Dance of Death
Chapter One
DEWAYNE MICHAELS SAT in the second row of the lecture hall, staring
at the professor with what he hoped passed for interest. His eyelids
were so heavy they felt as if lead sinkers had been sewn to them.
His head pounded in rhythm with his heart and his tongue tasted like
something had curled up and died on it. He'd arrived late, only to
find the huge hall packed and just one seat available: second row
center, smack-dab in front of the lectern.
Just great.
Dewayne was majoring in electrical engineering. He'd elected this
class for the same reason engineering students had done so for three
decades-it was a gimme. "English Literature-A Humanist Perspective"
had always been a course you could breeze through and barely crack a
book. The usual professor, a fossilized old turd named Mayhew,
droned on like a hypnotist, hardly ever looking up from his
forty-year-old lecture notes, his voice perfectly pitched for
sleeping. The old fart never even changed his exams, and copies were
all over Dewayne's dorm. Just his luck, then, that-for this one
semester-a certain ren ... read full excerpt from: Dance of Death ebook
