God's Weapon

Lynn Estes

Description

A deadly secret lay dormant for sixty years.  Youthful lust spawned by simplicity, heredity, and greed.  One senseless tragedy necessitates another, perpetuating a final act of desperation.  From a sibling rivalry, one brother awaits revenge.  A reunion bridges the passage of time, and a new generation assumes the responsibility to find the truth.  One man's struggle becomes another man's game with only one winner.  A duel of wits and perseverance culminates with one weapon of choice ... God's Weapon.

Sujets

• Thrillers
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 01 juin 2006
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781467073295
• Langue: English

Extrait

God’s Weapon
 
by
Lynn Estes
 
 
 
 
 

 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
© 2006 Lynn Estes. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
 
Published by AuthorHouse  03/17/2023
 
ISBN: 978-1-4259-2026-5 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4670-7329-5 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2006902523
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Prologue
PART ONE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
PART TWO
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
EPILOGUE
About the Author
 
 
 
 
 
 
To my father, Dean, the keeper of God’s Weapon …Rest in peace.
And to Susan, who said yes and changed my life …I love you!
Prologue
What was happening to her? One moment chaos, the next, serenity. The emotional storm that impeded all sound had passed. A quick-time pounding thumped like battle drums, warriors dancing, their hollow chants dissipating as nature’s melody returned to the clearing.
She listened and shifted her gaze to a rustling in the ferns far below, and watched a yellow-banded snake slither lazily. Towering oaks and spruce trees, their growth fully matured, came alive with chirps, whistles and squawks. In unison strings erupted, the composition scored by hundreds of cicadas, their own style of music singing closure to the day.
Calm now, the fear past.
She’s startled by their appearance, yes, but she knows them, has known these boys all her life. Her senses muddled, she reacts to the leader’s mockery. Their smell alerts her to danger first, the stench of beer, the pungent odor of perspiration from the hot day’s attack on his body. He’s drunk; be cautious. Lewd laughter and salacious remarks, the way they strut through her space in the woods. She has no doubt that their intentions have escalated beyond a schoolyard prank.
Her wrists burn from the strong hands that hold her down, while other hands crawl up her thighs, scratching, pinching. Lips probe for hers, despicable comments. A crust of debris from a torrent of tears cakes her freckled cheeks. Another face is thrust against hers. Enthralled by the stimulation of the act, his slim body quivers, and his panic rivals hers. She knows this shy boy and for an instant, relief that he will end the attack floods through her. But he is not in charge, and is soon shoved aside.
With a surge of energy and a kick, she runs, but not far. A reach for help, any object will suffice. Her fingers grasp sovereignty, an instrument of destruction, her salvation in the form of the hot, cast-iron kettle. With one desperate swing the boiling liquid splashes over him and his scream of pain grants her freedom.
Their once bantering taunts are now furious syllables, reeking with contempt. Her torn dress encumbers her flight, and she falls. His weight again smothers her to the accompanying chatter of cicadas orchestrating the assault.
Calm now, the fear past.
Had she been more spiritual in life, she would have understood the clarity of her senses and the reason she was drifting.
Her soul will now seek the mortal equivalent of justice.
For her, the next sixty years will be but the blink of her eye.
PART ONE
Open thou mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy law … Psalms 119.18
ONE
August, 1942 Lindsey, Missouri
Suzann watched the orbiting wheel, transfixed by the brilliance of multicolored blinking lights that framed the biggest Ferris wheel she had ever seen. A light wind swept the fairgrounds and fanned her long untamed hair. The hot August night spawned tiny beads of perspiration on her hairline and the breeze was a relief, cooling her as she waited. It wasn’t difficult to spot Buck in his Army private’s uniform. As the wobbling chair rolled into view, she saw that he wasn’t alone, his companion apparently enjoying herself as the huge wheel whirled back up into the evening sky. They rose out of sight and her mind raced, searching for a way to talk to him without causing a scene.
She didn’t feel the impact at first. The palms of her hands broke her fall and gravel embedded into her soft skin, but her eyes never left the spinning Ferris wheel.
A sarcastic voice interrupted her concentration and sneered. “Excuse me all to hell.”
She looked up in confusion and focused on a shadowy frame. When he snickered, she identified the silhouette. “Damn it, Luther Allen! What’s wrong with you?”
“Hey, look everybody. Look what’s here. It’s Suzann Friday.”
Several of her classmates were nearby, none of whom she immediately recognized until they circled around and looked down at her. Once again the thirsty breeze helped to cool the pinpoints of blood that wept from her skin. Her worn dress was ripped, a swatch of the gauzy material flapping in the wind. “Damn it, Luther,” she said, trying to straighten the shredded fabric. The scrape on her hip stung, and the thought of tearing her favorite dress sent a single tear sliding down one cheek.
“I’m really sorry, Suzann.” He snickered again, looking to the others for support. “Ain’t I, guys?”
“Yeah, Suzann, it was an accident, I saw the whole thing.”
“Right, Billy. You’re no different than Luther. I swear you’re all no different. Maybe now that there’s a war, you’ll be leavin soon. Do somethin useful for a change. Maybe even grow up. Like Buck did.”
“Buck …Buck Whitney? Oh, little girl, you think Buck’s growed up, prancin round here in that uniform, you think he’s growed up all of a sudden. That’s a laugh, ain’t it, guys,” said Luther, once again looking for confirmation.
“I think Buck’s dreamy in his uniform, Luther,” said one of the girls in the group. “Maybe Suzann’s right. Maybe you should join the Army.”
“I’ll be goin soon enough,” he cackled. “We all will. Besides, what’ll you lovely ladies do when all us men are gone. Specially you, Suzann.” He turned, bumped into his brother, Levi, and pushed him aside. “Come on, let’s go. No sense wastin a Saturday night.”
They left, playfully nudging each other, their mean whispers loud enough for Suzann to hear as they formed a line at the cotton candy booth.
A voice broke through the carnival music and the loud barkers. “Are y-y-you all right?”
She turned to Levi Allen. A well broken-in, oversized pair of overalls hung on his slender frame over a clean, but sun-faded shirt. Levi was Luther’s younger brother by ten months, and better looking than Luther, but his good looks couldn’t compensate for his problem. He spoke with a stutter and this impediment made his life as a teenager unbearable, especially with girls. With this imperfection, Suzann always felt comfortable around him because, despite her casual beauty, she too had been teased and picked on, her own low self-esteem stemming from her lower-class status in the community.
Lindsey had very few well-to-do residents really, being mostly a middle class community, but the Allen’s were part of the upper class. Suzann and her mother were shunned, dirt poor and somewhat of a disgrace, taking the brunt of anything that went wrong in their small town. Her father had left them in the thirties. Suzann had witnessed her parents’ battles and even at the young age of seven, she knew he was just waiting for a good excuse to leave, so when the Depression hit, he took advantage of the promise of work in California.
Betty Friday did whatever she had to do to make ends meet and Suzann thought she probably enjoyed it. She knew exactly where her mother would be tonight and prepared herself for who she would share the kitchen with in the morning. Betty worked at Drago’s Bar on Elm Street and after closing time every Saturday night, she brought home one of Drago’s patrons under the guise of needing a ride home. She did need the rides, but she also needed the money.
Suzann hated the way most men in town were now looking at her. Their stares implied like-mother-like-daughter and lately, they had even begun to crack lewd comments behind her back. “Here comes Friday on a Saturday night.” She overheard this every weekend when she went to town. People had referred to her mother in this way for a while now and Suzann was sure Betty wasn’t hearing their remarks or, if she did, she just didn’t care. Suzann hated Lindsey, and everyone