Spotlight
Synopsis:
Henry -
My past is gruesome and unforgettable no matter how hard I try to let go.
Writing is my escape. My only therapy.
When I met my wife, had children, and my career sky-rocketed, I thought I’d never revisit those dark days again.
So, the moment Blue Hill, Maine beckons for me, I go willingly in an effort to write the next big story.
But when a ghost from my past shows up, all of my carefully rebuilt walls come crumbling down hard and fast. My only way of defense is ripped from my grasp as this distraction bounces into my life.
Will I be able to sift through what’s fiction to find reality?
Eli -
I’m a serial killer. A victim of narcissism and the need to satisfy my own urges. I have a thirst to snuff out the lives of those that remind me of her—the woman that ruined me—and I take great pleasure in quenching that thirst.
I have no rules. No parameters. I do as I please.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Henry McElroy, is my god. His sick, twisted mind constructs the world to which I rule. I would be nothing without him—my dark creator.
***
What happens when Henry McElroy’s story begins to take a realistic form the moment he sets foot in the sleepy, seaside town in Maine? As soon as he begins sharing excerpts of his book with his fans on social media, including an obsessive one he meets in Blue Hill, bodies begin to stack up in similar fashion to that of which he writes about. Will the blame be placed on the town’s newest and most twisted visitor? Or will Henry be able to prove his innocence and clear his name before it’s too late?
Henry -
My past is gruesome and unforgettable no matter how hard I try to let go.
Writing is my escape. My only therapy.
When I met my wife, had children, and my career sky-rocketed, I thought I’d never revisit those dark days again.
So, the moment Blue Hill, Maine beckons for me, I go willingly in an effort to write the next big story.
But when a ghost from my past shows up, all of my carefully rebuilt walls come crumbling down hard and fast. My only way of defense is ripped from my grasp as this distraction bounces into my life.
Will I be able to sift through what’s fiction to find reality?
Eli -
I’m a serial killer. A victim of narcissism and the need to satisfy my own urges. I have a thirst to snuff out the lives of those that remind me of her—the woman that ruined me—and I take great pleasure in quenching that thirst.
I have no rules. No parameters. I do as I please.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Henry McElroy, is my god. His sick, twisted mind constructs the world to which I rule. I would be nothing without him—my dark creator.
***
What happens when Henry McElroy’s story begins to take a realistic form the moment he sets foot in the sleepy, seaside town in Maine? As soon as he begins sharing excerpts of his book with his fans on social media, including an obsessive one he meets in Blue Hill, bodies begin to stack up in similar fashion to that of which he writes about. Will the blame be placed on the town’s newest and most twisted visitor? Or will Henry be able to prove his innocence and clear his name before it’s too late?
Excerpt
“He’s got a gun,” I choke out.
The operator rambles on but I’m too frozen in terror to understand a word coming out of her mouth. Everything happens in such slow motion.
“David, stop this,” Mom pleads as she holds Helen up against her breast, reminding me of how she would hold me as a small child after a nightmare.
This nightmare is real.
“Goddammit, Janet,” he growls and stumbles a bit. “I told you. No mother should watch her child die a sick, unfair death. She’s being punished for fucking nothing.”
“Please,” she begs through hysterical tears.
I stand there staring at the monster with the yellow phone glued to my clutches, not knowing what to do to calm him.
“Daddy, this isn’t right,” Helen tries but Dad silences her when he raises the gun.
His sudden movement startles me into action. “Dad, no!”
“I love all of you. Please forgive me.”
Those are the last words.
Last freaking words.
His gun is pointed at my mother and his hand sways but he steadies it to fire the weapon.
I scream or is it Helen?
The moment Mom’s blood splatters all over my sister’s pastel purple headboard, I cease to function as a normal human being.
I’m a tree.
Rooted into the brown, aging carpet.
Immobile and useless.
Dad doesn’t hesitate before moving to aim the gun at her. The angel. My sister.
No!
The words aren’t real.
Trees can’t speak.
The moment the shot pierces the air, my heart implodes. It is nothing.
I’m still staring at the horrific scene before me, with the frantically babbling operator on the other line of the yellow banana phone I’m clutching, when he raises the gun at me. Holding out a shaking hand, I silently beg my father to stop.
But he doesn’t stop.
He fires again, this time at me.
I feel the heat of it as it clips my shoulder.
So this is what a gunshot wound feels like?
Burning.
Stinging.
But not the worst pain I’ve ever felt. No, the worst pain was seconds before when I watched my sister’s blood mix with my mother’s.
It seems like it should hurt worse—somehow match the pain in my heart. Stumbling forward, I fall onto the bed, face first over my sister and mother’s unmoving legs. My fingers delicately reach out to touch their soft flesh—first my mom and then my sister.
An anguished sob rips from Dad’s throat.
So sad. And filled with remorse. But I don’t miss the relieved gasp after.
He really thinks this is the only way.
“I’m sorry, son,” he garbles out as he rolls me onto my back.
Shoving the hot barrel of the gun into my gaping mouth, burning my tongue and the back of my throat in the process, he forces me to stare up at him. His dark blue eyes rage wildly with a demon behind them.
This man is not my father.
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