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Paths

by Maggie Bonilla-Thompson

220 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0505; ISBN 1-4120-0137-4; US$19.99, C$28.59, EUR18.60, £12.90

This action-packed, fast-paced thriller will keep you hauntingly mesmerized as you travel through the psychotic halls of Richard Crane's mind and arrive at a dark and unexpected ending.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts or Table of Contents      catalogue info

About the Book In a pretty house located in a quiet neighborhood in Stenton, New Jersey, two corpses are found, both males. One of the victims had been stabbed in the neck, and where his eyes should have been, dark, bloody sockets stared into nothingness. The other victim had been found with one side of his face collapsed into the other. His sexual organs were missing. In Berth, New Jersey, a successful attorney is found with his chest cut open and an empty cavity where his heart once rested. Paths is a psycho-thriller with a twist. There are ghastly murders being committed in two different cities. In both cities the corpses of every victim is missing a part of their bodies. . . a hand, the eyes, a man's sexual organ. . . the heart. No one knows who is committing these horrifying acts, no one knows if there is more than one psychotic individual out there, and no one knows how to stop the madness.

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A note from the Author I reside in New Jersey. My favorite authors are Dr. Seus, who's Green Eggs and Ham was the first book I ever read on my own and who got me interested in reading, and Stephen King, who through his mystery has taught me many valuable writing lessons and who has deliciously terrified me through all his books and novels.

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Sample Excerpts or Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Paul Di Angelo and Andrew Steinbrook had been lovers for four years. They had been living together in a rented yellow and white colonial in a quiet neighborhood in Stenton, New Jersey three of those four years. Physically, they were total opposites. Paul stood six feet four, well built, with jade-green eyes. A golden mane rested comfortably on his shoulders. Andrew, on the other hand, was only five feet seven, slender, had eyes so dark brown they seemed black, and raven black hair cut so short it almost seemed militant. In spite of these differences, they agreed on almost everything and seldom had arguments---except when Paul's mother phoned the house or came for an unexpected visit.

Mrs. Di Angelo was a stout woman who resembled a man in drag more than a female form. No one was good enough for her Paulie (a name Paul found absolutely abhorrent) and "that Andrew," as she always referred to Paul's lover, was no exception. Mrs. Di Angelo lived too far from Stenton to visit on a regular basis, therefore, the harassment Andrew received was mostly done over the telephone. Her acrid remarks were the cause of most of the arguments between Paul and Andrew. Whenever Andrew answered the phone, Mrs. Di Angelo would refer to him as "the mutant" or "the little pansy boy." But two weeks had expired since Andrew had received his daily bashing and he and Paul had been living a wonderfully comfortable life. Andrew felt delighted because he had not heard the voice of Capt. Mouth (as he un- affectionately called Mrs. Di Angelo) in those two weeks. He had two events to be thankful for. First, Mrs. Di Angelo had called two weeks prior to inform them that she had sprained her ankle while working on her garden. This didn't make sense to Andrew. Nobody sprains his or her ankles while working on a garden. Unless, of course, Capt. Mouth had been trying to uproot a sapling with her enormous feet. In any case, Andrew didn't care. He felt elated Capt. Mouth wouldn't be visiting them any time soon. Of course, there was always the phone, but that turned out not to be a problem. The second event Andrew was thankful for was the sudden death of the phone. One day the phone was in working condition, the next---poof---silence. Paul had wanted to call the telephone company and have it repaired immediately, but Andrew had talked him into waiting a few days. "I really need a break from the Captain," he had said. "Just a few days, O.K.?" Paul had agreed, but a few days had turned into two weeks and Paul, not being able to stand living without the use of a phone, had called the telephone company for repairs.

Now, as Paul made his way down the stairs to answer the doorbell, Andrew called from the landing above.

"Do we really have to repair the phone, Paul? It's been so quiet and peaceful."

Paul stopped and turned to face Andrew, who was wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else. Paul knew how difficult it was for Andrew to deal with his mom and for a second he considered not having the phone repaired. But Capt. Mouth was his mother, after all, and he couldn't continue ignoring her.

With a sigh, he finally said to Andrew, "Yeah, I think we better or else all hell is going to break loose once IT can walk again." He looked at Andrew in silence a few seconds more, then added, "And hurry up and shower so we can get out of here as soon as the repairman is done. We don't want to miss all the showings of the movie. They won't stay open forever, you know."

"I know. I'll hurry. It'll only take a sec."

"Well, don't hurry too much," Paul said as he continued descending the stairs, "or you'll miss a few spots."

As Andrew entered the bathroom and Paul walked across the spacious living room towards the door, the doorbell rang once again. Paul reached the door, opened it, and found a very handsome man standing on the porch.

The man smiled at Paul and said, "Repairman for the phone. You have phone problem, right?" "Yes. In more ways than one," Paul answered.

"Excuse me?" the repairman said, a bit confused.

"Never mind," Paul said, "inside joke. Come in. I'll show you where the phone is."

Paul stepped aside and the repairman entered and waited by a coat rack that held only a Fedora hat on one of the hooks until Paul closed the door and led the way. As he followed Paul, the repairman looked around and stopped to admire a statuette resting on a small cherry oak table. The statuette was of a slender woman in an elegant eighteenth century gown. The repairman picked it up and examined it.

"This is beautiful," he said.

Paul turned and was surprised to find the repairman standing by the table, holding the statuette. He had been sure the repairman was right behind him. After a moment he said, "Thank you. I do a bit of sculpting."

"You made this?" the repairman asked, surprised.

"Yes. That and sixteen billion others I keep stashed in the attic. It's just a hobby."

"A hobby? This is great work. Did you ever consider selling some of these?"

"No. Like I said, it's simply a hobby of mine. It helps me relax."

The repairman looked at the statuette once again, then placed it on the table. As he began walking towards Paul he said, "Well, if you ever decide to sell, give me a call."

For some reason he couldn't understand, the repairman was beginning to make Paul feel very uncomfortable. All of a sudden Paul wanted him out of the house. He quickly showed the repairman where the phone was located, explaining as fast as he could without sounding nervous what the problem was, wishing he would just fix it and get out. The repairman looked at the phone then back at Paul and just stared. Paul was beginning to get the feeling he should have listened to Andrew.

Maybe they should have left the phone the way it had been these past two weeks. And where the hell was Andrew? He was taking an awful long time in the damn shower. Trying to sound calm and in control he said to the repairman in a harsh, nasty voice, "Don't you think you should get on with your job so we can all get on with the rest of our lives?"

The repairman 's eyes did not waver from Paul's. As a smile crept across his lips and spread widely across his face he replied, "Yes. I think that's a great idea."

Paul didn't like the sound of the repairman's voice, so smug and confident, and he wasn't too crazy about that smile, either. Still trying not to feel intimidated by this man, Paul rolled his eyes in exasperation and said, "I'm going upstairs. Give me a holler when your d---"

While Paul had been talking, the repairman had been looking inside his toolbox. With the swiftness of lightning, the repairman extracted an ice pick from his toolbox, turned, and stabbed Paul in the neck, directly beneath his Adam's Apple, with such force Paul didn't have time to scream. Still smiling, the repairman let go of the ice pick and stared at Paul, who staggered backwards, eyes wide open in surprise and pain.

Paul tried to lift his left hand towards the pick while holding onto the wall with his right, trying to keep himself from falling over. Blood gushed out of the wound and spilled over his white shirt. Paul moved his body against the wall, tried to reach the pick, but his hands were too shaky and he had begun to feel dizziness settling in.

The repairman moved closer to Paul, still wearing that calm but somehow demented smile. He reached out and softly caressed Paul's right cheek with the back of his left hand. "Pretty boy," he whispered. "Are you my pretty boy?"

Paul began to lose consciousness. All around him darkness was closing in and he didn't quiet know where he was. He thought maybe he was sitting next to Jamie Anderson and they were both on a ride called Death Tunnel at Hydewaite Amusement Park. They were now entering the tunnel, so dark nothing could be seen except the apparitions that jumped at you every so often and scared the shit out of you. Except...that had been when he was eleven years old...hadn't it?

Paul began to slide down the wall but strong hands held him up. From a great distance he heard a voice speaking to him. He tried to concentrate but it was becoming more and more difficult to do anything else but give in to the darkness that seemed to engulf him like a shroud. And then he felt those strong hands thrust him hard against the wall and white lightning ran across his brain. He found that he could focus once again and realized that he wasn't with Jamie Anderson at all but with the repairman who, instead of fixing the telephone, had damaged his throat. Great fear took hold of him then and he tried to move away from the repairman but the repairman was too close to his body and, besides, he found he didn't really have the energy to move anywhere.

With his eyes full of horror, Paul watched as the repairman removed a long, thin knife, no thicker than a pen, from his utility belt. The repairman looked steadily into Paul's eyes, lifted the knife to Paul's chest and with a wide smile on his face inserted the knife a little below the ice pick. Paul's eyes grew wider still until he thought they might pop right out of his head and his body began to twitch uncontrollably.

Bringing his face inches from Paul's, the repairman said, "I've come to deliver you from your sins."

Then, closing his eyes, the repairman began pulling the knife down the length of Paul's body, slicing through his muscular exterior, down to his taut stomach where his guts immediately began pouring out. Paul's body stopped twitching; his dead eyes stared accusingly at the repairman. Knowing that he had saved one more life and thankful for the power of deliverance, the repairman stepped back from Paul's body and let it fall to the floor. Ever so calmly, he knelt and removed the ice pick from Paul's body, then the knife. He placed the ice pick in the toolbox and with the knife still held tightly in his left hand he turned his attention once again to Paul's lifeless body.

He stared into Paul's dead jade-green eyes, admiring their beauty even in death, and thought how convenient it had been that he had died with his eyes open. He lifted his left hand above Paul's face and slowly and carefully, like a surgeon performing a very delicate operation, inserted the knife in Paul's right eye socket and removed the eyeball. He placed it on the floor next to him, and repeated the operation on the left eye. When he was done he picked up both eyeballs and delicately placed them inside a small pocket located on the right side of his toolbox and closed the Velcro flap tightly. He picked up his toolbox and turned toward the stairs. There was still work to be done here. Another soul to save.

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Catalogue Information

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