MLR Press welcomes William Neale and his first book HOME is now available.

Title Home Author William Neale ISBN# 978-1-60820-212-6 (print) $14.99 ISBN# 978-1-60820-213-3 (ebook) $6.99 Release Date August 2010 Cover Artist Deana C. Jamroz Paperback: 211 pages

Violence interrupts quiet reflection on tragedy when Donald and Timmy visit Washington to view the AIDS Memorial Quilt. Unexpected stories about a disgraced, conservative congresswoman, and a gay Lothario with designs on Strachey are catalysts for Donald’s investigation into a memorial to a man who isn’t quite as dead as he seems.

(Originally published 1998.)

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Chapter One

“This is screwy. This is nuts. This has to be some kind of pathetic, sick joke!” Maynard Sudbury unexpectedly blurted out.

Timothy Callahan and I stared at Maynard as he stared down with a look of shocked bewilderment at one particular panel in the AIDS Memorial Quilt.

“Jim Suter is not dead,” Maynard said, gawking. “I don’t think he’s even sick. I saw him in Mexico not more than two weeks ago.”

Maynard brushed away the shock of sandy-colored hair that had flopped across his ever-youthful Midwestern farmboy’s face. It seemed as if he needed the clearest vision possible in order to take in and try to comprehend this shocking sight. (continue reading…)

Becket Merriday is on the trail of a killer who is murdering beautiful young men in the small town of Irenic. What he discovers an ancient race of immortal beings hunted by an incredibly powerful adversary: the angel Mastema. Soon, Beck and his partner, Sean Logan, find themselves at the center of a deadly supernatural war.

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PROLOGUE

Wystan Parish, Virginia

Wait for it. Feel the hint of dew on the air, the cooling of the sidewalks and the diminishing sounds of traffic from the Interstate. Sense the stars hovering above the town, not yet visible but forever there. People were going inside, returning to their homes. Good smells began to drift past him: kitchen and bread and belonging.

A boy was perched on the concrete garden steps leading down from the doors of the rectory. The garden was a sheltered, dark green cove hidden from the road by a wrought-iron fence heavily overgrown with weeds, honeysuckle and boxwood. It was a secret place, damp and quiet, filled with growing things and presided over by an ancient magnolia fully six feet across at the trunk. The boy was dark-haired, with brilliant, wide-set blue eyes vaguely reminiscent of a cat. He closed his eyes, ending their devouring stare, and inhaled deeply before snapping back to attention, his gaze fixed on the patch of sky he could see through the trees to the west. Becket Merriday was an alert child for a seven year old, but his attention had lapsed and he had almost missed it. It always happened so quickly, and he knew from experience that even a momentary distraction could bring failure. (continue reading…)

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When his parents get a gander at the sex tape sent by a blackmailer, they offer Kendall Turner a few weeks of “rest” in a cushy clinic. No, he says, and hotfoots it across the lawns of the family estate. KT isn’t his own worst enemy anymore; there’s a new candidate for the title. Suddenly, Kendall’s on the lam, trying to outrun a murder rap. Helping — by locking KT naked in their motel room — is his cousin Turn. KT has some issues: he manages to censor himself only when he lies, he’s been in love with cousin Turn since forever, and he really would rather kill himself than get more rest at another clinic.

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Chapter One

“Be sensible, Kendall,” my mother said in the patient tone that can drive me to a seething rage in three seconds flat. “In the video you are, to put it crudely, tanked.”

To put it even more crudely, I’d been tanked enough to let a guy I’d been stupid enough to trust – for a few months anyway – ream my ass until I gave in to his exhortations to squeal like a pig.

The video ended, with a curious delicacy, while I was still just bleating: Ah! Ah! (continue reading…)

Freeman’s return to the city is quiet, without fuss — the way he likes things. But, he’s missed by more people than he thought: his ex-wife, his ex-lover, and his ex-business partner. One wants friendship, another one intimacy. The third just wants him the hell gone again.

Freeman — private, controlled — hasn’t time or appetite for trouble. But, when he strikes up an unusual, ill-advised friendship with young, lively, amoral Kit, it seems trouble’s come looking for both men, ready to expose secrets that can destroy the fragile trust they’ve built. Freeman’s more ready for the challenge than anyone realizes when the choice comes down to peace or Kit’s life.

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I don’t know how the hell he ended up sitting next to me.

I sat in my usual place, out of the way. Clubs weren’t really my thing, but after the pubs closed they were the only places I could get some company with my drinking. Not that I wanted something one-on-one, not even conversation. Just company in the background: noise, babble, bodies. I don’t know what people would call me. Observer, not participant. Antisocial, maybe. (continue reading…)

Three haters. Two lovers. And a collision course with tragedy.

When Donald and Mark left the Brig that October night, they had no idea their lives and love were about to be shattered by fag bashers, intent on pain, and armed with ridicule, fists, and an aluminum baseball bat. The cowardly hate crime leaves one half of a couple alone and haunted—literally and figuratively—by the memories and denied promise of new love.

Bashed charts the course of a journey from grief to hope, from death to life, and from hate to redemption. Come along on a trip that encompasses suspense, horror, and—ultimately—romance.

Prologue

The night had turned cold while they were in the Brig, one of Chicago’s oldest and most infamous leather establishments. A strong wind out of the north had blown away the cloud cover that allowed the city of Chicago to retain a little Indian summer heat this late October night. With the wind, the temperature had plunged nearly twenty degrees, from a relatively balmy 62, down to the low forties. But the wind had also revealed a sprinkling of stars, visible even with the ambient light from downtown. And the moon had emerged, almost full, lending a silvery cast to North Clark Street. (continue reading…)