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6 x 9 Paperback |
ISBN: 9781432722401 |
$17.95 |
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Genre: |
FICTION / Thrillers |
Publication: |
Mar 08, 2008 |
Pages: |
480 |
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A truly intense, frightening and thought-provoking read! When painter Ashlee McIntyre and her twin brother Dylan are reunited with the father they've never met on their twenty-first birthday, neither are prepared for the road that awaits them and certainly not for life in a castle. Christmas Eve in 2005 is the night of their parents' wedding. It is also the night that delivers a nightmare to Ashlee's peaceful sleep of the most sinister kind. A priest is killing children. Terrified, she puts the scene on canvas, only to gain the attention of a pragmatic forensic psychologist in New Orleans who is still seeking victims who went missing in 1997. But there are two problems; the priest found guilty was murdered in prison the year before and Dr. Gabriel Chevalier does not believe in ghosts. When he pairs with the young beauty who threatens to steal his heart and the team at Benn Mac in an outrageous scheme to find a cult of pedophiles and serial killers, Ashlee's dreams begin to define a pattern no one ever suspected. Is she insane or are the ghosts real? And will they lead the killers to the McIntyre's back yard? Whispers from the Attic is a story of deep love, paranormal debate and sheer terror.
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Renowned art critic and collector Gannon Tyler walked silently along a row of eight easels supporting paintings, his
thumb and index finger pressed to his chin in deep thought. He was fifty years old and his grey hair was slicked back with a
dramatic flare he like to describe as “mod”. He wore a dark suit, white shirt and a deep red tie and his piercing brown eyes
finally rested upon the last oil painting in the series.
“The baby lived?”
Ashlee McIntyre nodded. “Yes, sir, he did.”
He quietly exhaled and turned to study the twenty-one year old brunette beauty that had created the paintings. Her eyes
did not sparkle as he had expected, and her features though classically chiseled, were void of cosmetics. She was dressed in
jeans and a tee shirt, her feet bare, and her long hair was loose about her shoulders in reckless waves of abandon. He noted
the shadows on the skin beneath her eyes and moved to study the third painting once again. Her self image was crucified
and her head bled from a crown of barbed wire.
“Dreams you say?”
She shrugged and tucked her hands deep inside her back pockets. “Don’t know.”
Somer, Ashlee’s mother, stood outside the door, watching the interaction with concern. Gannon wanted a sneak
preview of Ashlee’s art exhibit planned for one month later in the banquet hall of the Majestick Hotel located in the heart of
Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. The theme was dark and medieval just like her dreams which had not stopped haunting the artist
for weeks.
“Well, Ashlee, I am very impressed,” he continued. He eyed the evil priest in the paintings and the young boy in a white
robe. “It’s dark, yes, but moving. Very reminiscent of the period. With your permission I’d like to feature it.”
“Okay.”
“What price did you have in mind?”
Her eyes lingered on her self portrait. “I’ve already paid.”
Startled, he cleared his throat. “I mean in terms of a fee that I would pay you for the feature.”
“I don’t want money for this.” She shook her head. “Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Somer sequestered a sigh as Gannon looked her way and touched her index finger to her lips in a sign of silence.
Understanding, he turned back to the visibly tortured artist and nodded.
“Alright. I can return in the morning if that works for you. Or we can make it the afternoon so you can sleep in.”
“I don’t sleep in.” She turned for the exit. “Any time is fine.”
Somer stepped into the studio as Ashlee disappeared down the hallway. “What do you really think?”
He managed a sympathetic smile. “I’m an art critic, Mrs. McIntyre, not a priest or psychologist. The paintings do bring
to life her dreams and she has tremendous talent. Has she always been so religious?”
“No, it, uh, it just started. I mean she and her brother went to Catholic school but it was never really large in her life.”
Her gaze landed on Ashlee’s self portrait. “This started a few weeks ago on Christmas Eve.”
He knew Quinn’s history from the media. “Does she dabble in narcotics?”
She expelled a breath. “No.”
Gannon turned to inspect the unfinished painting inspired by Ashlee’s dream that very morning. “I have my own
thoughts on this one. Did she explain it?”
Somer, torn with her own beliefs, nodded. “Wealth sustains the evil. Obviously Quinn’s fortune comes from music.
The, uh, the boy is a teenager and her brother Dylan is twenty-one so I don’t think that’s him. But Bethie is thirteen. I don’t
know really. I’m not Christian.”
Genuinely surprised, he faced her. “You aren’t?”
“No, I’m Pagan.”
Gannon’s eyes darted back to the barbed wire crown in Ashlee’s self portrait. “And Quinn?”
“Baptized Catholic but not really into church.”
He turned to look at the depiction of Luther. “But into the Troubles.”
Somer chewed on her lower lip and followed his gaze. “Yea.”
“Okay.” He reached into his trouser pocket for his car keys and faced her again. “I’ll be back at noon tomorrow with
my staff.”
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About Dory Maust
Dory Maust resides in Pennsylvania with her husband, daughter and horses. She is deeply rooted in educating the public about serious issues such as illness, addiction, sex and coping strategies through writing fiction and music. Her current novel series, the Benn Mac series, tackles drug addiction, eating disorders, breast cancer, government atrocities, political agendas, and the occult.
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