Dean Wellern works in a warehouse. His life is just like any average Joe’s until the Friday night a freaky looking man follows him half way home. Spooked, Dean bumps into a well-dressed man who ?invites? Dean to dinner and can read his thoughts. Plagued by erotic, frightening images of intertwined red-eyed men and women in the throes of ecstasy, Dean rushes home only to have one bizarre incident after another happen. When a court summons delivered by the largest man he has ever seen arrives, Dean knows something is seriously wrong. But what happens next will force him to walk a road less traveled.

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

 

 

    A sharp horn blast over the loading docks announced the shift change. Dean punched out and made his way through the employees coming and going. He descended the steps of a loading platform, strode across a parking lot, and out onto the sidewalk. An angry sky loomed overhead. Thunder rumbled with a promise of rain, and a moist wind blew in from the nearby river. He managed to walk half of the ten blocks to his apartment before a fine mist began. Within minutes, it transformed into a torrential downpour. Dean muttered a choice profanity and quickened his pace.

    He passed a ramshackle building known as a flophouse for prostitutes and druggies. In the doorway, a gaunt, gangly built man stood leaning against the threshold. A black duster that had seen better days hung on his spindly frame. Dirty white-blonde hair hung out of the hood drawn over his head and down the open front of his coat in a mass of gnarled locks. He met Dean’s gaze as he passed.

    An arrow of unease skewered Dean’s insides at seeing the loiterer’s strange eye color and wide, over-slanted eyes. The vagrant smiled-or was that a leer?-startling Dean with the mass of pointed and broken green-yellow teeth in his broad, thin-lipped mouth. He wondered if the man was diseased. Breaking eye contact, Dean hurried on his way and hoped that the rain didn’t fall any harder.

    Half a block later, now soaking wet, he realized that the loiterer had begun to follow him. He paused at a newsstand and purchased a pack of gum. The vagrant stopped, too, and leaned against a streetlamp about twenty yards back. Dean accepted his change from the vender, stuffed the coins and gum pack into one of his pants pockets, and started walking again, faster this time. The pounding rain had virtually cleared the sidewalks, so the footsteps behind him sounded loud and out of place amongst the rain splatters and gutter gurgles. He glanced over his shoulder and, with dread, noted the man had closed the distance between them by half. Dean sprinted to the curb to wave down a taxi. Someone crashed into his right side. Fearing that the vagrant had somehow closed the remaining feet between them, a cry burst from his lips. He lost his balance and stepped into the gutter overflowing with water and street debris, his Nike soaking instantly.

    “Shit!”

    “I am so sorry,” a voice said next to him. “Here, let me flag down the next taxi and I’ll pay your fare as a way of apologizing.”

    With relief, Dean looked over to find a tall, bearded redhead instead of the weird loiterer. The man offered one hand to help him up out of the gutter. His other hand held an umbrella. Rain bounced off the bright red shield in little arcs.

    Dean waved the guy aside and stepped back up on the curb. “It’s alright, really.” His gaze roamed over the sidewalk, storefronts, and even the other side of the street. Where had the vagrant disappeared to?
    “No, really, I mean it. I’ll pay your fare.” The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I was racing to catch the last cab, but my foot skidded on something, and I rammed into you by accident.” He raised his free hand, hailing an approaching taxi, and let out a shrill whistle. The cab pulled up to the sidewalk. Opening the back door, the redhead stated, “Look, you can continue to stand out in this monsoonal rain waiting on another taxi, or share this one with me.”

    Dean shrugged and slid into the backseat. Anything was better than the worry of passing another dark doorway only to have the weirdo vagrant pounce on him.

    The apologetic fellow quickly closed his umbrella and slipped in next to him. “Where to?” he asked Dean.

    “Nineteen seventy-two East Mulberry Street,” Dean said to the taxi driver. His gaze slid past his new companion and out to the sidewalk. Still no sign of the guy who had been following him.

    “How interesting.” Dean’s companion smiled revealing two gold-capped teeth.

    Dean’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “What?”

    “Your address. It’s about two blocks from my stop, so this worked out great.”

    “Yeah…”

    “And I’ve got your fare covered-no arguments.”

    “If you insist,” said Dean, his inner voice whispering that this guy was just too nice. Maybe it was his oversensitive defense mechanism. That other guy had really frightened the shit out of him. “Thanks.”

    “It’s the least I can do for knocking you into the gutter.” The man settled back against the seat. “Besides, if that first taxi had stopped, you might’ve been hurt and it would’ve been my fault.”

    “Relax, man,” said Dean. “All’s well that ends well.”

    The redhead smiled again. “Yes…exactly.” He extended a long-fingered hand. “My name is Rowan Headman.”

    “Dean Wellern.” He shook Rowan’s hand. It never ceased to amaze him how men with such long, bony hands could crush one’s fingers into powder. He refrained from grimacing and placed his hand back in his lap. Right now, all he wanted to do was go home, take a hot shower, and put on some dry clothes.

    “It’ll be nice to go home and change into some dry clothes, eh?” said Rowan.

    A worm of unease wriggled from Dean’s brain to the base of his spine and back again. “Uh…yeah. I don’t mind getting wet, but this rain is really cold for mid summer.” Coincidence. That’s all it was, Dean told himself. The obvious thing to do was go home and put on dry clothes. “Might have a hot shower to take the chill out of my bones,” he added.