On the Writer’s Edge

This was the end. Johnston knew it. It had all come down to this—the final battle. Either he would win and finally begin the work, or BJ would kill him and usher in the descent. They had charged at each other like lions warring over

Pseudonym From the Deep

My body and my heavy stack of books landed with audible thuds onto the carpeted floor of the Rare Books room in the New York Public Library. I lay prone and lifted my head, glancing sheepishly around to see if anyone noticed. Heads turned away