Nobody true - James Herbert

I wasn't there when I died.

I was having one of those out-of-body dreams, the kind where you feel your spirit has left your body and it isn't really a dream. You may have read about the phenomenon, you might even have experienced it yourself.

But somebody murdered me while I was away. Mutilated me. Chopped me to pieces. Left nothing for me to come back to.

Who did it? That's what I asked myself. The serial killer who was terrorizing the whole city? Or someone closer, someone known to me, someone who maybe had a grudge, a score to settle? But I had no enemies. At least, I didn't think I had.

Then I began to discover things about myself. And about the people I thought loved or liked me. My best friend, my business partners, my mother . . . my wife. Funny what people say about you when they think you're dead.

And it's scary when you meet the serial killer, when horror is followed by even greater horror, when your own family is threatened and only you can stop the killings.

So what do you do? You're invisible, you can pass through solid walls, you can kind of fly. But you have no substance, no real power. You cannot even touch.

What the hell do you do?

I had to find a way. Fast. I had to prevent more brutal slayings, the awful mutilations, and the desecrations. I also had to avenge my own death.

But how?

How . . . ?