About the Book:
In the vein of Seven & The Devil’s Advocate, Art Somers is a detective tracking a serial killer in Murrells Inlet, S.C., a small-town, coastal community with deeply held spiritual and supernatural belief systems. He discovers while chasing down clues to ID the culprit that the killer has always had his family on his target list.
Things begin to unravel and materialize around and within
him, calling into question his long held religious and paranormal beliefs. On
the verge of apprehending the killer, he learns an irrefutable truth: Abraham,
the father of faith, had to choose to either sacrifice his son or disobey a
direct order from God; he must now make a choice - sacrifice his soul to save
his son.
Early Reviews:
“An expertly
plotted and executed mystery, shot through with the supernatural...builds
suspense effortlessly, hurtling towards a riveting conclusion.”
- Clarion
Review
“Original and
engaging…full of plot twists, surprises, and a substantial dash of the
supernatural.”
– Publisher’s
Weekly BookLife Prize in Fiction
“A gripping
detective story with biblical undertones…aptly blends the horror and crime
genres.”
– Kirkus
Reviews
Chapter 1
From his crouched
position in the woods of rural Georgetown County, South Carolina, and under the
echo of his heavy breathing in the night air, he watched his favorite family’s
movements inside their small brown home.
After much thought
about the impression his outfit would make, he’d decided it was festive enough
for the occasion. The complete ensemble consisted of a red and black head mask,
aligned perfectly to the holes for his eyes, nose, and mouth and a
form-fitting, black bodysuit with white wings painted on the back.
For years, he’d
contemplated a befitting name for himself and finally settled on Star of David
killer. He liked the way the alias reverberated in his head. It revealed a lot.
It concealed everything. It hinted at his purpose and yet – it withheld the
true essence of his aspirations, keeping them covered in a shroud of secrecy.
He hoped an insightful reporter would have an epiphany and bestow that nickname
on him. It was far more interesting than the one his parents had given him at
birth. He breathed deep and exhaled slowly, taking in the ambience of the moment.
He flexed his muscles. It was time to initiate the events that would lead
everyone to recognize him by his self-appointed moniker.
He clenched and
released his toes on each of his hospital footie–covered feet. Through the
sheer curtains of the dimly lit dwelling, he watched the boy pick up the used
plates from the table, which signaled the parents and their twelve-year-old son
had finished their dinner. He knew them well. He’d cased their dwelling for
years, observing every nuance of their behavior. He sat flushed as he watched
them for the last time, shivering from time to time from the thrill of the
thought of what he was about to do.
The music of the
bullfrogs kept him company, along with the thought that all he’d longed for,
all that he was meant to be, was about to be on full display on the world stage
in a matter of hours. Like Heinz ketchup, he’d been waiting in anticipation for
a long time for this moment.
He glanced at the
scavengers in the clear sky above him, each casting its shadow across the moon
as it circled. They were his favorite creatures—the redheaded, black-feathered,
and partially white-winged turkey vultures of the Carolina skies. His outfit
mimicked theirs. The birds squawked in the sky, seeming to know his plan for
that evening. They’d followed his vehicle from his home until he’d parked, and
now they circled directly above him. He could feel their hunger and impatience.
The boy walked
outside his home and scraped the remains of their dinner plates into a slop
bucket on the back porch. He picked up the hog’s food and headed out to the
pigpen, which was located near the backend of their yard.
The Star of David
killer watched the boy make his evening trek on pigeon-toed feet that turned
inward with each step. Ever since the infant pigs were born, the boy fed the
adult male hog an extra feeding at night to prevent him from dining on his
offspring. That’s right, the daddy hog actually ate his own children. What a
disgusting breed of animal.
The overhead
undertakers began to shriek and shrill as the boy moved across his lawn, their
voices echoing in the night.
The boy jumped at
their sound and looked to the skies. He stared into the woods directly below
them.
The Star of David
killer remained as still as a stone as the kid’s gaze seemed to linger on him
for a moment. The last thing he needed was for the boy to detect his presence
and yell out for his daddy. The papa of the family had an itchy twelve-gauge
finger that he didn’t want to deal with that evening.
Seemingly satisfied,
the boy stopped searching the woods and continued his walk.
The Star of David
Killer glanced overhead at the vultures, angry with them for almost giving away
his position. For their carelessness, they wouldn’t be feeding on his handiwork
that evening, and if they didn’t atone for their misstep, they wouldn’t partake
in any of the festivities on his planned itinerary.
This was the first
night—the evening of his coming-out party and the kickoff of his personal
pilgrimage. It was the acknowledgment that the presence within him, who had
compelled him to plan and now execute the initial steps of his mission, had
chosen the right vehicle for the job.
He felt something
biting him on his lower legs. Glancing down, he saw by the light of the rear
porch that ants were advancing up his calves. He remained silent and didn’t
move, not wanting to sound the alarm that he was out there in the dark. A small
green garden snake slithered out of the brush toward him. He stepped on it and
crushed its head.
The grunting male hog
reveled in the slop the boy had dumped into his pen. The female hog stood to
the side with her five remaining piglets cowering under her.
The killer frowned at
the stench of the hogs. It wasn’t the last smell he wanted on his mind before
he began his body of work. To get past it, he closed his eyes and thought of
the fragrances inside the boy’s family home, smells that he knew all too well.
He’d spent many nights there while they slept, enjoying their scents, with his
favorites being the individual smell of each of their worn clothing. The
laundry room was a treasure trove of delights. Each of the family members left
their own unique and enjoyable stains in their underwear. He’d gotten to know
the other families in just as much detail, meticulously taking in their
routines and schedules, getting to know every nuance of each of them.
He removed his blade
from his waistband and watched Rueben, his first victim, as he rinsed out the slop
bucket with a water hose attached to the rear of his home. He squeezed the
black-handled blade. The paring knife felt perfect in his hand, after having
gone through an exhaustive testing process to find the right cutting
instrument—one with just the right shape and size for optimal carving control
against a moving body. He’d practiced his skills with it for many hours,
initially on cantaloupes, cucumbers, and other fruits and vegetables, until
he’d graduated to successful tests on small gerbils, kittens, and puppies he’d
purchased at various pet stores.
Finally, the lights
went out in the shack. It was time. As usual, Rueben’s parents were more than
likely already fast asleep. Rueben, on the other hand, should be wide-awake in
his darkened room, surfing Internet porn sites by the light of his laptop. The
little fella loved to look at online pussy, but he wouldn’t live long enough to
enjoy any.
As the final step of
his preparation process, he extracted a bottle of removable glue from the front
waistband of his outfit and placed another coat over his hands. It was an
additional layer to guard against him leaving fingerprints behind, but he knew
he didn’t need to worry on that score. Over the past year, he’d used razor
blades every month to remove the top layer of skin on each of his fingertips,
making them as smooth as a baby’s ass.
He had no
fingerprints.
He could’ve easily
used gloves, but he wanted to touch them, to feel his prey with his bare hands.
He blew on the glue until it dried. Satisfied, he stood, stretched his legs and
approached Rueben’s home on silent feet.
He hadn’t troubled
himself to brush the ants from his lower torso. The stinging sensation of their
bites would serve as a reminder that before that evening, he was once human.
About the Author:
Before publishing his debut novel in 2016, he served over 27 years as an information technology professional working initially for the US Navy, and then the Department of the Navy and various fortune companies. He’s a UCLA writing program alumnus who writes mystery thrillers and children stories. He has three wonderful kids who he enjoys immensely. Writing is his passion and his goal with each story is to capture the imagination in the opening pages and keep it engaged to the story’s riveting conclusion.
