Title: The Village of Last Hope
Author: Stephen B King
Genre: Thriller/suspense
Book Blurb:
Dazed and confused, Michael wanders the streets in the rain, depressed to the point of suicide. He found his wife in his brother's arms when he arrived home earlier. Michael has always had issues of paranoia, much to his wife’s annoyance, but this time, he knows what he saw.
Waiting for the next bus, a stranger appears, offering him a raincoat and somewhere to spend the night where he will be safe. Gabriel eventually leads Michael to a door in a concrete wall under the Interstate, and they enter a hidden village. He is introduced to Peter, the gatekeeper, who demands to know what Michael did. Michael can’t remember anything from before leaving his home earlier and doesn’t understand the question.
Michael has three days to remember and answer Peter’s question. Too late, Michael discovers he is a prisoner, but is it of his own making? Has he gone completely insane, or has he done something so evil, he is damned forever in The Village of Last Hope.
Excerpt:
Peter reminded me of an ancient grey-haired retired biker when I met him. He wore faded denim jeans, a shabby white t-shirt, and a leather jacket with chains hanging from the pockets. His shoulders were broad, but he wasn't obese. Peter sat behind an old school flip-topped desk inside a tin shack illuminated by a green desk lamp. Behind him stood a small Christmas tree in the corner with red and green flashing baubles, one of which I noticed was broken. The colored lights highlighted his hair from behind and made it appear he had a halo around his head.
He glanced up from reading a black leather-bound book as we entered. He neither smiled nor frowned. "Peter, this is Michael. He's had a traumatic day and needs a soft bed and some understanding. I found him huddled in a shop doorway." Gabriel said.
"You're late. I expected you half an hour ago."
"Michael is a slow walker, and the weather is atrocious."
I was lost. Everything had a dreamlike feel to it. How could Peter have been expecting me half an hour ago? None of what had happened made any sense at all. The room tilted on me for a moment as if I was suffering a vertigo attack.
Peter's warm grey eyes bored into mine for a minute. Then he asked in a clear, commanding voice, "What have you done?"
Suddenly, the fog in my addled brain lifted, and I felt a mixture of anger and confusion. Why was everyone asking me what I'd done when I hadn't done anything? I swallowed the instinct to give an angry retort and took a slow, calming breath. "I'm pleased to meet you, Peter. Thank you for having me here. I don't know what you or Gabriel mean by asking me what I've done. Today, I went home early and found my wife and brother being intimate on the couch. I left them to it and have been wandering the streets ever since. Does that answer your question?"
"It does not." He glared at me too, as Gabriel had, as if I were a naughty schoolboy, which was bizarre, as he sat behind a school desk. I knew people spoke about hallucinogenic drug trips, and I wondered if that was the explanation. Had someone given me something like Ecstasy? "I know you've had a bad day," he continued, "and you're tired, but you've done more than you say you have, and you know it deep down where you don't want to go. For now, I will give you the benefit of the doubt; I can see how exhausted you are. We can let you stay for no more than three days, that's it, but you must come and see me tomorrow morning, and then at the same time each night to renew your accommodation. When you remember what you did, talk to me immediately; I will be here all day. I will ask you that same question tomorrow if you haven't come to see me earlier. I hope you will tell me the truth then."
"Truth, what truth? I've told you everything. I haven't done anything."
He turned his gaze away, dismissing me. "Gabriel, take Michael to shack twenty; it's ready for him.
Gabriel put his arm through mine and turned me toward the door. "Come on, Michael, let's get you a hot shower and a warm bed. Things will look much better tomorrow."
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):
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Author Biography:
I was born in the UK, what seems like an epoch ago, and moved to Australia at age 16. I was a long-haired rock guitarist and poet/songwriter before real life got in the way, and I gave it all up for love.
I've always felt I had tales to tell. I won short story competitions and wrote poetry in my wilder, younger days, but always wanted to write novels. I've now published eighteen books. While some are Police procedural thrillers, mainly focusing on Serial killers, all my stories have a love theme running through them.
I believe love and family are everything. Anything else you gain in life is a bonus.
I live in Perth, Western Australia, and am fiercely patriotic. My wife is amazing in that she not only puts up with living with a writer but encourages it. I've been blessed with five children, and I adore them all.
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