Excerpt: Strangers in the Brain
by Charles Sebian-Lander
| Detective Jake Burleigh takes part in an experimental technique for criminal investigation: accessing the recesses of a criminal’s mind. The job is successful, but just when Jake thinks the case is closed, the real questions begin… A delirious, dreamlike blend of science fiction, noir, and psychological thriller. |
Genre: Science Fiction/Noir. Status: Updates twice weekly. Warnings: Intermittent profanity & violence. |
Reviews
“Burleigh’s distinctive narrative voice and the gritty tension of a detective crime novel make this an absorbing read… The suspense will surely have me coming back for more,” says WFG member Gavin Williams.
A Peek Inside
As an experiment, I thought to try reading aloud today’s excerpt, with added silliness and sound effects. Far too time-consuming to do every week, but it was definitely fun!
For those without sound:
“I know everything about you, too,” he says. He’s horribly fat, a misshapen blight with a comb-over and a toothy grin. He is at least fifty years old and wears every year in the wrinkles on his bronze skin.
All he’s wearing is a leopard-print thong. It fits surprisingly poorly for something he must imagine himself wearing in his fondest dreams. I try to focus on his face.
He yells: “I can make your worst fears come true!”
Behind him, on cue, the barn bursts into flames. He has a hound dog laugh that cuts through the noise of splintering wood. He’d like to play the super villain, awing me with his terrible power, even if he doesn’t know where it came from. According to the Handbook, it’s the most likely behavior of a child predator in this situation.
I play along. “You don’t know anything about me,” I say. I take a few
steps towards him. It’s unclear whether the horrible smell is coming from him or from that pile of bodies he’s made into a front porch, but it makes my advance sluggish.
I can’t pinch my nose to block the smell, either, because I have to hold on to my umbrella. My arm-stump feels sore and the screwdriver in my collarbone is sending periodic shivers down my spinal column. I’ve already been here too long, but I can’t rush things.
“You’re a detective!” the perp shouts as if rooting for his favorite sports team. “Jake Burleigh!” At least he pronounces it right. “You’re thirty-five years old. Your wife’s name is Sarah and your daughter attends Western High School.”
He pauses, as if for effect, but I’m focused on his eyes. They bulge against his skull and snap from one edge of his vision to the next like flies scrambling across a light bulb.
He says: “You’re, uh, a Pisces?” His earlier expression is now rigid and forced. The fire behind him is dropping rivers of sweat across his eyelids. ”You… you… hate Chinese food!” He stammers the last phrase and winces; his wild grin collapses at last.
I’ve been told that the expression on a perp’s face at this moment is the best part of the job. It’s true.
I’m a few feet away from him now. “Oh my God, no,” I say with the drama of a high school play. I allow myself to smile. “You’ve discovered my horrible fear of Chinese food.”
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