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Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: pd workman
ISBN-10: 0992153913
Type: Fiction
Pages: 263
Copyright: Oct 13, 2013
ISBN-13: 9780992153915
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
Just because you're paranoid, that doesn't mean someone isn't out to get you. A paranoid schizophrenic at the centre of a robbery investigation, Abe is certain the real jewel thieves are out to get him. Is he just losing the battle against his inner demons?
Just because you're paranoid, that doesn't mean someone isn't out to get you.
Things were going well for Abe. Despite all of his past struggles with mental illness, he was happily married, had three wonderful children, a nice home, and a fantastic consulting business that satisfied his creativity and brought in a good income.
But you can never get too comfortable. When Abe becomes a prime suspect in a jewel heist - one of the largest successful jewel heists in history - his schizophrenia becomes unmanageable and everything begins to spiral out of control. Abe's own investigation into the heist has the jewel thieves hot on his tail... but are they really, or is he just losing the battle against his inner demons?
"I was drawn in from the first page and couldn't put Looking Over Your Shoulder down . . . [it] kept me guessing and on my toes."
"An exciting ride that keeps you guessing right to the end."
". . . a sensitive and uplifting look at one family's efforts to triumph over the adversity of mental illness.”
Excerpt
Abe walked back into the terminal, looking around in confusion. The normally quiet rooms were in chaos. There were police and security everywhere. A cop in riot gear, minus the helmet, grabbed Abe by the arm, jabbing him in the ribs with a big, black, ominous looking gun strapped around his neck and body.
“Who are you?” the cop demanded.
Abe looked at him, uncomprehending.
“I’m Abe,” he said.
“What’s your full name? What are you doing here?”
“Aberahama VanRaemdonck.”
“What?” he demanded, looking irritated.
“That’s my name. Aberahama VanRaemdonck.”
“Abraham…”
“Close. Aber-a-hama. Van-RAM-donk.”
“What kind of a name is that?”
“Well, it’s Belgian, actually. What’s going on?”
His question recalled the cop abruptly to his duty.
“What are you doing wandering around here? Where’s your security tag?”
Abe touched his chest, and realized that he must have forgotten to put it back on when he had changed out of his apron.
“I… I guess I must have left it-” he gestured back out at the blacktop. "Do you want me to go get it?”
“No, you’re not going anywhere. Come with me.”
Still holding Abe by the arm with fingers like iron, the gun pressing into Abe’s side, the cop escorted him impatiently through the crowds of police and security and the barely controlled chaos of the airport. Hustling around a corner toward the administration offices, Abe caught sight of the other end of the runway, covered with emergency vehicles of all description, swarming with cops in black SWAT suits, yellow tape, and photographers.
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