Orangeberry Book Tours – The Mountain City Bronzes by Madeleine McLaughlin

When Kevin learns of his mountain town’s evil past, he must struggle to understand his father’s part in it and how it affects himself.

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre – Horror

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Connect with Madeleine McLaughlin on Facebook & Twitter

Orangeberry Book of the Day - Some Are Sicker Than Others by Andrew Seaward

Chapter 1- Monty

TONIGHT was the night, the night he’d ask her, the night he’d finally lay it all on the line. Monty felt sick and nervous, thrilled and excited, like a thousand butterflies were fluttering against his ribs. But, he had to do it. He had to go through with it. He’d been through too much already to just chicken out now. He’d get up on that stage and deliver his one-year speech at the podium then propose to Vicky in front of everyone at AA. If she said yes, then everything would be perfect—everything would be the way it was supposed to be.

He took a deep breath and felt the outside of his jeans pocket to make sure the little felt box holding the ring was still there. It was; pressed against his thigh, nestled in his pocket, a modest, one-carat diamond that he’d gotten from his mom.

As he picked up his pace, he made a left onto Thirteenth Street, being careful not to slip on the icy asphalt. It was a beautiful night. The moon was out and the stars were shining, like diamonds impregnated in a coal-black sky. What a wonderful night to be clean and sober. What a wonderful night to be alive. To think, all he had to do was quit drinking and he could’ve felt like this his entire life—no more shaking, no more seizing, no more getting up to puke in the middle of the night. If he’d just listened to his parents and stopped a little sooner, he could’ve avoided all those years of suffering and pain. All those nights of lying face down in a puddle of his own blood and urine, praying for God to come and take him away, his hands around a bottle, his head above the porcelain, and that sick, vile poison bubbling inside his veins. Those trips to the emergency room in some random state hospital just so he could get pumped full of fluids and strapped down to a bed, while nurses with bad breath, bad hair, and bad makeup stuck a tube down his dick just so he could pee. Christ, what a fucking nightmare. Thank god it was finally all over. Thank god he finally found a way to stay clean.

As he rounded the corner, the AA house appeared before him, all lit up and decorated like some grand, old hotel. It was a redbrick, renovated, four-story school building that the city had bought and transformed into an AA meeting hall. It was tucked inside the corner of York and Thirteenth Street, a few blocks off of Colfax, between the zoo and the park. And tonight it looked absolutely majestic covered with hundreds of twinkling, red, blue, and green Christmas lights. There were lights on the trees and wreaths on the doorway and a sign on the overhang that said, Happy New Year!

It was only seven-thirty, but the place was already busy, packed with people milling around on the front porch. They were laughing, talking, and slurping down cups of coffee, embers of cigarettes glowing red between their lips. Jesus, look at them all. In less than an hour, he was going to be up in front of them, standing at that podium, pouring out his guts. The very thought of it made him feel queasy and he wondered if maybe he should just take off and run. He could grab Vicky and get the hell out of here and take her some place where they could be alone. Some place quiet, like a candlelit restaurant or maybe that cute lodge up in Nederland—the one with the Jacuzzi and the view of the mountains, right there at the entrance of the Rocky Mountain National Park. If they started now, they could be up there in an hour, under the stars, alone in the dark—no meetings, no prayers, no counselors, no sponsors, just the two of them naked in each other’s arms.

He smiled as he pictured the image of Vicky’s naked body curled in his arms—her lips, her eyes, her soft, wet kisses, her face in his hands, her legs coiled tightly around his hips. Unfortunately, he knew that it was only wishful thinking, because there was no way in hell Vicky would let him back out now. She’d probably kick his ass just for even mentioning it. This AA crap was more serious to her than life itself. In fact, to her, it was life. She believed that if she missed even one measly meeting, then she’d be risking the chance of relapsing again. Monty, on the other hand, didn’t take any of this crap seriously, and the only reason he went was because of her. He knew that if he didn’t at least try, he might lose her, and that was something he couldn’t risk.

He pushed open the iron gate and started up the porch staircase, one hand on the railing, the other over the ring. When he got to the top, he stood on his tiptoes, searching for Vicky through the busy crowd. But, he couldn’t see her. There were too many people, and the haze of the cigarette smoke seemed to blur his sight. He leveled his heels and took a step backward then reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled to Vicky’s name at the bottom of the directory then typed in a message that said, “Where are you?”

Just as he hit the send button, he could feel someone watching him, like the current of a riptide pulling him out to sea. He looked up and there he saw her, smiling like an angel from underneath the garland of a brightly lit Christmas wreath. She was dressed in jeans and a fuzzy, white sweater, her face blushed with winter, her smile so damn sweet. He put away his phone and moved towards her quickly, the snow on the porch crunching beneath his feet. When he got to her, he threw his arms around her, then kissed her lips and kissed her cheeks. She tasted sweet like cinnamon candy or one of those red and white striped peppermints.

“I missed you,” he said, as he pulled her in close, her face in his hands, her arms around his neck.

“I missed you too, baby.”

“You did?”

“Of course, I did.”

Monty smiled and squeezed her tighter, feeling his face against the warmth of her skin. “Did you have a good Christmas?” he asked, looking down at her, at the thick, black curls falling over her forehead.

She nodded and smiled up at him, her chin resting against the base of his neck. “I sure did. I’ve been busy. Getting everything ready for next week.”

“Oh yeah? You getting excited?”

“Oh Monty, I can’t wait. I’ve been getting the house all set up. I’ve probably been to Bed, Bath, and Beyond like four times in the last week, just buying all sorts of stuff—stuff I didn’t even know I needed. I got Tommy a new bed with cute blue and white, bear-imprinted bed sheets, matching pajamas and fuzzy bear slippers. It’s going to be so great. I can’t tell you how excited I am to be a mommy again.”

“I’m happy for you, Vicky. I really am. That’s so awesome.”

“Thanks, baby. Only one more week and he’s all mine—no grandparents, no supervisors, nothing—just me and him, like old times.”

Monty leaned forward and gave her a deep kiss on the forehead, while caressing her cheek with his hand. “You’re a good mom,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks baby, you’re sweet. You’ve been a good friend to us. You’re a big part of Tommy’s life. He loves you, you know?”

“I love him too. He’s a good kid.”

They smiled at each other for a while as the Christmas lights twinkled all around them on the porch. Then Vicky took his hand and pulled it towards her and held it against the crease of her neck. “Hey, wait a minute,” she said, as if she suddenly remembered something, her eyes widening to the size of two silver dollar coins. “What about you? We haven’t even talked about you yet. How was your trip?”

Monty hesitated and looked away from her. Damn. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to get into this just yet. “It was okay, I guess.”

“Just okay? Didn’t you get to spend some quality time with your parents?”

Monty snickered. “I don’t know if I’d call it quality time.”

“Aw, why not? Weren’t they happy to see you?”

“Oh…I don’t know. It’s weird now. Different.”

“How so?”

Monty sighed and turned away from her, moving his eyes out across the snow-covered park. He didn’t want to think about it tonight, but all he could see was his mother and the look on her face when he first asked for the ring. She didn’t laugh or cry or throw her arms around him. She didn’t even break a smile as she handed over the ring. It was as if she was holding her breath, waiting for something bad to happen, waiting for the walls to crumble in again. And at that moment, he knew that things would never be better. He knew that he’d probably never get to hug her again. She’d always look at him like he was some kind of monster who could snap at any moment and hit her in the face again.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath inward, rubbing his hands against the bridge of his nose.

“Monty?” Vicky whispered, moving in towards him, her hand rubbing against the back of his neck. “Are you okay?”

“No, not really.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just—” He shook his head and looked away from her. The words were like pieces of hot metal lodged in his throat.

“What is it, baby? Come on, you can tell me.”

“It’s my mom.”

“What about her?”

“I don’t know, it’s like she’s afraid of me or something—afraid I’m going to start drinking again. I mean, she couldn’t even bring herself to hug me. She couldn’t even look at me without bursting into tears. And anytime my dad got up and left us together, she’d always find an excuse to leave the room. She either had to do the dishes or fold the laundry—it was like she was afraid to be alone in the same room with me. I just wish I knew what I could do to make her trust me—what I could say to prove to her that I’m going to be okay.”

“Well, I guess it’s just going to take some time. I mean, it’s only been a year. It’s going to take some time to build up that trust again.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just wish I knew how to make it go faster.”

“Well, just keep working your program and going to your meetings and everything will eventually work itself out.”

Monty scoffed. “You really believe that?”

“Of course, I do. It’s the only thing that keeps me going. If I didn’t believe that then what would be the point? You know?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hey, come on, baby. Cheer up. It’ll get better. I promise. You remember what it says in the Big Book about promises, don’t you?”

Monty just looked away and shrugged his shoulders. He really didn’t want to hear this AA crap right now. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Yeah, you do. Come on, you remember.” She started reciting the words slow and easy, as if she actually expected Monty to join in: “No matter how far down the scale we’ve gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows, and our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Are these extravagant promises?” Vicky paused and looked up at Monty, waiting for him to say the verse.

“We think not,” he said halfheartedly, not really believing it himself.

“They are being fulfilled among us, sometimes quickly, sometimes…”

“…slowly.”

“And they will always materialize if we…what?”

“Work for them.”

“That’s it! You got it, baby!” Vicky squealed and wrapped her arms around him then leaned forward and gave him a big, wet kiss on the cheek. “See. Now, doesn’t that make you feel better?”

“No. Not really.”

“Uh! And just why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t get it.”

“Well, what don’t you get?”

“I don’t get how God is supposed to keep me sober.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be God, Monty. You know that. It can be whatever you want it to be.”

“Can it be you?”

“What?”

“Can it be you? Can you be my higher power?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because it just doesn’t work that way.”

“It’s worked pretty good so far. I mean, you’re the only reason I quit drinking. You’re probably the only reason I didn’t kill myself.”

“Please don’t say that, Monty.”

“Well it’s true.”

“I know, but—”

“—but what?”

“But you just can’t say that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

“To who?”

“To me! Look Monty, I don’t want to be your only reason for living. I don’t want to be your only hope of surviving this thing.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want you to be happy. I want you to stop punishing yourself and start living your life again.”

“That’s a little easier said than done, don’t you think?”

“No Monty. It’s not. You just have to want it. You have to want it for yourself. Look, no one but you is going to keep you sober, and the quicker you realize that, the easier it’s going to be. I mean, you say you want to speed things up and have a better relationship with your parents, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what are you doing about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s already been a year and you’re still on your fourth step, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, I’m already on step twelve.”

“Well, I like to take my time, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Hey, come on, don’t be nasty. I’m trying, aren’t I? I mean, I’m doing this silly one-year speech tonight. Hell, if it was up to me, I’d skip the whole damn thing.”

“You know I’d never let you get away with that.”

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think I’m still here? Like I said, if it wasn’t for you, I would’ve never gotten sober. I wouldn’t have even made it through that first week. You may not want to hear it, but you saved me, Vicky. You’re the only reason I didn’t end up killing myself.”

“I know, but I just wish you’d take this program a little more seriously. I wish you’d do it for yourself instead of for me. I mean, what would you do if something were to happen? What would you do if you were to lose me?”

“Oh come on. Don’t talk like that. Nothing bad is going to happen. We’ve been through too much already to have some bullshit happen again. Besides, I’d never let anything bad happen to you. You’re too damn important to me. I love you, Vicky.”

“I love you too, Monty.”

Monty smiled and stared at her for a while in the haze of the cigarette smoke as the snow floated off the overhang of the porch. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, kissed her nose, and kissed her lips. “Come on,” he said, as he took her hand and pulled it forward, motioning towards the front of the house. “We better get going. We don’t want to be late.”

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre – Literary Fiction

Rating – R

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Andrew Seaward on Facebook & Twitter & Pinterest

Review: The Mountain City Bronzes by Madeleine McLaughlin

The Mountain City Bronzes by Madeleine McLaughlin
My rating: 5 of 5 stars


What were the main themes of the book? Murder, learning the truth about the past.

Describe 2 different settings or locations. Kevin running through the corridors of the jail, the town people searching the mountain side for the missing children.

Were you able to connect with the main character and why? I connected with the father. He had a heavy burden to carry knowing what he did about the missing children.

Disclosure: I received a review copy of this book from the author.

View all my reviews

Orangeberry Book of the Day - Pain and Gain – The Untold True Story by Marc Schiller (Excerpt)

Chapter 1

Beginnings

"Adversity is a fact of life. It can't be controlled. What we can control is how we react to it."

- Unknown -

It is important for me to give the reader an understanding of who I was and who I had become through my personal experiences prior to my kidnapping in 1994. This will help explain my acts during these events and, more importantly, why I was able to survive them and continue on with my life afterwards.

I was born on a rainy winter day in August 1957 in Buenos Aires, Argentina. My family and my country were going through turmoil. My grandparents had emigrated from Russia in the early 1920s and had chosen Argentina because of its economic prowess and political stability. Of course, all that changed after Juan Peron took power in a coup in the 1940s and the country began its long slide as the world’s third-largest economic power.

As went the country, so did the economic condition of my family. I was the second child. My older sister, Michelle, was born almost five years to the day before me. When I was born, my family’s situation had become precarious, and we were forced to move into my grandmother’s house, which was also shared by my father’s younger brother. I always joked with my dad. I said it looked as though I had brought bad luck, since prior to my birth they had lived a comfortable middle-class life.

So that was where I spent the first six years of my life. We had three families sharing the same house, trying collectively to make enough money to pay for food and other necessities. In 1964, a distant uncle who lived in the United Sates visited us. Dismayed at what he saw, he persuaded my father’s younger brother and his mother to immigrate to the US. He tried to talk sense into my father and make him move also, but my father decided that he was a patriot and would sink with the ship.

So, at the end of 1964, we were basically homeless. My father’s economic situation had gotten worse, and the only thing he could do now to get enough money to eat was selling socks door to door. We were forced to move from the city to a rural area called Gonzalez Catan. Here was the Wild, Wild West, and gauchos still roamed the prairie. Our little house had no running water, and the scarce electricity was not enough to light two lamps at the same time.

It was a little pink house with two bedrooms and an old-fashioned kitchen. It was rustic, simple—bare bones, as certain prefabricated houses can be, but it was home. At least we had a small parcel of land where we could grow some food and have a few chickens to provide us with eggs. Our closest neighbor was about two miles away; it was pure desolation. My school was a one-room building with a dirt floor about four miles from the house. I made the trek every day and hunted for frogs or tried to kill snakes along the way. Once or twice a month, the garbage truck would actually show up on the one and only paved road. I caught a ride to school by hanging on the back of the truck.

During the summer, we went swimming at the water hole where horses drank. I spent most of my free time wandering the fields, inventing new adventures. That year, my brother, Alex, was born, and the situation seemed dimmer than ever. My father’s brother came to visit and again tried to persuade my father to leave and immigrate to the US. Father was adamant. He would not budge.

Finally, in 1965, the situation became so dire that my father gave in and left for the US. The four of us, my mother, my sister, Michelle, who was twelve, my brother, Alex, who was a few months old, and I, at seven, were left behind to fend for ourselves in a hostile environment. After my father left, our situation deteriorated further. We had no one to tend the few crops we had. Our few chickens were dying and laid no more eggs.

We resorted to eating a mush my mother prepared, and to this day I have no clue what was in it. It just looked like white paste that you could use to hang wallpaper. We also had plenty of wild blackberries that my mom used to make compote. Sometimes, we ate that five days a week. I have never been able to eat anything with blackberries since those days. Years later, my sister sent me a ten pound jar of blackberry jam for my birthday—very funny.

After a while, my father was able to send some money so we could buy food. That was wonderful, but there was no supermarket or convenience store in our neighborhood, so my mother had to go into the city to buy groceries. She left at five o’clock in the morning and did not return until one o’clock the following morning. She had to carry the grocery bags for miles, since there was no public transportation where we lived. We three children were left to fend for ourselves, and after dark we simply sat in a room together and waited.

Finally, in May of 1966, my father had saved enough money to bring us to America. Michelle stayed home to care for Alex while Mother and I went to the city to see if someone could give us some hand-me-down clothing for the trip. Our wardrobe was nonexistent; you really didn’t need much clothing where we lived. We lucked out after going from place to place and received enough clothes to get on the plane to our new home. It may be surprising that those days were as grim as they may sound. Bring back no bitter memories, no sadness, and no negative feelings.

In fact, my memories are happy ones. It was a time when I felt totally free. There was no pressure, and I was able to grow up free from the complications that can often deluge a child in big cities. Because I was free to explore the environment, I developed the self-assurance I would need to be able to survive no matter what circumstances I might encounter. This episode in our lives gave me the internal fortitude and self-reliance that would help me survive in the difficult situations that were to come.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – True Crime

Rating – PG

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Marc Schiller on Facebook & Twitter

Orangeberry Book of the Day - Straight Dope by LeRon Barton (Excerpt)

When money is made, anything can happen

            I was born in a middle class neighborhood in Cincinnati. Both of my parents are still together and I have three sisters. Back in the day, Cincinnati was one of the top ten places to have a family. The midwest was where the factories where, so you could get a good job and it was a safe city to live in. My childhood as a whole was great, about the best ever. I could do anything I want, I had great friends, went to the best schools, and everything was safe. My high-school was ranked number five in the country as far as public schools. My Father worked as at the post office and my Mom was a nurse. I'ma tell you something about my Mom: she grew up in downtown Cincinnati and was a hustler. She knew the game and knew what she wanted. You wasn't running no game on her. My parents and I had a little falling out though, due to my activity in the streets and we do not speak anymore. 

How I got into the drug game?

Well I used to work at the Andrew Jurgens company and had been there for about ten years making 60, 70 grand. I had never gotten into the street game at that time because I am a opportunist, a bottom line guy. I only deal with things that the bottom line has a plus sign by it, you know. So while all my buddies were slinging crack and weed, I didn't see that there was enough money for me to be a street boy out there and the reward level wasn't good. I had a cousin in the south who was dating this big drug dealer in Atlanta. So while I was visiting, he asked me what a pound of weed goes for in Cincinnati? I tell him $1100, $1200 and that I can check with some of my buddies. What he does is gives me ten pounds, tells me to hit him back with $7,000, and gives me 30 days to see what happen. I get back home and I am thinking okay, I have 30 days to get rid of this, so I should be able sell them for a stack a piece and I will have three grand. What happens is I call my buddy, he comes over and checks out all of them, and boom, they were all gone as soon as I got home! Instead of 30 days it took me three hours!

That's what I call a come up (we both laugh). Thats what got the hook in me. Now I am making good money at my job, real good money but dang, I made $3000 in three hours? I gotta stick with this, you know what I am saying?

            Me not knowing the game, I'm thinking, okay I'm a get these and bang 'em off not knowing how things work. This is what I learned down the road, when people start knowing you have a quanity of drugs, you become a target and I didn't know that at first. So I started to bang 'em off, riding to Atlanta, and I quit working overtime. I'm making $3000 a week, thats an extra $12,000 a month you hear me? So I am stacking the first couple of months and I started needing way more than that ten, so now I am like, if I buy ten will you front me ten? My connect said yeah and it got to the point that I would go to the A, leave with 20, call some folks, and sometimes they would be waiting for me in my driveway! I didn't even have to take the pounds in my house.

            The thing about the drug game is that whether it is meth, coke, weed, whatever it is, if you got the best price and the right stuff, you can't keep enough of it, it's gone. I couldn't keep enough of them because I am selling the pounds for $1000 and they are going for $1200 on the streets. Now as I was getting savvy, I learned a couple of things: Never be greedy in the drug game. Never keep it in your house if you have to, because when the robbery boys come and stick a gun your mouth, they are going  to ask where the drugs and the money. I'd rather give them they money than the drugs, because you can always make it back.

You know and I know, with that kind of success, your name starts ringing and in the hood, information goes like wild fire......

It got off the hook.  After six months I had over 70 grand in profit, so I quit my job. Now I have been there for ten years, but that one week in Atlanta was not enough. So my ex wife and I started going down to Atlanta three times a week.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – NonFiction / Sociology

Rating – PG

More details about the author & the book

Connect with LeRon Barton on Twitter

Author Interview – Richard Stephenson

How do you promote this book? Every way I could think of.  I created a blog that gets 800 to 1,000 views a day.  Two twitter accounts with a combined following of over 18K.  Facebook ads, ads with Kindle Nation Daily, cross promotion with other indies, and paid ads on a lot of sites.  The most effective advertising I did was releasing a sneak peek of the first seven chapters of “Collapse” months before the release.  The sneak peek raised a lot of interest and on my first day on Amazon, my book managed to sneak on to the top 100 list for one of its categories.

Will you write others in this same genre? Writing a four book series, working on book two right now.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp? Civilization is fragile.

Have you included a lot of your life experiences, even friends, in the plot? All three of the main characters are facets of my own personality.  My law enforcement career gave me a lot of material to use as well.

How important do you think villains are in a story? Extremely.  The good guys can’t shine without villians.

Can we expect any more books from you in the future? Absolutely.  Three more left in the “New America” series.

Have you started another book yet? I’m eleven chapters into book two.

What are some of the best tools available today for writers, especially those just starting out? Google, without a doubt.  I can’t imagine what authors did before the Internet.  The amount of research I did would have taken me a couple of years without the internet.  It is also very handy to have the cloud and to be able to immediately pick up writing on a different device.

Do you have any advice for writers? Don’t quit your day job.  If writing isn’t your passion and truly something you love, you will be disappointed when it doesn’t pay the bills.  Write because you love telling a good story.

What do you do to unwind and relax? Video games and movies.

Buy now @ Amazon

Genre – Dystopian

Rating – R

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Richard Stephenson on Facebook & Twitter

Blog http://rastephensonauthor.blogspot.com/

Orangeberry Book of the Day - Primal by DA Serra

Chapter One

Samuel slips the knife to Rex.

Wilkins rocks forward onto his toes, to get a clear look at Ben, who sits in reverence with his head dropped forward, exposing the pale smooth nape of his vulnerable neck. The air is rank with odor from damp armpits, oily hair, and decaying gums. It’s the smell of rot. When Wilkins has guard duty on Sunday mornings, he watches Ben Burne, because it makes him feel hopeful here among the human scrap meat. He is drawn to the devotion on Ben’s face, and so he doesn’t notice the jagged-edged homemade blade as it is passed from one inmate’s hand to the next, underneath the lip of the stainless steel pew.

Rex hands the knife to Heto.

This ascetic chapel with a plastic altar is populated every Sunday by lifers who, if given the chance, would slash God’s throat. They attend services as an alternative to sitting in their cells. Wilkins thinks about how no one wants to be here, no one except Ben. Ben is enraptured. He communes with the hanging wooden crucifix lost in a personal reverie: Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee. The lime paint of the prison’s cinder block wall doesn’t tint Ben’s face in the same ghoulish way it colors the skin of the other inmates. Wilkins wonders if this is a sign. Yes, he thinks it is. Yes, God is trying to tell him something. He has cast the glory of His forgiveness on Ben Burne.

Ben nods his head in prayer. He has lost a lot of hair for only fifty-three years old; the penitentiary food and harsh soap are hard on the body. Ben has managed to stay muscular by lifting weights in his cell and using the window bars for chin-ups. He raises his face. Real tears swim in his eyes as he swells with piety.

Ben, with his reputation, is a celebrity here; as long as Ben is around with his superior air and his attention grabbing ways, well, it pisses off some of the others who feel just as deserving, just as tough. And they are just as tough — they just aren’t as smart. In any room, in every room, Ben is the puppet master.

Heto passes the knife to Leon.

Leon is an obelisk of a man: tall, thick, and sitting directly behind Ben. A grisly anticipation ripples through the room, knowing glances are exchanged and eyes light up, giddy with expectation. Wilkins tilts his head, sensing a palpable shift in the room. His eyes narrow; where is it coming from? He scans the pews up and down. He peers underneath at the shoes solidly on the floor. What is it? He can’t place it. At the altar, the chaplain prays fervently for each of these men’s souls. He feels some solace in knowing that at least he has saved one man. He has saved the soul of Ben Burne.

The inmates in Leon’s row shudder eagerly. Leon likes holding everyone’s attention this way. They are waiting for his move. He tenses first. Then, his jaw drops slightly open. Saliva moistens his mouth and a drop of spit forms on his canine tooth. Right next to him, the skinny hollow-eyed inmate giggles in a small sharp burst - the sound of caged madness. Leon’s fingers clench around the knife. Ready. He springs up! The chaplain looks. Leon’s knife hand juts up and then powers down toward Ben’s bare neck. Miraculously, Ben’s hand jerks up and grabs the blade. It sinks deep into his palm. He makes no sign of pain. He closes his fist around it and the two men stand in a struggle of power and will. The room erupts. They are animals sprung loose - clawing and fighting. Wilkins battles through the melee to get to Ben and Leon who are locked eye-to-eye and motionless as blood gushes from Ben’s closed fist. Wilkins is almost there when an inmate jumps him from behind reaching for his weapon. With eyes in the back of his head, Ben uses his other hand to karate chop the inmate, breaking his neck and sending him to the floor without even a scream. Wilkins regains himself, grateful to Ben, who has not taken his eyes off Leon. Wilkins pulls his gun out and shoots four rounds into the ceiling. The fighting stops at the sound of the gunshots. Other guards burst in. Wilkins moves in next to Leon where he and Ben are frozen in inert combat with the blade closed into Ben’s fist. Wilkins levels his weapon at Leon’s head.

Ben scolds, “Leon, this is a place of worship.”

Flooded with adrenaline, Wilkins rests his weapon on Leon’s temple and adds, “And I hope you’ve been praying.”

Ben turns his eyes calmly to Wilkins, “Not in God’s house.”

A tremulous silence, they all wait for Wilkins’ decision: life or death. He has the choice. He could pull the trigger and no one would care. One less animal to feed and cage. Society might shake its head, but it would be grateful to be rid of him. At this moment, with the muzzle of the gun at Leon’s temple, and with everyone waiting, the choice is his. He could take this life. He wants to take this worthless life. The muscles in his face give a little. His blood calms. Two other guards sense it and step forward grabbing Leon. They slam him to the cement floor breaking his jaw and his nose. They pull his arms behind his back and cuff him. Other guards have taken charge of the rioting rabble and order is harshly restored. Ben opens his hand. Wilkins carefully pulls the embedded knife from Ben’s palm.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Wilkins says.

Ben nods, turns to leave with him, but then stops and asks the chaplain, “Father, are you all right?”

The shaken chaplain nods. He drops to his knees and says a prayer for Ben’s soul. Wilkins leads Ben out of the chapel and down the hall toward the infirmary.

Wilkins is amazed at Ben’s ability to withstand the pain and asks, “How did you do that?”

“God did that - saved us both - you and me. But evidently he has turned his attention to other things because it hurts like a motherfucker now.” These two men almost smile at each other. How strange, Wilkins thinks, to see the budding of humanity in a man with this kind of history. What was it that turned Ben Burne?

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Thriller

Rating – R

More details about the author & the book