Tyler Ballard was in prison when his son created a dreamworld called Foreverland, a place so boundless and spellbinding that no one ever wanted to leave. Or did. Now his son is dead, his wife is comatose and Tyler is still imprisoned.
But he planned it that way.
The final piece of his vision falls into place when Alessandra Diosa investigates the crimes of Foreverland. Tyler will use her to create a new dimension of reality beyond anything his son ever imagined—a Foreverland for the entire world.
Danny, living outside of Spain since escaping the very first Foreverland, begins receiving mysterious clues that lead him to Cyn. They are both Foreverland survivors, but they have more in common than survival. They become pieces of another grand plan, one designed to stop Tyler Ballard. No one knows who is sending the clues, but some suspect Reed, another Foreverland survivor. Reed, however, is dead.
Everyone will make one last trip back to Foreverland to find out who sent them. And why.
Tyler stepped onto the ledge.
The Italian marble was cold, his toes gripping the chiseled edge. The platform cantilevered from the roof a thousand feet above traffic. Taillights were strung throughout Central Park, starting and stopping, merging and turning, moving through the city like corpuscles.
He couldn’t smell the exhaust from up there, couldn’t hear the horns or the congestion, the shouts and whistles.
He held out his arms, Christ-like, tipped his head and inhaled the wind untainted by human grime, from the trash of selfish thoughts. Only the fierce breeze in his ears.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Patricia crossed the portico.
Her loosely fit dress fluttered around her feet. The brightly lit glass walls of the luxury apartment—the only such apartment atop the Bank of America building—betrayed the layers of beige fabric that otherwise would hide her pear-shaped body. Her graying hair flowed to her shoulders.
“I can’t stay long,” he said.
She looked through him with those penetrating eyes, a smile reflecting somewhere in their depths. Her scent carried through the cutting breeze, her dress snapping like taut flags. He stopped on the bottom step.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Pedro Henrique Leal
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