TORMENT
Authors: Jeremy Bishop
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Horror, #Occult
TORMENT
by
Jeremy Bishop
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If you enjoy TORMENT and want to help expose the rest of the world to the story, here are some ideas. Everything below can be accomplished with no cost and just a few minutes of time. Spreading the word will help ensure that Sentinel (my second book) sees publication and potentially two more novels in the TORMENT universe.
On Amazon:
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• Add tags to the product page. These literally take seconds to add. Appropriate tags include: Horror, terror, zombies, zombie, post-apocalyptic, apocalyptic, kindle, thriller, science fiction, religion, Jeremy Bishop, gore, action, splatter, bloody, action adventure.
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On the Web:
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Thanks for your help!
© 2010 Jeremy Bishop. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information e-mail all inquiries to:
[email protected]
Visit Jeremy Bishop on the World Wide Web at:
www.jeremybishoponline.com
Table of Contents:
BONUS CONTENT!
BENEATH excerpt by JEREMY ROBINSON
33 A.D. excerpt by David McAfee
“It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air - there's the rub, the task.”
-- Virgil,
Aeneid
TERRA
1
Siberia
Ice cold air seeped through the slate gray stones of the cell wall, infusing the darkness with a biting chill. But it wasn’t the frostbite taking root in Matt Brenton’s toes that held his attention. Nor the frost coated layer of bile clinging to his ten day old beard. He’d grown accustomed to the company of pain and filth. With each rise and set of the sun—seen only as a reflection of light through the cell door—Brenton’s mind slipped further from reality and into a kind of hellish dream world. Pain numbed his mind. Time escaped him. But his captors had taken notice and were making an effort to regain his full attention.
Brenton stared at the hand on the table. Skinny, frail and bloody, it didn’t look like his, but the pain pulsing up his arm and radiating through his body confirmed it with each whack of the blade. Brenton twitched as the dull fishing knife neared the third finger of his left hand. He wasn’t sure if the rusty odor filling his nostrils came from the blade or his blood, but it centered him enough to speak.
“Wait,” he
said,
his voice like a pitiful stranger’s. “Please, don’t.”
The masked face of his torturer, a man without name who reeked of garlic...or body odor, lowered into view. “Tell me what I want to know,” said the voice with no accent. “No further harm will come to you. Just confirm for me what I already know to be truth and you will be set free.”
The knife rested on the skin of his ring finger, just above the spot where a wedding ring would soon rest. His mind, desperate for distraction, flashed back to his proposal and found perspective instead.
