The universe in which James Reece resides in the pages of my novels is fictious, though there are whispers of truth. At times those whispers grow to roars. Other times they are so soft they go unheard. This novel, like those that precede it, holds a light to the secret world, briefly illuminating the shadows. It is a world that few will touch or experience, a world that exists so far beneath the surface of what most consider “normal life” that they believe it to be the vision of novelists and screenwriters.
