By P. J. Mann
This has been the first series I have written in my short career of writing. At the moment I have published the first two books of what is supposed to be a trilogy, and quite soon I will be able to publish the final book.
So let’s start with the first one. Just like many times it happens, this was not supposed to be a series, rather it was just a way to experiment something new; a novella.
I found it quite challenging because I had to squeeze in a short amount of pages what I generally describe in a full novel.
As I was going to finish and making it ready for the editor, something strange happened, I wanted to know more about the story, and the characters got better ideas. It was then when I thought that since I was experimenting a novella, I could have also experimented a series, and so I modified it in a way to create the premises for a second book, at least.
But let’s talk about the story.
The first book is about a young man, Ethan Jackson, who had his life ruined by a compulsive lying disorder. He believes, and he wishes to tell the truth, but his brain is messing up facts and people when he tries to remember it.
He will seek for help at the studio of Dr. Wright, a psychiatrist who seems very interested in Ethan’s problem and offers him a very unusual therapy: traveling the world and keep records on a diary.
Everything seems to go as smooth as velvet when in the middle of the treatment, he finds himself in Georgia, he is accused of murder. As usual, the embassy helps him find a lawyer, and his family and friends will offer moral sustain. However, Ethan is sure he would never kill anyone, but he cannot remember anything about the previous night. Everything he remembers is that he was with the girl who had been murdered the night before.
With his freedom and sanity at stake, the truth seems to be further from Ethan’s grasp than ever. But then, if he wants to keep his freedom, perhaps lies are all he can depend on.
I was agitated the whole night, and when someone knocked at my door the next morning, at 11:30 A.M., I felt like they drove over me with a truck.
It took me what it seemed an eternity to stand up on my feet, as whoever was on the other side of the door, knocking, already became my enemy number one.
“I am coming. Please, a bit of patience,” I said as I was dressing up.
I opened the door, and a man with two officers asked me if they could come in.
“Yes, of course. I just woke up, so it is a bit messy,” I said, welcoming them in.
“We are sorry for this inconvenience, I am Detective Giorgi Bochorishvili, and those are Officers Esadze and Kazbegi,” he said, coming in.
“I don’t understand. Is there anything wrong?” I asked, still wondering about that visit.
“You can say so. Between yesterday evening and this morning, a woman has been killed in this hotel,” he said, taking out a picture. “Have you ever seen her?”
I took the picture in my hand and looked at it carefully. She looked familiar, but my mind was still foggy.
“I don’t think so. I am not sure, though. Maybe I have seen her in this hotel,” I replied. “Is she a guest?”
“Not really. She is an escort and used to go around telling people that she works for this hotel - which is not true - offering a safe sexual service,” he explained as the other two officers looked around.
“A murder…” I mumbled to myself, trying to recall whatever happened the evening before, knowing anyway that my brain would have messed up some, if not all, the details. However, something I was sure about was that I hadn’t killed anyone, nor had I heard anything coming from the corridors.
If there had been a murder, the assassin must have been very cautious in not making any noise, I considered.
“Is there anyone else you are sharing this room with?” asked the Detective.
“No, I am alone.”
“Could you explain this, then?” he said, grabbing a lipstick from the floor. “It doesn’t seem to be your shade.”
I stared at it, not knowing what I should say.
“So?” he pursued.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“Let’s put it this way,” he started to say, “I am not here to put someone in jail for having sex with a prostitute, but to nail a killer. Are you telling me the truth when you say you haven’t seen this woman?”
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