Shooter Vanished - a tiny excerpt.

And now, as a treat, a tiny excerpt of what will likely be the first novel I eventually finish and send off to publishers, The Shooter Vanished. Stay tuned for further excerpts as the mood strikes me.



Thomas found himself back at the bookstore again, just looking in the windows at the endless rows of shelves, the warmth of the place, imagining the smell of old paper, the murmur of hushed voices discussing their favorite titles. The place haunted him, and so he stood there, trying, perhaps, to stare through the wall into the past.

His eyes were streaked black with lack of sleep; the scar on his face burned with memory; he shivered in the prickling drizzle and pulled his ratty trench coat close. It would be a good night. Then he'd find her again, be with her again, hold her, curl up next to her and rest. Finally rest.

Fear spiked through him as he was overcome with dizziness. He put his arms out to catch his fall. He put it down to stress, to depression, to the slow inexorable destruction of his rational mind.

He fell.

And landed hard on cold concrete. He blinked the world back to focus and pulled himself off the ground. He stood for a second, reorienting himself.

It was like the last time. He glanced around him. Something nagged at him. The bookstore’s marquee...

No. Impossible. That bastard had been in hiding for years. He wouldn't dare...

And yet, there he was, in big letters.

Thomas stared at the marquee, daring it to explain itself, daring it to tell him that the man he'd chased all these years...

A decision formed in the depths of his mind. He fingered the gun in his pocket. He took a few steps forward, and then with determination, pushed his way into the bookstore.

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