Welcome to Book Readers Heaven! Find Books, Reviews, Short Stories, Authors, Publicity, a little poetry, music to complement...and other stuff including politics, about life... "Books, Cats: Life is Sweet..."
When Dad told us we were moving, I made him promise we could bring everything of Mum’s as well. Nothing was to be thrown or given away. I’d carefully packed Mum’s clothes and shoes and locked diaries and photographs into especially sturdy boxes. And made a nest in the middle of Mum’s softest jumper for the jewellery box. I do love the small box with its lavender pattern with gold metal around the edges and when it is opened, a darling little ballerina lifts up and slowly spins in a perpetual pirouette as music plays. As long as I wind it up first with the key on the back, the dancer always dances.
One day, maybe, I could be a dancer.
Why wouldn’t a person care about the wellbeing of their neighbour? Mind you, her father never had. He rarely had a nice word to say about anyone unless it was to the face of a guest. But she couldn’t blame one man for her narrow view of the world. She worked with men a lot and some of them were decent blokes. Some of them.
‘See. It is a lake. A magic lake which makes people laugh,’ he says. ‘And when we sit in our magic lake we can whisper secrets to each other. Whimsical whispering water. With fish.’
This is such a lovely story... Even though the way it was written, readers will also experience the sadness that comes from the story. The story begins in the past where a family has just experienced the death of the mother. It saddens them all... But, the father decides to relocate to another town where his soon can attend a special school for detailed medical help. Charlie is looking forward to attending school. His sister, not so much. Mainly she doesn['t want to leave the place where her mother is buried--and she won't be able to visit like she has been doing.
Rebecca--Becky--is a good student, but she has taken on most of the duties needed to keep the home running. There is a constant discussion which sometimes includes her Dad's sister, about her needing to also attend a special school for girls, which her aunt happens to run. Rebecca was opposed to leaving her father and brother... Readers are privy to the day that everything changes. It was the end of an era of family happiness that had just begun as Charlie was growing stronger at his new school...
Readers travel over 60 years ago where we meet an entirely new family. One that has been separated due to trouble that developed fairly early in their marriage. We meet Sadie who has become a journalist who became a specialist in creating documentaries. She has developed a good reputation and has been kept busy in production of one after the other. So much so that she hasn't been home for years.
Her father has died so that Pam, her mother was now the only family connection and had been left after her father's death to run the family Inn. However, when Sadie got there, she immediately noticed that there was a change not only in the condition of the Inn but in the physical health of her mother. Readers can't help but become emotionally involved as these two women struggle to develop a new relationship that was based on their own connection as opposed to having their father being a wedge between them.
It's a sad story that will evolve as Sadie is there to not only see her mother, but to deal with the family will, the future, and what will happen in the future. Sadie finds herself stuck dealing with the past--a time when, when young, she and her father were very close and he was very supportive of her becoming what Sadie wanted to do in the future. But at some point, she remembered two men from a local church had come to speak to her father. And suddenly her father pulled away from the daughter he had spent so much time and support to her when she was younger.
Although Pam had loved her husband, she also had to adapt to the change that came over her husband... But Sadie soon realized that Pam was a stronger women than she had thought and, together, they worked to plan where they both would be in their future. With a little bit of help from her mother, Sadie also met Dan, a local building contractor, with whom she'd been talking about doing work in the Inn itself. Of course, Sadie and Dan were "destined" to be attracted to each other, even though Sadie was a lot harder to convince of being able to trust Dan...
I’m a big believer in the shrine of a trillion stars in the midnight sky.’ Good grief, if you don’t stop saying everything right and looking so darned gorgeous I am going to fall for you. Stop it.
But it wasn't until Sadie had become to explore the area and came across the home of somebody that put her on alert, that she and Dan got to know each other... Sadie had taken a walk and came upon a small cabin, where a black cat came happily to greet her, and quickly heading into the house... Sadie noticed that the door was open and, worried, she step in and immediately noticed a purse opened on a nearby table... Soon, the entire town was alerted. Rebecca a woman in her 70s had previously gone off by herself and had needed help to return home. Pam hooked Sadie up with Dan who was a friend who had helped before and had become friends with Rebecca...
It was Dan and Sadie who found Rebecca and got her home, but it was Sadie who took more of an interest--Many of the documentaries Sadie had made were dealing with homelessness and aging... But that first day, Rebecca had asked Sadie to help her find them and Sadie had said she would try, but, later, Rebecca didn't remember that request... But Sadie did and kept on trying to discover who or what she was looking for...
But there were many times available for picnics, or exploring Dan's home which he'd built himself... And, of course, Sadie was excited to see they had similar tastes in the home environment...
Folks, I chose to close out this review with a surprise which related to how the ending will surprise you in a delightful way... Sadie is working on a documentary of a new facility in this lake area...and it's bound to have lots of exciting music to celebrate... So enjoy!
May music and happiness end each day as you spend time with all those who care for each other and work together to service and support all God's Children! And, I highly recommend you don't miss this book!
I put on a serious expression. “Amazing, isn’t it, how creative we’ve become in devising such lethal tools.
“Good morning.” Alan smiled. “An excellent job was done this morning by three of our officers. Officers Bob Richards, Alford Jackson, and Gary Alison. They observed and arrested three professional burglars making a rooftop entrance to the Safeway Store on Alhambra.” He pointed at me. “Good job.” Several officers turned and gave me a thumbs-up. “Those arrested were Willy Johnson, his wife, Carol Johnson, and Curtis Mitcham. The Johnsons are three-time losers who got hooked up with Mitcham because Carol worked at the Safeway Store and knew the layout. She and her old man aren’t going anywhere. They don’t have the connections or resources to bail out.” The lieutenant put a booking photo up on the screen. I recognized one of the people as the fellow who had a bladder problem earlier today. “Mitcham, on the other hand, is a different story. He’s part of the Savages motorcycle club and is being looked at as the primary suspect in the assassination of two rival gang members in Phoenix. Intelligence Division says he’s a big moneymaker and enforcer for the club.” “Good to have him off the street,” one of the officers said. “That’s the problem.” Miller frowned. “He’s being discharged right now.” A collective groan resonated through the room. “His attorney was at the gate before his booking was done with a release order from a federal court judge. Seems he’s working with the Feds on some interstate thing. I called Phoenix PD to see if they could put a hold on him for their case, but they don’t have enough yet.” “Any time line on when Phoenix may go to warrant?” I asked. “No, Bob, but they assured me that they would notify me personally.” After a long pause he said, “There’s something else. While he was in lockup, he was going off about taking care of the one who brought the cops down on him. He was making all kinds of threats.” “Threats are a norm in lockup, LT. If he feels froggy, let him jump. Then maybe we can put him away for good.” “This guy is dangerous. Don’t underestimate him, or those he hangs with. Truth is, I have no problem with him facing up to any one of you, but his threats weren’t aimed at you. When they were taking him away at the scene, he saw the old lady who owns Dee’s store standing out front and one of our police cars at the back corner. He thinks she called us.” Turning to Sargent Alan, “I want extra patrols around the clock on that little store. I’ve called Concord PD about keeping an eye on her house.” Tapping the screen for emphasis, Miller said, “Don’t forget that face. You’re dismissed.” On the way home I made a slight detour to stop by Dee’s old store. Pulling my canary yellow, 1972 Dodge Charger R/T up to the gas pump, I could almost hear every one of the 440 cubic inches say, “I’m thirsty.” This chunk of metal eats and drinks more than all three of my sons put together. “Sweet ride, Officer,” came a voice from the garage. “When are you going to let me tweak it up a bit?” John Steller, Dee’s eldest son, walked over and reached for the pump lever. He was a good man and a good mechanic, and if I really needed work done, he would be the one to do it. “Not now, John, but I’ll keep ya in mind.” “I assume you don’t put anything but High Test in this buggy.” “You got it. Last month I was choking on thirty-nine cents a gallon, but this recent spike to fifty-five cents is killing me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a hole in the tank.” He held the pump nozzle in the air like a handgun. “There is, it’s called a four-barrel carburetor. I hear it could be as much as seventy-five cents by this time next year.” With a big smile he pointed the nozzle at his mother’s Pinto. “You might want to trade this guzzler in for something else.” “Don’t tempt me, John. Listen, I was out here early this morning, over at the Safeway Store. We arrested a couple bad guys, and well, this area hasn’t built up that much yet so be careful out here, okay?” “Sure will. That will be $7.70.” Handing him the cash, I got behind the wheel and started the engine. Leaning into the open driver’s window, John looked me in the eye. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Officer?” “Those are some really bad guys we took down this morning. They’re making all kinds of threats to anyone and everyone, including those around here. Just be careful and call us if you see anything that concerns you. Okay?” “You bet. Thanks.” Stepping back, John smiled and gave me a salute. I slowly rolled out onto the hot pavement of the Alhambra and could see John in my rearview mirror watching me. I had to make an impression. Dropping it into low, I punched it. The roar was sweet as all three hundred and seventy horses under the hood pushed me back into the seat like a rocket. The rear of the car got squirrely, as a high-pitched shriek resonated off the tires, and a thick cloud of rubber filled the air. Within seconds I was doing sixty and searching the rearview and side mirrors for any sign of red and blue flashing lights appearing through the thick smoke.
Pleased with the results, I slowed down and settled in for the ride home. Approaching the house, I turned the corner and parked at the curb just out of sight. In the front yard were three little ragamuffins, each just a few inches taller than the other. Striking across the lawn, they had a clear objective in mind. In the center of the yard was a large pile of autumn leaves I had taken an hour to rake up, but it was about to be scattered like snowflakes. With shouts and squeals they dove into the leafy mountain, redistributing fall’s foliage in every direction. It was worth the work, I thought as I pulled into the driveway. The first head to pop up through the leaves was Joseph, named after his grandfather. From the moment he was born, the two were inseparable. “Little Joe” is my oldest. He has a heart as big as his mother’s. Even at the age of seven he was always looking out for his brothers. The next head to come up for air was my second boy, Stefan. His mother would sing him to sleep every night, “Climb upon my knee, Sonny Boy, though you’re only three, Sonny Boy, you’ve no way of knowing, there’s no way of showing, what you mean to me, Sonny Boy.” The name stuck. Sonny is our artist. He draws on everything. One head didn’t make a showing, my youngest Casey, or Critter as we call him. When his mother washes his clothes, she doesn’t reach in and turn out the pockets to empty them of rocks, marbles, and the like. With Critter’s britches, she drops them on the floor and stomps on them a few times. Because of several unique finds, Casey had earned the handle “Critter.” Standing at the front door, like a centurion at the gate, was the feared fixer of fabric, the daring defender of dinner, the controlling Commander in Chief of the Republic of Richards. In her hand glistening in the noonday sun, was her weapon of choice. Slowly she raised it toward the helpless children and, with a Cheshire-cat smile, looked at me as if to dare me to make a move. “Watch out!” I shouted just as she opened fire. A long stream of water shot from the nozzle as the boys began to squeal with laughter. Breaking into a dead run, I zig-zagged across the lawn, scooping up Little Joe and Sonny in my arms, holding them in front of me as a shield. I felt a tug and found Critter clinging to my pant leg. Squirming and giggling I moved toward the adversary as she took aim and drenched us unmercifully. Putting them down I shouted, “Let’s get her.” With eyes as wide as her smile, Rosie dropped the hose, turned, and ran back into the house. Just before the boys reached the door, I leaped over three steps, spun around, and stretched out my arms, stopping their attack on the porch. “Hold it guys. We can’t go inside all wet. I’ll get some towels, and after we’re dry, we’ll go get mom.” Returning with the towels, I stopped dead in the hallway. Stepping back, I turned to the bedroom and said in a loud whisper, “Baby, get out here, quick.” Stepping into the hall she looked to the open front door, and there stood three naked little troopers, with their clothes in a pile at their feet. It took everything we had to keep from laughing. “Well, go give them a towel before the neighbors call the cops.”
My life was on track. I had a beautiful wife, three great kids, and a job I loved. We just moved into our first home, and the future was looking bright. Watching little bundles of energy fidget and fuss as their mom wiped faces and ruffled hair, I wondered what I had done to deserve all this. A decade earlier I was cutting a firebase for the 101st Airborne in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. I spent my first week in Camp Alpha, Saigon, waiting to be assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division where I would man a 106 recoilless rifle, a direct fire cannon mounted on a jeep. After three days I explored the camp and found three pieces of heavy engineering equipment: two International Harvester TD-24 bulldozers and a field stripped John Deere road grader. Climbing onto one of the dozers, I sat back in the seat, put my feet up on the hood, and took a nap in the warm afternoon sun. I don’t know how long I slept, but I was jarred awake by Master Sergeant Buck Bennett. “Wake up, Private! Where the hell do you think you are?” Rolling my legs off the hood, I missed the floor plate and dropped onto the tracks. From there it was a gymnast’s nightmare, as I landed face down at Bennett’s feet. I lifted my head slowly and looked into eyes that had seen things I didn’t want to imagine. “On your feet, Private,” he barked. I jumped to my feet and stood as ridged as I could, although I was shaking like a leaf on the inside. “This is not your home, boy. This is a war zone, and that’s not your cradle; it’s military equipment. Do you understand me, Private.” “Yes, Master Sergeant.” “You operate that dozer?” “No, Master Sergeant. I’m eleven-bravo. Infantry. Waiting for orders to the 1st Cavalry.” “Okay.” He looked down at my nametag. “Stay put, Richards. I’ll be right back.” He turned toward the command tent, then looking over his shoulder, “Don’t go to sleep again, boy. The next voice you hear may be Charlie’s.” I waited for over an hour and was tempted to just go back to my bunk when Bennett appeared from a row of tents with another soldier.
“Richards, this is Specialist Kippell. Just call him Kip. He will be showing you how to use that dozer. You have three, maybe four days. Use them well. You’re now twelve-bravo, Combat Engineer. Stay alive, boy.” And with that he turned and disappeared out of my life forever. I went from Infantryman to Engineer in less than an hour. Later I learned that the two guys I bunked with, and who would have been part of my crew manning the 106 recoilless, were hit just two weeks after joining the 1st Cavalry. Only one survived. He sustained serious injuries and was sent home.
Why them and not me? Would I ever really know the answer to this question that would interrupt countless nights of sleep? A tear ran down my cheek as I watched three naked little dudes hug their mom and scamper off down the hall to their rooms. What had I done to deserve a life like this? Why me?
A tiny God Incident occurred when I read the pages above... Why Me? was not listed as a song by the author, but my mind immediately thought of it. As I finished the book, and began to write this morning, I realized that the song is actually the plot of the book. You see, Bob Richards, our main character, has spent quite a bit of time asking "Why?" and before the book closes, he's actually asking "Why?" and saying "No!" Only to return to the words, "Why me, Lord, What have I ever done...?"
Bob Williams is a cop. A good cop. Well-respected by both his fellow officers as well as those individuals to whom he's connected on the job... The only two words needed to describe him is that he is both empathic and sympathetic. A combination that is often missing in officers of the law, it seems, especially these days...
This book is dedicated to:
To those who must stand blameless in the throes of adversity, who are the first we call, and the last we thank. To the men and women who, each day, face what most will never experience in a lifetime and are the first to run toward what the rest of us will run from. Thank you!
The first chapter provides a hint, but it really didn't sink in to me until much later... You will learn there, that Bob Harris, is also a prison chaplain... But by the next chapter, readers are brought into a crime scene and somehow that first chapter doesn't really make an impression...
You see, Bob has not yet gone through the Three Gates to Hell...
Bob and his partner was a group who were assigned to the time slots where most of the criminal actions took place. A major effort to break into a store had occurred but had been stopped by the police officers on duty. Arrests were made, but one of those involved had been released as he was already working with the FBI on a case. This man was one of the cruelest of the cruel and even as he was set free, he was already looking to revenge... A series of events took place, people were hurt... And, one of their own, a police officer had been murdered. Mitcham was the killer and he led a motorcycle gang, called the Savages.
The story moves from Bob being on the job to those times when he is with his family... or with other personal relationships... But at some point, Bob had been targeted, necessitating that his family relocate from their home...
And then one day he met Mitcham with the FBI at an elevator, and he looked at Bob and asked about his family...Bob was furious, knowing that this man had many opportunities to go after his family! On that day, a man saw him and came over, placing a hand on his shoulder, asking if he was alright... He was the Chaplain at San Quentin!
He handed me a business card. “I’m sitting right over there if you want to talk. You can also call me any time you want to. Bless you, son, and thank you for all you do. I know it’s hard to be a police officer in times like these, but I suppose that is true about any time.” He walked back to the bench along the window, and I read his card, “Howard Hays, Senior Chaplain, California Penal System.” I decided to go to the range and spend the afternoon annihilating paper bad guys with hundreds of rounds of ammunition. When I was through, I went home to a world absent of guns, chaos, and crime, but full of little boys’ laughter and love. Joe, my father-in-law, once read to me a Bible verse when I was angry and depressed about what I had seen on the streets: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.” Good advice.
~~~~
Well, one thing Bob knew, he was NOT chaplain material! There was no way that he could ever consider going into that prison to actually talk to--to meet with--those men he had worked so hard to get placed there! He didn't recall what he'd done with that name card, but months went by and he got a call from somebody, wanting to talk to him about completing his application. Once Bob understood what she was asking, he kinda flipped and said he had never applied! Even though he remembered getting the card. But, folks, sometime later the Chaplain called him--again... Explaining that he had learned that he wasn't interested, but that considerable time had been used to do references, especially since he was a police officer... Bob could feel himself growing angry...
But, finally, agreed to meet to learn more about the program... Instead... He was caught after entering the first gate to hell...
I'll be quick to tell you that none of what occurred after Bob first was touched by the chaplain was anything like I might have expected to happen. This is an extraordinary story that must be read to understand exactly what happened thereafter...
“A Coincidence Is God at Work Incognito.”
With Rule There Is Order—
With Order There Is Peace.
“Bobby, this wasn’t an accident. I have the best doctors in the world, but all they do is put parts together. It’s God who gives life to the tissues and brings about healing. There is no way you and I could have planned to run into each other like this. Only someone bigger than us, with a plan in mind, could have orchestrated today’s meeting,” Hillbilly said.
“Sir, I have been sent to inform you that condemned inmate Curtis Mitcham has requested you to be his spiritual advisor and that Warden Kilpatrick has approved his request and yours to speak with him before his execution.”
I know I say this often, but, really, I hope you'll consider this a must-read!
“Genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent manipulation.” - Anon.
‘The second commitment is to support the scholarship in its broader work to democratise intelligence.’ ‘What does that mean?’ Vanessa asked. ‘My vision is to help as many people develop to their potential as possible. There are many interesting research projects in the areas of intelligence, education, and personal development. I would like you each to assist with research into some of these areas.’
There weren’t many places in the flat where Lucy could have hidden anything from Matthew; the last remaining place was the wardrobe in their bedroom. He pushed away his guilt as he flipped through her dresses hanging on the rail before squatting down and searching through the boxes at the bottom of the wardrobe. Tucked away at the back, on Lucy’s side, underneath some old trainers, Matthew found a small white plastic container. He pulled out a pair of navy trainers to give himself room to slide the box out. He frowned as he ran his hands over its top. Then, he pressed the catches on the side, lifted the lid, and peered inside. It contained a set of white headphones. There was a pinch between his shoulders. He removed the headphones from the box, and only then did he realise that the two circular pads weren’t in the correct place. The device had a curved T-bar with a small cross pad at the base, which appeared designed to rest at the base of the skull. The strap ran up over the top of the head and down over the forehead, whilst the broader bar fitted horizontally with the two discs resting just beyond the eyes, near the temples. He reached back into the box and removed a device resembling a smartphone. He pressed the power-on button and waited for it to boot up. A moment later, he was looking at the home screen, a green background with a white sine wave curving around the word electro-flow. Whatever the device was, he was holding the controller. Matthew let out a breath. He pressed on the icon, and a menu appeared. Your Progress Set New Goals Profile He hesitated before clicking on Your Progress and scrolling through Lucy’s report. She had been using the device for periods of more than thirty minutes for years. Matthew shook his head. The first entry was recorded on 2 September 2007, seven months after Alfie was born, and the last entry was that morning. His arms were trembling. Alastair had said he would find something. Matthew stared at the device. He’d accepted his friend might be correct, but he’d never considered that when he unearthed some evidence, he would have no idea what it meant. Matthew stared at the computer screen. His answer was written clearly in white text on a black background. The electro-flow website claimed that using an electric current to stimulate the temporal lobes could counter depression. It cited various clinical trials which supported the view that the electro-flow device was a more effective treatment for depression than antidepressants. Matthew clicked on one of the reports referenced and started to read. “Transcranial direct current stimulation (tDCS) of 20- or 30 minutes are efficient for treating mild and moderate depression; the effect of 30min stimulation exceeds that obtained from 20min.” Matthew chewed his lip. There were two facts. Lucy had used an electro-flow device, and that device was advertised as a treatment for depression. The two statements pointed to an obvious conclusion but weren’t compelling. That conclusion wasn’t inescapable. He thought back to his conversation with Alastair. If Lucy had hidden a struggle with depression, she would likely have sought medical support. It was already late at night, but Matthew stood up and opened the loft hatch. Lucy had filed away their old medical records a few years ago. It only took him a few minutes to locate the box file and carry it down from the loft. He placed it on the kitchen table next to his laptop and opened it. The box was full of documents, and Matthew picked up the top one from the pile. It was a slim, bound volume labelled as a medical report from Heartfield Health Clinic. He had forgotten that Lucy had been for a check-up every year after graduation, and she’d been sent a report after each appointment. He read the report and studied Lucy’s vital statistics, as well as the BMI, cholesterol, and cardiac risk graphs. There were also pages with audio graphs, analysis of lung function tests, and eyesight results. Finally, there was a pathology report. Matthew flicked back to the cover letter. The conclusion was that Lucy was in good health, and there was no mention of depression or any mental health challenges. The report was dated August 2007, the month before her first recorded use of the device. He read through all the reports in the box, which covered every year from 2007 until the final report, dated August 2011. None of the reports mentioned any physical or mental health issues other than low-level concerns over Lucy’s weight and lack of exercise. The signatory of the reports was Dr Henry Bannister. Matthew recalled the name immediately. Caesar introduced them to Bannister, his private doctor, when they joined the scholarship programme. Lucy had liked him. She had first seen him at university in Cambridge and continued to see him at his Cambridge practice, even when she’d moved to London. She’d also encouraged Matthew to see him, but he hadn’t heard her mention the doctor’s name for several years. Matthew sat back down in his chair and opened Google on his laptop. He typed in the doctor’s name and hit search. The third hit was an obituary. Doctor Henry Bannister, a doctor and an academic, died aged 53. He scanned through the text, unsure of what he was looking for. His head jerked back to the penultimate paragraph of the obituary. Professor Hunter, who tutored Dr Bannister at Cambridge University, recalled: ‘He was an exceptional, brilliant and radical man. He was known for pushing medical boundaries and challenging conventional thinking. He died too young. He was destined for great things.’ A knot twisted in Matthew’s stomach. Lucy started using the device in September 2007, when she was still seeing Bannister for her annual medicals. tDCS treatment wasn’t universally accepted by the medical profession, at least not over a decade ago. Had Bannister prescribed the treatment to Lucy, an example of him pushing medical boundaries, and kept it from her official medical records? And if so, why? Matthew decided to rake through everything he could find on the uses of tDCS machines. He started reading online articles. Several studies appeared to show that the treatment reduced depression symptoms in patients, yet Matthew was sure he would have known if Lucy was struggling. He also clearly remembered her telling him she wouldn’t take her mother’s chosen path, ever. He was aware that people who were depressed could hide it well, even from those they were closest to, but there had been no changes in Lucy’s appetite or sleep pattern and no loss of interest in activities. He shook his head and tried to focus on the facts. There wasn’t a single suggestion, or even a hint, that his wife had been suffering from depression, but she had been using a tDCS machine for over a decade. The only explanation was that she was using the device for another purpose, but what was it? He began to scroll through the research papers and paused at a headline from October 2018. Would you zap your brain to improve your memory? Scientists study attitudes toward brain stimulation. An article dated August 2014 made a similar claim. Northwestern Medicine researchers have discovered that using high-frequency repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation to indirectly stimulate the hippocampus portion of the brain (which is involved in forming memories) improves long-term memory. Then he found a third, from March 2019. Online repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation during working memory in younger and older adults: A randomized within-subject comparison. Matthew changed his search terms, and immediately, he was presented with page after page of articles on transcranial magnetic and direct current stimulation being studied as possible methods for boosting intelligence. He sat back and let out a deep breath. Could Bannister have suggested using the machine not to treat depression but to attempt to boost Lucy’s intelligence even further? That would explain why there was no medical record of depression. It would be consistent with no mental health issues whatsoever. He rubbed his forehead. Bannister had treated Lucy, a doctor described as radical and a man who enjoyed challenging conventional thinking. Matthew raked his fingers through his hair. What had this guy done? What had Lucy signed up for? With Lucy and Bannister both dead, only one person might have the answers to all his questions. He needed to speak to Ben Caesar.
~~~~
“Genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent manipulation.” - Anon.
Yes, this epigraph in the front of the book needs to be repeated... In fact, you will learn of the inspiration that is available right at the beginning... And little by little, even before it began and continues over years, manipulation will actually be in play...
In many homes of the rich and famous, you may find classical music playing in the background, low so that many will soon not even realize that it is playing--it is merely a bit of manipulation to set the stage, don't you think? To provide the background as mentioned, I chose to play Rachmaninoff, my personal choice often because I enjoy the minor key with the fascinating tone that it brings to my ear that I prefer... Nevertheless, we are in a location where a small group of students have come together to be offered a chance of a lifetime... They are high school students from a very poor or difficult background that have been pulled together--by manipulation. Readers will not know what I mean until much later in the book. But to present the background, it is merely to say that the students who were offered this opportunity was greeted by who would come to be their mentor for many years. They will essentially become a part of the program developed by Benjamin Caesar. Where his money originally came from we don't know but the riches found in his home, as well as the substantial time and money he spent with the six who were ultimately chosen naturally revealed that money was no object...
Matthew and Lucy were two of those that arrived early that day. Lucy was beautiful and Matthew was drawn to her... The book does not claim this, but the way that Matthew was drawn as a character, I imagined he may have been one affected by Asperger's Syndrome. He was not an individual who was comfortable in routine activities, so that Lucy soon was pulled into his orbit as she was helpful in clarifying what may be considered routine by many people but had not been, also because of his background, little to normal interaction with people. It is Matthew who becomes the lead character as the book really begins to move beyond their basic program adaptations under Ben's tutelage...
We meet Matthew as he comes home from work at a company developed by Ben's desired research, at which Matthew works. He searches for Lucy, only to find her dead in their bedroom... Immediately Matthew does not believe that, as it appeared, she had committed suicide. And that begins his personal investigation to find out what really happened to his beloved wife...
Matthew has developed a close friendship with another of the scholars, Al Niven, who was the very first individual who had ever shortened his name to Matt and presented a friendly connection. They continued as best friends throughout the upcoming years, even though Al had begun to pull away, only to prefer drugs, drinking and gambling instead of what he could have successfully become in his life.
As Matt began to investigate what might have resulted in Lucy's death, he assumed that she had to have been murdered and started with searching their bedroom. He discovered that she had been using a machine on her brain, supposedly to increase intelligence. But when he started looking further, having found a needle which appeared to have been used by Lucy, he immediately asked the police to test it for contents. And, after having his own issues with some medication that had been prescribed by the doctor who Ben recommended, but had stopped using, saw that what was contained in the shot could have been what caused Lucy's death...
It took all Matthew’s energy to stand and shake hands with the guests. He briefly closed his eyes in the hope that it would ease the pain in his head, but today, he had no choice other than to push on. Any funeral was an ordeal, but the coroner’s verdict that Lucy had taken her own life painted another emotional layer over the immediate shock of her being gone, especially when Matthew couldn’t accept the verdict. He didn’t speak, preferring simply to nod as a procession of faces mumbled their condolences. He would have felt sorry for them, having to deal with the awkward conventions of a burial service, if he had been able to feel anything. But he was hollow whilst his thoughts churned, tripping over themselves in the search for answers. Sammy’s hand was rubbing his back, encouraging him to move. He turned to face her and saw the compassion in her eyes. Her large, dark-rimmed glasses covered the top half of her face, and her slightly crimped, brown hair flopped forward to offer extra protection. Matthew allowed himself to be guided away from the church entrance. As soon as they started to walk, she linked her arm with his, saying nothing but leading him down the cobbled path. The stones were shining, and small pools of water had gathered where the grass ran up to the border. Matthew was starting to accept that people, that the world, would return to mystifying him. Lucy had been his guide for the last twenty years, and he’d seen life more clearly than ever before. They had talked for hours sometimes about ideas and philosophies, whims, music, or writing, but he’d never been in the habit of asking her what she was doing, where she’d been, or what she was planning. He’d never seen the need and believed that Lucy felt the same way as he did, but today and every day since her death, he wished he had. Because now he knew that by not asking, he’d missed something, a sign or a tell that she was in danger. ‘We can take you home now if that’s what you want?’ Sammy said. ‘Daniel’s waiting in the car.’ ‘Thanks.’ The word came out as a shrug. Matthew knew nothing about cars, but whatever vehicle Daniel and Sammy owned gleamed in the rain. The rear door swung open as he approached, and Daniel stepped out, holding the door and waiting for Matthew to climb inside. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ Daniel said after helping Sammy into the front passenger seat. Matthew momentarily closed his eyes. Everything seemed easier that way. He touched his face and felt that it was wet from what could only be his tears. He hadn’t realized he was crying. He wasn’t sure what to do next, so he just waited.
‘Let’s get you home to Alfie,’ Sammy said. Matthew opened his eyes. His vision was blurred. He wiped his eyes with his hand. Alfie. They’d discussed the funeral, and eventually, Alfie decided he wouldn’t attend. Alastair had agreed to stay with him, and Matthew knew that his friend would be doing his best to take Alfie’s mind off what was happening, even though he might as well have been trying to stop the sun from rising. ‘Thank you.’ The words sounded detached. Had he even spoken? He wasn’t sure. Matthew could hear the rain pounding on the car roof. He tightened his focus, trying to discern a pattern in the dance of the raindrops. He had to find some meaning somewhere. ‘At the dinner, when I mentioned Doctor Bannister, I thought you and Daniel … I thought you were going to say something.’ He lifted his head to look at her in the rear-view mirror. She had coiled a strand of hair tightly around her finger. ‘Maybe I was seeing something that wasn’t there, I don’t know, but if there’s anything…’ He massaged his forehead. ‘Please.’ ‘Okay.’ She twisted around and reached out to take his hand. She sighed before starting to talk. ‘As you know, Daniel and I tried unsuccessfully for a baby for a long time. A year after we started trying, we had some fertility tests.’ She let her hair fall over her eyes. ‘We also tried a couple of rounds of IVF.’ Matthew swallowed. He knew what he would hear next. ‘Our doctor was Henry Bannister.’ Sammy pushed her hair behind her ear. ‘When we finally accepted we weren’t going to be able to have children, he tried to persuade me to freeze my eggs. He was a great believer in advancements in medicine and technology giving us a chance to have children in the future. We decided not to and told him our answer was no. We wanted to live in the present. We didn’t hear anything more from him for a while. Then, a few months before he died, he got in touch.’ Matthew looked at the floor of the car. ‘What did he say?’ ‘He told us that there was a new technology. Something that allowed DNA to be manipulated. He referred to the technology as genetic scissors.’ A cold wave rolled down Matthew’s back. ‘Professor Hunter, the woman who taught Bannister, told me that twins were born in China recently, and there’s speculation their DNA was altered to eliminate the risk of HIV. She also told me that the same gene affects brain function.’ He paused. ‘Apparently, Bannister was researching similar ideas.’ Sammy nodded. ‘He told us we were still young; we were on the verge of turning thirty. He said there was still hope, not just for us to have children, but for us to have remarkable children.’ Matthew said nothing, and after a moment, Sammy continued. ‘We didn’t really think about it. We were irritated he was still pressuring us to try for children when we’d already told him that we’d decided to put that behind us. But what you told us…’ ‘…you think there could be something more to it.’ ‘I don’t know, maybe.’ Sammy shrugged. ‘I guess we ask Caesar on Wednesday.’ ‘If he turns up,’ Matthew said. Sammy wrapped her arms around her torso. ‘Surely, he would have told us by now if he wasn’t going to be there.’ ‘I don’t know.’ Matthew massaged his hands. ‘He wasn’t well enough to come today.’ Since that one email, he hadn’t heard from Caesar again, but Matthew had still hoped their patron would make the funeral, not just because he needed to speak with him but because he’d wanted him to come for Lucy. ‘Do you ever wonder about how he found us all?’ Matthew asked. ‘He selected kids who had challenging upbringings,’ Sammy said. ‘It was one of the reasons I accepted the scholarship in the first place; that and the money.’ She grinned at Matthew. ‘Seriously, though, there are so many routes for kids with a comfortable upbringing to get support that they often don’t need. I’ve always thought of him as a class warrior. Even Cerebrum, he’s not doing it for the money.’ ‘I guess so.’ It was true that collectively, they had faced more than their fair share of challenges. Adoption, lost parents, divorced parents, and even the death of a sibling. And they were only the things he knew about. He didn’t often talk about personal experiences with the others, but he was sure that Lucy would have been able to provide a complete list. Everyone used to confide in Lucy. Thoughts were spinning around in his head. If Sammy were right, on Wednesday, he’d have the chance to look Ben Caesar in the eye and ask him for the truth, but he had an uneasy sense about the upcoming meeting, a feeling that things were going to change and not for the better. Daniel was walking back to the car, and Sammy twisted back to face forward. ‘How’s Alfie doing?’ she asked over her shoulder. ‘He’s not saying much. He doesn’t respond well if I try to push him.’ He hesitated as Daniel opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. His thoughts turned to the meeting at Alfie’s school. ‘I’ve got a meeting with his headmaster on Monday,’ he said. ‘Did you arrange that?’ Sammy asked. ‘No. The school did. I don’t know what to expect.’ Daniel started the engine. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Sammy said. Matthew didn’t feel any better about the meeting with the headmaster than he did about the meeting with Caesar. At times like these, he’d always turned to Lucy. Looking out the window, he saw the last few mourners heading towards their cars. He didn’t have that choice anymore. He balled his hands. He had to face the world alone.
~~~~
And on Monday, he learned that his son was now being attacked... Somebody had made up things about his mother and started yelling words to him abut her. He gave the list to his Dad to explain why he's been asked not to return to class for the last two weeks of class. Alfie didn't want Matthew to talk to his teachers about what had caused his attack of the boy...
During his investigation, Matt had learned that another of the potential scholars had been murdered. Two women now dead... Matt had also learned that Lucy had been leaving Alfie with another woman and her friend, who had pulled out of being a scholar even though she certainly had the intelligence... Alfie had grown to like this woman and Matt realized that it was best to allow him to keep seeing her... She was to become an important ally in what was to come!
As we have learned, many times individuals hide their real selves from the world, even from those who were supposedly close friends. Readers will learn the devastation that was wrought by who, they ultimately discovered, was the real Genius Club... And, to learn that sometimes genius may...just...be...a (or more) psychological monster(s)...
What kind of mind wants to manipulate and control the minds of many? Sometimes it's just through verbal manipulation like repeating the same message over and over... Sometimes it's joining with others who have specific ideas they believe and feel they have the right to impose them on other people. Sometimes it's through the provision of riches that blind a few in providing it unlimited, without accountability...
A final note, the actions of these psychopaths had been developed even before the actual testing of the children began. Manipulation of the artificial insemination process had been conceived and implemented through lies told to women seeking medical help... Many may have heard of Hitler's efforts to create super soldiers... In my opinion, this plan was much worse since it was planned to keep this process moving into future generations! When somebody or some group is trying to change the standards, the norms by which we have functioned for years, you can be sure it is manipulation and NOT the genius of those who are trying one more way to achieve something that nobody else would ever support.
Even if I knew what to expect from reading the epigram, this was, indeed, tense, and too real, for me not to become completely involved in the book. Check it out!
What bothered her the most was there was still no apology, even now. Would it have made a difference? Probably not, but it was just one more thing on top of everything else. Leah’s mom had been an avid apologizer—something she’d instilled in Leah as a child. I’m sorry shouldn’t be painful to leave the lips. It was a gift for the giver and receiver. Leah never understood that as a child, but she did as an adult. Maybe that was Damon’s problem: he was more kid than grownup.
What a whirlwind... Everything is spinning at one time! Characters add to the confusion by their actions and dialogue... And yet, there is absolutely no clues to the whodunit! A rare occurrence when an author is able to weave the action into a fully explained plot without revealing clues on the way. And yet, it worked! Kudos to the writer!
Irene was unhinged, not homicidal. The two didn’t always go hand in hand. Or so Leah hoped. Either way, this had to stop. She took a shaky breath, exited the car, and started across the street. She was almost to the door when Irene lifted her head. The panic on her face was instant and unmistakable; so much so, that she almost knocked over her chair as she stood. It only bolstered Leah’s resolve. Leah stepped inside. They sized each other up. From across the street, Irene had looked put together with modest makeup and a nice blouse. Up close told another story. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her skin was ashen under the fluorescent lights. Her left sleeve was stained with coffee. Neither spoke. A radio played something jazzy from the corner, and even though Leah’s eyes never left Irene’s, she noted they were alone. “I saw you,” Leah said before she lost her nerve. “You were at my job earlier, watching me from your car.” She expected Irene to deny it. Irene didn’t. She only sat back at her desk. “And you were at my apartment last night,” Leah said. “My roommate, who was with me at the visitation, saw you in our parking lot. Did you go there to leave more hateful gifts at my door? Or maybe you were looking to spray-paint my car, like you did Damon’s house.” Irene’s jaw clicked. “What?” “Don’t lie to me. I know it was you—” “I haven’t done anything or talked to Damon in forever. He left me a message this morning, but he didn’t answer when I tried to call back. And why would I spray-paint your car or leave you hateful gifts, whatever that means?” “So you are going to deny it.” Irene dropped her eyes. Leah hadn’t been fully convinced it had been Irene in their parking lot last night, but after seeing her at Office Playground this morning, she now had no doubt. “It was me,” Irene said in a small voice. “I was at your apartment, and I went to your work today. But I haven’t done anything to you or your dad.” “I don’t believe you. You’re angry over Amanda, so you’re blaming me for her death, and blaming Damon for getting you pregnant.” Shock filled Irene’s face. “Amanda was the best thing that happened in my life. You think I blame Damon for giving her to me? I only blame you for taking her from me.” And there it was. Irene did blame Leah for the accident. Of course she did. Leah already knew this, but hearing the words spoken made it real. “Amanda called you for help,” Irene said. Her hands were trembling atop her desk. “You got angry and yelled at her. I read the report you gave to the police. I know everything.” Leah didn’t know what to say. She was here to stop Irene’s harassment; not be judged. Irene hadn’t been there that night. She hadn’t heard the things Amanda had said. How unreasonable she’d been. How cruel. But none of that mattered. Irene had lost her only child. Nothing Leah could say would change that. If Leah had simply given Amanda a ride, everything would have been fine. Until the next crisis. “What happened to Amanda was an accident,” Leah said for what felt like the umpteenth time. All the fight had gone out of her. “I didn’t know she was going to freak out and run away and get hit by a car. Blame me if you want. You think I don’t blame myself? I do. But I can’t change anything. All I can do is move on with my life . . . but I can’t do that with you stalking me. So what do you want? Just tell me.” Irene composed herself, if only a little. “I’m not stalking you,” she said evenly. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to see you face to face so we can talk.” Leah crossed her arms. “And now we’ve talked and you’ve told me how you feel. So are we done with this? Or would you like to berate me more before I go? It won’t take much to make me feel worse than I already do.” Irene’s shoulders sagged. Apparently, all the fight had left her as well. “There’s a part of me that knows Amanda’s death was an accident,” she told Leah, “but every time I tell myself to accept that . . .” She dropped her clasped hands into her lap. “One minute, I think I’m okay, and then I think of you and that night, and I get angry again. I don’t want to be this way, but I can’t help it. I don’t know how to turn it off.” I know the feeling, Leah didn’t say, thinking of Damon. And she did. But that didn’t give Irene the right to harass Leah. If it was Irene doing it. Leah didn’t know what to think now. She was tired and wanted to be done. But there was still one question to be asked. “Someone has been messing with me and Damon,” Leah said. “If it isn’t you, then you could also be on their list. Has anything ‘bad’ happened to you recently?” Irene pursed her lips. “Other than the death of my daughter?” Not Leah’s best choice of words. “No,” Irene said. “I come to work, go home, and lie awake most of the night. Then I do it all over again the next day. Nothing changes.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” She leveled her gaze at Irene. “But if I see you outside my apartment or at my job again,” she said without malice, “I’m calling the police. Maybe they won’t do anything, but please . . . you have to figure out how to move on. You’re only making things worse for everyone.” Leah expected Irene to get defensive or angry, but Irene gave a submissive nod. There was nothing more to say. Leah moved to the door and heard Irene’s chair slide away from the desk. “Jake,” Irene said. Leah turned. Irene stood motionless with her palms on her shoulders, as if she were cold. “I’m sorry for being defensive,” Irene said. “You surprised me coming in here unexpectedly, and then tempers flared, and everything went downhill—” “What about Jake?” Leah asked cautiously. Irene shifted side to side as she spoke. “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. I saw you with him at the cemetery. Jake’s a good man and a wonderful father. The world needs more people like him . . . and also like you, Leah. You’re decent and moral, just like your dad. Damon had a choice when he learned I was pregnant, and he owned up to what he’d done and asked me what I wanted. He didn’t run away.” Warning bells went off inside Leah’s head. She didn’t know where this was going or what it had to do with Jake, but the one thing Leah refused to do was listen to an explanation about their affair. “This isn’t about your dad,” Irene said, raising a hand. “All I’m saying is that people shouldn’t be alone. I’ve only ever had Amanda, and now that she’s gone, I’m lost without her. But that’s my cross to bear. I’m old and used to being by myself.” Her eyes took on a distant, glazed look. “Jake has his whole life ahead of him. Outside of Drew, Amanda was all he had. That boy needs a mother, and Jake needs companionship.” Leah’s skin tightened. “What are you saying?” “Amanda was your half-sister. If she’d married Jake, you and him would be family. In some ways, I already think of you as part of my family. We’re not related by blood or marriage, but we’re connected through Damon because of Amanda. Jake shouldn’t be alone. You’re young, like him, and single. If you and Jake hit it off . . . it’d almost be like him and Amanda being together. Don’t you see?” Leah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t think Irene even knew what she was saying. “Just get to know him,” Irene said. “That’s all I’m asking. I can only comfort him so much. He needs someone his age to talk to. To commiserate with. He doesn’t have anyone else—” “I shouldn’t have come here,” Leah said, backing away. “You owe me,” Irene said sharply. “After what you did. You need to make it right. I’m not saying you have to fall in love—” “You’re as crazy as Amanda was,” Leah said without thinking. Now Irene was not only angry, but livid. Leah didn’t stick around for what came next. She bolted out the door and across the street to her car, never once looking back.
~~~~
Family Drama always reminds me of what they used to call "soap operas" where you could not watch the program for a year and then go back to find the same characters and easily pick up on the turmoil brewing with this character or the other. I'm not normally a fan, simply because it never concludes... So if you are a fan, this book is for you. I enjoyed it because there was something happening to the main character which actually became quite a mystery... And that is not solved until the very end. I missed it totally, so I was pleased...
As with a family drama, one just starts reading and will get to know the family as the book moves forward. Leah is the main character and is now in her 30s, having been estranged with her father for years, and especially after her mother died from a heart attack... Leah blamed the attack on her father having a one-night stand, which resulted in a child. Her mother said she forgave him, but was dead within three months, so Leah still held the pain of what her mother had gone through... Funny thing, though, the child, who had grown up with her mother had become an acquaintance, almost a friend to Leah. Admittedly Amanda had been thrilled to know she had a father who was also Leah's father...
Leah Chapman was going to die. But hopefully not tonight, she thought as she parked outside Murphy’s Bar. She’d never been inside, but she knew the place. Everyone did. It was your typical dive: no flashy lights or neon signs—just an old, windowless brick building with gravel parking out front and back. Rumor had it you could score everything from crack cocaine to hookers inside. Leah doubted that, as the town of Aurora was far from a bustling metropolis, but she had no interest in finding out. She assumed Amanda would be outside waiting for her, but no such luck. Amanda was lucky Leah had answered the incoming unknown call so late at night. Her reward? You have to come get me right now! Leah checked her phone. No new texts or calls. It’d been almost six months since she’d seen or talked to Amanda, but it wasn’t uncommon for her to resurface when in crisis. It also wasn’t uncommon for Leah to come to Amanda’s rescue, despite Emily’s insistence otherwise. Leah couldn’t count how many arguments with her roommate began with: Your thirty-year-old problematic half-sister isn’t your responsibility. With Amanda, you had two choices: get on board, or get out of the way. The good news was that once Amanda was inside the car, it usually only took a sympathetic ear to calm her down. Usually. Murphy’s front door banged open. Amanda, disheveled and looking as frantic as she sounded over the phone, clawed open the passenger door. “What took you so long?” Amanda fumed. “Drive!” Leah only stared. Amanda’s eyes were bloodshot, and her mascara had bled down her cheeks. She was barefoot—God only knew why—and her red dress clung so tightly to her curves that it was a wonder she could breathe. “Are you hurt?” Leah asked. “No. But we have to get to Deerfield.” “Is that a town?” Amanda ignored her as she tried to fasten her seatbelt. She couldn’t get it to latch, and when she looked up and saw Leah hadn’t started the car, her mouth dropped. “Didn’t you hear me? We have to go before they hurt Drew.” That statement might have been concerning from anyone but Amanda. “I can take you back to your apartment,” Leah said patiently, “but I’m not driving you to some random town for some new boyfriend who’s mixed up in something.” “Drew isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my son.” Leah took a calming breath. She didn’t know much about Amanda’s life before they’d met two and a half years ago, but she knew Amanda didn’t have kids. What Amanda did have was a recreational drug problem that usually involved hallucinogens. Sometimes a girl just needs to escape, was Amanda’s go-to answer when confronted. If Amanda stayed home while she was high, it might have been okay. But she never did, which meant friends and family always had to pick up the pieces. “Let me take you to Damon’s,” Leah said. It was the last place Leah wanted to go, but she wasn’t used to dealing with Amanda this far gone. “I don’t want to go to Dad’s; I need to go home.” “Right. I already told you I’d take you to your apartment. Are you still on Crandall Street—” “I don’t live there anymore. I haven’t for months . . . this is bullshit!” Amanda got out of the car, circled around the front, and made for the driver’s side door. Leah instinctively locked it and drew back. “Open up,” Amanda demanded. “If you won’t drive me, then move over.” “Get back in the passenger seat.” A pickup rolled into the lot and shuddered to a stop beside them. The guy behind the wheel wore an amused expression and a baseball cap that read: SHIT SHOW SUPERVISOR. Just in time, Leah mused. “Can you give me a ride?” Amanda asked the guy. He grinned. “What’s in it for me?” “Amanda,” Leah snapped, climbing out. To her relief, Amanda only swore at the guy before marching off. “Your loss,” he called after her. Leah caught up to Amanda, who was standing in the middle of the road, looking left to right. “What are you doing?” Leah asked. “I’ll find another ride.” “This is stupid. Let me take you to Damon’s.” “I already told you; I’m not going to Dad’s. I have to get to Deerfield.” “I don’t know where that is,” Leah said evenly, “and even if I did, that’s not a good idea. How about this? Let me take you back to my apartment. You can stay with me and Em for the night.” “I don’t need your pity. I need a ride. You think I wanted to call you? I had no choice. Jake didn’t answer, and then I tried Mom, then Dad... everyone ignored me like they always do.” “Who’s Jake?”
But one night Leah received a call from Amanda that she needed her to drive her to pick up her son--that he was in danger... Whoa... First of all, Leah did not know Amanda had a son, so was having trouble trying to piece what she'd said even after the call ended. But Amanda didn't look well and Lena didn't think she should take her... Later that night Amanda had been hit and killed in a car accident... Leah was left feeling that once again, a death had occurred and she didn't understand what had actually happened, so she began to investigate... by going to the funeral and looking to see if she could find a child...
She did see one, saw a man he was with and knew that he was the father. Later, as Leah was seeking answers, she got to know a little about him, discovered that he and Amanda had been living together, but that Drew was the son of his former wife, who had left them... Leah was feeling guilty, even though everybody with whom she talked said that it was an accident. Still, was the little boy really in danger. His father didn't seem to think so...
Adding to her confusion, Leah was soon to meet Parker, a guy that you couldn't help but like, except if he came out and told you that she was now his sister!
Yeah, her father had gotten married--they were on their honeymoon--and Parker called Leah because her father's house had been vandalized with spray paint. He asked if she could come over. He couldn't reach his mother or her father...They had said they would not be using phones... Leah could not believe that, though this was not really an emergency, that if there was they still could not reach them... They called the police and reported it, but, of course, if didn't look likely that whoever did it would be found...
But that was not the end of it, Soon a bouquet of flowers and a doll was left at the door of Leah's apartment... She lived with Em, her best friend, but had conflicting work schedules... There were a couple of guys who worked in their apartment house that maybe would know something... Soon lies were coming, confusing the issue... As Leah thought Irene, Amanda's mother could be involved since Leah had failed to respond to her daughter's call...
Lots of options and Leah was tracking each one down to question. Since Parker had already notified Leah of her father's remarriage, he began trying to reach her. He had cared for Amanda, calling them both his girls, even though Leah resented how it had all occurred...
Thing is, that the entire book was involved with trying to find out who did what to whom... It makes for a suspenseful hold on readers and indeed has a thrilling ending... Yeah, it all came out in the end, but somehow there was not a feeling of completion... a satisfaction that the story was effective. Sure, it was logical and understandable, but so many lies were occurring along the way that I realized that if people had no ulterior motives, then the plot would not have been possible... I felt it was more like today's world, where lies and "spinning" tales were so common that we no longer know what truth is...
Leah and her father did agree to keep in touch, but the family dynamic was left hanging--not for the same reason, but still unsure--not back to normal... Is this what we face in today's world now? Where everybody seems to want to play the blame game and accuse somebody else who had little to do with a situation, just so the aggrieved individual can feel avenged? It's funny, I somehow felt cheated that lies told by various people were what makes it suspenseful and thrilling. A sad commentary, in my opinion, for today's world.
Ethan had always been fascinated by human behavior, leading him to pursue a PhD in Psychology. Little did he know his own life would become a subject of study. After work, he used to write down his reflections on human behavior before sleep overtook him. Despite his credentials, he viewed himself as a lifelong student, learning from each experience. Now, that nightly writing felt like a distant memory, replaced by the bleakness of his prison cell. Years ago, he had penned a poignant truth: “Every person has a story to tell; we write our own narratives, or we become part of others’. But a story is only alive if it progresses. Villains, in their unpredictable actions, propel the narrative forward. While heroes represent goodness, it’s often the flawed villains who leave a lasting impact.” Ethan set down his pen, turning off the lights in a dim room filled with shadows of his past. Life continued outside, but tensions grew. Howard, once peaceful, was increasingly aggressive, and Dan's patience was wearing thin. “I can’t understand Howard’s change. He feels like a stranger,” Ethan thought. “Dan has been a father to me in every way that matters. Emily, my mother—this truth was clear from the start, despite them not being my biological parents.” At fifteen, Ethan had overheard a conversation about someone named Jack. The hushed tones revealed secrets he wasn’t meant to hear. Conflicted, he kept these thoughts to himself, grappling with his identity. “For years, I tried to figure things out alone. I could see the love Dan and Emily had for me; they were my real parents in every sense. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was different. Howard had always known but never mentioned it.” As he reflected, memories of that evening returned. “Howard was shocked when I revealed I knew about our origins. He spoke of our birth mother, Elle, with fondness but labeled our father a coward for abandoning us. It was painful to hear, yet part of me longed for that connection.” In his solitude, Ethan vowed never to confront Jack. The hatred simmered for years, complicated by love for his adoptive parents. “I cherished the stories of Elle, feeling connected to her spirit, yet always refrained from speaking about Jack. That was a promise I intended to keep.”
~~~
Your little brother,
Ethan
Love you always! P.S. I’m taking this butterfly with me. It doesn’t belong pinned in a book.
Let in death, I confide; let it run away and hide,
I will find you, searching every ocean’s tide.
Take it, as it may be my only pride,
My love grows, more purified,
Remember, the corners of eternity
are shorter than your glide.
The heartbeats are my only guide.
If ever in my quest I turn blind,
I will find you still till I rest inside.
Let in death I confide; I will find you,
even if I have to pluck away every tide.
We write our destiny. We can never blame it for all the miseries in our lives. Our actions shape our fate. Now, the question remains: was the arson at South Laron Street mere fate? The End...
When the author wrote to me about reviewing his book, he described it differently than the book description online where I bought it. Neither really address exactly what you will find if you choose to read this story. It was the title that drew me first. Kindness is an action, isn't it? Many around the world have shown that kindness is not something that is no longer to be taken for granted. Indeed, amidst the hatred, anger, and violence, it is hard to imagine that there is such a thing as kindness still in existence... Yes, we may see it between those who are close to us, yet we know that many do not even have a small act of kindness to brighten their days. Surely in war zones, kindness is not known at all. Rather those in power choose to fight, to kill, to murder those who are hated. It is hard to even distinguish between which side "hates" the most, yet call it some other name to obscure their true intent... You may find that, in reading this book, you will find it hard to distinguish what emotions are being reflected by the characters. But, is that the fault of the writer or the reader? Or perhaps both? If you try to say the writer cannot write, may I suggest that you be a little more kinder and start to reread this book. I did... Not because of the writing, but because there had been a break in my reading and in finishing the book, I found the names of characters had to be refreshed... So I turned to the beginning and started again... It's the first book that I felt needed to be really understood. There is a deeper message to be found, if you are a reader who wishes to work on the overall theme...
You see, it's about a butterfly
And a man who is not guilty, but was convicted of murder... During the execution, it took three times to take action to actually have him die. Was that a message that should have been considered by the officials? Or simply bad equipment? But somebody who had begun to question, went to his cell, which had been new whitewashed but found one scrawled message: “If only one knows how butterflies are born.”
Do YOU know how a butterfly is born? Could you have lived through such a transformation and made it seem as if you knew exactly why your life changed so dramatically? Or would you lament that you would rather have been your most beautiful self all of your life and had been cheated in some way in the past?
This is a story about two brothers who were born into a loving family. A man and a woman who had come to know each other intimately and felt such love that when their first child was born, they were thrilled, excited and loved their child who they named Howard. But, later, when she again became pregnant, she started having some problems. It was recommended that she go to another place for complete rest. In doing this, they, sadly, had to leave Howard with their best friends. Jack loved Elle so much that, when Ethan was born, and Elle didn't make it, Jack went to pieces. When Ethan was placed in his arms, Jack felt nothing, yet he could feel love only for his wife and the child was part of that last separation... When Jack went into a mental hospital, Ethan was sent to be with his brother and ultimately adopted parents...
For those who enjoy a twist, let me throw in what had happened earlier than even Jack and Elle's marriage. You see, Elle was involved with another boy. Jack looked on, loving Elle with all his heart, but not brave enough to even approach her. Until a tragic incident in which her lover was killed. Once they learned that and some time had passed, Jack's best friend told Elle that Jack was interested in meeting her formally... And that led to their marriage and children... But at some point in Jack's life, he began to question whether destiny was in control and had it been, perhaps, that Elle rally shouldn't have married him?
While Jack is dealing with all the issues in his own life and the total loss of his family, if he couldn't get his act together, he learns that Ethan is close to death--his heart is defective and must be replaced if they can find a donor... And Jack's love bloomed alive for his youngest son and began to consider what he could do.. His decision was to give his life for his son! It took place in the hospital, where the doctors were in place to immediately operate. It was successful. But Ethan does not know where the heart came from...
Along with the family drama is a story about a rampant serial killer (or two?) who has the entire area afraid and fearful of being out alone. And a court scene. Each has a different name, but the officials saw that one individual had ended his reign, it seemed, at the time the next started...
Ethan becomes a doctor, while his older brother Howard often was in trouble and we even see that when Jack tried to visit, Howard spit on his face... At some point Ethan contacts Howard, hoping to help him move past his problems... They hugged and Ethan quickly wanted to offer him tea so they could talk... Talking so much, that the water boiled away and Ethan had to grab gloves to pull the pan away from the fire... He and a glove were burnt, yet Ethan turned around to his brother and started laughing, telling him that there'd be no tea. And both laughed even more...
It was those gloves that were to be the primary proof when Ethan was arrested, charged with murder...
As readers switch gears to the trial, investigations and more, Ethan is kept in solitary for protection since the crowds have stirred up the town and the media was saying they'd found the serial killer thankfully! It was there in prison that Ethan often thought about the butterfly, sometimes even thinking it was there with him. And, with nothing to do, he starts reading the writings of those who had occupied the cell in which he was kept... And he kept reading... And, suddenly, you, the reader, along with Ethan, will recognize that the story is being continued on the wall, filling in so much more than he had ever known... Yes, Jack's story was on that prison wall...
Elle had told Jack, when he bought a gun, that she didn't want it in their home. She believed that God will protect the family. Jack buried the gun to respond to his wife's desire... But it was later to be used once again... Now Ethan knew when and where it had been used the one and only time it was fired...
When love cannot be fully expressed, Tears of Kindness can be the first step forward to healing... Pain may ultimately be used to journey forward. And sometimes, a butterfly can be the messenger... Prepare yourself before you start reading... Watch for the butterfly when it appears... You, too, may read beyond the very last page...and beyond. Perhaps somewhere over the rainbow... where butterflies fly...
Have you experienced Tears of Kindness? This is a family drama under the shadow of murder, a story which you may never forget...
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