About the Author
Daniel Annechino’s passion has always been fiction, particularly thrillers. He wrote several novels early in his writing career, but it wasn’t until he authored They Never Die Quietly
that he fulfilled his goal as a novelist. A native of New York, Annechino now lives in San Diego with his wife, Jennifer. He loves to cook, enjoys a glass of vintage wine, and spends lots of leisure time on the warm beaches of Southern California. He is currently working on a sequel titled Resuscitation
, which he promises will be even more chilling than They Never Die Quietly
--This text refers to an alternate
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I lie naked on the makeshift crucifix. Along the underside of my arms, down my spine, against the back of my thighs, I can feel splinters from the rough-sawn wood prickling my tender skin. My arms and ankles are bound to the crucifix with clothesline. I try to inhale a breath of the damp air, but my lungs feel oppressed, as if a heavy weight lay on my chest. My heart pounds against my ribs. He straddles my shivering body. My captor. A monster like no other. For an instant his wide-open eyes glance at my breasts. I cringe at the thought of him touching me. Then, he studies my face, searching for something; I don't know what. Perhaps he wishes to taste my fear, sip it like fine wine. I try to convince myself that this is a nightmare, that all I know about life and death and reality will exist when I awaken. But I will not awaken. I look into his eyes and see not a man, but my executioner. I no longer sob, or ask for mercy. My plea only serves to inspire and excite him. And I will not give him that satisfaction.
So this is how I will die.
I turn my head slightly and see my daughter lying on the bed. She sleeps peacefully, unaware that she will never see me again. He promises not to harm her if I do not resist, but I find little solace in his pledge. He is holding a hammer in one hand and a shinny spike in the other. I cannot imagine the level of pain I will experience when he drives the cold steel through my wrists and feet. If God is truly merciful, maybe He will lead me to a sanctuary of unconsciousness and spare me the agony.
Why does he hesitate? His pause only serves to further torment me. But yes, this is part of his game.
I fear death of course, the unknown, but the true terror lives in my still-alert mind. No one will recall my name. Linda Cassidy will be remembered as an obscure woman who made a poor choice when her car broke down. My life, all of my accomplishments and contributions to my family will fade to oblivion.