November Mourns

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A debt is owed to the following for their friendship, support, encouragement and inspiration over the writing of this novel: Gerard Houarner, T. M. Wright, Patrick Lussier, Stewart O’Nan, Dallas Mayr, Lee Seymour, Bill Pronzini, Tom Monteleone, Ray Garton, Caniglia, Graham Masterton, Michael Bishop, Al Sarrantonio, Gary A. Braunbeck, Brian Keene, Rich SanFilippo, Tim Lebbon, Thomas Ligotti, Mick Garris, Dean Koontz, and Thomas Tessier.

More thanks go to Ed Gorman, for sending all the boxes of great old books. Gold Medal rules!

Extraspecial thanks to my editor, Caitlin Alexander.

YOUR BLOOD WAS ALWAYS WHISPERING, EVEN if you didn’t want to listen.

Shad awoke on his feet, standing on his bunk, staring at the cement wall. He turned, peering into the darkness of the C-Block tier. In a pale flash, his sister’s hands pressed toward him through the bars of his cell.

“Mags,” he said. He opened his mouth to say more but was afraid he might whimper. Sometimes the depth of night hid you from your fears, and sometimes it brought them right to your bed.

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