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Kay Scarpetta never mentions what occurred in Connecticut, but as soon as I started reading, I knew... I want YOU to know too, because if you are not acquainted with this particular school shooting, you need to know! America breeds murder...in my opinion... What else can we believe when the federal government has refused over decades to change our gun laws--or even have them, it seems... Certainly, it has led to the "great divide" now, hopefully, getting smaller, as people begin to see just what corruption and constant avoidance of the truth leads to... But, I have to sometimes wonder, is it too late? BTW, did you ever really think about that it is and has been always, men, who start wars??? Even with a number of female leaders of countries...
This book opens with Kay being home, claiming she has the flu, which she might have had as well, but I thought immediately that she was still dealing with the stress... Because she had been in Connecticut... And, with her background and experience, she chose to offer her services for completion of the many, many autopsies which were required--of the teacher, but, more, of the grade school children! Can you imagine anybody having to be involved in performing death exams on all those children??? I was hooked empathically with Kay from that point on...
During a feverish epiphany I saw the meaning of everything, life the colliding of God particles that make up all matter in the universe and death the absolute reverse of it. When I spiked a temperature of 103.8 it became even clearer, explained simply and eloquently by the hooded man at the foot of my bed. If only I’d written down what he said, the elusive formula for nature giving mass and death taking it away, all of creation since the Big Bang measured by the products of decay. Rust, dirt, sickness, insanity, chaos, corruption, lies, rot, ruin, shed cells, dead cells, atrophy, stenches, sweat, waste, dust to dust, that at a subatomic level interact and create new mass, and this goes on infinitely. I couldn’t see his face but I know it was compelling and kind as he spoke to me scientifically, poetically, backlit by fire that gave off no heat. During moments of astonishing clarity I realized what we mean when we talk of forbidden fruit and original sin, and walking into the light and streets paved in gold, of extraterrestrials, auras, ghosts, and paradise and hell and reincarnation, of being healed or raised from the dead, of coming back as a raven, a cat, a hunchback, an angel. A recycling crystalline in its precision and prismatic beauty was revealed to me. The plan of God the Supreme Physicist, who is merciful, just, and funny. Who is creative. Who is all of us. I saw and I knew. I possessed perfect Truth.
Then life reasserted itself, pulled Truth right out from under me, and I’m still here, held down by gravity. An amnesiac. I can’t recall or share what at last I could explain to devastated people after I’ve taken care of their dead. I’m clinical at best when I answer the questions they ask, always the same ones. Why? Why? Why! How could someone do something like this? I’ve never had a good explanation. But there is one and I knew it fleetingly. What I’ve always wanted to say was on the tip of my tongue, then I came to and what I knew was replaced by the job I’d just done. The unthinkable images no one should ever see. Blood and brass in a hallway lined with bulletin boards decorated for the holidays. And then inside that classroom. The children I couldn’t save. The parents I couldn’t comfort. The reassurances I couldn’t give. Did they suffer? How quick would it have been? It’s the flu doing this, I tell myself. There’s nothing I haven’t seen and can’t deal with and I feel the anger stir, the sleeping dragon within.
“Trust me, you don’t want anybody else taking care of this. There can’t be even one damn thing that gets screwed up,” Marino perseverates and if I’m honest with myself, I’m glad to hear his voice.
~~~
Before I officially began book reviewing, you might say I was hooked on forensics shows that began to be shown on television--CSI was my favorite as it was with millions...and the many offshoots from the first. Certainly Kay Scarpetta deserves to be awarded movie status for her books...
The continuity of characters is what I routinely enjoy in series books. But things have certainly changed since I joined Kay's life through this fantastic series. Marino is still here--but he is no longer working with Scarpetta. He has returned to being a cop with the local police force so he's still actively involved. But there is a new and significant tension between he and Kay...
Plus Kay is married! And her husband is a Special Agent in the FBI... Have to say, that, the noticeable tension that has developed comes through clearly, as they get into an extremely complex storyline that points out that evil can be found just about anywhere greed becomes the main drive for criminals...
Benton, who is a profiler with the Bureau, is away from home, working on murders which have now reached a need to register that a serial killer is on the loose. The interesting twist is that, the murder that Marino has contacted Kay with the statement that she would want to see this one right from the beginning, turned out to have similar characteristics of what was found on the bodies that the FBI is working on... And Kay was the one who made the discovery and reviewed the files on Benton's cases...
Further complications begin when the routine investigation at the state level, headed by Marino with Scarpetta and staff dealing with their parts, begins to contradict what federal records show...
Rapists, muggers, and murderers tend to prefer their victims drunk or drugged. A woman staggering out of a bar alone is a sitting duck.
The police had been contacted when a woman was talking to a friend who had stepped out of a bar to be able to hear/talk on her cell... The caller could hear her talking to somebody else and then was cut off... She was later found...dead... But when Marino came to pick Kay up, it turned into one of those tense moments...
Marino watches me, and I know what he’s concluded. What I went through over the weekend was traumatic and I’m paranoid, and, more to the point, I don’t feel as safe as I did when he worked for me. He wants to believe I feel his absence deeply, that life’s not as settled as it was, and it isn’t. I open a cabinet above the sink. “Well, that’s understandable,” he says. “What I’ve sensed has nothing to do with that, I promise.” I set a can of Sock’s food and a pair of gray nitrile examination gloves on the counter. “Really? You want to tell me why you suddenly think it’s necessary to wear a gun to a crime scene? One you’re going to with me?” He continues to push because he wants to believe I’m scared. Most of all he wants to believe I need him. “You don’t even like guns,” he then says. “It’s not a matter of what I like.” I talk to the rhythm of the can opener cutting through metal. “I also don’t happen to think that guns are something one should have feelings for. Love, hate, like, or dislike should be reserved for people, pets, food. Not firearms.” “Since when do you wear one or even bother taking the trigger lock off?” “How would you know what I bother with? You’re not around me most of the time and not at all lately.” I empty the can into Sock’s bowl as he waits by his mat, his pointed face looking at me. “Well, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I don’t work for you anymore and all of a sudden you arm yourself everywhere.” “I don’t arm myself everywhere but certainly when I’m in and out of the house all hours of the night, here alone,” I reply.
~~~
Finally getting to the location where the body had been found, on the MIT campus, Kay was immediately aware of both the surroundings as well as the body itself. It was immediately clear that the body had been staged... Why? And, thus, the intensive investigative activities began which quickly merged when Kay's niece, Lucy, flies Benton home for his birthday as a surprise for Kay... And things got worse soon thereafter... But, at least, Kay had Benton by her side as things moved forward... Or, actually, Benton had Kay by his side when Benton was suddenly fired at the crime scene by the Special Agent in their area...
After reading all the details and investigative research that had to be done to arrive to the end of the book, I must say I'm curious as to how much of the movie version, will be cut from the full book story. This book is tightly written, with little, if any, fat that can easily be shaved and not have an impact... There is no way to turn pages quickly as you would in a thriller. If you're not paying attention to the investigation, you might as well stop reading, because you'll not realize the full scope and reality of what is being done. I confess I have no idea whether the computer gymnastics Lucy creates or performs is even possible. I kinda hope so since she plays a major role in manner and speed by which the murders were solved and the individual caught and jailed... Wouldn't it be nice to have speed in our legal actions these days?
Kay and Lucy make a wonderful, close team that can only be achieved when love and respect for the other is involved... I love brilliant female characters and these two ably show that Cornwell is able to create some really bad-ass women!
"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and
the thought has found words."
~ Robert Frost
November is one of my favorite months because I believe in the power of gratitude. Although there might be a lot of chaos and unrest in the universe, I believe that it's important we sit still and think about all we have to be grateful for. When times get testy or dark, I can always turn to my writing to help me navigate. This is a blessing I had ever since I was a little girl when my mother gifted me my very own journal.
I'm also grateful for my ability to be creative and that my health is relatively stable. I just finished reading Rick Rubin's book, The Creative Act (reviewed below) which was a reminder of the importance of gratitude.
I also like November because of Thanksgiving and how every year our family comes together. I like it because it's not a materialistic holiday, but a holiday to remember the love we have for one another and to count all of all of our blessings. As the family matriarch, it can be a lot of hard working getting everyone together, and all the food preparation, but the work is so worth it and I never have regrets. My children are old enough to help and my grandchildren are also at the age to begin helping.
Wishing you a wonderful Thanksgiving feast, wherever and with whomever you celebrate!
I picked up this book when on holiday at Nepenthe in Big Sur. I'm not sure that I would have picked it up anywhere else, but everything in that store tends to be so inspiring. After reading it and discussing it with others, I learned how many others have already read and loved it. One comment that kept coming up is, "It's so good; it made so much sense that I could have written it!" Actually, I felt the same way. So many of Rubin's wisdoms are comfortably intuitive. If you're feeling creatively stuck or at a dead end, chances are opening this book to any page will fill you with inspiration and love for the creative process.
I ear-marked so many pages that it's difficult to highlight my favorite passages. However, just to provide a snippet, here are some of his wisdoms. Rubin and other creatives like myself are ritualistic. He wrote about a songwriter who always wrote her music in the same messy room in an old office building. He mentioned Charles Dickens who carried a compass to make sure he was always facing north when he slept (p.325). He believed that the electrical currents of the earth supported his creativity. Dr. Seuss, for example, had a bookcase with a false door hiding hundreds of unusual hats. How's that for inspiration.
How about this: Genie’s easygoing intelligence and friendly, unpretentious, graceful kindness always makes her an instant hit with the wisest, most empathetic people. And Genie is my wife, lover, and best friend.
If I’d “repented” and rejoined the fold, we could have used the well-tried model of Christian-leader-screws-up-blames-Satan-repents, then is “called” back to a GOD CASH “ministry.”
I first met Frank Schaeffer on Facebook, when I was there the First Time which lasted about 15+ years. Then I've followed him on YouTube since... His commentaries are always timely, so this latest one on Tucker would not have been known to me and many of us who do not follow "conservative news." We've learned from Fox News what that normally includes--Lies!
Shaeffer has been stead-fast, as with many others, who saw DJT as the man he was right from the beginning... I had finally found somebody who I knew I could trust... Why? because one of the first videos I listened to was his accounting of what occurred at a meeting with evangelical christians related to Trump. Yes, he and his father was there... Soon thereafter, he chose to break away from religion, while continuing to pray and recognize God as part of his life. He says it many other ways, but I saw through his protestations as a cover of his shame in what was being planned...
Since then, whenever I catch his videos, I save them as favorites automatically, knowing that there will be a time when I want to hear his opinion. I don't recall a time when, after listening to the entire video, that I have not agreed with his opinion and/or learned from it. But I never had really gotten to know Frank, the man--the man who daily lived, seemingly for his family and for speaking truth... Learning he babysat daily was an interesting "plus" for this man who had rejected religion without rejecting God's love... So, when he started talking about his latest book, which he was going to give away free on YouTube, I went ahead and bought it to start reading...
The book is written in shorts--as is his videos... Thus you can read a day's writing, or you can continue to read based upon a topic being covered. I found this was a convenient way to also keep reading other books to keep my blog readers busy. LOL It took me longer to read the entire book, but I believe breaking it down to easily come back provided an opportunity to better digest and learn from what was being said...
The basic premise is to Find the joy and happiness in your life through Love... His use of his companion, Zip, to spotlight his message was delightful, but when you read it, you will find that it is, more, a memoir, of his life with his family. Beginning with the time he was still involved with his family's "cult" as he now calls it... which, fully stated, was a "cult of male domination..."
Having never know a father, I found Frank Schaeffer's story to be a compelling one. To be able to find his true love and continue to live a life you'd learned from your family, and begin to see what really loving a woman and a family calls for, is a unique experience from a man who, late in his life, has become willing to share a story which, in my opinion, should be read by every male now alive. The contrast of what is being taught through christian nationalism is so far different that readers will immediately know that Frank is a man you can know and trust. In his family life, he may have his personal opinions, but he would never, after many years, attempt to become the dominant figure of the family--that was never intended. He shares his life with his wife as his primary soulmate we have always heard about... But many never really believed it... Read his story to learn.
His Latest Video... - Re Hate, of Any Kind...
And predictability is what my parents stripped their children of by volunteering us into an “open home” where we had to save our “guests” for Jesus, as they wandered around stoned, awake at all hours, or sometimes threatening suicide during a “bad drug trip.” An animal, be it a human animal child or a dog like Zip, who doesn’t know when the food will appear or what other animal (or mentally deranged human) will wander in, can discern no consistent schedule and so experiences constant distress. That is never what happens to Zip, let alone to my grandchildren I do childcare for, but describes my three sisters’ and my childhood in a nutshell.
Zip doesn’t read but teaches everyone around him by brilliant, generous, and kind example. If Zip could read and write, here’s what Zip might say:
There are no small moments! There is just the time you have— right now! Life is not about some “big plan!”
Your life is about how you interact with others! The “important” meeting you’ll go to is no more significant than the extra moment you spend talking to the woman delivering a package.
ALONE IS BAD! TOGETHER IS GOOD! CONNECT! Alienation and isolation, distrust and disconnection from others never end well. Bluntly: evolution wants lonely people dead. The surgeon general said so.
Surgeon General Vivek Murthy issued an urgent warning about the epidemic of loneliness and social isolation. He said “Loneliness and social isolation increase the risk for premature death by 26% and 29% respectively … lacking social connection can increase the risk for premature death as much as smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day. … Poor or insufficient social connection is associated with increased risk of disease, including a 29% increased risk of heart disease and a 32% increased risk of Stroke. Furthermore is associated with increased risk for anxiety, depression and dementia.”
These days when I hug Genie while we’re standing in the kitchen, in hallways, bedrooms, or on a walk with Zip, my arms wrapped around her tightly, my hands clasped behind her back, Genie makes the most comfortable sighing mmmm sound. This happiest of all sounds of deep contentment makes me feel deliriously joyful.
~~~
Zip leads the family in their acceptance of friendliness and joy, as, whenever the mail comes, and he hears the mail being delivered, Zip runs from wherever he is to say Hi! Barking to say hello to Elena, he will wait to have Frank open the door so they can visit! Everybody in the neighborhood knows Elena and comes out, even if they have a Trump sign in their yard. He is friendly to his neighbors and goes to the local Hispanic church, participating as a leader... It's nice to know that friendliness can override the hate of this administration...
Classical tapes play in the background of Genie's work area, or even children's stories when babysitting occurs. But, it has to be known that this couple also acquired every 1960s rock album made...
By age 6, granddaughter Nora could sing all the songs from two of the albums by the Beatles! LOL
Soon readers will begin to relax and enjoy how this family lives--together always--but in such a friendly environment that you'll begin to feel the "vibe" of living and loving... But Frank admits it took him longer to find the "bliss..."
Isolating someone from friends and family is the hallmark of a controlling abuser. In the earlier days of our marriage, Genie had to travel to visit her family and friends because I denied her the pleasure of hosting family and friends in our home. My anti-visitor phobia took longer to get over than anything else. Get over are the wrong words to describe what happened. I should rather say: I took longer to learn to behave differently. I still regard visitors as intruders. I still love a shut door. The difference is, the older version of me welcomes guests and family these days, for Genie’s sake. My coping and changing behavior was only possible when I learned to separate feelings (unreliable) from actions (measurable). I learned Genie and I did not live in my house but in our home. I learned that life with Genie was not about finding myself, but about finding ourselves. I learned that how I act could (eventually with enough brain-changing repetition) become who I am. I learned that being “happy” all the time isn’t what life is about. I learned to stop excusing my shitty behavior as a reaction to the way my parents trashed our home’s privacy and take responsibility for how I was behaving.
Now, you might question how long that actually took, so I can only say that this was on page 54 and there was still 300 pages to read... I'd say that's a statement that you can go with, especially since, I have to confess, I'm like Frank... I've always been an introvert who enjoys books behind a closed door, more than "some people..." especially right now seeing the hate and violence... Still, there is always time to keep learning... Schaeffer's admissions allow each of us to keep trying...
But there is no doubt about it, Zip has played a major part in changing the public figure of Frank Schaeffer! Cats do that for me--but then I never had a childhood like Frank had...
Why do I interrupt my writing for Zip? Maybe he fulfills a physiological need. As Jessica Pierce says, biologists have discovered physiological explanations for why we enjoy touching and being touched by our dogs. Sensory neurons are found in mammals, including in us. These neurons stimulate the release of the hormone oxytocin when we pet dogs. And oxytocin plays an important role in bonding, trust, and wound-healing. And Pierce says we shouldn’t underestimate how much can be communicated between dogs and humans. Besides holding or petting them we also communicate well with dogs. Pierce writes, “It is how somebody says the words, or when, or with what look in their eye that tells us what we really need to know. They talk with their ears, eyes, face, and body.” Dogs speak to us the same way. They know to follow a pointing finger, and they follow the direction of our gaze. They can make inferences about the reliability of the human giving the cues, responding more consistently to reliable human sources they trust. Pierce writes, “Researchers believe that dogs evolved their vocal repertoire to facilitate communication with us. And we are actually quite adept at reading their signals, too. For example, humans are good at accurately interpreting dog emotions by quality of barks.” And just as dogs follow our gaze they seem to expect us to follow theirs.[21] So I know what Zip needs, and he “reads” me too. That paw on my wrist as I type says, “SEE ME.” I like being seen too. I like Zip’s healing touch. When Zip looks up at me and I hold his gaze, he is communicating. It is not a stretch to say he is saying, I love you. And Zip has made me into a kinder person. Pierce says “a correlation between positive relationships with pets and the development of humane attitudes toward animals in general, as well as the expansion of empathy for other people.” A study found that, in preschool children, empathy for animals is correlated with empathy toward other schoolchildren. Children with strongest bonds to animals showed the highest empathy scores.[22] In our home there is no question that Zip sets a “tone” of caring. He softens the mood. Being with Zip all day puts Genie and me into a certain frame of mind that can be described as cheerful kindness.
Readers will find that Schaeffer is also well read and there will be references documenting the basis upon which he writes--including a list of footnotes in the print copy I have... Do enjoy reading this book. It's free if you wish...below... or if you wish to support this writer's ongoing commitment to helping our world be retained as a democracy... it can be found on Amazon...
Writing to keep the bills paid and a roof over my head while the reading public dwindles by the day and brains shrink watching 10 second reels on tiny little screens, and that's called entertainment.
This wasn't how I pictured growing old.
I assumed one thing,
while another thing was brewing that I didn't see coming.
I do remember having a Smith Fit during one blatant revelation,
in which I told the Good Lord I was royally pissed.
And then I realized what I'd said and laughed.
(And He Laughed Too!)
That was clearly obvious by the fit I'd just had.
It may seem strange to some of you.
Even blasphemous of me to others,
as to how I talk to God.
Don't care what you think.
In my mind, heaven is home.
God is the Father.
The Father always listens.
The Father welcomes His children home.
I have no one left on earth
to whom I would complain to.
Everyone has their own burdens.
They don't need more of someone else's.
But I have HIM.
And...He has me.
Warts and all.
Sometimes God is busy.
Help Him out now and then.
BE THE LIGHT PEOPLE
BE THE LIGHT.
I believe God Has Spoken
Through Sharon Sala
Please Spread HIS Words!
He IS Waiting!
My latest review is posted yesterday as a personal favorite...
But, please, enter her name in the right column and bring up just a few of her books I've been privileged to read (thus far)
But something more than instinct was guiding her trip...
Night was a shield for those who needed it, and kept secrets better than a best friend ever could. It protected, and at the same time, left the weak more vulnerable.
Kiamichis Mountains, Oklahoma
Adam was looking out the window, his eyes narrowing sharply as he squinted against the light. Franklin thought that Adam looked a lot like his father. Same strong face—same far-seeing expression in his eyes, but he was taller and more muscular. And he’d been beyond the Kiamichis. He’d lived a warrior’s life for the United States government. Franklin set his coffee cup aside, folded his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes. It was good that Adam Two Eagles had come home.
Within an hour after arriving back at his home, Adam began the preparations. He drank some water before going out to ready the sweat lodge. On the way down the hillside, he got work gloves from the tool shed and a small hatchet from a shelf. A sense of peace came over him as he worked, gathering wood and patching a small hole in the lodge. Tonight, he would begin the ceremony.
If Franklin and Leila had made a baby together, the Old Ones would find it. He hurried back to the house, gathering everything he needed, then walked back to the small lodge above the creek bank. He undressed with care, shedding his clothes a layer at a time. By the time he’d dropped his last garment, a slight breeze had come up, lifting his hair away from his face and cooling the sweat beading on his body. The first star of the evening was just visible when he looked up at the sky. He checked the fire. Ideally, there would be someone outside the lodge continuing to feed the fire, but not tonight. Tonight the fire that he’d already built would serve the purpose. He lifted the flap and crawled in. Within seconds, he was covered in sweat. He sat down cross-legged, letting his arms and hands rest on his knees. With a slow, even rhythm he breathed in and breathed out. Then he closed his eyes and began to chant. The words were almost as old as the land on which he sat. The hours passed and the moon that had been hanging high in the sky, was more than halfway through its slow descent to the horizon. Morning was but an hour or so away. Inside the sweat lodge, all the words had been said. All the prayers had been prayed. Adam was ready. He crawled out of the lodge. When he stood, the muscles in his legs tried to cramp, but he walked them out as he then moved behind the lodge and laid another stick of wood on the fire. With the sweat drying swiftly on his skin and his mind and body free from impurities, he reached into his pack and took out the carving, as well as the hairs he’d cut from Franklin’s head. Some might have called it a prayer—others might have said it was a chant—but the words Adam spoke were a call to the Old Ones. The rhythm of the syllables rolled off Adam’s tongue like a song.
The log he’d laid on the fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up into the air. Adam felt the prick of heat from one as it landed on his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Still wrapped in the cloak of darkness, he lifted his arms to the heavens and began to dance. Dust and ashes rose up from the ground, coating his feet and legs as he moved in and out of the shadows around the fire. He danced and he sang until his heartbeat matched the rhythm of his feet. The wind rose, whistling through the trees in a thin, constant wail, sucking the hair from the back of his neck and then swirling it about his face. They were coming. He tossed the owl and the hairs into the fire, and then lifted his hands above his head. As he did, there was what he could only describe as an absence of air. He could still breathe, but he was unable to move. The great warriors manifested themselves within the smoke, using it to coat the shapes of what they’d once been. They came mounted on spirit horses with eyes of fire. The horses stomped and reared, inhaling showers of sparks that had been following the column of smoke, and exhaling what appeared to be stars. One warrior wore a war bonnet so long that it dragged beneath the ghost horse’s feet. Another was wrapped in the skin of a bear, with the mark of the claw painted on his chest. The third horse had a black handprint on its flank, while matching handprints of white were on the old warrior’s cheeks. The last one rode naked on a horse of pure white. The wrinkles in his face were as many as the rivers of the earth. His gray hair so long that it appeared tangled in the horse’s mane and tail, making it difficult to tell where man ended and horse began. They spoke in unison, with the sounds getting lost in the whirlwind that brought them, and yet Adam knew what they’d said. They would help. As he watched, one by one, they reached into the fire and took a piece of Franklin’s essence to help them with their search.
Then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, they were gone. Adam dropped to his knees, then passed out.
~~~
It was wonderful to again connect with Sharon Sala on Facebook... I have missed interacting with my many friends there... Now, it seems so different since I essentially had to start over... I've ordered Sharon's upcoming book, but I am so happy I got Rider on Fire to start back reading her wonderful books...
This multi-genre book starts as a thriller as a DEA Agent, Sonora Jordan deals with her life as a child who was "dumped" the day after she was born... A child who never knew who she was...
DEA agent Sonora Jordan was running after a drug dealer when she fell into the twilight zone. One moment she was inches away from grabbing her perp, Enrique Garcia, and the next her gun went flying as she fell flat on her face.
The shot that would have hit her square in the back went flying over her head. Instead of the heat and dust of Mexico, she was in the shade of a forest and hearing the sound of moving water from somewhere up ahead.
She lifted her head, and as she did, she saw a tall, older man standing on the porch of a single-story dwelling that was surrounded by trees. His skin was brown, and his hair was long and peppered with gray. There was a wind chime hanging by his head that looked like a Native American dream catcher. The chimes were different shapes of feathers. It was so foreign to anything she knew, she couldn’t imagine why she would be hallucinating about it and wondered if she was dead. The man lifted his hand, and as he did, she had the strongest urge to wave back, but she couldn’t seem to move. She couldn’t see his face clearly, yet she knew that he was crying. A sad, empty feeling hit her belly and then swallowed her whole.
By the time she realized she wasn’t dead, only face down in the dirt, the vision was gone. If that wasn’t enough humiliation, her perp was nowhere in sight. “Oh crap,” she muttered, then breathed easier when she saw Agent Dave Wills coming back with the perp she’d been chasing. Garcia was handcuffed and cursing at the top of his voice.
~~~
Sonora had grown up essentially, alone, even though she had people monitoring her as an orphan... She would be placed in homes of one sort or another, but she only speaks of one particular foster mother who would lock her up every time a man came to visit... She could hear the two adults, but didn't understand what was happening... After years, she had become afraid of the dark, which has never left her, even while she had grown to become one of the best agents in her DEA section...
She was last involved with the Garcia family, a drug cartel from South America, led by the oldest living son. During the DEA raid, two brothers were taken, one of whom was killed--by Sonora. Garcia came on the hunt, immediately pledging retribution--funny, isn't it, how criminals feel that being caught should result in retribution even though they were the ones doing something illegal... In any event, DEA officials soon learned that he was now in the U.S. and told Sonora she would have to leave the area... Of course, Sonora resented this. But, on the other hand, she soon began to believe it was a good thing...
And it had to do with the vision that had occurred during the fight with the two Garcia brothers... Of course she had no where she could or should go, so she went to a world map and started drawing a line, until she felt it was time to stop... She was heading to Oklahoma...
But something more than instinct was guiding her trip...
She loaded up what she could carry on her bike--but first she had to get it back from a guy she used to date. The only thing she found out much later was that he had asked to give her a message before he died... "I didn't tell him anything..." Garcia will appear once in a while as he chases her...but I'm going to switch to the "fantastic" part of her book...
You see, Sonora was not Latino as she thought; she was Kiowa. Her father was ill with cancer and he'd asked his friend to try to find her... Adam had left his tribe and joined the U.S. Military Services, but had been drawn back to his home to take the place of his father as Healer for the area. So, of course, he knew what he had to do... Adam would need to contact the Old Ones for help!
It was Adam she first met in a nearby town and it was he who suggested he follow her to where she was meant to be... I have to say, I love supernatural stories and this one is simply fascinating... You see, Sonora has found her father, her tribe, a home, and a very, very handsome Kiowa Brave--Adam--to whom she is attracted! And the feelings are very mutual, especially since Adam had been having dreams of her, not knowing who he was dreaming of... Believe me, this romance story is easily worth the purchase!
But it gets even better... As Garcia is catching up on her... As Her newly found father is feeling the pain of the cancer... And as Sonora, who was alone all of her life, is suddenly meeting two men who will be the most important men in her life, for a special happily ever after! Don't miss this one!
Sah-nay-mah aka Snake Woman with son Andrew Domebo, in Oklahoma Territory - Kiowa - 1895
(Photographer unknown)
Snake Woman (aka Bertha Sahananah) was born on the Kiowa, Comanche, and Plains Apache Reservation at Fort Sill in Indian Territory in 1875. She married Eagle Bone Whistle (aka Charley Domebo), and their first child Andrew was born in 1895. They would raise seven more children
It was exciting to find this picture of a woman of the Kiowa Snake Clan on Facebook! It "allowed" (LOL) me to share one of the supernatural events that showed that Sonora, although alone, was never alone. For, of course, Sonora was never separated from her Clan, her Tribe... And, proof was illustrated when, at 16, Sonora went with friends for a tattoo, and was drawn to one particular picture... The one below is as close as I could find of that picture... and, yes, it was placed on Sonora's back...but much longer... WOW!
God works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform...