Gothic Thriller
Date Published: September 18, 2024
Publisher: Wild Rose Press Inc.
Henry Maxwell, once a celebrated figure in Gothic horror cinema, finds himself trapped in a life of grief, resulting in severe depression and hallucinations after the tragic death of his wife, Lillian. Maxwell’s battle with reality sets the stage for his emotional and psychological exploration. The novel captures the essence of a man haunted by his past, struggling to find solace.
Jessica Barrow, the young attorney appointed as Maxwell’s conservator, and David Grovene, a film studies professor with a penchant for sixties B-movies, form the central supporting cast. Their involvement in Maxwell's life brings a fresh perspective to his plight, blending elements of clinical psychology and film history into the story.
The setting itself acts like a character, reflecting Maxwell’s internal turmoil and the Gothic essence of his past. A mysterious serial killer adds a layer of creepiness mirroring scenes from Maxwell’s films interweaving the past and present, making for a compelling and suspenseful read.
The Salvation of Henry Maxwell is a unique blend of Gothic horror, psychological thriller, and detective story. The Salvation of Henry Maxwell is imbued with a sense of tragic grandeur and serves as an underlying commentary on the ephemeral nature of fame and the enduring impact of grief.
EXCERPT
#1
The room melted into a haze and Maxwell went into a dream—a dream so full of joy and happiness—a dream with Lillian, vivid with sensual smiles and radiating tingles, frolicking beneath the moon, playing hide and seek among the statues. He sensed her tenderness, her gentle touch that would greet him after a trying day. But it was on set, his films that kept overriding this sweetest of dreams. Films offered security and a wonderful life for Lillian and himself. This man Tony, this sleazy Dago, insinuating things about his work, bad things. Maxwell began to sweat.
… the old olive building, how can I forget? The bloated body in the cellar, grotesquely rotting, eyeballs resting on his maggot-squirming chest. The director had planned well. Herbert Bass, yes, I remember his name. He pulled a coup with the grotesque corpse. I wanted real eyeballs, gleaming and shiny, dripping with vitreous, maybe from some real corpse. No, Herbie called for glass ones, like marbles. His only mistake in my opinion. Come to think of it, Herbie died several years ago. A fantastic director, eyeballs or not. I must say that scene outclassed Vincent Price’s Morella. Oh, we had such positive competition, Vincent, and me, all in good fun.
#2
In a hurry, he spun around and returned through the pronaos, opened the door and stepped outside. Sweat bubbled on his forehead. To the east, the sun rose above the horizon and the fading fog. The lights of Los Angeles began to recede. Unable to think straight, he trundled along the colonnade tapping his way with his cane. “Oh, my Lillian, where are you, answer please. I am here, waiting.” Nearing the south end of the mausoleum, there on the edge of the point…Lillian appears in a white flowing gown. Her long hair glows like brilliant gold, the color of wheat fields on a cloudless day, her face a smooth pearl, and her soft lips radiating a sweet scent of plumeria. She moves toward him as if floating on air. Her hand extends in a welcoming gesture.
And then the transformation…aches and pains fade; his clothes again too small. His imagination takes flight, knowing his dream will live. He stumbles toward her. She holds his hand as he drops his cane near the edge of the cliff and guides him back to the mausoleum.
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