Excerpt from Dollhouse.

“Donnie doesn’t deserve Deborah’s doll collection. I mean, look at the oaf. His hands are like a pair of uncooked ham hocks, slopping about.”

“Oh please, Sarabeth, y’all need to just split them or something. Deborah wasn’t just your Grandmama.”

“That’s not the point Crystal. You think if Pape George had some famed football card collection or somethin’, Donnie would be fine to split ‘em? It’s not right.”

“And if you sell em? How right is that?”

The two women, clad in pastel debutante dresses bobbed in and out of the shade but even that couldn’t put a stop to the mixed stench of fresh cut grass and B.O. that fermented across the estate’s lawn. The funeral procession was barely recognizable now and to any outside onlooker, it could have been Derby Day. Not a drop of black was in sight and mint Juleps sweated in every hand as laughter chased away the tears that had dripped down rosy cheeks a few hours prior.

“That’s not the Goddamn point Crystal.”

“Goodness Sarabeth, it’s hardly noon.”

“Cut it Crystal, you miss a putt and Satan himself jumps in your mouth.”

Excerpt from Infamy

Dear leader. We’ve found you. Exactly where you were before but now different. Some predilection has possessed you, invigorated you to a Frankenstein purpose. Yet here you sit, perched amongst a pedestal of your own design and I settle in to await your precipitous fall. You give and find meaning where there is none. There is only me. I lurk, follow, and see you even when you hulk in the corners. I care not of the deeds you’ve done or the deeds you have yet to do. I simply watch you with eager eyes, if I had any, to drag you down to the river in which I patrol. I am a courier of time and your time is closing in. Be not confused dear reader, this man who stands in the shade of wealth is no more important than the deaths before. Do not let him take credit for the work. His number will be called. And I will come to collect. This man has already happened. I have collected him in other forms and the world in which he falsifies an identity will continue on.

Excerpt from The Lion in the Sky

The boy shut his third story window, welcoming the familiar creak as it closed almost all the way. A black hole nightlight guided his way to his favorite grey-blue quilted jacket. He couldn’t help but take a quick peek in the mirror, admiring his buffed up, shy stature. The boy descended the stairs two at a time, knowing Mother was asleep by now and long immune to the house’s groans. Boots slipped on without untying laces, and the boy cracked the door to listen. Nothing but the strong hum of insects doing their insect thing. Hello to you too. The boy looked for ghastly shadows but found only the friendly trees who gave him shade in the summer months.