Do you believe in witches and demons? Logic may say no, but logic can’t explain the evil encountered by Detective Chris Stevens, trying to stop a brutal killer, while being thrust into a world of deception, cults, depravity and cannibalism.
Book: Witch Hunter
Author: P. J. Farrell
The next thing Lyla knew she was lying naked in bed with Jim, who was holding her. His grip on her was too tight, and although she asked him to stop, he wouldnt. Then he was shouting at her, but he didnt sound like Jim. He sounded more like a machine. It was a machine, Lyla began to realize. A washer? Air Conditioner? She willed herself to overcome the effects of the drug that held her captive. Her head kept swaying side to side on her shoulders, as she tried desperately to rid herself of the grogginess. Her eyes fluttered in her attempts to hold them open. Her arms and legs hurt, and she couldnt move them.
Finally, things started to come into focus. The first thing she felt was a chill, and she realized she was not with Jim. She was naked, seated in a hard wooden chair, her arms pinned behind her, held by some lengths of heavy chain. Her legs were also chained, to the legs of the chair, which was bolted to the concrete floor. She was in a windowless room, where, she didnt know.
The room was mostly dark, the only light coming from a fireplace to the right of where she sat, she could make out what looked like construction equipment placed all around the room, some devices stretching all the way to the tall ceiling. A table, strewn with a variety of implements that she assumed were surgical in nature, stood directly in front of her. There was something underneath the chair she was seated in, though she couldnt quite make it out. It looked like a metal bowl filled with rocks. What is happening? she wondered. Where am I? The best she could guess was that she was in a school or church basement. Just then, she heard footsteps on the stairs, and the man entered the room from a door on her left.
Ah. Youre awake. Good. It was the man who had offered to take her home. He set about making some preparations at the table. She was filled with fear, cursing herself for having allowed this to happen, for letting her guard down.
What do you think youre doing? she demanded in her strongest voice. Untie me right now. Do you hear me?
If he did, he sure didnt show it. He took a bowl from the table to a room behind her, which she assumed was the bathroom because she could hear him running water. He returned with the full bowl, and placed it on a smaller, portable table.
Do you hear me? she asked again, her voice not disguising her terror as well this time. He still didnt answer. It was as if he were unaware that there was anyone else in the room with him. Damn you, she cried. Let me go. What is it? Do you want money? Ill give you all I have. I have some saved up. You can have it all. She began to sob. I wont tell anyone, either, she tried. Still nothing. Amidst her tears she cried softly What do you want? Please tell me. What do you want?
The man turned to her, pushing the portable table nearer the chair. She could see the bowl of water, soap, a razor, and a bottle of alcohol. She could see his perspiration, and smell his foul body, as the man bent down to her, so his face was even with hers. He stared at her through dark, blazing green eyes, and finally answered her.
I just want to ask you some questions.
ISBN: 0-7414-1400-7 ©2003
Book Size: 5.5'' x 8.5'' , 388 pages
Category/Subject: FICTION / General
Originally from Brooklyn, New York, P.J. Farell has lived in Colorado since 1976. He and his wife have been married for more than 30 years. He has 2 sons and 3 daughters. He received his Master’s Degree in Business from the University of Denver, and was formerly a middle manager in a large computer corporation. Caught up in a layoff in 1996, he decided to change careers, and he opened up a small family coffeehouse in Arvada, Colorado. He can be seen there most days talking to, and joking with, his customers. Other interests include Yoga, fitness, reading and writing.