Overview of Books 1-3 of the Erin McCabe Legal Thrillers by Author Robyn Gigl

 

Five minutes later, as the opening notes of “Mercy Mercy Me” began floating out of the speakers, she carried two mugs of coffee into the living room and gently placed them on coasters on the coffee table. He walked over and sat next to her on the couch. “Good pick,” she said. “I cheated. It was already on the turntable. Although I do like Marvin Gaye,” he added with a grin. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Nice,” he offered. “Thanks.” They sat there, awkwardly talking about music, sipping their coffee. “So, can I make an observation?” he said, putting his coffee down and shifting his body on the couch so he was facing her. She nodded. “For two thirty-somethings we’re both acting as nervous as a couple of high school kids.” He stroked the stubble on his chin with his hand. “Why is that?” She laughed. “Are you serious? Why? Maybe it’s because—” She never got to finish her thought because at that moment he leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t a great kiss, mainly because he caught her in mid-sentence, but it did stop her from talking. And when he kissed her again, she slowly relaxed and let his lips cover hers, putting her arm around his neck so she could pull him closer. She was surprised by how different it was. This wasn’t her first kiss. She had loved kissing Lauren and must have kissed her thousands of times, but as she pulled him close, his smell, the feel of his skin on hers, the taste of his lips, all seemed so much more intense. It was as if she had suddenly awakened in the Land of Oz—the world now filled with colors. She closed her eyes and slowly stroked the back of his neck, enjoying his reaction, her own body reacting in a way that she had never experienced, the warmth of his lips spreading throughout her, her body tingling in an unfamiliar but wonderful way.

~~~

Going back to catch up on an exciting new legal series is exactly what I'm prone to do... If you didn't catch my review of the fourth in series, you might want to click back once you read today's post. Given my various health appointments, I decided to provide an overview of the first three since the primary thing that changes is the specific legal case that will be featured...

And this first one was a doozy! Here's the Prologue:

April 17, 2006 

HIS BROWN EYES WERE OPEN, THE SHOCK OF BEING STABBED STILL reflected in his dilated pupils. Sharise pushed his naked, lifeless body off of her, and he tumbled heavily from the bed to the floor, landing on his back. Fxxk, she thought, breathing heavily, I got to get out of here. No. Take your time, don’t panic. It’s two in the morning, no one will miss him for a while. She leaned up on one arm so she could look over the side of the bed at his body, the blood pooling beneath him on the cheap mustard-colored motel carpet. Fxxking bastard. You got what you deserved, you piece of shit. Turning away from him, she looked down at her own blood-soaked body, and the wave of nausea came without warning. She retched over the side of the bed, adding a final indignity to his corpse. Shaking, she pushed herself to the far side of the bed and swung her feet to the floor, hoping she could stand, hoping the nausea would retreat. She steadied herself by bracing her hand against the wall, and slowly felt her way to the bathroom, where she found the light switch and the toilet just as she vomited again, grabbing her cornrows with her right hand to protect them from the insides of her stomach and the murky waters of the bowl. As she heaved and gagged, her mind drifted back to when she was little and her momma would sit next to her when she was sick, comforting her through the ordeal. God, she could use her momma now, but it had been four years and there was no going back now. When there was nothing left to come up, Sharise lay on the cold tiled floor, her body trembling, not wanting to budge from where she was. Finally, the reality of what she had done began to settle in, and she knew she had to move. She dragged herself into the shower, where she watched his blood swirl down the drain, and desperately tried to come up with a plan. Her fingerprints would be all over him and the room, not to mention they’d probably be able to get her DNA from the vomit, which she had no intention of cleaning up. She had been arrested enough to know that Homicide would find a match in the system before their coffee even cooled. So not only would she have to somehow disappear, she had to avoid getting arrested for the rest of her life; not likely in her line of work, and especially since her mug shot would be plastered all over the place. She found her dress in the far corner of the room and put it on sans underwear, which she’d left in the bathroom, soaked with his blood. She sat on the edge of the bed and zipped up her thigh-high faux suede boots. She looked in the mirror, dug her lipstick out of her purse, and reapplied it. The only other makeup she carried was mascara, but she decided to forego reapplying that for now. Why the hell had this white boy picked her, anyway? She found his wallet still in his pants pocket. William E. Townsend, Jr., age twenty-eight, according to his license. Great, she thought as she rifled through the wallet, one of those guys who carried no cash. Besides the fifty dollars he had already given her, he only had another thirty dollars in his wallet, not even enough to pay for what he wanted. She grabbed the money and his Bank of America ATM card. Then she found his phone, flipped it open, and scrolled through his contacts. Stupid motherfxxker. There, under the name “BOA,” was his ATM PIN number. That should be good for three hundred, she figured. Taking the keys to his BMW out of his front pants pocket, she looked at his phone again. Two forty-five. She wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but she knew it wasn’t too far from Atlantic City; maybe she could still grab a change of clothes and get to Philly before daylight. She could ditch the car there and hop a train to New York. It was a long shot, but she couldn’t think of any better options. Studying the scene, she tried to figure out if she should take the knife with her or not. It’s not like it mattered if they found it. They sure as hell were going to be able to put her in the room if she ever got caught. Might as well take it, she reasoned, just in case. She walked over to where he was lying. His face was already pale, the blood that had provided the color now in a puddle under him. His hands still clutched the knife protruding from his chest. She unclenched his hands to pull the knife out, then rinsed it off in the sink before stuffing it in her purse. Time to go. She turned off all the lights and hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. With a little luck, she’d be in New York before they found his body. Maybe if she was really lucky, it would never make it beyond the local news. She took a deep breath and headed out the door.

Yes, the McCain and Swisher legal team has taken the case for a young lady known as Sharise...Once the body of Bill Alexander is found, there is enough evidence in the motel room to arrest Samuel Emanuel Barnes for the murder. But right at the start, Ms. McCain brings a motion for the assigned judged to recuse himself... Citing he was homophobic... Wow! McCain starts each and every case with a major issue to be addressed and moves on from there to prove exactly what she intended to prove. Her client's innocence. This character, along with her partner, a former FBI Agent who was removed from office on a false claim... Is quite a pair!

The thing about the case against Sharise is that the father of the victim is a successful highly influential political officer and has his goals to move higher and higher... And a murder case about his son is NOT what he wants to deal with! Thus begins the lies...

ARON TINSLEY STUDIED HIS CLIENT’S COMPUTER. HE MISSED HIS days as a hacker, something he had started doing when he was fifteen. While the prospect of five years in prison for hacking into the NRA’s emails had been a convincing enticement to get on the straight and narrow, it was still hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that at twenty-two he was now a white hat doing IT security. While his boss was a decent guy, a former hacker himself, and it did have the advantage of a regular paycheck, it meant his days were mostly filled with boring stuff. Still, every once in a while, he came across something that provided him with the same thrill as hacking. Today was one of those days. Up until about 6:00 p.m. last night, Aaron hadn’t even known where Westfield, New Jersey was. But his boss had called him with what he said was a “special assignment” for a guy by the name of Charles Parsons who was having computer problems. Must be real special, Aaron had thought if they were willing to pay him double time to go out on a Sunday. Surveying his surroundings, Aaron had no idea how much Parsons’s house was worth, but it was easily the biggest house he had ever been in. The home office he was working in probably had more square footage than Aaron’s entire one-bedroom apartment in Queens. As he searched deeper through the mostly unseen files on his client’s laptop, he had to admit that he was enjoying the hunt. He examined the computer’s registry, trying to find the hidden program he had begun to suspect was buried in the software code. Whoever had done this was a real pro. He was almost envious. “I need to get on my computer. Are you almost done?” Charles Parsons asked, startling Aaron. Aaron had been so engrossed in his search he was surprised to see Parsons standing in the middle of the room. Parsons, who was well tanned even though it was early April, appeared to be around six feet, with broad shoulders. Aaron couldn’t even hazard a guess at his age, but his wrinkle-free face, contrasted with a shock of wavy gray hair, left the impression that Parsons was well acquainted with a plastic surgeon. Catching Parsons’s annoyed stare, Aaron realized that he was still grinning in admiration for the cleverness of the hacker. “What are you smiling at?” Parsons snapped. Aaron willed his face into seriousness. “Sorry. Um, can we go talk in another room?” he said. “What the fuck are you babbling about?” Parsons shot back. Aaron powered down the laptop, closed it, and took Parsons by the arm, escorting him out of the office. “Mr. Parsons, please let’s go into your kitchen.” “What the hell is going on?” Parsons said, yanking his arm from Aaron’s grasp as they left the room. “I asked you to check to see if I have a virus, and you’re acting like my computer has the bubonic plague.” Aaron sat on one of the stools in front of the marble island in Parsons’s massive, well-appointed kitchen. “That’s actually not a bad analogy,” he offered, nodding his head. “Yeah, you have a virus, which it looks like you picked up from some porn website. That’s easy enough to fix. Unfortunately, you have a much bigger problem. How long have you been running the encryption software?” “Why? What’s that got to do with anything?” Parsons asked, his eyes narrowing as he gazed suspiciously at Aaron. “I’m not sure yet, but I think that may have a rootkit embedded in it. Which means your laptop, and probably any other computers you use that are running the same software on them, are infected with the same rootkit.” “What the fxxk is a rootkit?” Aaron shook his head from side to side. “In layman’s terms, it’s a program that allows whoever installed it to monitor everything you do on your computer.” “Wait, are you saying someone can see what websites I visited?” Parsons said, cocking his head to the side and rubbing his forefinger across his lips, his tone suddenly less defiant. “Yes, but . . .” Aaron hesitated. “Well, it’s much worse than that. It means that whoever is watching can record every keystroke you make. So that if you go to a website where you have a password, they can steal your password and lock you out. I think they’ve also taken over the microphone and camera to watch and listen to you. That’s why I wanted to speak to you in here.” Parsons’s stare conveyed disbelief. “Watch me? From my computer? You can’t be fxxking serious?” “Yeah,” Aaron nodded. “Unfortunately, I am.” “What’s that got to do with my encryption software?” “As best I can tell, the rootkit is embedded in it. So if you have the same software on your desktop, or any other computers, you probably have it on those as well.” Parsons’s blank stare conveyed his failure to grasp the full impact of what Aaron was telling him. “Look,” Aaron said, speaking slowly now, “if this is what I think it is, it means that as long as you’ve had this software on your computer, whoever’s responsible for it has seen everything you’ve done. Every email, every transaction, every download—everything.” “But everything’s encrypted. That’s the whole purpose of the software. So only people with . . .” He stopped mid-sentence, panic spreading across his face with the realization that the encryption software was compromised. “Whoever this is, they can see everything?” “Yeah, most likely,” Aaron repeated. “No. No, that can’t be possible,” Parsons said, his face suddenly ashen. “When did you have it installed?” Aaron asked, enjoying the sudden shift in power as he watched Parsons’s desperation grow. Who knows, he thought. Maybe if I play this right and fix the problem, Parsons might pay me something extra under the table. “Um, I don’t know—about a year and a half ago, I guess,” he replied. “And where did you get it?” Aaron said. “I mean, it’s not something you bought at Staples.” “Some friends recommended it.” When he saw Aaron’s skeptical look, he got defensive. “I trust these guys. We do some business together and the business they’re in requires secrecy, like mine. They said this software was the best.” “Any changes to it since then?” “I got a new laptop about a year ago.” “Anything else?” Aaron asked. “Yeah, about six months or so ago the guy who designed and installed the software came back and installed an update saying they needed to patch some potential security issue.” “Bingo,” Aaron said, the final piece of the puzzle finally dropping into place. “It looks like whoever designed it built in a little something extra when they installed the update, because as good as it is as encryption software, it’s even a better rootkit.” “I need this fixed now,” Parsons said, growing angry. “I need access to my data. If someone has been watching me for six months, I need to secure things before someone steals my information.” Aaron didn’t feel like incurring Parsons’s wrath by telling him it was probably too late. The hacker had access for six months. Plus, they either already knew Aaron had been reviewing the computer’s registry and that he had likely uncovered the rootkit, or they’d know soon enough. Not to mention that the only way to retrieve the encrypted data was to use the infected software. As Aaron weighed the options, he couldn’t help but admire how thoroughly this mystery designer had fxxked his client. “You understand,” Aaron started cautiously, “there are basically two pieces to the encryption software: One encrypts any emails you send and receive, the second encrypts any data that you’re storing so no one can read it unless they have the same software.” Parsons nodded. “Here’s the problem,” Aaron said slowly. “I’m assuming you encrypted and downloaded a lot of data you don’t want anyone else to see.” Aaron didn’t wait for Parsons’s response—his face told him the answer. “Assuming that’s true, you can’t access the information without unencrypting it, which requires you to use the program. So what we need to do is get you off the Internet so whoever is running this thing will lose access to your computer. Then we need to unencrypt all your data and get a brand-new laptop.” Parsons’s head was bouncing like a bobblehead toy. “This can’t be happening! Motherfxxker!” he spat out, then started grabbing things and throwing them against the blue tiled walls. He started with the fruit in a ceramic bowl on the island, then the bowl, then anything he could get his hands on—a glass, a coffee mug. He finally stopped, his breath coming in short staccato bursts as he wrapped his hands behind his head, holding it as if trying to keep it from exploding. He looked at Aaron with the look of a cornered wild animal. “I need that data. I have to make sure . . .” He stopped. “There’s a lot of important financial information that I’ve downloaded. I can’t let that fall into the wrong hands.” Aaron scratched his head. “Where’s the data now?” “I have it on four external hard drives.” Aaron took a deep breath. “As I said, the easiest thing to do is get you offline, connect your hard drives, open and unencrypt the data on them, move it unencrypted to a new computer or hard drive, and then resave it using new encryption software.” “Can I do that on my own?” “How good are you on a computer?” He shook his head in disgust. “Can you show me how to do it? There’s a lot of sensitive data, so once you show me, hopefully I can handle it from there.” “Sure. But in the meantime, whoever installed the rootkit has access to your data. So time is of the essence.” Parsons mumbled under his breath. “There may be another solution,” he said. “I have an idea. I’ll call you later. But in the meantime, go get me a new laptop and do whatever you have to do to get some new encryption software, so you’re ready to show me how to do it as soon I need you.” Aaron let himself out through the front door and headed out to his car, happy to be getting out of the house. Any thoughts of making Parsons happy and getting a few extra bucks under the table had evaporated as he’d watched Parsons explode. This was not a guy he wanted to deal with any more than he had to. Get the job done and get out of town. He wasn’t sure what Parsons was thinking when he said he might have another solution, but, by the look on Parsons’s face, Aaron was sure he didn’t want to know. * * * Parsons walked into his bedroom and pulled out the four hard drives, stared at them, now aware that someone else might know everything that was on them. Who the fxxk would do this to him? He didn’t trust his partners, but he couldn’t imagine any of them would risk incurring his wrath by hacking him. He tried to remember the name of the guy who had installed the software and who had recommended him. He needed answers and he needed them now. He picked up the phone and dialed her number. Of all of them, she was the one who had always been loyal to him. “Cass, it’s me. I . . . we have a major problem. I just had an IT guy in here and he tells me our encryption software has some fucking rootworm or something in it.” “What the hell is that?” she asked. Parsons hesitated, weighing what he wanted to tell her to avoid giving her too much information. “It allows someone to see what I’m doing on my computer,” he replied. “Charles, are you serious? This could be devastating.” “Listen to me. I don’t need you to tell me how fxxking bad this could be; I just need you to find the guy who installed this. Do you remember the little shit’s name—McKay or something?” “Mackey,” she said. “Yes, that’s it. Justin Mackey. Tell Max and Carl to find him and bring him to the warehouse in Elizabeth. We need to have a little chat with him.”

I DON’T NEED THIS ON A MONDAY MORNING, ERIN THOUGHT, STANDING at the entrance and scanning the nearly empty diner. This being New Jersey, the diner capital of the world, there hadn’t been a problem finding an open one even at the ungodly hour of four thirty in the morning. After spotting Justin in the far corner, she slowly made her way over and slid into the booth opposite him. Mackey had called in a panic forty-five minutes earlier, telling her that he had to talk to her. Although Mackey might not have been the brightest bulb in the luminary, he had never been an alarmist, so she managed to drag herself out of bed, splash some water on her face, throw on some clothes, and make her way to the Lido Diner. She ordered coffee, too tired to be angry. He looked like hell, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, an indication that he had gotten less sleep than her. His stained T-shirt and jeans looked like he had grabbed them off his bedroom floor. “I’m sorry,” he said before she could ask him anything. “I would never have bothered you at this hour if it wasn’t important,” he said, running his hands through his uncombed hair. “I needed to see you to let you know that I have to disappear for a while.” “Disappear for a while? Justin, what are you talking about?” “I’m not coming to court today, or probably for the rest of the trial. I have to get out of town.” Erin wasn’t sure if it was the coffee kicking in or her client telling her that he was jumping bail, but she was suddenly awake. “Justin, you understand you’re on bail. If you don’t show up not only will the judge revoke your bail, but you’ll be committing a separate crime: bail jumping. I know the trial isn’t going the way you hoped, but even if you’re convicted, I don’t think Judge Fowler will give you more than two or three years tops. And because it’s your first offense, you’ll probably serve less than a year before you get parole. But if you run, you’re really going to piss off the prosecutor and the judge, and assuming at some point you get caught, there’s no telling what sentence you’ll get.” “You don’t understand, Erin. It’s got nothing to do with this case,” he said, nervously looking around the diner. “Despite what I’m charged with, I didn’t design this software. Some guy named Luke, who I’ve never even met, designed all of it. He hired me and I just did what I was told.” Erin motioned for him to lower his voice. Between his emotions and the empty diner, it sounded like he was using a megaphone. “It’s Luke who did this, not me. It’s not my fault.” “Stop! Justin, you’ve got to slow down. You’re not making any sense. Who’s Luke? What does any of this have to do with your case or with you disappearing?” “I’m sorry. I’m just a little rattled.” As he took a sip of his coffee, Erin noticed that his hand was shaking...

One of the worst type of cases to deal with are related to computer fraud. Sadly. Computers can be wonderful--or they can be nightmares for people who know only the surface utilization of this powerful machine. Any computer can be hacked. The benefits of computers far outweigh not using them, but, depending upon how and why some people decide to use equipment, they should never feel so secure that absolutely nobody can get to what is on your system.

For Charles Parsons, it was already too late when he was told, by a hacker working to help people, that his entire system was corrupted and totally visible to whoever had taken over the computer files...

An interesting little twist that is given to readers was that an inside police officer had contacted Erin and shared that he didn't think that the defendant in a recent murder had actually killed the man--Charles Parsons! While the McCabe-Swisher team was nobody's fool, Erin decided to act upon his tip and at least talk to the woman accused. Based upon her story, they decided to take the case... And they had no idea what they really were getting into!

“You okay?”
Mark asked. “I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s just really hard to hold on to the hope that someday who you are or who you love won’t matter to anyone. People just have so much hate."

~~~

“How’d things go in Cape May?” he asked as he stirred the rice one last time and plated it. “Ah, not so great,” she replied, uncertain about how to respond. “Por que?” he asked innocently. She watched as he spooned scampi sauce over the shrimp and rice. “Looks great,” she said, taking the two plates to the table and waiting for him as he washed his hands. “Bon appétit,” he said, taking his seat and picking up his fork. “So what happened?” “Well . . . they think I murdered my client,” she responded with a shrug. His look betrayed his skepticism. “You’re kidding—right?” “Not really,” she answered half-heartedly. “What!” he said, dropping his fork on his plate. “Apparently, from his home security system, we’re seen leaving his house together, and he never returns. According to the medical examiner, his time of death is around the time we were together.” Mark got up, walked over to her side of the table, and gave her a hug. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Thanks,” she said, leaning her head into his chest. “Yeah—I’m okay, I guess. I know he was very much alive when I left, but I will confess it’s disconcerting to know I’m in the crosshairs of the prosecutor’s office.” “What are you going to do?” he asked. She gave him a weak grin. “Eat before it gets cold. It looks really good.” “You seem pretty unfazed about this. Aren’t you concerned?” he asked, going back to his seat. She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I am, but probably not for the reason you might think. I can’t help but think that Senator Townsend is somehow involved, and if he is, I know he’ll do anything to get back at me for defending Sharise. I’m not worried about the truth—just that the truth has never meant much to Townsend and those who do his bidding.” She took a forkful of shrimp and rice. “Thank you for cooking, by the way.” “My pleasure.” “This is delicious,” she said, as she considered how to broach the next difficult subject—their current living arrangement. Back in January, before she had moved in with Mark, she had renewed the lease on her apartment, and it ran for another seven months. “I still have my apartment in Cranford,” she said. “Maybe I should move back there until this blows over. If I’m right about Townsend being involved, I may be in his crosshairs, and I don’t want you to get caught in the middle. He’s dangerous.” This time, he gently placed his fork on the side of his plate. “And you living by yourself is somehow supposed to make me feel better?” he said wearily. “We both know that if someone wants to come after you, one of the ways is through me, even if we’re not living together. Neither of us has forgotten that you saved my life,” he said, referring to an incident when Erin was able to surprise two thugs posing as police officers just as they were about to abduct Mark in an attempt to silence her. “And don’t you dare go to where I think you’re going. You broke up with me once trying to protect me from my own family’s transphobia. Breaking up with me again isn’t going to protect me from crazy people out to get you. We’ve been through this before. You don’t get to make decisions for me—only I do.” She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand, hoping her expression didn’t reveal that she was guilty as charged—that’s exactly what she had been thinking. A little over a year earlier, she had called time on their relationship because Mark’s family had given him such a hard time about dating her. Now, with the exception of his sister, Molly, and her wife, Robin, things were still tense. She already felt guilty enough about his estrangement from his family; the thought that he might also be hurt or killed because of her was horrifying. “Let’s hope this is over with quickly and we never have to worry about it,” she said in a tone that was neither encouraging nor convincing. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I’m sure it will.”

Having the main character, who happens to be a criminal defense lawyer, being charged with murder is, maybe, a step too far. But not for Robyn Gigl! She's already gotten high praise by The New York Times Book Review, who says that this is "A groundbreaking series that is poised to become a definitive one," and all Gigl has done is create main characters that many people choose to...hate..." You know, folks, I would guess that if Jesus was born in these chaotic days, his mother, Mary, would be accused of having sex prior to her marriage to Joseph. And people would never let her forget that she was an unwed mother... After all, she apparently can't identify any man who fathered her son... After 2000+ years, there is still controversy! Why?!

I am loving these books, but not necessarily for Gigl's celebration of LGBTQ characters, but because her legal cases simply blow me away with the reality of what these characters are forced to endure from the people in their family, close friends, or, even strangers who have no interaction with people, except through gossip, disinformation, and simply hate those who are perceived as being different... I think of a passage from The Light of the World which I am also reading at this time. It was Jesus who cried out "Permit the children to come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to them..." The book goes on to say that only Jesus knows the "why" of each issue, so that we who are His children need not be concerned, but just love all of our neighbors...

Which leads to one of the cases that is in Remain Silent. Erin was asked to take on a case regarding a child of 11 who had herself declared that she was a girl. (Yes, this is exactly what had happened in Erin's life, except when she was older). Hannah had a father who had never wanted to be involved with a child, but had financially contributed to her life. When she started telling her mother about her inner feelings, her mother was supportive and had sought Erin's help in dealing with the details. However, a local politician, who is found in the first three books, had taken on transgender activities as a source of political fear mongering and Hannah was caught up in the political rhetoric, that was being fed to her biological, but absent father. Hannah was taken away from her mother and placed legally with her father, a man she had never known!  It gets worse...

At the same time, another man who had seen himself as a different sex all of his life, had contacted Erin because of seeing her information in a local news article. He had invited her to share her life and, in turn, talked about his being a closeted trans woman. During that time with Erin, he had received telephone call and had told her, that, perhaps, it was better that she left by another way from his home. It was after Erin left, that he was murdered. And that visit turned into a political nightmare as she was placed in jail based upon circumstantial evidence. During that time in jail, she was physically assaulted by the guards!

You know, folks, I found myself placing the past-president into the villain of these books. One of the reasons was because of a comment that the man never got his own hands dirty, but paid to get whatever he wanted--his final goal was president of the United States. I have never seen such hateful words pouring out in America--for purely political reasons! We've all heard his agitation--his incitement of hate and violence while playing the part of a man who wants to help people. Hearing it--reading it--from the point of view of those who suffer from such damaging rhetoric is startling at first, but, worse, a chilling awareness of just how much the words of one person can ultimately reach across the nation and the world...

This book had a, frankly, welcomed closeout because the individual leading all of the damage was stopped...  In reality, too many times an acceptable ending never comes... I am thankful for these books. I have learned much about those who find themselves born into a body that was mixed up in a way that can occur unknowingly. Most of all, I have come to understand the turmoil of the lives they have been forced to live, either by hidden crossdressing, or by acting to legally take charge of something that was clearly a mistake in the first place. Gigl has shown through her books an outstanding sense of love and concern for herself and for those in the same position. If you are worried about all the hate and rhetoric being thrown around purely for political power or hate of others, recognize one thing--only God understands the why and He loves all of us who have opened our minds and hearts to His Love and Truth... 

Aside from all of that, these legal thrillers have been extraordinary in the twists and turns that only a fantastic author knows how to weave such tales! The cases are made to teach us, but also to help us learn that Love is the primary goal in interacting with anybody who doesn't act like "we" want them to act... 

God Bless

Gabby

Robin Murarka Presents Akin - A Literary Masterpiece of Life! A Personal Favorite for 2025!

 "Do I exist? Not in your sleeping dreams, my boy. And fear not purging my memory from reality, for the truth is more pious a goal than delusion."

But this is god, Aydan . . . the ground bleeds this into plants, animals . . . even us . . ." "That sounds nice, Samaye . . . I would like to be in a world surrounded by these patterns, as they are in Tphetria . . ." "These are just stories to most, my brother. They are corrupt people . . . my people," Samaye explained. "I had to leave for my soul could not consume it. I could not understand it." "What do you mean?" Aydan asked. "The structures . . . they are created through god . . . through the groups. But it is my own family, my brethren that work as slaves. Not as family. There is a group, a powerful group . . . the Methias . . . they . . . were like us. But they adorn themselves in vanity . . . and they use god's knowledge for purposelessness. They attain their knowledge from strangers . . . strangers from far away. And they keep it hidden." He began to cry gently. "It hurts my heart, akin. That so many suffer for their greed. They keep the knowledge to themselves and the strangers hidden. And when I encounter the Methias in the street . . . they are like me . . . like you. Of flesh, with soulful eyes. The confusion in me is like a disease, akin." His crying deepened, and he began to lose his breath and heave as thoughts began to consume him. "I am . . . perplexed . . . akin . . . the man in the mask . . . the rest . . ." he struggled to say between gasps. Aydan suddenly became concerned and called to him. "Samaye . . . you must calm yourself. Count with me . . ." Samaye began to cry harder, the sobs turning into grunts as the intensity of his groaning became louder and harder. As he heard Samaye, a hollowness began to form in him. "It . . . it is . . . akin . . . it is . . . inconceivable . . . that my brother . . . my own akin of flesh . . . would harm me so," Samaye uttered in between gasps of breath mixed with tears and grunts. Aydan closed his eyes and pressed his palm against his door. "My akin . . . brother . . . mewah akin . . . oh god . . ." Samaye began to heave as if he was choking. Aydan's face grimaced, and he too began to cry. "You must breathe, Samaye . . . we are together, you and I." Samaye fell to the ground and curled up, holding his stomach. "My stomach pains . . . it hurts so tremendously. I . . . I . . . think of his smell . . . and it . . . it ills me, akin . . . "It ills me . . . that such a terrible feeling should . . . should . . . associate itself . . . to the thought of my own brother!!!" His gasping turned into a steady cry, weeping heavily as he began to drown. Aydan's own chest began to tighten, feeling helpless towards his companion. "Not everyone is our brother, Samaye . . ." Aydan responded after a moment. "Not everyone sees us as we wish to see them. Do you see?" Samaye clutched his hair in his hands and wept wholly. As Aydan listened to him, he began to contemplate that Samaye was not fooling himself into believing that the Fayem was his brother. It seemed he truly saw him as that. He cried with the deep seated pain that only betrayal could fuel, not delusion. "Why, Samaye . . ." Aydan asked. "Why do you think he loves you . . . that he wants to . . . that he could? He is not your brother . . . he is an animal." "Akin . . ." Samaye responded, crying deeply. "Do you believe he does not yearn to be loved freely and completely?" Aydan opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The gentleness of Samaye's rebuttal shattered any preparedness he had in his criticism of Samaye's perspective. The truth was, as he thought of the Fayem and all the cruelty in his nature, he could not argue that the Fayem yearned for love. As his mind contemplated it against his will, he found himself more and more convinced that this was indeed the case. And as he did, the fear and hatred became less fortified within him. It was a feeling he was not comfortable with, and although he tried to re-envision the atrocities of the past day to re-enforce his stance, Samaye's voice, like the hand of god, ushered all arbitrary thoughts away, leaving only unpleasant truths. "I . . . I don't understand, Samaye . . ." Samaye sat in the darkness, holding his head in his hands. He contemplated the physical pain within him along with the confusion of the abuse. He nodded to himself. "Akin . . . why did he manifest his hatred upon me when I have done nothing but love him?" Samaye's words shook Aydan's head, and he burst into tears, uncontrollably crying at the thought of the sheer vulgarity of such hatred that would facilitate the abuses that Samaye had suffered. "I don't understand, Samaye . . . I don't know . . ." He cried like a child, not knowing where the tears were coming from. "Why are his actions so hurtful to me, Samaye? Why do I expect more of him?" Aydan asked. He became furious and began to scream. "He is an animal! Not a man! Not a man to do such things to you! Not a man! Why are you hurt? He is not a man, he is a beast! A demon placed upon this world with nothing like us in his chest! He is a beast! Why do you cry? Why do you cry at a bastard animal acting as such?" "I know nothing, akin, except that he yearns for my love, just as I do his . . ." Samaye responded immediately. Aydan slammed his hand against his door repeatedly, trying to alienate himself from Samaye's words. He believed it to be true, but loathed his own certainty of it. Samaye lay down, curling up in his cell as tears ran down his cheek. He did not sob, for the thoughts came and went, but the confusion that remained hurt him with every emergence. "I don't understand, akin . . . why would he hurt me so?" Samaye asked as one such emergence arrived, causing his tears to flow faster, his body tensing up. And with every sob that Aydan heard, he understood them not to be fuel to the effect of hating the man, but attempting to understand his motivation and purpose, his capacity to hurt Samaye in such a manner while he was loved. It was the pain of confusion, almost mind-numbing confusion, brought about by his attempt to understand why one would reject the love, the real empathy, compassion and trust Samaye had so freely invested into him. Aydan was confused by his feelings, for he resided in a realm of fear and openly accepted that none were his friends or comrades. Yet, the way that Samaye was, was of a completely different nature. He was suffering immensely and the victim of his faith in someone like the Fayem, but there was something he carried within him . . . something familiar to Aydan that he both deeply respected and desired. There was a border, he saw. In the darkness, his senses numbed, he could almost visualize it. His world, entirely existing before this point, Aydan was alone, surrounded by teeth. Bethelhurst meant as well as he could but was never a companion of sorts, never Aydan's ally. And though he navigated the world around him successfully, the concept of an ally was unspeakably rich to him, as if seeing this border in the darkness opened up his thirst for love. It was as if he discovered a gaping hole in his stomach, and there was a vacuum there, and though he could not feel it before this moment, it had been there all along. Aydan slammed his hand against his door, once, forcefully. "Samaye." he called out. "Samaye!" he yelled. "Yes." Aydan calmed himself, choosing his words carefully. "Are you my brother?" Samaye began to weep uncontrollably, pressing himself against his wooden barrier, stretching the wound on his back. "Because I . . . am your brother," Aydan continued. Samaye placed his palm against his door, crying profusely. "And I am going to break this."

~~~

He had dreamed of voices that morning, but they were not all his creation, but from some other place, some unseen place, unlike him, reaching out to him. They called him brother, as did Samaye. He wept as he thought of his friend, his brother, his brethren. But just as the tears arrived, so too did they stop, as he dismissed reality in favor of fatigue and deep breathing as he fell into the world of sleep. Perhaps his friend would be there in the morning, and he was mistaken. His hands felt the sand beneath him with every temporary moment of consciousness, as if he hoped to find grass, or water, or something other than the crystalline pebbles against his fingers. He rubbed his hand in them angrily, losing all hope, unable to even wet his lips, afraid that if he opened his mouth, his tongue would shrivel up and die, taking him along with it. He lay down, finally, feeling weight upon his body, pushing away from it, nuzzling his head in the sand. With his nose now completely blocked, he opened his lips only minimally to take in air. He tried to filter out the loose sand that came in with every breath but could taste the rocks against his tongue and even tried to chew them in some delirious state, hoping to extract flavor and juices out of them. Perhaps no one had ever tried, he thought, and he would discover something miraculous that would empower him. He recalled something he had contemplated as a child. His eyes closed, he tried to whisper the concept, trying to resonate it within. "If . . . "If . . . I can sing . . . if I can sing . . . if I can sing the words . . . then I am not defeated." He lay there, hearing them, thinking them, feeling them. He repeated, louder. "If . . . I sing . . . if I can sing the words . . . I am not defeated." He took a deep breath in and felt the words, like blood, coarse through his system . . . and began to scream. "If I have the luxury of song, I am not defeated! Hear me! I am not defeated!" He took another desperate breath in and whispered to himself. "If I am song . . . I will never be defeated . . ." Then the wind in the desert was all that could be heard. The miniscule crackling of fragment after fragment, pieces of orange earth dancing in the wind, running a gauntlet up and down the dunes of the dry infinite sea. They filled his hair, his ears, and piled up on either side of him. As if attracted to the fleeting warmth in his body, the little creatures that touched him lay down with him, upon him, to be close to his spirit. His hand closed around the sand, holding it in his fist. He kept his eyes closed and began to sing. "The world closes around me . . . "But I am still here, I am still here." He stopped in between every line to pause and gather energy. "The lands swallow me whole. "I am still here . . . I am still here. "I am still here . . ." he whispered quietly, feeling the embrace of the dream world. "I will always be here." Still. Perfectly still. It was the stillness that awoke him. His ears perked, and some vessel of awareness ran down his ear, into his mind, and began to scream as loud as it could, and his awareness was piqued. "Hmmm . . . ?" Aydan weakly muttered in a half dazed state. Underneath the sand, something moved, and his hand limply emerged, sensing the wind. This piqued his awareness even more. Half buried now, Aydan shifted, feeling his entire body ache in agony. He moaned in pain, and in doing so tore the dry calluses on his lips, sending shearing impulses of torture through his entire body. He finally managed to prop himself upwards on one hand and sat up, his body muffled in small particles of sand. He remained still, trying to sense something, anything, but could not. It frightened him, more than he expected it to. Gently, he tried to open his eyes, brushing caked sand away from his face, carefully freeing his eyelashes. He peeked every now and then, and seeing and hearing nothing began to push his anxious mind to bridge the gap between unease and terror, forcing him to become frantic in his effort to discover what universe he had fallen into. As his eyes opened, he saw the red haze of an emerging dusk color in an unmistakable gradient along the sand in front of him. The sun, as if staring directly at him but gentle enough to receive a stare back, was right in front of him, flat against the horizon in perfect proportion to the world. Aydan stared, his body hunched, and was entranced. Something was happening to him, and he could not determine what it was. A rush of emotion is how he described it to himself, too fast to be interrupted. As if insanity and reality had collided to create an absolutely pivotal moment where the universe was bending in some strange manner to kiss him. He looked to the side and saw a leg in the sand, connected to something that was now buried by the world, and knew it belonged to his perished friend. He began to cry, for he found it to be the most beautiful and vulgar thing he had ever seen. Samaye was in darkness, gone forever with unrequited hope, yet this color upon his leg, upon the sand, and even upon Aydan, provided by the sun, kissed it all. Aydan raised his hand at the sun, trying to feel the thickness of his feeling, but felt nothing. He stared at the orange fire, and as it began to hide under the horizon, so too did he begin to feel alone and empty. It was as if the presence of the sun introduced noise to the environment, and though this was not the case, as it vanished, Aydan felt scared at the silence he found himself drenched in. He saw Samaye's leg once again, this time void of color or light, but simply lying there, unmoving, horrific in its suggestion of what lay connected to it. It was not an object but a sign of something more terrible, some beauty lost but not simply missing now and forever, but rather defiled and broken by the world. His dazed thoughts were disconnected, and though he contemplated how distraught he was, he simply did not have the capacity to dwell on it. The sun was gone, and whatever magnificent feeling had emerged when he awoke went with it, replaced by the real world, one he seemed to collide with in what seemed to be only unpleasant manners. "Samaye . . ." he whispered as tears filled his eyes. He leaned down backwards, resting his back against the ground as if lying in bed, preparing to die. He was filled with anguish at that moment, with nothing but thoughts of failure and betrayal and the woe of witnessing the loss of the soft creature that lay beside him. He had never experienced a hopelessness that had no exits and though, for a moment, he regretted leaving the cave, as he felt the cool sand under his palms, he became suddenly assured that though it ended as it did, it was eventuated in freedom.

~~~

What is it that makes one man accept, yet another man strives beyond that which he was borne into? Robin Murarka presents an epic fantasy world in which to explore that one question... But is there even an answer? For how can we know what we want until we are born and then come to a specific life following that of his father, while at the same time choosing to roam free, gaining strength from those walks out into the wilderness--the land surrounding him... Ayden was such a man. While his father and he were working in fields, Ayden day dreamed of far lands... And then, he had a dream! And, in that dream he learned that it was he who chose what was to be... and he had indeed chosen! Although not really understanding...

In a place with names that you will not recognize, you will find that, even in a different land, there are things that make men fear--they didn't know about Demons, perhaps... But never being sure because it was only feelings, thoughts, worries that had led to their living with those who would accept their life as the only reality...

Ayden had dreams--visions. But his father, fearing that others would hear of his son, would explain them away as just nightmares of a time in a different place than where they lived... But Ayden would watch what was happening in his village and question the actions of people who saw things differently, perhaps just from their own experiences, such as a deaf man who could not hear when a young girl asked him for water, she spoke louder and louder until it was noticeable that the wellman had not heard her and then that man was removed from his position to determine whether he was possessed or could be healed... and he was placed in a central pit in the village, where their god Vespa would decide his future... Ayden watched as he was in the pit, hoping that the man would look up and see some of his encouragement, his concern for the man... I saw a great parallel of this town and daily life before religions had been formed and, then, as to the early life of Jesus here on earth...

For there were also men of high rank and power... And they lived by the old rules and spoke of danger, their gods' wrath and people were afraid, often not knowing from day to day what would be happening. Soon, Ayden awoke, with a deep sharp smell that he could not place. Where was he? And as he listened and felt around, he realized he was in the dark, and discovered he was locked there. Getting just a small portion of food that was almost spoiled. What had occurred? All that he knew was that others were in the same location and that at certain times, he could hear screaming, or cries of pain nearby. And at night, he listened and could hear a man weeping in the next cage and Ayden called out to him, figuring that they wouldn't have nearby guards to hear... And soon, Ayden knew and would call to him: "Samaye . . . is that you, Samaye?" "It is pronounced Soo-ma-ya in Tphetria, Samaye responded...: And, so, two men were no longer alone and grew stronger in knowing that they had a friend, even a brother as they talked and learned of the other. 

"Hear . . . what, brother?" "My heart, Samaye . . . it aches with pain, not for my or your fate, but for the forgotten and pained dal my defa brought. I rejected it, and I am sure it hurts where it sits now. I see it wrapped in cloth, sitting alone, and my father stares at it, woe and sadness filling him for its unfulfilled purpose." Samaye smiled. "You are a very cruel man, Aydan, to have hurt such a sensitive dal." "Yes!" Aydan yelled. "Yes, that is correct. That is exactly what I am trying to say to you. Both you and I are bathed in horror, yet my mind focuses on his back and his hurt face and most importantly, his sensitive dal . . . what a strange, twisted state of being I am in, Samaye." "We often do not control what our hearts tell us, Akin . . . though we sense when we are being deceived . . . as you are right now. Yes?" "Most certainly," Aydan replied. "I am being deceived right now, my brother. And my birth giver is the deceiver. What roots he has implanted in my mind, to be able to cause me to suffer grief for him whilst I await the adoration of a cruel blade." He was silent then, unaware of whether his eyes were open or closed, nothing but darkness and Samaye's voice representing all there was in the universe. He became serious, suddenly, and closed his eyes, pensively thinking. He imagined Bethelhurst's face and the ghostly mask of the Fayem. He imagined the interior of the cave and reached up to feel his still sore head wound. As he touched it, he grimaced, and then began to cry silently. He did not open his eyes, however, and still imagined his father's face. The failure of his communication was beyond him; he began to accept that it would have failed no matter what he had said or done, and that all the intricate planning he had analyzed earlier that day was the result of his naive perspective of those he held close to him. "Akin?" Samaye called out. Aydan was silent for a moment, and then responded. "Yes, Samaye." "I am your brother, and I trust you," Samaye replied. Aydan began to cry further, as if Samaye's words pierced all that he had perceived his real Kunda to represent to him. He felt tragic as woe consumed him amidst feeling overwhelmed with pure grief at the unspeakable betrayal that Bethelhurst had committed. "You know, Samaye . . ." Aydan spoke in between calm but teary breaths, "it is not his refusal to acquiesce to my plan that hurts me. It is an old pain that has awoken in me, spurred by the graveness of this situation and how unflinchingly unheard I am by his heart." He continued. "Even in this place, whether it be naive or simplistic, there can be nothing wrong with the pleasure my heart seeks in sharing the taste of salts with you. That this is of priority to me, that you share in the uplifting feeling such a sensation may bestow upon you, from a hole in the middle of the earth . . ." He began to cry deeply. "That this that comes from my heart is made to be questioned or despised, criticized in any manner, is blasphemy. It is . . . a terrifying event . . . unholy. And this bastard father of mine, he oozes nothing but malice towards what my heart seeks to attain." Samaye placed his hands against his door and leaned his head against it, listening to Aydan. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent, akin," he said. Aydan heard him, thought, then nodded. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent." Aydan began to repeat it over and over. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent." He began to speak louder, his tears stopping, his fists beginning to clench. "There can be nothing wrong with pure intent!" He hit his door with the side of his fist and paused. He took a deep breath in and began to scream. "There can be nothing wrong with my intent!!!" He banged the door hard and took a position at the rear of his hole, pressing his back against the wall opposite. He placed his feet square against the wooden barrier and took a deep breath in. "Do you hear me, Samaye?" He bent his knees back and struck down hard against it, causing the door to shake and echo through the cave. "Kick your door, Samaye! Kick it!" Samaye felt around his door and did not fully understand what Aydan meant until he heard another loud thud as Aydan's feet landed upon it again. He sat in the middle of his hole and kicked his door. It pushed him backwards, towards the wall behind him, which he then pressed his back against. He twisted his body as he felt his wound touch the rock, using his hands for leverage. "Kick it, Samaye!" Aydan slammed his feet against it, over and over, the soles of his feet becoming sore and pained. Samaye began to kick as well, taking longer with each kick but pressing as hard as he could. "You bastard liar," Aydan whispered. He imagined his father's face and thought about his claim to Aydan as a son. "Bastard!" he screamed as he kicked his door as hard as he could, hearing the wooden fibers tear from the inside. He could not feel his feet though he knew the abuses they were now suffering would cause him anguish for some time to come. "Kick your door, Samaye! We are free if you will it with me!" He began to kick his door quicker now, and still harder, gathering a motion in between breaths. Samaye maintained his speed and also began to hear his door buckle as he slammed his feet against it. "Kick!!!" Aydan's door began to stretch, and with every kick more and more fibers tore. He could feel it giving way to his pressure, enticing him to kick even harder. "Break, you son of a whore! Break!" Outside the cave, Maki slept, curled up on both his feet, like a bird. He rested his head on his hands, which rested on his shoulder as he stood, perched, his knees bent fully, perfectly balanced in a deep sleep. The loud thuds from within the cave were only murmurs outside; yet the alien sounds began to prick at his sleeping mind, and it started taking notice of them. Aydan touched the bottom of his feet and felt open wounds, torn from the door. He then heard a loud crack as Samaye's door gave in, breaking in half. Samaye screamed in agony, immediately. "What, Samaye? Have you broken through?" "Akin . . . my leg is caught on the rupture in the door. I cannot move, but it is open. It is open, brother. We are free . . ." Aydan naturally began to secrete tears as the urgency behind his kicks increased double fold. "I am coming, Samaye. I am coming!" He kicked and kicked, becoming angry and desperate as it seemed fiber after fiber tore but still did not collapse the door. Soon, however, a piece broke off, and he kicked around it, making the hole bigger and bigger, soon causing almost half the door to lay in tatters outside his cell. He immediately patted the floor cautiously and began to walk on all fours, navigating outside of his cell carefully. "Speak, brother! Speak so that I can find you!" "I am here, akin . . . come . . . here . . . my leg is caught in the door . . ." Aydan crawled quickly to Samaye's cell and touched his leg, for the first time feeling his warm flesh. It brought tears to his eyes, and he held onto his foot for an instant, then kissed it. "I am here, brother." Samaye began to weep as well, feeling the lucid warmth of Aydan's face against his skin. Aydan felt around Samaye's leg, examining the positioning of the door. He created a visual imprint of the positioning of the sharp fibers and tore away, piece by piece, anything surrounding Samaye's leg. "I am going to lift your leg now, and it will hurt." Samaye held his breath as Aydan took hold of his ankle and pulled it upwards, withdrawing sharp slivers from Samaye's leg. Samaye clenched his voice and grunted, trying to keep hold of the searing pain. Aydan slowly moved his leg to the side and placed it down. He moved into Samaye's cell and found his hand, taking hold of it, pausing for an instant. He caught his breath as he grasped tightly at Samaye. "Are you ready, brother?" he asked after a few moments. Samaye clenched his friend's fist in acknowledgment. Aydan wrapped his arm around the back of Samaye and began to prop him up, out of the cell, making Samaye lean on him. Just as they stood, they paused, suddenly. Aydan whispered into Samaye's ear. "Quiet, brother. Something has moved." They stood completely silent in the darkness and began to hear a slight shuffling in the cave with them. Aydan looked about, squinting, trying to catch a glimpse of something but could see nothing. Samaye was becoming faint for his exhaustion and loss of blood but held onto Aydan for support. Aydan leaned Samaye against the wall noiselessly and squeezed his hand, letting go. He spread his arms out in the darkness, stepping very quietly, trying to catch whatever it was that moved. Suddenly, something jumped out and grabbed him, biting his arm. Aydan began to slam his fist down on it over and over, trying to get it to release him. It pulled him to the ground and climbed on him, hitting his head. "Naga! Naga! Naga, naga!" the creature yelled. Aydan immediately recognized the voice of Maki and became furious. He reached back and punched Maki's face both fast and hard, causing him to fly back and hit his head against the rock in the center of the cave. Aydan scrambled on all fours, and like an animal ran to Maki and began hitting him. He took his head and slammed it against the rock repeatedly. "Die!!!" he screamed. He soon stopped, feeling the motionless body of Maki, dropping his head against the ground. Aydan sat there, his hands drenched in blood, and began to cry. "Akin . . . akin . . ." Aydan heard Samaye's voice, and as if awoken by it, wiped his face with his arm and stood up slowly, walking cautiously in the darkness towards his friend. He wrapped his hand around his back and kissed the side of his face, then suddenly hugged him. Samaye hugged him back, and they both limped out of the cave, following the feel of the wall.

~~~

And soon they were growing stronger, even though their bodies remained weak from hunger, for they had...togetherness... And Adken soon began to wonder whether they could escape. And they began to plot the possibility. And succeeded! But Samaye was hurt during their escape and even though they were able to get away, Samaye grew weaker and weaker and finally died. And Adken could not accept his death and stayed there with him until he had to finally bury his brother... And so Adken was to travel on alone. But Samaye had called his brother Akin as they had talked and Adken had accepted Akin as his new name...

Samaye's face was the last to fade, and Aydan paused, kissing his cheek, before covering him up entirely. As he placed sand over Samaye's eyes, he felt a hollowness within himself. It was as if up to that point, he had still believed that Samaye might have opened his eyes at any moment. But once his face was covered and no movement, no excitement or disruption ensued, though Aydan both expected and waited for it, he sat in silence, subtly disappointed. He remained beside the grave and closed his eyes. He took a sip of water and froze sternly in place. "I reject all that was and is. I am returning you to the earth, my friend. "I will carry you with me. "I reject all that was and is. I am re-born." He placed his hand on the sand, over Samaye's buried face. He began to cry. "I will carry you with me, brother." He sat for a few moments longer, then arose and looked at the horizon. He tore fragments of Samaye's tunic off, wrapping them around his feet. He wrapped the rest of Samaye's blood stained cloth over his head, covering his neck, and began a trek away from the rising sun. He took one final look at the lump in the sand and proceeded to move forward, a dismal mood coating his face. He carried the bladder strapped over his shoulder and walked in steady steps. He was used to treading the desert and naturally knew how to maximize his distance with the energy he had. He traveled away from the sun, hoping that he would stumble upon some alien township or village, one that had no knowledge of him or the Aizik. He would present himself as a traveler and hoped it would be well met. His hunger pains came and went, and he tried not to think about food. He was in a precarious mood, concentrating on his diminishing water supply and each step he took. He knew his energies would eventually end, and so every step was a direct investment to his survival, survival being the last thing his friend had silently urged him to pursue. Desert crossings were practiced exercises. One had to keep themselves occupied in thought, unfocused at the heat or pain, continuing to persist in order to succeed. Aydan found thoughts easily, as there was much to think about. He pondered Samaye's body and felt resolved knowing it was truly loved as it was left. It seemed placed, Samaye's death, for he was not one for this world. His simplicity of thought was superior to those around him, yet his perpetual confusion would have cursed him till the day he died. But even as he thought this, he pondered the life they could have led, exiting the desert together, living as brothers, finding loved ones and forever supporting one another in their endeavors. It was the laughter that hurt the deepest . . . all the laughter they would no longer share, and it made his heart sink. "Now is the perfect time to grieve," he thought. "All the grief in the world will fuel my steps and make the passing sands blink." "But grief . . ." he thought as he felt it surge through him like knives. "It cannot be simply quantified, though I wish it could." He paused for a moment, wondering if Samaye had just been sleeping, considering turning back. He turned around to assess the situation and saw nothing but a sea of yellow. He resumed walking. "Soo-ma-ya," he whispered. "How I would repeat it a thousand times if you would awaken, my friend."

~~~ 

As we learn more about Akin, we learn that he was a special man, hearing voices, questioning all that he was facing, knowing that he must continue on, not knowing where, but knowing he had to keep moving forward... With no water no food, they had moved further away from where they had been captured and held... Only one thing kept them, and then, just Akin, moving... There was no choice. Sitting down and sleeping was just...not...an...option...

Readers, this is an epic story, one that demands you spend time with it from the very beginning. The writing is extraordinary, moving from poetic fluency into cries of hate and fury as the characters come in and out of this lengthy heroic effort to find life at its very core of both sorrow and majesty! How can this occur, you ask? I don't know; I really don't. Yet the words haunt me. Knowing that somewhere in a desert of sand there is one body of a man who died searching for freedom, buried by an adopted brother who cried together to the very end...  While finding in another area that another man reaches out, opens his home and shelter to a stranger whose own life will be changed by that new openness and awareness of agape love for one another. To me, this story represents all that we who open our minds and hearts to love one another can become... We will learn to turn away from anger and hate and allow the words of caring, concern, empathy, sympathy, to control where our own future lies... and... become...brothers and sisters...May it come soon...

If you have been seeking guidance about turning away from the hate, the violence and fear of retribution that seems to permeate many of our people, you may find the strength you need to start questioning in this book... But, do read it with an open heart and mind, for that is the place where Adken started while he later became Akin... Thank you Robin Murarka for seeking me out and telling me about this book! It is one that will be remembered for many, many reasons! Added as a personal favorite for me! Do check it out!

The Sumati people celebrated the festival with far more zest than his village did. Even when he was a street dweller, the day of Jamali would bring everyone together as the rich commonly joked with the poor, and all interacted more or less as equals, even if only facetiously. Akin and Jarvis smiled at each other but talked very little as they left the house, traveling down the winding path to the maza. Already in the distance they could see and hear screaming and music as people hammered on drums and sang, throwing water upon each other. The main festivities always surrounded the temple, and every edge of it was filled with celebration. Large groups of people stood, holding each other, singing anthems in unison. Abruptly, it would be interrupted by someone throwing a huge vat of water on the singers who then sought playful revenge. The river was constantly used, from morning till nightfall, on the day of Jamali. After stored water was exhausted, people would travel to the river with their buckets and vats, in arms, refueling for more jovial mischief. When they arrived, the festival was in full swing. People, both men and women, were running about, drenched, laughing and screaming. The dashas were filled with patrons as prices were cheap to accommodate the festivities, and in the jovial spirit of the city, many traders gave away free beer and food. Children scurried about everywhere, laughing and playing. It was different here than anywhere else Akin had been. The lines between classes were shattered, and both men and women interacted with each other in what seemed a childlike furor of glee. The day was sacred to the citizens of Sumat, not so much anymore for the religious meaning, Akin thought, but because it provided them relief from the stringent restrictions of everyday life. Even he was filled with emotional joy as he watched people genuinely laugh and smile, though he felt uncomfortable at the sudden arbitrary change that he feared would eventually regress. The main feature of the festival was to begin soon, and people had already gathered all around the maza to watch the Manu priests. Akin and Jarvis joined in the fray and stood arm in arm with random strangers, joining in the singing, letting the contagious euphoria carry them along. As the people sang in imperfect unison, Akin was again surprised at how loud it was. Every time Jamali came to Sumat, Akin felt it was louder than anything he had ever witnessed before. Their voices resonated so thunderously, in fact, it felt as though the temple itself would collapse. People still ran about, playing with each other, and it was as if the singing gave them the peace of mind that the day would never end, that they could run about, drink and eat, with no worries of tomorrow. Still, it was evident that some people had segregated themselves from others, isolating their brethren in certain areas and not participating in the same gallantry. It was not entirely strange, as there were always those who chose to profit from or take advantage of others during the festival, but this time it was an uncomfortable stalemate directed at members of the other Kunda. Both Sumai and Mashaya middlemen remained controlled and collected in their respective camps, prepared to retaliate in the case of any breach. The rest of the people appeared unfazed, however, regardless of their loyalties, as it was highly taboo to initiate violence on the day of Jamali, and far more preferable to the average man to just ignore their concerns in favor of celebration. Even the leaders of each Kunda participated, albeit in a more subdued manner, while their immediate underlings stood watch. The Manu priests soon emerged in their blue robes, wrapped from head to toe, showing only their eyes, causing the entire maza to quickly silence. They were beautiful draperies: one long, dark-blue cloth that was wrapped over and over, covering their bodies entirely. They walked slowly and deliberately down the steps as the temple servants carried huge containers of bread and vegetables. Other servants proceeded with torches and burning herbs, leaving tantalizing aromas in their wake. The priests' robes were cleaned twice a day while they bathed and replaced in their entirety a few times a year. As a result, they always maintained the same color and thick appearance which matched every other priest. The Manu never left the temple except for religious processions, and it was as enticing for the people of Sumat to see these mysterious beings as it was to receive the bountiful offerings that the servants threw into the crowds. All that was visible of the priests were their eyes as they quietly stepped in perfect unison with each other. As they reached the end of the temple steps and touched the maza, some people began to scream and cry, many dropping to their knees in worship, kissing the ground beneath them. The temple itself had always stood in the center of the city, the central focus of it, and the priests were its masters. They were representatives of something powerful and mysterious to the common Sumati which made their presence something like a surreal, waking dream. That they only made one round of the temple corners made the madness even worse as people tried to absorb as much as they could in the brief moments they had. Akin and Jarvis mostly remained unaffected by the presence of the Manu. Although Jarvis watched with the same casual nature he always had, Akin had more disdain in his perspective as he watched people wail in despair when they neared the priests. He watched women and men cry, holding their hands together, begging for forgiveness and blessings. They kissed the ground upon where the priests had walked and smothered their faces in it, even to the point of bleeding. As the priests walked, many people attempted to follow them, pushing through the observing crowd to circulate at the same speed. The mania was intense as people nudged against one another, trying to get to the front and move in time with the procession. It was expected, and adults were able to mostly cope with it. Children, however, were often trampled upon, and Akin could hear screaming and crying from distant parts of the crowd as the more stimulated patrons maniacally shoved through like a force of nature. As the priests re-emerged in front of the steps, they faced away from the temple and stood in place. From the top of the stairs and within the temple emerged servants dragging along four men who had been severely beaten. Their feet dragged against the steps painting streaks of red along them as they bled out, and upon reaching the bottom of the stairs were thrown to the ground, in a pile, in front of the priests and the crowd. Suddenly, a thunderous voice emerged from atop the steps as did a number of other voices all around the maza. As Akin looked up, he saw an Iman Ir screaming at the crowd, his body flared. "People of Sumat!" he screamed. Akin could vaguely hear the other voices repeating similar phrases in different places. "You asked for justice, and justice is given! My Oam has bestowed a gift upon you, the culprits of murder!"

Lord, Will We Ever Turn Hate Into Love for our Neighbors???

GABixlerReviews

What's Happening at Book Readers Heaven - The Personal and Professional...

 

Time goes by so fast these days, especially when things happen in your own life that needs to be addressed, so I've been busy and not able to sit down to share here on my blog with all of you. But that never means that I am not reading! LOL One of the books that I've been reading is Tim Spiess' The Light of the World. One of the things that this author discovered in his research is that the better translation of the name of Jesus was actually Joshua. And, so, he has used this name as he presents what is essentially the first four books of the New Testament, along with commentary. I've found that, in reading, having a new and different name for The Son of Man has brought my mind into a deeper and clearer reading--as if I'd never read or heard the words before. It is an important book, one of the most important books I, and maybe you, too, will have read in our lives... And so, I've been reading this book daily while going about all that is happening... New and different health related issues...

It all started when I was on my way to get my hair cut. I had chipped one of my front teeth and was concerned whether it could be fixed. So I stopped at my dentist who was located nearby. I walked in and there was nobody there that I recognized! I stopped at the reception desk, told the individual what I needed and she assured me that it could be fixed, so I asked to schedule an appointment. As I recall, I was told that it would be with a new dentist, that my dentist was retiring or had retired already and that I would have to change sooner or later... Hmmm... I scheduled an appointment, knowing that the tooth needed to be fixed...

When the day came I walked in and there were people standing around in the background, more than I'd ever seen there. I sat down to wait and started reading new signs posted. One was about cancellations and being charged. The other said that I could not use a credit or debit card that only cash or personal check was to be used for payment. That hit me the wrong way, of course. I rarely carry a lot of money and had been using my debit card for years at all companies with which I've interacted. I was upset right from the beginning.

I was called and told to turn to the right--there had been three stalls in the office before. all to the left. So I walked in and glanced around. The furniture was all new and I immediately worried about being able to get down/up on the dental chair. I stood there and then said that I had been using a debit or credit card for over 10 years and was upset this had changed. Before I could stop myself I looked around the office again taking in the new people I'd never even seen before and had not introduced themselves to me, and said, "I'm not interested in all this..." And walked out! As I write this now, I'm smiling... Because I went home, did a search for a woman dentist in the area, and have found a wonderful new dentist! Her name is Dr. Sharon Stokes and if you're in the Uniontown, PA area, I would highly recommend her to you...

Since then I've had two appointments with her, my chipped tooth looks better than it did before it was chipped! But not everything was so easily addressed. I've had surgery and had a small section of skin cancer removed and now recuperating from that, while at the same time, I got word that my mammogram was not clear and I'd have to go back for another test plus a sonogram...

Also had a scare of possible allergy to medication and was taken to the emergency room, but it was quickly addressed and I got better directions on the use of the medication. I also decided against having a knee replacement and cancelled that appointment.

So I've been busy handling health issues at the same time trying to work my way through working with big communication corporations that fail in providing effective communication! I have come to the conclusion that efficiency has disappeared, while, hidden fees and lack of access is the new world... Tell me, how in the world can you get emails and not be able to respond to those emails?!!! Have you had that experience?! You know the ones, that, if you respond, you quickly get a new email that the first email was not able to receive responses!!! It boggles the mind, doesn't it!

Speaking of boggling my mind? It's now been over 4 months since I've been locked out of Facebook "for my protection." I've tracked down some of my friends and found that my group, Reviewers Roundup, just disappeared, as well as, of course...Me... Finally found another person on GoodReads that had the same experience. He is an author and is online only to promote his books... He kept after them, however, and learned that a foreign entity had signed on and used his (my?) accounts for their own purposes... I recognize that these are private sites, but, on the other hand, they've opened sites for people to use... No wonder people are so terribly confused these days.

We are being lied to left and right. Worse, it is coming from a significant part of America, who are looking to tear down our Democracy... Are you able to keep track and know for sure that what you are hearing on television ads are true--or lies? Some have been really disgusting and obvious. But others are slid in with enough actual information, that when the lie is presented, it just sounds like normal discussion; but, lies are slid in... Don't know what I mean? Find the vice-presidential debate and listen to one of the latest and slickest republicans. He is a man who speaks fluently and if we didn't already know the truth, we wouldn't be able to even catch the lies being said. Fortunately Tim Walz caught him on the most important... The Big Lie, and Vance would not say who won the 2020 election! Right then, every single individual listening to that debate should have realized that what he'd said earlier was also false... Especially when he declared me and thousands and possibly millions of other women when he claimed that the United States was run by childless cat comen! And that we had no value to the world... Geesh! how crude can he be?!

Which leads us back to The Light of the World...

“I am the truth”, and they say, “the book and all these other voices which quote the book are “the truth” you need to be set free, not just the one who says, “I am the Truth” … not just the one who says, “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed”… If this happened, then isn’t the truth of the statements above by the one who says, “I am the truth”, LOST as the people look to the book and other’s words and other voices, and those other words and voice’s nullify, cancel or make of no effect the one who says: “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life…”, and “All who are of the truth listen to MY voice.” ? If this is so, then is it not true that those eternally valuable truths… “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life, and no one gets to the Father except through me.” "If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." …have been drowned out … buried … LOST. And so, that which is extremely valuable - and which has been lost - has been revealed.  The Creator/Father sent One beloved, error-free Messenger who can bring freedom from your hopelessness, confusion, bondage or pain, but his voice has been drowned out, nullified, hidden, obscured, spoken over, made-of-no-effect, ignored… Lost. It is a difficult truth to receive, but in truth, the teachings of the One who calls himself the Light of the world have been covered, buried and for all practical purposes, lost.   His Voice has been drowned out by thousands of other voices.  In fact, at the most essential level...

Why is it that so very few are concerned about focusing whole-heartedly on Jesus and his person and his teachings ONLY?  Perhaps, just perhaps, these things are true… "This is the judgment, that the Light has come into the world, and men loved the darkness rather than the Light, for their deeds were evil.” "But because I speak the truth, you do not believe me.” Maybe the truth is that the one Voice that brings freedom, offends the vast majority (especially the religious people who

 

claim him as their ‘Lord’ and ‘God’), and they do not want to let his simple and uncompromised truth shine forth?  Perhaps most christians/biblians are especially loath to turn to the Light because they very much like believing they are “saved” and “heaven bound” while they continue to ignore the real Light of the world and instead live the way they want? …beware of the all too common self-justification and self-deception of, ‘oh yes, that is true, but not of ME or MY church’… This commentator hopes that those who are in the darkness of bible and christian religion will allow the Light of the world to shine on their hearts.  Seek to understand this key saying of his… "He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it to life eternal.” …and then, please, come, follow HIM!

In 2015/16 we first heard about the Evangelical Christians supporting a man like Donald Trump as president. Especially since it was not by the popular vote but by the Electoral College. At the same time, many of us questioned what could cause this type of decision. For me, I immediately started my research, reading as many books as I could, to determine why I, as a Christian, had turned away from a man who I considered unfit for leading our America. More and more is being discovered that the Truth was withheld... The latest, this morning I learned from Senator Whitehouse's, a congressional study report, that the Trump Administration had prevented the FBI from actually vetting now sitting Supreme Court Judge Kavanaugh! Many will recall that a woman came forth, testifying about his attack of her years ago, and then another... 

Another bombshell is one particular excerpt from the latest book by Bob Woodward during the time of Covid. I've ordered this book, which will be out on October 15th... Essentially, it was revealed that, while America was struggling to find tests and other items related to the pandemic, and hundreds and thousands had started to die, Trump shipped these items to Dictator Putin!

I and everybody else has lied in their lives... We normally call them "White Lies" and often do it to keep from hurting another individual... But, it is clear from The Light of the World, that we all should strive to follow The Son of God/Man and know that God is TRUTH! Only one human did not lie. The Son of God... We who are Christians must strive toward that perfection of TRUTH! And, to point out those who are using Lies to gain power, at the same time they are hurting the millions affected by those lies by the past president and his political party members... And authoritarian dictators across the world...Many have turned away from TRUTH--turned away from God-- during this period of chaos. Yet, I believe God already had sent President Biden and now Kamala Harris to continue the path toward TRUTH in America... When Jesus was still young and traveling around sharing and healing the sick and hungry, he chose to give His message to all people who thirst for More...He told us to turn to Love... Truth... to Love God first and to Love our Neighbors... To turn away from those who spoke of power and hate. It's still the same story. We must choose to turn toward the Light rather than the darkness. Choose who wants only one thing of us. Love Our Neighbors. Do Good to those that persecute you. Speak Truth!

God Bless Us All!

Gabby