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Bitten by Evil

by Drew Yeager

247 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0063; ISBN 1-55212-399-5; US$22.50, C$26.00, EUR18.50, £13.00

A modern, romantic version of the 19th century classic Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, Bitten by Evil portrays the love of a San Francisco therapist for a talented but tortured artist. The novel is set on the streets of North Beach in San Francisco.

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about the book      from the author      Chapter One      catalogue info

About the Book Bitten by Evil is the story of Derrick Vaughn. After a tragic childhood event takes the life of both his parents, Vaughn inherits the curse of a split personality. The evil thoughts of his father's betrayal control his mind while the loving spirit of his mother controls his heart. Torn by the conflict, Derrick struggles to find hope as an artist until he discovers Tricia LonGevin, a beautiful unconventional therapist who falls madly in love with the passionate artist. Tricia unravels the mystery behind Derrick's childhood and sacrifices her life to save him from the ultimate consequence of his pathology... suicide. Themes from the original Stevenson tale are reborn in this suspenseful thriller that will compel you to turn the next page and leave you asking that centuries-old question, "Does love truly conquer all?" "I was riveted to my seat by the intensity of this intriguing novel."      -Kathy Boswell, Small Press Reviewer for THE ROMANTIC TIMES More info at: Quick Reviews

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From the Author Background - Drew has been writing for twelve years and holds a Master's degree from the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. He has written three psychological novels. Bitten by Evil is the first to be published. Impetus - "The original idea for this novel came after reading Stevenson's classic tale Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde," Drew says. "I was captivated by Jekyll's self-destruction. He was totally consumed by the evil of Hyde, but there was a certain romance to his obsession. I felt like the story desperately needed a heroine, someone loving enough and tolerant enough to show Jekyll he could overcome this evil force in his life. After two years of intense writing and much discussion, the story was complete. Jekyll had been reborn as a tormented artist with a truly passionate lover, both on a journey to discover the truth about love."

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Chapter One

A brilliant brass-trimmed chandelier illuminated the cathedral-like mansion of Thomas Lester Vaughn III. The glorious light of the chandelier revealed the splendor of Vaughn's elegant home, a vast expanse of priceless art and lavish furniture. Everything about the stunning home was enchanting, a vision of luxury and sophistication.

Despite the home's majestic appeal, however, eight-year-old Derrick Vaughn sat quietly under his father's handcrafted writing table. His head hung low to the floor, and strands of his sandy-brown hair veiled his tender face. As Derrick stared vacantly at the plush carpet, his sapphire-blue eyes glazed with tears, and his thin shoulders slumped wearily under his soft, white shirt. Alone in the quiet stillness of the room, Derrick reflected the lifelessness around him, resting his hands in his lap and barely breathing.

Abruptly, the chimes of the mahogany grandfather clock rang out the late hour of eleven and awoke Derrick from his sorrow to discover an ominous shadow drifting across the room before him. As the haunting shadow made its way to the foot of the crescent banister, Derrick's stomach clenched with tension, and his palms perspired. He peered out from under the giant table. With his vision strained by the glowing light of the chandelier, Derrick witnessed his father standing at the pinnacle of the elaborate staircase. Thomas gazed over the grandeur of his fortune with arrogance, lightly stroking the collar of his beautiful coffee-brown shirt. Derrick retreated under the table and turned his tender face to avoid the hideous image of his father, but the presence of Thomas Lester Vaughn III was too awful to ignore.

Thomas's hair was nearly shoulder-length, tangled, and black as a crow. The dark circles around his eyes and the gaunt lines of his cheekbones cast an eerie shadow over his villainous face. His bloodshot eyes emanated a cold glare of conceit that disappeared under his eyelids as he rolled his head back to drink from the crystal glass in his hand. Lowering the glass, Thomas appeared more alive. He stretched his massive frame to the sky with a thrust of his chest and a stroke of his mangy hair.

Gorgeous patterns of angels covered the soaring walls before Thomas and dignified his grand entrance as he sauntered down the stairwell and stepped onto the splendid hardwood flooring of the foyer. Strolling into the living room with his chin lifted pompously in the air, Thomas stared into the towering Louis XIV mirror. Then, without a flinch, he set his glass on the edge of the grand piano, proudly turned, and summoned his wife. "Jena, where are you?"

Jena entered the silent foyer, wearing only a pair of worn blue jeans and a simple T-shirt. Brushing her silky blond hair to the side, Jena unveiled her innocent face. "Yes, Thomas?"

"You know what I'm tired of, Jena?" Thomas spoke with a brusque tone, moving aggressively toward her with his index finger extended.

"You never do what I tell you to do."

"Oh, Thomas," Jena reprimanded sternly, standing perfectly still. "Please don't do this tonight."

"I asked you three times yesterday to refill my bar, didn't I? And you couldn't even handle that, could you?"

"Please, Thomas, it's late. I don't want Derrick to see you like this."

"Like what?" Thomas interrupted, pulling his shoulders back and lifting his palms in the air. "Immensely successful."

"No, drunk."

Thomas's face filled with blood, and his eyes bulged with electricity as he leaned his hard shoulder into her breast. "Damn you, Jena, I haven't had a day off in three weeks. You have no idea how hard it is to run a company. Do you?" Thomas's angry voice grew louder. "Do you?"

"No, but that's no excuse."

Infuriated, Thomas grabbed Jena by the wrist and pulled, twisting her petite frame into submission.

"You're so ungrateful. You live in this magnificent beauty, and still you disrespect me."

"No, Thomas," Jena winched at the wrenching pain. "You disrespect yourself, worshipping this beauty. It means nothing to me."

Instantly, Thomas's hand landed on Jena's porcelain face, sending her sprawling to the hardwood floor.

"Damn you and your philosophy. If it weren't for me, you'd be back in North Beach somewhere, playing your violin for the bums."

Pushing her frail torso away from the solid hardwood floor, Jena turned her red swelling eye toward Thomas and declared with passion, "You're right, Thomas. If it weren't for you, I'd be back in North Beach all right, showing Derrick how to be content without greed."

Outraged, Thomas thrust his chin in the air and shouted, "Derrick, where in the hell are you?"

"Thomas, no," Jena cried as Derrick moved cautiously to the back of the writing table.

"Derrick?"

Thomas's voice sent chills up Derrick's spine.

"Please, Thomas, no," Jena reached her hand toward the sleeve of her husband's shirt.

"You and that goddamn boy." Thomas slapped her hand away. "You're both pathetic."

Thomas abruptly abandoned his wife and headed up the staircase. Before reaching the top, he paused and looked down at Jena on the floor. With a wicked laugh, Thomas lunged upward. His enormous hand swallowed the polished railing as he vanished out of sight.

Jena raised her hand, gently touching the side of her face. After closing her eyes for a moment, she turned her swollen eye toward her only son and pleaded, "Derrick, honey, will you please get me some ice?"

Derrick jumped out from under the table. He ran through the double doors of the dining room and entered the serving entrance of the kitchen. Frantically pulling open the drawers to find a plastic bag, Derrick looked over his shoulder in paranoia, stroking his hair fervently. The plastic bag whistled in the air as he turned to open the silver freezer door, which immediately snapped closed. Derrick scrambled into the foyer and found Jena sitting alone with her head buried in shame. Derrick approached his mother with compassion, handing her the ice pack. Watching Jena lift her head slowly, Derrick kneeled down next to her, gently placing his hand on her knee.

With a tear trickling down her cheek, Jena gracefully placed the ice pack on her bruised eye. "I keep hoping your father will change, but all that money has just torn him apart. He can't feel anymore."

Broken by the sincerity of his mother's voice, Derrick quietly laid his head in her lap. As he closed his eyes, Derrick could feel the warm touch of his mother's hand gently gliding through his hair. Her Love, Derrick thought, saved him from his father.

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Catalogue Information

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