Australian Professor Ian Delaney is single-minded in his determination to prove his theory that one can discover the moment that the life force leaves the body. After succumbing to the temptation to kill a girl under scientifically controlled conditions, he takes an offer of work in St Louis, hoping to leave the undiscovered crime behind him.
In America, Wayne Richardson seeks revenge by killing his ex-girlfriend, believing it will give him the upper hand, a means to seize control following their breakup. Wayne quickly discovers that he enjoys killing and begins to seek out young women who resemble his dead ex-girlfriend.
Ian and Wayne meet and, when Ian recognizes the symptoms of violent delusion, he employs Wayne to help him further his research. Despite the police closing in, the two killers manage to evade identification time and time again as the death toll rises in their wake.
The detective in charge of the case, John Barnes, is frantic, willing to try anything to catch his killer. With time running out, he searches desperately for answers before another body is found…or the culprit slips into the woodwork for good.
GENRE: Mystery: Paranormal Word Count: 128, 903
|Amazon||Apple Books||Google Play||Barnes and Noble||Kobo||Scribd||Smashwords||Angus & Robertson Print|
(ebooks are available from all sites, and print is available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble)
5.0 out of 5 stars Gruesome and Compelling - Highly recommended
Gruesome and Compelling - Highly recommended Max Overton’s graphic paranormal thriller, A Cry of Shadows, is one of those books that I loved, and was compelled to obsessively read late into the night, and devoured every word all the way to the last page, but at the same time I was sickened by it, as I am with any well-written violent thriller I read. The queasiness I felt derived from the graphic nature of the multiple murders, each of which are presented in gruesome detail. I also found myself cringing at the insightful looks Overton gives his reader into the twisted minds of the book’s two different killers—one driven by violent passions and the other by an ego that rationalizes murder as a disagreeable necessity. The reader gets to know these two villains better than any other characters in the story, and the author handles the changes in perspective flawlessly. This is quite a feat because one minute the reader is suffering in the perspective of a murder victim as she is killed, and the next minute we are riding away with the killer in his Camero, and the next minute we are in Australia visiting with the mad scientist again. I usually don’t like books that shift perspective so quickly but this one I did. The author is clearly a master of his craft. Overton’s hero, an emotionally damaged and aging Illinois cop who likes driving fast in his Mini-Cooper, is suitably nuanced and intelligent for a lead detective in a police novel like this. We don’t get to know Barnes as well as we do the novel’s bad guys, but Barnes is likable enough and does his job well in spite of the usual bureaucratic pressures that weigh against him. Overton has certainly done his research into police procedures and forensics. His descriptive strengths and excellent research make this book even more realistic and enjoyable for those interested in police procedurals. For those readers who just like a good story well told, you won’t go wrong either with A Cry of Shadows. The book left me awed at the author’s formidable powers of description and his ability to weave a straightforward, compelling narrative out of such a varied mix of completely different characters. I found myself as completely absorbed in one villain’s world of Australian academia as I was in the other killer’s job at Walmart. In the non-violent parts, I found myself often smiling at Overton’s creative turns of phrase. My favorite was: “Is there any water, Bill? My throat feels like the bottom of a bird cage.” A fully enjoyable thriller for those who don’t mind (or are interested in) real gritty violence, who enjoy scientifically-realistic paranormal plots, and who appreciate excellent writing. Highly recommended.
One serial killer would make an interesting read, but two, and from the opposite sides of the world. Fascinating scenario with a doctor on a mad mission, from Australia, and a rejected lover in the USA. Intriguing from beginning to end.
Flecks of foam covered the dog’s muzzle as it worried and gnawed at the length of electrical cord binding it to the fence. After a few minutes it ceased and lay back, panting. The dog whined softly and licked its side in a desultory manner where open sores covered its mangy flanks. A mongrel of dubious parentage, it showed the signs of a hard life, eking out a wretched existence on the periphery of man’s domain. Now it had come to this, starving, tied to a fence without food or water.
A boy lay unseen in the grass nearby watching the dog. A tear crept slowly down one cheek and his lips trembled. His brown, wavy hair fell forward over his eyes and he brushed it back with one hand. He looked away, clenching his fists, taking in deep breaths and exhaling noisily.
The dog fell silent; ears pricked forward, facing the stand of long grass. It whined and its tail flicked twice. As the boy stood and made his way slowly toward the dog it uttered a short bark and crept forward on its belly until the cord restrained it, cutting into its neck. It whined again and the tail signaled its hope.
Boy approached slowly and hunkered down just out of reach of the dog. He licked his lips. “Good dog.” He held out one hand tentatively; ready to snatch it back if the dog tried to bite him. Dog barked softly and its tail increased its tempo. “I’m sorry. I should’ve come back sooner.” He leaned forward and patted the dog awkwardly on the head. “I’ve got something for you.”
Boy drew his hand back and reaching into his pocket, taking out a paper-covered package and carefully unwrapping it to reveal a peanut butter sandwich. He pulled it in two and tossed one part close to the dog. The mongrel sniffed it, hesitated, and then gulped it down, its tail falling into a steady rhythm, transmitting its energy to the dog’s flanks. It wriggled with gratitude and anticipation.
Boy carefully put the other part of the sandwich just out of reach of the dog then shifted himself closer. He sat down on the grass and petted the dog. Dog licked his hand then returned its attention to the food lying so tantalizingly close. Boy looked up at the clouds and his eyes unfocused. “My mummy died last year. I miss her but daddy says she has gone to Heaven to be with the angels.”
Dog barked and strained at the cord. Boy looked down at the dog’s head. “In a moment, boy.” He stroked its sides, unmindful of the debris and pus that stuck to his fingers. “They wouldn’t let me see her, even after she died. Daddy said her soul had gone and I must remember her as she was before she got ill.” He looked up again, his face screwing up in misery. Brushing tears aside with his other hand, he sobbed, and then fell silent.
After a few minutes he sighed and resumed his stroking. “I can’t remember her, boy. I prayed to God to let her come and see me but she didn’t…or He wouldn’t let her. Maybe God didn’t tell her I wanted her. So I’ve made a plan. Do you want to hear it?”
Dog whined again, straining toward the sandwich curling in the sun. “Yes, in a moment.” Leaning forward, the boy tried to hold eye contact with the dog. “I read a book where a man was killed, his head was chopped off I think.” He thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “Anyway, the book said his soul rose from his dead body like a white bird and went to heaven. That’s where my mummy is, remember? So I thought if I could get someone to tell my mummy I want her, then she’d come and see me.” He smiled at the thought and dug into his other pocket, taking out a long knife. He removed a cork covering the tip and pushed the knife gently against his thumb. “I want you to find my mummy and tell her I want her to come and visit me. Yes, I know,” he nodded his head impatiently, “you can’t talk. At least not now. But you will be able to in Heaven. All sorts of miracles can happen there.”
Boy looked around at the vacant field of grass rippling in the breeze. He hesitated before bending down and whispering a name and a few words close to the dog’s ears. He straightened. “Remember that, boy. Remember her name and my message.”
Taking the knife firmly in his right hand, he picked up the remains of the sandwich and held it out to the dog. It snatched the morsel from his hand and bit it in two, gulping down the pieces and sniffing in the grass for crumbs. “Find my mummy, boy, find her and tell her to come see me.” He took a deep breath and rammed the knife into the dog’s chest. The animal screamed and leapt back then collapsed. It made a faint mewling noise, its legs scrabbling weakly at the grass.
Boy had fallen back himself and now knelt, staring at the creature with wide eyes. A tear crossed his cheek. Weakening, the dog’s limbs stilled, tremors rippling across its sides as bloody foam dribbled from its mouth and nostrils. The boy crept closer and bent his head to look into the eyes of the dying dog. He straightened its head and it whined softly, its tongue flicking out to rasp against his hand. Dog’s tail twitched and it gasped, then shuddered and fell quiet. Boy watched as the life in the eyes faded and filmed. He sat back and watched expectantly.
The sun rose higher in the sky, clouds sweeping patterns across the grassy fields and the boy sitting beside a stiffening corpse. At last the boy rose to his feet, stared at the blood on his hands. Feeling nauseous, he wiped his hands against his shorts.
“Why didn’t its soul go to Heaven? Or did it but I didn’t see?” he muttered. He stood looking at the bundle of fur at his feet, shaking his head. “Maybe dogs don’t have souls. What if only people do?”
Turning his back on the body, which had already attracted the attention of a bluebottle fly, the boy set off across the fields.
The bright lights and warmth of the store remained unchanging, providing a stable environment far removed from the vagaries of the southern Illinois weather. Crowds of shoppers, driven by the latest round of advertising, milled through the narrow aisles of the Maryville, Illinois Wal-Mart, looking for just one more gift, and one more tacky decoration for Thanksgiving. The chatter, the clatter of heels, the squeak of shopping carts and the wail and complaint of tired children almost drowned out the canned music and advertisements assaulting the senses.
A young woman in her mid-twenties, dressed conservatively in a pale blue polo shirt and navy blue slacks, leaned against a column in a deserted Housewares aisle, her blue Wal-Mart smock bunching up across her back. She closed her eyes and rubbed her right temple, willing the pain to recede. The Country and Western song drifting raucously from the ceiling speakers faded and died, to be replaced by a gabbled message.
“Loretta in Foods to the Candy aisle for customer assistance.”
The young woman groaned and, opening her eyes, brushed her long brunette hair back over her shoulders. Straightening her smock, emblazoned with the customary ‘How may I help you’ slogan, she hurried off down the aisles toward the food section. Five minutes later she was back in the receiving area, searching through the boxes of candy in the food bins.
Another young woman pushed through the swing doors from the store floor, a shopping cart of empty cardboard boxes trundling in front of her. Similarly dressed, though in green and plaid rather than blue, but also sporting the blue Wal-Mart smock, the woman caught sight of Loretta and frowned. She pushed the cart to one side and hurried over.
“You all right, Loretta?” The woman rested a hand solicitously on Loretta’s shoulder. “Still got your headache?”
Loretta turned a pale face to the other one and nodded. “Worse. I’m starting to feel like I want to throw up.” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “Charlene, I’ve got to go home. Can you cover for me?”
Charlene nodded and flashed her friend a small smile. “Sure, but you’ll need to check with the CSM and a manager first.”
“Who’s on tonight? Jason?”
Charlene nodded again. “Yes, and Matt.”
Loretta’s face screwed up in a look of distaste. “I’ll find Jason. He understands these things. Matt would have me working if I was dying at his feet.”
“Well, if he won’t let you go, throw up on him. Maybe that’ll persuade him you’re sick.”
Loretta forced a wan smile. “There’s a thought.” She pulled out a box and slit the tape on it with her box cutter. Taking out a bag of peanut butter cups, she pushed the box back into place. “Have to get these to a customer first.” She turned and moved toward the warehouse swing doors.
Charlene pushed her cart of cardboard toward the baler then turned her head, brushing her long hair back from her eyes. “Loretta, how are you getting home?”
Loretta paused in the doorway, frowning. “Walk I suppose. Mom was going to pick me up, but she’s at some church meeting, so I can’t call her.”
“You can’t walk, it’s raining outside and the forecast says thunderstorms.” Charlene hesitated, and then dug in the pocket of her slacks. “Take my car. I’ll wait and get a ride with your mom.”
“Are you sure? I know how you love your car.”
“Well, try not to let anything happen to it.” Charlene smiled and handed the keys across. “What are friends and family for?”
Fifteen minutes later, Loretta, bundled in her coat with her handbag over her shoulder, hesitated at the front doors of the store. She stared out into the night, as gusts of wind threw freshets of rain against the outer glass doors. A shopper pushed past her and hurried out into the car park, running to one of the cars. The lights, on their tall poles, cast a bright glare over the slick asphalt, almost drowning out the faint flickers of lightning.
“Going home already? I thought you were on till close.”
Loretta turned and smiled briefly at Bob the door greeter. “Headache. Jason let me off early.”
Bob nodded and turned away as a customer entered the store, flicking water from his coat over the already sodden carpet.
Loretta walked through the automatic doors, clutching her coat firmly around her. She hesitated outside, sheltering against the light rain thrown about by the gusting wind. Thunder reverberated from somewhere behind the building as she set out across the car park to the last line of vehicles where the staff cars sat like a row of dejected sparrows.
Charlene’s old Ford Taurus lay concealed in the shadows on the last row, hidden from the store entrance behind a large and battered pickup. Loretta fumbled for the car key in her coat pocket before fishing it out and inserting it into the lock. Sliding into the driver’s seat she quickly shut the door and locked it before peering into the darkness of the back seat. Satisfied there was no rapist or mugger there waiting to leap out on her, she fastened her seat belt and reached forward to start the car. The key turned with a barely audible click but otherwise, nothing.
Loretta stared uncomprehendingly at the dashboard, and then turned the key again. The car rocked slightly as another gust of wind howled across the car park, splattering the windshield with large ragged drops of water torn from the branches of the poplars lining the asphalted area.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She waggled the key in the ignition a few more times with no greater success before pulling it out and staring into the night. “Shit.” Louder this time and with feeling.
Loretta glanced up and flicked on the overhead light before looking at her watch. Twenty after nine. She got out of the car and locked the door before heading back toward the friendly lights of the store. Halfway back across the rain-slicked car park she hesitated then altered course toward the mall and the Schnuck’s Superstore. Between the Wal-Mart building and the mall lay a dark service alley. Loretta peered into the darkness of the alley, then back toward the lighted fronts of the stores, where a few late shoppers still hurried. It really would be quicker to cut through the alley, she thought. I go this way all the time. The gap between the buildings, opening out onto grass and farmland behind, loomed in the dark. Dumpsters, squat and overflowing, flickered briefly into existence in the lightning flashes. It looks different in the daytime.
She took a few steps down the alley before losing her nerve and turning back to the lights of the car park. Perhaps I should just go back to Wal-Mart and wait for mom. Her headache flared as if in answer and she stopped, lifting a hand to her head.
“Thought you could avoid me forever, did you?” rasped a voice from behind…