Johnny, the Mark of Chaos: An Urban Dark Fantasy (Tazmark Dark Fantasy/Horror Series) [Paperback]

Enter the world of dark fantasy in Book One of this intriguing romance horror. Meet johnny: a seductive, magical, time-bending, vampire-like being who wreaks chaos on earth. For over nine hundred years he has answered the conscious and unconscious call for destruction. Meanwhile, the Shen, Jenséa, a naive embodied angel (who believes herself merely human), is tormented by her compulsion to paint violent scenes, which unbeknownst to her, are premonitions of her future. Bored from lack of challenge, johnny invites himself to be Jenséa's guardian devil, to help her survive her frightful premonitions and teach her about her angel power. He is challenged at last, for her power, when activated, could burn him to oblivion. Confusing matters are the changes they incite in each other, including a magnetizing romantic love.

Told from Jenséa's point of view, this is a magnificently written portrayal of life's gentler side unconsciously seeking balance with the tougher aspects of being. Thrown into a fantastic adventure with her diametric opposite, Jenséa begins to learn the deeper meaning of life, surpassing everything she ever deemed true. johnny, the Mark of Chaos: An Urban Dark Fantasy, exceeds conventional plots that pit good against evil, and instead brings good and evil together to transform both. This is a brilliant tale that touches the deepest yearnings in every human, yearnings that are lifted to a startling resolution.

Excerpt:

Red Hair's footsteps thundered behind me, closing in fast. He coughed every minute or so. Lucky for me. It bought me seconds. And I was only seconds ahead of him. I shoved my aching legs one in front of the other, up the numerous steps that would lead me to the sixth floor.

I hadn't the musculature or lungs for such a workout. I was slowing down, but I forced myself upward stair after stair, summoning energy I didn't know I possessed. A fly shot in from the open side window on the fifth flight of stairs and smacked into my cheek. Would Red Hair get me too?

I made it to the third floor. I couldn't stop thinking about flies. Guess it was easier than admitting it was really men I feared. Fly experiences flashed through my mind with each thud of my foot. I'm four, watching a black and white horror movie, The Fly. I'm five, sitting with dangling legs on a stilled swing eating a piece of my birthday cake. A fly lands on the fluffy white frosting. I scream and fling my cake away from me, losing my balance. I topple backward off the swing, my pink pinafore over my head, cake splattered on the ground. My head hits a metal toy truck and I'm knocked out. Flashes . . . nightmares, for years. The flies are going to get me. The flies are going to get me. The men are going to get me. The man is going to get me. Funny what you think of with death at your door. Yes, a fly's a fly, but fear is fear, and flies and men are all the same to me.

I made it to the fourth floor. My lungs burned. My legs felt like lead. I heard Red Hair wheezing not far behind me. I made it to the fifth floor, and then the sixth floor. I burst into the hallway stretching long ahead of me. I stumbled onto flat ground, pulling myself forward against the corridor wall, my hands crawling fast. "johnny!" I was gasping for air and could barely eek out his name. "johnny. . . johnny!""

Red Hair shot onto flat ground and bolted toward me. I could go no faster. My legs weren't capable. Red Hair ate my short lead, snapped his arm around my chest, and lifted my feet off the floor.

I shrieked, too breathless to scream.

He ran sideways, hauling me back down the hall, probably toward his friend's apartment. I tried again to scream, but his hand clamped over my mouth and nose. Forget screaming, I couldn't breathe.

My lungs were going to burst. Dizzy, I felt dizzy. I thought God had forsaken me until Red Hair tripped over a cardboard box by an apartment door. He fell. I landed on his bony chest. He moaned and then coughed on my head. Roaches sprayed out on the floor around us, running for new cover. A long brown rat grazed my knee and scampered down the hall.

Red Hair's arms had loosened, so I vaulted clumsily from his grasp. He swiped at me, barely missing my arm. I ran. He bumbled to his feet and chased me.

I ran down the corridor letting loose a full lunged high-pitched holler,""j . . . o . . . h . . . n . . . n . . . y!" I turned back to view the status of Red Hair. He had broken into a high-speed run, closing in fast. I screamed hysterically, "johnny! johnny! johnny!"" passing doors in such a helter-skelter fashion, the numbers blurred.

I thought a door slammed shut behind me, I mean directly behind me in the middle of the corridor. I heard Red Hair's footsteps no more. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a man's back about twenty feet away. He seemed to be blocking Red Hair from me. I stopped and turned fully toward the scene with ragged breath and burning throat. My heartbeat thumped in my ears, distorting my hearing. I wiped off the sweat globs dripping from my eyelids to better view the scene.

The man had lengthy black hair, and black attire: dress shirt, jeans, boots. The merest sliver of Red Hair's shoulder shadowed the man in black, bobbing a bit as he wheezed. The man in black had a medieval air about him. I half expected him to draw a sword. Instead, he drew back his elbow. And then it flew forward. Red Hair fell.

I'd never really seen a man punched before. Why wasn't I feeling Red Hair's pain? Why wasn't I gasping in shock? I had no stomach for violence, not even on television, not even for cuts, bruises, or bug bites. Maybe I didn't feel Red Hair's pain because I only saw part of the punch, mostly blocked by the man in black. Maybe the man in black's energy was like a wall somehow, obstructing my empathic curse. Red Hair's legs were sprawled on the floor, but I could see nothing else as the man in black shrouded my view.

I awaited to see the man in black's eyes, for they would reveal if he was like My Hero, or just another predacious competitor. He turned around. Before I could analyze his eyes, they captured mine. Fiery. Mesmerizing. His pupils seemed to whirl like vortexes inviting me into the unknown. Not physical whirling really, more surreal, like a sensation. I could imagine that he was no other than the infamous johnny.

I pretended that I was strolling through Zeke's Meadow, near Phillipsburg, Montana. Zeke's Meadow was my most favorite place in the whole world--untamed and beautiful, forest and field brim-ming with wildlife, fish, and flowers. There, I'd dream of angels and fairies, unicorns and winged horses, fantasizing all day.

Pretending is great. The problem--reality. I saw flowers, but those I passed, saw me. A couple of rough looking teen-age boys were leaning against a building, smoking. They eyed me as I passed them. I had to fight a wave of dizziness. Their realities were so--harsh. Then a man passed me with an immoral eye. It was happening. I was being noticed by predators, not just by Red Hair, but others. This is the way it always went down for me, even in safer places. I wanted to back into a dark corner and cry, but something inside told me to stay cool and keep walking. I could walk, but how could I stay cool? Especially here.

Rage ran high in parts like these, and sorrow seldom waned. Too much pain can activate the bestial side of humans. And here I felt it plenty. Reckless eyes combed the streets for scapegoats like me to receive the runoff of rage and sorrow that no human could withstand.

Troublemakers exuded their neon intentions. Fear-disabled lurkers would not interfere should the scoundrels decide to feed. And carnivorous wannabe's frothed satisfaction when the true carnivores slammed gold crowns of status off their victim's heads, or when they slammed the heads off their victims.

Laughing at another's plight somehow brought the wannabe's relief. The `another' was sometimes me, and cruel laughter almost disturbed me more than any offending act.

Overdramatic or not, I'd rather die.