List Price: $15.95
6" x 9" (15.24 x 22.86 cm)
Black & White on Cream paper
216 pages
Black & White on Cream paper
216 pages
ISBN-13: 978-1438295565
ISBN-10: 1438295561
BISAC: Fiction / Suspense
ISBN-10: 1438295561
BISAC: Fiction / Suspense
Ricky Boston is a budding young artist, on his way to art school, when his life is cut short in a senseless act of violence and depravity. Driven by the need to right the wrongs done to himself and his love, Ricky's soul returns to balance the scales. Blinded by the need to bring the killers to justice, Ricky is reincarnated, battling recurring nightmares and feelings of rage and revenge. For this soul, peace may lie in a most ironic and unexpected outcome.
Chapter 1
“Ricky! Come on, young man, it’s time to go to church.” Ricky’s mom stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting for her children to descend the staircase. She frowned at the dents and scratches in the mahogany railing, mentally filling them with fresh varnish. She wiped the finish with her cotton handkerchief in a futile effort to remove the latest set of telltale fingerprints.
“Coming, Mom! I just need to finish this one part. I’ll be right there.”
Ricky’s sixteen-year-old sister stood in the doorway of his bedroom, tapping her right foot in a staccato dance of annoyance. She ran a hand around each of her ears in an attempt to keep her long dark bangs from falling into her face. “You’d better hurry up, Ricky. You know how Dad hates to be kept waiting when he’s ready to leave.”
Ricky continued drawing and erasing the same character’s face, leaning over the sketchpad in concentrated effort. “I’m coming. I’m coming. Jeez, a guy can’t even finish a drawing these days. I don’t know why we have to go to church anyway. Preacher Barrons is getting so old, he can’t even yell as loud as he used to. When I get old enough to move out, I’m not going to set foot in another church.”
“You’re such a heathen, Ricky.”
“I don’t care. Church is stupid. You can’t make me believe that you like it. It’s so boring. The only reason you like to go is so you can sit with Mr. Thomas Drake.”
“How would you know? You’re always hunched over one of your drawings. I bet you never even hear a word the preacher says.”
“Hear a word? I’ve heard plenty. Every week it’s the same old thing. We’re all going to hell and the sooner the better. If we’re all such terrible sinners, what does he call the people who don’t go to church every Sunday?”
“Ricky, he just preaches that way in case someone who doesn’t go to church all the time comes to visit.”
“And yelling at them is supposed to make them want to come back? I can just see him now shaking hands with some poor unsuspecting visitor then walking to the pulpit to scream at the guy and tell him he’s going to go to hell if he doesn’t change his evil ways. That would sure make me want to walk out of the church and never come back. Besides, it seems to me that if you keep telling people all the time that they’re evil, one of these days they’re going to start to believe it.”
“Ricky! Jennifer! Let’s go, and I mean now!” A deep male voice roared up the stairs.
“See, I told you. Now he’s mad at both of us. Come on.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll have to finish this later.”
Ricky closed his sketchpad and portfolio, grabbed his sports coat, and then followed his older sister down the stairs and out the front door to the car. Their father was sitting behind the wheel of his vintage Ford Fairlane, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in agitation.
“Well, it’s about time you two decided to show up. What have you been doing all this time? We’re going to be late again. I hope you’re satisfied.”
As Ricky and his sister got into the back seat, Ricky said, “Sorry, Dad. It was my fault. I was just trying to add the finishing touches to a drawing.”
“I should’ve known. You know it’s one thing to have a hobby; but it’s quite another to allow it to consume all your time and energy. If you put half the amount of time into your schoolwork as you do your artwork, you’d be finished with school already.” Ricky’s father put the car in gear, backed out of the driveway, and drove away quickly.
“Dad, I’m on the honor roll. Besides, I’m only fifteen. They wouldn’t let me finish high school this early.”
“That’s not the point, Son. The point is that you spend too much time drawing.”
“But Dad, I love to draw. It’s what I want to do for a living. I want to illustrate fantasy novels.”
“Good God, Richard, you can’t possibly think you can earn a decent wage drawing pictures of dragons and monsters. It’s about time you grew up a little bit and faced the facts of life.”
“Somebody must be making a living doing those book cover illustrations and animated movies.”
“Well, it’s not going to be you. You’re going to go to college and get a good education so you can grow up and do something important with your life.”
“Art is important, Dad. Whatever happened to your plans to send me to Paris to art school?”
“Ricky, I never meant for you to take me seriously about that. I used to say that when you were a little boy drawing pretty pictures of houses and flowers with your crayons. I never expected you to continue drawing all these years. I certainly didn’t expect you to believe me. It was just a joke!”
Ricky folded his arms across his chest and stared out the window. “Well, it wasn’t a joke to me. I thought you meant what you said. How’s a little kid supposed to know when an adult is making fun of him?”
Ricky’s mother, who was in the front passenger seat, turned around slightly to face her son. “Now Ricky, stop it! You know that’s not what your father was doing. We always enjoyed your little pictures. You were quite good when you were a boy.”
“I’m still good, Mom, and you know it.”
“Oh I do, do I? How am I supposed to figure out if you’re a good artist when all you draw are nearly naked women, muscle-bound heroes, and monsters? That’s not what I was taught was ‘art.’ Art is supposed to be uplifting and moral.”
“Moral? Who says art is supposed to be moral? Art is a reflection of the world around you. It’s a way of expressing how you feel about the world around you. It’s not supposed to be a sermon.”
“And the world around you is filled with naked women and dragons?”
“They’re not naked, and the worlds I draw are the ones I read about in the books I like. It’s about fantasy.”
“There. Do you hear yourself, Ricky?” His father interjected. “That’s exactly what I mean when I say that it’s time to grow up and face the facts of life. Life isn’t a fantasy novel. Life is about commitments and responsibility. How will you ever support a wife and family, if all you ever do is draw pictures of dragons?”
“What if I don’t want a wife and family?”
“Of course you don’t want that now, but you’ll see. You’ll grow up eventually and realize that you have to live in the real world like the rest of us.”
The red Fairlane pulled into the churchyard of Southside Christian Church.
“And what real world is that, Dad? This church? The stupid sermons Preacher Barrons hurls at us every week?”
Ricky’s mother smacked the dashboard loud enough to make everyone in the car jump. “Richard Allen Boston, don’t you talk to your father that way! And don’t talk about the Reverend in that disrespectful manner. Preacher Barrons may not be the best preacher in the world, but he’s a good man.”
“I’m sorry. I just find the whole thing terribly boring and out of touch with the world I live in.”
Jennifer snickered behind her hand.
After he put the car in park, Mr. Boston turned his head to glare at his daughter. “Just what do you think is so dog-gone funny, young lady?”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I was just picturing Preacher Barrons in a loincloth fighting dragons.”
Mr. Boston’s face reddened. He turned back in his seat and gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. “I’ve never heard such disrespect in all my days. You’d think you two had been raised by a couple of unbelievers, rather than law-abiding Christians.”
“I wish I had been raised by unbelievers,” Ricky muttered under his breath.
“What was that, young man?” Ricky’s father’s eyes in the rearview mirror burned holes into the young man’s soul.
Ricky glared right back at those angry eyes. “I said that I wish I had been raised by the Cleavers. You know, June and Ward, Wally and the Beaver on "Leave it to Beaver." It was just a joke. Like going to art school in Paris,” he added with sarcasm.
The eyes in the mirror narrowed to mere slits. “Enough! We’re going inside now, and we’re all going to act respectful. Have you got that, young man?”
“Yes, Dad, I got it.”
Ricky got out of the car, stuffed his fists into the pockets of his coat, and stomped off to his Sunday school class. He spotted Miss Sawyer, his childhood Sunday school teacher, in the hallway. The sullen mood that had lingered after this morning’s family argument rolled off his shoulders and under the radiator to mingle with the long forgotten dust balls. “Why hello, Miss Sawyer. How are you today?”
“I’m fine, Richard. And you?”
Her smile still had the power to warm his heart. How he wished that he were a few years older. He would’ve liked to ask Miss Sawyer out on a date. He fantasized frequently about what she would be like outside church. His heart had been won by her years ago when she would look into his eyes and ask, “How’s the handsomest boy at Southside today?”
He would always blush, yet he was secretly thrilled to receive the attention of such a beautiful woman. She had seemed so grown up to him then, even though she had been only fourteen when she started teaching his class. She was only twenty now, but she might as well have been thirty. He would never muster up the courage to ask her out. Instead he had to content himself with drawing scenes of her nearly naked body being rescued by his rippling muscular self. Not that he had a particularly muscular body, but one could fantasize. Fantasy was all he had, the life of the mind. His real life seemed so mundane in comparison.
As these thoughts stopped swirling inside his head, he said, “I’m fine, Miss Sawyer. Your hair looks different today. Did you do something to it?”
“Well, as a matter of fact I did, Richard. I let my cousin Alicia curl it. What do you think?”
She turned around in a complete circle so he could get the full effect.
He frowned slightly as he looked at it carefully. “Well, it’s all right, but I sort of like it better the other way.”
She frowned back at him. “Hmm. I guess I won’t let her do that again.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad by that. I just like it better the way it was. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t look good this way too. Just a personal preference. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about it. I thought it was curly enough before. I like it with the soft waves in it.”
She smiled at him again. “Okay, apology accepted. It is a bit much, isn’t it? I guess I’m not the curly-headed type. But you sure are. You’ve always had the loveliest brown curls. I want to muss them every time I see them.”
Ricky colored again. “Please don’t remind me. I try to keep them trimmed and under control. Otherwise everyone teases me about them.”
“Oh, gosh, Richard, they’re gorgeous. They make you look like a young Adonis.”
“I’ll have to remember that the next time one of the guys at school grabs me by the curls and digs their knuckles into my skull.”
“Ow! Are they really that cruel?”
“That’s only the tip of the iceberg. Let’s just say that I try to keep to the shadows as much as possible at school.”
“That’s probably the best way to avoid trouble. Well, I’d better be heading to my class. I have lots of little boys and girls waiting for me. No doubt, with great anticipation.”
“I certainly always enjoyed being in your class.”
She smiled sweetly. “Now you’re just being polite.”
“No, I’m serious. I really enjoyed your class. I miss it. I can’t stand Mr. Harris. He is so holier-than-thou.” Richard suddenly clamped his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t say that to you.”
Miss Sawyer looked puzzled. “Why not? It’s okay to speak your mind.”
“Not in my house, it isn’t.”
“Hmm. That sounds like a long story, but I don’t have time to listen to it just now. Why don’t you meet me out back after Sunday school and elaborate?”
Richard beamed at her, barely able to contain his excitement over the prospect of talking to the woman of his dreams after class. “You got it! See ya later.”
“Bye!”
Miss Sawyer turned away and walked back down the hallway towards her classroom. Ricky stood there motionless, watching her departing figure. He allowed himself a moment to admire the movement of the soft curvature of her figure beneath her satiny blue dress. He let out a sigh then slowly turned and headed for his own class. Once inside the room, he plopped down in a seat close to the door, planning to escape as soon as Sunday school ended. He resented the time he spent in this room. The class was too small for him to hide his thoughts safely behind a sketchpad.
“Mr. Boston, what is your opinion on the lesson for this week? Did Jesus turn water into real wine, or was it grape juice as some have proffered?”
“I think it was wine. Otherwise they would have just called it juice.”
Snickering could be heard throughout the room.
Mr. Harris’ neck turned red when he clenched his jaw tightly over this remark. “Well, that’s certainly a literal interpretation and right to the point. Thank you, Richard.”
Ricky nodded. He was glad Mr. Harris had asked him a question at the beginning of the lesson. He seldom asked anyone in the class more than one question each week. Spread the torture around evenly; that seemed to be Mr. Harris’ theory.
“And Mr. Boston, what do you have to say about that?”
This time Richard’s face reddened. “I-I’m sorry, sir. My mind was wandering. Could you repeat the question?”
“I was asking you what you thought about the idea that the people at the wedding celebration merely thought that it was wine, but it really wasn’t.”
“Well, sir, if you’ll recall in the passage, the people commented on how good the wine was and how remarkable it was that their host had saved the best wine until last. If it hadn’t been real wine, then it could hardly have been the best wine he’d served all evening unless they were all too drunk to notice. And I don’t really understand what difference it makes anyway. People drink wine all the time in Europe.”
“Perhaps, Richard, but this isn’t Europe. We Americans have different principles. Particularly those of us who call ourselves ‘Christian.’”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir, but there are a lot of Christian Europeans who drink wine with every meal. I don’t understand what the difference is. A Christian is a Christian, right?”
“Not exactly, but we’ll move on for now.” He cleared his throat sanctimoniously. “Miss Railey, could you help us out by reading the next verse?”
The lesson continued for what seemed like hours to Ricky, though it was truly only a matter of minutes. Finally the gong sounded for release. Ricky jumped up out of his seat, catching his shirt on the corner of the table. He jerked it away quickly, leaving a small tear in his best Sunday shirt. Mumbling expletives under his breath, the young man bounded off to meet with his lifelong love.
She spotted him before he saw her. “There you are, Richard. Are you all right? Mr. Harris didn’t eat you up like an ogre, did he? I’m so glad of that.”
Ricky grinned at Miss Sawyer. He suddenly forgot why he was meeting her outside.
“So tell me what’s going on at home.”
Ricky’s mind recalled the argument from that morning. “Oh, that. It’s nothing. I just don’t get along with my dad all that well. The older I get, the stricter he gets. That’s all.”
“I see. Are you sure it isn’t more like the older you get, the more you yearn to be out from under his control?”
“It’s about the same thing, I guess. But it’s not just that. He used to tell me all the time that he was going to save some money so he could send me to art school in Paris. Now he says he can’t do that. I’ve been waiting for that all my life, Miss Sawyer, to go to art school.”
“Paris, huh? That would be awfully expensive. Perhaps it’s just too much for him to afford.”
“I don’t know. I guess it could be that. I’ve heard him complain enough times about how expensive the upkeep is on our house. If he would say that, then it wouldn’t be so bad. The part that really hurts is that he claims that he was just teasing me about it. It was nothing more than a joke to him. But how was I supposed to know that? When you’re a little kid, you trust your parents. You believe what they tell you. Only now, my father says that he didn’t think I would keep drawing. He didn’t have any intention of sending me to art school. He was just kidding.”
“I can see how that would hurt your feelings. Is there any chance that he’s just saying that it was a joke because of his pride. Perhaps he didn’t realize that it would cost as much to send a kid to college as it does these days. Especially a college in Europe.”
“Maybe. I just wish he’d tell me that. I feel so betrayed. It’s one thing for him not to be able financially to send me to school in Paris. It’s another matter altogether to tell me he was just kidding. It makes me feel as though he doesn’t believe in me. That he doesn’t think I’m worth spending the money on. But you’ve seen my work. What’s your honest opinion? Am I good enough to go to art school?”
“By all means. Your work is excellent. I think you’d do very well. Is there somewhere local you can go?”
“I’m going to be checking into that. I’m also planning to get a job so I can save money to pay my own way. I’m going to make my dream come true with or without his help.”
“I think that’s very wise of you, Richard. I believe in you. I know you’ll make it.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that.”
“Don’t be sorry. That’s why I wanted to talk to you out here alone. I care about you, Richard. I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve believed in you ever since you were a little boy. You’ve got an immense amount of talent. I want to be around when you succeed. So you’ll just have to keep in touch after you go off to school.”
“Guaranteed.”
“Well, we’d better head for the sanctuary. They’ll be starting any minute. Your parents will wonder about you.”
“I doubt that. I usually sit in the balcony so they can’t tell that I’m drawing during the sermon.”
“I’m perfectly aware of what you do during the service, young man.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s meant to. I think your dedication to your talent is to be commended, and I seriously doubt if you’re missing anything.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink.
“Why, Miss Sawyer, I do believe you sound like me now. Don’t tell me you’re not a believer either.”
“Oh, I’m a believer all right, but not the same kind as Reverend Barrons. I’ve stayed here all these years because of you, not because of him.”
“Because of me?”
“Yes, you. Don’t look so shocked. I saw something in you when I first took over your class. I’ve stayed around here all these years for the sole purpose of finding out how you turn out. You could say that I’ve got a wager on your future.”
“With whom?”
“Nobody really, except myself. Or maybe you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Never mind. It’s kind of hard to explain. Let’s just say that I really want to watch you succeed. I know you have it within you to be a great artist. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want to be able to say ‘Yes, I know Richard Boston. He was in my Sunday school class for years. Remarkable boy. Quite a talent even then.’”
“And who would you say that to?”
“Why, your biographers, of course. They always write biographies about famous people, especially creative people. They think they carry deep, dark secrets around inside. That’s what makes them so temperamental and creative. The dark side of their character.”
“Yes, well, I do have a dark side, of course. I couldn’t be a great artist if I didn’t. Nothing heroic about leading a normal, quiet life.” He smiled at her disarmingly.
She laughed. “Yes, well, I guess I know now where I stand then. I’ve been leading a normal, quiet life for two decades now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to refer to you.”
“I know. I’m just playing with you. Now really, I need to go, and so do you.”
“Well then, after you.” They walked towards the main building. Ricky opened the heavy wooden church door for his companion. As she passed in front of him, he caught a whiff of her hair. Strawberries, he thought. Her hair smells just like fresh strawberries.
They parted company at the stairwell. Ricky headed upstairs to the balcony, while Miss Sawyer slipped off to the ladies room on the lower level to see if her hair still looked all right. As she started to open the inner door leading into the restroom, she overheard some women talking about her.
“You’d think that Christine Sawyer would’ve married by now. She’s certainly pretty enough.”
“If you ask me, she’s sweet on that Boston boy.”
Miss Sawyer froze in her tracks. She turned around then headed back out to the church foyer. She laughed to herself as she walked over to the main doors leading into the sanctuary. On one hand, she was somewhat amused that the gossips of the church would think that she was in love with a fifteen-old-boy. On the other hand, she was offended that they were talking about her behind her back.
Well, I suppose it’s to be expected, since I’m not married yet, she thought. One day, perhaps. In the meantime, I’ll just have to ignore them. I can’t very well go off and get married just to stop the gossips from gossiping. Besides, then they’d just gossip about my married life, so what difference would it make?
She slipped inside and sat down by herself in the fifth row from the back. She smiled warmly at Mrs. Palmer and Ed Talman. Now there sat a couple that could provide some juicy gossip, if one were so inclined. Last year Ed had left his wife and children to go after his young, widowed secretary. It had caused a scandal that had only recently abated. But they were such a happy, pleasant couple, even the worst of the gossips found it hard to keep up the effort of whispering behind their backs. Miss Sawyer was glad they had finally relented and left them in relative peace.
“Good morning.” Christine nodded at the couple as she nestled into the cushioned pew.
They smiled and nodded back.
Just then the organ music grew louder as the morning worship service began. Everyone stood up to sing the doxology.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”
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