Wherever you run...he's waiting for you!
Scott Randall is a corporate VP on top of the world. To celebrate a massive new deal, he's going to drive from Detroit to LA. But before he leaves, he makes a bad mistake. He cruelly dismisses a homeless panhandler on the street. Along the road, he swears he sees the panhandler again. Then again. And again. Soon he sees the man--who calls himself the Nightcrawler--even in his dreams. No matter how frantically he tries, Scott can't escape his relentless pursuer. He thought he was going to LA. But the Nightcrawler has a very different destination in mind.
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Samhain Publishing, LTD
April 30, 2012
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Adobe DRM EPUB
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Excerpt from The Nightcrawler by Mick Ridgewell
Outside, the din of the city came as a welcome change to the numbing silence of the office tower. The heat however was stifling. Scott struggled with his computer and briefcase while trying to remove his jacket. He slung the garment over his shoulder. His mood soared. He took a deep breath of the stale, Motor City air. Not even the midday Detroit smog could diminish his euphoria. His accomplishment would be unparalleled at Cobra Exotics. Add to that, he could finally take a week or two to relax. Relax and bask in the pleasure of that knowledge.
His eyes followed a blonde wearing tight shorts until she disappeared from sight, then he turned and walked directly into someone. He gave a halfhearted apology, not bothering to see whom he had bumped into, not until the odor registered in his brain. It was the scent of decay, of mold or old newspapers decomposing in a wet basement. It was stink, to an infinite degree.
He looked at the dirtiest human he had ever seen. The man wore soiled jeans that were more charcoal gray than blue, and a gray overcoat. The overcoat in the heat of midsummer looked out of place. His greasy hair hung over his ears and had definitely not seen a comb in ages. His unshaven face had deep creases, hollow cheeks and jaundiced looking eyes.
The bum held out his grimy hand. "Spare some change?"
Scott sidestepped the vagrant without acknowledging him and tried to stride by. He stopped when a hand firmly grasped his arm just above the elbow. His anger boiled over as he spun around and met the piercing stare of the panhandler.
"You were there, I saw you run," the hobo said.
"Get away from me," Scott uttered, jerking his arm free. His anger had abated, replaced by fear. He didn't know why he feared this man. He had no idea what the man meant by his accusation. Nevertheless, Scott saw something in those eyes that scared him.
"You didn't see her face," the bum said, his wide-eyed gaze drilling through the younger man standing before him. "I still see her face."
"Just buzz off, "Scott croaked.
"Okie-dokie," the bum replied. He cocked his finger like a gun and clicked his tongue while pulling an imaginary trigger. Without another word or even a second look, the bum walked away and in moments faded into the pedestrian throng.
Scott brushed the sleeve of his shirt where the filthy hand had been as though he could simply whisk the whole encounter away. The man's face, those eyes were burned into the backs of Scott's eyes and he squeezed them shut in an attempt to banish the image. He couldn't fathom a soul beneath that repulsive exterior. He didn't really consider him a person. It was a thing, just street vermin. They should exterminate it with the rest of the creatures prowling the streets and alleys. After a few steps along the sidewalk in the opposite direction, he stopped to look back over his shoulder. Scott felt the need to make sure the bum was gone.