Book 3 of the Psychic Detective Series!

SAMPLE:

Prologue

He ran his fingers along the smooth edge of her calf, white and luminous in the dark bathroom. The drip from the leaking sink reverberated in his head, amplified into an annoying drone. It was more irritating than her pathetic cries. Still, he was distracted by her loose blouse exposing her pale flesh. His stomach tingled with anticipation. Her intoxicating scent– a mixture of salty skin and hours old perfume– lured him closer. He inhaled deeply, holding her blouse to his nose, consuming her scent and her faint breath. If only he could crawl inside her, feel her warmth, her essence. Union. Comfort. “Dina,” he whispered, “Dina Fabian, open your eyes.”

She stirred closer consciousness. He slid his hand behind her back and lifted her in his arms. Her eyes fluttered as she fought the narcotics coursing through her. She weighed next to nothing, like a bird.

She could fly if she had wings. A perfect little chicken plucked bare.

The dripping water grabbed his attention, each plunk irritating his eardrums.

Just like the spider consuming his brain and forcing him to do these things. The arachnid squirmed inside his skull, burrowing deeper until he’d finally end it with her death. Only then would it release him. The spider demanded her end. Then it would be contented and crawl back into its hole.

“We will be one. Then the spider will stop.”

He let her limp body slip into the cold porcelain tub. Unable to bear the leaky faucet any longer, he fumbled for the handle, grabbed hold, and twisted until his wrist ached. The drip got worse, like beating a drum in his skull that pulsed with the dull thud of his heart.

A figure in the faded mirror caught his attention. There he stood, reflecting the face he’d hated his whole life. Not since he was ten could he look for more than a few seconds. The crooked teeth, red with her blood, were that of a monster, not a boy, not a man who used to be a boy. How could a child grow into this? He smiled again, then his face drew closer to the mirror, eyes wide. He hissed and smiled and chomped his teeth. Blood dribbled down his chin. A ripple of fear ran through him, as if the reflection was a stranger. He lowered her into the bathtub as she moaned, groggy and unable to move. A muted victim, pale and cold, lying in the vessel he used for communion.

Her eyes fluttered open, searching, as if trying to find meaning in a nightmare. He inched closer, glancing at his pose in the mirror. The spider within him wriggled in anticipation. He raised the hatchet higher and…

I awakened with a start, my heart pounding so hard I feared a heart attack.

Then her name came to me. Dina. Dina Fabian.