Excerpt from The Beast with Two Backs (2005)   His arm slid off the edge of the bed, heavy. The hypodermic clattered to the floor, the needle bending on impact. Martin embraced the rush, its kiss both cold and warm, but soothing nonetheless. Unable to keep his eyes open, he turned onto his side, burying his face in the stained pillowcase that offered something akin to intimacy. As the waves crashing against the shore drowned out the sounds of passersby below, Martin waited anxiously for the numbness to completely envelop him from the waist down. Although the pinpricks riddling the soles of his feet had all but subsided, he could still feel the discomfort that drove him to such desperate means. He nodded off, several times, over the course of the next hour, according to the alarm clock he had salvaged from a nearby dumpster. Its plastic face was scuffed and cracked, but it kept time. Just like him, had he a sense of time. While lying on the beach, the waters rushing past his feet and licking his thighs, time became meaningless. And for a while, he could forget the blistering heat in his abdomen, and the ache in his gut. It was almost ten-thirty when he felt his bladder give way. Bedsores stinging from the exposure to fresh uric acid, Martin pulled himself to the edge of the bed, letting his legs fall onto the cold floor. With his heel he accidentally sent the discarded needle spinning, under the bed's metal frame. Already on his knees, Martin peered under, eyes unsuccessfully piercing the shadows. He reached under blindly. His first try produced a stray candy bar wrapper, his second, a ratty, dog-eared copy of True Detective Stories. Even in the dim, he could make out the by now familiar cover that depicted a young woman, wearing little more than dark blue eye shadow and a torn halter top. From beyond the edge of the cover, Stage Right, two masculine arms reached for her, the hem of a ravaged skirt—caught in her assailant's grip—stretched taut between them. His knuckles were almost as white as the flash of the screaming woman's pearly whites. And her panties. Martin focused on the model's mouth, as red as the inevitable bloodshed. It was then he heard the growling... continued...

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