Title: Requiem
Author: Kristoffer Gair
Series: Falling Awake #3
Genre: M/M Romance, Suspense, Occult
Release Date: July 14, 2020
Cover Design: Kris Norris
He will turn what is into what can be.
They targeted him before he was ever born. They will hunt him. They will execute anyone around him. They will rip his innocence away, corrupt him, and twist him into an instrument of terror. He will give the world reason to fear, fear the unknown, and he will do this lifetime after lifetime after lifetime.
Except this time, Daniel Davis hasn’t come back alone.
Four souls have returned with him, would-be protectors who’ve vowed to shield him from this fate. If they succeed, Daniel will turn what is into what can be. And if they fail, his light will dim and fade…forever.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Amanda grabbed a blanket from the inside of the vehicle and wrapped it around Daniel, then took a clean cloth and held it up to his chin. He’d need stitches and there’d be one hell of a scar. “Look at me.” He did, still shaking.
She’d almost been a moment too late. A second of hesitation and he’d be dead. What did the intruder want? What had he been looking for? And why did he scream what he did at Daniel?
Let me see your eyes. It’s in there, isn’t it? Deep down you can feel it.
The intruder’s words. Why the eyes? What was in them? What had he looked for? And why would Daniel feel it? Why did all of this feel so familiar to her? She knew the answers somewhere in the back of her memory, just out of reach. Why couldn’t she remember?
You can’t hide from us! We’ll find you again and again and again!
This had happened before. It happened now. It would happen again. Unless…
She studied the young boy’s face, the remains of a kind of innocence now lost and something new dawning. He’d never be the same again. Ever. Nobody prepared him for this. Not this young. How did one recover? With time? Without his mother or father?
Daniel began sobbing anew, as if reading her mind about his parents, whom she was sure he already missed.
“You’re—” Her voice cracked and she struggled not to break down in front of him. He didn’t need that. He needed strength. “You’re safe, baby. You’re safe now, Daniel.”
He stared into her eyes now. Was he searching for truth, or to see the depths of her own demons compared to his?
She met his gaze with her own and peered into his eyes. Blue. The blue eyes she’d seen in her recent dreams when he’d appeared much older. Still there, but… She felt her head tilt to the side as she searched even deeper. Beyond the blue. Something else. Something new. Foreign. Fear? No. Fear was on the outside, on the surface, but below the fear in a place he couldn’t feel or know existed inside himself? Shadows. Something that didn’t belong. A blackness, a blackness that swirled around in its infancy, as if waking.
The intruder is responsible for this. He woke this thing.
The blackness stopped moving for a moment. Did it sense her? She stared at it and some part of it intuitively stared back at her. The blackness knew her. They were old acquaintances. And if the thing, this entity or presence…whatever the hell it was…could have sneered at her, she knew it would have.
Have you ever heard a child scream as if their soul was being ripped apart at the seams? Like there’s no safe place in Heaven, Earth, or in-between that’s safe.
Where did these words come from? When did she say them? Part of her understood she never had, and yet another part, the part far back in her mind, knew she had. But when? How could that even be possible? Amanda also understood Daniel’s soul was infected and this thing inside him would take great joy in ripping him apart.
“You’re safe now, Daniel,” she repeated, mostly to reassure herself, only she knew deep down it wasn’t true.
The darkness in Daniel’s eyes began its dance anew.
…it’s going to eat him from the inside out.
Her words again? When did she say this?
“You’re not going to get him,” she muttered.
The darkness found an opening and began to disappear behind Daniel’s eyes, hiding beyond the physical, beyond reach. Beyond her reach.
He’s already ours.
Daniel began to shake.
She’d almost been a moment too late. A second of hesitation and he’d be dead. What did the intruder want? What had he been looking for? And why did he scream what he did at Daniel?
Let me see your eyes. It’s in there, isn’t it? Deep down you can feel it.
The intruder’s words. Why the eyes? What was in them? What had he looked for? And why would Daniel feel it? Why did all of this feel so familiar to her? She knew the answers somewhere in the back of her memory, just out of reach. Why couldn’t she remember?
You can’t hide from us! We’ll find you again and again and again!
This had happened before. It happened now. It would happen again. Unless…
She studied the young boy’s face, the remains of a kind of innocence now lost and something new dawning. He’d never be the same again. Ever. Nobody prepared him for this. Not this young. How did one recover? With time? Without his mother or father?
Daniel began sobbing anew, as if reading her mind about his parents, whom she was sure he already missed.
“You’re—” Her voice cracked and she struggled not to break down in front of him. He didn’t need that. He needed strength. “You’re safe, baby. You’re safe now, Daniel.”
He stared into her eyes now. Was he searching for truth, or to see the depths of her own demons compared to his?
She met his gaze with her own and peered into his eyes. Blue. The blue eyes she’d seen in her recent dreams when he’d appeared much older. Still there, but… She felt her head tilt to the side as she searched even deeper. Beyond the blue. Something else. Something new. Foreign. Fear? No. Fear was on the outside, on the surface, but below the fear in a place he couldn’t feel or know existed inside himself? Shadows. Something that didn’t belong. A blackness, a blackness that swirled around in its infancy, as if waking.
The intruder is responsible for this. He woke this thing.
The blackness stopped moving for a moment. Did it sense her? She stared at it and some part of it intuitively stared back at her. The blackness knew her. They were old acquaintances. And if the thing, this entity or presence…whatever the hell it was…could have sneered at her, she knew it would have.
Have you ever heard a child scream as if their soul was being ripped apart at the seams? Like there’s no safe place in Heaven, Earth, or in-between that’s safe.
Where did these words come from? When did she say them? Part of her understood she never had, and yet another part, the part far back in her mind, knew she had. But when? How could that even be possible? Amanda also understood Daniel’s soul was infected and this thing inside him would take great joy in ripping him apart.
“You’re safe now, Daniel,” she repeated, mostly to reassure herself, only she knew deep down it wasn’t true.
The darkness in Daniel’s eyes began its dance anew.
…it’s going to eat him from the inside out.
Her words again? When did she say this?
“You’re not going to get him,” she muttered.
The darkness found an opening and began to disappear behind Daniel’s eyes, hiding beyond the physical, beyond reach. Beyond her reach.
He’s already ours.
Daniel began to shake.
What is the biggest influence/interest that brought you to this genre?
I grew up with a mother who read to me constantly, and then I’d read to her. I developed my love of the story from her, and I allowed everything around me to push my imagination into places I didn’t think or know I could go. There was also an absence of gay characters in books I read, characters who I could identify with. So, if I was going to actually pursue writing novels, then I wanted to write the kinds of stories I wish I’d had growing up, and with characters like the ones who appeared in my stories. Many of them tend to be smartasses if that’s any indication of my personality. =)
When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process (outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
I approach each new book knowing where I want the story to begin, where the middle should be, and how it will end. How the story moves from A to B to C is the beauty of the creative process. I love this part. This is where the magic happens. Making it all come together, though, is in the editing. That’s also where I come up with entirely new combinations of profanity. I’m not afraid of editing. I’m not overly fond of it, but I acknowledge that this is where the book will, hopefully, truly shine. And it gets the bad words out of my system before I go to work at the rectory.
When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
I have a rule when I’m writing a book; I’ll only read biographies or autobiographies. The reason for this is I don’t want to subconsciously borrow a plot point from another author. But I do love biographies and autobiographies. I’ve read quite a few biographies about Johnny Carson, then autobiographies by Edgar Froese of Tangerine Dream, Don Rickles, Chevy Chase, Cybil Shepherd, Rutger Hauer, Leonard Nimoy, George Takei, Robert Englund, Lance Henrickson, and so many others.
If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
This is the first question that’s really stumped the living daylights out of me. lol Writing a story feels, at least to me, like it’s a very singular vision. You’re creating something and seeing it through from start to finish. To share that seems so precarious. I’d say I’d love to write a book with my best friend from college, Don Zomberg, who passed away in April this year, only I think (knowing my personality) I’d try to take over the story. And several of my other author friends? It would become a battle of the wills. And this isn’t a bad thing. It’s not wrong. I think it’s actually quite natural.
However, had my mentor, Dr. Milton Ford, not passed away in 2014, I could see trying to write a novel with him. Milt is the one who is probably responsible for me being a published author. He was familiar with my style, with my approach to writing, and I was very honored to be asked to offer feedback on two of his books before they were published. I think he and I could have tackled a project, and I would have been able to compromise in areas of the story that were important to him, as he would have for me. Great question, by the way!
Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you "later in life"?
I wrote my first puppet play back in 1st Grade and continued writing them for several years. Suffice to say I had the bug that early in life. Also, our teacher would read something, one of the Judy Blume books for example, and I’d sit down and try to write the sequel because we wanted more. I never got very far, but I was trying.
I actually have a notebook of a story I was writing in 8th grade and, even then, you can see an early version of the kind of humor found in my books today. I can see the layers of plot points as they emerge and find their meaning as the story progresses. The story itself is probably complete shite as was what I wrote in high school and most of college, but I was learning. I needed to learn the tools and once I put them together and finished the first draft of my first novel, I was hooked. There’d be no chance I’d ever stop writing. It’s like breathing. Or, in my husband’s case, snoring.
I grew up with a mother who read to me constantly, and then I’d read to her. I developed my love of the story from her, and I allowed everything around me to push my imagination into places I didn’t think or know I could go. There was also an absence of gay characters in books I read, characters who I could identify with. So, if I was going to actually pursue writing novels, then I wanted to write the kinds of stories I wish I’d had growing up, and with characters like the ones who appeared in my stories. Many of them tend to be smartasses if that’s any indication of my personality. =)
When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process (outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
I approach each new book knowing where I want the story to begin, where the middle should be, and how it will end. How the story moves from A to B to C is the beauty of the creative process. I love this part. This is where the magic happens. Making it all come together, though, is in the editing. That’s also where I come up with entirely new combinations of profanity. I’m not afraid of editing. I’m not overly fond of it, but I acknowledge that this is where the book will, hopefully, truly shine. And it gets the bad words out of my system before I go to work at the rectory.
When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
I have a rule when I’m writing a book; I’ll only read biographies or autobiographies. The reason for this is I don’t want to subconsciously borrow a plot point from another author. But I do love biographies and autobiographies. I’ve read quite a few biographies about Johnny Carson, then autobiographies by Edgar Froese of Tangerine Dream, Don Rickles, Chevy Chase, Cybil Shepherd, Rutger Hauer, Leonard Nimoy, George Takei, Robert Englund, Lance Henrickson, and so many others.
If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
This is the first question that’s really stumped the living daylights out of me. lol Writing a story feels, at least to me, like it’s a very singular vision. You’re creating something and seeing it through from start to finish. To share that seems so precarious. I’d say I’d love to write a book with my best friend from college, Don Zomberg, who passed away in April this year, only I think (knowing my personality) I’d try to take over the story. And several of my other author friends? It would become a battle of the wills. And this isn’t a bad thing. It’s not wrong. I think it’s actually quite natural.
However, had my mentor, Dr. Milton Ford, not passed away in 2014, I could see trying to write a novel with him. Milt is the one who is probably responsible for me being a published author. He was familiar with my style, with my approach to writing, and I was very honored to be asked to offer feedback on two of his books before they were published. I think he and I could have tackled a project, and I would have been able to compromise in areas of the story that were important to him, as he would have for me. Great question, by the way!
Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you "later in life"?
I wrote my first puppet play back in 1st Grade and continued writing them for several years. Suffice to say I had the bug that early in life. Also, our teacher would read something, one of the Judy Blume books for example, and I’d sit down and try to write the sequel because we wanted more. I never got very far, but I was trying.
I actually have a notebook of a story I was writing in 8th grade and, even then, you can see an early version of the kind of humor found in my books today. I can see the layers of plot points as they emerge and find their meaning as the story progresses. The story itself is probably complete shite as was what I wrote in high school and most of college, but I was learning. I needed to learn the tools and once I put them together and finished the first draft of my first novel, I was hooked. There’d be no chance I’d ever stop writing. It’s like breathing. Or, in my husband’s case, snoring.
Kristoffer Gair grew up in Fraser, MI and is a graduate of Grand Valley State University. He is the author of 7 novels—some written under the pseudonym Kage Alan—been a part of 6 anthologies, and currently lives in a suburb of Detroit.
Requiem #3
Falling Awake #1
Revenant #2
