By Gary Solomon
Dr. Solomon's first novel, A Ballad for Allison Porter, is a mental mystery during which he contains habit, abuse, dying, abandonment, love, betrayal, and revenge, all resulting in a grotesque murder.
IN TWELVE HOURS ALLISON PORTER could be carried out FOR THE BRUTAL MURDERS OF HER round the corner NEIGHBORS.
Allison has now not stated a note to an individual because the day of her arrest. whilst information reporter, Kevin Pratt, is assigned to interview the taciturn Allison Porter, astonishingly, she opens as much as him. Kevin leaves the interview decided to discover the lifetime of the true Allison Porter. attaining Allison's vacant domestic, Kevin unearths his strategy to a gloomy closet in Allison's adolescence bed room. discovering an outdated shoe field jam-packed with miscellaneous keepsakes, Kevin alternatives in the course of the items of memorabilia. As he touches every one merchandise within the field he flashes again to Allison's prior. sooner than the day is thru, Allison Porter may be lifeless and Kevin Pratt will vow to maintain her reminiscence in, A Ballad for...
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Additional resources for A Ballad for Allison Porter
On the wall opposite the bed was the corpse of a man in his mid-60’s. The only thing that supplied the lieutenant with the knowledge that it was a man was the corpse’s body hair. His feet dangled a foot or so off the ground, his body hanging in front of a wall with nails driven through his wrists, shoulders and hips. Covered with blood, his face was raw, exposed under flesh as if someone had filleted him from ear to ear. One side of his jaw hung loose, revealing a cavity stripped clean of its tongue.
You won’t have to worry about a thing. ” she asked, continuing to gloat. “It’ll never hold up in court,” I laughingly challenged. “You got anything in writing, lady? ” Kissing me lightly on the cheek, she said, “I got my good looks and your word. ” Cindi and I have been together for six years and they have been the best years of my life. She’s been there for me all the way. No doubts. No questions. When I was in school she held down two jobs so I didn’t have to work. Because of my terrible spelling, she proofread everything I wrote, down to the envelopes containing the resumes she tastefully licked closed.
A small unfenced school marked the first sign of any human life since I crawled into Hope, as children ranging from the ages of five to eighteen or so, wearing tattered old clothes, played familiar games in a grassless, dusty school yard. Just beyond the tiny school, worker’s toiled with tubs of hot tar in an attempt to salvage the aging roof of a washed-out church. It was the first time in several hours that I realized I was hungry. How could I be, with what Cindi shoved down my throat? My appointment with the “switch man,” as most news accounts referred to the executioner, was not until one o’clock.