Praise from the Masters for
MANIA
“Larsen takes you into a disturbing world of intimate danger and dark passion.”
—Harlan Coben
“Excellent—everything a great thriller should be.”
—Lee Child
“Harrowing and twisted, Mania takes readers on a dark journey of bone-chilling terror. This is a white-knuckle read!”
—Gregg Olsen
“In Mania, Craig Larsen taps into the deepest terrors locked in our cracked minds. There is real evil here, combined with the greatest of all fears, that the evil we fear most resides in our own hearts. A fast and thrilling debut.”
—William Lashner
MANIA
CRAIG LARSEN
PINNACLE BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
For
my brother
who has been my cornerstone
and who has blazed all my trails
Contents
PART 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
PART 2
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
PART 3
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
PART 4
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
PART 5
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
PART 6
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
chapter 1
The murder seemed to unfold out of step with time.
It was past midnight. The air was cool, brisk. November was giving way to December, and a storm was riding into Seattle. Rain clouds had been gathering, looming low in the sky all day long. Fog lay over the waterfront like a heavy blanket, slowly stealing into the city on the back of a menacing, salt-laced breeze. Without a moon, it was a particularly dark night.
A half step behind his older brother, struggling to keep pace, Nick’s face reflected his distress. Feeling ill, he had left the raucous, fumy bar in front of Sam, crashing through the doors into the night like he was trying to escape. A few blocks on, his face was sweaty, and he felt flushed, out of breath. His ears were still ringing with music from the jazz club. Oblivious to Nick’s discomfort, Sam led the way to the car in silence, his back straight, his footsteps drumming a deliberate, rhythmic beat.
The shadows were so dense that Nick and Sam could barely see the edge of the deserted parking lot where they had left Sam’s new BMW a few hours earlier. Nick had the vague sense that they were being watched. Neither he nor Sam, though, had any idea that, just thirty feet away from them, crouching hidden beside a rusted Dumpster, a man dressed in rags was spying on them. Waiting. Hypnotized by the echoing cadence of their footsteps.
The lights at the ferry landing flickered in the fuzzy darkness, receding behind them as the two brothers crossed Alaskan Way. In front of them, across the empty lot, a public staircase leading steeply up toward Pike Place Market disappeared into a blackness as solid as a charcoal wall. Several clubs had let out, and the stillness was broken by distant shouts. Two streets down, five or six drunken college students were squeezing into a car, loudly debating whether to head back to campus or look for an after-hours venue. The tendrils of a girl’s high-pitched laughter cascaded shrilly through the night, encircling the brothers like the hair of a siren, punctuated by the metallic slam of a door. Nick hardly heard the sounds.
His fingers had found a wad of bills at the bottom of his jacket pocket. He gripped the roll, weighing it, then let it go. The paper felt grimy, dirty. Hunching against the cold, he eyed his more successful brother, aware that he must have slipped the cash into his pocket during the course of the evening. This wasn’t the first time Sam had come to his aid. Without Sam, he would have been homeless. About a decade before, after their parents died, Nick had suffered a breakdown. Sam had taken him in and helped him through college. Nick wanted to be grateful. He needed the money. He barely had enough in his checking account to make rent. Resentment was welling up inside him so strongly, though, that Nick could barely restrain himself from hurling the bundle of cash at the back of his brother’s head. Like a rock. Like a jagged, heavy chunk of stone.
Nick felt his teeth clench. Sam was striding gracefully next to him as though he hadn’t been at all affected by the vodka. His posture was rigidly upright. Nick had never really put it into words
