Sunday, October 6, 2019

Sound by Catherine Fearns - Book Tour + Giveaway

Can you hear it?

A professor of psychoacoustics is found dead in his office. It appears to be a heart attack, until a second acoustician dies a few days later in similar circumstances.

Meanwhile, there’s an outbreak of mysterious illnesses on a council estate, and outbursts of unexplained violence in a city centre nightclub. Not to mention strange noises coming from the tunnels underneath Liverpool. Can it really be a coincidence that death metal band Total Depravity are back in the city, waging their own form of sonic warfare?

Detective Inspector Darren Swift is convinced there are connections. Still grieving his fiancĂ©’s death and sworn to revenge, he is thrown back into action on the trail of a murderer with a terrifying and undetectable weapon.

But this case cannot be solved using conventional detective work, and D.I. Swift will need to put the rulebook aside and seek the occult expertise of Dr. Helen Hope and her unlikely sidekick, guitarist Mikko Kristensen.

Purchase Link -

It has been three months since his fiancĂ©’s death, and Detective Inspector Darren Swift is struggling to cope with his grief. But his solitude is about to be disturbed by a very unusual night out…

As he drove home that afternoon, his hangover finally abating, Darren’s state of agitation was compounded by the intolerable traffic. It was only four o’clock. What did they expect him to do with the rest of the day? The last thing he wanted was to be on short hours, and this case was exactly what he needed to keep him busy. Whether it was linked to Shawn Forrest or not. He wished he had held back on the sonic weapons theory. Colette and Canter hadn’t been ready for it. He might have had a chance of being put on the case, if only he’d kept his mouth shut.
As he finally crossed the flyover and approached Waterloo, he began to dread the empty house that awaited him. He supposed he would go to the gym, or jog along the beach to Formby. But there were only so many hours you could spend exercising, pounding away your grief.
He spent much of his spare time on the beach now. Not that he hadn’t before; it had always been his favourite place. But now he hated the gym, where he would have to look at himself in the mirror. The vast drama of the beach invoked a loneliness so profound that it approached something equal to his grief. Or perhaps it was the opposite; the smaller and less significant he felt, the lesser was his grief. If he were just a speck on the edge of the void, maybe Matt’s death didn’t matter that much. Sometimes he would go down to the beach twice a day, three times, loitering there with no self-consciousness, because there was no-one to see him, in this liminal space. He would run along the sand all the way from the Waterloo docks to Hall Road car park, dodging the Iron Men, and then feel a grim satisfaction when he turned back to see his tracks in the sand. Sometimes at low tide he would dare himself to step out onto the mudflats near the water’s edge, ignoring the danger signs, wondering if it were really possible to sink. Then he would head slightly inland and dash up and down the dunes, ankles wobbling on clumps of plant matter, the wind whistling through the marram grasses as if they were strings in a giant harp.
Sometimes he would stay until it was so dark that he could barely see his way back, and would use the red lights on the tops of the distant cranes to guide him. At night-time the Lumina building sparkled constantly in the background, taunting him. The whole structure flashed in rainbow colours, and from the roof an infinity-shaped searchlight roamed the sky, as if looking for him. Even without his kitchen table incident board, there seemed to be no escape from Forrest; there were constant reminders of him, all over the city. Darren had thought of leaving Liverpool, requesting a transfer, but he didn’t have the energy. The roadworks seemed to be fencing him in. And anyway, the only other time he had left, on secondment to the Met in London, it hadn’t exactly worked out. He had been inexorably drawn back. This was where he belonged.
Looking out into the void, out towards the horizon marked by wind turbines, he felt closer to Matt than at his grave or looking at his photo. He pondered questions he had never pondered before. Where was Matt now? Was he out there? If only he could believe in something. He thought about Mikko’s ridiculous new album, and belief being more important than truth. What could he believe that could make him feel better? Could you make yourself believe?
He had a strange urge to speak to Andrew Shepherd again. Suddenly the issues that had consumed Shepherd’s life, that had seemed so pointless before, now seemed to him urgent, immediate. He knew that madness was not far away from his current state of mind, and he didn’t fight it.
Darren pulled into Abbott Road in Waterloo and, to add to his irritation, his usual parking space outside his house had been occupied by a large black van. There was someone in the driver’s seat. Darren was about to go over and tell him to move when he realised that the driver was a monstrous figure with a long beard and a thick black cross tattooed on his forehead. It was Knut. And then Darren saw Helen, wearing a Total Depravity hooded sweater, jeans and wellingtons, knocking on his door. Shit. Hazy memories of the previous night… he remembered that he had absurdly agreed to go to North Yorkshire with them in search of a secret black metal concert. Shit. It was too late to avoid them, because Helen had seen him now, and was approaching his car, waving.
‘Darren, there you are. Come on, if we get to Yorkshire while it’s still light we have a chance of finding the place…’
He was about to begin making his excuses when Mikko hopped out of the back of the van. ‘Dude, you need to get changed first. There’s no fucking way you’ll get in wearing a suit.’
Darren wavered for a moment. Fuck it. Tonight he would forgo the sweet torture of the beach and the empty house. He had got himself into this, and didn’t have the energy to extricate himself. He went inside to get changed.

Author Bio –
Catherine Fearns is a writer from Liverpool. Her novels Reprobation (2018) and Consuming Fire (2019) are published by Crooked Cat and are both Amazon bestsellers. As a music journalist Catherine has written for Pure Grain Audio, Broken Amp and Noisey. Her short fiction and non-fiction has appeared in Toasted Cheese, Succubus, Here Comes Everyone, Offshoots and Metal Music Studies. She lives in Geneva with her husband and four children, and when she’s not writing or parenting, she plays guitar in a heavy metal band.

Social Media Links –
Twitter: @metalmamawrites
Giveaway to Win a signed trio of Catherine Fearns books plus merchandise (Open Internationally)
Prize includes - SOUND t-shirt, coaster, magnet and bar blade, plus signed copies of Reprobation, Consuming Fire and Sound.
*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 Rachel’s Random Resources reserves 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 Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data.  I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.

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