EPISTLE OF THE DAMNED
M. LEE MENDELSON
EPISTLE OF THE DAMNED
Copyright © 2017 by M. Lee Mendelson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, locations, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cactus Moon Publications: [email protected]; http://www.cactusmoonpublishing.com
Book cover design: Cactus Moon Publications, LLC
ISBN: 978-0-9988932-9-7
This book is dedicated to my wonderful wife, Yvonne.
Without your love, encouragement, and support this book would never have become a reality.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my wife, Yvonne, for all the inspiration and long nights sitting up with me and listening to all my ideas and giving your honest opinion. You steered me clear from some bad ideas. I would also like to thank all my family and friends who read my draft and encouraged me to move forward.
A huge shout out to Cactus Moon for accepting my work, and for believing in me. Big thanks go to Lily Woodmansee for her guidance and help throughout the process. And finally, I would like to thank my phenomenal editor, Andrea, for a job well done. She has an eagle eye, and her years of professional expertise were invaluable.
PROLOGUE
Predestined Recipient,
If you’re reading this desperate correspondence, I implore you to take my words to heart. Please don’t reject my story as mere fable without first granting me some considerations. If you think you’ve just happened upon this harrowing tale, be forewarned. It was by design.
You see, from the time I was a young man, I’ve been an advocate for true justice. I had always believed that if you did good, good would come back to you, trusting that what I did somehow mattered.
THE END
3:37 A.M., BOCA GRANDE SHORES, a peaceful upscale bedroom community on the West coast of Florida. It was a quiet night in the dispatch center of the Sheriff’s Office when suddenly, “911, what is your emergency?”
A frail, desperate voice, clearly that of an elderly woman answered, “Yes, I can hear my neighbors screaming at each other. It sounds like they’re having a terrible fight. I’ve never heard them fight like this before. I’m very worried. Can you please send someone right away?”
“What is your address, ma’am?”
“I live at 2700 Red Oak Circle.”
“Is this a gated community?”
“Yes, it’s the Mossy Hammock subdivision.”
“Is there a gate code?”
“Yes, but there is a guard on duty at the main gate. In case he’s not there, the code is star one-five-four-three-two. Please hurry! It sounds like it’s getting worse.”
“We have units en route to you at this time. Can you see anything?”
In an attempt to conceal her anxiety, the woman answered facetiously, “Honey, at my age I couldn’t see anything even if it was light out. They sound like they’re outside now. I’m too afraid to look.”
“Yes ma’am, please stay inside. Will you stay on the line?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What is your name, ma’am?”
“Beatrice Johansen.”
“OK Mrs. Johansen, I’ll stay on the line with you until the deputies arrive.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Mike, a decorated deputy and ten-year veteran of the Sheriff’s Office, was enjoying an unusually quiet night in Zone Four. Mike was conducting routine business checks when suddenly the radio crackled, “Four-thirteen and four-ninety-five respond to the area of 2700 Red Oak Circle for a possible domestic in progress, caller advised it appears to be intensifying, she’s unsure if there are weapons involved, make contact with caller at 2700 Red Oak Circle.”
Mike answered, “Four-thirteen en route from the Carson & Associates Law Firm.”
Mike’s backup, Steve Wilcox, a rookie with six months on his own since completing his field training, also responded, “Four-ninety-five en route from Tampa Trail and Palm Lane.”
Mike recalled that Red Oak Circle was in Mossy Hammock. He was very familiar with this subdivision, since he had patrolled Zone Four for the previous three years. Mossy Hammock was an upscale community of high-end waterfront houses, home to executives and wealthy retirees. Mike thought, I wonder if Old Joe’s on duty.
Joe McCallister, a night security guard at Mossy Hammock, was a retired New York City police officer. After losing his wife to cancer four years before, he had picked up the security job to keep from getting bored. Joe preferred the night shift and always had, even as a cop in the Big Apple.
When Mike arrived at the guard shack, he recognized that the guard on duty was Joe. On quiet nights, Mike would often visit Joe and swap cop stories. Joe was a tall, thin man in his sixties and it appeared that he had fallen asleep in his desk chair. Mike honked his horn, and Joe jumped up, rubbing his eyes. Mike smiled. He identified with how hard it was to stay awake on the graveyard shift, particularly when it was quiet. Joe lumbered to the door.
Mike, now chuckling to himself said, “Mornin’, Joe. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Joe countered in a gruff voice, “I wasn’t sleeping, asshole. I was just checking my eyelids for leaks.”
The two laughed briefly, and then Joe said, “What brings you around Mike—business, or just to screw with me?”
SUMMER OF '85
J UNE 21ST, 3:29 P.M. One minute to go, thought Mike, staring at the clock on the wall of the dimly lit art class. This would be his last class before beginning the summer of 1985. That summer would mark the beginning of his high school years. He wondered if he would get through that last bus ride home without the usual torment, to which he had grown accustomed, but always hated. Middle school kids could be so cruel and immature. He was hopeful that high school would be an improvement over his current situation.
3:30 p.m. The silence was broken by the obnoxious sound of the tinny, clanking school bell that marked the end of the last day of school. Suddenly there was an outburst of noise throughout the school as young, enthusiastic teenagers took to the hallways, shouting with excitement because summer had finally arrived. It sounded to Mike like a football stadium after the home team scored a touchdown. Hundreds of young people flooded the hallways, hooting and hollering. Many were hugging, signing yearbooks, exchanging high fives, and saying farewell to friends they had made during the past three years at Lincoln Middle School.
Mike, a husky, brown-eyed, pimple-faced, fourteen-year-old teenager with blonde hair, was kind of a shy loner and he had always found it difficult to make friends. He cautiously maneuvered unnoticed through the minefield of excited bodies that filled the hallways. Beneath the sullen expression on his face lay a tenacious determination to emerge from this summer a new person. Ordinarily he was not an optimist, but he felt that high school could be a new beginning for him, a chance to re-invent himself, and he had already set in motion a plan to do just that.
About a month prior to the end of school, Mike had seen a plastic, cement-filled weight set at a neighbor’s garage sale. Mike rushed home and pleaded with his mother.
“Nancy, can I please get a weight set? It won’t take up much space in the garage. The McBrides are selling one at their yard sale and it’s only ten bucks.”
Mike’s mother, Nancy, preferred to be called by her first name because she didn’t like the stigma attached to being called “Mom.”
She had once been a beloved cheerleader in her high school and college years. She had always secretly desired for her son to be more popular, like she had been. Nancy felt the pain of her son’s torments, but having been one of the “cool” kids herself, could see why Mike was such an easy target for them. She knew how much his school experience would improve if his status among his peers was to change for the better. But she loved her son and would not force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.
“Now what in the world are you going to do with a weight set, Mikey?”
“I’ve decided I want to get myself in shape, and I want to get started as soon as I can. I’m tired of being pushed around and teased. I just want to be healthier . . . maybe the girls will finally notice me.”
Nancy replied cynically, “Well, honey, remember it’s not what you look like on the outside that matters, but who you are on the inside.”
Mike laughed, “Yeah, right! When you were growing up maybe, but it ain’t that way nowadays!”
Nancy thought to herself, Wow, maybe there’s still hope for him. She knew that being popular and athletic would open many doors. She herself had always been very fit and was well liked. She was five feet two inches tall, with long blonde hair, and had always maintained her weight at never more than one hundred five pounds. Even when she was pregnant with Mike, she only gained ten pounds, and had refused to go out of the house the last month for fear of someone seeing her gigantic belly.
Nancy met Mike’s father, Michael, as a junior in college. Michael, to whom they always referred as Big Mike to avoid confusion, was Captain of the football team, and Nancy was the Captain of the Cheerleading squad. They were a natural pair.
Big Mike graduated college, and eventually went on to law school. He was now a successful attorney in Louisville, Kentucky. Louisville had no shortage of criminal activity and was a fertile marketplace for a defense attorney.
“Good for you, sweetheart. Anything I can do to help, just let me know. If you’re determined that’s what you want, then here’s ten dollars. You can set it up in the garage. Make sure you keep it out of the way, though. Your father will lose his mind if you come near the new Jag.”
“I know. Thank you, Nancy.”
Mike snatched the money from her hand and ran out the kitchen door to the McBride’s house. He spent the rest of the day carrying the weight set home a few pieces at a time and setting it up as Nancy had instructed, in the far corner of the large three car garage, well away from where Big Mike had parked his new Jaguar.
Over the course of the next month, Mike used the weight set every night religiously, getting tips from the muscle magazines he collected. No one but him seemed to notice the changes, but he could feel that something was happening to him. Suddenly, the five-feet six-inch, two-hundred-twenty-five-pound kid was now two hundred ten pounds, and his once tight pants were now a bit looser.
3:40 p.m. The bus was still in line at the school. The kids around him were still carrying on and shouting with excitement. Mike thought to himself, why haven’t we left yet? He was anxious to get home and start devoting himself full-time to his transformation. The last day was always hectic at the school and he figured there must still be kids coming. Mike looked around for his reviled nemesis, Frank “The Moose” Peterson. He realized that Frank was not on the bus yet. This made him happy. Maybe Moose got in trouble again and had to stay after school. Mike imagined it wouldn’t be such a bad ride home after all.
Mike was peacefully gazing out his window when suddenly he heard, “WHAT’S UP, YOU DOUCHE BAGS?” as the bus driver yelled, “Peterson! Just find a seat and settle down!”
Filled with dread, Mike looked up at the sound of that all-too familiar voice to see the Moose clomping onto the bus like a Clydesdale. Frank had a deep and loud adult-like voice that carried over all the other noise on the bus. He was a freak of a boy, abnormally big for his age at six feet tall and almost three hundred pounds, with more facial hair than most men twice his age. Frank had been held back for failing the sixth grade, and had been the school bully since he was in the first grade. His clothes were always ragged, dirty and wet from sweat, and he smelled like stinky gym socks all the time because it seemed that he rarely showered. Mike figured The Moose had no concept of the word hygiene. No one ever really told Frank that he stunk, but why would they? He would just pound them into the ground.
Mike usually had a seat to himself because no one wanted to sit by him, but Frank was the last one on the bus and his was only one of a few seats left with an empty space next to it. Knowing it would only bring torture and pain if he put up any resistance if Frank sat by him, Mike sank a little lower in his seat, praying that the Moose wouldn’t take this seat. To his relief, the Moose walked right past him to the back of the bus. As he passed, his rancid stench hung heavy in the air. The odor permeated the nares of Mike’s nose and plastered itself like wallpaper glue. It reminded him of the boys’ locker room at the end of the week before everyone was required to take their filthy shorts and t-shirts home to wash. Mike wanted to gag, but buried his face in his shirt instead.
Whew, he ignored me. This day is getting better by the moment, Mike thought.
4:05 p.m. One more stop before I can put this year behind me. The ride home had been uneventful until it was time for the Moose to get off at his stop. Mike was content; all had been going well, so he continued to gaze out the window, ignoring everyone else around him. Once again, Mike caught a whiff of that putrid Moose stench, letting him know that Frank had just passed by.
Mike looked up when he heard the Moose announce, “Oh yeah, fat boy, I bet you thought I forgot!” The Moose turned and walked back to Mike’s seat, then sucker punched him in the right upper arm. It stung as usual, but for some reason not as bad this time. Maybe he was getting used to it, or maybe the working out had been paying off. Either way, there wasn’t much that could be done about it. Mike ignored it, said nothing, and turned his attention back to staring out the window. He knew it would only bring more pain if he reacted. “Hmmm, not as flabby as I remember. Are you tensing up on me or something, butterball?” Mike remained stoic.
“I’ll see you next year, douche!”
The Moose walked away laughing, and Mike raged. In his most silent inner monologue he screamed out, ONE OF THESE DAYS, YOU MOTHERFUCKER, YOU’RE GONNA PAY!
Mike heard the snickers of other students around him, most just thankful that they themselves hadn’t been the recipients of the Moose’s personal attention that afternoon.
4:12 p.m. The bus arrived at Mike’s bus stop. He composed himself and exited the bus with three other students, one younger boy, Tommy, and two girls, Sheila and Katie. The girls were both in Mike’s class, but Tommy was two years younger. He had just moved here and had only started at their school a few months ago. All of them lived in the same neighborhood, but the other three kids never took the time to get to know Mike. Usually, they would just ignore him.
In a brief moment of self-confidence, Mike mustered up the courage to say to the girls, “Have a good summer, ladies. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Sheila quickly turned around and after making a gagging gesture by sticking her right index finger in her mouth said, “Gag me with a spoon, Dweeb! I know you’re not talking to me!”
Katie echoed the embarrassing assault, saying, “Like, in your dreams, scumbag. I’d rather eat shit and die!” The two girls walked away laughing aloud.
Tommy was laughing along with the girls.
Infuriated, Mike said to Tommy. “What are you laughing at, penis-breath? Who the hell are you? I’ll make road pizza out of you!” Tommy was two years behind and was distinctly smaller than Mike. Mike was never known to be mean, but he had just suffered another humiliating episode and took this opportunity to lash out at a perceived weaker opponent.
Tommy was much smaller, but also much feistier. He ran up to Mike and punched him in the left eye. Mike was certainly not expecting this. Instantly, he felt the sting, then the
sensation of swelling. “Oh great, a black eye for sure. This sucks.”
It took all he had not to cry; both from the sting of the punch as well as the humiliating verbal assault from the girls, but that would be too embarrassing. He couldn’t cry. Mike swallowed his pride and just turned around to walk home. All the fight had just been punched out of him by the lightning fast reaction of Tommy.
Tommy berated Mike as he sauntered away, “What a pussy! That’s it? I expected a little more fight from someone with such a big
mouth. C’mon back when ya want some more!”
The girls laughed all the harder, and Katie said to Tommy, “That was awesome! You’re kinda cute. You want to come over and hang out?”
Tommy replied, “Heck yeah! That would be totally radical!”
With that, the three new friends walked away, laughing at Mike.
The day that had started with such hope and promise turned out to be one of the worst days in Mike’s adolescent experience. He walked the rest of the way home dejected and demoralized.
When Mike got home, he was thankful that there was no one there. Nancy was teaching her afternoon aerobics class at the gym, and Big Mike was at work, of course. He saw a note on the table in the foyer from Nancy that read, “Mikey, I’m meeting your father after work for a business dinner with his partners. I left you stuff for a salad and some chicken in the fridge. Don’t make a mess. Call me if you need anything, Nance.”
This did not seem unusual to Mike. He had been a latchkey kid for most of his life. Even though Nancy didn’t work a normal nine-to-five-job, she was an active socialite and was rarely home. On the weekends, Nancy and Big Mike’s days were filled with parties and short getaways. They rarely seemed to have any time for him, but then again, he didn’t do much of anything to garner their attention. This was one of his primary motivations for turning his life around. Maybe they’ll want to spend more time with me, he thought. But this was one of those times he was glad the house was empty.
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