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Zane Mcfadden had given everything to be a Los Angeles cop: his health, his family, his sanity... Now Zane only cared about one thing...
The scrapbook had become Zane's very own special cross to bear. Page after page of unsolved murder cases from the 1930s, '40s, and '50s would lead Zane down a path of obsession and self-destruction until eventually he comes face-to-face with a nine-year-old hitman.
A new century is here and Peter Beta has received an old scrapbook as a gift. He was just an avid collector of horror items this shouldn't have to be his burden. But the sins of others found their way out of the old book and worked their way into his flesh. Now he must show the world the cruelty of mankind through a non-stop bible of atrocity playing endlessly across his skin, constantly moving and constantly screaming... for release.
cardamons. Dose 10 to 20 minims. Beg your pardon? Why would a kid need—or even want—to know how to make knock-out drops? Then she looked at the opposite page and saw there he’d checked the following. Digitalis Tincture.—Digitalis, recently dried and in fine powder, 4 ounces, diluted alcohol a sufficient quantity; moisten the powder with 2 fluid ounces of the alcohol, pack it firmly in a conical percolator and gradually pour diluted alcohol over it until 2 parts of tincture are obtained. It is
him try harder; it pushed him to limits both sad and heroic until, a decade later, he’d sometimes ignored his own children just to hunt for Agnes Mathewkitty’s defiler. (Now seeing his kids wasn’t an option. The closest he ever came were their photographs. But those weren’t in this book nor in the drawer.) He’d seen other dead kids since Agnes. He’d held a few of them, grieving in the silent manner of the cop. He’d held babies, even. Like Rosaluna Pasolini’s infant, no name of its own. Zane
nickels. “About seven bucks.” Pearly thought about it. Then said, “One more thing. I want a grown-up’s overcoat. I was planning to steal one myself but you know what? I want you to get it for me.” “No problem,” said Donald. “Shake on it?” Pearly shook his head. “That’s for touchy-feelies. Just give me the dough and go get me that coat.” �«—»» The guy in the Caddy had been transported to the hospital. The newspapers identified him as a nightclub owner, Theo Gegax, who’d just agreed to turn
here.” Diane shook her head in disbelief, the single curl she owned sliding across her forehead. Carefully moussed earlier, it suddenly felt greasy, nasty—a brain curd pulsing from a split in the forepart of her skull where a maniac psychiatrist she’d gone to for help with nightmares her husband’s horror collection was giving her had decided to lobotomize her with a tool for dye-punch. “Look, Diane, heez zo happy, I bet he could eat id up,” Dunkel pointed out. Peter noticed the others in the
Since Dad had died and she’d developed arthritis. Give her time. “Hello?” “Momma?” “Pete? How are you, son?” “Uh, fine, I guess. How about yourself?” “Kind of stiff today. But they changed my medicine. Should take a little while to adjust. How are Diane and the kids?” “Super. The reason I called, Momma. I have a question. It’s sort of a weird one.” “Okay. You were always weird, honey. Don’t start apologizing now for it. What can I answer?” “Was there anything strange when I was born?”