Holt Sheridan

Holt Sheridan works out of a back office behind the old security substation, keeps the door shut, keeps the lights low, and writes the kind of crime that doesn't need a ghost or a curse to be the worst thing that happened to anybody that week. He came into the mall through a service corridor that used to connect to a movie theater's projection booth, or so he says, and he says very little else about how he got here. No cosmology, no gods keeping score, just men making bad calls and living with them, or not living at all. He doesn't do panels and he doesn't do small talk. Ask him about the book and he'll give you three sentences, all of them true, none of them enough.