A killer from the past manages to escape the bonds of time and
redefines "horror" for Jamie Davenport. In this new entry to the
"fringe-killer" series, Gothica, Detective Davenport finds herself
dealing with horror brought to life from the past. This time the killer
is terrorizing the same building that was once a prison for the
criminally insane, but is now a dance club where darker denizens of
society try to fit in.
Gothica weaves elements of the horror and the crime thriller genres
together as well as melding the past and the present. A killer that
shouldn't exist and a cross-section of society most do not care for,
meeting in a club filled with dark desires, angst, and pain. The past
and the present collide in the darkest recesses of a club built upon
suffering, angst, and sorrow. Jamie Davenport and Skip Abraham are
tossed into a world of gothic delights and horror as another Fringe
Killer is brought to life. How can a ghost be killing and be caught?
1942
THE SOUND of the stick smacking against the bars woke up most of the inmates in the D wing. The wood-on-metal clank resonated through each skull as it landed inches from their hairline. The officer knew full well he could crack open any one of these forgotten imbeciles and not suffer so much as a slap on the hand. It gave him a power his lowly rank never offered.
"Up! Get yer asses up!" His voice was nearly as harsh as the light that now seeped through the encrusted slits in their eyes. It was earlier than usual which only meant trouble.
"Sod off ya sack of lard!" Lem growled. The cold mist left his mouth and wafted through the air. "And give us some bloody heat...freezing my stones off."
"I'll get on that Queen of England." He smacked his stick to punctuate his sarcasm.
"Bullocks!"
"Mornin' sunshine!" The warden poked at Eek, the smallest of the lot, who sat urgently at the edge of his cot. "How's everyone's pet rat today?" The guard laughed at his own prodding.
"Eek happy". The tiny man said with a blackened smile. His teeth had rotted away long ago due to his penchant for eating his own waste. "Wanna kiss?" Eek puckered his lips and sent an imaginary kiss through the air toward the guard. His howling laughed peeled off the concrete walls bringing the entire D wing up in arms.
"Quiet down!" The guards scream tore through the ears of the insane men and brought them to silence. He spit into the cell of Eek, the spittle landing on the waif's cheek, and moved on.
The only sound was the heel of the guards boot meeting the cement floor. Even the stick had stopped tattooing the cell bars.
