She picked him up and snuggled the kitten beneath her chin. With Alan's shouting and banging, she feared the noise would terrify the poor thing.

"Hey you. He'll go away soon and then I'll talk to mom again. How could I leave you in that nasty lane? We're meant to be friends, aren't we?"

Patch replied with a loud purr, his body vibrating at the pleasure of Nem's touch. In return, his sounds of pleasure relaxed her. She stood up and sat on the bed, continuing to stroke and whisper to him.

"We'll be okay. Trust me."

As she said the words, she imagined their friendship in the years ahead. Despite the jam in which she found herself, for that small second the world felt perfect.

She would love Patch and Patch would love her. Alan would leave, and their lives would be mom, her new furball friend and her. But not just yet.

Alan's banging had grown louder, more insistent, tearing Nem from her happy reverie. Her focus now became keeping the kitten calm.

"We'll have a wonderful life together," she said, staring at the door, as if sheer willpower might stand between her and the crazed Alan.

Why didn't he give up and leave her alone? Why did he turn into a monster? And where was her mom?

Oh no, she's on the other side. With him!

Now the kitten noticed the ruckus, and he too stared in the door's direction; eyes wide, ears rigid and twitching. He'd stopped purring and struggled in her arms, his claws scratching at her skin. She resisted letting go and instead tried to calm him.

"Shh, don't be scared little baby. Everything'll be okay. I promise."

When Alan's fist came through the door with a shattering crack, Nem realized she couldn't have been more wrong. Nothing would ever be okay again.

2

New York Times Review

FLYING TOWARD THE SUN by William Barnes

Reviewed by Anthony Shadley March 4, 2014

I’ll keep this review of Flying Toward the Sun on point, a skill of which author William Barnes hasn’t the faintest concept. Barnes imagines we’ve all the time in the world to indulge in insufferable, hackneyed writing and derivative, basic storyline threads mashed together in a bowl of rotten prose.

Two years ago this reviewer waxed lyrical over Barnes’ debut novel Suffer Them to Come to Light, regretfully in hindsight, likening him to the greats of Miller, Fitzgerald and Hemingway. Those authors must be slamming their heads on their ghostly typewriters now.

The promise in Barnes’ first book led to disappointment in his next, Hidden in the Shadows, but we gave him a chance at redemption.

After this monstrosity of a novel, filled with ricocheting clichés and leaden languishing characters, I won’t be conned again. This is cream cheese left somewhere hot for a week, blended and offered up as a tasty smoothie. Rotten it is and rotten it reads.

The author’s publishers canceled his four-book contract and are cutting this book’s print run. Who could blame them?