Hey everyone! Hope you are all having a fantastic week thus far. Only one more day until the weekend, woohoo! Today I've got a great blog tour stop for you guys for a novel that sounds incredibly interesting! Today I'm promoting Mark of the Beast by Adolphus A. Anekwe, check out all the fun!
Dr. Regina Dickerson is a Catholic physician in San Diego who has discovered that there is a certain genetic marker that indicates the carrier is prone to psychotic violence. Working on blood from prison inmates, her theory begins to prove itself time and again with violent offenders. The variety of crimes is diverse: one couple murders their children for organ money, another man kidnaps young girls to seduce and kill them, yet another has a penchant for cyanide.
As Dickerson's work begins to show results and catches the attention of the media, people begin to fear that witch hunts and Spanish Inquisition–style mayhem will result if forcible testing is carried out. Meanwhile, a race begins to find a cure. With science and religion at odds, Dickerson must find her own answers while trying to escape those who want to put an end to her inflammatory research.
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ADOLPHUS A. ANEKWE, MD, is a Clinical Assistant Professor at Indiana University Northwest Medical Center, and is also an active staff member at five area hospitals, a Board Certified Diplomat and Fellow in two medical specialties, and an active community leader. He resides in Schererville, Indiana, and is the author of Mark of the Beast.
EXCERPT
Dr. Regina Dickerson was sitting on the aisle side at St. Stephen’s
Catholic Church on Mount Pleasant Street in La Jolla, California, listening
to Father Yarderos delivering the sermon on a cloudy Sunday
morning. “In the letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians from today’s second
reading, St. Paul teaches us one thing”— Father Yarderos’s piercing
voice interrupted Dickerson’s deep thoughts—“that there are people
who rejoice at others’ misfortunes. We see this every day in our daily
life, especially in this competitive world. Mind you, there is nothing
wrong with competition— after all, competition is the fabric of American
society, but the Lord will not take kindly to those who feel glee
when their neighbor is suffering. What ever happened to Christ’s teaching
of loving thy neighbor as thyself ?”
Immediately Dickerson thought about Dr. Peter Millons. That jerk.
She remembered the conversation they had had on Friday, when
Millons appeared to be rejoicing at her misfortune.
“How is Manuel?” Dr. Millons asked in the crowded doctors’ lounge at the
university hospital.
“Peter, I’ve told you for the tenth time, we are no longer together,” Dickerson
responded, while still fl ipping through the morning newspaper.
“I didn’t know you’re divorced.”
“We’re not divorced yet, but we’re planning on it.”
“I like that guy; I thought it was a marriage made in heaven.” Millons
smiled sarcastically.
“Well, then, you should have married him.”
“Come on, Dickerson, I am strictly pusa- bagged,” Millons answered, using
the new California subtle slang for a nonhomosexual male.
“What ever that means . . . and for your wife and children’s sake I hope
you remain that way.”
“I thought you were a Catholic?” Millons persisted.
“So . . . and . . . ?”
“They don’t believe in divorce, do they?”
To mask her obvious anger, Dickerson very noisily sipped the hot coff ee she
was holding, and then replied, “You know what, Peter, if they sell brains at
Sears, yours must have been purchased from the Idiot Department.”
She got up to leave, heading back to fi nish rounds with the residents.
“Well, I’m still married.” Millons was hoping to sneak in the last word.
“You call that marriage?” Dickerson replied, in obvious reference to the
rumor circulating around the hospital that Mrs. Millons enjoyed one- night
stands with young residents.
Dickerson couldn’t help but ask how Millons could be so naïve— or did he
just surreptitiously choose to ignore it?
Driving home from church, Dickerson thought about her life.
Here she was, a forty- something, still- attractive medical doctor,
and one of the top research scientists at the University of California,
La Jolla Medical School; she had no children, no obligations, yet her
life appeared to be in shambles. However, she got along very well with
her patients. She had long fi gured out that her patients were the key to
her success.
Treating patients the way you would like to be treated, regardless of
each patient’s status in life, she thought, was the key. She could communicate
with patients in ways no other doctor could.
Those diffi cult, know- it- all, Internet- educated, question- every- test
patients were her most trea sured. She delighted in explaining to
them in her most simple verbiage the hard- to- comprehend medical
terminologies and tests, and those patients loved her for that. They
knew they could talk to her and be able to get an understandable
answer.
Her marriage to Manuel was wonderful for a while, but then a major
crisis had erupted.
Manuel was the se nior sales representative for Atira Pharmaceutical,
in the San Diego region. Mike Smith, the drug representative who
normally called on Dickerson, had brought his se nior manager along
on one of his details.
Dickerson always liked to challenge the drug reps on the merits of
what ever article they quoted in support of the use of a par tic u lar drug.
Dickerson, a published researcher herself, loved these exchanges. That
day, however, Manuel volunteered to answer all Dickerson’s questions.
The exchange was a little testy at fi rst, but fi nally, Manuel asked,
“Can I invite you to an eve ning at a medical conference in the Hilton La
Jolla hotel, sponsored by University of California, Los Angeles Medical
School? The conference may shed light on some of your concerns.”
Dickerson accepted.
At the conference, Manuel was surprised to see Dr. Dickerson drink
as much as she did without getting drunk. Eventually the conversation
turned personal.
“Are you from San Diego?” Manuel asked.
“No, I’m from Vermont,” Dickerson said, “a little town called Bellows
Falls.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Manuel said, excited.
“How?” Dickerson asked, looking at Manuel askance.
“When we were at the company headquarters in New Jersey for
training, one of the guys came from that town, and they used to tease
him by calling the town . . .”
Dickerson did not let Manuel fi nish, for she had heard that joke several
times. “Fellows Balls,” Dickerson matter- of- factly fi nished. “Yeah,
we know.”
“I’m sorry, go ahead,” Manuel urged.
“After my medical school training at Tufts University in Boston,
Massachusetts, and residency at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Boston, I did
a fellowship in Immunology and Ge ne tics at San Francisco General
Hospital. From there, I was hired in San Diego.”
“You like it here?” Manuel asked.
“Yeah, I love it.”
“What do you do for fun?”
“Oh, nothing. I had my marriage annulled after sixteen months because
my ex- husband, who wasn’t Catholic, refused to convert, and
Catholic Church on Mount Pleasant Street in La Jolla, California, listening
to Father Yarderos delivering the sermon on a cloudy Sunday
morning. “In the letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians from today’s second
reading, St. Paul teaches us one thing”— Father Yarderos’s piercing
voice interrupted Dickerson’s deep thoughts—“that there are people
who rejoice at others’ misfortunes. We see this every day in our daily
life, especially in this competitive world. Mind you, there is nothing
wrong with competition— after all, competition is the fabric of American
society, but the Lord will not take kindly to those who feel glee
when their neighbor is suffering. What ever happened to Christ’s teaching
of loving thy neighbor as thyself ?”
Immediately Dickerson thought about Dr. Peter Millons. That jerk.
She remembered the conversation they had had on Friday, when
Millons appeared to be rejoicing at her misfortune.
“How is Manuel?” Dr. Millons asked in the crowded doctors’ lounge at the
university hospital.
“Peter, I’ve told you for the tenth time, we are no longer together,” Dickerson
responded, while still fl ipping through the morning newspaper.
“I didn’t know you’re divorced.”
“We’re not divorced yet, but we’re planning on it.”
“I like that guy; I thought it was a marriage made in heaven.” Millons
smiled sarcastically.
“Well, then, you should have married him.”
“Come on, Dickerson, I am strictly pusa- bagged,” Millons answered, using
the new California subtle slang for a nonhomosexual male.
“What ever that means . . . and for your wife and children’s sake I hope
you remain that way.”
“I thought you were a Catholic?” Millons persisted.
“So . . . and . . . ?”
“They don’t believe in divorce, do they?”
To mask her obvious anger, Dickerson very noisily sipped the hot coff ee she
was holding, and then replied, “You know what, Peter, if they sell brains at
Sears, yours must have been purchased from the Idiot Department.”
She got up to leave, heading back to fi nish rounds with the residents.
“Well, I’m still married.” Millons was hoping to sneak in the last word.
“You call that marriage?” Dickerson replied, in obvious reference to the
rumor circulating around the hospital that Mrs. Millons enjoyed one- night
stands with young residents.
Dickerson couldn’t help but ask how Millons could be so naïve— or did he
just surreptitiously choose to ignore it?
Driving home from church, Dickerson thought about her life.
Here she was, a forty- something, still- attractive medical doctor,
and one of the top research scientists at the University of California,
La Jolla Medical School; she had no children, no obligations, yet her
life appeared to be in shambles. However, she got along very well with
her patients. She had long fi gured out that her patients were the key to
her success.
Treating patients the way you would like to be treated, regardless of
each patient’s status in life, she thought, was the key. She could communicate
with patients in ways no other doctor could.
Those diffi cult, know- it- all, Internet- educated, question- every- test
patients were her most trea sured. She delighted in explaining to
them in her most simple verbiage the hard- to- comprehend medical
terminologies and tests, and those patients loved her for that. They
knew they could talk to her and be able to get an understandable
answer.
Her marriage to Manuel was wonderful for a while, but then a major
crisis had erupted.
Manuel was the se nior sales representative for Atira Pharmaceutical,
in the San Diego region. Mike Smith, the drug representative who
normally called on Dickerson, had brought his se nior manager along
on one of his details.
Dickerson always liked to challenge the drug reps on the merits of
what ever article they quoted in support of the use of a par tic u lar drug.
Dickerson, a published researcher herself, loved these exchanges. That
day, however, Manuel volunteered to answer all Dickerson’s questions.
The exchange was a little testy at fi rst, but fi nally, Manuel asked,
“Can I invite you to an eve ning at a medical conference in the Hilton La
Jolla hotel, sponsored by University of California, Los Angeles Medical
School? The conference may shed light on some of your concerns.”
Dickerson accepted.
At the conference, Manuel was surprised to see Dr. Dickerson drink
as much as she did without getting drunk. Eventually the conversation
turned personal.
“Are you from San Diego?” Manuel asked.
“No, I’m from Vermont,” Dickerson said, “a little town called Bellows
Falls.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Manuel said, excited.
“How?” Dickerson asked, looking at Manuel askance.
“When we were at the company headquarters in New Jersey for
training, one of the guys came from that town, and they used to tease
him by calling the town . . .”
Dickerson did not let Manuel fi nish, for she had heard that joke several
times. “Fellows Balls,” Dickerson matter- of- factly fi nished. “Yeah,
we know.”
“I’m sorry, go ahead,” Manuel urged.
“After my medical school training at Tufts University in Boston,
Massachusetts, and residency at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Boston, I did
a fellowship in Immunology and Ge ne tics at San Francisco General
Hospital. From there, I was hired in San Diego.”
“You like it here?” Manuel asked.
“Yeah, I love it.”
“What do you do for fun?”
“Oh, nothing. I had my marriage annulled after sixteen months because
my ex- husband, who wasn’t Catholic, refused to convert, and
like a typical man, no off ense intended, also refused to zip up his
pants.” Dickerson paused. “Since then, I’ve buried myself in my work,
and I’m near a breakthrough in a new HLA- antigen and its linkage.”
“That sounds interesting,” said Manuel.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Do you like Mexican food?”
Alright folks, that's all I have for you on the topic of Mark of the Beast by Adolphus A. Anekwe! I hope you guys have found a new read to add to your TBRs! Be sure to enter that giveaway before you head off! Have a great weekend!
Special thanks to the author and to Jean at Jean Book Nerd for allowing me to participate in this awesome your!
Until next time, Happy Reading!
-Ethan
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