H. B. Gilmour

Windows 'YouYell... The Knife Goes Down Your Throat. Understand?' She opened her eyes. A huge pitted face pressed close to hers. A face made up of grotesque unmatched features. Black eye hollows from which something - anger, fear, madness - glowed like icy coal. A nose that looked big and broken...

Prologue Everything is changing. The rainbow spray of lights across the disco floor captures rapture, splashing from face to waist to hands carving rhythms in the multicolored space. The blinding, bouncing white spots hit the tiers of tables behind the dance floor, freeze the speed-driven action...