Reprobation
Are you one of the elect?
Dr. Helen Hope is a lecturer in eschatology – the study of death, judgement, and the destiny of humankind. She is also a Calvinist nun, her life devoted to atoning for a secret crime.
When a body is found crucified on a Liverpool beach, she forms an unlikely alliance with suspect Mikko Kristensen, lead guitarist in death metal band Total Depravity. Together, they go on the trail of a rogue geneticist who they believe holds the key – not just to the murder, but to something much darker.
Also on the trail is cynical Scouse detective Darren Swift. In his first murder case, he must confront his own lack of faith as a series of horrific crimes drag the city of two cathedrals to the gates of hell.
Science meets religious belief in this gripping murder mystery.
Dr. Helen Hope is a lecturer in eschatology – the study of death, judgement, and the destiny of humankind. She is also a Calvinist nun, her life devoted to atoning for a secret crime.
When a body is found crucified on a Liverpool beach, she forms an unlikely alliance with suspect Mikko Kristensen, lead guitarist in death metal band Total Depravity. Together, they go on the trail of a rogue geneticist who they believe holds the key – not just to the murder, but to something much darker.
Also on the trail is cynical Scouse detective Darren Swift. In his first murder case, he must confront his own lack of faith as a series of horrific crimes drag the city of two cathedrals to the gates of hell.
Science meets religious belief in this gripping murder mystery.
Purchase Link: mybook.to/reprobation
Reprobation Exclusive Extract for Jazzy’s Book
Reviews
In this scene, Sister
Helen Hope is confronted by the police over her involvement with death metal
band Total Depravity, who are suspects in a murder investigation. Helen is a young
Calvinist nun who is beginning to have doubts about the life she has chosen for
herself, and when a body is found crucified on a Liverpool beach near her
convent, this bizarre and gruesome incident triggers something in her. Against
her better judgement, she takes matters into her own hands.
Helen had finished cleaning the
stone floor and dusting the pews, and then rounded off her Tuesday morning rota
by laying out the Bibles and psalm books on freshly wiped shelving along the
rows. She then took a few minutes to sit in contemplation, trying as ever to
speak to God. She had struggled to focus during Terce this morning, and there
was another hour before Sext in which she could perhaps clear her head and ask
for God’s help. The Order’s daily programme was intense, with six compulsory
prayer sessions beginning at six in the morning and ending at eight in the
evening, and not including the public services administered by the Deaconess.
In between all that there was the rota of cleaning, cooking and other duties, a
full schedule of manual tasks that seemed almost designed to prevent any time
for self-questioning. Helen usually had to do her University work in the
evenings, staying up late under lamplight. When she did find time to herself
she used it to pound the dunes and forest paths, trailing wet sand on her
skirts and fancying herself as a female warrior in the Wars of Religion, or
perhaps a misunderstood Jane Austen heroine.
But today she needed to be in
church. She felt His weight upon her, as she had all those years ago, and yet
she felt somehow that this time she may be closer to a truth. God was testing
her in some way, or was about to test her in some way, and she prayed for the
guidance that was rarely forthcoming.
St. Michael’s Church had been built
as an Anglican chapel in the Gothic Revival style, all pointed arches,
lattice-work and grotesques. But when it was endowed to the Sisters of Grace
along with the house in the Twenties, the church underwent its own
mini-Reformation; a stripping of the altars designed to remove any suggestion
of joy. Now, with its austere white walls, plain wooden pews and stone pillars,
the only concession to beauty in this church was the large stained glass window
behind the altar, depicting the Crucifixion in glorious, gaudy colours. Other
than this aesthetic indulgence, there was to be no distraction from communion
with God.
But Helen was currently distracted
by the conflating images described by Mikko and Shepherd, and in particular the
details – the cockerel, the wrought iron railings, the hooded figure, the
precisely depicted colours of the sky. Of course images of the figure of Death
and the gate to Heaven were ubiquitous in human cultures, so there was nothing
strange in them both having the same dream or vision. But such details – could
that really be a coincidence?
She was disturbed by the sound of
the heavy door creaking open at the back of the church, and the sounds of
echoing footsteps, whispers and a cleared throat. Helen looked behind her, and
there they were again, with a certain inevitability: those detectives. They
walked down the central aisle towards her, Swift’s voice resonating off the
stone pillars:
‘What kind of music do you like,
Dr. Hope?’
Neither of them seemed as gentle or
as on her side as last time. They were brusque, almost hostile.
‘I… don’t…’
‘D’you like heavy metal, do you?’
As they reached Helen, Quinn took
an iPad out of her bag, swiped her finger across the screen to bring it to
life, and handed it to her. It took Helen a few moments of peering to realise
what she was looking at. It was a post from Facebook, from a fan page for Total
Depravity, with a photo which was captioned ‘Does Mikko have a new
girlfriend????? Nooooooo!!!!’ It was a slightly grainy photo, taken from far
away on someone’s phone, but unmistakeable nonetheless; it was him, and her,
sitting on top of that picnic bench at the side of the motorway. They were side
by side and the photographer had captured the moment when she had put her arm
around him to comfort him. Helen looked in the mirror so little these days that
she hardly recognised herself, and she was taken aback at this long-haired female
figure in secular clothes, sitting with a man, on an adventure that she could
hardly believe really happened. And she couldn’t help but feel a guilty thrill
of excitement that she had been spotted with a sort-of celebrity. My one claim to fame, she thought. But Swift
snapped her back into the present.
‘A coincidence, that double-headed
axe. The body. The band. And there you were, in both places.’ He paused for
effect.
‘Where were you on the night of the
seventh of October?’
It took Helen a few moments to
realise the significance of the question.
‘I was at …. I was here. Where I
always am. Here.’
‘You’re not always here though, are
you?’
‘I was, that night. You can ask
anyone… I mean this is absurd,’ She was panicking slightly and wasn’t sure why.
‘OK then, don’t worry we can check
that. So why were you with a heavy metal band on the M6 last week?’
‘Oh yes, my goodness that must look
so strange to you. I was looking on the internet the evening before - the day
the body was found and you came to see me - and I just wished I could help
more, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I found this band with the same
symbol as the body, and their lyrics from the same passage in the Bible as the…
Oh, I don’t really know, I’ve been very stupid haven’t I?’ And then she was
struck with a sudden horror and inexplicable sadness: ‘They didn’t do it, did
they? The band?’
‘You’re not the detective here,
Sister Hope. I’d appreciate it if you stuck to lecturing and… praying. We’re
perfectly capable of doing Google searches ourselves. And lo and behold, when
we do, what do we find? You.’
‘Well I
didn’t think—’
‘This isn’t Miss Marple or, who is
it, Father Brown. Next time you feel like playing detective… come to us. Can
you do that?’ Quinn winced at Swift’s harshness.
‘And next time you fancy a night
out, how about a nice girls’ dinner and a white wine spritzer at Pizza Express?
Instead of satanic metal gigs.’
Swift turned and left, Quinn
offering a vaguely placating shrug to Helen as she followed him. Helen stood
looking at the church door as it closed behind them, her heart racing from
anxiety and, perhaps, a certain defiance.
Author Bio – Catherine Fearns is a writer from Liverpool, UK. Her first novel, a crime thriller called ‘Reprobation’, will be published by Crooked Cat Books in October 2018. As a music journalist Catherine is a regular contributor to Pure Grain Audio, and she has also published numerous pieces of short fiction and non-fiction.Catherine has a degree from Oxford University and a Masters from the London School of Economics. She began her career as a financial analyst, but after having four children she retrained as a breastfeeding counsellor. Having lived in several countries, she recently moved to Switzerland, where she discovered her love of writing and is a member of the Geneva Writers’ Group. She plays the piano very well but prefers to play the guitar very badly. Oh, and she likes metal music. A lot.
Social Media Links – Twitter: @metalmamawrites
Giveaway to win a gift pack which would include signed book, tote bag, t-shirt, magnet, guitar picks, temporary tattoos and postcards (Open Internationally)
*Terms and Conditions –Worldwide entries welcome. Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below. The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then I reserve the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over. Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time I will delete the data. I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please try not to spam posts with the same comments over and over again. Authors like seeing thoughtful comments about their books, not the same old, "I like the cover" or "sounds good" comments. While that is nice, putting some real thought and effort in is appreciated. Thank you.