By Tom Piccirilli
Cryer as soon as had one other identify, yet he can't keep in mind it.
The guy he was was once stabbed within the head through an assailant. After months of catatonia Cryer awakens in a psychological facility to discover that his former lifestyles is nearly thoroughly forgotten. He understands his spouse and daughter were murdered - he observed them die moments prior to his personal attack - yet his shattered brain is incapable of maintaining their names. or maybe his own.
Now Cryer is loose back and attempting to music down an elusive killer via his personal unknown prior. yet how do you examine the murders of your family in case you can't consider them? in case you have no concept who your pals or enemies have been? the place you lived and labored? And what secrets and techniques you've gotten as soon as had and did not keep?
And how is he speculated to care for the little guy who retains crawling out and in of his skull?
Cryer is a no one now, yet that won't cease him from discovering a vicious assassin and making him pay.
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Extra resources for The Nobody
I stared at that hair, thinking it was the color of hair I'd always presumed Keith's would be when he was a man. Thick, wavy hair that reached the nape of his neck and curled upward, barely brushing the white collar of his thin blouse that resembled an artist's or poet's smock, with very full sleeves. He turned a bit, as if my prolonged stare made him aware of my presence. Now I could see his profile. I sucked in my breath. It wasn't just that he was good looking. Pa Was handsome in his strong, bestial, and brutal way, and Logan was classically handsome in his own stubborn way; this man was good looking in a different kind of way, a special way I'd not seen before, and behind my eyes an image of Logan rose to fill me with guilt.
A man like Tony would never have sat on and on. Tony would rise, smile, take over the situation. This had to be a servant, a gardener, a handyman. From his very posture, the way he tilted his head a bit to the side, I knew he was waiting, perhaps even seeing me with peripheral vision. One of his dark, thick eyebrows quirked upward quizzically, and still he didn't move. Well, just let him sit there and wonder, for it gave me a marvelous chance to study him. Again he turned a little, his hammer posed to strike another blow, and now I saw more of his face, and the fact that his nostrils were quivering, flaring wider, even as I sensed he was breathing just as hard and fast as I was.
How did I talk to a man whose family had emi- grated from Europe, bringing with them their skills, and right away had begun to increase their fortune tenfold? I was lost in such territory, so I turned to something more familiar. I was captivated with the idea of Jillian painting. ” I asked with awe, very impressed. “She made the original sketches, then turned them over to several young artists to complete. ” His soft voice turned dreamy. “Her hair was long and fell halfway down her back then. She seemed a child woman one minute, a worldly one the next.
The Nobody by Tom Piccirilli