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Grave Images [Book 1 of The Grave Images Series] [MultiFormat]
eBook by N. D. Hansen-Hill
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$6.99 |
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$5.94 |
eBook Category: Horror/Suspense/Thriller Sir Julius Vogel Award Nominee
eBook Description: Nothing in Jarron Marshall's past could ever have prepared him for the terror of his present. For visions living eyes were never meant to see. For voices better left unheard. As he becomes trapped in a power play between science and technology, Jarron finds it's not the only battle he's caught in--and that power plays aren't limited to the living. The "door" is open--in more ways than one.
eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: 2000
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2002
This eBook is part of the following series:
32 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [312 KB]
, ePub (EPUB) [282 KB]
, Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [281 KB]
, Portable Document Format (PDF) [1.0 MB]
, Palm Doc (PDB) [311 KB]
, Microsoft Reader (LIT) [276 KB]
, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [308 KB]
, hiebook (KML) [803 KB]
, Sony Reader (LRF) [496 KB]
, iSilo (PDB) [261 KB]
, Mobipocket (PRC) [325 KB]
, Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [380 KB]
, OEBFF Format (IMP) [425 KB]
Words: 93788
Reading time: 267-375 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Portable Document Format (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
 
"Grave Images is a book that reaches deep into the imagination, setting it afire and keeping you glued to the book. This is a book that will keep you on the edge of your seat, make you laugh, cry, and yes, even scare you at times. There are multiple characters in this book that come into the main focus, but each of them play a very important part of Jarron's life and what he is going through at the present. This reviewer is definitely looking forward to reading more from the author. Four Stars. Excellent."--Tracy Eastgate, Tracy's Book Reviews
Grave Images
What binds the spirit?
What net of flesh?
To manacle soul,
Bone 'n blood enmesh?
When we bury our bodies
Do we free the soul?
Denude the body
Or leave it whole?
What binds the spirit?
Is it snagged by bone?
Interred by soil?
Suppressed by stone?
--N. D. Hansen-Hill
Prologue
The final burst of smouldering orange lingered in the grass heads. Withering stalks caught what they could of the fading light--hoarding the last glints of energy against the darkness. Dusk intruded, eating the colour and smothering the valleys in chilly grey.
On the hilltop a small breeze danced, shivering the grass in seemingly aimless patterns--parting the blades and crunching the culms. The rustling sounds of its passage blended well with the first squeaks and squawks of night creatures.
The tiny whirlwind played, winding a path through reminders cast in stone--angels and slabs, crosses and obelisks--markers of lives gone, but never intended to be forgotten.
In this place, day obscured more than night. Sunlight and daysounds concealed restless energies, much as the compacted earth concealed human remains.
As night deepened, flickers of light chased the errant breeze through the headstones. Coils of mist and translucent glimmers ate at the darkness, while fragments of speech, soft laughter and sibilant sobs whispered on the night air.
Through it all, the small breeze danced.
Chapter One
Jack Halloran dumped another box of papers onto the floor. Tipping out more of the sticky syrup, he poured it over the strewn articles--shuffling his feet to crumple all the layers in-between.
Destruction of the guy's property gave him some satisfaction--and it was orders. Make it look like a burglary, they'd said. Find the CD, take the computer, but cover yourself. If there's anything else worth taking, grab it. Make it look real.
Real burglars liked to damage stuff. Especially if the take was as lousy as this one promised to be. He knew, because he used to burgle homes for a living. Now he did it from time to time--but for a salary.
Still, it had been a while. They'd had him coercing clients, doing the odd assassination, acting as a bodyguard. It had made him sloppy. Or maybe, once he'd seen how easy it was to get in, and what he'd have to dig through to find what they wanted, he just didn't care.
Besides--the victim was away for the day. He always took off on Saturdays. It was safe. Jack Halloran could let the pleasure he found in destruction absorb him to the exclusion of almost everything else.
He took a book off the shelf, ripped out some pages, and scrunched the rest. Then he threw it face down in the sticky muck.
Yes, he thought, patting his gun for reassurance, life is sweet. He grinned widely at the dark relevance of his own joke.
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