Diary Of The Gone Excerpt, From The Fusion Anthology.

Ivan Amberlake is an urban fantasy writer whose début novel “The Beholder” was selected for review by Harper Collins on December 1, 2011. He is currently working on Book 2 of The Beholder series called “Path of the Heretic” and the continuation of “Diary of the Gone”.

Ivan has a Masters Degree in Linguistics and works as a teacher. His greatest passion is writing.

Ivan has contributed to the newly released book "Fusion" a set of short stories  produced by the members of  Breakwater Harbor Books. His piece is called Diary Of The Gone and there is a short excerpt below to wet the appetite. 

Below are the links to download the book and its free via Smashwords!! So download and enjoy!!!



Here's the purchase links for it.
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/352095

Amazon Links:
http://www.amazon.com/Fusion-collection-stories-Breakwater-ebook/dp/B00ETNF4M8/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1377877654&sr=1-2

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fusion-collection-stories-Breakwater-ebook/dp/B00ETNF4M8/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1377877705&sr=1-2

And here's the Goodreads link for you:
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18207413-fusion

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Diary of the Gone, a short excerpt from Ivan Amberlakes short story from the Fusion anthology.

Chapter 1

Entry #4  January 8

I step inside a Shadow. It’s a black-and-white movie with no sound. I watch those who have only a few moments to live. While the rest of the world passes by with blind eyes, I see them dying, screaming into silence, and I just stand and watch death taking them.

The Shadow lasts for only a few moments, and then the movie is over. Color fades in around me, but I know the people I saw will soon be dead.

The knock on the door made me wince, and the knife bit into my index finger. Blood trickled from the deep wound, leaving splotches over the counter.

That wasn’t the way my day should have begun.

“Son of a bitch!” I let go of the bread. The knife clattered into the sink.

Not to spill any more drops onto the kitchen counter, I put my finger into my mouth and sucked the blood voraciously. The coppery taste spread over my tongue, my empty stomach rumbling in displeasure.

The knock-knock-knock came again. The source of my severe cut and pain throbbing through my finger.

I crossed the small kitchen to the front door and wrenched at the handle to see my best friend Nathan standing on the porch.

“Ah, it’s you,” I mumbled, still feasting on my finger. “Come on in.”

Though Nathan and I were the same age, I had to raise my head a great deal to look into his blue eyes and at his lopsided smile.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Just cut my finger,” I said, my head swimming a bit. I’d never been fond of blood, let alone of my own.

Nathan followed me to the kitchen, where I returned to the counter with my lunch half ready and bloodstained.

“Mmm, looks yum,” he said, eyeing my ruined attempt at making a burger.

I scoffed, happy to see that the blood stopped dripping down my finger.

“Anyone home?” he asked, taking a seat on one of the stools.

“Nope. Out of town for the day.”

“Good,” Nathan said. “I want to show you something.”

“What is it?” I opened the freezer to get some frozen French fries, tore the pack open and poured some into a glass bowl.

Nathan knew how to pique my interest—well, more often than not whatever he had to show was terrific, but today I decided to stay cool not to give away my enthusiasm.

“Can’t tell you. And it’s not here.”

“Where is it?”

“In the Swamps,” he said as I put the bowl into the microwave oven and turned it on. Nathan picked up a leaf of lettuce next to him and started munching it, looking me right in the eye.

The Swamps. The least desirable place apart from the graveyard and the school I’d attended for nearly a month here in Olden Cross.

“Of course it’s in the Swamps. Can it be anywhere else?” I said, trying not to show my apprehension, but the casual nod he gave me was proof he knew how I felt.

“So you’re afraid of going there, Cal?” Nathan’s lopsided grin only became wider. “I wonder if you’re more scared of your mom or the Swamps? Or maybe it’s your sister?” He shoved the rest of the lettuce leaf into his mouth.

“What about my sister?” I demanded. “I’m not afraid of her. You know what? Let’s go. I only need to grab my parka.”

Nathan chuckled as I scooped the hot fries with a napkin. “Do you know you just owned to it?”

“To what?”

“That Mom and Bev scare the bejesus out of you.”

“Will you go to hell, Nate?” I said. “Are we going or not?”

“Sure.”

I put on my old dark-red parka, scooped the keys from the bowl, and we left.

The wind whistled its mournful song as purple skies loomed lower, grim and forbidding. From what I knew about Olden Cross, the skies were always like this here.

We trudged through the mush of fallen leaves for about a half hour, the ground a mosaic of vibrant red and yellow. Trees swayed their skeletal branches while sponge-like moss shriveled under my feet.

Now that we were approaching the Swamps, my cut finger started throbbing again.

As I took another step, icy water trickled into my new sneakers.

“Dammit!” I jerked my leg up, but the sneaker was already soaked.

“C’mon, Callum,” Nathan urged, rolling his eyes. “We’re nearly there.”

He still hadn’t told me what he wanted me to see. Did I have any other choice but to follow him? As we threaded our way through the darkening swamped forest, I wondered why I listened to him and went wherever he wished.

“How much farther are we going?” I asked.

He pointed ahead with his index finger. “It’s there.”

I hadn’t been to the forest very often during the day. I didn’t know why, but each time I approached it, goosebumps popped all over my arms and back, and today was no exception. My heart raced like mad, warning me that we’d encroached on someone else’s territory. Someone we shouldn’t disturb.

Nathan turned his head left and right, then said in a hushed tone, “Wait.”

He looked down and I did the same. At first I didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but when I looked at the withered grass at my feet more closely I knew it was flecked with blood. I gulped, cold fear sliding down my limbs.

“What the hell is that?” I muttered, but Nathan wasn’t in the mood to answer any of my questions today.

“Let’s go,” he just said.

The farther we followed the trail, the more blood there was.

“This is not the worst part,” Nathan said, a maniacal glint in his eyes.

“What? Are you kidding me?” I panicked.

Both of us took cautious steps forward.

“Are you sure we should go on?” I asked.

Nathan nodded without saying anything.

“What is there?” I kept firing questions.

“You’ll see.” Nathan waved at me to keep following him.

The feeling of someone watching us persisted, and I didn’t like where this was going. A low buzzing soon filled my head, with a sickly sweet smell tickling my nostrils. The trail led behind a tree, and something told me I’d better not see what was there.

We made a few more steps, and then I gagged at the most horrifying sight I’d ever seen in my life.

There in the grass, in a pool of its own blood, lay a deer, disemboweled, a swarm of flies feasting on its carcass.

The fetid odor hit my nostrils, churning my stomach. I covered my nose and mouth with my sleeve and turned away from its lackluster eyes.

 “Gawd!” I moaned, taking a few steps away from the poor animal. “What the hell is this?”

Nathan backed away as well, but kept staring at it, then turned to me. “Cal, the question is what is it doing here? By the looks of it, it’s been here awhile. And all the animals left the Swamps years ago. How come this one ended up here?”

Whatever Nate was talking about, I didn’t care.

“I don’t know, man. I hope that’s all that you wanted to show me ’cos I really feel like I’m going to throw up,” I said, still covering my nose not to breathe in the putrid stench.

A stick snapped a few yards to the left of us, and the world lost the little color it had. It was the worst thing that could happen to me, my gift and my curse—the Shadow.

A dark-haired boy with a thin, pale face stood staring at me. A deep gash ran down the left side of his face, his neck bruised to a dark purple. As he wheezed fog escaped his cracked lips.

I looked around, and to my horror there was no Nathan, no animal rotting under the tree. No one except that boy.

He extended his hand to me, when of their own accord lacerations started showing on his skin. Circles, triangles and numbers came out, as if there was someone invisible hurting him. Tears beaded his dead eyes as he sobbed.

Then he opened his mouth wider and shouted, “Run!”

What made it more frightening was that he shouted in Nathan’s voice. The colors returned, together with the stench. Someone yanked me by the sleeve, dragging me away from the place.

Where the boy had been, stood a woman I’d seen once before. Mrs. Palmer. The school librarian.

Dressed in long, black clothes, she reminded me of a raven that had taken a human form and forgotten to shift back.

I knew that we’d better get the hell out of there. Raw instinct to survive spurred me to run. Nate tugged at the sleeve of my parka harder, and I let my fear claw hold of me.

We sprinted away, no longer caring about the pools of water in our way. Spray of droplets scattered in all directions as our sneakers pounded the ground. I jumped over a log of a fallen tree, and my foot stuck into the mud. I dropped onto the mossy ground, staining my jeans with green.

“Oh, crap!”

Nathan helped me up, and I tried to rub the dirt off, but only made it worse. Panting, we rushed towards the edge of the wood; trees seemed to close in on us, and I thought the wood would never end.

Finally we made it, exiting a few hundred meters away from my home.

“Holy crap! What the hell was with you?” Nathan asked, then coughed.

“I don’t know,” I said, air whooshing out of my burning lungs. “It was so weird.”

“She just appeared out of nowhere. And you stared at her without blinking. You two scared the hell out of me!” he said, taking a look back.

I looked back as well, glad to see only the skeletons of leafless trees, and no Mrs. Palmer.

“Do you want my advice, pal?” Nathan said. “Never approach that woman. She’s mental. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it’s she who kidnapped Greg.”

Greg. Greg Thornby.

I remembered the story well. Greg Thornby had gone missing a few days before Mom, Beverly, and I arrived at Olden Cross. After a few months’ search his body hadn’t been found, and the inquiry still continued.

I’d never met the boy, but I suspected it was him standing there with his hands stretched towards me. The image still caused goosebumps all over me.

What if Nate was right, and it was Mrs. Palmer who killed Greg?

After a few minutes we slowed down a bit, still breathless and shaking. I looked a real mess, with the green stains and dirt over my jeans.

Now I’ll have to come up with something to tell my mom, I thought grimly.

My thoughts were interrupted by the voice I hated more than the sound of nails screeching against a blackboard.

“Well, well, well, little Callie’s got poo all over himself. Did you do it to him, Rushmore?”

Cheering and laughter followed the remark.

I turned around, my teeth clenched. A group of thugs were closing in on us. Stan Crosby, the boy who spoke, was in the center, flanked by four guys on either side. They made my life a living hell. During the short time I’d been in Olden Cross, he’d given me a couple of black eyes, tripped me whenever he saw me, and humiliated me in every possible way. The son of the school principal, he easily got away with it, and I didn’t feel like blabbering about every one of his pranks to my mom. Just had to live with it.

Nathan took a step towards the group. “Back off, Stan, or—”

“What? Are you going to kick me?” Stan’s group produced another round of cheering and whistling.

“I definitely will.” Nate balled his fists and took another step.

I grabbed him by the sleeve and whispered, “He isn’t worth it. You’ll only get another detention.” To my relief, Nate didn’t argue.

“Right, Rushmore, listen to the loser.” Stan folded his arms, a smug smile playing on his face. “You’re lucky we’re not in the mood to kick your sorry asses today. But we will be next time.” He turned to his cronies. “Come on, guys, let’s go.”

They rushed past us, Stan giving me a hard push with his shoulder. I tried my best not to flinch, even though the push hurt as if his shoulder was made of rock.

As their silhouettes and voices retreated into the distance, Nate and I stood watching them.

For a few minutes, I forgot about what had happened at the Swamps. Though lightning never struck twice, something told me my bad luck for the day wasn’t over yet. If bad things were bound to happen to me, today would be the day.

“Let’s go,” Nate said. “Wayne and Audrey are waiting for us.”

*

Olden Cross was a small godforsaken town, fringed for the most part by an ancient forest. The old townsfolk said it used to be a village whose first two streets formed a cross. As time passed, more people arrived here and the village turned into a small town. A few more streets appeared, but the name stuck.

The two-story cottage where my mom, sister, and I moved to belonged in a row of cottages that stood closest to the woods.

Nathan and I veered off the road, taking a turn away from my house and the forest. As the horrors of today played back in my mind, I decided to break the silence.

“Are we going to tell the guys what happened?” I asked.

“Sure. We need to tell them about the animal and Mrs. Palmer. There’s something weird going on, and we’ve got to find out everything.”

He offered me a humorless smile, a sign he was being serious.

That was Nathan. Never reasonable, always dragging himself and those close to him into trouble.

“Do you think she killed that animal?” I asked.

“Definitely.” He furrowed his brow, his lips squeezed in a grim line.

I started tsking and snapping my fingers, which I knew irritated him, but at least it helped me distract myself from the haunting images of the boy in the forest.

“By the way, here they are,” Nathan said.

Wayne and Audrey. Perhaps the two people I envied most of all in the whole world. Only a year older than me, they already held hands in public, kissed at the back of our school, and did who-knew-what-other things that I, the loner of Olden Cross as I called myself, couldn’t. I’d never even had a girlfriend. For a fifteen-year-old I had way too many things wrong about me, yet this one made me probably the most miserable.

Everyone at school compared them to Romeo and Juliet, and now that I saw them holding hands I wished it was me with Audrey instead of Wayne.

“Hey, guys!” Nathan called.

I shot an uncomfortable look at Audrey, mumbling a hardly audible hello, then looked down as if in shame.

Well, did I mention I felt like a total loser when girls were around? With Audrey I was a real mess. She was special, a flawless angel with perfect auburn hair, and an aroma of peaches around her. But what chance did I have to date such a girl? Zilch.

Wayne looked us up and down, curiosity twinkling in his eyes. “Where’ve you been? Looks like you had fun today.” Both he and Audrey smiled.

“We’ve got to tell you something,” Nathan said enthusiastically, as if what we’d gone through was something enjoyable.

“Maybe you’ll tell us when we get to the Underground?” Wayne asked, smiling.

“Okay then,” Nate replied.

“Erm, sorry, guys,” I said. “I just realized … I promised Mom I’d come home early.” Though that was a lie, everyone seemed to believe it.

Nathan shrugged. “All right, man. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

I nodded, turned around and ran home as fast as my sprained ankle let me.

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Ivan also has another book out at the moment called The Beholder. It's an urban fantasy, with some very dark elements. It's climbing the charts really well at the moment, and if stories of darkness and light are your thing, then you should check it out.

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The blurb

Worlds of light and darkness are about to clash. And Jason will be in the thick of it.

Around the world people die under mysterious circumstances. Each has a sign. Each is a piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
A NYC interior designer Jason Walker receives a message saying he is the final piece.

Emily Ethan, a startling beauty with supernatural powers, appears and tells Jason that powers dormant within him  are about to wake. He is the only person who can prevent darkness from enslaving  the world. He is the Beholder whose advent has been awaited for many years.

Setting out on a journey with Emily, Jason discovers the world he could have never imagined, but the greatest surprise arrives the moment he realizes he has fallen in love with Emily.

THE BEHOLDER

Prologue

In darkness, Pariah crept along the wall of the ancient corridor, black eyes squinting toward the end of the passage. A silvery glimmer streamed through the archway, and he flattened himself into the shadow, out of the way of the shimmering light. With every heartbeat the light grew more intense, until he was forced to halt and close his eyes to block it out, if only for a little while. 

The Ethan girl was there, crouching behind the silvery dome she’d created in the center of the vast hall. It had cost them a lot of effort to track her down, and now part of the plan had been accomplished: he and seven other Shadows had brought her to bay. 

Opening his eyes again, Pariah took a step forward and winced at the subsequent burn. I shouldn’t go any closer. He clenched his knuckles and the movement hurt, driving fury through him. He wanted to crush her, destroy her Light … but she was dangerous and unpredictable.

What if she escapes? This may be our only chance to catch her. Pariah inhaled, reaching for patience. He must wait for her to make the fatal mistake, wait for her to leave her refuge. He envisaged his skulking brethren, guarding the other exits like spiders, and he grinned in malicious delight. She won’t get away this time. 

Currents of crimson energy flowed through Pariah and his brothers, the force aimed towards a circle of whirling silver light. But the girl remained unaffected, sheltered by its brightness. No, he realized, watching the stream. This was not the way she would be killed. The currents could kill an ordinary person—in fact, hundreds of them in one second—but not a Sighted one. What they needed in order to break such a defense was an inhuman hatred. Pariah knew how to do it, but this wasn’t the time. His objective was to lure the girl into the trap, not kill her. First he would torture her, learn her secrets, then he would kill her.

Against the Light he was a better warrior. His hands were stained with the blood of the many Sighted he had slain. Patience, he told himself. She won’t be able to stay there for--

Searing pain shot up his spine, burning like acid and paralyzing him, sucking out his breath. All he could do was stare as an effulgent creature emerged from the circle, brighter than the explosion of a supernova, and watch that violent star head in his direction. The closer she got, the more she stifled the darkness inside him. Disgust rose as he sensed what was happening. It was as though love had been sewn into his hateful mind; twinges of conscience were waking in him, eradicating his inherent evil.

He tried to slow time, to stop the burning pain, but she knew how to block his attempts and make him suffer even more. The laws of physics meant as little to her as they did to him, and both abused their gifts to attain their aims. She was quicker than any of the Sighted ones who had previously crossed his path. He knew she was just as aware of him as he was of her, but she was stronger. For the first time in his dark existence, Pariah knew fear.

It happened too quickly. With ease, she breached the vicious circle he and the others had formed, and shot past, leaving a comet trail twinkling in her wake. Pariah stared after her, thinking through the decision she’d made. The trail was a block, not an attack. The Ethan girl had decided to protect herself from the shadow’s evil mind rather than use her power to kill him.

How noble—and naïve—to spare your enemy’s life, Pariah mused.

His confidence returned, but his hands still glowed bright from her energy. He dispersed the vapor trail she’d left and warped his mouth to let out a horrific banshee howl. The terrible sound reverberated off the walls, rising in magnitude, and he hoped the amplified echo might hamper her flight. His brethren chimed in to reinforce the cursing howl as they swished past and darted after her, but Pariah remained stationary, suffering the agony of having been imbued with her Light.

He reached his hands in her direction, slowing her nimble movements as much as he could, but the distance between them only increased. Wasting no time—for he had no more to lose—he threw himself forward, steadily gaining speed, watching tunnels rush by on either side. Acting purely on instinct, Pariah cut a rupture in space and flung himself into the blackness. This time he exited much closer to her, and his success spurred him on to try again. 

Cut—plunge into blackness—return to reality. That was the process.

The sickening light came closer with every surge. Understanding his intentions, the others reassembled to help the Evil One coax the girl into the trap. Pariah was desperate, aware he would only get one chance. He took a final plunge into the ruptured darkness and the action brought him through at last. He reappeared directly in front of her, and she braked, glowing with that detestable light. 

For a brief moment, Pariah managed to discern her face, the amber eyes wide with fear. Then it was gone in an eruption of burning brightness. He sent a wave of dark energy at her, and her shield disintegrated. Pariah’s fury transformed into a victorious pulse; he had broken her defenses, and now she lay convulsing with pain, his deadly energy choking the life out of her.

Chapter 1

Streams of translucent sunlight seeped onto New York, setting the windows of the Chrysler Building, among so many others, ablaze. It was normal for people to rush along the sidewalk, passing each other without making eye contact. What was abnormal was the way the sky rolled overhead, darkening with each moment until the early morning light seemed swallowed up by night.

Jason drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his sedan, frustrated at being stuck in traffic. He hated being late, and today he had the added pressure of a big presentation for which he’d been preparing for the past month. 

A couple of women on the sidewalk stopped and pointed skyward, talking amongst themselves, so Jason leaned forward and looked up through the windshield, watching the storm cloud sprawl above the city like a purple bruise. As he inched closer to the Evelyn & Laurens building, a gust of wind wailed by, shaking the car and throwing thick raindrops against the windshield and roof. 

“Nice,” Jason grunted.

He clicked a button on the control panel, and the wipers squeaked back and forth, sweeping the water away. Turning into the parking lot, he grabbed the only spot left, collected his folder, and took a deep breath before getting out. Shielding his head with the bulging folder, he scurried across the parking lot, maneuvering his way between the cars, but the folder was poor protection. An icy blast whipped across his face, reducing his dark brown hair to a sodden mess. When the wind picked up and nearly ripped the folder from his hand, Jason gave up on using it as an umbrella and clutched it tightly to his chest instead, barely managing to keep it in his grip. 

He crossed the remaining distance, trying unsuccessfully to hop over streams of water, and shoved through the revolving doors. Water dripped from his new suit and pooled by his feet as he waited for the elevator, and he eyed his folder dubiously. He could only hope his paperwork wasn’t as drenched as he was.

“Of course it had to happen today,” he muttered.

Why couldn’t even one thing go right when it was supposed to? Had anything ever gone right? Like that time two years before when his plane from Manchester to New York had flown into an ash cloud and nearly crashed. The plane landed safely, but Jason celebrated his survival by ending up in a car accident not long after. He escaped with only a few cuts and bruises, but several others were severely injured. Dumb luck. 

And then there was the day he had moved to the new apartment. After that, things had only gotten worse.

In half an hour, he thought, as butterflies created mayhem in his stomach, I’ll be fired. 

The doors opened, and he stepped into the elevator, together with a crowd of people thoroughly soaked just like him. A pretty blonde he hadn’t noticed before wedged against him on the left, but when Jason smiled, her eyes shot green daggers at him. His smile waned, and he was relieved when the doors finally opened so he could get out.

More frustrated by the moment, he stormed into the office, paying no attention to the familiar chic surroundings, and slammed the door behind him. He wasn’t surprised to see his co-workers, Matthew Allen and Debbie Eve, had already arrived.

Matthew swiveled in his chair, giving Jason a smile no one could resist. “Did you have a good night last night?”

Jason shrugged, then winced as a cramp grabbed his stomach. “Just stayed in.”

“You should have come to the party,” Debbie said. “We missed you.”

“Yeah, well I had—”

A soft knock interrupted their conversation, and a woman with black-rimmed glasses and a svelte navy suit entered their office. Jason stiffened reflexively. Evelyn, their boss, was in her late forties but looked ten years younger. It seemed to Jason she never stopped smiling. She was friendly enough, but there was something intimidating about her eyes. They never smiled.

Now Evelyn stared at Jason, and a lump lodged in his throat. 

“The presentation will start in ten minutes,” she said, lifting delicate eyebrows. “I hope my trinity is well prepared.”

The cramp in his stomach had spread.

“Sure,” he muttered, his mouth parched.

“Okay. See you in ten minutes,” Evelyn said. 

As soon as the door latched behind her, the three of them rushed to make a new copy of the soaked report. Ordinarily, Jason, Matt, and Debbie weren’t the least bit nervous at meetings. Today, however, they were under pressure to coerce the clients to sign a contract for a substantial sum. Evelyn & Laurens specialized in interior design. Jason called it an anthill of psychos and maniacs. And though it could be fast-paced, after working here for three years Jason happily admitted that being a maniac wasn’t so bad.  

As the three walked in silence to the conference hall, the pain in Jason’s stomach intensified, twisting so that he almost doubled over. He suddenly wished he’d taken the time to eat breakfast. 

“You okay?” Debbie asked quietly. “You’re really pale.”

“Stomach’s killing me,” he admitted.

“I’ll do the presentation if you want.”

“That’d be terrific, Debbie. Thanks.”

Inside the hall, the clients sat waiting in a semi-circle. A smiling Evelyn sat opposite them, chatting away. She’d switched the lights in the room on since the ugly cloud had overwhelmed the sun, and the room lit even brighter with a sudden flash of lightning, echoed by a faint rumble of distant thunder. 

As if in response, Jason’s stomach convulsed. His knees wobbled, and he reached for a chair, barely able to stand. No. Please no! He took his seat, aware of a bead of perspiration trickling down his spine, and stared at the table. The storm worsened outside, and it seemed to Jason that the closer it came, the worse he felt. 

It wasn’t breakfast. It wasn’t nerves. He knew what it was, though, and he was helpless to do anything about it. Trying to control the agony he knew would only get worse, he clenched his clammy palms until his nails dug in, but the pain in his stomach took over his mind, crushing him. Though he wanted to sit, he knew he had to get out, knew he couldn’t take it anymore. He leapt to his feet just as a bolt of lightning struck the neighboring building, and the accompanying thunder rattled the windows of the conference room. Everyone jumped and turned towards the window, and the building’s lights flickered a few times before going out completely.

Jason stumbled out of the darkened room, vaguely aware that the pain in the pit of his stomach had spread throughout his entire body. No one can stand this kind of pain, he thought. 

He tried to distract himself, counting out loud as he raced toward the bathroom, but nothing helped. Inside the bathroom he gripped the rim of the sink, swallowing a scream as his left shoulder burst into an agony so sharp it was as if a nail had been driven into it. With an effort, he scooped water onto his face and gasped as it prickled like millions of tiny needles against his skin. He squeezed his eyes closed and saw … the impossible. Images—memories he’d never known—gushed out and seared themselves into his mind.

No, not again, he pleaded silently. 

The shadows had returned. He knew them so well: relentless pillars of smoke that thrived on his blood. Fighting for breath, he clutched the sink, letting sweat drip from his face into the porcelain bowl. When he snapped his head up to look in the mirror, he stepped back, shocked.

“No way.”

Five words were smeared across the mirror, written in what had to be blood. Nothing else left that shade of red behind. 

We are coming for you.

The room spun, and Jason dropped to the floor, falling into the yawning blackness.

                
   

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You can purchase The Beholder here

http://www.amazon.com/Ivan-Amberlake/e/B00B6LLL9G/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1377901958&sr=8-1

The Beholder Facebook page

https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Beholder/152577228229536?ref=ts&fref=ts

A Quick Get To Know The Author

Five facts about you that people won’t know about you. Can you juggle? Ride a bike with no hands? Drink beer upside down? Something unusual… GO!

1. I can play the guitar, not like something romantic, but really heavy metal that gives most people a splitting headache.

2. I know I’ll have some good luck if a black cat crosses my path. In my country they are always considered bad luck, but I see them in a different way.

3. Even though my favourite number is 7, I cannot help admitting 13 brings me luck. I once purchased a lottery ticket that had 13 as a serial number, and the lottery took place on the 13th. To my surprise, I got back the money I spent on the ticket, and I never win anything.

4. I used to collect English dictionaries – glossaries, thesauruses, grammar reference books. That was the first thing I looked for in a book store.

5. I love sitcoms like The Big Bang Theory, Friends and some others. I can watch them over and over again, just can’t help myself.

Five facts about your newest book that people won’t know. Some background history on one of your characters maybe? Maybe it was going to be called something completely different to start out with? Is it the same genre it started out as?

1. The Beholder started as a completely different book, and I had only one character when I started writing it. It was a while later that the other characters appeared.

2. I added romance into the book though initially I wasn't going to. 

3. It often seems to me the book wrote itself—even in the first draft I found places I liked, but never remembered writing about. I don’t know if that happens to all writers or just me, but it’s a fascinating feeling.

4. I had a different ending to the book. It made my beta readers and editor so confused they kept asking to explain what was really going on in there. I eventually had to make a different ending, which most readers really like and find unexpected. 

5. It took me about 3 years to finish this book—I really hope it will take less time for me to write the next one.

Five facts about your next book… Name, genre, expected date of release…

1. It’s called Path of the Heretic. It’s Book 2 of The Beholder Series. 

2. It’s still Urban/Paranormal Fantasy, but with a darker tinge.

3. I hope it will be published in 2014.

4. There will be more characters, more action, and more mysteries.

5. I’m planning a huge surprise at the end of the book.

Three tips that you think might be useful for other authors… anything you want. It could be, to write a certain amount every day, only write after midnight and never get Gizmo wet (Sorry, that’s Gremlins not writers! My bad.) Maybe it’s some information that was given to you that has helped your process…

1. My first tip: Don’t stop writing. Once you do it’s really—nearly impossible—to get back to it. You’ll find too many reasons not to sit at your desk and go on writing a book.

2. Not to be tempted to do anything else, switch off your Internet. Just for half an hour a day—it’ll tremendously increase your chances to write something new or revise something old (at least that worked for me).

3. If you don’t have an editor, find a few friends who will care enough to read your book and offer you their sincere thoughts. I know it’s difficult, but you should try. And it would be cool if your friends were harsh in their critique, because that’s what actually helps a writer make his or her book better. As my fellow writer said, “Wouldn’t you rather get a harsh private critique than a scathing one-star review on Amazon?” I hope that’ll helps.

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