Korey Robison
Description
Product Description
Best-selling crime novelist, Vincent Phalls, returns to his boyhood hometown to complete his fourth and final novel, and to entom
...
b a secret he has kept hidden for seven years. But skeletons of this magnitude rarely stay dormant behind closeted doors, and Vincent soon finds himself stumbling through the maze of an upside down world—a chilling place where fact and fiction merge—a diabolical labyrinth where truth is nothing more than the verdict read by the last survivor. In his debut novel, Korey Robison shows us with haunting clarity that the most terrifying secrets we keep, are those we keep from ourselves.
About the Author
Korey Robison gave up the pursuit of a career in law to focus on his writing. He lives with his wife in the Columbus, Ohio area. "Ghostwriter" is his first novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Ghostwiter Chapter Fourteen Massive droplets of frigid rain smashed into her bedroom window like tiny kamikaze bullets ricocheting in unpredictable directions. Bolts of electrical glory lit up the outside of the upstairs window, like a brilliant flash would light up a darkened room for a photograph. Explosive thunder cracked overhead before galloping off into the distance in a monstrous echo of stampeding horses. Vicious squalls of unforgiving wind howled through the tiniest of openings in the house, audible moans of relentless fury. The sculpted, glass lamp in the center of her black marble bedstand flickered in perfect unison with the ceaseless barrage of white-hot arrows illuminating the somber sky above.
But oblivious to the powerful onslaught of mother nature, Kate Overbee lay curled in a fetal position on top of her lonely, king-size bed, her eyes moving rapidly from left to right, anxiously tearing through the final pages of a romance novel she'd started just yesterday.
All was well.
Then all went black. "Shit," she said in a frightened whisper, her eyes darting through the fresh darkness. Though she told herself that the power was out because of the storm, the book began to shake in her quivering hands. She laid it down on the bed, then fished around the floor for her slippers, finding them during a rather lengthy burst of illumination from nature's patented version of strobe lighting.
After sliding the slippers onto her feet, she shuffled over to the bedroom window and peered out across the street to see if the neighbors still had their power.
Strangely they did.
She forced herself to swallow, though her throat was as dry as a cotton swab. She let a lengthy exhale of anxiety trickle out from between her dry, tightly pursed lips, and slid her feet across the bedroom floor into the hallway, keeping her hand flush against the smooth wallpaper for direction and balance. Upon reaching the staircase, she reached out her trembling hand and grasped the oversized wooden newel post of the railing, then peered down the stairs into the black hollows of the first floor. Terror slithered along the floor and shot up her body, methodically wrapping its cold grasp around her skin like a hungry python would attack its prey.
With guarded caution she navigated down the stairs, a miserable wailing echoed out from each of the aging floorboards beneath her feet. Her throat constricted, making it difficult for her to breathe; though her short gasps for air increased in both strength and volume. The light dusting of hair on her arms stood at attention and her pulse raced wildly out of control as her mind returned dozens of murderous scenarios from the books that she had read before Michael had been murdered. Her head snapped back and forth between the first and second floors, watching her next and previous step with equal caution. At the bottom of the stairs, the light show outside ceased, as did the rolling thunder, almost on cue for an event she had no idea was about to happen. Only the rhythmic patter of rain on her newly shingled rooftop bro
Read more