[2023] Horror Novella | Gadarene – 15th Anniversary Edition: In the notorious Five Points slum of 1870s Manhattan, Galen ‘the Mongoose’ Driscol steps out of jail and back into the arms of his lover, Wira Boruta. When Galen tells Wira that he’s tracked down the man who tried to kill them as children, Wira is unwilling to listen, and pleads with Galen to forget the past, and live only for the future. Only Galen doesn’t forget, nor does he forgive.
Script: Tina Anderson
Novelization: c.b. Potts
Edition Editor: Jo Rainor
Publisher: Ursi Domus
ISBN: 978-0974419527 Re-Issue
Horror (GLBT/Historical) | English | 05/2023
Where to Buy:
[Digital] KINDLE | BN.COM | KOBO| APPLE
[2008] Horror Novella | Gadarene: In the notorious Five Points slum of 1870s Manhattan, Galen ‘the Mongoose’ Driscol steps out of jail and back into the arms of his lover, Wira Boruta. When Galen tells Wira that he’s tracked down the man who tried to kill them as children, Wira is unwilling to listen, and pleads with Galen to forget the past, and live only for the future. Only Galen doesn’t forget, nor does he forgive.
Script: Tina Anderson
Novelization: c.b. Potts
ISBN: 978-0974419527
Horror (GLBT/Historical) | English | 05/2008
Where to Buy:
[Print]: OUT OF PRINT
[Digital] NO LONGER IN CIRCULATION
PREVIEW – GADARENE – 15TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION
1 – Back in the World
The gates swung open, heavy and slow.
Slate gray ruled the sky, its grayness far brighter than the heavy stale darkness inside Ludlow Prison. Galen blinked, green eyes adjusting to freedom’s striking aspect, Five Points crooked skyline jumbled before him.
“There you go, Driscol,” the guard said, jerking his head toward freedom. “Get on with you. And don’t come back here.”
Galen looked up at the man, one of the many who’d kept him inside the past three years, and spared him a smile. Had the guard been made of weaker stuff, had he been unaccustomed to the violence of life in the Bowery, the young Irishman’s grin would have haunted his dreams.
“You can count on that, sir.”
The pre-dawn rain left long slick puddles around the islands of trash, threatening Galen’s tattered yet dry boots on the downstreet trek. He stepped gingerly around the moats; no sense in getting wet until he had a place to dry off.
Kearney’s opened after sun-up for the drunken bruisers unwinding after shoveling shit through the city’s bowels on the overnight.
O’Neill’s called next, an amiable hovel catering to the fresh-off-the-boat crowd with watered-down stout and meals that tasted like you were back home in County Clare if you closed your eyes and pretended hard enough. Almost. If you didn’t consider it too much while parting with the better part of a day’s wages.
Galen passed the establishment with a nod to the fresh meat loitering out front. Each shabbily dressed youth searched his face, hoping against hope for a glimpse of someone from the Old Country—but Galen’s icy American-tried visage brought them nothing.
Around the corner stood Grady’s, his home on the street. Home, or his corner at least. The battered lamppost, still standing against gravity and malcontents’ best efforts to bring it to earth, served as his childhood touchstone, a base he’d return to before setting off on yet another adventure through Five Points.
Later, it was where everyone looking for the Mongoose found him. Those looking to take care of some unpleasantness always came calling for the Mongoose.
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