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Cryonic Man - Tootie-Do Press
Amazon
Tootie-Do Press
Category:
Romance
Publisher: Tootie-Do Press
ISBN-10: 0692381287
Type: Fiction
Pages: 356
Copyright: February 14, 2015
ISBN-13: 9780692381281
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
Cryonic Man: A Paranormal Affair melds seventeeth-century sorcery and swordplay with twenty-first century sci-fi in an unforgettable romantic adventure.
Prizefighter Jim Jackson is just one fight away from winning the 1976 World Heavyweight Championship when he suffers debilitating headaches. Diagnosed with a fatal brain tumor, he seeks relief in a radical medical procedure.
Dr. Joseph Callahan Jackson, an aging physician who spends his life unraveling the mysteries of rejuvenation, revives his father in 2026 after a fifty-year-long cryonic preservation. But the happy scientific ending goes awry when Jackson regains consciousness to find he shares body and mind with “Blood Countess” Erzsébet Báthory.
Jackson resists Erzsébet’s control, desperate to exorcise her. When he finds a May-December relationship with his beloved wife impossible, he needs Erzsébet’s fierce spirit to forge a new life. But what is her hidden agenda?
Erzsébet leads Jackson on a colorful quest through time to confront her nemesis, a Transylvanian sorcerer whose single-minded intent is to destroy her. When Jackson stands toe-to-toe with Zsombor, will the fated couple choose unlimited power or everlasting love?
:::
Like the hero of Cryonic Man, author Joe DiBuduo grew up in Hano, one of the toughest neighborhoods in Boston. He became a writer and an artist, not a prizefighter, but in his rough-and-tumble youth, he never turned away from a street fight. His memoir, Crime A Day: Death by Electric Chair & Other Boyhood Pursuits, describes the author's childhood in 1940s and 1950s Boston (Jaded Ibis Press, 2015).
DiBuduo is also the author of narrative nonfiction book, A Penis Manologue: One Man's Response to The Vagina Monologues, collections of flash fiction and "poetic flash fiction," and a children's storybook. He also has poetry and fiction for children and adults published in online journals and in print anthologies.
For more info about Joe DiBuduo and his work, see his website at joedibuduo.com.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
I bit down hard on the cold steel barrel of the Colt .38 to hold it steady in my trembling hands. A big eater, I never dreamed gun oil would end up on my menu. The bitter tang almost made me laugh through clenched teeth.
My finger tightened on the trigger. I closed my eyes, drew the hammer back, and pictured Emily’s face for the last time.
Would I hear the gunpowder explode before my lights went out? Terrified, my body went numb as I imagined the bullet tearing through my brain.
Click.
The sound sent me sprawling across the bed.
I checked the cylinders. There were .38 slugs in five of the six chambers. How could I forget that I always left a chamber empty? Maybe my subconscious mind wanted me to play a little Russian roulette, give me an unexpected thrill.
I made sure a slug was under the firing pin, put the barrel back in my mouth, and bit down hard again.
But before I closed my eyes, I saw a reflection of Emily’s portrait over the bed in the dresser mirror. Her face seemed to float above me like a disembodied spirit, her eyes accusing me of cowardliness.
I yanked the pistol from my mouth and shouted, “I’m no coward, Emily. I’m doing this to make it easy on you.”
I shook with anger, but the reprieve gave me time to consider. It wouldn’t be too damn pleasant for Emily to find me in the bedroom with my head blown off.
Maybe I should leave a note and take myself out somewhere else. Yeah, that was it; leave a note so she’d understand. Emily would blame herself if I didn’t tell her why I did it. I set the gun on the bedside table and tried to imagine what to say.
Dear Emily.
No, I couldn’t say Dear Emily, I’m going to kill myself.
To Whom It May Concern, I killed myself because . . .
That didn’t sound right, either.
What words might explain why a tough guy like me would commit suicide? How could I describe my lifelong fear, not of dying, but of becoming helpless?
People on their way out, lying in bed, unable to wipe their own ass. I always swore that wouldn’t be me and figured if I became helpless, I’d find a way to end it, quick.
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