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eBook Category: Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: Awakening Storm by Jonathan Lowe is a suspense novel about a lady psychologist who brings the man she's been treating for nightmares to confront the televangelist causing them. Twist is, the hurricane prayer party they've both been invited to gets more than a little out-of-control, and only one of them is going to survive this act of God ... and it won't be the greedy televangelist, either! With a subplot involving Veronica McCord's attempt to use Michael River's case to get her son back, Awakening Storm is an entertaining crossover horror novel about an earthquake off Miami that accompanies a freak hurricane, and awakens more than just fear in those who survive. [PUBLISHER NOTE: AudioBook of Awakening Storm is available at BlackstoneAudio.com.]

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: 2003
Fictionwise Release Date: January 2005

1 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.1 MB], eReader (PDB) [227 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [218 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [194 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [199 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [250 KB], hiebook (KML) [501 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [279 KB], iSilo (PDB) [181 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [224 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [269 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [286 KB]
Words: 64593
Reading time: 184-258 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

The words Veronica McCord used to describe Michael Rivers to herself had, at first hearing his complaint, been critically clinical. But with the man himself in the room she found herself entertaining whatever cliched tags and phrases rose from the depths of her memories, that she knew were inappropriate to the discipline to which she had been licensed by the state of Arizona. Like a magic 8 ball, as she listened to Michael speak, the words popped up, and she smiled inwardly at their guilty revelation. Outwardly, of course, she only nodded or shook her head, but each time she did so another suggestion came to the question she now asked: Who was this man? She anticipated the months and possibly years ahead it would take to unravel that mystery. In the meantime, she indulged herself with simplistic labels that she secretly hoped other psychologists sometimes indulged as well. She could earn her seventy dollars an hour in future sessions; for this first and only session, she would have some fun, and maybe forget about her own dilemma with Edmond, her ex.

"So anyway," the nervous but handsome man on the couch continued in a quick wispy voice, "I can't sleep. I mean I really do sleep, but I try not to. Some people get by with a few hours a night. Mainly old people. That's all we really need, isn't it? Couple hours to recoup? It's the rapid eye movements that get you. I've got a loud alarm clock now, to prevent that. Like one of those car alarms, with a high hooting followed by some loud horn blasts that diesel trucks make. Because, you know, I dream in technicolor. They're panoramic, wide-screen. And horror in a way, like the Hellraiser movies."

"That right?" Veronica guiltily scratched one word on her note pad. Wacko. Then she added a question mark.

"You find that odd, don't you? That my favorite thing to do when I'm supposed to be sleeping is walking around downtown, and looking into the shop windows."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

Basket case.

"No, no--you mean from muggers or cops? Muggers are asleep that late, and cops ... well, you can see them coming, unless they're in unmarked cars. Got stopped once, but I explained that I'm a photographer."

Veronica rechecked the man's brief profile. "A photographer? Nothing in here about that. Says you work at a restaurant."

She held her pen above her pad. A napkin, spoon, and soup tureen shy of a full place setting?

"Coffee house, actually. That's my new job. I used to be a photographer, though, see. For a magazine, and then for myself. Weddings, graduations, you name it. That's how I can afford talking to you, for now."

"Uh-huh. Which magazine?"

"National Geographic."

"You're kidding."

"Am I? Maybe so. I meant to say RV Life. Although I've never owned an RV myself. My dad did, until that time he went down to Big Bend National Park in south Texas, and some two bit drug kingpin waylaid him, figuring a '73 Caddy wasn't as comfortable as having an air bed and an outlet for a satellite linkup. You know, so you could know exactly where you are, and how the Broncos and Raiders are faring."

"You and your dad were close?"

Michael looked at her, turning his gaze from the ceiling at last. He resembled an actor named Ray Liota, a man with jet black hair, intense blue eyes, and a kind of mischievous charm that hid a lurking danger beneath. "Not really," he said. "I did run away from home, if you can call it that, at age eighteen. We're weren't rich, either. Dad used the money he might have used for my college education on the RV."

Veronica adjusted her note pad, studied the words there, and then ran a line one of the tags she's written. "So tell me about your mother, Michael."

Michael's lips widened into a thin smile. "That's what it always comes to, doesn't it, Doc? Are you sure you don't want to ask me what I was doing downtown taking photos late at night?"

"Okay," Veronica sighed. "But next session, please don't drink so much coffee before you come in here."