My latest novel The Long Runners is a complex blend of crime, thriller and dystopian themes.
Early hours, doomsday thinking, and overpowering feelings of despair force Sean Dempsey to seek respair in cold dark Velazquezian churches where he feels at peace and horribly new, reduced, stripped and vulnerable as though he has obtained some sort of advantage by subterfuge.
Too inhibited to be entirely present, he blends into the last row of pews.
She hadn’t noticed him.
Torrents of blood race through his temples until a shroud of silence emerges from the shadows.
An experienced lion tamer moves among the congregants, weaving in and out of the aisle. A sexy supplicant, an ordinary sinner, an almost lapsed Catholic engaged in confessionals and contortions of the soul.
Doubts accentuate her effortless unconventional beauty, manifesting a frantic, crawling, deep blush that spreads from her neck to the clean flesh of her breasts.
Her body perched, ripe, plump, worthy of worship and veneration on that ancient floor polished by the footsteps of the dead.
Overlooking his social peculiarities, the woman he fears and fucks in his dreams noticed him.
He doesn’t flinch.
She is, after all, just another executioner.
Men condemned to death are subject to sudden moments of elation.
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