Greetings and Happy New Year.

I’m pleased to announce the launch of Then She Died, the fifth book in The Serial Killer Anthology. E-books can be pre-ordered now at https://a.co/d/aptONoK (and you will receive them automatically on January 7). If you use KU, the ebook will be available for free on January 7 as well. Paperbacks are available now at https://a.co/d/hyRsNyR .

Here’s a look at the first chapter.

ONE | The Morning

He opened his eyes, quickly turned his head from side to side, grimaced at the pounding pain, and rubbed his forehead. The wall color looked somewhat familiar. The ceiling? Not so much. He wasn’t sure the popcorn effect had always been there.

He looked around at the surroundings – chair, dresser, mirror, ottoman, Trek bicycle – as he wandered toward the bathroom and the sink. Rectangular wicker basket on the floor between the toilet and vanity. An unorderly pile of Vanity Fair and New Yorker magazines and Chicago Tribunes.

Chicago?

Splashing cold water on his face, he looked up at the mirror and noticed the swollen purple-and-yellow bruise below his left eye. He switched to hot water for his hands. It burned. Looking down, he saw scratches – some deep and others on the surface – on his forearms and hands. Half of the nail on his right index finger was ripped, the torn piece hanging precariously.

He gazed in the mirror, and a sepia image more appropriate for a century-old photo stared back at him. Rubbing his eyes again, but the image remained. He rubbed the back of his neck.

He dried his face and hands and secured his fingernail with a Band-Aid he found in the medicine chest. He walked into the hallway and turned away from the bedroom. A noise startled him from behind the closed door on his left; he jerked his head as he reached for the doorknob. It was locked and wouldn’t turn. He couldn’t remember what was behind the door. Room, closet, or staircase?

He turned away and looked straight ahead down the hallway: island counter, barstools, sink, and cabinets off to the right. Sunlight streaming in from the left.

Maybe there are keys in the kitchen.

Fifteen steps, and he reached the end of the long hallway.

Diagonally to the left was the small living room. A chair was upended, the sofa was ripped and bloodied, and his front door was wide open with the jamb broken and lying splintered on the interior floor.

He put his hand over his souring mouth, carefully walked to the front door, and closed it as well as he could. He turned and looked at the kitchen. Keys on the counter. He walked over, picked them up, and thought he heard another sound coming from down the hallway.

In his mind’s eye, he flashed on a woman in a parking lot. Her head and hair matted with blood. And then she was gone.

He sat on the floor, rested his back against the wall, and lifted his knees to his chin. His hand ached. He looked at it; he was squeezing the keys so tightly his hand had lost color.

The noise again.

He stood and approached the locked door, uncertain whether to walk or run.

Reaching the door, he used three keys before he found the right one. He started to turn it. The bloody woman revisited his mind.

Please, God, don’t let her be in here.

He twisted the doorknob and pulled the door toward him.

It was a storage room. The automatic light illuminated.

The woman was not in it.

But tied to the floor-to-ceiling shelves and gagged were a man in his forties and a young girl.

Both dirty, bruised, and bloody, but alive.

He quickly closed the door.

He involuntarily closed his eyes, but his world did not vanish – it shifted. At first, darkness – thick and infinite. Then, faint patterns – blue and green swirled together, streaked with gold.

Phosphenes. The visual sensations everyone gets when they press their closed eyelids against their retina.

But he hadn’t touched his eyes.

The pressure built behind his eyelids, and the colors sharpened. A kaleidoscope, and he knew it wasn’t just him anymore. He was here – the voice that had been part of his entire life. The colors were the silent message his mind was no longer his own.

–‘Are you going to kill them, too?’

He replied, ‘I don’t know why or how they got here. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

‘Killing isn’t necessary. You need to stop. You’ve been doing this for too long. Please think this through first.’–

The voice began as a whisper. Then, it grew steadily. He could feel him in the way the colors moved, swirling with a purpose.

And then, just as suddenly, it began to fade. The gold dimmed, retreating into the deep blue. The patterns unraveled, the vibrant swirls softening. The presence retreated, and he felt the silence return first, followed by stillness. The phosphenes dissolved entirely, leaving him alone in the darkness.

When he finally opened his eyes, the room was the same as before. But he wasn’t.

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