My new novel, ‘The Eyes Have No Soul’, has been released today on Kindle by Creativia.
An intensely personal project, The Eyes Have No Soul follows the adventures of forensic analyst Clare Rosser. Her parents killer is still at large, and killing again. She attempts to solve the mystery of a series of grisly murders, all the while succumbing to the ravages of a chronic illness.
The Eyes Have No Soul was inspired by my son, who we nearly lost to type 1 Diabetes when he was three years old. You can find out more information about the illness here. It is my intention to donate a portion of any proceeds from this book to The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.
You can get the kindle edition here. If you enjoy it, feel free to leave a review.
Excerpt of The Eyes Have No Soul
No matter how hard Clare Rosser tried to escape the house of her birth in the sleepy forest town of Holden, Massachusetts, life kicked her in the guts by drawing her back. It had only been eighteen months. Freedom had been hers at last. Clare, with all her determination and drive, had sworn that she would get out of Dodge. Yet here she was, in her sophomore year, being dragged home in order to mitigate another disaster. She just could not escape.
The trouble was she had no idea exactly what she was returning to this time round. Only hours before, Clare had been watching an old John Wayne flick with her friends and boyfriend. One phone call later, she had hurtled down route 90 from her rented house in Brookline, Boston, to deal with the latest drama. Was Mom ill? Had Dad drunk himself senseless again? Nobody would say.
Clare gazed at her blue-eyed reflection in the rear-view mirror of her Mini Cooper, a car given to her by her parents as a sweet sixteen present, and four years later the only item from them she treasured. Dad had imported the shell and restored the car to perfect working order, painted it red with twin white stripes on the hood and delivered it to her with a bank of blinding headlights attached to the front and a full tank of diesel. Never mind that it was a petrol engine and had to be fully drained and cleaned before she could take it out.
One of many mistakes her dad had made with the best intentions, like the time he had chased off a would-be boyfriend who just wanted to play her a song with his guitar. He wanted his daughter homebound. It only drove her further away. Her cell began to ring from its place on the passenger seat; Clare picked the phone up, wedging it between shoulder and ear. “Hello?”
“Clare? Clare Rosser? Is that you?”
“Yes. This is Clare.”
“Hello dear, it’s Dr. Julian Strange. I am your family —”
“Yes I know perfectly well who you are Julian. What’s going on?” Julian Strange had been the Rosser family physician for as long as Clare could remember. He had dealt with the fallout of her parents’ bouts of alcoholism with good grace, patient and informative. He was professional to the core when Clare had needed a father figure, sometimes impersonal, like he didn’t want to get too close.
“Are you on your way?”
Clare glanced out of the window. In the growing dusk, the woodland of southernmost Holden thrust up like a series of fingers clawing out of the hillside ahead. The police roadblock, comprised of three cars parked at random angles on the nearside of the railway crossing, lay between her and her house beyond. “I’m nearby. Julian, what’s going on?”
There was a pause. “Just… Just get here as soon as you can, Clare.”
“What do you mean ‘get here as soon as you can’?” Clare shouted down the phone in response. “Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”