About this item
Between life and death, between the deepest dark of night and the first rays of dawn, in that moment where we begin to drift from sleep to wakefulness, is where anything is possible . . . Jack Keeler wakes up one bright June morning to the shock of his life. He gazes in the mirror and sees a half-healed gash over his right eye and a hastily stitched-together wound in his shoulder that looks suspiciously like the result of a bullet. He also notices an intricately designed tattoo—words written in a foreign script—covering the length of his forearm. He’s alone, his house eerily silent without the delightful chatter of his wife and two daughters. He has absolutely no memory of how, when, or why he ended up in such gruesome physical condition.
About the Author
For those who care... my interest range from scuba diving, bungee jumping and helo skiing to hockey, lacrosse and golf. No one is more fun to watch on their home turf than the NY Giants, the NY Yankees or the Detroit Red Wings even when they don't win championships. I love the sound of everything whether it is Slash's Les Paul through a Marshal amp, John Williams conducting the London Philharmonic or the sound of my daughter's breath as she sleeps. My day is never complete unless I learn something new, speak to my children, hug and kiss my wife, leave my office with a clean desk, wipe a frown from someone's face and write 1500 words. I write from 11pm to 2am every night. Everyone wants to know why I don't quit my day job. I run a highly active real estate company that is filled with pressure, nightmares and travel. The simple fact is I love what I do. I love the people, the solving of crisis and the satisfaction of accomplishment. Writing is a world I run to at night, a place that I can escape into, where I can visit the people I have created and where I can dream up impossible situations for them to try and get out of. The bottom line is I need the interaction with others during the day and the solitude with my imagination at night.
