Book Excerpts

From Chapter Three: Good News and Bad

Jewel collapsed. “Get the first aid!” Dankins shouted at his partner who had already scurried out to the squad car. He placed a hand behind her neck, lifted her head just off the back of the chair and patted her on the cheek, “Ma’am? Mrs. Fiddler? Can you hear me?” Marshall was back, handed him the opened bottle of ammonia. Dankins held it under her nose, “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” Three more pats. Jewel blinked and opened her eyes. A mere state of shock would have been a welcome relief compared to the earthquake in her soul.

“She’s in shock,” Marshall summed it. Dankins agreed with nods, “We better get her to the hospital. “Ma’am, can you hear me at all? Just give a nod if you can hear me.” Jewel’s small nod was slow coming. “Good. That’s it. Now stay with us, Ma’am, try to stay awake. We’re going to take you with us down to emergency. You’re going to be fine. Just fine.” Looking up and over at his partner, “Here give me a hand, OK? Probably the both of us should carry her. Bring her purse, she’ll be needing it. It’s over there on the kitchen table. Oh, and get her cell phone, too. It’s right there on the ledge beside the front door.”

The two officers carried Jewel and her handbag out to the patrol car, eased her into the back seat and started for the hospital. Jewel felt bombarded. A soul-concussion pounded her mind. A dam of misery restrained the torrent of wails that would soon fracture her heart. Not now. Lord help me, I’ve got to hold on. I need to be with my Mom and Dad. And I need some answers. She felt something that couldn’t be anything less than God propping her up. “Officers?”

Dankins and Marshall looked at each other, surprised. Marshall looked in the rear view, “Yes, Mrs. Fiddler, are you all right?” “No, I’m not, obviously. Not hardly. But I am fully conscious. I’d rather not go to emergency. If it’s all right with you both, could you please take me to my folks’ house? It’s not far from here.” “Ah, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, ma’am,” Dankins was cautious, “You’ve had quite a shock, might be best to have professional care watching over you for a bit.” “No, I’m going to be fine. Physically, that is. The faint is gone. I’d really like to get to my mother’s house. I’m about to fall apart emotionally, and her and dad are the only ones I want to be around when that happens. Can you please understand?” “Yes, ma’am, I certainly can understand,” Dankins was soothing, “Bill, call in to headquarters, give ‘em our new destination.” Marshal with car phone in hand, “You got it, partner.” “Yes Ma’am, I certainly can understand. Bill, call in to headquarters. Give ‘em our new destination.” Marshal with car phone in hand, “You got it, partner.”

“Thank you so much. I appreciate all you’ve done. One more thing?” “Ma’am?” “You haven’t told me how it happened; the accident.” Dankins breathed heavy, “The details are rather gory, Mrs. Fiddler. Wasn’t a very pretty scene. Some rather strange happenings around the incident, also. My advice? Go and get the pain off your chest and heart at your folks’ house. A good cry is what you need right now. I’ll leave you with a copy of the full police report. The survivor, a Miss Amanda Jones, was able to give us a detailed account. It’s all right in here.” Dankins waived a black folder in the air. “But leave that for later? Just a suggestion.”

Arriving at the Wellings’ residence, Dankins got out and escorted Jewel to the door. “Sure you’ll be all right here, Ma’am?” Jewel knocked on the door and followed with a ring of the doorbell, “Yes, officer, I’ll be fine, now. And thank you so much once again. I know this has not been easy for you, either. Thank you for how well you’ve handled it. You and your partner.” “It’s part of our job, regretfully, but thank you, Ma’am. Thank you much. Well then, we’ll be off now.”

The door opened. A startled Andrea flanked by her equally confused husband looked at their daughter. A picture of a thousand horrible words.

From Chapter Nine: Owen's Thirty Five Year Old Adventure

He began dreaming; soft dreams at first, then dreams with emotion and unsettling scenarios. Suddenly, the dream turned and amplified into a greater-than-life vision. He saw himself being transported into another world. It was a friendly world, with the most wonderful yet strange sounding violin music he had ever heard. There was dancing, feasting, drinking and gaiety all about, and he was the center of attention. It was a party held in his honor; a tribute to his greatness, staged in an opulent and capacious parlor graced with marble floors, towering granite columns, and adorned with exquisitely colored tapestries. He felt tall and strong like a man in his prime and (without the aid of a glance in a mirror) he knew he was the most handsome of men, adored by the opposite sex and envied by every other male. He saw camera crews shooting his every move from all angles, compiling masses of footage from which to produce the story of his life … a film that was heralded by all to most surely be the Hollywood blockbuster hit of the last two decades.

To one side of the parlor there was a stage-play happening, an epic tale unfolding of classic good versus evil, played by actors dressed in shining white and coal black costumes; a stark contrast to the ubiquitous plethora of dazzling colors surrounding the event. Owen watched the play intently for a moment. It was about him! He was the main character … the actor playing him was cast into the role of a swashbuckling super-hero upon whose shoulders laid the responsibility and promise of salvation for the oppressed. Owen watched for a while, enjoying the show. Distracted by the violin music again, he was somewhere between annoyed and fascinated. What is it about that music? It seems to be constantly changing, and yet it always seems the same. With a shrug, he let go the question and returned his attention to the party.

The gala affair seemed to go on forever, and Owen felt acceptance and adoration from without and from within. This enthralling vision was so real that in his dream he thought to himself it must be unreal, and he several times pinched himself on the forearm to test its veracity; still the miracle of his majesty persisted. He dined on fine gourmet foods with ladies of elegant beauty, charming them with his wit, humor and debonair panache. He discussed global politics with learned professors who doted on his every word and were stunned and awed by his depth of wisdom and worldly knowledge. He became drunk on expensive champagne and began dancing with a stunning brunette woman with enormous breasts that teased his eyes with a propped up cleavage on full display.

Then the scene started to rotate as if on an axis, slowly at first and then whirling. He became dizzied and frightened as though caught in the vortex of a hurricane.

Suddenly he was in a still room, sitting on an armless chair with the woman he had been dancing with straddling his lap. She was presenting her wonderful naked breasts to him, encouraging him to play with them and suckle her large brown nipples. He smelled polyester and Johnson’s baby powder in the air as he fondled one with his hand and took suck on the other with his mouth. He felt pleasure, peace, and satisfaction that he had not known since before he could talk. An indescribable experience then and now, he drank sweet milk from her soft yet firm motherly glands. He basked in the glowing warm smile of the woman’s uncommonly large and circular glowing face; a big smiley face that bobbed in and out of sight as if … the sun was playing peek-a-boo above and below the horizon of the landscape created by her mountainous tits.

“Aaaand, cut!” the sudden booming business-like voice commanded. Owen jerked his neck and vision in the direction of the sounding voice. In the periphery of his sight he saw the brunette who had been cradling his face in her bosom dashing off-stage while pulling the straps of her dress-top up over her shoulders. Everyone scattered, the music stopped, the set was cleared, and it was evident the party was over. Owen felt himself diminish in size, age, and stature. Appearing before him now was a hulk of a man, seeming more a god than a man. Easily seven feet tall and of substantial girth with obvious great strength. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and red tie, had coal black hair and fiery black eyes. Although he possessed distinctive angular facial features that suggested a canvas meant to be painted with handsome, he had skin that was quite surly and pocked, spoiling the whole composition. He addressed Owen matter-of-factly, “Time’s up … time to pay the fiddler, son.” “Huh? W-W-What?” “You know the rules, Owen, there’s a price to pay for every parlor dance and play. You’ve had your fun, now it’s time to pay up.” “But, uh, I don’t have any money, I …”

“What?” the colossal debt collector yelled as he approached and grabbed Owen by the collar, “You can’t pay?” He shook him, “You can’t pay?” He flung Owen across the room with a mere flick of his wrist, slamming him against the theater’s exterior brick wall. His face boiled crimson as he charged forward and screamed, “YOU CAN’T PAY?”

Owen awoke with a vertical back-jolt in frozen sweat-soaked terror.

From Chapter Ten: Pay Detention

“All rise! Everybody up!” Counselor Chandler shouted above the sound of the camp’s “First-Rise” bell ringing sharp at 6:30 a.m., “Get to your showers, boys, make up your beds, dress up and head down to the cafeteria. Chapel’s in one hour.” Preston Chandler had his usual stuffy stiff smile pasted on his chalky flat white face as he strode all six feet of himself importantly down the central corridor of the bunkhouse. Stopping with a click of his polished heels at the foot of Owen’s bunk, he ordered specifically, “Owen, that means you, too, lad. Don’t make me have to come back in here; I’m in no mood for any of your bull crap today. Mind you, now, son.”

Owen’s morning attitude was somewhere between bitter and maniacal. He really wanted to just flip his lid. Go all ballistic and shoot everybody including himself. Just didn’t have a gun and no ammunition anyways. Nothing new, of course, everyday started the same in this place. Except for these days; Sundays. Gotta go to chapel. Churchy freaking chapel. Yuk, if there’s anything worse than the damn schoolwork studies forced down your throat in this pit, it’s listening to Cardinal Faulters’ monotonous prattle about “the wages of sin is death” crap.

At least Owen had the somewhat comforting thought that he was getting short. Be out of this prison in less than two months. Countin’ the days, hours, minutes. He often wondered about his two friends, Smoke and Bear. He had had to fess up and rat on them in order to get a reduced sentence. Squealed like a swine. Told the detectives where they lived and when they’d most likely be there with the goods on them. If not, he was told in no uncertain terms he’d be going down alone, facing juvenile detention all the way up to age eighteen. After which he could face more time in real prison as an adult. Least that’s what the prosecuting attorney had told him. Ass probably lied to me. Bet it was a bluff. I’m such a fool. A goddamn fool. Bear and Smoke we’re really good to me. Only real friends ever really had, and I sell ‘em down the river to save my own skin. Owen pondered suicide and how.

Chandler again with a thunk of his night stick to the foot of the bed frame, “Owen Fiddler, young man, if you’re not out of that bed by the time I count to three you’ll be cleaning out toilet bowls for a week. One, two … “ Owen jumped from his bed, out of his spite and into his submissive routine. Counselor Chandler gave out a huff with a shake of his head and disappeared into his chambers at the far end of the dorm.

Dressed, showered, bed made up, Owen meandered down to the mess hall. He was hardly excited about eating, even though hungry with the morning. The most sure-fire thing in the whole world to kill a good appetite was the food in this place. Stuff was always heavily spiced with bland. About as yummy as a dry stack of Styrofoam wafers. Owen shuffled his way through the cafeteria line, picked up his tray of tasteless chow at the end and looked around the room trying to find Jesus.