The Warehouse

Hart, Rob

Corgi

Quantum Entrapment\nDroplets of blood pat the blue carpet, turning from red to black as they soak into the fibers. The drops come slow at first, before turning to a trickle as the bones of my skull squeeze like a hand around my brain. My body yearns to release the tension in my shoulders, to let the pressure off my knees, to lay down and go to sleep.\nExcept it won’t be sleep.\nIt won’t really be death either. Something more in-between.\nA permanent vacancy.\nThis moment has been chasing me for years. The third stage, when the strands of my perception unravel and my ability to grasp the concept of linear time is lost.\nMore pats on the carpet. But the blood from my nose has stopped flowing.\nHeavier, from the other end of the hallway, getting closer. Footsteps.\nMaybe I can fight this. A handful of Retronim. A cherry lollipop. What if I scream? I open my mouth. Nothing comes out but blood.\nThe footsteps get closer.\nThis is the moment when my brain will short-circuit. That’s the third stage of being Unstuck. No one really knows why it happens. The prevailing theory is your mind finds itself in a quantum state and can’t handle the load. Others think you witness the moment of your death. I don’t give a shit about the “why” of it. I just know the result doesn’t look pleasant: a glassy-eyed coma that’ll last as long as my body holds out.\nThe pressure increases. More blood. Maybe I’ll bleed to death first. Small victories.\nIn a moment I’ll be gone. Probably reality too. The timestream is broken and I’m the only one who can fix it, but instead I’m dying on the floor. Sorry, universe.\nI slip again, memories rattling around my brain like rocks in a tin can. Sitting in my bed, the smell of garlic and chili paste frying in the kitchen, wafting upstairs. Graduating the academy, walking across the gymnasium stage, new heels tearing at the skin of my feet while I scan the sea of folding chairs.\nThe first time I let Mena kiss me, the two of us alone on the balcony overlooking the lobby.\nThat taste of cherries, and everything I ever needed.\nThe footsteps stop.\nI feel it, the displacement of air, the gravity of another person, standing there, watching me writhe on this dumb blue carpet. Nothing I can do now. It’s over. But I’m not going to die on my hands and knees.\nWith the last of my strength I push up . . .\nTap-tap-tap.\nDoctor Tamworth is holding his pen an inch above the flat expanse of his desk, looking at me like I might bite him. Which, the day is young.\nI take a second to situate myself. The fluorescent light is so white it’s almost blue, to match the sky-blue walls and dark blue linoleum tile. So much of this place is blue, which is calming, or so I’ve been told. The room is otherwise bare, save a small tablet on the desk, a diploma on the wall from a university in his home country of Bangladesh, and a half-eaten deli sandwich in a cardboard clamshell container. I can smell the sting of the vinegar, the funk of the cheese. My stomach growls at it. Ruby is hovering in its usual spot over my shoulder, too close by half.\n“Where were you just now, January?” Tamworth asks.\n“Right here, Doc,” I tell him, which is only mostly a lie, because the place I slipped to is gone. Something about carpet? I reach for it, but it disappears between my fingers like smoke. Probably not important.\n“It didn’t look like you were here,” Tamworth says, his voice an airy, nasal pitch that seems determined to match the creak of his desk chair. “It looked like you were somewhere else.”\n“Your word against mine.”\nTamworth sighs. “No behavioral changes. That’s a start.”\nHe heaves his blocky frame to a standing position and turns to the 
cabinet. The rattle of the pill bottle lifts my soul. He places the orange tube of Retronim on the desk, just next to the sandwich.\n“I’m increasing your dose,” he says. “Ten milligrams. One pill in the morning, one at night. If you’re slipping a lot you can take a third, but no more than that in a twenty-four-hour

The Paradox Hotel: A Novel

Random House LCC US

Assassins Anonymous

"The best kind of thriller. . . . Suspenseful, sentimental, and ultimately redemptive, Assassins Anonymous is a can't-miss novel."&nbsp;-- S. A. Cosby,&nbsp; author of All the Sinners Bleed In this clever, surprising, page-turner, the world's most lethal assassin gives up the violent life only to find himself under siege by mysterious assailants. It's a kill-or-be-killed situation, but the first option is off the table. What's a reformed hit man to do? Mark was the most dangerous killer-for-hire in the world. But after learning the hard way that his life's work made him more monster than man, he left all of that behind, and joined a twelve-step group for reformed killers. When Mark is viciously attacked by an unknown assailant, he is forced on the run. From New York to Singapore to London, he chases after clues while dodging attacks and trying to solve the puzzle of who's after him. All without killing anyone. Or getting killed himself. For an assassin, Mark learns, nonviolence is a real hassle.

Literature & Fiction

Genre Fiction

G.P.Putnam's Sons

The Medusa Protocol (An Assassins Anonymous Novel)

Detour: A Novel (Detour Series)

Rake, Jeff

Random House Worlds

Paxton never thought he�d be working for Cloud, the giant tech company that�s eaten much of the American economy. Much less that he�d be moving into one of the company�s sprawling live-work facilities.�But compared to what�s left outside, it doesn�t seem so bad. It�s more than anyone else is offering.�Zinnia never thought she�d be infiltrating Cloud. But now she�s undercover, inside the walls, risking it all to ferret out the company�s darkest secrets. And Paxton might just make the perfect pawn. If she can bear to sacrifice him.�As the truth about Cloud unfolds, Zinnia must gamble everything on a desperate scheme � one that risks both their lives.

The Warehouse (Thorndike Press Large Print Core Series)

Mystery, Thriller & Suspense

Thrillers & Suspense

Thorndike Press Large Print

Pour yourselves a tall glass of something cool and mildly toxic, climb into the hammock behind your trailer home, and feast your peepers on eight brand new tales straight from some of the best crime writers on this crazy planet. THE OPPOSITE OF BONNIE AND CLYDE by Kevin Garvey GRENOBLE by Edward Hagelstein CONFESSIONS OF A TACO TRUCK OWNER by Rob Hart GOOD LUCK IN PUERTOS DEL ORO by Justin Porter THE TERMINATION by Leon Marks THE HARD SELL by J. J. Sinisi SUICIDE CHUMP by T. Maxim Simmler THE HURT BUSINESS by Mike Miner

THUGLIT Issue 12

Porter, Justin

Miner, Mike

Marks, Leon

Hagelstein, Edward

Simmler, T. Max

Sinisi, J.J.

Garvey, Kevin

Mystery

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Blood Oath

Comics & Graphic Novels

Segura, Alex

Manga

Dark Horse Books

EIGHT—count 'em—eight new tales of murder, misdeeds, mayhem, and misdemeanors coming your way from the multiple award-winning crime fiction magazine THUGLIT. YOU know you want some. WE know you want some. SO GET SOME, ALREADY!!! THE SPLIT by Eric Beetner ALCHEMY AND ATROPHY by Devon Robbins THE BEARD by Ed Kurtz IT BOTHERS ME by Erik Arneson BLOOD MAKES THE GRASS GROW by Bracken MacLeod DICK JOKE by Mark Rapacz THAT TIME by Scott Loring Sanders DRONE by Rob Hart

THUGLIT Issue 16

MacLeod, Bracken

Kurtz, Ed

Arneson, Erik

Sanders, Scott Loring

Beetner, Eric

Rapacz, Mark

Robbins, Devon

The loose-cannons of crime fiction over at Thuglit Magazine bring you CRUEL YULE! Featuring: THE SANTA CON by Rob Hart CHRISTMAS MORNING COMING DOWN by Jordan Harper MISTLETOE by Hilary Davidson LETTERS TO SANTA by Thomas Pluck OKEECHOBEE by Ed Kurtz FELIZ NAVIDEAD by Brace Godfrey (as discovered by Johnny Shaw) THE BRASS COIN by Justin Porter A VERY BLACKY CHRISTMAS by Angel Luis Colón FORK by Jen Conley UNHOLY NIGHT by Terrence McCauley ‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE… by Todd Robinson Eleven stories of crime fiction to get you in the holiday spirit—as long as your holiday spirit is kindled by copious amounts of illicit drug use, murder, robbery, hand grenades, hand-removals and holiday handjobs… BECAUSE THEY'RE ALL IN THERE! EDITOR'S NOTE: Consider yourself warned. So when you stuff this collection in Granny's stocking, don't come complaining to us when you find her keeled over by New Years, her copy of CRUEL YULE clutched between her cold fingers, a horrified expression locked onto her mug for all eternity. Capiche?

Thuglit presents: CRUEL YULE: Holiday Tales of Crime for People on the Naughty List

McCauley, Terrence

Davidson, Hilary

Shaw, Johnny

Robinson, Todd

Harper, Jordan

Conley, Jen

Colon, Angel

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