B. F. Randall Presents Three Gates to Hell: Hell's detours can lead to heavenly destinations!

I put on a serious expression. “Amazing, isn’t it, how creative we’ve become in devising such lethal tools.

“Good morning.” Alan smiled. “An excellent job was done this morning by three of our officers. Officers Bob Richards, Alford Jackson, and Gary Alison. They observed and arrested three professional burglars making a rooftop entrance to the Safeway Store on Alhambra.” He pointed at me. “Good job.” Several officers turned and gave me a thumbs-up. “Those arrested were Willy Johnson, his wife, Carol Johnson, and Curtis Mitcham. The Johnsons are three-time losers who got hooked up with Mitcham because Carol worked at the Safeway Store and knew the layout. She and her old man aren’t going anywhere. They don’t have the connections or resources to bail out.” The lieutenant put a booking photo up on the screen. I recognized one of the people as the fellow who had a bladder problem earlier today. “Mitcham, on the other hand, is a different story. He’s part of the Savages motorcycle club and is being looked at as the primary suspect in the assassination of two rival gang members in Phoenix. Intelligence Division says he’s a big moneymaker and enforcer for the club.” “Good to have him off the street,” one of the officers said. “That’s the problem.” Miller frowned. “He’s being discharged right now.” A collective groan resonated through the room. “His attorney was at the gate before his booking was done with a release order from a federal court judge. Seems he’s working with the Feds on some interstate thing. I called Phoenix PD to see if they could put a hold on him for their case, but they don’t have enough yet.” “Any time line on when Phoenix may go to warrant?” I asked. “No, Bob, but they assured me that they would notify me personally.” After a long pause he said, “There’s something else. While he was in lockup, he was going off about taking care of the one who brought the cops down on him. He was making all kinds of threats.” “Threats are a norm in lockup, LT. If he feels froggy, let him jump. Then maybe we can put him away for good.” “This guy is dangerous. Don’t underestimate him, or those he hangs with. Truth is, I have no problem with him facing up to any one of you, but his threats weren’t aimed at you. When they were taking him away at the scene, he saw the old lady who owns Dee’s store standing out front and one of our police cars at the back corner. He thinks she called us.” Turning to Sargent Alan, “I want extra patrols around the clock on that little store. I’ve called Concord PD about keeping an eye on her house.” Tapping the screen for emphasis, Miller said, “Don’t forget that face. You’re dismissed.” On the way home I made a slight detour to stop by Dee’s old store. Pulling my canary yellow, 1972 Dodge Charger R/T up to the gas pump, I could almost hear every one of the 440 cubic inches say, “I’m thirsty.” This chunk of metal eats and drinks more than all three of my sons put together. “Sweet ride, Officer,” came a voice from the garage. “When are you going to let me tweak it up a bit?” John Steller, Dee’s eldest son, walked over and reached for the pump lever. He was a good man and a good mechanic, and if I really needed work done, he would be the one to do it. “Not now, John, but I’ll keep ya in mind.” “I assume you don’t put anything but High Test in this buggy.” “You got it. Last month I was choking on thirty-nine cents a gallon, but this recent spike to fifty-five cents is killing me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a hole in the tank.” He held the pump nozzle in the air like a handgun. “There is, it’s called a four-barrel carburetor. I hear it could be as much as seventy-five cents by this time next year.” With a big smile he pointed the nozzle at his mother’s Pinto. “You might want to trade this guzzler in for something else.” “Don’t tempt me, John. Listen, I was out here early this morning, over at the Safeway Store. We arrested a couple bad guys, and well, this area hasn’t built up that much yet so be careful out here, okay?” “Sure will. That will be $7.70.” Handing him the cash, I got behind the wheel and started the engine. Leaning into the open driver’s window, John looked me in the eye. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Officer?” “Those are some really bad guys we took down this morning. They’re making all kinds of threats to anyone and everyone, including those around here. Just be careful and call us if you see anything that concerns you. Okay?” “You bet. Thanks.” Stepping back, John smiled and gave me a salute. I slowly rolled out onto the hot pavement of the Alhambra and could see John in my rearview mirror watching me. I had to make an impression. Dropping it into low, I punched it. The roar was sweet as all three hundred and seventy horses under the hood pushed me back into the seat like a rocket. The rear of the car got squirrely, as a high-pitched shriek resonated off the tires, and a thick cloud of rubber filled the air. Within seconds I was doing sixty and searching the rearview and side mirrors for any sign of red and blue flashing lights appearing through the thick smoke. 

Pleased with the results, I slowed down and settled in for the ride home. Approaching the house, I turned the corner and parked at the curb just out of sight. In the front yard were three little ragamuffins, each just a few inches taller than the other. Striking across the lawn, they had a clear objective in mind. In the center of the yard was a large pile of autumn leaves I had taken an hour to rake up, but it was about to be scattered like snowflakes. With shouts and squeals they dove into the leafy mountain, redistributing fall’s foliage in every direction. It was worth the work, I thought as I pulled into the driveway. The first head to pop up through the leaves was Joseph, named after his grandfather. From the moment he was born, the two were inseparable. “Little Joe” is my oldest. He has a heart as big as his mother’s. Even at the age of seven he was always looking out for his brothers. The next head to come up for air was my second boy, Stefan. His mother would sing him to sleep every night, “Climb upon my knee, Sonny Boy, though you’re only three, Sonny Boy, you’ve no way of knowing, there’s no way of showing, what you mean to me, Sonny Boy.” The name stuck. Sonny is our artist. He draws on everything. One head didn’t make a showing, my youngest Casey, or Critter as we call him. When his mother washes his clothes, she doesn’t reach in and turn out the pockets to empty them of rocks, marbles, and the like. With Critter’s britches, she drops them on the floor and stomps on them a few times. Because of several unique finds, Casey had earned the handle “Critter.” Standing at the front door, like a centurion at the gate, was the feared fixer of fabric, the daring defender of dinner, the controlling Commander in Chief of the Republic of Richards. In her hand glistening in the noonday sun, was her weapon of choice. Slowly she raised it toward the helpless children and, with a Cheshire-cat smile, looked at me as if to dare me to make a move. “Watch out!” I shouted just as she opened fire. A long stream of water shot from the nozzle as the boys began to squeal with laughter. Breaking into a dead run, I zig-zagged across the lawn, scooping up Little Joe and Sonny in my arms, holding them in front of me as a shield. I felt a tug and found Critter clinging to my pant leg. Squirming and giggling I moved toward the adversary as she took aim and drenched us unmercifully. Putting them down I shouted, “Let’s get her.” With eyes as wide as her smile, Rosie dropped the hose, turned, and ran back into the house. Just before the boys reached the door, I leaped over three steps, spun around, and stretched out my arms, stopping their attack on the porch. “Hold it guys. We can’t go inside all wet. I’ll get some towels, and after we’re dry, we’ll go get mom.” Returning with the towels, I stopped dead in the hallway. Stepping back, I turned to the bedroom and said in a loud whisper, “Baby, get out here, quick.” Stepping into the hall she looked to the open front door, and there stood three naked little troopers, with their clothes in a pile at their feet. It took everything we had to keep from laughing. “Well, go give them a towel before the neighbors call the cops.” 

My life was on track. I had a beautiful wife, three great kids, and a job I loved. We just moved into our first home, and the future was looking bright. Watching little bundles of energy fidget and fuss as their mom wiped faces and ruffled hair, I wondered what I had done to deserve all this. A decade earlier I was cutting a firebase for the 101st Airborne in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. I spent my first week in Camp Alpha, Saigon, waiting to be assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division where I would man a 106 recoilless rifle, a direct fire cannon mounted on a jeep. After three days I explored the camp and found three pieces of heavy engineering equipment: two International Harvester TD-24 bulldozers and a field stripped John Deere road grader. Climbing onto one of the dozers, I sat back in the seat, put my feet up on the hood, and took a nap in the warm afternoon sun. I don’t know how long I slept, but I was jarred awake by Master Sergeant Buck Bennett. “Wake up, Private! Where the hell do you think you are?” Rolling my legs off the hood, I missed the floor plate and dropped onto the tracks. From there it was a gymnast’s nightmare, as I landed face down at Bennett’s feet. I lifted my head slowly and looked into eyes that had seen things I didn’t want to imagine. “On your feet, Private,” he barked. I jumped to my feet and stood as ridged as I could, although I was shaking like a leaf on the inside. “This is not your home, boy. This is a war zone, and that’s not your cradle; it’s military equipment. Do you understand me, Private.” “Yes, Master Sergeant.” “You operate that dozer?” “No, Master Sergeant. I’m eleven-bravo. Infantry. Waiting for orders to the 1st Cavalry.” “Okay.” He looked down at my nametag. “Stay put, Richards. I’ll be right back.” He turned toward the command tent, then looking over his shoulder, “Don’t go to sleep again, boy. The next voice you hear may be Charlie’s.” I waited for over an hour and was tempted to just go back to my bunk when Bennett appeared from a row of tents with another soldier. 

“Richards, this is Specialist Kippell. Just call him Kip. He will be showing you how to use that dozer. You have three, maybe four days. Use them well. You’re now twelve-bravo, Combat Engineer. Stay alive, boy.” And with that he turned and disappeared out of my life forever. I went from Infantryman to Engineer in less than an hour. Later I learned that the two guys I bunked with, and who would have been part of my crew manning the 106 recoilless, were hit just two weeks after joining the 1st Cavalry. Only one survived. He sustained serious injuries and was sent home. 

Why them and not me? Would I ever really know the answer to this question that would interrupt countless nights of sleep? A tear ran down my cheek as I watched three naked little dudes hug their mom and scamper off down the hall to their rooms. What had I done to deserve a life like this? Why me?

A tiny God Incident occurred when I read the pages above... Why Me? was not listed as a song by the author, but my mind immediately thought of it. As I finished the book, and began to write this morning, I realized that the song is actually the plot of the book. You see, Bob Richards, our main character, has spent quite a bit of time asking "Why?" and before the book closes, he's actually asking "Why?" and saying "No!" Only to return to the words, "Why me, Lord, What have I ever done...?"

Bob Williams is a cop. A good cop. Well-respected by both his fellow officers as well as those individuals to whom he's connected on the job... The only two words needed to describe him is that he is both empathic and sympathetic. A combination that is often missing in officers of the law, it seems, especially these days...

This book is dedicated to:

To those who must stand blameless in the throes of adversity, who are the first we call, and the last we thank. To the men and women who, each day, face what most will never experience in a lifetime and are the first to run toward what the rest of us will run from. Thank you!

The first chapter provides a hint, but it really didn't sink in to me until much later... You will learn there, that Bob Harris, is also a prison chaplain... But by the next chapter, readers are brought into a crime scene and somehow that first chapter doesn't really make an impression...

You see, Bob has not yet gone through the Three Gates to Hell...

Bob and his partner was a group who were assigned to the time slots where most of the criminal actions took place. A major effort to break into a store had occurred but had been stopped by the police officers on duty. Arrests were made, but one of those involved had been released as he was already working with the FBI on a case. This man was one of the cruelest of the cruel and even as he was set free, he was already looking to revenge... A series of events took place, people were hurt... And, one of their own, a police officer had been murdered. Mitcham was the killer and he led a motorcycle gang, called the Savages.

The story moves from Bob being on the job to those times when he is with his family... or with other personal relationships... But at some point, Bob had been targeted, necessitating that his family relocate from their home...

And then one day he met Mitcham with the FBI at an elevator, and he looked at Bob and asked about his family...Bob was furious, knowing that this man had many opportunities to go after his family! On that day, a man saw him and came over, placing a hand on his shoulder, asking if he was alright... He was the Chaplain at San Quentin!

He handed me a business card. “I’m sitting right over there if you want to talk. You can also call me any time you want to. Bless you, son, and thank you for all you do. I know it’s hard to be a police officer in times like these, but I suppose that is true about any time.” He walked back to the bench along the window, and I read his card, “Howard Hays, Senior Chaplain, California Penal System.” I decided to go to the range and spend the afternoon annihilating paper bad guys with hundreds of rounds of ammunition. When I was through, I went home to a world absent of guns, chaos, and crime, but full of little boys’ laughter and love. Joe, my father-in-law, once read to me a Bible verse when I was angry and depressed about what I had seen on the streets: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.” Good advice.

~~~~

Well, one thing Bob knew, he was NOT chaplain material! There was no way that he could ever consider going into that prison to actually talk to--to meet with--those men he had worked so hard to get placed there!  He didn't recall what he'd done with that name card, but months went by and he got a call from somebody, wanting to talk to him about completing his application. Once Bob understood what she was asking, he kinda flipped and said he had never applied! Even though he remembered getting the card. But, folks, sometime later the Chaplain called him--again... Explaining that he had learned that he wasn't interested, but that considerable time had been used to do references, especially since he was a police officer... Bob could feel himself growing angry...

But, finally, agreed to meet to learn more about the program... Instead... He was caught after entering the first gate to hell...

I'll be quick to tell you that none of what occurred after Bob first was touched by the chaplain was anything like I might have expected to happen. This is an extraordinary story that must be read to understand exactly what happened thereafter... 

“A Coincidence Is God at Work Incognito.”

With Rule There Is Order—

With Order There Is Peace.

“Bobby, this wasn’t an accident. I have the best doctors in the world, but all they do is put parts together. It’s God who gives life to the tissues and brings about healing. There is no way you and I could have planned to run into each other like this. Only someone bigger than us, with a plan in mind, could have orchestrated today’s meeting,” Hillbilly said.

“Sir, I have been sent to inform you that condemned inmate Curtis Mitcham has requested you to be his spiritual advisor and that Warden Kilpatrick has approved his request and yours to speak with him before his execution.” 

I know I say this often, but, really, I hope you'll consider this a must-read!

GABixlerReviews

Reuniting with Brother Manny Monolyn Moreno - Elder - Poet - Author - Painter - Friend

We Are ALL God's Children!

 

Who cares anymore?

I feel like I'm wasting my time trying to preserve what I've been taught by elders, and others, and have learned over a lifetime, through my books now. My commitments and dedication. But then I remember why I must.

I didn't dedicate and sacrifice myself to do the painstaking works to be liked or admired. I've looked, listened, learned, and produced to share and pass on, our stories, of our time, of our ancestors, and our struggles.

I'm at the age where I should be pacing myself. Taking it easy. Giving back. But it's turned out to be impossible. So I cope with it. No one is to blame. Not bitter.

Anyway, may Grandfather have pity on me, and us all.

( me and Elder Lee, RIP )

Books I've written :

The Bridge is Gone / poems
The Elder / A Tribute
Longview Road / poems
Santa Nella Blues / poems
Scared - The Healing / memoir
revised and edited.

Scared- The Healing 243 pgs. has been completed and in process to get published hopefully soon with help.

https://cash.app/$mrmonolin

https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/monolin

Manny reads from his latest award-winning book

Santa Nella Blues

https://www.facebook.com/YAQUIME

Folks, like me, Manny has suffered through having his Facebook site lost, along with work that he had shared over many years. He now uses Manny Anthony Moreno on Facebook, adjusting, just as I did, to whatever "problems" that seem to occur much too often without explanation, in my opinion. In fact, I had lost touch with Manny for so long I began to track him down... I don't want to allow that to happen again. And, I hope you will choose to follow Manny, and me, GA Bixler, on Facebook since we both lost our "history" on this site... Both of us had many contacts which are not easily able to be rebuilt... 

It was reported this morning on MSNOW that the supposed removal of the 700 ICE members from Minneapolis, might actually be moving into the areas of where indigenous tribes are located in the same state!

It is quite clear that ICE is being used as a private army by this president working to respond to his DEI program which he announced immediately, to remove any individuals who are not, essentially, white males... Please consider that these people have already had to fight for some amount of dedicated land even though they were here on the north america continent before WE WERE!

Accountability.

To hold yourself to account for your actions. Not to shift blame on others.
Trying to hide the misguided crap you do to make yourself look righteous, when others know the truth, hurts only you.
That's foolish.
Growth comes from being honest about and with yourself, for what you've done, and working on change. But that takes self-honesty and courage.
"You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time".
Be true to yourself. And maybe healing will take place. Why mask the shame to look righteous?
Today feeling ill all day and now, I recieved some very productive calls from people excited about the talking circle, women and men. Even from a deported veteran who would like to have one on zoom.
Seeds are being planted and hopefully people will come together to find some healing.
Thank you all who called. I'm inspired by you.
My heart feels your hope.
May our prayers guide us and bring it to fruition.

A'ho 

You'll be seeing more from our friend, Manny, moving forward!

God Bless

Gabby

Marta Perry Shares the Reunion Revelations Book 6 - Final Justice - Riveting Inspiration Romance - Featuring Music by Josh Grobin

 If you search for good, you will find favor, but if you search for evil, it will find you. —Proverbs 11:27

“If Penny thinks she has been wronged, she’ll go to any extremes to get even. Any extremes.” A shudder went through her. “Be careful, my dear. Please be careful.”

She was afraid, but God was with her.

PROLOGUE He was about to meet the daughter he’d never known existed. He sat alone on a park bench, watching the spring sunshine filter through veils of Spanish moss and trying to make sense of the changes that had turned his life upside down. Across the park, a father pushed his child on the rustic swing set. The little girl—four or five, maybe—laughed, her light voice floating toward him on the sultry air. “Higher, Daddy. Higher.” A cold hand seemed to squeeze his heart. What did he know about being a father? His own father certainly hadn’t set much of an example. In fact, if his father were alive today, he’d be quick to point out that this was just another opportunity for him to fail someone. He couldn’t fail this child. She didn’t deserve that after all she’d been through. But he was probably the last person in the world who should be trusted with the responsibility for her. He glanced at his watch. They’d come soon, and his life would change irrevocably. But it already had, hadn’t it? It had started to change months ago. He just hadn’t recognized it at the time.

Magnolia College 10-year reunion had brought many back to campus to find old friends, to laugh, to share... What they didn't plan to find was the body of a former classmate...

Jennifer Pappas had come but she had been hesitant when she thought of all the questions she would be receiving... She had a secret that there was no way, and certainly, no place to share...with...anybody...

Actually she'd been back living with her father for about a month and he had been very supportive, but even he suggested that she share what had happened with a few of her close friends... But would they remain a friend if she did? And while she was pondering how to deal with this event, she turned around and there was...Mason Grant. Her heart stopped for just a moment upon seeing him. She remembered how she had once felt about him... Was that love just hidden? And now?

But she immediately saw, though his eyes shined on seeing her, that he had changed. There were shadows on those eyes. From pain? Or Worry? She had heard that he was now head of his father's company, but would that bring about such a change? He admitted he'd not been in church lately, that the stores kept him so busy that he didn't have time for much more. She automatically want to reach out to the child he seemed to be at that moment... And without thought, she asked "Too busy for your faith? For your friends?" But Mason was startled with her questions. He didn't feel differently, and yet... He could not continue and walked away...

Months had gone by and the same small group of friends began to meet occasionally. It was only when one of them commented that they had found another of their classmates, with a child, who looked just like a friend who had disappeared--Josie! And within a short time period, a discovery of a body was found when a new construction project began on campus...

The body was Josie, who had disappeared soon after graduation...The shock spread through the campus and town quickly... And Mason pulled back into that...one...and...only...night... He'd never again heard from her or even seen her. Now he knew why!

And he was now being asked to pay a large sum to buy a daughter who he had never known existed... 

She couldn’t sit here, letting herself get more frightened by the moment. She had to move. She switched on the tiny microphone Nikki Rivers had taped to her skin under her shirt, and then adjusted the earpiece. It crackled to life instantly. “Miss Pappas? What’s happening?” Rivers’s voice spoke in her ear, so close it was as if she sat behind her. Just speak naturally, they’d told her. The microphone will pick it up. “I’m fine.” She thought of Mason. He’d be in the truck with the detectives, listening to her voice. She didn’t want to sound like a wimp in front of him. “I’m parked in the lot. There’s no sign of anyone else here.” “She may be waiting for you somewhere along the trail,” Rivers pointed out. “Just remember not to say anything once you’re out of the car until you meet her. You don’t want to tip her off that you’re wired.” “I know.” They didn’t have to remind her to be careful where Penny was concerned. She wasn’t likely to forget. “I’m getting out now.” She grasped the handle of the case that lay next to her on the passenger seat, a shiver going down her spine. Money—a lot of money. Probably more than she’d ever seen in cash before. The police had suggested loading the case with cut paper, but Mason had gone ballistic at that. What if something went wrong and Penny opened the case before the police reached them? Penny might take it out on Jennifer. He’d insisted that she carry the real thing, and he’d provided the money. She hated the idea of being responsible for that much cash, but his attitude had warmed her. She slammed the car door, shutting off the comforting glow of the dome light, and switched on the heavy flashlight she carried. Not even Penny could expect her to wander down that trail through the woods without a light. Breathing another prayer, she started down the winding path. The parking lot disappeared from view almost immediately when the path curved, seeming to close her in with the dense growth of pine and live oaks. She was afraid, but God was with her. If only she could speak, could be connected to those waiting a mile away in the police van, even if just by voice, it would not be as frightening. But she couldn’t. She had to play her part if this were to have any chance of success. It would be worth any amount of fear if the police caught Penny and resolved this once and for all. Then they could all stop living in the shadow of suspicion. The flashlight beam caught a pair of eyes, glowing red in the reflected light, and her heart thumped in her chest. A possum turned, waddling slowly out of sight, and she could breathe again. Did the silent listeners detect her fear? She hoped not. If they did—well, they could hardly blame her. She’d been to the nature preserve several times during the day, but alone, at night—that was a different story. She had been here once at night. Not on the forest trail, but at the picnic grove on the far side of the parking lot, overlooking the small lake. Early May, their senior year. It had been the last Campus Christian Fellowship event of the semester, and the final time for their little group of seniors to be together. She seemed to see the laughing faces reflected in the glow of the campfire. Kate, with her beautiful voice, had led the singing, moving easily from one favorite gospel song to another. Jennifer’s heart seemed to clench. They’d been so young then, so untried by life. Ten years made a huge difference. After college one had to sink or swim out in the big wide world. They’d been on the cusp of that, teetering between eagerness to get on with their lives and fear at leaving the familiar cocoon of college behind them. Maybe it wasn’t so accurate to say they’d been untried by life, though. Certainly Josie had been. She must have known by then that she was pregnant. What had she been thinking? Had she been afraid? Longing to tell someone her secret? Mason had come before the evening was over, surprising all of them. He hadn’t been around much that semester after his father died. Too busy trying to manage the family business and complete his coursework so that he could graduate with his class. But he’d come that night—arriving late and leaving early, as she recalled. She had no trouble remembering how the firelight had flickered on the strong planes of his face, cast shadows around his eyes. They’d been happy to see him, with everyone in a mood to reminisce, but he’d been quiet and withdrawn. Because Josie was there? She tried to look at that evening through the lens of what she knew now. Had he and Josie spoken? Impossible to remember that, even if she’d noticed at the time. And whether they did or didn’t, it wouldn’t prove anything. Only the cold science of DNA testing would reveal the truth about the identity of Alexis’s father. She did remember one thing, though, the image as clear in her mind as if it had happened yesterday. She’d seen Mason walking toward his car and, on impulse, she’d run after him. “You’re not going already?” She’d caught up with him at the edge of the parking lot. “We haven’t even made the smores yet.” His eyebrows had lifted. “Tempting me with chocolate, Jennifer? I’m sorry, but I have to get going.” “I’m sorry, too. For everything.” She had reached out, touching the sleeve of his shirt lightly, longing to say something that would chase that somber look from his eyes. “What do you mean?” He looked startled, but then his eyes narrowed. “Why, about your father. What else? I haven’t had a chance to talk to you alone since it happened.” “That.” He shrugged. “Thanks. I’m doing okay. I just have a lot on my plate with running the stores and looking after my mother.” “I wish there was something I—we—could do. All your friends are concerned about you,” she added quickly. He’d given her a look she’d found impossible to interpret. Had he wanted to speak then? If so, he’d changed his mind. He’d shaken his head, a lock of blond hair tumbling onto his forehead. “Sweet Jennifer. You always want to fix everything for your friends.” His face seemed to tighten. “Some things can’t be fixed.” He’d turned and walked toward his car, and in a moment he’d pulled out of the lot and basically out of her life for ten years. Until the reunion had brought them all back together again, for good or ill. A splash somewhere off to her right jerked her attention back to the present, her pulse quickening. A splash meant she’d already reached the lagoon. She shivered. Alligators. Water snakes. She’d seen both from a safe distance when she’d wandered along the trail during the day. She had no wish to encounter them at night. Alone. Penny would almost be preferable. She swung the light around, catching a glimpse of water through the thick growth of trees. She was almost at the end of the trail. Where was Penny? Was this all her idea of a sick joke? Another sound, louder now, as a branch snapped and something rustled in the undergrowth. She froze, gasping, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it. Rivers’s voice sounded instantly in her ear. “What is it? Is something wrong? Do you see her? If you do, say something.” Jennifer’s nails bit into her palms. If she spoke to them and Penny lurked in the bushes, she’d know it was a trap. “Penny?” she called out, her voice wavering a little. “Penny, is that you? Come out where I can see you.” Surely that sounded natural enough, and at least it alerted the police. And Mason, waiting with them. Another sound in the bushes. Fear clutched her throat. “Penny?” She tried to ignore the chatter in her ear and focus on the sound. “Where are—” A dark shape hurtled out of the bushes toward her. She stumbled back a step, letting out a cry, losing the torch as she hit the ground. In the instant Mason heard Jennifer’s cry, the breath went out of him. Someone shoved him out of the way as police erupted out of the tech van. He stumbled, then jumped out after them. Jennifer was in trouble. He had to get to her. “Wait here.” Paterson flung the order over his shoulder as he and Rivers jumped into a waiting car. Ignoring him, Mason yanked the back door open and fell inside as the cop accelerated. “What—” “Never mind,” Rivers said. “Just get there.”

~~~~

Alexis was a child waiting for somebody to trust... To know that she would be safe... To know that she would be loved... She hesitated when she met her father... But she seemed to naturally lean on Jennifer, a woman who openly showed her love and concern for her... And, with that trio coming together, Mason found his love expanding toward Alexis in a way he'd never known he could love... Soon she, too, felt his new, powerful love and came willingly into his arms for his protection. But the one who sought to sell her didn't want to deal with Mason. She demanded that Jennifer be involved whenever a meet was scheduled. She had already turned and attacked Jennifer once. Would she be willing to again be the intercessory?

But this time, the police would also be involved. Still, when Mason heard Jennifer scream, he had to go, leaving the car and running... For Love had captured the three of those lonely people into a unit that had God's Blessings! I urge you to read this book...

GABixlerReviews

The Genius Club - A Tense, Dark Psychological Thriller by NJ Barker

 “Genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent manipulation.” - Anon.

‘The second commitment is to support the scholarship in its broader work to democratise intelligence.’ ‘What does that mean?’ Vanessa asked. ‘My vision is to help as many people develop to their potential as possible. There are many interesting research projects in the areas of intelligence, education, and personal development. I would like you each to assist with research into some of these areas.’

There weren’t many places in the flat where Lucy could have hidden anything from Matthew; the last remaining place was the wardrobe in their bedroom. He pushed away his guilt as he flipped through her dresses hanging on the rail before squatting down and searching through the boxes at the bottom of the wardrobe. Tucked away at the back, on Lucy’s side, underneath some old trainers, Matthew found a small white plastic container. He pulled out a pair of navy trainers to give himself room to slide the box out. He frowned as he ran his hands over its top. Then, he pressed the catches on the side, lifted the lid, and peered inside. It contained a set of white headphones. There was a pinch between his shoulders. He removed the headphones from the box, and only then did he realise that the two circular pads weren’t in the correct place. The device had a curved T-bar with a small cross pad at the base, which appeared designed to rest at the base of the skull. The strap ran up over the top of the head and down over the forehead, whilst the broader bar fitted horizontally with the two discs resting just beyond the eyes, near the temples. He reached back into the box and removed a device resembling a smartphone. He pressed the power-on button and waited for it to boot up. A moment later, he was looking at the home screen, a green background with a white sine wave curving around the word electro-flow. Whatever the device was, he was holding the controller. Matthew let out a breath. He pressed on the icon, and a menu appeared. Your Progress Set New Goals Profile He hesitated before clicking on Your Progress and scrolling through Lucy’s report. She had been using the device for periods of more than thirty minutes for years. Matthew shook his head. The first entry was recorded on 2 September 2007, seven months after Alfie was born, and the last entry was that morning. His arms were trembling. Alastair had said he would find something. Matthew stared at the device. He’d accepted his friend might be correct, but he’d never considered that when he unearthed some evidence, he would have no idea what it meant. Matthew stared at the computer screen. His answer was written clearly in white text on a black background. The electro-flow website claimed that using an electric current to stimulate the temporal lobes could counter depression. It cited various clinical trials which supported the view that the electro-flow device was a more effective treatment for depression than antidepressants. Matthew clicked on one of the reports referenced and started to read. “Transcranial direct current stimulation (tDCS) of 20- or 30 minutes are efficient for treating mild and moderate depression; the effect of 30min stimulation exceeds that obtained from 20min.” Matthew chewed his lip. There were two facts. Lucy had used an electro-flow device, and that device was advertised as a treatment for depression. The two statements pointed to an obvious conclusion but weren’t compelling. That conclusion wasn’t inescapable. He thought back to his conversation with Alastair. If Lucy had hidden a struggle with depression, she would likely have sought medical support. It was already late at night, but Matthew stood up and opened the loft hatch. Lucy had filed away their old medical records a few years ago. It only took him a few minutes to locate the box file and carry it down from the loft. He placed it on the kitchen table next to his laptop and opened it. The box was full of documents, and Matthew picked up the top one from the pile. It was a slim, bound volume labelled as a medical report from Heartfield Health Clinic. He had forgotten that Lucy had been for a check-up every year after graduation, and she’d been sent a report after each appointment. He read the report and studied Lucy’s vital statistics, as well as the BMI, cholesterol, and cardiac risk graphs. There were also pages with audio graphs, analysis of lung function tests, and eyesight results. Finally, there was a pathology report. Matthew flicked back to the cover letter. The conclusion was that Lucy was in good health, and there was no mention of depression or any mental health challenges. The report was dated August 2007, the month before her first recorded use of the device. He read through all the reports in the box, which covered every year from 2007 until the final report, dated August 2011. None of the reports mentioned any physical or mental health issues other than low-level concerns over Lucy’s weight and lack of exercise. The signatory of the reports was Dr Henry Bannister. Matthew recalled the name immediately. Caesar introduced them to Bannister, his private doctor, when they joined the scholarship programme. Lucy had liked him. She had first seen him at university in Cambridge and continued to see him at his Cambridge practice, even when she’d moved to London. She’d also encouraged Matthew to see him, but he hadn’t heard her mention the doctor’s name for several years. Matthew sat back down in his chair and opened Google on his laptop. He typed in the doctor’s name and hit search. The third hit was an obituary. Doctor Henry Bannister, a doctor and an academic, died aged 53. He scanned through the text, unsure of what he was looking for. His head jerked back to the penultimate paragraph of the obituary. Professor Hunter, who tutored Dr Bannister at Cambridge University, recalled: ‘He was an exceptional, brilliant and radical man. He was known for pushing medical boundaries and challenging conventional thinking. He died too young. He was destined for great things.’ A knot twisted in Matthew’s stomach. Lucy started using the device in September 2007, when she was still seeing Bannister for her annual medicals. tDCS treatment wasn’t universally accepted by the medical profession, at least not over a decade ago. Had Bannister prescribed the treatment to Lucy, an example of him pushing medical boundaries, and kept it from her official medical records? And if so, why? Matthew decided to rake through everything he could find on the uses of tDCS machines. He started reading online articles. Several studies appeared to show that the treatment reduced depression symptoms in patients, yet Matthew was sure he would have known if Lucy was struggling. He also clearly remembered her telling him she wouldn’t take her mother’s chosen path, ever. He was aware that people who were depressed could hide it well, even from those they were closest to, but there had been no changes in Lucy’s appetite or sleep pattern and no loss of interest in activities. He shook his head and tried to focus on the facts. There wasn’t a single suggestion, or even a hint, that his wife had been suffering from depression, but she had been using a tDCS machine for over a decade. The only explanation was that she was using the device for another purpose, but what was it? He began to scroll through the research papers and paused at a headline from October 2018. Would you zap your brain to improve your memory? Scientists study attitudes toward brain stimulation. An article dated August 2014 made a similar claim. Northwestern Medicine researchers have discovered that using high-frequency repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation to indirectly stimulate the hippocampus portion of the brain (which is involved in forming memories) improves long-term memory. Then he found a third, from March 2019. Online repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation during working memory in younger and older adults: A randomized within-subject comparison. Matthew changed his search terms, and immediately, he was presented with page after page of articles on transcranial magnetic and direct current stimulation being studied as possible methods for boosting intelligence. He sat back and let out a deep breath. Could Bannister have suggested using the machine not to treat depression but to attempt to boost Lucy’s intelligence even further? That would explain why there was no medical record of depression. It would be consistent with no mental health issues whatsoever. He rubbed his forehead. Bannister had treated Lucy, a doctor described as radical and a man who enjoyed challenging conventional thinking. Matthew raked his fingers through his hair. What had this guy done? What had Lucy signed up for? With Lucy and Bannister both dead, only one person might have the answers to all his questions. He needed to speak to Ben Caesar.

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“Genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent manipulation.” - Anon.

Yes, this epigraph in the front of the book needs to be repeated... In fact, you will learn of the inspiration that is available right at the beginning... And little by little, even before it began and continues over years, manipulation will actually be in play...

In many homes of the rich and famous, you may find classical music playing in the background, low so that many will soon not even realize that it is playing--it is merely a bit of manipulation to set the stage, don't you think? To provide the background as mentioned, I chose to play Rachmaninoff, my personal choice often because I enjoy the minor key with the fascinating tone that it brings to my ear that I prefer... Nevertheless, we are in a location where a small group of students have come together to be offered a chance of a lifetime... They are high school students from a very poor or difficult background that have been pulled together--by manipulation. Readers will not know what I mean until much later in the book. But to present the background, it is merely to say that the students who were offered this opportunity was greeted by who would come to be their mentor for many years. They will essentially become a part of the program developed by Benjamin Caesar. Where his money originally came from we don't know but the riches found in his home, as well as the substantial time and money he spent with the six who were ultimately chosen naturally revealed that money was no object...

Matthew and Lucy were two of those that arrived early that day. Lucy was beautiful and Matthew was drawn to her... The book does not claim this, but the way that Matthew was drawn as a character, I imagined he may have been one affected by Asperger's Syndrome. He was not an individual who was comfortable in routine activities, so that Lucy soon was pulled into his orbit as she was helpful in clarifying what may be considered routine by many people but had not been, also because of his background, little to normal interaction with people. It is Matthew who becomes the lead character as the book really begins to move beyond their basic program adaptations under Ben's tutelage...

We meet Matthew as he comes home from work at a company developed by Ben's desired research, at which Matthew works. He searches for Lucy, only to find her dead in their bedroom... Immediately Matthew does not believe that, as it appeared, she had committed suicide. And that begins his personal investigation to find out what really happened to his beloved wife...

Matthew has developed a close friendship with another of the scholars, Al Niven, who was the very first individual who had ever shortened his name to Matt and presented a friendly connection. They continued as best friends throughout the upcoming years, even though Al had begun to pull away, only to prefer drugs, drinking and gambling instead of what he could have successfully become in his life.

As Matt began to investigate what might have resulted in Lucy's death, he assumed that she had to have been murdered and started with searching their bedroom. He discovered that she had been using a machine on her brain, supposedly to increase intelligence. But when he started looking further, having found a needle which appeared to have been used by Lucy, he immediately asked the police to test it for contents. And, after having his own issues with some medication that had been prescribed by the doctor who Ben recommended, but had stopped using, saw that what was contained in the shot could have been what caused Lucy's death...

It took all Matthew’s energy to stand and shake hands with the guests. He briefly closed his eyes in the hope that it would ease the pain in his head, but today, he had no choice other than to push on. Any funeral was an ordeal, but the coroner’s verdict that Lucy had taken her own life painted another emotional layer over the immediate shock of her being gone, especially when Matthew couldn’t accept the verdict. He didn’t speak, preferring simply to nod as a procession of faces mumbled their condolences. He would have felt sorry for them, having to deal with the awkward conventions of a burial service, if he had been able to feel anything. But he was hollow whilst his thoughts churned, tripping over themselves in the search for answers. Sammy’s hand was rubbing his back, encouraging him to move. He turned to face her and saw the compassion in her eyes. Her large, dark-rimmed glasses covered the top half of her face, and her slightly crimped, brown hair flopped forward to offer extra protection. Matthew allowed himself to be guided away from the church entrance. As soon as they started to walk, she linked her arm with his, saying nothing but leading him down the cobbled path. The stones were shining, and small pools of water had gathered where the grass ran up to the border. Matthew was starting to accept that people, that the world, would return to mystifying him. Lucy had been his guide for the last twenty years, and he’d seen life more clearly than ever before. They had talked for hours sometimes about ideas and philosophies, whims, music, or writing, but he’d never been in the habit of asking her what she was doing, where she’d been, or what she was planning. He’d never seen the need and believed that Lucy felt the same way as he did, but today and every day since her death, he wished he had. Because now he knew that by not asking, he’d missed something, a sign or a tell that she was in danger. ‘We can take you home now if that’s what you want?’ Sammy said. ‘Daniel’s waiting in the car.’ ‘Thanks.’ The word came out as a shrug. Matthew knew nothing about cars, but whatever vehicle Daniel and Sammy owned gleamed in the rain. The rear door swung open as he approached, and Daniel stepped out, holding the door and waiting for Matthew to climb inside. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ Daniel said after helping Sammy into the front passenger seat. Matthew momentarily closed his eyes. Everything seemed easier that way. He touched his face and felt that it was wet from what could only be his tears. He hadn’t realized he was crying. He wasn’t sure what to do next, so he just waited. 

‘Let’s get you home to Alfie,’ Sammy said. Matthew opened his eyes. His vision was blurred. He wiped his eyes with his hand. Alfie. They’d discussed the funeral, and eventually, Alfie decided he wouldn’t attend. Alastair had agreed to stay with him, and Matthew knew that his friend would be doing his best to take Alfie’s mind off what was happening, even though he might as well have been trying to stop the sun from rising. ‘Thank you.’ The words sounded detached. Had he even spoken? He wasn’t sure. Matthew could hear the rain pounding on the car roof. He tightened his focus, trying to discern a pattern in the dance of the raindrops. He had to find some meaning somewhere. ‘At the dinner, when I mentioned Doctor Bannister, I thought you and Daniel … I thought you were going to say something.’ He lifted his head to look at her in the rear-view mirror. She had coiled a strand of hair tightly around her finger. ‘Maybe I was seeing something that wasn’t there, I don’t know, but if there’s anything…’ He massaged his forehead. ‘Please.’ ‘Okay.’ She twisted around and reached out to take his hand. She sighed before starting to talk. ‘As you know, Daniel and I tried unsuccessfully for a baby for a long time. A year after we started trying, we had some fertility tests.’ She let her hair fall over her eyes. ‘We also tried a couple of rounds of IVF.’ Matthew swallowed. He knew what he would hear next. ‘Our doctor was Henry Bannister.’ Sammy pushed her hair behind her ear. ‘When we finally accepted we weren’t going to be able to have children, he tried to persuade me to freeze my eggs. He was a great believer in advancements in medicine and technology giving us a chance to have children in the future. We decided not to and told him our answer was no. We wanted to live in the present. We didn’t hear anything more from him for a while. Then, a few months before he died, he got in touch.’ Matthew looked at the floor of the car. ‘What did he say?’ ‘He told us that there was a new technology. Something that allowed DNA to be manipulated. He referred to the technology as genetic scissors.’ A cold wave rolled down Matthew’s back. ‘Professor Hunter, the woman who taught Bannister, told me that twins were born in China recently, and there’s speculation their DNA was altered to eliminate the risk of HIV. She also told me that the same gene affects brain function.’ He paused. ‘Apparently, Bannister was researching similar ideas.’ Sammy nodded. ‘He told us we were still young; we were on the verge of turning thirty. He said there was still hope, not just for us to have children, but for us to have remarkable children.’ Matthew said nothing, and after a moment, Sammy continued. ‘We didn’t really think about it. We were irritated he was still pressuring us to try for children when we’d already told him that we’d decided to put that behind us. But what you told us…’ ‘…you think there could be something more to it.’ ‘I don’t know, maybe.’ Sammy shrugged. ‘I guess we ask Caesar on Wednesday.’ ‘If he turns up,’ Matthew said. Sammy wrapped her arms around her torso. ‘Surely, he would have told us by now if he wasn’t going to be there.’ ‘I don’t know.’ Matthew massaged his hands. ‘He wasn’t well enough to come today.’ Since that one email, he hadn’t heard from Caesar again, but Matthew had still hoped their patron would make the funeral, not just because he needed to speak with him but because he’d wanted him to come for Lucy. ‘Do you ever wonder about how he found us all?’ Matthew asked. ‘He selected kids who had challenging upbringings,’ Sammy said. ‘It was one of the reasons I accepted the scholarship in the first place; that and the money.’ She grinned at Matthew. ‘Seriously, though, there are so many routes for kids with a comfortable upbringing to get support that they often don’t need. I’ve always thought of him as a class warrior. Even Cerebrum, he’s not doing it for the money.’ ‘I guess so.’ It was true that collectively, they had faced more than their fair share of challenges. Adoption, lost parents, divorced parents, and even the death of a sibling. And they were only the things he knew about. He didn’t often talk about personal experiences with the others, but he was sure that Lucy would have been able to provide a complete list. Everyone used to confide in Lucy. Thoughts were spinning around in his head. If Sammy were right, on Wednesday, he’d have the chance to look Ben Caesar in the eye and ask him for the truth, but he had an uneasy sense about the upcoming meeting, a feeling that things were going to change and not for the better. Daniel was walking back to the car, and Sammy twisted back to face forward. ‘How’s Alfie doing?’ she asked over her shoulder. ‘He’s not saying much. He doesn’t respond well if I try to push him.’ He hesitated as Daniel opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. His thoughts turned to the meeting at Alfie’s school. ‘I’ve got a meeting with his headmaster on Monday,’ he said. ‘Did you arrange that?’ Sammy asked. ‘No. The school did. I don’t know what to expect.’ Daniel started the engine. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Sammy said. Matthew didn’t feel any better about the meeting with the headmaster than he did about the meeting with Caesar. At times like these, he’d always turned to Lucy. Looking out the window, he saw the last few mourners heading towards their cars. He didn’t have that choice anymore. He balled his hands. He had to face the world alone.

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And on Monday, he learned that his son was now being attacked... Somebody had made up things about his mother and started yelling words to him abut her. He gave the list to his Dad to explain why he's been asked not to return to class for the last two weeks of class. Alfie didn't want Matthew to talk to his teachers about what had caused his attack of the boy...

During his investigation, Matt had learned that another of the potential scholars had been murdered. Two women now dead... Matt had also learned that Lucy had been leaving Alfie with another woman and her friend, who had pulled out of being a scholar even though she certainly had the intelligence... Alfie had grown to like this woman and Matt realized that it was best to allow him to keep seeing her... She was to become an important ally in what was to come!

As we have learned, many times individuals hide their real selves from the world, even from those who were supposedly close friends. Readers will learn the devastation that was wrought by who, they ultimately discovered, was the real Genius Club... And, to learn that sometimes genius may...just...be...a (or more) psychological monster(s)...

What kind of mind wants to manipulate and control the minds of many? Sometimes it's just through verbal manipulation like repeating the same message over and over... Sometimes it's joining with others who have specific ideas they believe and feel they have the right to impose them on other people. Sometimes it's through the provision of riches that blind a few in providing it unlimited, without accountability...

A final note, the actions of these psychopaths had been developed even before the actual testing of the children began. Manipulation of  the artificial insemination process had been conceived and implemented through lies told to women seeking medical help... Many may have heard of Hitler's efforts to create super soldiers... In my opinion, this plan was much worse since it was planned to keep this process moving into future generations! When somebody or some group is trying to change the standards, the norms by which we have functioned for years, you can be sure it is manipulation and NOT the genius of those who are trying one more way to achieve something that nobody else would ever support.

Even if I knew what to expect from reading the epigram, this was, indeed, tense, and too real, for me not to become completely involved in the book. Check it out!

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How could the world be so very, very cruel?