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Something Born of Madness - Coming in 2011 from PublishAmerica ... While investigating a series of brutally violent killings, investigative journalist Steven Dunne formulates an unbelievable theory – a serial killing animal is terrorizing the country, an unknown species that defies description. The mystery deepens when Dunne also discovers that a woman is involved in the killings and is somehow linked to the creature. When a ruthless bounty hunter enters the picture, also intent on finding the murderous monster dubbed simply “the Beast”, the stakes suddenly rise and Dunne becomes the quarry, caught between dual embodiments of evil. Circumstances ally him with the woman, whose terrible secret holds the key to the mystery of the Beast.

Excerpt:  Over the years there were several certainties that Steven Dunne had learned to accept.  One was that attractive waitresses tended to have ugly personalities.  Another was that bitter coffee would give him acid indigestion before he finished his second cup.  A third was that Malcolm Erskine Reynolds was the cheapest damned bastard on the planet.In spite of the fact that Dunne had seen all three certainties played out repeatedly, he still flirted with attractive waitresses, he still drank too much warmed-over coffee and he still tried to squeeze a few extra bucks out of his publisher.  It wasn't that Dunne did not learn the lessons that life taught, it was just that habit was harder to break than he cared to admit.He was seated in a booth in a second-rate diner in Newark, New Jersey, just over the New York line off the Jersey Turnpike, drinking bitter coffee and perusing an article in the Daily News.  There had been a death earlier that week in Wilmington, Delaware that had captured his interest.  Not much held his interest these days, it seemed, but this story gripped Dunne hard.  He pulled his notepad out of his pocket and flipped the pages, comparing his written scrawl to the facts laid out in the paper.Dunne had never been intimidated by death.  As a freelance journalist he'd covered more than his share over the past twenty years.  Somewhere in the world, someone died every minute.  Along with birth, death was the most common occurrence of the human experience.  Lives ended and lives began in the unending melodrama that constituted life on Earth, and it was Dunne’s job to translate the actions of the actors into meaningful words, something at which he was adept and on which he had built his reputation.The circumstances surrounding this death held particular interest for him.  He was shaken, as any father might naturally be, by the fact that the victim was an eleven-year-old kid.  Death as a certainty of life was something a man came to accept early on, but untimely death, unfair death as in the brutal killing of a child was always harder to reconcile, even for as hard-edged a man as Steve Dunne.He reread the article and scratched a few notes into his notepad.  The story here was more than the death itself.  This was Dunne’s gift, the ability to see beyond the headline.  There was a pattern behind this killing, and it was as much the pattern as the act itself that struck him, for the pattern was familiar.  In fact, he had been looking for it.In researching a new series of articles, Steve had begun an in-depth study of the motivation of serial killers and he was drawn to a string of killings that had kept him occupied for the better part of a month, killings that had occurred throughout the country and were similar mainly in their viciousness.  His list was varied and growing: a young woman in Harrisburg last November; a teenage girl in Columbus, Ohio in February; a Las Vegas woman in June.  A schoolteacher in Sadlow, New York, two months later.  He had been to Long Island to check out the scene of this last killing but had learned little beyond the facts, that the woman had gone out for a walk and been reported missing by her sister.  Her body was found four days later in a wooded area, ravaged and torn as if by some wild animal.  There should be no animals in suburban Long Island capable of such carnage, but the facts spoke for themselves.So did the facts of the Columbus killing.  The girl's throat had been torn out and her abdomen sliced open by very sharp claws, bear claws, it was thought, although no bear had been seen in the vicinity of the killing for years.  In Harrisburg, the young woman’s head had been literally torn from her body and the skull crushed as if by enormous incisors.  This within a half-mile of the city proper.  In Las Vegas, the woman's body was never found.  Only particles of clothing remained, bloodstained and shredded, along with scattered traces of her flesh.  Some wild beast again, where no wild beast ought to be.  This latest episode in Wilmington involved a young girl whose body had been savagely mauled by what appeared to be dogs or, incredibly, wolves.Dunne had questioned authorities by telephone in the three earlier locations but had been frustrated by the lack of solid information.  As in Sadlow, extensive hunts had turned up nothing, no traces of the marauding beasts.  He was intrigued by the surprising inconsistency among his sources as to the exact identity of the animals in question, for apparently the evidence was confusing.  The local police were mystified and, not surprisingly, reticent to discuss their shortcomings with outsiders, especially journalists with questionable motives.Discomfort among law enforcement was a red flag to Steve, who took note of the fact that there was no apparent attempt being made to link the killings in spite of their similarities, primarily because the distance between them was too great and, more to the point, it didn't make sense.  Animals sometimes killed, but they did not travel great distances to hunt their victims.  It made sense to Dunne, however; at least, it was beginning to.  In spite of the reported inconsistencies he was seeing something in the killings that apparently nobody else was, and in his line of work that was a very good thing.Steve had begun his investigation with the intention of profiling serial killers, and he had his sources research killings fitting any discernible pattern he might link to a single perpetrator.  While the animal killings were not obviously connected, they met his basic criteria: serial killers struck repeatedly, generally following a recognizable pattern, and Dunne’s killer did the same.  The difference, which jumped at him after digesting the facts of each succeeding killing, had him abandoning the original idea for his story and shifting direction, and here was the muscle behind his tale.  Steve would not base his series on the handiwork of a disturbed human being; rather, Dunne’s working theory was that his killer was a solitary animal.  The notion that a single rogue animal might be responsible for each attack had his adrenalin flowing like the good old days, and this angle had him scouring the headlines and researching the Web for stories such as the Wilmington incident.  It was right there floating on the surface, moved by the breeze for anyone to see, and yet it might just as well have been beneath fifty feet of water.Serial killers were big news, of that there was no question.  The workings of their minds provided endless fodder for the sort of rumination that had made Steven Dunne famous.  The Whys?, Wheres? and Whens? kept the reading public enthralled and satisfied the shadowy curiosity for the morbid that ran through even the most decent of people.  They even got their own television shows.A serial killing animal would be the biggest story yet, possibly the mother lode, enough to transcend news to the level of notoriety that sold magazines and kept Internet blogs humming.  It crossed a shadowy line between news and horror, and Steve knew from experience that nothing attracted the public’s attention better than a good horror story.  But how to persuade the always skeptical and painfully pragmatic Reynolds - the man who held Dunne’s purse strings - that some maniacal carnivore had managed to saunter its way halfway across the country without being noticed?  Even horror required a foothold into believability to be effective, and that aspect of the story remained Dunne’s challenge.As publisher of the news magazine Newstime, Malcolm Erskine Reynolds was a throwback to the early days of publishing empires, and though his personal empire was modest by comparison to the Hearsts and others, Reynolds had resources that Steve needed to tap.  He knew from experience how difficult it could be to entice the old man to believe in something a step or two outside his cushion of comfort, and in spite of his sixty-odd years in the business, Mal Reynolds was loath to place his faith in anything not supported by two or three solid sources.  His magazine was based on Long Island and there had been an incident almost in his back yard, and still Reynolds remained determinedly apathetic to Dunne’s theory.  The concept of a homicidal bear, no matter how Steve might try to sell it, was not likely to find space on the pages of Newstime, not unless it was accompanied by glossy color photos or a story line that bridged the gap between the fantastic and the factual. But Dunne was convinced; after piecing together the facts from each killing his gut told him he was on the right path and that the fantastic and the factual were indeed linked.  It didn’t matter that his premise was challenged by logic (which was why he liked it; the story was offbeat enough that nobody else was likely to pick up on it, making it ripe with potential).  What mattered to Dunne was the pattern, the carnal component that made it a blood and guts tale to rival any he’d told.  Granted, it would take a lot of work and all of his skills to crystallize his theory and make it readable, but that’s where the fun lay.  Steve had to define a serial killing beast that followed a distinctive pattern and yet left traces of something different at every scene, and he had to make it believable to his readers.Ah, his readers.  He smiled unconsciously as his eyes casually explored the faces of his fellow patrons, potential readers who with the right motivation could make his story a success.  Steve needed to identify and give personality to his as-yet unknown assailant if he expected his story to mature and draw them in, and he needed to do it logically or he’d lose the backing and support he needed.  While light years from the standards of Reynolds’ previous journalistic endeavors, Newstime was near and dear to the old man’s heart and his expectations would be difficult to meet without an irresistible hook.  That happened to be Steve’s specialty, and he hoped he had enough ammo in his literary arsenal to pull it off.He grabbed his pad and again skimmed his notes of the killings, frowning as he ran the details through his head.  Where to begin?  Putting all of the attacks together made it evident that none were the work of known animal species.  Dunne had consulted a zoologist at the Bronx Zoo who had found similarities to ursine attacks but differences as well.  In Columbus, though the carnage suggested a bear, no bear tracks or other evidence of a bear were found.  But if not a bear, then what had killed those people?  A big cat, maybe?  The incisor marks at the Harrisburg site were feline in nature, yet no familiar traces of known feline had been found at any scene.  The zoologist had discounted that scenario as well.  The Wilmington incident suggested a canine attack but, incredibly, human traces were found along with those of canine predators.  Dunne suspected that analysis would rule out dogs or wolves as the culprits.  His zoologist was quite confident about what had not killed those people.  She was less certain when it came to speculating as to what had.Intrigued by the zoologist’s dilemma, Dunne formulated the hypothesis that the killings were the work of some unknown animal species.  When the circumstances did not suit the facts, then the facts had to suit the circumstances.  He had done some research years earlier into cryptozoology, background for a series of stories that never got off the ground, and he was familiar with the tales of Bigfoot and devils and mothmen and the bizarre and stealthy creatures reportedly spotted across the country.  While he did not believe Sasquatch to be a viable suspect, could the recent string of killings have led him to uncover evidence of something entirely new, something never before reported?The facts told the tale.  He had five extremely vicious maulings with characteristics of different species of animals, including some unknown species, along with human traces.  In fact, human DNA was found at one of the attack sites, Harrisburg, and trace evidence of a human was recorded at the scene in Wilmington.  The Harrisburg sample did not match the victim or her family, and though the authorities believed it incidental to the killings it was the human element that solidified Steve’s theory.  He believed the five attacks all the work of the same killer, an unclassified beast somehow linked to a person.  A woman, if the DNA analysis was to be trusted.Dunne tossed the pad aside and studied the cold coffee at the bottom of his cup.  He was veteran enough to know that a theory alone would not sell his series.  Until he produced facts to better identify his serial killing beast he would have to rely on another angle to reach the masses, something sure to tug the right emotional chords and foment their interest.  That was another of his strengths, tapping the power of human emotion.  Steve Dunne believed his story was about more than his hypothetical killer; he was banking on the victims to speak for him, for in his mind they were what tied it all together.Mentally Dunne reviewed the list of unfortunates who were at the heart of his tale.  All were female, women and girls.  Coincidence perhaps, but Steve truly did not think so.  In the life of a reporter, and especially one possessed of Steven Dunne’s unique talents, a story sometimes presented itself that could not be ignored.  It touched something in the writer, reaching some inner place where words developed and ideas melded into works of art sculpted with the keys of a laptop computer.  This story had found its way into that place inside of Dunne, and he knew he would never let it go.  Or, more accurately, it wouldn’t let him go.  Something was at work here that defied logic and analysis but that spoke to him subliminally, and in that message would be found the heart of the story.  Through Dunne, the voices of the dead would tell their tales to the living.And, he suspected, he’d also discover something about himself, possibly something he’d been seeking for a very long time.  That was what the victims would say to him.  But first he needed to know them and understand why they were speaking at all.  Why all females from densely populated areas?  The victims had been hunted, solitary victims in each location, intentionally targeted by the killer and chosen, he believed, because of their gender.  But why?  The human DNA found at the Harrisburg scene was thought to be incidental and not germane to the killings, but Steve couldn’t discount it, especially in light of the human trace found in Wilmington.  But there was no connection between any of the victims and they were many miles separated, so the Why? continued to elude him for the moment.  He would have to solve that riddle if the story were to evolve effectively and draw his readers in, and sway Reynolds to give it space in his magazine.  The question in Dunne’s head at the moment was the Where? - where might this beast strike next?  It seemed certain that it would kill again, whatever it was.  If the attacks were truly related, then this peculiar brand of serial killer was just getting warmed up.  Dunne had taken note of the fact that the attacks were coming closer together in time, which meant the clock was ticking.  Already he had his bag packed for Delaware so he could keep close to it.  While he realized that journalist’s instinct was more a device of fiction than reality, he had a funny feeling about this business.  He knew he was onto something, something no one else was seeing.  And if it played out as he hoped, it would mean a major break for Steven Dunne, a man who had gone quite a long while between breaks.Steve needed this one, which he wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself.  He needed it badly.  He was broke, and his reputation was all but gone.  Once he had been hot stuff, writing pieces for the New York Times and Los Angeles Times and the Washington Post and The New Yorker magazine, and men like Reynolds he had gripped by the short hairs.  They all had wanted his stuff, because his stuff was damn good.  Pulitzer Prize good.A lot had happened since then, of course.  Dunne had been all of twenty-six when he'd won the Pulitzer for a series of stories on ruthless Colombian drug dealers operating in Los Angeles.  Now he was pushing forty-six and his hands shook sometimes because he drank too damn much.  His hair had gone gray early, but the ruddy complexion and watery blue eyes more than anything betrayed the heart of the man.  Sometimes, when the nights were especially black and the echoes particularly vivid in his head, Dunne found himself wishing he’d died in the accident that had wrecked his Jaguar on an L.A. freeway and left him with a permanent limp.

A Measure of Madness is a work in progress that touches on man's need for self-definition and redemption, while viewing good and evil through the eyes of a man who has seen his share of both.