“I swear, the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Hate crimes and riots are up all over, Europe, Asia, South America. I thought it was just here.” “There is a backlash resentment against the liberal movements of the last twenty years.” Nate was taken by Harold’s confidence on politics and the news. “The South wants to rise again here, and the entrenched rich all over the world have had enough of equal rights and equal access. They are funding all these hate groups, make no mistake.” Burt did not look convinced. “You think the rich are behind all these riots? How would the rich benefit from people being afraid of change? Half these people are fighting to keep the poor from taking what they worked for, and the other half are the poor who are fighting for they think is their fair share.” “I completely agree with you on who is rioting and why they have taken up arms. Let me ask you this. Who benefits from having the middle class go to war with the lower class?” Nate recognized the preacher rhetoric taking over Harold's tone. “Who needs the vast majority busy fight amongst themselves, while the vast majority of the wealth is being quietly stolen from everybody who actually earned it?” “The rich own the businesses that employ the people. They’ve got all the money they can use. Why would they want civil unrest?” “Burt, you are a thorough thinking man after all. Why indeed? What if the people who, as you said, make all the wealth, suddenly realized they aren’t able to reap the rewards of their labors? What if they realized that no matter how hard they work, or how smart they are with their money, they are only ever going to have the scraps the rich have deigned to leave them? The tax laws have all been changed, the labor laws have all been changed, the marketplaces have all been changed, so that people like us cannot win.” Harold emptied a box of bullets on the table, then portioned them into three piles: one with most of the rounds, one with a few, and one with only a couple. He pushed the smallest stack toward Nate, and the most to himself. He pointed to the middle stack. “Those are yours,” he said to Burt. “Now you’ve got a bunch of bullets. You’d probably be happy with your bullets unless you happen to look over here and see that I’ve got almost all of them.” “But you’re the rich guy that owns the business I work for. I don’t mind you being rich if you can keep me employed.” “That’s your choice to be satisfied. And that’s fair, unless you notice that for every ten bullets of wealth you make, I get nine and you only get one. Then you’ll cry foul. So what can I do to make sure you never do the math?” Burt frowned. “Let’s say Nate is a black man, or an immigrant, or even a poor white guy. He’s got next to nothing. Now, what if I lean over and whisper in your ear, ‘Hey, that poor guy wants some of your bullets.’ Right?” Burt’s frown only deepened. Nate was fascinated that Harold was so liberally minded. He had to check his assumption that an evangelical preacher would be staunchly conservative. He was a conspiracy believer, which fit. Then again, Harold preached to poor people. He saw their struggles. “Who makes a stink when the government starts giving out aid to the poor? Senators who work for the rich. Who comes to you, the workers, with a raised fist of indignation when the government starts giving out health care to the poor? They need you mad at Nate, so you won’t take up arms against me. And while you’re busy letting the police beat Nate to death in the streets, I’m robbing you of more and more of the pie every year. Did your grandmother work outside the home?” “Me? No. My grandad supported my parents and my aunts and uncles with no problem.” “Was he a rich man? Did he have two jobs? Did he have a fancy degree?” “No, he had a factory job.” “How many of your friends can support their family on one factory job today? None. How did the wealth creation pie get redivided, leaving us less and less?” Nate spoke up. “So, we have a world full of angry people ready to tear out each other’s throats. Whether that’s because of some multigenerational conspiracy of the rich or not, it’s a powder keg waiting for a spark...
Hartlove writes horror so be prepared for a little of that...but a lot of it is science fiction--weird science, I'd admit, but nothing that was not easily and logically understandable. Even the title... The plot is complex, so go with it... and enjoy!
Too much or too little can lead to visions and voices. It comes from poor regulation of a set of brain centers that make up what we call the Default Mode Network, which is contributes to our imagination. Schizophrenics can’t shut down the DMN when they need to concentrate on external tasks, and so the imagination creeps into their perception of reality. All this radiation needs to do is coax the brain into changing how it uses dopamine.”
Josie came back with a tall white woman wearing scrubs. Her brown hair was tied back and her face was jowly beyond her middle age. “Sarah, are you really talking to us?” “Yes, ma’am. I’m scared, but the monsters and their voices are gone...”
“You’ve been with us a long time,” she started carefully. “Since I was nine.” “Right, and you’re sixteen now. You’ve never responded very well to any of the treatments...”
He stepped into the door and stopped. His sister was sitting on her bed chatting happily with a black girl in the chair. He hadn’t seen her smiling and talking and connecting like this since she was a child. Curiosity struggled to confuse his joy, but joy won out.
In the first chapter, we meet Sarah, who was so traumatized by the death of both of her parents, that she has been hospitalized since she was nine. As we enter her room she is waking up, quickly discovering that she does not hear the voices or the monsters that have haunted her most of her life... What has happened? Lying there so many questions and thoughts flash through her mind, but knowing that she was on an all-girl ward, even though she was born a boy. Her doctors considered it was better to fulfill her personal awareness rather than going with reality...
When her brother, Nate Meyers, comes in later, he immediately notices the difference and begins hoping and discussing her coming home...
“Treatment plan?” he spat with one eyebrow lifted menacingly. “You act like she will continue under your care indefinitely. You need to understand that as soon as she is deemed stable enough to no longer be a danger to herself, I will be taking her out of here.” “I do understand that,” she said with a clearly practiced calm. “I know you want to take her home. We don’t know what happened to her. It would not be ethical for us to release her without knowing she will stay safe. She has suffered with her illness for a very long time. The human brain is far too complex for us to assume her lack of symptoms means she is entirely healthy again. Her recovery may well be the cumulative effect of her medications. So until we know better, she should continue with them even after she is released. You know this. You got your degree in Psychology.”
“What do you feel when you calm someone down with a hug?” Sitting next to Nate, Sarah rested her clutched hands on the front edge of Roxie McClenahan’s weathered wooden desk. She was pretty excited. He still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea. The frizzy-haired hippie looked happy to discuss her passion with a fellow believer. “When the urge comes on, all I can see is their anger and hate, and I just need to smother that fire. It’s all I can do. It’s like I’m pushed from behind and I have no choice.” “Yes!” She turned to Nate. “That’s what I’ve been having such a hard time trying to explain.
When Sarah got settled at home, she is soon involved totally in a vision--one that cannot easily be interpreted. Thankfully her brother both loves his sister and is also studying psychology as a future career; and is willing to work through what Sarah is experiencing, even to searching the internet for similar situations. And they found one! A woman who had touched a meteorite was healed of mental illness and believed that God had healed her, giving her a gift of love so strong that all she had to do was hug those who are filled with hate and it disappeared. She runs a commune of about 30 individuals who have also experienced healing. However, while Sarah and her brother are meeting with her, a man arrives, full of hate, shoots her, and then, in remorse, after being hugged, shoots himself... which leads to her brother noticing that Sarah was wearing a necklace. That necklace had been given to her while she was still at Sandstone Rehabilitation Center by a native american... As time passes, there is an obvious question, was she healed through cumulative work and medication from the psychiatry staff or did the necklace cure her...
Too much or too little can lead to visions and voices. It comes from poor regulation of a set of brain centers that make up what we call the Default Mode Network, which is contributes to our imagination. Schizophrenics can’t shut down the DMN when they need to concentrate on external tasks, and so the imagination creeps into their perception of reality. All this radiation needs to do is coax the brain into changing how it uses dopamine.”
Sarah's vision is revealed on the front cover of the book. Interestingly, it is understandable as you read... and as more research occurs, and learning about the possible connection to meteors which have reached earth. it is also learned that there were multiple types of meteorites that found.
She made it to the door when it flung open and two men rushed her with open, grasping hands. She screamed and tried to jump out of the way, but they were too fast.
And that the other type of meteor resulted in a bad effect on the individual and instead of love, they hate anybody and everybody. I thought it was fascinating that the meteors only affected those with mental health issues. This was realized when Nate, who had been a very angry man since his parents were gone, also was affected, but not to as great an extent...until later!
And soon, those who had touched the different meteorite had zoned in on Sarah and attempted to kidnap her!
She turned to him and grabbed the edges of his jacket with both hands. “No. I dreamed that it was longer and redder, and when I woke up, it...was.” “What?” “I also dreamed, in the same dream, that I wrote that phone number down in your hotel room while you slept.” “Oh, wait. The phone number? No. that’s …” “Do not say impossible.
And while she was imprisoned, she began to dream...and what she dreamed became a reality... and when it again happened and she had another change, she was not really happy! And began to fear sleeping.
Too much or too little can lead to visions and voices. It comes from poor regulation of a set of brain centers that make up what we call the Default Mode Network, which is contributes to our imagination. Schizophrenics can’t shut down the DMN when they need to concentrate on external tasks, and so the imagination creeps into their perception of reality. All this radiation needs to do is coax the brain into changing how it uses dopamine.”
Sarah had been found and a police officer had become involved. The kidnappers wanted her because one of the individuals who also had been working with their church had been attacked and became full of hate... They were hoping Sarah could cure him.
“Is it really that common? Why would my actions make some stranger so mad? Is it religion?” “Not entirely. People just have very narrow views of what’s acceptable. It’s like racism. Anything different is seen as a threat. They’re usually a little easier to avoid. This guy is unfortunately an exception with his daring.” “A threat?” Sarah could feel herself getting more and more upset. “What a perv to see anything a sixteen-year-old girl does as attacking his sexuality. Is he afraid I’m going to make a pass at him and endanger his manliness?”
Sarah was having to learn so much about the world in which she was now living, so her brother had finally convinced her to visit a restaurant for lunch... She had a hard time accepting interesting sandwiches which would never be available Sandstone. But while they were eating, Sarah picked up on a man staring at her with hate... But was it one of those who...hated? Or was it just the normal hate for trans... Neither was an acceptable reason for sending out hate vibes! Soon, they were going to be...Burt!
Nate hustled to the kitchen windows and crouched down to peek out. He raised his eyebrows at Sarah and waved for her to stay down. He slunk to the back door, quietly unlocked the knob, and stood back out of the way with the gun held up with the butt facing the door. The knob turned and the door creaked open. The man who stepped in was holding a pistol, but he did not look behind the door. Nate smashed the wooden butt of the gun into his crewcut blond head and sent him crumbling to the floor. He scrambled to get up, but Nate swung the barrel around to point at his face. “Drop the pistol or I pull the trigger.” Lying on his back looking past the gun, he sneered up at Nate, “You’re not a killer.” “I know who you are and I know why you’re here. I have no reason to keep you alive. Your choice — pistol or shotgun.” Sarah was impressed with how composed Nate was, since she could feel his boiling anger. She also felt the hatred in the man — the same hatred she felt in the man who killed Roxie. The man dropped the gun. Nate kicked it across the floor. “Sarah, get our guest a chair.” She pushed one across the floor to him. The man sat down. “Now get the roll of duct tape out of the kitchen junk drawer and secure him. Start by binding his hands together, then tape him to the chair.” Sarah stepped up to him with a length of tape pulled out. He started to raise his hands for her, but then jumped up to grab her. Nate swung the gun around and bashed him in the temple with the gun butt. He fell over limply, all the way to the floor, smacking his head on the linoleum. When the man did not move further, Nate asked Sarah, while pointing the gun down at him, “Is he dead?” Sarah felt his face for his breath. “No, but he’s out. Where’d you learn to fight like that?” “Schoolyards. You know about my temper, but I don’t think you knew about my history of fighting at school. Let’s get him tied into the chair. I want to question him before we hand him over to the police.” The man moaned quite a lot before he opened his eyes to look around. “My head!” “Be glad you still have a head,” Nate said dryly. “Your ID says you’re Burt Cowell from Dothan, Alabama. So, Burt Cowell, you wouldn’t happen to have come here by way of sunny Florida, would you?” Burt blinked a lot before saying anything. “Damn right I did. Jefferson Davis sent me.” “You do know Jefferson Davis has been dead for over a hundred years.” “Not that one, jackass.” He looked past Nate at Sarah standing behind her brother, and he jerked to focus...
The author chooses the name Jefferson Davis for the major villain--it certainly carried sufficient historical weight to challenge anybody who was to try to overcome his plans... But, as we all strive for, hate can indeed be won over by love, even if it is done through magic...or science in this case... Because Sarah could not control herself...she soon went to Burt to smother Burt's hate with her love...
Soon Burt had recognized and knew what had happened to him and was quite willing to start working with these two, who had changed him back to who he really was... With his information on what Jefferson Davis was planning and how he gained men for his army, so too, were those who had been blessed with God's love through the good meteor, able to plan with the police, and others with necklaces which allowed God's love to flow into their lives. They all were ready and received the messages of what was coming...
“I’ve never felt so powerless,” “I am so sorry.” Sarah sighed as they reached their car. Nate wished there was more he could do for her. “I’ve got alien-poisoned religious zealots who want to kill me. I’ve got creepy old men who want to either rape me or kill me. And now there are women who want to kill me for stealing their femininity... Don’t they see I’m trying to save them all from global disaster?”
Sitting across the white linen covered table, Jefferson sized up Hiram as a bookie would assess a prize fighter. “How is the new training coming along?” “Pruitt says I’m up to ten feet now. Hey, thanks for the grub. Real nice and fancy. We celebrating something?” A waiter walked up the veranda, bringing two plates of steak, grits, and hushpuppies. Jefferson noticed Hiram’s voice was deeper and more resonant than he remembered. The man had also cut his long blonde hair into a military buzz cut. “Yes, we are celebrating your progress. I can admit now that I wasn’t entirely sure the visualization technique would work. But you have proven my doubts unfounded.” He raised his glass of wine up for Hiram to toast. It took the big man a second to catch on, but he clinked his glass with his own. “Being able to inject your anger into men at a distance, you can use this gift tactically in a battle setting, acquiring allies on the fly.”
And then the Science Fiction really gets...WEIRD!
The sense of anger from the crowd felt overwhelming. It was a sensation she couldn’t make sense of, but it was strong and distracting and blotted out her ability to hear Todd. It felt like heat and sound and light all at the same time. She blinked hard and tried to focus. She wished her voice would give her some advice, but it did not. “I think I’ll go check it out.” “I wouldn’t go down there if I were you. Those picket signs you see turn into weapons in a flash. And the police have been cracking down on any street protests after all the attempts to set up autonomous zones over the last year.” She didn’t know what he meant by that, but his concern was clear. Yet, she felt compelled to go closer. In fact, she really didn’t want to go. “Oh, you needn’t warn me about the police. My daddy was killed by a cop for a traffic stop when I was fourteen.” “Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry. I had no idea.” “It’s something I live with every day.” So why wouldn’t her feet take her away from the crowd? She practically pleaded with her voice to add its warning. Still nothing. And the urge to go, to reach out to all those angry people, to let them know they didn’t need to take up arms, was far too compelling. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she started walking. Each step was a struggle between her urge to help and her fear of getting hurt. The closer she got, the stronger both emotions became, with her racing heart caught between. Still, the urge was stronger, and she kept walking. She didn’t know what she could do, and she didn’t know why she thought she could do anything. By the time she was a hundred feet away, their anger was tangible, like a furnace on her face. She saw the people waving their signs standing across, blocking the street, and it felt like they were on fire, and somehow she had to put out that fire. Yells turned to screams on the other side of the crowd. People in the back stepped back and closed the space so she was suddenly in the crowd. She caught a flash of shields and helmets up in front. Her only thought was to flee, but her only feeling was to stay, stay and stop all of this. She stood there paralyzed with fear, confusion, and indecision. The police pressed forward, and she saw them swinging batons. The crowd backed up further to where she was only a couple of rows back from the front. Terrified by the danger all around her, and the explosive pressure that filled her body, she closed her eyes and prayed. The eye vision appeared in her mind and her fear evaporated. She knew what to do. She reached out to the people around her and touched them on the shoulders. One by one they stopped yelling and stood back from their confrontation. She saw their fires go quiet. But then she faced an extremely angry officer. He raised his baton to strike her and she looked into his eyes behind his face shield. She said calmly, “Stop.” He did. He blinked and shook his head. He looked at the truncheon in his raised hand and then lowered it. Cecilia stood back to look across the line of police and said it again, loudly but with no anger. “Stop. All of you just stop.” The fifteen cops facing her had the same reaction as the first. She also heard the crowd behind her had stopped yelling. She felt their fires all going out too. The police on either side and behind the affected officers crowded past to advance the attack. “Cecilia raised her hands and yelled, “I said stop!” Like a wave rolling through the crowd, the police and the protesters all lowered their weapons and signs.
All I COULD THING ABOUT WHEN I READ THIS WAS THE 1-6 INSURRECTION. Wouldn't it have been wonderful to have somebody with a lot of God's POWER actually go up to all those involved with the actions and cry out--STOP!
“You almost never remembered your dreams while you were with us. Do you remember them now when you awake?” “Sadly, yes.” “Do you dream about abstract things, or about things from your real life?” “I used to only dream about things that weren’t real. I always assumed that was because my real life in here wasn’t worth dreaming about. Now they’re almost always about real stuff, which I kind of hate.” “Do you care about what happens in your dreams, while they are happening?” “Oh yeah. I am fully invested.” “That’s actually a good sign. I’m sorry you’re having nightmares, but caring about the content of your dreams while you’re having them is a sign of brain health.” Sarah stifled a smirk at that comment. “Are you still taking the Clozipine?” “Yes.” “Have you had any anxiety?” She grinned weakly. “Good guess, Doctor. Yes, more and more. I have an attack pretty much every night when I try to go to sleep. Which means I don’t go under until really late, like four am.” “Do your coping skills help?” “Yeah, some. It would be worse without them.” “Is it your fear of sleep that sets them off?” “Not really. It’s mostly the hopelessness of our big project.” “Which you can’t tell me about.” “Right.” “Have you had any other traumas or big negative experiences, other than the bathroom attack?” Another round of eyeblinks. “Yeah, I’ve been a witness to several ugly, um, accidents where people have been hurt badly.” “Several? How many?” “Three.” “You’ve witnessed three major accidents? That can be overwhelming. Were you in any of them?” “Well, yes, I was involved in one.” “Were you physically hurt?” “No, miraculously.” “So, in six weeks, you were attacked in a bathroom, you were in an accident, and you witnessed two other accidents where others were hurt. Sarah, you have been through far too much for someone trying to get back on their feet. Your cortisol level must be sky high. I’m not surprised you’re giving up on things and can’t sleep...
Sarah has become overwhelmed with all that is happening and fears that their attempts to win out over those led by Jefferson Davis will fail. She decided she needed more help and visited her psychiatrist at Sandstone... But it was difficult to share what was really going on since she could not easily explain it without telling the truth, which, really, was indeed unbelievable...
Note that the discussion already included above under the book cover is from this chapter...
As the deadline was coming close, all that were working with Sarah and Nate began an actual plan of action...to head for the home of Jefferson Davis...
And they all knew that death could result...
And Sarah dreams one of the most supernatural dreams...ever!
Burt sat next to Nate in the front seat humming a tune as they approached the plantation. “What’s that song? I almost recognize it.” “Oh, that’s ‘Bad Moon Rising’ by John Fogerty. I’ve had it my head all day. Kind of fits, doncha think?” “I guess. Are you sure coming in the main gate is the best plan?” Nate asked. “They’ve got twenty-foot fences with barbed wire on top hidden in the trees all around the back. There’s a gate back there, but they heavily guard it. Until we know the cops have breached that gate, the only way in is right up the front.”
“I hear hurricanes a-blowing
I know the end is coming soon
I fear rivers overflowing
I hear the voice of rage and ruin,”
Sarah sang from the backseat. Nate turned around and she pointed to her headphones plugged into her phone. “‘Bad Moon Rising’. That’s a pretty cool song. Found it on Spotify.” He frowned at her nonchalance. “Hey, I’m going straight into anxiety back here. I gotta listen to music or something.”
“So here you are, the queen at last. Not much to look at, are you?” Davis’s attention was pulled away by a burst of flames coming from an upstairs window of the main house. “F---,” he said quietly before returning to Sarah. “First things first. You think you can just walk in here and destroy everything I’ve built? “You haven’t built anything. You’re just like your god. You only steal what treasures others have made.” “Oh, you mean your god Oof.” “Oum.”
“I am the Sword of God!”
Nate, you’re a science fiction fan, right? Well, me, I’m a mystery and detective fiction fan. I’m going to borrow a page from Ellery Queen, stick my hands in my pockets and walk away. I know you had something to do with it, but that doesn’t matter now. We’ve got our suspect survivors in custody, and I’m done.” Nate held up a hand. “About those suspects. Any of them wearing the necklaces, they were mental patients with schizophrenia, and their symptoms are going to come back.”
Yeah, so the moral of this story is...love will win over hate...and hate is a disease that sometimes isn't curable...and when hate acts out...just like those trying to divide our nation are doing... Then they should go to jail! Hopefully, the happy ending in this book will hold true for all the hate being so widely distributed in America... Ok, this was a fun way to get our aggression and anger into control...and work, in love, to regain our nation, our freedom and our democracy! Do check it out!
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One rational thought managed to form. What had possessed him to think he could go fishing, with no experience and no teacher? So what if he lived in a fishing village? He was a blacksmith, and should be in his shop wielding a hammer, not dying, caught like a fish. Not a helpful thought.
When I also decided to buy this book, I did not even think about the Disney movie until I was out looking for a trailer for Jay's second book, Mermaid Steel. I was intrigued how the author undoubtedly (or not) got the storyline from Disney and made it into an entirely different book, plot and characters. I really enjoyed it.
But, of course, that was before the haters in America started to act on their hate...this time, toward Disney who has for ages been around, making animals talk and relate to human beings, just for the fun of it... Haters will see this as a book to be banned, I hate to even say it, to predict it...Yet, from what I can tell from the news... When haters ban books, other people go out to read them and see for themselves! That's why I'm going to be recommending this story... A mid-teen to adult version, you might say, of The Little Mermaid...
My thought when I finished reading is that this was a writer's version of a parable--you know the type of story told by Jesus to show how to Love Thy Neighbor??? Another Love Over Hate book from Hartlove!
But this book is set in more historical times...or you could say in an imaginary world where, like, Disney, the author has given voice, communication skills, a community, and basic life support needs to...mermaids... who are actually called merrow and are mammals as well.
And a new resident in the human community who was a blacksmith... In those days, he provided a much-needed service and was always busy, even having a boy from the community working with him as an apprentice.
The human village looked to Atlan for guiding them in their lives: Atlan’s scripture, ‘Always know how lucky you are, and always be ready to help the needy.’ How many times had that motto gotten him into trouble?
So when he, Sten, in meeting Chielle, who saved him as he had been attempting to self-teach fishing, wanted to thank her for rescuing him, he immediately thought of what he could give her. Steel was always needed and welcomed by the merrow...
Actually the entire area was once a thriving town, where all the residents, including humans of all races and the merrow lived and worked together. But a lie had caused them to begin to hate each other...you know, just how many humans tell lies about something that is not true... and incites violence...
Sten thought only of wanting to act as Atlan would to care for somebody needing help. So he made and gave what was needed to Chielle. When she showed how it could be used to her brother, he immediately worked to make it into... weapons...
Well, just like Atlan taught, Sten was a good man and willingly agreed to help all he could. Which didn't turn out so well...
But no matter what anybody said, Sten and Chielle became friends and then fell in love...
Can you guess how the story ends? Of course, you can if you are a good person... And if you aren't, check out what happens when lies are revealed and everybody comes to know who lied and what really was the truth!
Sensitively done and worthy of your consideration if you're into fantasy... And who isn't for a good story or two?! Especially when it has a good moral foundation...
Thank you, Glenda, for bringing the whole multimedia experience to life! You're the best!
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