They tried to erase this book. That’s why you should read it.
Stamped BANNED — DECREE 2039, wrapped in warnings that say DO NOT
READ. DO NOT BELIEVE, Dan Tesson: A Thriller refuses to stay buried.
Written two decades ago and now resurfacing, this dystopian
psychological thriller feels less like fiction—and more like a message
that arrived early.
In a world shaped by control, perception, and quiet manipulation, Dan
Tesson is forced to confront something far more dangerous than power: truth.
As reality fractures and the rules governing society begin to reveal their
cracks, he’s pulled into a system designed not just to influence
behavior—but to redefine belief itself.
What happens when authority decides what is real?
What happens when questioning becomes a crime?
What happens when truth is labeled dangerous?
Blending dystopian fiction, science fiction, supernatural elements, and
psychological tension, this novel explores uncomfortable territory—where
control isn’t always visible, and freedom may be an illusion people
willingly accept.
This is not a safe story.
It is not designed to reassure.
It asks questions many would rather avoid.
And that may be exactly why it was banned in their time.
If you’re drawn to provocative, thought-driven thrillers that challenge
perception and push beyond the expected, Dan Tesson will not let you look
away.
You were told not to read it.
Read to believe.
About the Author:
Sean O'Leary is a local Utah author whose work moves between dystopian
thrillers, science fiction and fantasy, children's stories, photo essays,
literary collaborations, and reader-focused projects built around libraries,
curiosity, and story.
A revolutionary medical breakthrough. A technology, so advanced, people will kill to prevent its discovery. Dr. Taylor Abrahms, rising above his troubled past, is an expert in the burgeoning field of Medical Virtual Reality. A gifted researcher, he's created an experimental fusion of virtual reality, artificial intelligence, and microsurgery that will revolutionize the way surgery is performed. With the Virtual Heart Project (VHP), Taylor can enter a virtual recreation of his patient's beating heart and perform critical, life-saving surgery entirely within the realm of virtual reality. But in the political war zone of San Francisco University Medical Center, not everyone is thrilled.
With a health care crisis threatening to bankrupt the nation, advanced biotechnology is a flashpoint in health care reform. Taylor's research is scapegoated and he finds himself caught between warring factions in medicine and politics that will do anything to shut his project down, a battle that rages all the way to an upcoming Presidential election. Soon, Taylor finds himself the target of nonstop attacks: the destruction of his career, scientific sabotage, and murder, as those associated with the Virtual Heart Project are killed, one by one.
Fighting for his medical career and eventually his life, Deadly Vision tells the tale of Taylor's battle against overwhelming odds, political machinations, sabotage and murder, to bring this modern technology to reality and save the life of someone he loves.
Praise for Deadly Vision:
"Severin’s debut novel follows a doctor whose cutting-edge research gets him entangled in a conspiracy involving artificial intelligence, an upcoming presidential election, and the use of virtual reality... the greatest strength of the book is in the author’s deep character development. Abrahms isn’t merely a cardboard hero with unbreakable ideals—his traumatic childhood, during which he dealt with his mother’s death from heart disease, an alcoholic and abusive father, and his younger brother’s suicide, make him a character that readers will understand, identify with, and root for. The book’s subtle political commentary as it tackles timely issues is a clear plus, as well. An up-to-the-minute thriller that entertains and enlightens." ~ Kirkus Reviews
"Deadly Vision is a gripping novel of suspense ingeniously plotted. Dr. Severin writes with an expert’s hand in virtual reality and medicine, creating a unique, intriguing and intelligent medical/techno thriller that blew me away from its opening page." ~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Jury Master and The Tracy Crosswhite Series.
"Deadly Vision is a unique and fast-paced read where political intrigue combines with compelling family drama, techno-thriller vibes, and a smattering of medical fiction. This is an unparalleled reading experience." ~ Independent Book Review
"If you have the Michael Crichton itch, T. D. Severin is your new favorite author." ~ Terrance Layhew, author and host of the Suit Up! Podcast
"Half fast-paced action adventure, half thoughtful look at the world we live in, Deadly Vision reviews the complex ethical, financial, and political considerations that impact the medical community and the advancement of medicine through the lens of a taut thriller. The focus of the novel remains clear throughout, despite taking the reader down many different paths. A highly recommended read for any fan of a good thriller with plenty of added bonuses for those with interests in medicine, technology, and political intrigue." ~ Best Sellers World
Watch the DEADLY VISION Trailer:
Book Details:
Genre: Medical Thriller, Cyber Thriller, Psychological Thriller
Published by: Penmore Press LLC
Publication Date: March 6, 2025
Number of Pages: 466 pbk
ISBN: 9781957851945 (ISBN10: 1957851945)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Penmore Press
Read an Excerpt:
Prologue
Thursday, October 12 4:59 p.m.
Robert Chan froze in place, staring at the shadows in his hallway.
From the bedroom where he stood, Chan couldn’t see the shadows’ origin, just the elliptical darkness, spreading across the walls, creeping down the hall. As the sun descended beyond the distant Golden Gate Bridge, a chill seized the air, but Chan didn't feel it. His eyes were fixed on the hallway, studying the growing shadows, searching for signs of movement, or a flicker.
A sign they came from something alive.
Shadows had always terrified Chan. As a child, long after his parents had gone to sleep, he’d lie motionless in bed, his face half-hidden by the blankets, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight, filtering through the branches scratching outside his window, cast a dance of light and darkness above him. Lurking within this specter of shadows, he’d see the spirits of his grandmother’s tales, the kuei-shen -- the phantoms of the deceased trapped between the world of the living and the dead. Too frightened to move, he’d lay immobilized, watching as the shape-shifting kuei transformed, taking the forms of lions and dragons. He’d see the kuei-shen as they descended upon him, feel them as they entered his flesh, melting into his soul. The chill of their deathly presence within.
He’d carried those visions throughout his adult life.
Still, no number of childhood nightmares could prepare him for what he faced now.
Chan’s eyes shot from the hallway to the suitcase lying upon his bed, lid propped half-open, socks and underwear dangling over the edge. He rushed to the case, stuffed in two pairs of grey slacks, then dashed back to the closet. Glancing at the rows of cotton shirts, he shoved the stripes aside and grabbed the white Oxfords. Less eye catching, he thought, more anonymous.
Anonymity had never been one of Chan’s concerns before. As a young and hungry engineer in the Medical Applications Division of CyberTech Systems, he’d done everything in his power to avoid it. In the cutthroat world of Silicon Valley, anonymity in the corporate workplace was the high-tech kiss of death. In order to advance to the high-paying executive levels, Chan had to stand out, be noticed. And he did. Clocking in a string of over fifty consecutive 80-hour weeks, his work habits routinely drew the notice of the upper levels of CTS management. His ascent through the ranks of engineers was unprecedented.
But that was before he found the files.
Now, all he hoped for was to get out alive.
Shoving the Oxfords into the suitcase, Chan glared at the manila envelope on his bed. His stomach tightened. The envelope looked so mundane, so ordinary, like it contained any number of IKEA catalogs or Publisher’s Clearing House winner entries. There were no outward clues as to what it contained. The deception. The hidden discovery that was causing his once carved-in-granite life to crumble around his ears.
He wanted to grab that envelope and rip it to pieces, shred it; pretend he’d never found the files; get back to his life of deadlines and coding assignments, his twice daily visit to Starbucks with Elizabeth, his routine afternoon stop at the Porsche dealer where he’d been eyeing the new Boxster, dreaming of himself behind the wheel.
But it was too late for that. He’d been working on AI programing for a team of researchers at San Francisco University Medical Center, a special project assigned to him by the CEO himself, Reginald Erickson. All the engineers knew he was working on this assignment. His cyber-trail through the CTS database easily traceable. Every keystroke monitored and replicated. Each step readily apparent to someone who knew where to look.
The ringing of the phone snapped Chan to attention. He jerked from the bed, his eyes darting to the receiver then beyond to the digital clock on the far wall.
It was 5:00 P.M.
Panic seized him. No one should be trying to reach him at this hour. Not here. Normally, he'd still be at CyberTech logging in another eighteen-hour day pounding out code. No one should know he was home.
The phone rang again. Chan winced. His eyes shot to the envelope. He had to get out of there. Get the files to the Federal Building; get the evidence into the hands of the Justice Department or the FBI or whoever, get filtered into the witness protection program and hope to start a new life as an elementary school teacher in Wichita or Amarillo or someplace else he'd never heard of. Let the Attorney General, the world, see what he’d discovered before it was too late. Maybe they could put a stop to this.
But how do you stop a Presidential election?
The phone rang a third time. Chan ignored it, shoved the folder deep into the suitcase, covered it with a sweatshirt and slammed the lid closed. Yanking the suitcase off the bed, he rushed to the front door.
At the doorway, he paused, for just a second, turning to take one last glance at his apartment, his home for the last six years. The delicate Chinese watercolors, the bonsai he’d trimmed each morning, the wooden crucifix above his bed for his daily prayer. It all seemed like such a waste of time now. His plans to become a chief engineer, create his own start-up, propose to Elizabeth next Valentine’s Day were worthless. Vanished like rain drops that never reached the ground.
He swallowed hard and ran into the hall.
He didn't get more than two steps before the first shot rocked him. The force of the gunfire lifted him off the ground and sent him hurling backwards through the open doorway. He collapsed onto his back, his vision dimming, descending into a miasma of swirling reds and greys. Pain, like fire, ripped across his belly. A metallic smell filled his nostrils followed by the coppery taste of his own blood.
Chan tried to swallow the blood bubbling into his mouth, but couldn’t. He became vaguely aware of the gaping hole that now occupied his lower abdomen. Warmth flooded down his flank, collecting at the small of his back. Pools of blood gathered on the white carpet. His eyes half-focused, Chan watched, as each crimson pool began to morph into vague shapes, like clouds taking patterns. In the blood, he saw the faces of his mother and his father, both dead for years. He saw the face of a long-lost uncle, and his childhood friend, Wong, who’d died in a car accident. He saw Elizabeth.
The pain sank deeper into his belly. He fought for breath. With the last of his strength, he craned his head towards the door where he could just make out the silhouette of a lone figure, a bald man, standing over him. He concentrated hard, trying to cement the image, and slowly, a vision came into form. His eyes locked on the muzzle of the silenced 40 caliber H&K pistol now aimed at his chest.
Chan sighed and allowed his head to fall back. Around him, the bloody pools gathered into new shapes, like the shadows of his youth, forming lions and dragons.
Despite himself, Chan smiled. He closed his eyes and allowed the darkness to seep into his veins, bringing with it a quiet peace, the realization that he wouldn't have to run anymore.
The kuei-shen had arrived.
***
Excerpt from Deadly Vision by T.D. Severin. Copyright 2025 by T.D. Severin. Reproduced with permission from T.D. Severin. All rights reserved.
Meet the Author:
T.D. SEVERIN. MD., is a physician/surgeon and the author of the award-winning medical thriller, DEADLY VISON.
T.D. Severin, is an internationally renowned professor of medicine, who has been publishing both fiction and non-fiction since 1994. His writing has appeared in national and regional magazines/journals around the world, while his first novel, Deadly Vision, was the winner of the 2025 American Fiction Award, and The 2025 International Impact Book Award, and is a Finalist for the Clive Cussler Adventure Writers Award, the 2025 Global Book Award for Fiction, and was an award winner at the SEAK National Medical Fiction Writing Competition.
T.D. Severin has been named one of the Nation’s Best Ophthalmologists by Newsweek Magazine, and has been honored to receive the prestigious Telly Award, the Oscars of public access television, for his work on medical television programming.
T.D. has trekked across Tibet, scaled Mt. Everest, scuba dove the Great Barrier reef, white water rafted through the Australian Rain Forest, and delved into the mysterious ancient history of Malta, Istanbul, and the lost kingdom of Siam, all of which makes it's way into his writing.
T.D. lives with his wife and two pups in the San Francisco Bay Area and Florida, where he is currently at work on his next medical thriller. A former radio disc jockey, he also runs the heavy rock record label Ripple Music: www.ripple-music.com.
At just 25 years old, Michael Fletcher is wrongfully convicted of murder and
sentenced to 26 years in prison. Despite his desperate pleas of innocence, the
system turns a blind eye, leaving him trapped behind bars. But Michael refuses
to surrender to fate. Within the sterile confines of his cell, he educates
himself, mentors others, and clings to the hope that justice will one day
prevail.
Upon his long-awaited release, Michael embarks on a daunting mission to
uncover the truth behind his wrongful conviction. Yet, freedom is not what he
expected. The world has changed, and shocking revelations force him into a
battle against corruption, deception, and the scars of his past. Can he
reclaim the life that was stolen from him?
Award Winner in the Psychological Genre of the International Firebird
Book Awards
Perfect for fans of John Grisham, Scott Turow, and Michael Connelly.
High-stakes legal drama
Powerful themes of injustice, resilience, and redemption
A thought-provoking journey through the flaws of the justice system
Keep reading The Michael Fletcher Series with Accused Again – Freedom
Was Just the Beginning
About the Author:
Michael J. Kundu was born in London, Great Britain, in 1969 to an Indian
father and a German mother. He has lived in various places in Europe. His love
for reading has prompted him to write this book giving this crime novel more
than an edge of mystery and suspense, but also a contemporary perspective on
life.
He has a great passion for learning languages and travelling across the globe.
He enjoys spending time with his family and lives in Luxembourg with his
Italian wife and two teenage children.
My multinational background, coupled with my marriage to someone of a
different nationality, has endowed me with a wealth of diverse experiences.
Having traversed the globe, speaking multiple languages and immersing myself
in various cultures, the profound value of each individual has become a
cornerstone of my worldview. These multicultural encounters have not only
fostered a deep appreciation for the uniqueness of every person but have also
instilled in me a commitment to promoting mutual respect, free from the
shackles of prejudice related to color or religion. In composing my book,
these experiences have permeated not only this narrative …but also the
forthcoming sequel.
Her Last Best Friend (Shadow Lake Ranch Murders)by Nellie H. Steele
About Her Last Best Friend:
Her Last Best Friend (Shadow Lake Ranch Murders)
Psychological Thriller
1st in Series
Setting - Shadow Lake Ranch, a working ranch in Montana
Publisher : A Novel Idea Publishing, LLC
Publication date : September 23, 2025
Print length : 316 pages
Paperback ISBN-13 : 979-8891151017
Digital ASIN : B0F1M1C92D
A friendship. A betrayal. A body. Welcome to Shadow Lake Ranch…where friendships come to die.
Quiet Lindsey isn’t sure about spending twelve weeks at Shadow Lake Ranch. Her best friend, Mel, swears the luxury retreat will be the perfect escape—horseback riding, yoga, emotional bonding. A killer summer.
But from the moment they arrive, something feels off. Lindsey can’t shake the dread curling in her stomach. And when she meets Travis—the charming cowboy who seems to only have eyes for her—things get even more complicated.
Especially when it seems Mel has set her sights on him, too.
As the lines between truth and paranoia blur, Lindsey begins to question everything—her friendship, her relationship, even her own mind.
And when Mel turns up dead, Lindsey becomes the prime suspect.
Was she the jealous best friend who finally snapped? Or is someone else hiding a much darker secret?
At Shadow Lake Ranch, nothing is what it seems. And there’s only one truth: You can’t trust anyone.
Her Last Best Friend is a twisty psychological thriller perfect for fans of Colleen Hoover’s Verity, Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, and Ruth Ware’s The It Girl.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
“I was left guessing what was coming next, and kept flipping through page after page.” — Readers’ Favorite
Read now—if you don’t mind losing sleep.
About Nellie H. Steele:
Nellie H. Steele is a storyteller who doesn’t just write books—she writes the stories her characters tell her. With distinct voices and minds of their own, her characters often take over, guiding her through tales of romance, mystery, adventure, and suspense.
A lifelong bookworm, Nellie vividly recalls sitting on the concrete floor of her childhood library, eagerly devouring Nancy Drew books and dreaming of solving mysteries of her own. Now an award-winning author, she spends her days crafting immersive worlds and unforgettable characters that feel like old friends. Her house is a zoo—literally—thanks to her rescue animals who seem perfectly happy napping while she writes.
Nellie’s writing process often involves background TV she never actually watches because she’s too wrapped up in her characters’ antics. When she’s not spinning stories, she works as a professor of statistics, where students who know her as an author are often surprised to find she really does teach math.
If you love twisty mysteries, soap-opera-style romance, and thrilling adventures, dive into Nellie’s books today and discover worlds you won’t want to leave. Connect with Nellie on Facebook at @NellieHSteele—she loves chatting with readers about characters, stories, and more!
The Black Rose Frances Paul Publication date: October 14th 2025 Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller
“Intense, a little bruising, and it doesn’t let you walk away untouched.”
— ★★★★★ Reader Review
Some weapons are born. Others are made.
She is the perfect operative.
A discarded orphan, remade by the very hands that broke her.
Trained to seduce. Conditioned to kill. Reborn as Elara Everhart.
They gave her new names. New faces. New identities, whichever the mission required.
Now, they call her Raina.
And they’ve sent her into the lion’s den.
Her target: Axel Voss. Billionaire. Powerbroker. Threat.
He’s everything she was trained to dismantle.
But he sees too much. Speaks too little.
And when he touches her, he wakes something she was never meant to feel.
She is the weapon they created.
But he’s the variable they never planned for.
What begins as a mission spirals into obsession.
And survival will cost more than her cover.
Because the most dangerous thing isn’t failing the mission,
It’s forgetting who the real enemy is.
If you love psychological thrillers with espionage, romantic suspense, and heart‑stopping twists, The Black Rose will keep you breathless until the very last page.
“To master the art of the strike, first let the target marinate in your charm and wit, until they are ripe for the taking.” – Elara Everhart
I stepped out of the cab and into the gallery, the air instantly changing around me. Heads turned. Eyes followed. The black Dolce & Gabbana dress I wore fit like it had been sewn onto my skin, elegant without trying, powerful without needing to speak. My hair, sleek and black, fell in glossy waves down my back, every strand precisely where it belonged. I walked with purpose, each step measured, as I took in the room.
It didn’t take long to find him.
Axel Voss stood in a more secluded wing of the gallery where the crowd had thinned. I spotted him across the space. His back was to me, dressed in a tailored dark gray suit that fit too perfectly to be anything but custom. His frame was lean and strong, his posture relaxed, hands tucked in his pockets as he studied a painting. He wasn’t just looking. He was dissecting it.
My attention moved to the guards. Two of them. Strategically placed in opposite corners of the room, trying not to look like security. They blended in well enough with the other patrons, but their eyes told the truth. Constantly scanning.
I inhaled and adjusted the strap of my dress. I ran my hands over my curves, making sure everything looked in place. My cue had come.
Each step felt burdened, as if what I was about to do had sunk deep into my limbs.
The rhythm of my heels against the marble echoed faintly. I moved closer, slipping into his orbit. I was near enough now for him to catch the light scent of my perfume, floral, soft, meant to linger without announcing itself.
I stopped beside him, eyes landing on the painting he was analyzing. It was abstract, wild with motion. Crimson slashed across the canvas, tangled with violent blues and fractured gold. The brushwork oscillated between jagged bursts and smooth sweeps, an unsettling mix of control and chaos.
I spoke, keeping my voice soft and level. Close enough to feel intimate, just loud enough to be heard.
“The intensity of the strokes is remarkable,” I said. “The way the colors collide feels almost violent, yet there’s a strange harmony in the chaos.”
He didn’t respond. Not verbally. But I felt it. His attention was on me now as much as the art. I let the silence stretch a second longer, then continued, my tone calm, analytical. “It’s as if the artist was fighting an inner battle. Conflict and catharsis, all bleeding onto the canvas. The jagged strokes speak of anger or defiance, but the way the hues blend reveals a deep vulnerability… like they couldn’t commit to full destruction.”
I leaned in just slightly, examining the layers of the painting, voice dropping.
“It’s the tension that makes it work. The pull between restraint and abandon. It feels… raw.”
The silence settled again, delicate but dense.
Then I allowed a smirk to touch my lips.
“Or maybe they just threw paint at the canvas after a bad day and decided to call it art.”
That broke it. He turned toward me, finally.
His eyes met mine.
Heat flashed between us. The force of his gaze hit harder than I expected.
My breath caught, not out of fear but from the pressure of it. He was already trying to read me.
I knew that look. He was hunting for the truth inside my performance.
I didn’t flinch.
Even when my pulse started to climb beneath my skin, I held my ground.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. The gallery around us faded. It was just him. Just me.
Then I stepped back, breaking the moment on my terms.
I turned without hesitation and walked away, slipping into the flow of bodies beyond the archway. My retreat was smooth.
Behind me, I felt his gaze linger, and so did the eyes of his guards.
I didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching the space I had just walked away from.
Back in the main gallery, I finally exhaled. The encounter had gone as planned. I had said what
I needed to. Played the part.
But the crackle between us wasn’t part of the plan.
And I felt it. Still pulsing through me.
This was only the beginning. One step into a game layered with risk, manipulation, and consequences I wasn’t sure I fully understood.
But I had just stepped onto the board.
And Axel Voss had noticed.
Meet the Author:
Frances Paul is an author of emotionally charged, high-stakes fiction that captivates readers with its mix of psychological suspense, romance, and intricate plotting. Her work explores the fine line between love and survival, delving into themes of resilience, sacrifice, and the secrets we keep.
She is the author of Sea of Scars, a moving story of loss and redemption, and The Black Rose, a gripping psychological thriller that draws readers into a world where trust is dangerous and every choice carries lasting consequences.
With a distinctive voice and a cinematic style, Frances creates unforgettable characters and layered narratives that linger long after the final page. Her passion for storytelling comes from a lifelong fascination with the human heart and its capacity to endure even in the darkest of circumstances.
Tagline: A Dark Psychological Serial Killer Thriller with Shocking Twists, Dark Secrets, and a Fearless Female Lead
About the Book:
When a successful bookstore owner is abducted by a meticulous serial killer, she finds herself in a sterile cage designed for torture.
But as the captor attempts to break his victim, the roles of predator and prey begin to blur.
In a deadly psychological game where survival means becoming the greater monster, she must confront her own dark history to not only escape, but to take everything from the man who trapped her.
The room is dim, shadows casting sinister shapes as
Violet hangs suspended from the ceiling beam. The air is sharp, metallic. Her
upper back is pierced by two thick, curved steel hooks, twisting cruelly into
her flesh, skin stretched unnaturally taut. The thick rope threaded through the
hooks connects her to the beam. Blood seeps in thin rivulets down her sides,
creating jagged streaks that pool at her underwear’s waistband, before dropping
to the cold concrete below.
Her legs are submerged in a steel basin, the stool
beneath it unsteady. The water, tainted with rust and streaks of her blood,
ripples faintly. Her arms dangle, hands still bound together. Her head tilts
slightly forward, chin resting against her chest. She forces each breath to
remain slow, even.
Erik crouches beside a car battery, his clean,
collared flannel shirt tucked into dark jeans, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He
tightens the clamps on the terminals, sparks leaping at the contact.
“You know, I’ve read every page of your life.” He
lifts the jumper cables, taps them together, causing a spark to ignite.
“Medical files, police reports, case manager notes. Every sad word.” He shakes
his head, disgust feigned, setting the cables aside momentarily. “When you have
money, nothing’s off limits, it’s sick really.” He moves to the basin,
adjusting it beneath her feet. “I know exactly where you’ve been, what was done
to you, who did it.” Leaning in, his voice drops, almost intimate. “Nothing about
you is hidden from me.”
Violet’s lips curl in a half-smile, eyes sharp despite
the pain. “Then you must know how all this will end.”
Erik holds her gaze for a beat, then lowers both
jumper cables into the basin. Violet’s body seizes violently, legs kicking,
sending ripples through the bloody water. The jolt rips through her, every
nerve set on fire. Her jaw snaps shut, teeth grinding. There’s a rush of static
in her ears, then nothing but blinding white. She bites her tongue to keep from
crying out. In the haze, she thinks she hears Erik counting under his breath.
Her back arches against the hooks, fresh blood weeping from the wounds. The
water bubbles and hisses as the current surges.
As smoke fills the Cage and the pain recedes, Violet’s
awareness drifts. For Erik, each session in the Cage is a key, unlocking a
different memory he has constructed from her files. He pictures another house,
another set of wounds, another day when everything was already broken.
He sees it as clearly as the files he read. She would
have been younger then, thinner, eyes already trained on disaster. He pictures
her entering a silent house, feeling the weight of what waits inside. It is not
guesswork anymore. The details are always the same.
***
Twenty-One Years Ago
The house door creaks open. Violet steps inside,
fifteen and all sharp angles, her backpack slipping from one shoulder. She
doesn’t bother fixing it. The air inside is heavy with stillness, as if the
house knew what it held and decided to stop breathing.
She does not call out. The house would not answer.
Dust drapes the furniture like snow. The living room
is quiet, dark in places it never used to be. A coffee mug lies on its side
beside the couch, cracked and forgotten. The blinds are crooked. No breeze. No
motion.
Nothing waits to greet her.
Fifteen years old. She walks into a nightmare.
She steps further in, sneakers whispering across the
worn floorboards. Her eyes scan the room like she’s been here before and
expects what’s coming. Maybe she does. Girls like Violet don’t walk through
life with surprises. They walk through patterns.
In the center of the room, her mother hangs.
The ceiling fan turns slowly, each rotation jerking
her body just enough to keep the sound going.
Creak.
Creak.
Her legs are stiff, toes pointed downward. A bruise
rings her throat, buried beneath the cord. Her dress has slipped from one
shoulder. Her mouth is open.
The smell is subtle: sweet rot, sour perfume.
Her mother, tangled in her own mess.
Violet doesn’t cry. She doesn’t cover her mouth or
run. She just watches the sway of the body. The way the fan keeps spinning,
mechanical and obedient. Then, without a word, she walks past it. No glance
back.
The kitchen has its own secrets.
Her father slouches in a chair by the table, neck
limp, jaw slack. A bullet hole marks the center of his forehead like a
forgotten dot on a test paper. The blood beneath him has dried into maroon
shadows, seeping into the wood grain.
The table is chaos. A burned spoon. A twisted
tourniquet. A cheap yellow lighter.
He never cleaned up. Never thought she’d come home
early.
Her mother finally snapped. Maybe she couldn’t take
the guilt anymore.
Violet crouches beside the body. She looks at his
hands, still dirty beneath the nails. At the way one boot stayed on while the
other sits overturned by the fridge. At the stubble that never grew evenly.
She doesn’t touch him.
Maybe Daddy spent too much money on junk.
She rises again.
Moves down the hall, light as breath, like she doesn’t
want to wake whatever still lives in the walls. At the end of the hallway, she
lowers herself to the floor. Her back presses against the floral wallpaper, now
peeling. Knees drawn tight. Arms locked around them.
She doesn’t shake.
She doesn’t blink.
Or maybe she realized her main source of income was
drying up.
The older the girl got, the less she was worth. Mommy
shot Daddy dead, then strung herself up.
The house is still now, except for the soft tick of a
clock and the distant, endless turn of the fan.
Violet breathes evenly. Her face is blank. Not numb.
Blank. Numbness implies a feeling that once existed.
This is not grief. It is recognition.
A girl walks into a house and finds herself orphaned.
And somewhere inside her, she knew it was coming.
Some part of her always knew.
About the Author:
Floy Owens writes stories about survival, obsession, and the ways people change when pushed past their limits. The debut novel, Shades of Night, is a dark psychological thriller that dives into the mind of both captor and captive. When not writing, Owens is usually plotting the next story, fueled by strong tea and a curiosity about what makes people tick.
USA TODAY BESTSELLER • Perfect for fans of Alice Feeney, Megan Miranda, and Tana French, R. K. Jackson’s lyrical, twisty psychological thriller follows an aspiring journalist as she uncovers dark truths in a seaswept Southern town—aided by a mysterious outcast and pursued by a ruthless killer.
Now available for the first time as an audiobook, this lyrical novel comes alive in a tour de force performance by narrator Hillary Huber.
When Martha Covington moves to Amberleen, Georgia, after her release from a psychiatric ward, she thinks her breakdown is behind her. A small town with a rich history, Amberleen feels like a fresh start. Taking a summer internship with the local historical society, Martha is tasked with gathering the stories of the Geechee residents of nearby Shell Heap Island, the descendants of slaves who have lived by their own traditions for the last three hundred years.
As Martha delves into her work, the voices she thought she left behind start whispering again, and she begins to doubt her recovery. When a grisly murder occurs, Martha finds herself at the center of a perfect storm—and she’s the perfect suspect. Without a soul to vouch for her innocence or her sanity, Martha disappears into the wilderness, battling the pull of madness and struggling to piece together a supernatural puzzle of age-old resentments, broken promises, and cold-blooded murder. She finds an unexpected ally in a handsome young man fighting his own battles. With his help, Martha journeys through a terrifying labyrinth—to find the truth and clear her name, if she can survive to tell the tale.
Praise for THE GIRL IN THE MAZE:
"A juicy, twisty literary thriller so captivating you might want to take the long way to your destination... Hillary Huber['s] mastery of accents from the melodious Geechee dialect to the broad vowel drawl of Southern aristocracy is on point and music to this Southerner's ears." ~ The Atlanta Journal Constitution
"A Southern Gothic thriller with a twisty plot and echoes of Tana French." ~ Dianne Emley, bestselling author of Killing Secrets
"The Girl in the Maze has suspense, action, memorable characters and even a perfect storm." ~ Savannah Morning News
"One of the best books I’ve read [this year] . . . The Girl in the Maze is a genre-crushing story that’s part mystery, part thriller, with elements of horror. The result is a terribly entertaining novel." ~ Cemetery Dance
"Enthralling . . . a psycho-thriller of dark secrets in a small historic Georgian coastal town." ~ Judith D. Collins, Must Read Books
"This scared the hell out of me." ~ Laura Otis, MacArthur Fellow, author of Müller’s Lab
Listen to an Audio clip from The Girl in the Maze a psychological thriller narrated by Hillary Huber:
Book Details:
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Published by: Audiobook: Paradise Press in Association with Fright Night Audio; Print & eBook: Penguin Random House
Audiobook Publication Date: August 5, 2025
Number of Print Pages: 300
Audiobook ISBN: 979-8-218-70529-9
eBook Links: Amazon | Goodreads | BN | Apple | Penguin
Audiobook Links: Audible | BN | Apple | LibroFM | Chirp | AudiobooksNow | Spotify
Read an Excerpt:
Prologue
She wants to kill you.
Martha’s fingers tightened onto the Pentel No. 2 pencil, clutched in her lap like a secret talisman. Dr. Ellijay picked up the stack of test booklets, squared them on her desk with soft raps, and began handing them out. She walked slowly down the aisle, her heels popping on the linoleum.
Not today, Martha thought. Please, Lenny, not today.
Outside the casement windows, the campus was awash in gray, a silent movie, as it had been for days, suspended between fog and drizzle, the dull light suppressing shadows, flattening the neo-Gothic buildings of Ponce de Leon College like a plywood set. Only two o’clock, but outside looked more like dusk.
The quad was empty, except for a lone figure seated on a bench, a man in a tweed blazer taking notes in a composition book. He looked up in Martha’s direction, then down at the notebook, then toward her again. To escape his gaze, she looked elsewhere, beyond the campus buildings, above the crenellated rooflines.
It was there again. She had seen it before, on bad days, and now it stretched across the buildings, high above the spires and turrets, gelatinous and nearly invisible except for a network of threadlike capillaries. It pulsed and it heaved, breathing, alive.
Don’t look at it, Lovie. Lenny murmured in her ear, his voice moist and intimate. You know they don’t want you to see that, right? Just pretend you don’t see it.
Today Lenny was only a voice, but on some days she could see him. He was tall and gaunt, his skin white and mottled, like the belly of a toad. Spiked hair. Blue jeans shiny with stains. Canvas sneakers, gray and frayed.
Martha felt a touch on her shoulder, jerked around.
“Relax, Martha.” Wade leaned forward in the desk behind her. “You look as tight as a piano wire. You’ll do great.”
You won’t do great. You’ll die. Lenny hissed. S’truth. You’ll die if you even touch the paper.
This was the first time Wade had spoken to her in months. In the early weeks of the semester, he had flirted with her, singled her out for special attention. For a while, the attraction had been mutual. She liked his pug nose, his subversive sense of humor. But that was before.
Dr. Ellijay walked to the end of the next aisle, Martha’s aisle.
Have a look out, Lovie. ’Ere it comes.
Martha tried to concentrate, to review her mental notes. This was the final. Her grades had been floundering—that’s all part of the plan, innit?—but Martha had decided she would overcome the plan. She wouldn’t let them win.
Don’t touch the paper, Lenny rasped. It’s printed with poison ink. It’s like them colorful frogs in Ecuador. We learned about that in Biology 101, remember? Beautiful, but lethal. If you touch the ink, you’ll die.
Dr. Ellijay returned to her desk at the front of the room and glanced at her wristwatch. “All right, you have forty-five minutes,” she told the class. “You may begin now. Good luck.”
Look at ’er. She’s watchin’ you. She wants to see you fail. Touch the frog poison, and you’ll die. Look out the window. The man on the bench, he’s watchin’, too. They’re all watchin’. They’ve all been waitin’ for this moment, doncha see?
Martha stared at the page, paralyzed. She felt a drop of perspiration release from her armpit and crawl down her side. Around her, she heard the frantic scratching of her fellow students’ pens. They mingled with the sounds of the rats in the walls, the ones that chewed at the masonry with their sharp teeth, like yellow rice grains. The other students acted as if the rats weren’t there.
She glanced at the clock. Six minutes gone already. She looked down at the paper and tried to focus, to form the answers in her mind.
If you fall for it—don’t say I din’t warn you, Lovie.
She wanted to cry, or to scream, but she was motionless except for the pounding of her heart.
Don’t react. Don’t let ’em know. Don’t let ’em on to you, right? That’s the worst thing.
She heard Dr. Ellijay’s footsteps approach and stop next to her desk. She didn’t look up.
“Martha? It’s been ten minutes, and you haven’t even started. Are you all right?”
A swarm of ghostly, amoeba shapes floated in front of Martha’s eyes, and she felt as if her head would explode.
“Martha?” Dr. Ellijay placed a hand on her shoulder.
Martha screamed and lunged out of her seat, pushing the desk over, causing books to tumble out.
Run. It’s yer only chance—run like hellfire.
She bounded up the aisle, reached the door, and flung it open with a bang.
Run, Lovie.
In the hallway, Martha collided with a student on his cellphone, texting. She turned the corner onto another hallway and spotted the door to the custodial closet. She tried the knob. It opened. She slipped inside, squeezed next to a plastic mop bucket with rubber wheels, pulled the door closed, and slid to the floor.
In the darkness, she could smell ammonia. She heard the rats scurry around her. One brushed against her ankle, another along the back of her neck. Out in the hallway, footsteps approaching.
Voices calling her name. But Martha remained silent, invisible.
This is one thing we’re good at, hey, Lovie? Lenny said. We know how to vanish.
Chapter 1
Ten months later
Martha sat on an iron bench in front of the Wash-and-Fold and watched a column of ants as they marched away carrying crumbs from the smashed corner of a ham sandwich.
She had made the walk from the Pritchett House to Tobias Avenue in only fifteen minutes, strolling past dew-damp lawns and sprinklers, reaching the business district early. Nothing to do now but wait and watch the town slowly wake up. The morning was hazy, already humid. The rising sun painted sharp, expanding triangles of yellow on the buildings and storefronts.
Martha opened her leather satchel and unfolded the advertisement, the one Vince found on the bulletin board at the Gateway Center. She reread it for the hundredth time.
EDITORIAL ASSISTANT
The Historical Society of Amberleen, Georgia, seeks a full-time intern to assist with book project. Must be bright, organized, and detail-oriented, able to hit the ground running. Will transcribe/edit interviews, write introductions, assist with research. Three-month term with stipend. Assist with book project. Must be bright, organized, and detail-oriented, able to hit the ground running. Will transcribe/edit interviews, write introductions, assist with research. Three-month term with stipend.
She felt restless, considered moving to the local diner for a cup of coffee, then scrapped the idea. Like so many things, caffeine was no longer admissible.
She wished she’d brought a book to read, or maybe a newspaper. Anything to take her mind off the fluttery feeling in her gut, a sensation that took hold yesterday when the Trailways bus crossed the Intracoastal Waterway and rolled past that sign in the grass median:
Welcome to Amberleen. Spacious Oaks, Friendly Folks.
Martha held the leather satchel close to her face and sniffed. The smell calmed her. It reminded her of her father, who kept it bulging with papers as he shuttled between their house and the university. She tilted the satchel and heard a faint rattle from within, a secret sound. The part of herself she would keep hidden.
A Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the brick building across the street and parked. A tall woman with white hair and an old-fashioned, collared dress got out, unlocked the glass door to the building, and entered. Martha checked her watch—eight fifteen. She took out a mirror, freshened her lip gloss, and brushed a few strands of loose hair from her face. It was time.
***
Excerpt from THE GIRL IN THE MAZE by R. K. Jackson. Copyright 2025 by R. K. Jackson. Reproduced with permission from R. K. Jackson. All rights reserved.
Meet the Author:
R.K. Jackson is a former CNN journalist who now works at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory. He is the author of two novels of psychological suspense: the USA Today bestseller The Girl in the Maze and its sequel, Kiss of the Sun, both originally published by Penguin Random House.
Why can people be so cruel to each other? In his search for answers, Bob Van Laerhoven concentrates on individuals, but ideologies, religions, and political structures shimmer in the background.
Through ten stories set in different countries and eras, Van Laerhoven takes us through the destructive consequences of our passions as a common thread, from contemporary Syria to Algeria in the 1950s, and the civil war in Liberia to the uprising in Belgian Congo in the 1960s.
The ten stories in SCARS OF THE HEART highlight the dark side of love, which fuels our violence, inner loneliness, and greedy egos.
Praise for Scars Of The Heart:
SCARS OF THE HEART received a New York Book 2024 Festival Honorable Mention in the category Anthologies/Compilations and a Gold Book Award 2024 from Literary Titan.
"SCARS OF THE HEART Heart by Bob Van Laerhoven is a compelling collection of short stories that delve into the profound impacts of war... The settings range from the war-torn Middle East to World War II and Nazi Germany, bridging past and present to create relevant and relatable narratives. I finished the book with immense respect for the author's raw and heartbreaking portrayals of reality. The non-war stories are equally compelling, showcasing Van Laerhoven's versatility and skill in crafting riveting tales. Fans of Roald Dahl or Edgar Allan Poe will appreciate the beautifully crafted stories in SCARS OF THE HEART. For those who enjoy well-constructed plots and complex characters, this collection is a must-read. I highly recommend this book to anyone who can endure the psychological turmoil and pain depicted, as it offers profound insights into the atrocities and resilience of life." ~ 5-stars Literary Titan Review
"In SCARS OF THE HEART, Bob Van Laerhoven has taken a most controversial subject and written ten short stories around it. Each story is unique in its own right but the same theme is carried through each one. The author holds the reader's attention in each story for different reasons... Each story has a different tale and lesson to be learned and each title is more intriguing than the last. Bob Van Laerhoven has highlighted the atrocities that were committed during the various wars throughout the ages, how nobody is ever allowed to forget them, and how it affects vulnerable youngsters growing up as they learn the truth--as seen through the eyes of a relative, family friend, or even history--of what happened to their family, village, and country. This is a most interesting anthology and will give readers much food for thought. It is a profound read and I will be sure to reread some of the more intriguing stories because there is so much to learn from them." ~ Reviewed by Bernadette Longu for Readers' Favorite - 5 stars
"Mr. Van Laerhoven is an artist with words who paints in all mediums.
He also has the ability to make you think and feel.
In this collection of short stories his talent is on display with a heavier hand in horror and angst, and it works well. There is no sugar coating what the characters see and do, and yet it is so real, you can picture each part of it, and will find the stories will not go away when you finish them...
These stories are wonderful, unsettling, and should be on your list to read. Highly recommended." ~ Hussong's Cantina – Amazon.com
"SCARS OF THE HEART is a collection of short stories by Bob van Laerhoven that explores the darker sides of the human psyche and the complex nature of human relationships. Laerhoven brings together narratives on the themes of love, loss, revenge, and redemption. Each story is complete on its own, yet together, they paint a vivid picture of the scars that life can leave on the heart.
While SCARS OF THE HEART is an intriguing collection, some readers may find the intensity and dark themes challenging. Laerhoven does not shy away from depicting violence and emotional suffering. While these align with the subject of the stories, they can be unsettling. Additionally, the complex nature of some stories may require careful reading to fully appreciate the symbolism they embody. For fans of thought-provoking and emotionally resonant fiction, I give it five stars out of five." ~ 5-Star Review David Ikediuwa – Goodreads
Book Details:
Genre: Psychological Thriller, Suspense-Drama, Historical Literary Fiction
Published by: Next Chapter
Publication Date: May 28, 2024
Number of Pages: 245
ISBN: 9784824193995 (ISBN10: 4824193990)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Kobo | Add to Goodreads
Meet the Author:
A full-time Belgian/Flemish author, Laerhoven has published (traditionally) 44 books in Holland and Belgium. As a freelance travel writer, he explored conflicts and trouble spots across the globe from the early 1990s to 2003: Somalia, Liberia, Bosnia, Sudan, Gaza, Iran, Iraq, Mozambique, Kosovo, and Myanmar… to name a few. Echoes of his experiences on the road trickle through in his novels.
