two. Edmund Mathews and Russell Levevre Bank of Switzerland. Patrick is under are Wall Street traders who, having made large fortunes by wrecking the economy with sub prime mortgages, are suspicion by his superiors because his now set on making even larger fortunes with a new company that cons little old ladies out of their life insurance ex-girlfriend, Lilly—who works for policies. These two are so dastardly they lack only mustaches to twirl. But the thought of order-ready organs for BOS in Singapore—had contact with transplant threatens to derail their latest venture and they are growing desperate. Collins, and she has now been fired So more plates are set to spinning. The Albanian mob makes an appearance, vials of deadly for trying to access private accounts. salmonella are stolen, and a container of toxic polonium-210 is tossed into the mix…with the Shortly afterward, Patrick is yanked expected deadly consequences. into an SUV and an armed man This is a fun read. Sure, there are a few dropped plates along the way, but the book moves along warns Patrick that if he doesn’t get the at such a rapid pace that the reader doesn’t notice or mind. money back that he lost to Cushman, Reviewed by Andrew MacRae for Suspense Magazine both Patrick and Lilly will end up like Agent 6 Collins. After Patrick’s dropped off, By Tom Rob Smith he’s approached by Lilly, who he hasn’t British author Tom Rob Smith burst onto the mystery/thriller scene in 2008 with his first novel, “Child seen since they broke up in Singapore. 44,” a bestseller set during the last years of Stalin’s reign. It introduced Leo Demidov—war hero, KGB agent, now And that’s just the first thirty pages. assigned to internal security—and his beautiful school teacher wife, Raisa. Smith’s second novel, “The Secret This is a complicated story with Speech,” brought Leo into the early Khrushchev years. With “Agent 6,” Smith completes the Demidov trilogy with that “ripped from the headlines” feel. a whodunit injected into the Byzantine world of Cold War-era international politics. The labyrinthine world of twenty- The novel begins by telling how Leo first met Raisa in 1950. Instrumental to that meeting is Jesse Austin, a first-century finance makes a good black American singer enamored with Communism. Fifteen years later, Leo is disgraced and working as a factory backdrop for the twists and turns manager, while Raisa is a preeminent educator. She’s chosen to lead a Peace Tour of Russian school children to of “Need You Now.” As Patrick and New York City, a tour designed to create goodwill between the two countries. Lilly try to uncover what’s going on, Leo and Raisa’s two adopted daughters, Zoya and Elena, accompany their mother. Unbeknownst to Raisa, it quickly becomes obvious that it’s a the idealistic Elena has been recruited for a special mission, one that involves the blacklisted and now mostly lot more than just a Ponzi scheme. No forgotten Jesse Austin. Events go horribly wrong, leading to a bloody confrontation that shatters Leo’s family. one is quite what they seem; secret When Leo refuses to accept the cover-up of the tragedy, he winds up exiled to Afghanistan as an advisor to its pasts and ulterior motives abound as Communist party. more and more layers are peeled away. Leo is tortured by the mystery of what happened in New York City. Fifteen years later, he gets a chance to At points the story is almost finally pursue his investigation. In his quest for justice, Leo must navigate a maze where today’s enemies might be too complicated, and the number of tomorrow’s allies…and enemies again the next day. The cost for seeking an answer could mean sacrificing every mysterious characters who are spying loyalty, every love, and his own life. on or threatening Patrick and Lilly With “Agent 6,” Smith has created an epic finale, covering thirty years while moving between the USSR, almost require a scorecard. Throw in the United States, and Afghanistan. Smith has a gift for sharply-etched characterization, especially with the new the FBI, the Treasury Department, characters. A twisty thriller in a class with le Carré, “Agent 6” is a satisfying culmination to the trilogy. and mob connections, and you’ve got Reviewed by David Ingram for Suspense Magazine a seriously tangled web. But as more of the truth is revealed, the pieces seem Angel Condemned to fit together, even if some are a bit By Mary Stanton farfetched. Brianna Winston-Beaufort, or Bree as she is known to all, is an attorney. The only difference The book mixes together first- between her and her peers is she has two practices, one in US courts and one in Celestial courts. person chapters about Patrick with Her latest case, she reluctantly took on to please her soon-to-be-married aunt. Cissy’s fiancé, Prosper third-person chapters about the other White, has been served with papers from an old enemy who is determined White will pay for his sins. characters, but it’s an effective choice Bree is unhappy with taking on the newest case because she doesn’t like Prosper and neither does any of for the intricate story and the reader the family. She starts digging into Prosper’s life and runs into a new firm…well, new to this world anyway and its gets used to it quickly. Although a bit shady attorneys. When Prosper is murdered and Cissy is arrested, Bree must take on a new celestial case as well convoluted, “Need You Now” is an to prove her innocence. effective page-turner. A deceased mother, demons, angels, district attorneys, an irreplaceable assistant, police officer boyfriend, Reviewed by: Scott and snotty museum workers all play distinct parts in Bree’s investigations. A missing cross is the key to both Pearson, author of “Star cases…or is it? The problem is she may have gotten in over her head and the heads of all who help her! Trek: Honor in the Night” A wonderfully original story with an amazing cast of characters. You will be taken with the characters and the for Suspense Magazine storyline will keep you on the edge of your seat! Reviewed by Ashley Wintters forSuspense Magazine
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 36 Nazareth Child A Corpse's By Darrell James Nightmare As a trained investigator, Del Shannon tracked down one missing person after another, yet one proved By Phillip Depoy more elusive than most, her mother. Having been taken from her Kentucky home as toddler by her father, Del had never been able to put together enough information to discover her missing past, but with the death of her This newest release reclusive and alcoholic parent she has been given a chance to find out her heritage. from the Fever Devilin series Turns out that the FBI are investigating the flamboyant cult leader Silas Rule back in Del’s home town of is, if possible, the best I’ve Nazareth Church and she is offered the opportunity to go in under cover to help the government discover if read. For those unaware, Rule is a blow-hard preacher or a Jim Jones figure leading his flock to eternal damnation, not to mention the last Fever Devilin is a folklorist undercover agent they sent in has not been heard from for six weeks. Since Del has inherited the house in the by trade who left the world community after her father’s passing, she has a legitimate reason to be in town to claim her property. of academia behind and moved back With ATFE agent Frank Falcone masquerading as her husband, the pair go into the lion’s den bent on to his birthplace of Blue Mountain in discovering if the missing FBI agent is dead, or if Rule converted him to his right-wing zealot religion, and the Appalachians of Georgia. Fever has for Del, a chance to ask the people of the area if they know her mother. Armed with an old photograph and a always been beyond bright (with an IQ nine-millimeter Baby Eagle, Del heads out looking for her lost mother and runs into more trouble than can be of 186) and there wasn’t anything he expected. didn’t know since the age of nine. Locked in the windowless church with all the preachers, other faithful followers, and with the dam at the In this new novel, Fever begins in top of the valley about to blow and flood the plains, will she ever get the chance she so desperately wanted or death, literally. Waking up in the hospital will the town be obliterated from Kentucky’s blue grass existence? James takes us on a wild chase to love life and after three months, he’s surprised and redemption proving there is nothing to compare to a mother’s love. A great debut novel that will hold you spell only has a vague recollection of being bound to its dynamite conclusion. shot. An intruder walked into his home Reviewed by Mark Sadler, author of “Blood on his Hands,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of and shot him. No one has been able to Suspense Magazine find out anything about the intruder Red Mist or why the crime was committed. All By Patricia Cornwell Fever seems to know for sure is that he Cornwell’s nineteenth Scarpetta novel and she hasn’t lost her touch. had an “angelic” visitation that told him Dr. Kay Scarpetta is as engaging now as she ever has been. Never mix business with pleasure, about a box hidden on his mantel that held a picture of a woman who looked that’s the motto most live by, but that line is crossed in “Red Mist.” Scarpetta’s latest case is very a lot like his mother, an unsigned letter, personal, one in which she herself may be investigated by the FBI. And it doesn’t matter that her and a mystery that existed back in Paris husband Benton Westley is FBI. And her longtime friend and investigator Pete Marino decides he may abandon in 1923. ship and go to work for Jaime, who was once a close associate of Scarpetta. It doesn’t get much more personal Fever decides to figure this than that. How does Scarpetta deal with these issues and solve years-old murders at the same time? mystery out for himself by investigating Lola Daggette is on death row for the murders of the Jordans. It’s an open and shut case, or so they say. the ‘visions’ he’s receiving. It’s difficult Scarpetta doesn’t believe it and tries to find the truth, but must do so without bringing more unwanted attention since his recovery includes blacking to herself. In the past, Dawn Kincaid attempted to kill Scarpetta, who defended herself and for which defense out without warning. And when Fever she is now being ‘watched.’ blacks out, he finds himself sitting in a A convoluted but entertaining entwining of personal issues with professional mayhem is what Cornwell Paris club called The Jazz Cat, watching pens in this distinctive narrative. It is well written and will be, I’m sure, very well read by many of her fans. a very frightening owner by the name Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “Deadly Decisions,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Lisa (who will take no guff from of Suspense Magazine anybody, to say the least) and her true Believing the Lie love, T-Bone. By Elizabeth George An intense mystery unfolds that Soon—and many fans will say, “finally!”—Elizabeth George will place on the market a book of twists, turns spans time and includes everything and, to be blunt, fantastic writing. This is the seventeenth novel where readers get to follow the amazing sleuth, from a desperate killer to The Great Inspector Lynley, who reminds readers of Sherlock Holmes, James Bond, and Jessica Fletcher all rolled into one. Migration, to who exactly Lisa and His deductions are enticing, and the clues he follows have readers immersed from page one. T-Bone really were and how they ended In this newest tale, the Inspector is called to investigate the death of a man by the name of Ian Cresswell. up a part of Fever‘s present-day life. The He’s a bit confused at first, as he’s sent in by the man’s extremely wealthy uncle, Bernard Fairclough, but the death plot is intriguing and a great deal of fun doesn’t seem to be suspect at all. The coroner ruled that Cresswell accidentally drowned and there’s nothing that to read. There are many adjectives that speaks otherwise to the Inspector. Of course, not one to give up, Lynley’s friends (Simon and Deborah) enter a reviewer can use depending on the the story to help, and soon the truckload of secrets and lies that are hidden in the Fairclough family tree spell mystery, but as always, Phillip Depoy motive after motive as to why Ian Cresswellhad to be killed. stands out among suspense authors The ‘prodigal son,’ Nicolas is offered up as a suspect. A recovering drug addict who is married toan for the pure intelligence that he writes. overprotective ‘stunner’ that seems to know far more than what she’s telling; a bitter ex-wife is added into the His characters are witty and charming, mix, a gay lover, a troubled son, a patriarch that seems to play the role of ‘God’ in the Fairclough family, and more. and to be able to blend historical fact Add to all this a young newspaper reporter by the name of Zed who is trying to hold onto his job at a tabloid with present day, as well as continue to paper and you have a blend of some truly fascinating characters. create new stories around a character As always with Ms. George, the reader has no idea what will happen on the next page, that invites romance and danger is a and just when you believe you have it all figured out, a new character or storyline is uncovered that true gift. throws you back to the beginning. The plotlines are abundant and only Inspector Lynley’s prowess Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of and his very smart friends will uncover the truth under this wealthy family’s web of lies. A complete “Tallent & Lowery - 13” for Suspense A+ for the mystery realm. Magazine Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “Tallent & Lowery - 13” for Suspense Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com 37 Fear is a gateway drug
“Keep both hands on your is about to scare them off.” pants, because Nicholson... -J.A. Konrath, co-author of Stirred Fear is a gateway drug
“Keep both hands on your is about to scare them off.” pants, because Nicholson... -J.A. Konrath, co-author of Stirred The Hunter Retribution By John Lescroart By Val McDermid In the most recent of the Tony Hill novels, McDermid again takes us into the dark recesses of In John Lescroart’s excellent new the psychotic mind of not one but two criminals. One is a throwback to earlier work that Dr. Hill, a mystery, “The Hunter,” he returns law enforcement profiler, assisted Detective Inspector Carol Jordan with, the imprisoning of Jacko to the character series he began Vance. On the eve of D.I. Jordan’s murder, the investigative team having broken up and reassigned, with “The Hunt Club” in 2006 and news comes that Vance has escaped from jail. Not only was there a murderer on the loose but he was looking for continued with “Treasure Hunt” last retribution on all and sundry who helped put him away. year. This time around, San Francisco While aiding in his capture and ducking his advances against them, family and their friends, Jordan’s team is private investigator Wyatt Hunt has asked to assist in solving what appears to be a serial killer that is attacking hookers, the regular street girls. Three taken on an unusual case—his own have died so far and Hill has to try to get inside of the murderer’s head before the fourth one is found, bearing the personal history. tattoo, MINE, on one of their wrists. The deaths have all been so dissimilar in patterns: a drowning, crucifixion, Wyatt has always known he was and dismemberment, that without the tattoo they may never have been linked. When Hill finds the common link, adopted. It led him into working for the murder team heads in to arrest the suspect, but will they be too late. Child Protective Services, until he Meanwhile Vance is playing havoc at his ex-wife’s home and is off on his own killing spree as Jordan and was forced out and started his own Hill stay close on his heels. When the deaths hit home, Jordan snaps, blaming Hill, and the eggshell membrane of their potential relationship is ripped, possibly beyond repair. Never before have I found two such unlikable detective agency. The Hunt Club protagonists as the uptight Jordan and the needy, clinging mess that Hill has become, actually mesh so finely that Agency is now well-established and throughout all the flaws of their stuttering lives, the story still flows well. services some of the San Francisco Hats off to McDermid. Her storytelling ability is outstanding and “Retribution” is a top-drawer tale. elite. Then Wyatt receives a text Reviewed by Mark Sadler, author of “Blood on his Hands,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of message on his cell phone: How did Suspense Magazine your mother die? He has no memories of his birth Slash and Burn mother. Further text messages impel By Matt Hilton Wyatt to dig through decades-old files This is the third book about a man by the name of Joe Hunter, and no author in the world has ever named to discover his own dark story. He their character better. A former Special Ops agent with the CIA, Joe lives his life as a hunter, a troubleshooter finds his mother was bludgeoned to with the accent on “shooter.” However when this book begins, Joe is taking a well-deserved vacation. The hunter death in 1970 and his father was tried is finally relaxing, taking some time out on his rented deck with a beer in one hand and happiness in his heart. twice for her murder, only to be let off But like everything in Joe’s life, his quiet time comes to an end when he looks up and sees a young woman by hung juries both times. There’s also approaching him from the beach. She’s the sister of a former colleague from the CIA who saved Joe’s life. Kate is a report that he was neglected by his worried about her sister, Imogen, who is missing and may already be dead. parents. Wyatt’s investigation of the Joe feels duty bound to help and soon finds himself far from his vacation standing at the door of Imogen’s circumstances of his mother’s death house, only to find it occupied by a couple of seriously bad individuals who are trashing everything inside. leads to one brick wall after another. (Readers, this is the first action-packed gun battle with plenty more to come.) His father has disappeared, as has his Little by little the plot is revealed and Joe, with the help of Kate and two buddies, go after the bad guys. As mother’s closest friend, a drug-addict the bodies start piling up, they think that they’ve solved the case. However, as with all the Joe Hunter novels, just flower child turned religious zealot. when you imagine that the story is over, there is one more tough situation to handle. With the help of Tamara Dade This is not your ordinary action book. In fact, it would not come as a surprise to see Joe Hunter up on and the rest of his investigative the big screen one day. Joe and his friends can really put things right, so to speak, but are sincerely likable in team, as well as his friend, Homicide the process. The bad guys are well written and certainly deserve every single thing that’s coming to them, and the author is very adamant about showing the sincere loyalty that exists between Joe and his friends. Inspector Devin Juhle, Wyatt sets out The only downside is that the Joe Hunter books go by so fast that it takes too long to receive the next one. on an odyssey to find who really killed Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “Tallent & Lowery - 13” for Suspense Magazine his mother. The journey takes him across two countries and back to a The Spy who Jumped off the Screen horrible tragedy. He’s not prepared for By Thomas Caplan the physical toll of the investigation, or that some of the skeletons in his closet With a dashing hero, an attractive jewelry designer, and a megalomaniac billionaire villain are living, breathing…and determined worthy of James Bond, Caplan brings to you a thriller for the modern day. You’ll sail on a luxury yacht to kill to keep the truth hidden, even and get lost in foreign locales. Filled with passion and betrayal, technology and money hungry men, after forty years. this book will bring you up to a new level of story telling, and keep you there for the entire ride. Intricately plotted and paced The hero: former covert operative, now number one, box office movie star Ty Hunter, recruited by at the speed of bullet, Lescroart has Washington to track down missing nuclear warheads from a decommissioned Russian military site. The villains: delivered a deeply satisfying mystery. Ian Santal, a billionaire with twisted justifications for any action and Phillip Frost, Santal’s ruthless second in- Carve out some time in your schedule command. The lure: Isabella Cavill, Santal’s goddaughter, a British designer working in Rome. The problem: the when you start this book, because you warheads are en route to their eventual owners, fanatics who sponsor terrorism. Hunter must use both his skills as won’t want to stop until an operative and an actor to thwart those who would try to control world destiny. you reach the end. This novel is filled with long narration and in-depth philosophical passages. The action is analytical, logical, Reviewed by David and decisive. Caplan gets into the minds of the main characters, showing faults, quirks, loves and regrets, and Ingram for Suspense how history affects the present. Don’t expect a quick read, but be ready for an adventure worthy of another classic Magazine battle between good and evil. Reviewed by Stephen L. Brayton, author of “Beta” for Suspense Magazine
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 40 The Dove of Death Saints Astray By Peter Tremayne By Jacqueline Carey In the mood for a leisurely cruise? Don’t book your passage on the Barnacle Goose, the tragic ship in Peter In “Saints Astray,” Jacqueline Tremayne’s “The Dove of Death.” When overtaken by pirates in 670 A.D., the ship is taken captive, along with the Carey returns to the near future world people on board, with the exception of those killed and the two who escape—Sister Fidelma and her companion, she created in her previous book, Brother Eadulf. Saved by a local monk, they find themselves stranded in a small Breton fishing village. “Santa Olivia,” and to its fascinating Eadulf is relieved to have been rescued, while Fidelma, a king’s sister and a legal advisor, thirsts for justice for heroine, Loup Garron. the dead. Aided by their rescuer, Brother Metellus, they start the dangerous and arduous search for the pirate ship Loup’s mother was a resident in the countless coves surrounding the island. of Outpost 12—once called Santa As a latecomer to Tremayne’s ancient Ireland series, I still managed to enjoy the book overall. Tremayne Olivia—that was created during a seems to find the word “said” to be a four-letter word to be used sparingly. Instead he often has characters smiling pandemic when the military set up or shrugging their dialogue, a contrivance I found annoying. There were also too many characters whose names a fifty-mile wide cordon between began with the letter “B,” making the story confusing at times. the U.S. and Mexico. Her father was Those quibbles aside, I enjoyed learning about the lifestyles and the weaponry of the time, as well as striving born from a top-secret super soldier to figure out who the mysterious pirate leader was. I recommend Tremayne for those who like their mystery program as a genetically engineered travels in olden times, rather than set in the faster-paced Internet world. organism (Geemo for short). Loup Reviewed by Kari Wainwright for Suspense Magazine looks like a normal eighteen-year-old girl, but she’s inherited her father’s The Ghost of Greenwich Village super strength and incredible speed. By Lorna Graham She has no concept of fear. To the protagonist Eventual Weldon, New York and Greenwich Village are places of magic. “Saints Astray” begins where Having lost her mother early, Eve is aware of her mother’s time in New York when she was young, “Santa Olivia” left off with Loup prior to marrying and having a family. Eve wonders about her mother’s time there and what her life and her lover, Pilar, escaping from would have been had she not died young. Being the only girl of four siblings, Eve has grieved for her Outpost 12 and crossing into Mexico. mother’s presence and feels that retracing her steps will give her new insight. They’re helped by Christophe who, Eve arrives with no job and little money, and manages to snag a small apartment in Greenwich Village. She in a way, is Loup’s “cousin” since his then finds a job as a writer at the number two morning program on network TV. father was also a Geemo. While the Oh, and did I mention the ghost? Soon after her arrival, the ghost of a writer in the Beat Generation begins original Geemos have died, burned communicating with her telepathically. He used to live in her apartment. After getting over the initial shock, Eve out by their raging metabolisms, their develops a close relationship with Donald Bellows, a man who never fulfilled his potential, and then died too children have a chance for somewhat young to be recognized for his talent. normal lives. In the thirty years since As Eve matures, as a writer and a woman, she learns fascinating details about the creative world in the mid- the pandemic, life outside the border century. She also learns the heartbreaking stories of several of the talents involved. cordon has returned to the normalcy Lorna Graham has an encyclopedic knowledge of the period, mentioning clothing designers, artists, writers, of the pre-illness days. and political movements of the time and I learned what a fascinating period it was. Since I was born in the fifties, In Mexico City, Loup and I was too little to know much about many of the gifted artists mentioned, but I discovered so much about that Pilar meet with a reform-minded period! US Senator who wants to blow open the story of Outpost 12. They I highly recommend this book, not as a mystery, but as a coming-of-age novel with an enormous gift of also receive a business proposition knowledge about an under-appreciated period in history. Bravo, Lorna! I look forward to your next book! from the head of a Security Firm Reviewed by Holly Price for Suspense Magazine to become bodyguards. While the position is a natural fit for Loup, Pilar The Dispatcher struggles with the training, until she By Ryan David Jahn discovers her own special talent: Winner of the New Blood Dagger Award, Ryan David Jahn certainly has the gift to begin a suspense she’s a crack shot with a pistol. Their novel by setting hearts on edge thesecond the book is opened. assignments take them around the This novel focuses on Ian Hunt who works as a police dispatcher out of Bulls Mouth, Texas. world, including a tour with a British Ian hasn’t had the best life, thus far. His daughter was kidnapped when she was only seven-years-old. pop band. While they travel far, Loup Another seven years has gone by and Ian still holds the innate hope that Maggie is still alive out there, even though and Pilar can’t forget the people they they recently declared her dead. His ex-wife now has a new life, yet Ian is still buried in his grief. left behind. When a former Outpost One evening a call comes in from Maggie. Now fourteen-years-old, she’s screaming out for daddy to come resident disappears just before save her, yelling that she has escaped, but the kidnapper is hot on her heels and she doesn’t have much time. Ian testifying for the senator’s committee, can barely breathe as the case is suddenly reopened and he goes on the hunt to get his daughter back. Loup and Pilar must risk all they have The reader is taken through part of the story by Maggie, who has lived years of imprisonment in a concrete to finally shine a spotlight on the walled basement that has another individual living in its depths. The ‘thing’s’ name is Borden, and he has a story black hole of Outpost 12. that no reader will believe. Henry and Beatrice are the couple who have Maggie. Beatrice always says how much Carey delivers a fast-paced story, she loves her and treats her as if she is her own daughter. Unfortunately, the cell always remains the same. filled with action and leavened with What these kidnappers don’t realize is that Maggie is one strong little girl, and there’s no way she’ll forget humor and the delightful interplay about her very real father who is out there searching. Add in a half-Spanish, half-Apache man by the name of of her characters. When Diego Pena, car chases across lonesome country, gun fights that outdo any that the OK Corral ever saw, and saints stray, we get a devil readers have a thrilling book that will definitely keep them on the edge of their seats. A word of warning, this is a of a good story. very well-written book which means very realistic. Make sure you are ‘up for’ a plot of this nature before getting Reviewed by David into the read. Ingram for Suspense Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “Tallent & Lowery - 13” for Suspense Magazine Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com 41 Bad Weeds Never Die The Innocent By Christopher Valen By Taylor Stevens In a follow up to “The Informationist,” Taylor Stevens brings Vanessa Michael Munroe thundering back While it’s almost into action. banal to say that our lives Five-year-old Hannah is taken from her mother by The Chosen, a cult of followers of The Profit. One of are formed by the choices the cult’s beliefs is to do everything in love which opens the door for adult members to abuse and sodomize we make, there are times in children. Three adult survivors who have escaped The Chosen have experienced this abuse first hand and are everyone’s life when those determined to find Hannah. Their pledge results in an eight year quest to find the child and bring her back home. choices are harder, and more Logan, one of the survivors seeks out Munroe and banking on their friendship enlists her to take on the consequential, than at any other time. rescue. Munroe carries demons from her past, she is a mercenary for hire who knows how to stalk and kill when Take one hot, humid summer in necessary. She is the perfect weapon for infiltration of The Cult and the extraction of the child. St. Paul, Minnesota. Police out on patrol Having located Hannah in Buenos Aires, Munroe goes into action. When she gets access into find an abandoned Mercedes, spatters the cult, Hannah is suddenly moved into hiding. Munroe must locate Hannah before they move her of blood, and a missing young woman. out of the country again. Homicide detective John Santana and This fast-paced book keeps you engaged until the final page. Stevens is securing her place as a his partner Kacie Hawkins start their great thriller writer. A sequel is in the works and I for one can’t wait to get my hands on it. investigation assuming that young Reviewed by Jodi Hanson for Suspense Magazine Teresa Blackwood is dead. Santana, a native of Columbia, Deep Sky fled his homeland at sixteen after an By Patrick Lee act of violence he can’t—and isn’t A normal house sits in a cul-de-sac in a small suburb filled with happy families. This one evening, a man allowed to—forget. When he discovers walks into the house, shoots the two people inside, and launches a missile through the roof and into the Oval that Blackwood and her father own an Office a few short miles away, killing the President. agency specializing in the adoption of A deserted area in Wyoming with only a broken-down building that looks as if it’s been there since the days infants and children from Central and of the gunslingers. This is Border Town, housing the people of Tangent, a secret group only a very few people South America, the memories he’s tried know about. Travis and Paige work here, caretakers of the ‘Breach.’ They receive the message that the President to lay to rest come back full force. has been killed, and a letter was left behind referencing Scalar, a program of Tangent’s that supposedly died Though Blackwood’s boyfriend, a long time ago. It was feared by many. Paige remembers her father talking about it and how it was ‘covered- sister, and father might all have had up.’ Problem is, it wasn’t covered up that well and has brought about a series of events that could open up the reason to kill the young woman, Santana ‘Breach’ and change the world as we know it. and his partner can’t turn any of those Using a device called ‘The Tap,’ Paige and Travis go back in time to look at their own memories and try to reasons into a solid case. But when the come up with a way to stop the events that happened in history so the future won’t be destroyed. Paige calls up unexpected victim of a brutal murder memories of her father and what he saw where Scalar was concerned. Travis goes back to when he was a young is found, there are suddenly suspects child in order to meet up with the man that will put these events into action. They have twenty-four hours to everywhere, and following the trail stop the effects of the ‘Breach,’ and time is running out. takes Santana straight to Columbia. This author has done a fantastic job of showing readers how history directly affects what the future will From the steaming streets of a become. Think about it. Say radium was never discovered. There would be no nuclear weapons in this world Midwest summer to the pungent back right now, yet there would also be no cures for serious illnesses. Which is better? What do you forsake in order alleys of Bogota, author Christopher to move on? The answers will seriously surprise you. A thrilling read! Valen brings “Bad Weeds Never Die” Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “Tallent & Lowery – 13” for Suspense Magazine to life with descriptive details and spare dialogue that threatens to break Magical Alienation your heart. Motives are woven into the By Kris Neri This is a neat cross between fantasy and suspense, with romance overtones thrown in. The duo story’s fabric with skill and the gradually of Samantha Brennan, fake psychic, and Annabelle Haggerty, FBI agent/real Celtic goddess make increasing pace has you turning the their second appearance here. The first, “High Crimes on the Magical Plane,” was nominated for a pages rapidly. 2010 Lefty for Best Humorous Mystery Novel. Valen has created a main character It’s a stretch to call these books mysteries, since there’s no murder in this one, but they sure are fun and with a satisfyingly complex depth. there’s a lot of mysterious stuff. A good bit of suspension of disbelief is needed, but you can tell that, right? Santana lost both his parents while An aging rock star, who may be some sort of supernatural being, or not, hires Samantha to be his personal young, one to an accident, the other spiritual advisor for his upcoming tour: Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll. It pays well, so she flies to Sedona for to murder, and the wounds have never the kickoff concert. However, that first concert is going to be a benefit for an onerous person, Normal Frankly, healed. But beyond that, he is haunted by who has been accused of trying to kill a senator and is holed up with his personal militia and some hostages. what he’d done in Columbia and who he Two gangster-types accompany Sam and the rocker on the private jet trip to Arizona and Sam can’t tell who’s left behind. “Like every child and every in charge, the bodyguards or her employer. Her old nemesis god, Angus, the hunk she can’t resist, tests her adult, the decisions he’d made…had resolution and muddies the waters. consequences.” Santana is finally forced Sam soon realizes she’s receiving signs when Camelback Mountain sticks a tongue out at her. The reader to confront his past. Will it mean a becomes privy to the thoughts of the Area 51 creature as a harmonic convergence that will be accompanied by a reunion, or more death? This time full moon approaches. The creature and others are determined to make use of this phenomenon, but Annabelle however, the death might be his own. seems to have lost her powers and needs Sam to help her through the event. Some are putting the harmonica- Reviewed by Laura Alden, author of thingie, as Sam calls it, to good use, some plan evil deeds. But which group is which? “Foul Play at the PTA” for Suspense It’s hard, at some points, to see how Samantha is going to land on her feet in the end. A whole lot of Magazine subplots converge in Sedona for the thrilling climax of this magic-studded read. Reviewed by Kaye George, author of “Choke” for Suspense Magazine
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 42 Special Preview Racing the from Jaden Terrell
DEVILBy Jaden Terrell against hers . . . 1 A quavering Even in the dim light of the bar, I could see the bruises. voice interrupted Beginning just below one eye, they spread down the my darkening side of her face and neck, tinged the blue rose tattoo above fantasies. “Hey, the swell of her left breast, and seeped beneath the plunging Cowboy. Buy a girl neckline of her scarlet halter. a beer?” She paused inside the door, hugging herself. Her gaze I looked up to see the woman in the scarlet halter top, swept the room, lit briefly on one face, then another. Looking and the first thing I thought was, Cowboy . . . Maria called for something, or someone. Or maybe for someone’s absence. me that. I looked away before she could catch me staring, and The second thing I thought was, Why the hell not? when I glanced up again, she had squeezed onto a slick “Sure.” I gestured to the empty seat across from me, and red stool between two beefy bikers whose low-slung jeans she squeezed past a lanky man in leather and slid into the revealed the top third of their buttocks. chair. “What’s your brand?” One of the bikers tilted his head toward her. Murmured “Bud Light.” She gave me a watery smile and patted her something I couldn’t hear. stomach, which was as flat as a whippet’s. “Got to watch the She flinched and drew in a ragged breath. Said something weight.” that made him scowl and turn back to his drink. Then Dani, I edged through the crowd to the L-shaped bar and the bartender, brought her an amber liquid over ice, and she ordered the Bud and another Jack and Coke from Dani. hunched over the laminated bar, stirring her drink with one She pushed a stray curl behind one ear and slid two glasses finger. The fingertips of her other hand rubbed gingerly at toward me with a nod toward the table I’d just left. “Looking her cheek. She flicked her tongue across a split in her lower to get lucky?” lip and blinked hard. “I don’t know. She seems a little . . . fragile.” Not my problem, I told myself, even as my hand tightened “Afraid she’ll glom on?” around my glass. There were a thousand reasons why a “Plenty to be afraid of before it gets to that.” woman might come to a bar with bruises on her cheeks and “The boyfriend’s out of the picture, if that matters. Or so tears in her eyes. Not all of them involved some jerk with a she says.” sour temper and heavy fists. “So she says.” I tore my gaze away and told myself again: Not my “Seemed to me like she could use a little comfort.” problem. “Maybe. But why me?” It was a sweltering June night, and I was sweating my “You gotta be kidding.” A smile flitted across her face cojones off at a corner table of the First Edition Bar and Grill as she reached across the bar and smoothed the front of my and trying to forget that Maria, my wife of thirteen years, shirt with her palm. “Believe me, honey, you’re the pick of was spending her first anniversary with a man who wasn’t the litter.” me. We’d married young, two weeks after my twenty-first I gave her a goofy grin, stammered a thanks, and stuffed birthday, and while my mind understood what had gone a couple of dollars into the beer mug she’d set out for tips. wrong, the rest of me still felt like someone had thrown a bag Then I wended my way through the sweat-sour crush of over my head and scraped me raw with a cheese grater. bodies and the cigarette haze back to my table, where a burly She’d waited a decent year before remarrying, but it wasn’t guy who looked like someone had superglued a tumbleweed long enough to keep my heart from aching like a broken to his face was putting the moves on my new acquaintance. tooth whenever I imagined D.W.’s hands on her, his mouth He was about five-ten to my six feet, built like a barrel and reeking of cigar smoke. When he saw me, he rocked back
SuspenseMagazine.com 43 on his heels and glared at me through slitted eyes, maybe a shiny silver phone that looked like a miniature spaceship. gauging if he could take me. I was pretty sure he couldn’t. She squinted at the name on the screen, and a shudder ran The muscles in my shoulders tensed, and we stared each through her body. other down for a long moment. Then he dropped his gaze, “Oh, God,” she said. adjusted his crotch with one massive hand, and mumbled to I felt my eyes narrow. “Is that him?” my tablemate, “Aw, he ain’t man enough for you.” He ambled She nodded. toward the pool table, throwing a gap-toothed, tobacco- “Tell him to get lost.” tinged grin back over his shoulder. “You want a real man, Her voice was a whisper. “I can’t.” give me a holler.” Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the phone. I set the lady’s beer in front of her and slid into the seat I laid my hand over hers. “Ignore it then.” across the table from her. She scooted her chair closer so I “I can’t.” She flipped open the front cover and held the could hear her over the din. “Cockroaches. If there’s one in phone to her ear. “Hello? Baby?” the room, he’ll find me. You come here often?” I couldn’t make out the words, but I could hear him I smiled at the cliché. “I stop by for a beer and a burger shouting from where I sat. She blinked back tears and most Friday nights.” listened, her whole body trembling. “No, sweetheart, I didn’t “No beer tonight.” She nodded toward my glass. mean . . . I didn’t . . .” “Nope.” I thought of Maria, and a bitter taste came into I gave her three minutes. Then I took the phone away. my mouth. “Tonight called for something stronger.” “Back off, buddy,” I said into the speaker. “The lady wants to She glanced at my left hand. Y“ ou’re not married.” be left alone.” Then I hung up. “Divorced.” “Oh, God,” she said again. “He’s going to kill me.” “Kids?” “You’re not thinking of going back to him?” “One.” I tugged my wallet out of my hip pocket, flipped “No, no, you don’t understand. He’ll find me.” She flicked to my son’s school picture. I handed it over, watching her face her tongue across her injured lip again and crossed her arms as she studied it. across her breasts. “What am I going to do?” The corners of her mouth twitched up. No pity. No “The first thing you do is get a restraining order.” revulsion. “He’s cute,” she said. With a sharp, bitter laugh, she gestured to her battered “He has Down syndrome.” face. “I had a restraining order when he did this. For all the “I have a cousin with Down’s,” she said. “Sweet kid.” good it did.” Something in my gut relaxed. She handed back the wallet “I have friends on the force. I’ll check on it tomorrow. and said, “I’ve never been here before. Seems pretty rough.” You’ll file charges.” I glanced around the room. The First Edition was originally It wasn’t a question. conceived as a retreat for journalists and reporters—cozy and She gave a hitching sob. “I can’t . . . I don’t know . . . I intimate, with a clientele who wore tweed jackets with suede mean, okay. Only . . . Will you stay with me? Tonight? You patches on the elbows. It had changed hands several times don’t know how he is.” since then and had finally evolved into a cramped sports bar She was looking for a protector, not a lover, which was catering primarily to good ol’ boys and bikers, but the decor fine with me. Still, there were probably a million reasons to retained vestiges of its past. Ancient printing presses and say no. I considered telling her I had a previous engagement yellowing early editions of The Tennessean and The Nashville and getting the hell out. Banner shared shelf space with NASCAR photos and neon But there was no previous engagement. Bud Light signs. A Jeff Gordon ball cap hung from the half- “Why not?” I threw back the rest of my drink and pushed empty potato chip rack, a rubber arm jutting from beneath it. away from the table as the alcohol burned its way down my Beside the bar, a bulletin board labeled “Wall of Shame” throat. “You want to take one car or two?” was covered with candid photographs—a grinning man in a “Let’s take yours.” She wiped at her eyes and forced neon pink construction helmet, a shot of someone mooning another smile, revealing a smudge of cherry lipstick on one the photographer, a bearded man at the pool table shooting tooth. “He’ll be looking for mine.” the cue ball into the V of a young woman’s spread legs. Since the parking lot was packed, I’d left my truck a little No pictures of yours truly. farther up the street. We walked past the antique boutique The lettering on the front window read,First Edition Bar and the Tae Kwan Do school where I took lessons and and Grill. Bikers Welcome. occasionally taught. From there, it was less than a three- “It’s not as rough as it looks,” I said, pointing to a sign minute stroll to the strip mall where my black and silver beside the Wall of Shame. It said, No vulgar language. “They Chevy Silverado sat glistening like a water bug beneath the don’t even allow cussing in here.” streetlight. “It’s noisy, though.” She slid her hands beneath her hair “Nice wheels.” She ran a loving hand over the front to rub the muscles of her neck, then leaned forward and fender. The diffused light of the parking lot softened the hard placed her forearms on the table, giving me a good view of angles of her face and made her almost beautiful. “You okay her cleavage. “Can I ask you something?” to drive?” “Sure.” “I’m okay.” I opened the passenger side door and she Her cell phone rang, a tinny blast of “Born to Be Wild.” slid across the seat as I closed the door behind her. When I She startled, rummaged through her purse, and fished out climbed behind the wheel, she wriggled into the hollow under
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 44 my arm. Poked the bobblehead Batman on the dashboard you wish she would. Heat. Shuddering. Her legs around you, and giggled. Her hair still smelled of cigarette smoke, but and you feel each tremor of that drenched and pulsing place underneath that was a musky perfume that, combined with between her thighs. the whiskey I’d been drinking, made it hard to think clearly. I Three guesses which we had. said, “I don’t even know your name.” Afterward, we lay entangled with each other and the “It’s Heather.” Her fingers squeezed my knee, trailed up sheets. The sweat cooled on our bodies, and the room smelled my thigh. heavily of musk. I closed my hand over hers. “You don’t have to do that.” “Mmmm. That was nice.” She leaned over and planted “Sssh.” She lifted her other hand and pressed the index a wet kiss firmly on my lips. “Wait here, and I’ll go get us finger to my lips. “I want to.” a drink.” She peeled the condom from between my thighs, Maybe she wanted more than a protector, after all. I had kissed the place where it had been, and swung her legs over a feeling I was headed for a night of raw and meaningless sex the edge of the bed. “I’ll get rid of this on the way to the that I should probably feel guilty about but didn’t. fridge.” “I’m Jared.” I tried to keep my voice steady as her hand I watched as she padded to the wastebasket, then to the continued its northerly migration. “Jared McKean.” refrigerator. She was thinner than my ex-wife, with sharp, “I know. I asked the bartender. Jared McKean, Private jutting hipbones and a small, flat behind. Her breasts were Eye.” This time, her smile was wicked. “Or should I say, soft and pear-shaped, with long pink nipples that stood up Private Dick?” like the ends of a big man’s thumbs. I could count her ribs and the vertebrae that ran like a knotted chain down the 2 center of her back. She had two tattoos in addition to the rose on her left We stopped to pick up a bottle of sangria and a breast. One was a circle of barbed wire and blue roses around couple of wineglasses. Then she directed me to a seedy motel her right ankle, the other a small yellow butterfly on her left off Lebanon Road. Twenty-four hour porn, rentals by the shoulder. Her lipstick was smeared, and there were dark night or by the hour. smudges in the hollows beneath her eyes where her mascara Nothing classy about it, but that was just as well. Class had run. Her hair was tousled, and since I was the one who would have been wasted on us. had tousled it, I found it both erotic and endearing. By the time she slipped the electronic key into the slot “Service with a smile,” she said, and held out a brimming and pushed the door open, I was lightheaded with alcohol wineglass. She slipped beneath the sheet and sipped her and muzzy with lust. I like to think of myself as a fairly drink, holding it delicately, between two fingers and a thumb. centered, thoughtful kind of guy, but by then my center had “I know it’s not expensive, but I love sweet wine. Don’t you?” drifted considerably south. I tipped my head noncommittally. I thought briefly of Maria and felt a pang of guilt. But hey, She brushed her fingers across my upper arm, where a I wasn’t married anymore. I wasn’t even dating anyone. And thin white scar stood out against the skin. The pale hairs on it wasn’t like Maria wasn’t giving it up to old D.W., probably my arms prickled. at that very moment. So what difference did it make if I had “What happened here?” she asked. sex with someone I’d just met? “Vice squad. Undercover. Crackhead with a switchblade.” We squeezed inside the room, and Heather pushed “And this one?” Her index finger traced a short jagged me back against the door and pressed herself against me. scar a few inches to the right of my navel. At her touch, the Her tongue explored my mouth, flicked across my lips, muscles of my stomach jumped. and fluttered down my neck. Her breath was ragged with “Broken bottle.” excitement, warm, and scented with beer. Her hands were Her hand swept upward, palm flat against the hard everywhere. contours of my abs. Her fingers tugged gently at the blond I pulled away long enough to gasp, “You don’t have to do hairs on my chest, slid across my pectoral muscles, and came this. I’ll stay anyway.” to rest beside the small round scar halfway between my “Don’t,” she whispered. “I need . . .” Her voice trailed off. armpit and my heart. I thought of Maria again and nodded. The one that had ended my marriage. I needed, too. “And this?” she said. Just before her finger touched the Let’s just say it took us a while to get to the sangria. puckered skin, I closed my hand around hers and said, “That I remembered the condom, barely. one, I don’t talk about.” There is a kind of sex where two people have learned each “Ah.” After a moment, she cleared her throat, slipped her other’s preferences and rhythms, where one person’s curves hand from beneath mine, and said, “So. What’s it like being a fit into the other person’s spaces like the pieces of a puzzle. It’s detective? It sounds exciting.” a slow, comfortable sex with a rightness and intensity, and it “Sometimes.” I brushed my lips across the butterfly on takes years of time and love to get there. her shoulder. “Mostly, it’s a lot of waiting.” But there is another kind of sex, all animal ferocity and “Waiting?” passion, sweat and thrust and howl and moan. Heartbeats “Waiting for a cheating spouse to come out of a motel pounding like primeval drums. Your body rises and she’s room. Waiting for a guy defrauding his insurance company there to meet it, and you think she might devour you, and to sneak out of his wheelchair and go dancing. Waiting for
SuspenseMagazine.com 45 interviews. We talk to a lot of people. That’s about it.” coffee and a piece of dry toast. They calmed my churning “You think about it being car chases and murder stomach. While I ate, I skimmed a couple of sections of The mysteries.” Tennessean, which someone had left on the corner of the “P.I.’s don’t do murder,” I said. “Once in a blue moon, if table. we’re hired by an attorney. But mostly, it’s missing persons, There was an article on the legislation to remove the insurance fraud, personal injury claims, spousal misconduct waiting period from handgun permits, a questionnaire for . . . that’s the kind of stuff we do. We leave the homicides for football fans, a story on the Society for Creative Anachronism, the cops.” and a column on the RC and Moon Pie Festival in Bell Buckle, She made a wry face. “Too bad. I think a murder would which was where I’d planned to take Paulie this afternoon. be interesting.” According to the article, the festival had been a great “I worked homicide for seven years,” I said. “And believe success. I shook my head and read the article again. me, murder isn’t interesting. It’s nothing but a waste.” Had been. As in, having already occurred. As in, We moved on to other topics then. She told me about something was terribly amiss. Ronnie, the soon-to-be ex- boyfriend. I glanced at the header at the top of the page, and a “He seemed so sweet.” She wrapped one arm around her hollow feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. knees and held her sangria glass with the other hand. “Guess The header saidSunday. But I’d left the First Edition with you never know, huh?” Heather on Friday night. How the hell could it be Sunday? “Guess not,” I said, though there had probably been signs. Numb and disoriented, I scooped up the paper, and a “Here, hold this.” She handed me her glass and headed headline on the front page of the local section caught my eye: off to the bathroom. woman slain in hotel room. ex-police officer sought When she came back, we had another glass of wine, made for questioning. love again, and sometime after that I drifted into sleep, her Ex-police officer. I’d lost touch with most of the guys I body curled against mine like a Siamese cat’s. I woke up once, used to work with, but I still felt connected to the force. Once with my head spinning and my stomach roiling, realized it a cop, always a cop, as Maria used to say. I’d skimmed most of was still dark out, and sank back into a sleep too deep even the other stories, but I read this one word for word. for dreams. The victim was Amanda JeanH artwell, known to friends and family as Amy. The grainy photograph showed a smiling, Morning. A sliver of sunlight sliced through a gap bespectacled young woman. Her hair, a tumble of shoulder- in the curtains and seared through my eyelids, setting off a length curls pulled back by two barrettes, was either light small nuclear explosion in my head. I scrabbled for the digital brown or dark blond. It was hard to tell from the black-and- clock beside the bed and squinted at the readout: 10:45. white photo. Great. I had to pick up my son, Paulie, at noon. I lay with Her body, which had been shot and mutilated (no details), my palms over my eyelids long enough to realize that my had been found at the Cedar Valley Motel in Hermitage. bladder was also on the brink of implosion. What a dilemma. Survived by a husband (Calvin J. Hartwell), two daughters If I got up, my skull might blow apart. If I stayed put, my (Katrina E. and Tara D. Hartwell), and a sister (Valerie C. bladder might burst. God. I clenched my teeth, pressed the Shepherd). palms of my hands to my temples, and stumbled into the Her lover was wanted “for questioning”—a euphemism bathroom to take a leak and inspect my tongue, which was for “we know you did it, son, we just can’t prove it yet”—and coated with a white scum that looked and felt like dryer lint. a description of the lover and his license number followed. Heather was gone. She’d taken the wineglasses and the NRL-549. bottle of sangria. And on the table, she had left a note. A trickle of ice water seeped though my bloodstream I’m sorry, it said. and settled in my bones. Shit. How could I have been so stupid? NRL-549. That was the number on my license plate. I picked up my jeans. My belt hung from the loops, my And the name at the bottom of the article . . . Wanted for cell phone still clipped to it. I checked my wallet. Everything questioning: Jared McKean . . . that was mine too. was there. I felt for my keys. Still in the pocket. So, sorry for what? For not saying goodbye? She hadn’t Jaden Terrell is a member of Mystery Writers of America, left a number, so I guessed we’d had a one-night stand. Private Eye Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, Too bad. I wondered vaguely if she’d ever get away from Sisters in Crime, and the Tennessee Writers Alliance. The former Ronnie, and if she did, if I would ever know about it. special education teacher is a Magnolia Award recipient for service to Then I told myself there was nothing worse than a the Southeastern Chapter of Mystery Writers of America and is also maudlin, thirty-something single guy with a hangover. I’d the Executive Director of the Killer Nashville Thriller, Mystery, and gotten laid, and if the worst that could be said was that the Crime Literature Conference, founded by author and independent lady liked her sex with no strings attached, who was I to try filmmaker Clay Stafford and held each August in or near Nashville, and complicate things? Tennessee. Still feeling muzzy-headed, I showered, dressed, and While researching the Jared McKean series, Terrell attended the Citizen Police Academy and the joint FBI/TBI Citizen Academy, took went down to the lobby, where a pot of stale coffee and a pile the medical examiner to lunch, and became a certified Equine Sports of day-old bread and pastries masqueraded as a continental Massage Therapist (the perfect pastime for a nervous rider with a breakfast. I passed on the pastry and choked down a cup of passion for horses). To find out more, go to www.jadenterrell.com.
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 46 Andrea Cremer Accident Turned Triumph
Interview by Suspense Magazine Press Photo Credit: Gina Monroe
Suspense Magazine is a rather fortunate publication in that without fail, we are blessed every month with well-known authors and debut authors as well. This month, one of our writers is none other than YA fantasy author, Andrea Cremer. Cremer’s hometown is on the shore of Lake Superior (ten percent of the world’s fresh water comes from there) and is surrounded by a national forest. Cremer spent her days roaming among towering pines, discovering hidden waterfalls, and skipping rocks across the lakes. She has always loved writing and has never stopped, but she only recently plunged into the deep end of the professional writing pool. She says, “Writing is a craft. It’s a lot of work and your writing is always evolving. If you want to be a better writer, you must write more and read often. If there’s a writer in your life who you love, don’t call what they do a ‘hobby.’ On the other hand if your long-time nemesis is a writer, be sure to undermine their confidence by referring to their life’s work as a quaint pastime.” What a great sense of humor! Always the ambitious dreamer, when she was in high school, Cremer made a list of Life Goals on a sheet from a notebook. One of the goals on her list consisted of three simple words: “write a book.” Now, it’s happened. Cremer is filled with the joy that she is able to live her dream. Her debut novel “Nightshade” (a YA urban fantasy) was published by Penguin in the fall of 2010. Cremer says she takes the adage ‘write what you love’ very seriously. She enjoys fantasy, science fiction, and heroines who can hold their own. She has also been interested in how individuals become who they are, and feels that coming of age stories are a good way to explore how that happens. Books like “The Chronicles of
SuspenseMagazine.com 47 “ ” I'm a solitary writer and I enjoy spending time alone.
Prydain,” “Ann of Green Gables,” and “The Dark is Rising” helped shape how she thinks. Cremer shares the following on her website: “Writing is hard. Revising is hard. Waiting is hard. Rejection is hard.” She claims that despite it being hard, she’d rather do nothing else, including not even being paid to test new truffles from Godiva. Most of the writers she’s met have the same passion, they write because they have to. For Cremer, ignoring that “need” is painful and feels wrong somehow. At the end of October, Cremer is going on her first international tour. Italian publishers, De Agostini, and the Lucca Comics and Games Festival invited her to visit their country. You can find details on the festival—where she’ll be the patroness of Lucca’s Halloween party—on her website, www.andreacremer.com. Now, Suspense Magazine is honored to showcase our exclusive interview with author Andrea Cremer.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): When were you sure you were going to write a book that you would submit for publication?
Andrea Cremer (AC): In the summer of 2008 I was in a horseback riding accident that left me with a broken foot and orders to stay off my feet for twelve weeks. Stuck on the couch I decided that I’d give writing a novel a shot. It was something I’d always dreamed of doing, but had never given myself permission, or time, to try. Once I began writing I realized that I wanted to make it a permanent, professional part of my life. I completely fell in love with writing fiction.
S. MAG.: You have very definite, passionate feelings about writing. Have you always had them even before you wrote your first book, or did they evolve?
AC: I’ve loved writing since I was a child, but I thought writers ended up living in their parents’ basements. I never thought I could pursue my love of writing as a means for living and paying bills.
S. MAG.: On your website, we see that you are a professor of history at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota. What do your students think about you now being a bonafide published author?
AC: My students are incredible! They are some of the brightest, most talented people I encounter and I’m so grateful for their support.
S. MAG.: “Wolfsbane,” which is the second Nightshade Book, came out on July 26, 2011. You also have others in the series coming up: “Bloodrose,” (February 21, 2012) and one that’s still untitled, slated to come out in the fall of 2012. You also have two more books in the works. With all this crowding your mind, do you find it difficult to keep things straight or do you thrive on it all?
AC: Definitely the latter. When I don’t have multiple projects ongoing I tend to feel stagnant. The busier I am…the better.
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 48 S. MAG.: Do you ever plan on trying your hand at other genres?
AC: I believe I’ll always have a speculative element to my fiction, but that will morph into different forms beyond paranormal, like more traditional horror, high fantasy, or science fiction.
S. MAG.: “Nightshade:” While other teenage girls daydream about boys, Calla Tor imagines ripping out her enemies’ throats. This is a great lead in line for a synopsis. As we read on, it’s becomes clear that when Calla makes a choice to help a human boy, things change drastically for her pack. It sounds quite original. Where did the idea come from?
AC: I wanted to establish from the first sentence that Calla’s life, and persona, aren’t what you’d stereotypically expect from a seventeen-year-old. She’s not squeamish and she likes her work: the work of a warrior. She has an innate sense of loyalty and duty that’s conflicting with her imminent, independent selfhood.
S. MAG.: The NY Journal of Books is quoted as saying, “Andrea Cremer has excelled in her world-building endeavors. She’s created a story environment that is rich in history and in the foundation that supports and explains it.” As the praise goes on, it’s obvious it was well received. What was that like to hear with your very first published book?
AC: I’m still pinching myself!
S. MAG.: It’s been said that authors are loners. Do you consider yourself a loner?
AC: Yes and no. I’m a solitary writer and I enjoy spending time alone. And when I say time I mean hours and hours, if not days. But what I’ve learned is that while writing may be a solitary endeavor, publishing isn’t, and I’m so glad for that. I am surrounded by exceptionally wonderful people at Penguin and I would miss them terribly if I were doing this alone.
S. MAG.: If you could speak to anyone, living or dead for one hour and ask whatever you wanted, who would it be?
AC: Marion Zimmer Bradley had an incredible influence on my vision of fantasy. She brought intelligent, beautifully researched history into play with wondrous worlds and strong women. I would love to talk to her about her writing and thank her for the gift of her stories.
S. MAG.: Do you plan on becoming a full-time author?
AC: I love teaching and I believe that writing makes me a better teacher, and teaching makes me a better writer. I’m no longer teaching full-time but haven’t yet completely hung up my professor’s hat. For now I’m taking it one day at a time, letting life unfold as it will.
We would like to thank Andrea for allowing us a small glimpse inside her life and her writing she so obviously adores. We wish her continued success, joy, and luck with what she writes. If you’d like to learn much more about this author and her Italy tour, check out her website.
SuspenseMagazine.com 49 The best in crime thrillers!
When the heir to one of the Bay Area’s greatest fortunes was convicted of rape and murder, the fallout against those who put him behind bars—including detective Abe Glitsky—was uncompromising. Now a retrial has ended in his release—and Glitsky’s in the crosshairs.
“Damage is a must-read.” —Washington Examiner
Detective Leonid McGill can’t say no to a beautiful woman with a stack of cash. But he knows better than to believe every word she says, and he can’t a ord to turn down this job—even as he senses that her crooked tale will lead him straight to death’s door.
“A more than worthy successor to Philip Marlowe.” —The Boston Globe
Painter Charlotte Dunleavy often saw a boy enter the woods to shoot crows. When he goes missing, a migraine prevents her from remembering anything about that day. e Pennsylvania woods provide inspiration for Charlotte’s art, but the truth can penetrate even the deepest shadows of a forest—and a killer’s mind...
“A literary thriller of the rst order.” —John Lescroart
When an undercover agent suddenly goes dark, Charlie Hood must determine if the agent is chasing demons deeper undercover, or whether his friend has su ered a permanent break with his mission—and his moral compass.
“Parker again demonstrates his mastery of the genre.” —Entertainment Weekly
Killers are on a bloody murder spree throughout the Northeast, with each homicide a model of deadly perfection. With nothing to link the crimes to one another, FBI special agent Patrick Bowers faces his most di cult case yet.
“A master storyteller at the peak of his game.” —Publishers Weekly c “Like” facebook.com/ eCrimeSceneBooks for Companies of Penguin Group (USA) mystery book recommendations, author chats, and more! penguin.com Agent & Author’s Coordinated Efforts An Interview with Robert Fitzpatrick and Jon Land
Interview by Suspense Magazine e bring to you a special interview with Robert Fitzpatrick and Jon Land. We find that these impressive men are worthyW of prominent display in this issue. Please read on to learn about Fitzpatrick and Land and what their coordinated efforts bring you. Robert Fitzpatrick spent over twenty years as an FBI agent. Among his numerous cases were the Martin Luther King, Jr. killing, the ABSCAM investigation in Miami, which ended in the prosecution of numerous public officials, and the Whitey Bulger debacle. Additionally, Fitzpatrick was integral in the “Mississippi Burning” investigation. He also found the rifle used in the MLK slaying, which led to the apprehension of James Earl Ray. During his career, he was sent to Boston to clean up the office and to “kick ass and take names.” The office spiraled out of control, mostly because of the agents and officials all the way toW ashington who were indebted to Whitey Bulger, who in fact, the Bureau was counting on to bring them their most-prized catch: the Italian mafia. The problem? He didn’t. During his tenure as an informant, Bulger never gave the FBI a thing that would help take down the mob, which is what Fitzpatrick found out when he arrived in Boston. It was also basically verified during his first and only meeting with Bulger himself. Jon Land is a bestselling author, who lives in Providence, Rhode Island, with over twenty-three
SuspenseMagazine.com 51 novels and graduated from Brown University in 1979 Phi Beta Kappa and Magna cum Laude. He continues his involvement with Brown as an alumni consultant. Jon often bases his novels and scripts on widespread travel and study as well as a twenty-five year career in martial arts. He is a colleague of the US Special Forces and commonly volunteers in schools to help young people learn to take pleasure in the progression of writing. Besides writing suspense/thrillers, Jon is also a screenwriter with his first film credit in 2005. Jon is also the Vice- President of marketing of the International Thriller Writers (ITW) and is frequently asked to speak on issues concerning writing and research. He works with many industry professionals, garnishing the respect and friendship of many author- colleagues. Furthermore, he loves storytelling in all its forms. Their new release book “Betrayal” (Forge, January 3, 2012)—Land’s first non-fiction book—begins with:Y “ ou want a bullet in the head?” What a way to start a novel. Needless to say, “Betrayal” sounds a little more than intriguing and is all truth. With Land’s string of bestsellers, this promises to join the ranks due to the assistance of Fitzpatrick, a much respected FBI agent. Suspense Magazine is honored to bring you a few words about both men, in their own words.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): After “Betrayal” was written, did you both review it in depth before it went to print?
obert Fitzpatrick (RF): It wasn’t a matter of ‘allowing’ Rsince we ‘teamed’ each other’s work and review. I would write my recollections of experiences and Jon would bring additional narrative. As a former agent and manager of squads and cases, I was basically a fact writer producing work that was future court testimony and probably not conducive to a bestseller but perfect for court purposes. Jon thought it a great idea that we capture my court testimony with bang-on narrative. It turned out better than we thought.
S. MAG: It appears you have led an exciting career as a FBI agent. Can you briefly tell us one story (not affiliated with Bulger) that stands out in your mind? Something like an unforgettable case.
RF: I did have an exciting career full of adventure and challenges, including lead roles in high profile cases like Sam Bowers (Mississippi Burning), the Martin Luther King assassination, and ABSCAM, just to name a few. By far though, the one that stands out is my arrest of Jerry Anguillo in his restaurant. Jerry was the Underboss of the mafia in Boston and New England. He took over from Patriarca, the Mafia chief out of Providence, Rhode Island who died. Upon arriving at Boston as Chief of the Organized Crime program in New England, my mission was to take down the mafia. We built a case around an ‘enterprise’ tactic and strategy with the idea of taking the mafia’s ‘boodle’. In other words, all their money from ill-gotten gains. I certainly followed the mafia’s money trail and then took down the mafia in New England. When I arrested Anguillo he got angry. I looked at him point blank and said, “Don’t get pissed at me, it’s your yapping on the wire that got you in trouble.” The look on his face was priceless and funny with the spaghetti sauce dribbling down his chin. For me, this was the pinnacle of my mission’s success.
S. MAG: A typical, not-so- liked, journalist’s question: what was
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 52 your first thought/reaction when John Connolly, Jr. was finally brought to justice (actually convicted)? How did it make you feel after all these years of trying to put a stop to the corruption in Boston?
RF: My first thought about Connolly in his conviction was that his arrogance and flamboyance did him in! Connolly had been tagged as a rogue agent responsible for all corruption in FBI’s Boston. This is not completely true! Connolly sits in a Florida Prison convicted of murder. I’m not sure that I agree he got a fair trial. I certainly agree that Connolly served his ten years for his crimes in Federal Court, but disagree that he was solely responsible. “Betrayal” is about Bulger’s co-option of the entire criminal justice system and he had plenty of help from others in the system. Bulger was aided and abetted by higher ups in the system to whom Connolly reported. The corruption of the FBI and DOJ was one of the worst according to the congressional findings backed up by several convictions against them in United District Court.
S. MAG: There was one part of this book that really stood out. You arrived at Bulger’s place to meet him face-to- face. Morris stayed in the car and let you go in alone. You were not expecting Connolly to walk out of the shadows at Bulger’s side (or were you?). When you saw Connolly, were you worried for your safety?
RF: I was sent to interview Bulger and assess his suitability as an FBI Informant. My plan was to interrogate him alone, unencumbered about witnesses, just he and I to assess his role as informant and find out what he was really giving the FBI. When Connolly appeared from the shadows I was livid. I almost left the interview right then and there. I was also thinking how Connolly and his supervisor Morris was ‘on the carpet’ with me. Bulger’s girlfriend on the other side of Bulger appeared and I suspected a ‘set-up’. The idea of an ambush crossed my mind. Prudently, I took a different tack as related in my book “Betrayal.” Anger was more of my expression than ‘safety.’ Later, with my wife Jane, we both understood the danger but kept on with the mission: to put Bulger in jail and stop corruption in the Boston Office throughout New England.
S. MAG: Define the experience of reliving events for the writing of this book. Did it bring back some painful memories? Or was it the reverse and it helped you heal from what must have seemed like a lifetime of coming up against block walls at every turn during your term in Boston?
RF: The experience of reliving events did indeed cause renewed anxiety, fear, and pain. At the FBI Academy where I taught law enforcement agents and LE personnel, I worked out daily. I passed under an FBI emblazoned sign that reminded us of “Hurt, Agony, and Pain!” I’ve run several marathon races including two Boston marathons. Running, I constantly reminded myself that I had to run through my struggles. My wife and children were a source of inspiration and made any suffering I had to endure worthwhile. Even today, we relive some of that pain and, unfortunately, with the anticipation of a Bulger trial, it’s not over.
S. MAG: Phi Beta Kappa and Magna cum Laude from Brown University? Amazing. What was it like to be recognized in such a profound way at such a young age?
on Land (JL): Yes, I used to be smart! But the truth is Jthere wasn’t a lot of recognition. I went to Brown and as is the case with all the Ivies, it seems everyone has an amazing resume of accomplishments. If nothing else, that certainly prepared me for a career as a novelist in the highly competitive thriller genre. As was the case at Brown, I’ve accomplished quite a bit, but not nearly enough when compared to some of my contemporaries and friends like Lee Child, Steve Berry, and Jim Rollins.
S. MAG: Does anyone else in your immediate family write?
SuspenseMagazine.com 53 Perhaps explaining your extraordinary talent?
JL: Extraordinary talent? You are much too kind! My mother was very creative, but not as a writer. In fact, I don’t know of any other relative I’ve ever had involved in the arts as a profession. And the overlying point behind that is that talent is fine, though nothing if not accompanied by hard work and continuing to challenge yourself with new endeavors. That’s what I found so exciting about writing “Betrayal,” my first stab ever at narrative nonfiction.
S. MAG: When you started screenwriting, was it a natural process or is it so vastly different that it took a while to get the hang of?
JL: Now that’s a great question! The answer, I’m afraid, is yes to both. From a standpoint of form and structure, a novel and a screenplay are like apples and oranges. But while the differences are too numerous to detail, the similarities are actually more striking. I’ve always prided myself on being a very visual writer. I basically write what I see in my head and that made the transition to screenwriting very fluid and natural. Screenwriting is a more instinctive form, but it’s also limiting since you can’t get into the characters’ heads, can’t develop them as fully and organically as in a novel. That said, everything in a script has to be shown instead of told and that’s a great dictum to keep in mind when penning a book as well. I’ve always told people that if I know and understand the characters, I can write anything. Who you’re writing about is more important than what you’re writing because it’s the people who make the audience care, whether on screen or print.
S. MAG: Of course, we have to talk about Whitey Bulger. You obviously spoke in depth with Robert Fitzpatrick while coordinating and penning “Betrayal.” How integral was Fitzpatrick in the actual formation and writing of this book? Was he the voice and you the pen?
JL: Another great question! And the truth is “Betrayal” is Fitz’s book, not mine. My job as the co-writer was to, first, find a way to tell an incredibly complex and confounding tale in a way that could make clear and accessible for a mainstream audience. And second, I had to tell it in Fitzpatrick’s voice, not mine. That’s the biggest challenge in this kind of project since I didn’t live this nightmare—Fitz did and doing it justice meant telling the tale with passion, conviction, and clarity. Now, my job was made a lot easier by the fact that Fitz had actually done a lot of writing himself before I got involved. While it was pretty much a mess, there was enough there to both educate me on the subject and give me a foundation from which to build upon. This wasn’t one of those projects where I recorded hours of interviews with him and cobbled everything together from that. Since I’m not a journalist that would scare the hell out of me!
S. MAG: As many know, Whitey Bulger was finally apprehended in Santa Monica this year. Working so closely with Fitzpatrick, did you feel the same ire at having someone so evil prosper for so many years under the guise of aiding the FBI?
JL: Well, sure. But more of my ire is directed at the FBI for enabling Bulger and letting it happen in the first place. The greatest thing about “Betrayal” is that for the first time we see the entire story told from the inside by somebody who was there, as opposed to a journalist assembling interviews or a wiseguy spouting bullshit. And the result of that is readers both familiar with the sordid tale and not are going to see that the true villains weren’t just ‘brick’ agents and supervisors in Boston but also extremely high- ranking officials in both the Justice Department and the FBI in Washington. This is truly explosive stuff and Fitz is not afraid to name names.
S. MAG: In line with the above question, what are your personal feelings about the arrest and imprisonment of John Connolly and others involved in those cases?
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 54 JL: I agree with Fitz that Connolly is little more than a fall guy who got thrown under the bus to take the fall for the higher-ups who knew full well what was going on and did nothing to stop it. Sure, Connolly was involved in leaking the names of informants developed by Fitz and others who could have ended the whole Bulger monstrosity once and for all. But Fitz told hugely important people in both the Justice Department (including future Massachusetts governor William Weld) and FBI headquarters exactly what was going on and they did nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop it. That is utterly mind-boggling to me and it’s exactly what “Betrayal” strives to make sense of.
S. MAG: Now that Bulger has been caught, it’s probable that Fitzpatrick will once again testify at his hearing. Do you and Fitzpatrick plan on expanding on this vile epidemic of corruption by covering the trial and writing a sequel, if you will, about it?
JL: The best thing about “Betrayal,” what I take the most pride in, is the vindication it’s going to help Bob Fitzpatrick achieve. Here is one of the most celebrated FBI agents of his time, involved in some of the highest profile cases of the modern era, sent by the Bureau to Boston to do a job and then being prevented by the very same Bureau from doing it. But he never gave up, never lost sight of his mandate, and lost his career because of Suspense Magazine Review of that. To watch today as everything Fitz was saying all along “Betrayal” by is proven true is incredibly rewarding. Testifying at Bulger’s Robert Fitzpatrick with Jon Land trial would just be the next step in that process, but I really “Betrayal” is a nonfictional account of the ultimate apprehension haven’t thought about a sequel yet. Let’s see the response to of one of the most controlling gangsters in Boston, Massachusetts’ this one first! Truth be told though, it’s tough to envision a history. Fitzpatrick and Land relate true details of what is referred book scarier than “Betrayal” for revealing how those charged to as, “…one of the greatest failures in the history of federal law with upholding justice on our behalf utterly shirked their enforcement.” responsibilities and dozens of people literally were murdered According to evidence and testimony, the Boston division of as a result. the FBI was home to continual corruption, including leaks by federal agents. Typically, when we think of the FBI, we think of those sworn to uphold the law and keep our citizens safe. Robert Fitzpatrick S. MAG: Leaving the subject of non-fiction, would you mind vowed to bring to an end the reign of terror that was running rampant. telling us something about yourself that is not common Whitey Bulger and Stephen Flemmi practically owned the FBI. On knowledge or can’t be found in your bio? the roster as ‘top echelon informants’ (TEs), they were practically untouchable. JL: You really want to challenge me, don’t you? Well, obviously John Connolly and John Morris, among several others, exalted my bio highlights my accomplishments and achievements. the status of these TEs for their own gain, while even more turned a blind eye to what was going on. Because of inaction and the blatant What it doesn’t highlight is the frustration I feel over not immorality, several informants were not only murdered by Bulger and gaining the kind of public affirmation that comes with, well, Flemmi, but tortured before their deaths. According to the authors, the New York Times bestseller list. That’s the Holy Grail of this almost everything done to fight Bulger and Flemmi was disclosed. business and not cracking it yet leaves me with this empty Information vital to the apprehension and arrest of the mobsters was feeling that also serves as a catalyst to keep writing better and leaked by Connolly and other agents, thereby causing the deaths of exploring new arenas like nonfiction. While, sure, I might get the informants that were powerful enough to put an end to Bulger and Flemmi’s period of power and static hold on the FBI. frustrated, I never get discouraged. I just work harder! Fitzpatrick fought tooth and nail to close Bulger and Flemmi as TEs and for his work, he was labeled a piranha by the upper tier of the Suspense Magazine was truly honored to have been able FBI. He even reported the SAC of the office and for doing so, ended to speak with men as busy as Jon and Robert. To learn more up being investigated himself. He ultimately left that office and soon about Jon’s amazing writing, check out his books wherever thereafter, retired. they’re sold as well as his website at, www.jonlandbooks. But still Fitzpatrick hung on. He wanted justice for the victims com. To find out more about Robert Fitzpatrick, you need and wanted Bulger, Flemmi and all of the corrupted agents to pay. A well-written, factual book that will stun its readers with the only to Google Robert Fitzpatrick, FBI agent. You will find depth of the corruption many thought impossible. many stories on and about his amazing career. Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “Deadly Decisions,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine
SuspenseMagazine.com 55 Destinations of Solitude PART 3 By Starr Gardinier Reina
We’ve explored the west coast and the east coast for locations where we starving authors can write in peace and perhaps find inspiration along the way. This last article will survey spots in between the coasts. So, hop on board. We’re taking a train today.
Points in between coasts are aplenty. Dude, let’s take a look at Colorado. No, really, dude. There are dude ranches there. Why not a Colorado Dude Ranch vacation? Amidst the Colorado Rocky Mountains, this will reawaken memories of the Old West. Don’t worry, you will still find all the up-to-date comforts such as you have at home. It may however, create inspiration for a Western thriller. While relaxing at lakes or riding horseback, you may find stimulation to write. No matter how enticing this may sound to your family, you must still leave them at home. Remember, this is about you getting away alone.
So, now that I’ve jogged your memory about leaving the kids and spouses in your homestead while you travel to parts unknown seeking solitude, let’s head on up to Montana. Yellowstone’s Norris Region appears to be quite interesting. Here there are tons of hiking trails that are not far from Bozeman, Montana. Hiking can be quite peaceful and absolutely full of writing incentives. Homewood Suites by Hilton offers studios complete with full kitchens. After hiking, you won’t have to leave your room. Cook in and write whatever came to mind while you were out walking in the gorgeous mountains. And they serve hot breakfast every day. Now you have no excuse. Right?
You may not get a lot of sleep in Jerome, Arizona because the ghosts may keep you up, but you will more than likely get a great paranormal story out of your visit here. You may remember my article on The Ghost City Inn that appeared in Suspense Magazine not too long ago. Good ‘ole Jake Stark and Grandma Garcia are pranksters. If you’re a smoker, don’t leave your cigarettes or lighter lying around. Grandma Garcia will hide them! An inn full of inspirational ideas.
“Blue Ridge Mountains older than the trees…” Remember that song? (I’m singing this as I type).Country Roads by John Denver. What a song and it’s about West Virginia. Ever been? Apparently, Denver found inspiration there for a song, so maybe you can for a book or at least a short story. Let’s go there. The Inn at Charles Town, West Virginia looks not only elegant, but spacious. It has breathtaking views, burrowed in the Shenandoah Valley and encased by the Blue Ridge Mountains. You can bet on the races here, but don’t get carried away. You’re supposed to be penning at your finest.
There are more places to see the Great Smoky Mountains. Tennessee for example. Aunt Bugs Cabin Rentals has many places in this area. Bugs? No, don’t worry, I’m sure there aren’t any. At least not in the Trout House on the Pigeon Forge River. Okay, I’m not making these names up. Let’s look at this again. Aunt Bugs offers lodging at the Trout House on the Pigeon Forge River. Insects, fish, and birds. Sorry, I know last article we talked about birds and AlfredH itchcock’s rendition and now we have…well, you see what we have. But don’t let any of this talk deter you. Pigeon Forge, Tennessee offers glorious sites and terrific accommodations. There are many places here to get away and write where kids are not screaming and/or yelling for ‘mom’ or ‘dad.’
There you have it. From coast to coast and places in between. There are many options, only a few of which I have covered. Google your next retreat. Find a place that you can find the solitude you need to write your next article or short story for Suspense Magazine (okay, not just for us, for anyone) or your next book. We would love to hear about any of your escapades, so please write us at [email protected] and let us know where you went and how it was.
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 56
By Kirsty Logan I’m in the middleThe of the Shibuya crossing, Sea surrounded by crowdsof of people Trees ten-deep on either side, when I see my sister. Just one face among hundreds of others, but I know it’s her. The shape of her nose, the angle of her eyebrows, it’s just like mine. “Cara!” I shout across the heads of the crowd. “Cara, wait! It’s me!” My words are muffled under the grumble of cars and the music pumping out of a dozen shop doorways. Everyone keeps their heads down and their feet moving. Japanese people do not shout in the streets, and so everyone politely ignores me. The girl doesn’t turn, but I can tell by the way she holds her shoulders that it isn’t Cara. I steer my feet past the escalators and the temples, the moon-high hotels and clusters of people at every crossing, wishing I could swallow my words back down. My parents might have given up looking for Cara, but I’ll never stop. I stand on the escalator leading into the Starbucks, my eyes blurring over the endless crowds of people outside the glass walls. I can’t see Cara—or rather, the girl who had looked like her for a second—and I know it wasn’t her anyway. The girl behind the counter has hair bleached white with forest-green tips, and she wears a skirt that sticks out all round like a toadstool. At twenty she’s a few years older than me, but her high cheeks and pointed chin make her look like a schoolgirl. “Hi, Mei!” I say. “Hey, Cara!” I met Mei nearly two months ago, and when she asked me my name the lie just slipped out. Now it’s too late to tell her that I’m not really called Cara. “Hazelnut mocha, please.” “Coming right up!” Mei’s accent is pure American Midwest. Like me, she’s third-generation Japanese. My features mean I blend into the crowd, but I’m London-born and only speak English even after six months in Tokyo. Over hazelnut mochas, Mei taught me konnichiwa, domo arigato, and sumimasen (hello, thank you, and sorry) and I use that last one most, as I haven’t mastered the art of not bumping into people on the chopstick-thin streets. I lounge at the counter, watching Mei while pretending not to be watching her. She slides my cup over, leaning in to add a final dusting of chocolate powder, and then grins at me. “Have a great day!” “Thanks.” I carry my mocha over to my usual seat by the window. I haven’t even taken a sip when I sense that someone is behind me. Mei is holding a cloth as if she’s meant to be wiping down tables, but really she’s just standing next to my chair. Since the 2011 Short Story Contest Submission
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 58 moment I met her, I’ve felt that there’s something about Mei’s face that makes me want to stare at her. Something familiar. Something about the shape of her mouth, the line of her chin… “Sorry, had to wait for my boss to stop watching.” Mei glances around again and then throws her cloth onto the table. She slips into the chair next to mine and takes a big gulp of my mocha. I see her cheeks puff out before she swallows, and there’s a dot of cream on her nose. She wipes it off on the back of her hand, and then licks it. “So, you want to go to Aokigahara?” She says it like it’s a joke, but I don’t get it. I get out my phone, “How do you spell that?” As Mei spells the word, I thumb-type Aokigahara into Google maps, then tap the “train” button to see how to get there. “It’s like three hours away. And there aren’t any trains.” “It’s an adventure. It’s like a…like a pilgrimage. They’re not meant to be easy. That’s the point.” “But what is it?” “They call it the sea of trees,” she says. “Okay…” I snort out a laugh. “So it’s a forest? Big whoop.” “Oh, it’s not just a forest.” I try and dig for more, but Mei just smiles in this annoyingly mysterious way. Finally, I accept that there’s a point in going—though I still don’t know what that point is—and ask how we’d get there. Mei shrugs, “My boyfriend will drive us.” I don’t know whether I’m jealous of Mei’s boyfriend for getting to go out with her, or of her for having someone to go out with. “Your boyfriend will drive you out to some weird forest in the bum-end of nowhere with some girl you barely know?” “What? I totally know you. You’ve been coming here for months.” “Look, Mei, making someone coffee isn’t the same as knowing them.” “Well, whatever. I still want you to come. It’s an adventure.” “You said that already.” She starts untying her green canvas apron, “Well, I said it again because it’s true. Now are you coming, or what?” For a moment, I really do think about it. Running off on an adventure to some mystical wood with near-strangers. Finding another place to search, another chunk of land that might have the right answers. Another set of faces to check. “I can’t,” I say. “I haven’t finished my coffee.” Mei shrugs and drops her apron on the counter. Another girl is just stepping off the escalator, and she picks up Mei’s apron, puts it on and starts steaming some milk. I keep my eyes on the traffic outside until I’m sure that Mei has gone.W hen I take a sip of my mocha, it’s lukewarm and the cream has curdled. I spit it back out and push away the cup. Back outside the Starbucks, a diamond of schoolgirls, all pleats and bunches, giggle at me. The girls here always giggle at me because they think I’m a boy. Tokyo women are dolls: petite and preened, thin as magazine models in their knee-skirts and bow-peppered blouses. Back home in England, I’m a girlie-girl in my skinny jeans and pixie crop, but not here. My ex- pat school doesn’t require uniforms, so they probably think I’m older than them. Older than them, and a boy. I keep my head down until I get on the train.
The next week of school passes in a blur of multiple-choice quizzes, lunches eaten while hunched over a book, and scratching out kanji figures with painful clumsiness. It might have been helpful for my parents to send me to Japanese classes before we moved here, but I think they’re still mad that I didn’t choose to go to the classes when I was younger. They barely speak it either, but lately they’re all into the idea of heritage. I’m a Londoner, born and bred. How the hell was I meant to know I’d need to speak the language of a country six thousand miles away? Every evening, my mum tries for hours to make tan-tan-men, then gives up and serves us toasted cheese sandwiches. My dad works until dark, then falls asleep on the train and misses his stop. No one wakes him up because half the other salary men on the train are asleep too. One night, over plates of ready-made noodles, I try to mention Cara. “Mum,” I say. “Hhmm.” Mum is peering at a recipe book propped up against her glass. It’s in Japanese, so I know she can’t read it very well. “Do you want to go by the university again this weekend?” “What’s that, love?” I grab her book, slam it shut, and put it under the table. Mum looks at me with her eyebrows raised.
SuspenseMagazine.com 59 “The university, Mum. We could go and see if there’s anything new there.” “Now, why would there be anything new at the university? Are you thinking of applying? You’ve got a few more years of school left yet.” “No, I mean that we could check the rooms, ask around to see if anyone’s heard from…” My voice trails off when I feel the heat of my dad’s glare. I’d thought he was dozing in his dinner, but now he’s staring at me like I’ve just let out a string of curse words. “Never mind,” I say, and fill my mouth with noodles. We weren’t always like this, so strained and distant. Back in London I was close to my mum, we’d go out for milkshakes or to the cinema, then get on Skype and talk to Cara for hours. But nothing has been the same since Cara disappeared. We came all this way to find her, and then it’s like they just forgot.
I go to the Starbucks in Shibuya every single day after school. I try to time it so I always get there at the end of Mei’s shift. We talk about American music and English actors and the foods we miss from home. She doesn’t ask about my sister, and I don’t mention Cara either. The months stretch, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget about Aokigahara. One afternoon school finishes early, so I go straight to the Starbucks. On the way I phone my parents’ house and tell them that I’m going to a study group, though I don’t really know why because there’s no reason to think I’ll be late home. Just in case, I guess. They just nod, Mum has been trying to make gyoza, but the dumplings keep coming out all gooey and uncooked in the middle, and Dad is probably half- asleep in front of the TV. I could shout out, ‘WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS CARA?’ and I feel like they wouldn’t even blink. At the top of the escalator, I see that Mei still has bleach-white hair, but now the tips are red. Her dress is covered in rows of black fringing and every time she moves it looks like she’s shimmying. When she sees me coming up the escalator, her face splits into a grin. “Ello, ello,” she says, in a terrible English accent. “What?” I know what she’s doing, but I pretend I don’t. “I’m one o’ yer English bobbies, guvnor. A proper copper. At your seeervice.” “Let’s just stick to the mochas,” I say, though I can’t help smiling. She makes up two mochas, carries them over to my usual table and motions for me to sit down. “Don’t you have to, you know, work? It looks pretty busy.” Mei shrugs, “Kimiko will cover me. My shift’s finishing in ten minutes anyway. I had classes this morning and I’m ti-i-i- red.” She stretches out that last word into a yawn, covering her mouth with her hand. I wrap my hands around my cup and decide it’s now or never. “What’s the deal with Aokigahara anyway?” I ask. “Why do you want to go there?” “It’s the sea of trees.” “So?” Mei won’t say any more, just smiles at me and raises her eyebrow. I don’t tell Mei, but I’ve already looked up Aokigahara on Wikipedia. It is called the sea of trees, but it’s also called the forest of suicides. People say that if you wander far enough, you’ll stumble on the bodies of people hanging from the branches or half-buried under blood-stained leaves. The trees are so dense that there’s no wind and hardly any wildlife lives there. It’s eerily silent and always dark. It’s full of ghosts, so it makes sense that people who are looking for ghosts would go there. “Can we get these coffees to go?” I say.
Mei’s boyfriend is called Hayati, and I’m sure I’m saying it wrong because it keeps coming out of my mouth like Haiti the country. The first few times he corrected me, speaking so fast that I couldn’t get my tongue around what he was saying. After that he stopped bothering. He and Mei are carrying on a fast-paced conversation in Japanese. I can’t tell if it’s an argument or not, and I gave up trying to understand about an hour ago. His car is tiny, even tinier than the cars back in England, but it’s very shiny. Hayati must polish the red paintwork every day. I pretend to sleep, leaning back against the headrest and trying to picture Cara’s face. I must doze off for real, because suddenly Cara is there beside me in the car, the real Cara just like when I last saw her two years ago. She’s wearing a white dress and staring out of the window with her face turned away from me. Cara, I try to say, but no sound comes out of my mouth. I try to reach over and touch her shoulder, but my arms won’t move. Cara lifts her hand and presses it against the window, and I see that outside it’s night and the trees are moving past the window far too fast, like the car has been strapped to a rocket. She moves her hand on the glass and I realize she’s pointing at something, but everything
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 60 is moving so fast outside that I can’t see what she’s pointing at, my eyes won’t focus, and I realize that Cara’s dress isn’t white after all, and she’s turning her head towards me and I’m scared to look, but I can’t look away and then she… My head thunks against the window and suddenly I’m wide awake in the backseat. The back of Mei’s head is right in my line of vision, and as she turns to look at Hayati I feel a jolt of recognition in my belly. The thread slips away, and I’m lost again. I know without looking out of the window that we’re on the outskirts of the wood. The silence is so absolute that it hurts my ears. I still haven’t quite blinked the image of Cara out of my eyes, but Mei is up and out of the car, tapping on my window and motioning for me to follow her. Hayati leans back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Aren’t you coming?” I say to Hayati. He shrugs and picks at his fingernails. It takes a while for me to realize he’s not going to reply. “Is that a yes or a no?” “He won’t answer you,” calls Mei through the car window. “He can’t speak English?” It hurts my throat to shout, so I get out of the car. “Sure he can. He just doesn’t.” “What? That’s so stupid.” “Oh yeah? How’s your Japanese?” I’m looking off into the woods, but I can feel the intensity of Mei’s stare. I’m here now, I suppose, and I might as well do this properly. I start walking towards the trees. “Are you coming or what?”
As soon as we enter the canopy of trees, every sound is swallowed up. I never realized how accustomed I was to the noise of the wind in my ears until it was gone. All around us shreds of orange, plastic tape hang from the trees. Some of it still marks routes between the trunks, but most has been broken and lies tangled on the ground. Mei walks slowly, gazing all around her, even vertically up to the ceiling of leaves. “So you never asked me.” Mei speaks like she’s talking to herself, and it takes me a while to realize I’m supposed to answer. “Never asked you what?” “Never asked me why I was here. In Tokyo.” I’m not sure whether we’re still playing, but I try to force a smile. “Okay, so why are you here?” Mei shrugs, though maybe she’s just stretching. “To study. At Sophia, you know? I think you’ve heard of it. It’s a pretty famous university.” “Yes,” I say, though I can feel the muscles in my throat clenching. “I’ve seen pictures of it.” I’m trying not to get my feet caught in the lengths of plastic tape, but there’s so much of it, some of it wrapped around broken branches and rocks as if it’s been arranged to trip people up. “Oh yeah? Well, I go there. A lot of my friends go there too. I think you might know a friend of mine.” “I don’t think so.” “I do think so, Lily.” My legs stop working and there is no air in my lungs. Somewhere above me a bird calls, once, and then lapses back into silence. “What did you call me?” “You heard me fine.” I stop walking and push Mei against the trunk of a tree. I have no idea how to fight, but maybe if I pretend like I do then
SuspenseMagazine.com 61 Mei will back off. “Why did you bring me here, Mei? What do you want?” I didn’t realize how far we’d walked and all I can see in every direction is the darkness of trees. I have no idea which direction would take me back to Hayati’s car, and I’m not sure that’s the safest place anyway. “This is where the bodies are, Lily. I’m sorry it had to be like this, but it’s the only way.” “What’s the only way?” “I want you to see. I need you to tell them.” Before I even know what’s happening, Mei has grabbed hold of my hand and we’re running through the trees faster than my feet will move, and I’m stumbling over the broken plastic tape and I’m trying to shout out to Mei, questions and orders and curse-words, but she just grabs my hand so hard the bones grind together and pulls me along faster until black dots start pulsing in front of my eyes. Thoughts are crashing through my head. This is the stupidest thing I have ever done. Liking the color of someone’s hair is not reason enough to follow them into the forest of suicides. I remember the plots of every scary book I’ve ever read: stories about girls stumbling into dark basements, girls coming face-to-face with bad people who have done bad things, girls being saved by dashing men on horses. But those were just stories in books, and I’m in a forest full of dead people with a total stranger. We break through into a clearing, and before my eyes can even focus Mei has let go of my hand and disappeared off into the clumps of trees. The clearing is so silent that I can hear the thump of my heart and the rasp of my breath. Slowly the black dots clear from my vision, and I see a shoe. It’s small and pink, a Chuck Taylor canvas sneaker. I start to move towards it when I realize that there’s a foot in it. I jerk back and look around the clearing, and I see more pink among the dead leaves, more shoes with more feet in them, more and more until I realize that there are a dozen bodies in the clearing. Bodies hanging from tree branches, bodies slumped against trunks, bodies stretched out on the ground like fallen logs. Then my throat clenches shut as I realize that every body looks the same. Every body has my sister’s face. I close my eyes, but I can still see them. All those bodies. They’re Cara, all of them. I open my mouth and I scream. I scream until I run out of breath and I’m just gasping at air, my hands over my eyes. “Lily!” Mei is squeezing my wrists and shouting so hard her voice breaks, but the sound just gets swallowed up by the trees. “Stop it, please! Open your eyes!” I stay still until I can breathe again, and then I open my eyes. The floor of the clearing is a mess of dead leaves and broken branches, but there are no pink sneakers, no feet, and no bodies with Cara’s face. I look all around, but Mei and I are the only ones here. “I’m so sorry it had to be like this,” says Mei. I don’t want to listen to her, but I can’t seem to move. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I knew that no other way would work. I’ve tried everything else, and this was the last…this was the only…I’m sorry, Lily.” “Take me home.” I can hear the suppressed sobs in my voice, can feel the tears prickling my eyes, but I still hold Mei’s gaze. On the drive home Mei stares straight ahead, but she puts her arm behind her so I can take her hand if I want to. After an hour, I do. She tells me what I already know: that Cara came over here to study three years ago, that she emailed us every week with messages and photos. That the messages got shorter and finally stopped. That she wouldn’t answer the phone. That she was lonely and sad and couldn’t cope with her work. That finally we: me, Mum and Dad, moved over here to find her. Then Mei tells me what I don’t know: Cara walked into the forest a year ago and never came back. She left notes for everyone. Mei sent the note to my parents, and then she called them, and when she heard that we moved here she went round to visit. My parents would not let her in. They said they hadn’t got any note. They said they never heard of Mei, even though she’d been in many of the photos Cara had sent. She tried and tried to get them to accept the truth, but they said if Mei came round again, they’d call the police. Then one day I came into the Starbucks at Shibuya. Mei recognized me from the family photos in Cara’s room. She also recognized another chance to get my parents to accept the truth about Cara.
Back at home, my hands are shaking so much I can barely get the key to turn in the lock. For the first time in six months, I don’t take my shoes off at the door. “Mum!” I run through the rooms, not stopping to hear her reply. “Mum!” “Bloody hell, Lily! I’m right here.” Mum emerges from the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up, something thick and beige coating her hands and wrists. “You’re early, you’re not meant to be here.” Her eyes flick to the doorway of the other room. I
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 62 don’t know why, but she looks nervous. “Why are you back early? What do you…” She glances down at my shoes, and then looks at me with her eyebrows raised. What is it about a mother’s disapproval that can make your guts shrivel? “I need to know where she is,” I say. “Who? What are you talking about? Seriously, Lily, you had better have a decent explanation for this. Your father is tired, and you can’t just come waltzing in here and…” “Cara, Mum. Where is Cara?” In books, characters always see emotions flicker across one another’s faces. I can tell you now that’s total nonsense. I have no idea what emotions my mother is feeling, I just know that after a few seconds she turns away from me and goes into the kitchen and starts rinsing her hands in the sink. I follow her. I can hear from the sound of the water hitting the metal of the sink that her hands are shaking. “I have to know,” I say to her back. “Go and see your father.” “Mum, I just want to…” “GO AND…” Mum stops shouting, takes a deep breath out and in, and then adds in a quiet voice, “see your father.” In the other room, my dad is asleep on the couch. In front of him, the TV flickers. “Dad, Mum said I had to…” I trail off when I see what’s in his hand. It’s a piece of paper. It looks like it’s been torn from a notebook, and the paper is thin and has been folded and refolded many times. I step across the room, feeling like I’m weightless, like all my internal organs have turned to air. I pluck the paper out of his hand. Dear Mum, Dad and Lily… I don’t want to read it, but my eyes are going faster than my brain. The most important thing to know is that I love you. I don’t want you to think this is because of anything you did or didn’t do. I knew I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to any of you, so this is how I am going to do it…in this letter, where you can’t talk back or try to stop me. By the time you read this, I… I tuck the paper back into my dad’s hand. In the kitchen, the tap is still running. “I know where she is,” I say. The words come out as a whisper. I cough and try again. “I know where she is!” Dad wakes with a jolt, his hand making a fist, crushing the paper. “Hunnhh,” he says. In the kitchen, the tap stops running. I wait until I can feel that mum is standing in the doorway, and I say it again. “I know where Cara is. She’s at Aokigahara.” Dad is still coming awake, but he seems to have got a handle on the situation surprisingly fast. “Lily, how do you…how could you know that?” “I was there. Today. Tonight. Well, I don’t really know what time it is, but I was there. I was with a friend of Cara’s, an old friend.” “Did you see…” Mum can’t even bear to finish the question. “I didn’t see her. But I know she’s there.” Dad looks up at Mum, and for the first time I’m aware of all the little lines around his eyes. “Perhaps we should go and bring her back. Her…her body.” “No!” I shudder from my scalp to my soles. “No, Dad. She doesn’t want us to see her. Not like that. It’s too late for that. Let’s just…can we…please can we go home?” I don’t understand why I can’t say anything else, but then I see the tears dropping onto my shoes. Dad stands up and puts his arms around me. The pressure increases and I know Mum is holding me too. The paper gets crushed between us, and then it must fall to the floor because I can’t see it any more.
“Three hazelnut mochas, please,” I say to the girl behind the counter at the Starbucks. I never see Mei in there any more, but that’s okay. We call each other once a week, sometimes to talk about Cara, sometimes just for a chat. I lead Mum and Dad over to my usual seat, the one by the window. But this time, instead of looking out at all the faces going past, I turn my back to the window. I know that Cara is not out there. I’ll never stop missing her, but maybe the truth will help to bridge the gap that had been growing between my parents and me. Already I feel it’s more like it used to be. Finally I’ve realized: home can be anywhere, as long as I have my family with me. I lift my mocha and my Mum clinks the rim of her cup against mine. “Cheers,” she says, with a smile.
SuspenseMagazine.com 63 By Chantelle Aimee Osman
ately, I’ve found myself wondering which room is most defensible, how many two-by-fours it would take to secure the windows (and where I should stack them), and which generator is the quietest. Apparently, I’m not the only one. You were probably as surprised as I was by the statement that the Centers for Diseases Control and Prevention releasedL on its website a couple months ago entitled Preparedness 101: Zombie Apocalypse. Until recently, I really never paid zombies much attention. Perhaps Daniel Drezner, professor of international politics at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, is right in his belief that zombie tales experience a surge in popularity during times of economic crisis. That makes sense as the underlying subtext of zombie literature is the inherent fragility of civilization, and generally explores fears about the end of the world. However, as I sat brainstorming this article from a booth at Phoenix Comicon, surrounded by creatures of all kinds, I couldn’t help but feel some people have been prepared for a very long time. If the zombie apocalypse were to hit, I’d suggest running to your nearest sci-fi convention. My own obsession began when I picked up a copy of Sophie Littlefield’s recent post-apocalyptic zombie novel “Aftertime.” Honestly? If I didn’t know Sophie, I would have never picked it up. “Post-apocalyptic” and “zombie” were not on my list of keywords. They are now. This was no seventies horror-film zombie fare, it had depth. It was zombie literature, and I couldn’t put it down. It started me on what I can only call a zombie-thon. So, after my crash course on zombies, I’m condensing what I learned and passing it onto you. Let’s begin at the beginning. What is a zombie? That depends on what culture you ask, as they appear throughout the world, fromW est Africa to West India. Generally the term applies to a human who is able to coordinate movement and respond to outside stimuli, but is lacking in consciousness and self-awareness. Those of voodoo origin were usually live people hypnotized or subject to a curse where a sorcerer could take control of a person’s mind and use their soul (which was kept inside a bottle) to enhance the sorcerer’s power. Under the influence ofH aitian and New Orleans subcultures, the definition was altered to apply to a human corpse which has returned to serve the undead. Wade Davis, a Harvard ethno botanist, studied zombies in Haiti in the 1980s, and found that two powders: tetrodotoxin (found in the flesh of the puffer fish) and datura (or similar dissociative drugs) could together create a death or trance- like state, which could last for many years and subsequent psychosis. These powders, in addition to societal and cultural
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 64 expectations and reinforcements, could explain the origin of zombies in the voodoo cultures. Seriously, you’re talking about zombies like they’re real. Are you insane? Check your ant farm—you could have a few zombies in there already. David P. Hughes of Harvard University studied the way a fungus (Ophiocordyceps unilateralis) turns carpenter ants into zombies. After being infected, the ant remains alive for a short time—but like the victim of a voodoo sorcerer, the ant’s will is controlled by the fungus. Long story short, the fungus makes the ant climb down from its nest high in the trees to small plants near the ground and clamp onto the underside of a low-hanging leaf just before it dies. There the ant remains while the fungus grows inside its body, finally sprouting from the ant’s head and raining spoors down on the forest floor below. Each falling spore can infect another anew. Though scientists have known about this fungus for years, Hughes was struck by the “amazingly precise control” the fungus has over its victim. Ooh, zombie ants, really scary. If every culture has zombies, how about some real evidence? Published in 2003, “The Zombie Survival Guide,” which reached the New York Times Bestseller list, was written by Max Brooks (son of Mel Brooks), and is an instruction manual for citizens to survive zombie uprisings. It also provides an overview of various historic “cases” of outbreaks. Brooks posited all kinds of helpful and humorous, historical revisions in his Survival Guide, including zombie explanations for the vanishing population of Roanoke. However, one of his theories may not be too far off, for there are some strange findings at the archaeological site of Hierakonpolis in Egypt—Brooks’ site for the first verifiable instance of a zombie outbreak. As we all know, decapitation is the only sure way to kill a zombie. In 1895, W.M. Flinders Petrie reported headless—but otherwise intact—burials at Naquada, and more were found at Gerzeh and other nearby sites. More headless corpses were uncovered between 1996 and 2004 at the cemetery in Hierakonpolis, as well as twenty-one bodies whose “cervical vertebrae bear cut marks indicative of complete decapitation.” According to archaeologists, there was no uniformity in the age of the victims (ranging from sixteen to sixty-five), and it appears that the heads were severed with greater that normal force. It is also certain that these are not war-related injuries. Obviously, any connection between the decapitations and a zombie- related infection are only discussed sarcastically by archaeologists, but can you think of a better explanation? What’s this apocalypse thing everyone’s talking about? The term usually refers to an extensive rise of hostile zombies (usually global) who attack civilization. In such an event, victims may become infected, and thus the crisis spreads exponentially, overwhelming government and military forces. This generally results in the complete collapse of society, and the return to a pre-industrial state, with only isolated pockets of survivors. And this apocalypse thing is likely? If I could get one wish for the apocalypse, it would be to keep the zombies slow and the vampires un- sparkly. These days, to be a zombie it isn’t necessary to be dead. Most scenarios involve a virus which shuts off the rational parts of the brain. Unfortunately, viruses that can produce zombie-like behavior already exist. Recently, the National Geographic Channel produced a documentary, The Truth Behind Zombies, which provided some details. For example, the rabies virus infects the central nervous system and counts violence, aggressiveness and madness among its symptoms. If that virus were to mutate to reduce incubation time and was combined with a flu virus so it could spread quickly through the air, it would result in the perfect combination for a zombie apocalypse. Virologist Samita Andreansky, from the University of Miami’s Miller School of Medicine, believes that a fast-mutating rabies virus is entirely plausible (and may already have occurred). Dr. Steven Schlozman, a psychiatrist at Harvard Medical School, has written “The Zombie Autopsies,” where he uses zombies as the framework to discuss current health issues, such as disease and global pandemic. He echoes Andreansky’s findings, believing many viruses, such as mad cow, if combined an unknown component which allowed them to become airborne, would create zombies. However, it’s completely implausible that a flu and rabies virus could hybridize naturally. Enter the possibility of an engineered virus. Andreansky believes such a thing is theoretically plausible, but very difficult as nature doesn’t allow such viral combinations, and most likely the result would be a dead virus. Yeah, tell that to Dolly the cloned sheep. Additionally, the CDC is not the first institution to treat zombie apocalypse as an actual possibility. In 2009, Carlton University and the University of Ottawa conducted an epidemiological analysis that concluded that such an outbreak would indeed lead to the collapse of civilization unless quickly eradicated. The study showed that an offensive strategy would be more successful than quarantine, but that on a longer projection, all humans either
SuspenseMagazine.com 65 turned into zombies or ended up dead. In fact, one zombie introduced into a city of five hundred thousand people would eliminate all human life in seven days. This depressing outlook was based primarily on zombie overpopulation. Humans would be focused on surviving, and would still provide food for zombie populations, which would continue to increase. Interestingly, the researchers note that this model could be applied to the spread of disease or political views. Check your voter registration card, because your party comes with a zombie action plan. Different political ideologies have different ways of dealing with a post-zombie world, says Drezner, who wrote “International Politics and Zombies.” Realists would not believe the world to be significantly changed if zombies attacked, world powers would remain strong, whereas weaker countries would “suffer devouring by reanimated ravenous corpses. Liberals, on the other hand would immediately form a body—perhaps the World Zombie Organization—to handle the “overlapping health, trade and security issues.”” On the whole, Drezner believes the outlook to be bleak, as they are “state- centric” and zombie attacks would be a “non-state” problem, in a similar way to other overarching political issues such as climate change and terrorism, which impact many nations simultaneously, and which current frameworks are not built to deal with. The most difficult issue, as pointed out by Schlozman, is that governments would need to discern how to deal with survivors and the infected, which raises distinct ethical issues. The best way to learn about zombies is to get your education from popular culture. Zombie apocalypse themes became prominent with George A. Romero’s film Night of the Living Dead, which paralleled the turbulent social landscape of the United States in the 1960s. The Walking Dead, a new series on AMC, was amazingly popular in its first season (though I can’t predict future success, as rumor has it that the special effects budget will be cut, and several of the writers let go). For those health-conscious zombie fans, check out The Vegan Zombie webisodes (soon to be made into a feature film), which offers delicious recipes along with survival tips. Zombie literature did not appear as a distinct subgenre until a collection of short stories called “Book of the Dead” was published in 1990. Stephen King’s “2006 Cell” and Max Brooks’ “World War Z” (currently being adapted to film) are the most popular in recent past. So, now that you have some background on zombies, I’ve given you some of my favorite recent zombie reads for you to continue your education. Hopefully, you’ll never need it. Remember to stay vigilant and be prepared, for the next person you meet could be undead.
Recommended zombie-thon reading: Justin Cronin, “The Passage.” Cronin’s first book, he sold the film rights to Ridley Scott prior to publication. Takes the zombie paradigm and applies it to vampires. Seth Grahame-Smith, “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.” Currently being made into a film with Craig Gillespie (Lars and the Real Girl) directing. Perfect place to start for those who spend their weekends watching (and re-watching) Colin Firth emerge from the pond. Sophie Littlefield, “Aftertime and Rebirth.” For the more literary reader, zombie novels with depth of character and social commentary. Isaac Marion, “Warm Bodies.” Reviewed in a prior issue of Suspense Magazine. A zombie novel told from the point of view of the zombie. Can you say meta? A. Lee Martinez, “Gil’s All Fright Diner.” Ever driven through the desert in the Southwest? This is the type of place you see on the side of the road, and just know bad things will happen there. Tongue in cheek, great for fans of “Shaun of the Dead.” Jesse Peterson, “Married with Zombies,” “Flip this Zombie,” and “Eat, Slay, Love.” Think Stephanie Plum fighting zombies. Articles Referenced Above: “Parasite Causes Zombie Ants To Die In An Ideal Spot” ScienceDaily, 8/13/09 “Zombie Attack at Hierakonpolis” 10/6/07 Archaeology.org Ker Than, National Geographic News, 10/27/10 “Inside Zombie Brains: Sci-fi Teaches Science” Elizabeth Landau, CNN, 4/25/11
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 66
‘Til Death do us Part By C.S. Challinor Ted Schofield dreamed of murdering his wife. Over the years, it had become an obsession. There was little else to occupy his time since he retired from the history faculty at the local college. A lifetime ago, Patricia had been one of his students; not a particularly bright student, but a methodical and meticulous one. She kept the house meticulously and maintained the garden methodically, and almost never deviated from routine, which made bumping her off so easy to contemplate. Concluding that the simplest stratagems work best, he shuffled around to the greenhouse in his slippers one morning and buried a pair of pruning shears, pointed side up, deep in the potting soil around the newly planted rhubarb. Patricia had an uncanny knack with plants and vegetables, and made rhubarb pies that were raffled off at the church bazaar.H e personally detested the tart, fibrous mushiness of cooked rhubarb, and was glad he now had a better use for it. The greenhouse was built onto the back of their home, so he would not be seen when he shoved his wife at a pre- designated spot calculated to result in a perforation of the heart as she fell onto the shears. He felt like a Roman general planning a battle campaign. That’s where he felt he held the advantage: he was a thinker, Patricia a doer. Alibi might be a problem, though, since he rarely went out, but who, after all, would ever suspect him of murdering his wife? It would be viewed as an accident, pure and simple. However, on this day, her sister Eugenie phoned to say she had the flu, and could Patricia please bring some of her wonderful cure-all chicken broth? His wife, never so happy as when she was on a mission, prepared the soup and hurried over to her sister’s cottage with the insulated flask.H e would have offered to take it over himself since he had always harbored a secret desire for Patricia’s widowed younger sister, who would have made him a more suitable wife, being as she was of a more scholarly bent and endearingly lax in her housekeeping duties. Thing was, he couldn’t take the soup and risk his wife finding the partially submerged shears in his absence. She might grow suspicious and then any second attempt on her life would prove all the more difficult. With his wife out of the house, it was time to plot his next move as a fall-back to the first plan. He consulted books at the library where Eugenie volunteered—true crime, compendiums of poisons, mystery novels—searching for ideas. The true crimes, on the whole, were sloppily executed, leading, not surprisingly, to apprehension of the perpetrators, while the fictional mysteries often were far-fetched in the extreme. He turned to the poisons. The summer before, Patricia pointed to a quantity of water hemlock growing on the river bank. What was good enough for Socrates was surely good enough for her. The neuro-toxic root of water hemlock was potent enough to knock a cow off its feet, which was about right for Patricia, he reasoned. The odor supposedly resembled parsley, and he thought he might be able to spike her nightly cocoa with the poison without arousing undue suspicion. On his way back from the library, he searched for the umbrella sprays of white flowers atop long leafy stems. Finding them at last, he dug up the hollow rootstock, which was shaped like a parsnip. The soft sunshine, eliciting sweet earthy scents from the banks of the river, made him hopeful about his prospects. He wished he learned to cook because then he could have mixed the hemlock in with the oven-roasted parsnips that Patricia relished, but his only contribution in the kitchen was making the hot chocolate. Best stick to that, he decided. In case something went awry, he wrote to Eugenie expressing his fear that her sister was trying to poison him. Eugenie would no doubt dismiss his fear as irrational and paranoid, but if the poison were found, the note would deflect suspicion away from him. He added as a postscript that she must on no account mention the letter to Patricia. The docile Eugenie could be relied upon to comply, he concluded. 2011 Short Story Contest Submission
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 68 His wife did not go to the greenhouse that afternoon to cultivate her precious rhubarb, and for that he felt a measure of cowardly relief. Poisoning would be “cleaner.” That night he prepared the cocoa in the usual mugs, designated “Mum” and “Dad,” a long-ago gift from their daughter Allison who married and gone off to live in Australia, just about as far away as it was possible to get from her overbearing mother. He carried the tray up to the bedroom where he and his wife occupied twin beds separated by a night table, on which he placed the tray. Patricia, absorbed in “Sparkling Cyanide”, the irony of which was not lost on him, slurped on her cocoa. Little did she know... he parodied to himself as he went to fetch his book. Reading the erudite tome detailing the fall of the Roman republic, his erstwhile specialty when teaching, he waited for the convulsions in the adjacent bed that would be followed by paralysis and merciful speechlessness. Thereafter, death would be swift. Minutes passed and nothing happened. “How’s your cocoa?” he asked, unable to bear the suspense any longer. “Same as usual,” his wife grunted, engrossed in her Agatha Christie. “Not drinking yours?” she inquired. Sick to the stomach with nerves, he had not taken as much as a sip. “Oh, yes, just waiting for it to cool down.” He raised the cocoa to his lips, realizing just in time that he was about to drink out of her mug. “I took yours,” his wife informed him. “There were bits of stuff floating about in mine.” “Ah, could be from the tea leaves this afternoon. I must have forgotten to wash out the mug.” “I ask you to do one thing…” his wife muttered. Ted seethed inwardly as he pretended to read, his mind too active for sleep. He needed a foolproof plan. Still, there was no rush, he consoled himself. He would wait for the perfect opportunity. Such presented itself sooner than anticipated. Patricia insisted on doing all the routine household maintenance herself. The only projects outside her sphere of competence were electrical and plumbing repairs that required someone licensed in the trade. Clearly, replacing the light bulb at the top of the stairwell would pose no difficulty, unless the stepladder were to be forcefully kicked off its legs sending her tumbling over the banister onto the stone tile floor of the foyer. Who could prove that she hadn’t accidentally lost her balance while he was busy writing letters (which he prepared ahead of time) in his study downstairs? Nobody who knew him or his wife would question why he hadn’t been the one replacing the bulb at the top of the ladder. He had no head for heights and Patricia, more stout and ten years younger, appeared the stronger of the two. At that moment, the doorbell rang. “Could you get it, Ted?” she barked, stretching up to the light fixture and screwing the bulb into the lamp socket. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Naturally, he couldn’t risk following through with his plan while someone was standing on the other side of the door, which displayed a decorative pane of lightly frosted glass. Trembling with thwarted purpose and fear at what he had been about to do, he made his way down the stairs and, opening the door, signed for the package being delivered. More of Patricia’s gardening stuff, he thought wrathfully as he read the sender’s address on the box. He resented his wife all the more and couldn’t wait to get her out of the way. Then Eugenie could move out of her poky cottage and come live with him, and they could muddle along happily together for the rest of their days. There was no way around it. He might have to wait until Friday evening when Patricia took her weekly bubble bath, a well-deserved little luxury after all the work she did indoors and out, as she liked to tell everyone. It was the only means of killing her when he could be sure he would not be interrupted. Patricia always took the old plug-in radio into the bathroom with her, and a head rest and eye mask consisting of cucumber slices. She never locked the door and never expected to be disturbed while she wallowed like a beached blue whale in mountains of suds listening to light opera, played at top volume. It would be assumed she accidentally knocked the radio off the window ledge into the bath. Snoozing downstairs in front of the television, he would be awoken by smoke. When questioned, he would explain how he had often warned her not to place the radio on the window ledge. In reality, she kept it out of harm’s way on the vanity top close to the outlet, but the cord was long enough to reach the ledge, and no one could know for sure what she did with the radio on this particular occasion because it would be found in the bath with her electrocuted body. He experienced qualms of conscience about her being discovered in the nude, but it couldn’t be helped. He tried the shears, poison and ladder options, and all had failed. It wasn’t so easy to escape from the tub. Afterward, he would exit by the bathroom window onto the roof and get down by the ladder, which he’d put in place ahead of time. This would give the illusion of a locked-room death, and distance him further from suspicion.H e didn’t much like the idea of being on the roof as he suffered from acrophobia, but fortune favored the brave, he reminded himself, quoting Virgil. Luck did favor him on this occasion. As he slipped into the steamy bathroom, careful to lock the door behind him, he
SuspenseMagazine.com 69 saw that the window by the tub stood open, which would make for easier egress. The faucet released a steady stream of water, helping to drown out the sound of his movements. Patricia was lying motionless in the bath, hair wrapped in a white turban, a green slice of cucumber on each eye. Foaming water eddied over her body as the radio played a man-woman duet that jarred on his already wrought nerves. “Ted, is that you?” she asked languidly. There was nothing for it, the die was cast, as Caesar announced when he crossed the Rubicon. He grabbed the radio off the vanity, stepped onto the tiled surface extending from bath to wall, and just as Patricia exclaimed, “Ted, what on earth are you doing?” He dropped the appliance into the water and scrambled through the window. He heard a splash and a shriek. Fixated on his preparations, he had not noticed it rained. The tiled roof was wet and his feet lost purchase on the slippery surface. Arms lodged on the wobbly gutter, he attempted to locate the ladder with his feet. Where was it? Patricia’s turbaned head poked through the window. He couldn’t believe she’d survived! Her face, denuded of the cucumber slices, looked implacably cross. “Ted! What do you think you are doing? Somehow you managed to knock the radio into the bath. Luckily, it was plugged into a grounded receptacle and I only received a minor shock. You could have killed me!” Groping frantically for the ladder, he was unable to think of a plausible excuse for clambering through the window. It was getting dark and his arms could not hold out much longer. “Help me,” he whimpered. “I slipped.” “Oh, you are such a fool, Ted Schofield!” Patricia leaned out the window and held out her hand, which he seized with one of his own, while pushing up with the other arm. Her hand was wet and slimy with soap and he lost his grip. Thrown off balance, he toppled backward off the roof, crashing through the greenhouse and landing on the sharp shears poking up through the red rhubarb stalks, impaling him. His last thought was, Hoist with my own petard… *** Patricia served Eugenie a slice of rhubarb pie and filled her tea cup. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she told her sister. “My chicken broth did the trick, I see.” “I’m fine, but what about you? When will Ted’s body be released for burial? And have you thought about the service?” “Oh, yes, it’s all arranged, down to the hymns. I thought ‘Abide With Me’ would be appropriate. I certainly abided my husband the best I could.” Pursing her lips, Eugenie set down her tea cup. “Patricia, you sound so…bitter. Poor old Ted!” “Ted was a bumbling idiot. It serves him right. I expect he wanted to clean the leaves from the gutter, but was too afraid to climb up the ladder and chose to go out the bathroom window instead. All he’s done since he retired is get under my feet. Oh, don’t look so shocked, Genie. Not every one can be as happily married as you were to Charles.” “Was that the doorbell?” Eugenie asked, peering through the kitchen door to the foyer, where two large opaque shadows darkened the glass of the front entrance. “Don’t get up, dear. I’ll get it.” After a sharp exclamation of protest from Eugenie, followed by a brief conversation that Patricia could not hear, her sister returned with two policemen. “Patricia,” she faltered. “They’ve come to arrest you for Ted’s murder. They say it was premeditated. Something to do with the pruning shears being positioned at the exact spot where Ted landed when he was pushed off the roof, and the delivery boy saying Ted was shaking with fright when he signed for a package yesterday.” “Patricia Schofield,” began one of the officers stepping forward and proceeding to recite the caution. Patricia turned to her sister as he clamped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. Y“ ou don’t believe I murdered my husband, do you, Genie?” Eugenie, wringing her hands, murmured truthfully, “Well, Patricia, you said just now that he deserved what he had coming to him. And he wrote to me shortly before he died saying you were trying to poison him.” “With what?” Patricia demanded while the two policemen stood by expectantly in the kitchen. “I imagine he was referring to the hemlock you found by the river.” Eugenie promised to find her sister the best legal assistance, and visited her regularly in jail. She was glad when Patricia got life. Her older sister had always been bossy and had gone on to make Ted’s life a misery as well. But with both of them out of the way, she was able to relocate to their home and make use of all the contents, including the ladder she had moved out of reach when she saw Ted dangling from the gutter. She had come to confront Patricia about the note and, seeing her opportunity, had seized it. “‘Carpe diem,’” as dear old Ted used to say.
Suspense Magazine January 2012/vol. 030 70 J U S T F O R F U N 1. James Patterson, “Private: #1 Suspect” (Jack Morgan) 15. Elly Griffiths, “The House at Sea’s End” 2. Lisa Gardner, “The 7th. Month” 16. Robert Barnard, “A Charitable Body: A Novel of 3. Elizabeth George, “Believing the Lie” Suspense” 4. Faye Kellerman, “Gun Games” 17. Sam Siciliano, “The Further Adventures of Sherlock 5. Jack Higgins, “The Devil is Waiting” Holmes: The Web Weaver” 6. Robert Crais, “Taken” 18. Carola Dunn, “Gone West: A Daisy Dalrymple 7. Nevada Barr, “The Rope: An Anna Pigeon Novel” Mystery” 8. Elmore Leonard, “Raylan: A Novel” 19. Lucinda Brant, “Deadly Engagement” 9. George Pelecanos, “What it Was’ 20. Jill Paton Walsh, “The Attenbury Emeralds” 10. Charles Todd, “The Confession” 21. Jeanne M. Dams, “The Evil that Men Do” 11. Nancy Bilyeau, “The Crown” 22. Blaize Clement, “The Cat Sitter’s Pajamas” 12. Sara Paretsky, “Breakdown” 23. Darynda Jones, “Third Grave Dead Ahead” 13. Carol O’Connell, “The Chalk Girl” 24. Jessica Beck, “Killer Crullers: A Donut Shop Mystery” 14. Julie Hyzy, “Affairs of Steak” 25. Miranda James, “File M for Murder”
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