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    Trail Of Terror: On The Appalachian Trail
    Trail Of Terror: On The Appalachian Trail
    Trail Of Terror: On The Appalachian Trail
    Ebook797 pages14 hours

    Trail Of Terror: On The Appalachian Trail

    By John West

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    About this ebook

    A phantom serial killer with a twisted mind - a smoldering powder keg of evil - is on the loose. He stalks his victims on the Appalachian Trail as it winds through portions of Tennessee, North Carolina and Georgia. Unbeknownst to two young women who are hiking, they are being shadowed by this murderer who is so heinous, cruel and clever, he is off the charts. Their leisurely vacation trek in the mountains of North Carolina is quickly transformed into a harrowing journey of wilderness survival.
    Enter Joe Bird, National Park Service Ranger and federal law enforcement officer in the Investigative Services Branch, or ISB. He is tasked to find the killer and will need every break he can get to find him before the serial killer savages the two women. Only Joe, who is a Native American Cherokee Indian and knows the forests, and the elite team from the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation, will be able to connect the dots and find the phantom before he strikes again. In the end, Joe will risk his badge, his life and his pride to save the woman he has fallen in love with.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateOct 11, 2019
    ISBN9781543987355
    Trail Of Terror: On The Appalachian Trail
    Author

    John West

    We've all had those nights where drunken sex with a witch in a blood pentagram under a full moon on the roof of your favourite Johannesburg nightclub summons a hard-drinking demon who changes the fate of the human race forever. Right? No? Just me, then?

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      Book preview

      Trail Of Terror - John West

      ALSO BY JOHN WEST

      The Mahdi’s Pathogen – Part 1

      The Mahdi’s Pathogen – Part 2

      The Aedes Plague

      The Doomsday Prophet

      The Survivors

      COPYRIGHT

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      Copyright © 2019 by John West

      All rights reserved.

      In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

      ISBN: 978-1-5-4398735-5

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      TITLE PAGE

      ALSO BY JOHN WEST

      COPYRIGHT

      DEDICATION

      QUOTATION

      PRINCIPLE CHARACTERS

      PROLOGUE

      PART 1

      RACHEL AND MARCY

      CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      CHAPTER 9

      CHAPTER 10

      CHAPTER 11

      CHAPTER 12

      PART 2

      JOE BIRD

      CHAPTER 13

      CHAPTER 14

      CHAPTER 15

      CHAPTER 16

      CHAPTER 17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      CHAPTER 22

      PART 3

      THE FIRST BODY

      CHAPTER 23

      CHAPTER 24

      CHAPTER 25

      CHAPTER 26

      CHAPTER 27

      CHAPTER 28

      CHAPTER 29

      CHAPTER 30

      CHAPTER 31

      CHAPTER 32

      PART 4

      ON THE APPALACHIAN TRAIL

      CHAPTER 33

      CHAPTER 34

      CHAPTER 35

      CHAPTER 36

      CHAPTER 37

      CHAPTER 38

      CHAPTER 39

      CHAPTER 40

      CHAPTER 41

      CHAPTER 42

      CHAPTER 43

      CHAPTER 44

      CHAPTER 45

      CHAPTER 46

      CHAPTER 47

      PART 5

      THE SECOND BODY

      CHAPTER 48

      CHAPTER 49

      CHAPTER 50

      CHAPTER 51

      CHAPTER 52

      CHAPTER 53

      CHAPTER 54

      CHAPTER 55

      CHAPTER 56

      CHAPTER 57

      CHAPTER 58

      CHAPTER 59

      CHAPTER 60

      PART 6

      THE ATTACK

      CHAPTER 61

      CHAPTER 62

      CHAPTER 63

      CHAPTER 64

      CHAPTER 65

      CHAPTER 66

      CHAPTER 67

      CHAPTER 68

      CHAPTER 69

      PART 7

      THE STORM

      CHAPTER 70

      CHAPTER 71

      CHAPTER 72

      CHAPTER 73

      CHAPTER 74

      CHAPTER 75

      CHAPTER 76

      CHAPTER 77

      CHAPTER 78

      CHAPTER 79

      CHAPTER 80

      CHAPTER 81

      CHAPTER 82

      CHAPTER 83

      CHAPTER 84

      CHAPTER 85

      CHAPTER 86

      CHAPTER 87

      CHAPTER 88

      EPILOGUE

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      DEDICATION

      For Cleo, Virginia and Robert Fisher

      Gone, But Not Forgotten

      QUOTATION

      "The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it."

      Albert Einstein

      PRINCIPLE CHARACTERS

      North Carolina

      Joe Bird – NPS Wilderness Ranger - Special Agent in the Investigative Services Branch (Main Character)

      Jesse Bird – Employee at Harrah’s Cherokee Valley River Hotel & Casino (Joe’s Father)

      Maise Bird – Midwife on Eastern Cherokee Indian Nation Reservation (Joe’s Mother)

      Ancil Bird – Personal Injury Attorney (Joe’s Brother)

      Robert Huang – Chief Medical Examiner (Last Name Pronounced Wong)

      Martin West – Special Agent, North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation (SBI)

      Darwin Brewer – Sheriff of Cherokee County

      Buddy Mills – Sheriff of Macon County

      Archie Wahnetah – NPS Ranger for Graham, Swain and Hayward Counties (Joe Bird’s Cousin)

      Rodney WalkingStick – Criminal Investigator for Eastern Cherokee Nation Police

      Daemon Bailey – The Murderer

      Atlanta, Georgia

      Dr. Rachel Robinson – Medical School Graduate

      Henry Robinson – Businessman (Rachel’s Father)

      Betty Robinson – Teacher (Rachel’s Mother)

      Clint Robinson – Assistant District Attorney (Rachel’s Older Brother)

      Marcy Thomas – Real Estate Broker (Rachel’s Childhood Friend)

      Joseph Thomas – Businessman (Marcy’s Father)

      Vivian Thomas – Housewife (Marcy’s Mother)

      James Moon – Director, National Park Service (NPS) - Southeast Region

      PROLOGUE

      THE YOUNG WOMAN OPENED her eyes slowly, her vision a blurry combination of sky, trees and shadows. She couldn’t remember where she was or what had happened, only that she had camped for the night off the hiking trail and someone had assaulted her while she lay asleep in her sleeping bag. She recalled someone covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream. Then he choked her until she was unconscious.

      Slowly as she regained consciousness, she saw a figure of a man standing above her, grinning.

      Like a picture from hell, his face came into focus and she tried to scream, but she couldn’t…she was gagged with duct tape. His cruel eyes. His misshapen yellow teeth. She was certain she’d seen that face before, watching her. She tried to move but couldn’t, she was stretched spread-eagle on her back, her hands and feet were tied to stakes driven in the ground.

      She couldn’t move. That’s when the realization struck her like a thunderclap that she was totally helpless. For the first time in her life.

      Then she realized he had removed her T-shirt and bra, her hiking shorts and underwear and was going to rape her. She was certain of it and began to cry. He probably wanted her awake so he could enjoy himself…and every part of his sick fantasy that followed.

      Oh, God no. He’s smiling and humming as if he were playing a game. His head was tilted to one side.

      Time to meet Satan, my dear, the killer snickered. He looked curiously at the fear on her face and tears falling from her eyes — that aroused him sexually, and he slowly removed his own clothing until he was stark naked. His erection was full. His chest was completely covered in an ugly satanic tattoo…the image of the devil with its tongue sticking out and red horns adorning his head in a completely horrendous and ghastly manner.

      She began to whimper. He was evil personified.

      He grabbed his hunting knife, dropped down on his knees between her legs and leaned forward, whispering in her ear. His breath felt like fire and he was foul smelling — like rotted eggs and death — she started to gag.

      You’re just like my whore mother…now you have to pay, that’s why you were chosen, he hissed in a quiet modulated voice. He pressed the sharp knife against her throat so hard that it broke the skin. Tiny droplets of blood formed on her neck.

      That’s when the woman panicked because she knew she had been very wrong. She wasn’t about to be only raped. She was about to be raped, tortured and murdered.

      She prayed silently to God as he began to slash her, then she felt herself descending into a gentle peaceful darkness.

      ++++

      HE WAS A WELL-ORGANIZED murderer who plotted his crimes intelligently, skillfully killing in one place and then dumping body parts in other places, so the victims were impossible to identify. He’d acquired a replete understanding of forensic science and procedures so once he finished the grisly job of carefully decapitating her and removing her hands and feet, he placed the five items in his backpack.

      He then manipulated the crime scene, covering the decapitated corpse with leaves and debris to hide it and his own tracks, to elude and confuse law enforcement officers. He doubted if the body would be found for days, or even weeks, and what was left of it would have been eaten by animals. He took painstaking efforts to avoid getting captured, and he was also the kind of person who took a great deal of pride in his handiwork.

      Standing 6-foot-5-inches tall, weighing over 250 pounds and with an IQ of 145, he easily overpowered his victims both mentally and physically. The entire act — the cries, the blood, the agony from his torture — gave him relaxation and a certain pleasure. Truth be told, in his twisted brain, he saw himself more as a victim rather than a perpetrator.

      He prided himself on selecting the most vulnerable members of society to murder, such as runaways, or the homeless, or prostitutes, or lone hikers…always women though. He hated women…they reminded him of his mother.

      He carefully sorted through the woman’s possessions, pocketing her money and other valuables, took her food, then stuffed her clothing, sleeping bag and everything else back into her backpack. Taking one last careful survey, he made doubly sure everything was removed from the campsite, then easily walked away carrying the 40-pound load with one hand.

      Within minutes, he had walked deep into the mountains, stopping every few minutes to listen to the sounds of the forest, to make certain he was alone. Every time he stopped, his mind would wander back to his volatile childhood, his abusive home — and the feelings of rage and torment that descended into his mind were overpowering.

      Like flashbacks in a grade-B horror movie, he remembered everything. His father and mother were both alcoholics; both drunks who physically abused him. Often, so inebriated that they suffered drunken hallucinations and would sometimes talk or argue with people who were not there.

      He had been abused terribly as a young child. Since a small child, he was humiliated often — and when his parents meted out discipline, it was unfair, unpredictable, destructive and wicked. Many times, he was forced to dress up as a girl as a form of punishment.

      One of the killer’s earliest memories was being beaten so badly with a shovel across the head for wetting his bed, that it knocked him unconscious. By the time he became school age, he began to experience blackouts and when his parents visited him in the hospital, they would call him a sissy and a wimp. The violent beatings he continued to receive were so severe, he eventually began to suffer from seizures and forms of amnesia.

      To make matters worse, he was sexually abused by his uncle, then his parents divorced when he was nine years old and his alcoholic mother blamed him for the divorce. He became so desensitized by age 12 that he began to believe that the emotionally barren world that surrounded him was something normal — he was completely devoid of empathy for others. For a 12-year-old boy, one of the worst things in the world that his mother called him was a little fag.

      Unlike other children who seemed to thrive on attention and affection, he preferred isolation and disconnection from family and relatives. His home was small, cramped, and tense. Money was scarce and after his father finally left, his mother was left taking care of him without any additional help — she survived as a prostitute, on welfare and they lived on food stamps. Because he was always quiet, he was often left alone, ignored and neglected. His extreme introversion and any developmental issues went unnoticed or were explained by his teachers as a characteristic of being dull-witted and antisocial.

      He learned to channel his anger and frustration by dissecting animals in his neighborhood. Those acts of animal cruelty suddenly became his great source of pleasure and he managed to perfect the art completely — later performing the same acts on his human victims. He fantasized killing his own mother and turned to animals to release his frustration. It gave him so much satisfaction, he couldn’t stop killing animals.

      By the time he reached high school, he was teased heavily, performed poorly and began having fantasies of killing women. He then dropped out of high school despite having an IQ of 145; only two percent of the population can claim to have an IQ as high as that. But he knew having a high IQ doesn’t necessarily make you smart…one had to be clever if one wanted to succeed in life.

      He recalled the school psychologist once told him, genetics loads the gun, personality and psychology aim it, and life experiences pull the trigger. He thought the lady was full of shit. He was free to do whatever he wanted — payback time.

      As the killer walked deeper into the forest, he rationalized to himself, I was cheated out of my childhood. When I was a boy, I never had a friend in the world. I’ve never really done anything more serious than driving without a license. The women I’ve killed were all drunks and prostitutes, in fact, I’m doing society a big favor, somebody ought to thank me.

      As he approached a flowing river, the killer smiled with self-satisfaction: he truly believed he was a powerful demon from Hell. He enjoyed the power that he held over others more than anything else. He wholeheartedly believed that he was acting in line with the dark lord’s will. In fact, Satan even spoke to him, ordering him to murder someone. He knew Satan would help him avoid responsibility; he’d made many sacrifices to him. He’d tried as a young child to turn to God, but it didn’t bring him any relief or happiness.

      Once he began praying to Satan, things improved. He had killed his own mother years ago, then he became whole.

      Having disposed of her body parts and tossing the woman’s possessions in the deep rapids of the river, he cautiously looked around the riverbank in all directions, then walked silently into the woods back to the safety of the mountains…to his safe place in his cave, another successful kill completed.

      He experienced a deep sense of peace once again.

      PART 1

      RACHEL AND MARCY

      CHAPTER 1

      JOSEPH AND VIVIAN THOMAS strolled leisurely down the sidewalk, beneath the canopies of stately centuries-old magnolia, tulip poplar and hickory trees, with their daughter Marcy. Fortunately, it was a sunny Saturday and a gentle breeze was blowing; it was a typical hot muggy overcast late mid-April afternoon in Atlanta, Georgia. Not sweltering like it would be in July and August. They both loved living in Atlanta, it was similar to Seattle, Washington culturally, but it had an East Coast twist, and just a hint of Southern-ness.

      They had to park their Mercedes a block away from their destination because both sides of the residential street were clogged with parked cars, SUVs and pickup trucks of every type imaginable. They were headed to the house of their longtime friends, Henry and Betty Robinson, on McLendon street in Lake Claire to attend the graduation party in honor of their daughter Rachel. She had just graduated earlier in the day from four grueling years study at the Medical College of Georgia in Augusta, simply referred to as MCG, the flagship medical school of the University System of Georgia; the state’s only public medical school, and one of the top 10 largest medical schools in the United States.

      Lake Claire was an old upper-middle-class neighborhood on the east side of Atlanta, comprised of approximately 1,200 homes. It was situated entirely in the DeKalb County side of the city, east of Candler Park, north of Kirkwood, and west of Decatur. The thing that made Lake Claire so highly desirable was the low crime and urban feel — there were a lot of restaurants, coffee shops, and parks within walking distance. Most of the people living there were families, business owners and professionals, they owned their own homes and the residents tended to be conservative. They also tended to be wealthy. The public schools in Lake Claire were way above average and most graduating seniors drove BMWs, Audis and Lexus’s, and went on to college.

      The Thomas’s were second generation owners and Co-Presidents of the family owned and operated Waldemere Real Estate Company, which was founded by her father, Walter Jacobson, in 1972. Joseph was Co-President and Chief Executive Officer of Waldemere and responsible for the core infrastructure functions and franchise expansion of the growing company. He was staunchly Republican, small in stature and dressed like Pee-Wee Herman. His wife Vivian oversaw the operational support, systems, and programs to more than 200 franchises. She was all about the task; getting things done and getting them done right. The bossy, classic American stereotype…a Roseanne Barr type-woman who could be the poster child for assertiveness.

      Their 26-year-old daughter Marcy helped run six family-owned offices throughout Atlanta, Athens, Augusta, Savannah, Columbus, and Macon. She inherited much of her mother’s outspoken personality, including her penchant for fast food.

      The Robinson and Thomas families had been close friends for nearly 30 years, they often vacationed and camped together, it was only natural that their daughters Rachel and Marcy had grown up as best friends, becoming almost inseparable. The two girl’s early childhood years were spent together participating in Girl Scouts, summer camps and high school sports activities together. They’d even gone to Emory University and roomed together. Rachel attended on a track scholarship and was ranked in the top ten of the NCAA 400-meter women hurdlers for four straight years. She was nose-to-the-grindstone and attractive enough that she’d been offered a professional modeling job — but turned it down. Marcy spent most of her four years as a zany party animal, quirky as ever, rocking it. Despite their different personalities and approaches to academia, they both received their undergraduate degrees on the same day four years earlier — Rachel a degree in chemistry, Marcy a degree in marketing.

      After graduation, they had gone their separate ways: Rachel had applied and was admitted to medical school and Marcy — as expected — had joined the family real estate business. Rachel refused to let her parents pay for her medical degree, so she took out student loans. Four years after graduating from the prestigious Medical College of Georgia (MCG), as it was called in Augusta — Rachel was in debt nearly $200,000 for medical school and drove a car with nearly 100,000 miles on the odometer; and Marcy earned over $150,000 a year as a real estate broker and drove a brand new $107,000 BMW M3 sedan.

      Still, they considered themselves the best of friends. The one thing they still had in common though… they were both still single.

      ++++

      The three stepped from the street, turned to their right and entered through a large bi-parting 30-foot wide rustic solid oak swing gate that was open. As they walked through, Joseph Thomas chuckled, I guess Hank couldn’t surround his castle with a moat, so he installed this monstrous gate!

      Maybe you’ll get to meet some available young men at the party! Vivian quipped to her husky out-spoken, impetuous daughter.

      Aw, mom, give me a break, will ya — how many times do we have to have this conversation? It’s my life! I’m in no hurry, she responded shaking her head.

      You might not appreciate it Marcy, but your mother goes out of her way just to make sure that you’re okay, her father added.

      That’s right, just remember — your biological clock is ticking, her mother added. And try not to drink too much or be so rude, will you?

      I hate crowds, you know that, Marcy replied. Sometimes alcohol is necessary so a person can have a good opinion of themselves, undisturbed by the facts. And I’m not rude, I just say what everyone else is thinking.

      I’m not sure I understand that convoluted comment, her father said.

      Dad — let me interpret it for you, it means all you talk about are things like family, liberty, hard work and American Pride — and of course money…all mom ever seems to talk about are my reproductive organs, she answered bluntly. "Mom, build a bridge, get over with my personal life. Please!"

      Enough now dear, you know we love you — it sounds like you’re starting to plan revenge or do something weird, her mother huffed. What’s your problem? Do you need a dog — we’ll get you a dog for companionship. Maybe you should see a psychiatrist.

      I don’t need a dog — all they do is eat and shit everywhere; and I surely don’t need a shrink to prod into my personal life and make me tell them all my secrets. I have friends for that, she pointed out curtly.

      Well, you can’t go through life angry, stressed or offended all the time, she insisted.

      "Why not? Last time I looked — it was my life."

      Because it just isn’t good for you. What you’re doing when you indulge these negative emotions is giving something outside yourself power over your happiness. You should choose to not let little things upset you.

      Ahh! Fine, I’ll do that — truce! she yelled, shaking both hands above her head in mock exasperation. "Lack of drama makes life so much easier…the problem is, you have to understand that I’m not gonna go through life trying to make everyone else happy…I’m concentrating very hard right now on making myself happy, she grunted. Another problem is, it’s not healthy being around people who are impeding my personal growth," she mumbled.

      Maybe you need a little vacation? her mother prodded, ignoring her comment.

      Maybe I do, Marcy agreed. I just feel like I need more balance in my life. I work all the time. I don’t want to forget about my personal life…maybe I need some time off to spend more me-time with myself.

      We can talk some more about you taking time off, tomorrow — how’s that sound? she answered, adding, I’ll bet there’s going to be lots of single guys here at the party.

      Okay, all right, already, mom Marcy snipped back, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

      CHAPTER 2

      THEY CONTINUED TO WALK up the long, wide, teardrop-shaped driveway that was bordered by a collection of colorful Annabelle Hydrangeas, Petunias, Snapdragons, Lily-of-the-Niles, and ‘Gertrude Jekyll’ roses. The driveway had only one entry and exit point off the street, but it opened into a grand loop so cars could drive up to the house and around.

      Just like the street, the driveway leading up to the house was jam-packed with parked cars. They could hear loud music playing from the rear of the impressive house. Constructed in 1920, the original structure had been gutted, modernized and transformed into a 5,300 square foot classic Georgian colonial red-brick southern plantation home with six massive front columns. It’s two story front façade was showcased by a large garden fountain, along with upper and lower wide verandas, making it imposing and impressive. On the huge front porch, Henry had placed inviting rocking chairs. And the newly renovated rear patio area he’d had done was an entertainer’s dream.

      The house had a renovated kitchen that was a top chef’s dream, classic butler’s pantry and enough upgrades to make even California Closets, D.R. Horton and PulteGroup, envious.

      Joseph couldn’t help but admire the beautiful house and large lot. What an investment. It was easily worth several million dollars in the current market; his fledgling real estate company had negotiated the original sale of the old run-down house in an estate sale to Henry and Betty 30 years earlier, for a mere $139,000 and some change.

      Hank had hit the home lottery, the Robinsons had their forever-home, and the two families had been close friends ever since.

      As they approached the front of the massive house, they were greeted by Clint Robinson, Rachel’s older brother. He was tall, handsome, in his early 30’s and already an up-and-coming Assistant District Attorney in the DA’s Office…and single. Since a little girl, Marcy had always been drawn to him like a magnet, but nothing ever seemed to materialize from her infatuation. Her heart started palpitating, he looked strikingly handsome in his polo shirt and khaki pants — he always reminded her of J.F.K. Junior.

      Howdy, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, welcome to the party, Clint said as he shook Joseph’s hand and gave Vivian a hug. "Marcy — you’re looking spectacular today as always, he remarked as he grasped her hand with his. I’m glad you could all make it to the celebration, it’s so nice to see you…everybody’s out back, follow me!" he said, ushering them with an outstretched arm as if they were nobility.

      Marcy felt her face suddenly start to redden as she blushed…did she just imagine what he said? He actually said I looked spectacular. I wonder if he meant it in the polite sense, or if he’d like to jump me? I could only wish…he’s so buff.

      Why, thank you Clint, Joseph replied, how’s things going in the District Attorney’s Office? as they all walked on large stone pavers toward the rear of the house.

      Yeah, Vivian added excitedly, we’ve seen your name in the papers quite a lot lately on some high-profile cases.

      I’m doing well, he answered modestly. Working as a prosecutor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, though. Not like on the TV shows — you know — long hours, overflowing caseloads. I worked my first two years in the Family Support Division, most of my time spent on collecting delinquent child support payments from deadbeats. I quickly burned myself out on that, so I transferred over to the Criminal Division, which handles felonies, homicides, juvenile crimes, assaults, some misdemeanors, and victim witness assistance.

      Still, I’ll bet that’s exciting! Marcy said excitedly.

      Clint gave her a sidelong look, Yep, it can be — there are quite a few murders every year and working with the police criminal investigators is always interesting. I try to focus most of my time on prosecuting violent criminals, habitual offenders and drug dealers. I don’t do plea bargains very well…I actually like putting the creeps and perps in jail where they can no longer endanger our community.

      Sounds like you really have a career ahead of you, remarked Joseph. You plan on swinging into private practice someday? Lots of money out there in personal injury, estate planning and real estate litigation!

      Clint slowed as they reached the immense rear patio area, where over a hundred people milled around in dozens of clusters conversing, music played from hidden speakers and the smell of delicious food filled the air. A large ten-foot banner hung between two columns that read, Congratulations Rachel, Suit Up for Surgery! Balloons and gauze were strategically scattered throughout, and tabletops were decorated with vases full of lollipops — the perfect treat reminiscent of childhood trips to the pediatrician.

      The sound from the laughter, conversation and music suddenly became loud, almost overwhelming.

      Clint raised his voice and replied over the cacophony of noise, The thought of going into private practice just isn’t in my headlights right now.

      What is, then — just curious? Joseph inquired.

      The only career advancement left in my current job is to move up to litigate appeals in a few years at the state level, and work as an appellate attorney.

      What do they do? he asked.

      Well, in the event the state loses a case, the prosecutor can appeal the case to the next highest state court. Appeals prosecutors review the evidence and records from the trial and form an oral argument before the appellate court. Appellate courts don’t permit the introduction of new evidence and only allow each side approximately 15 minutes to argue their position…really though, I’m actually thinking of applying to the FBI to become a Special Agent.

      The three stared at Clint in awkward silence, not knowing what to say.

      Are you kidding me? Joseph finally replied. Have you told your father yet?

      Nope, and don’t say anything either — I haven’t said anything to anybody yet — I suspect my dad will think it’s totally cool, but my mother won’t, he shrugged. He added, She still considers me her little boy…probably will envision me getting blown up by terrorist suicide bombers.

      Marcy asked in her zany way, On the lighter side of things, do you know how many lawyers it takes to screw in a light bulb?

      Clint rolled his eyes, Old joke. Three — one to hold the light bulb and two to turn the ladder.

      She replied, Nope, only partially correct…three, of course. One to climb the ladder. One to shake it. And one to sue the ladder company.

      Hahaha, very funny…you know why God invented lawyers don’t you?

      Okay, I’m game — why? she said.

      So real estate agents can have someone to look up to! he countered with a loud guffaw. He turned, beginning to walk away and said over his shoulder, Y’all make yourselves right at home, my mom, dad and sister are here in the crowd someplace — help yourselves to the food and drinks and enjoy the evening!

      Marcy stared at his tall, slim athletic figure, focusing on his rear as he walked into the crowd, felt her face getting flushed once more. She wondered to herself what it would be like, if…then she blinked a few times to break out of her trance.

      She sighed…time to find Rachel and catch up on things. She had to shed her nervousness and inhibitions, but she wasn’t quite in the mood for any further introspection.

      She grabbed a bottle of beer from a large ice tub, popped the cap, took a deep swig, then charged into the crowd looking for her best friend, like she was charging through hell with a bucket of water. Drinking alcohol to her was as simple as riding a bicycle…to keep your balance you must keep moving.

      ++++

      HENRY ROBINSON, KNOWN SIMPLY as Hank by his many friends, was a retired Marine Corps veteran, who owned Hanks Plumbing, Heating & Air Conditioning Company. He achieved the rank of Gunnery Sergeant in the military. He never graduated from high school but obtained a GED and a college degree in business during his long military career. He still stood ramrod straight and had a strong sense of pride, honor and integrity. These characteristics were by no means unique to him, but they took on more significance when he started his business. Those traits greatly shaped how he saw the world and influenced his actions daily, both at home and in business. He knew how to communicate quickly, clearly and without any hint of self-doubt or ambiguity. He was the epitome of the middle-class American dream.

      Throughout his life, he never underestimated the role of hard work and luck. Just like on the battlefield, sometimes being in the right place at the right time or taking one particular course-of-action over another, made all the difference. It was just simply a matter of watching for opportunities and making the most of them when he found them. So, when the opportunity came up to buy a fledgling plumbing and HVAC company thirty years ago, he jumped on it with both feet. His military training had taught him a couple important benefits to owning his own business: You’re the boss, with a little luck his years of hard work would result in wealth not unemployment, and just about everything was a tax write off — through hard work, eventually he’d have the ability, money and time to help others — plus, he’d eventually have more time to spend with his family.

      He owned one of the only companies which only hired combat veterans. That sounded like a pretty good business idea to him, especially as many soldiers were coming back from Iraq, Afghanistan and Syria, and it was hard for them to get work. Many folks didn’t understand their brashness, medical issues or take-charge attitude. Hank firmly believed most businesses had become quite inefficient, and with all this groupthink and playing patty-cake in committees and meetings, they just didn’t understand these returning veterans. They were a little too aggressive to work in big Corporations where everyone was dummied down by the school system and just sat around like brain-dead employees doing whatever they were told. He knew how to deal with military veterans…he paid them well, a quick yelling match was soon over, and they went about their business without any problem — the next day they were all friends again, no harm, no foul.

      CHAPTER 3

      HANK ROBINSON’S VIEW OF the world was slightly archaic, but simple and important: men were supposed to be masculine and were made to support their family. He viewed the hallmarks of lifelong success as something along the lines of owning a house, having a loving wife, a white picket fence, healthcare coverage, two-to-three weeks of family vacation, two children and the ability to send those kids to college. That was about it.

      What people lived in or where they lived was not always reflective of class or even wealth…it merely reflected the balance of their choices and decisions. He’d never needed or wanted a pile of gold to support his golden years with a staff of 15 at a villa in the South of France.

      He believed among the many troubles with society today was men were acquiescing to the pressure society imposed on them to shun their masculinity. It was this abdication of all things masculine that was behind the wave of men enduring record rates of depression, suicide and an overall lack of purpose in modern life. Without a masculine husband to lead the home, a wife was left to stand in as the pseudo-masculine family leader. Her husband became to her as little more than another child in the home to be cared for. Resentment built, resulting in the children being left to navigate life with little sense of the distinct roles that men and women were created to fill in the home.

      When his business success story had finally fallen into place with five locations throughout Georgia and over 370 employees, he liked to simply tell people that he just felt like the Hollywood motion-picture mogul Samuel Goldwyn, who said, The harder I worked, the luckier I got.

      They always say standing behind every man with dreams there’s a woman with vision, and he had the best wife a man could ask for. Hank always felt like the luckiest guy in the whole world to have a wife like Betty. She made life easy and comfortable with her happy mood. She was his dream girl — always looking gorgeous and light-hearted, forever smiling and supportive, and a great hostess with a sense of humor and humility. Her inner grit made her his pillar of strength and boosted his ego. During his military career in the Marines, holding down the home wasn’t something she just did only during his deployments, it was what she did during every single day of their marriage.

      Not to mention she was charming too, a quality he knew only a lucky few were blessed with. She could connect with anyone and everyone a little deeper than just the basic, dreary pleasantries and superficial conversation. She had that innate ability to endear herself to others, creating a deeper connection and allowing her more influence than most women. He might have had the Prince Charming charisma — but she possessed all the personal charm…it was the perfect lifelong combination for a successful marriage and family.

      It was only natural then that his wife thrived as a STEM counselor in the local school district. Her passion became career counseling and helping students understand Science, Technology, Engineering and Math majors and the many career pathways that led to university degrees in these fields. One of the things that she strongly believed in was that the world needed to have more women interested in math, science and engineering. Half the population in the U.S. was way underrepresented in the STEM fields, and that meant that there was a whole bunch of talent…not being encouraged the way they needed to.

      Betty Robinson wanted her daughter to be different — way too often women were celebrated for being women, and not for the achievements they had made. It was only natural that she would lead a campaign to change, starting with her own daughter.

      She wanted her daughter to be a leader in health and medicine. So, it was no big surprise that her daughter Rachel excelled in science and math, then went on to graduate Summa Cum Laude with a degree in Chemistry from Emory University. As if that wasn’t exceptional enough, she had gone on to complete medical school.

      A lawyer for a son, a doctor for a daughter…not too shabby, even if her husband swore his family tree was full of nuts.

      ++++

      MOST NORMAL PEOPLE SOMETIMES step outside on their back porch for a breath of fresh air, it can do wonders for a person’s relaxation. But not for the Robinsons, they loved to entertain relatives, neighbors and employees, have large parties at holidays and for special celebrations and enjoy life to its fullest. Looking for a way to turn their sloped backyard into a place where they could entertain, Hank changed their unused backyard into an entertainment oasis — a cohesive elegant outdoor patio and Mediterranean-style entertaining area — complete with pool and spa, a pavilion with an outdoor kitchen, fireplace and pizza oven, bathroom and storage, two fire pits and plenty of plants. He’d even incorporated space to include several sofas, side chairs, coffee tables, s’mores centers and outdoor televisions.

      The large pool had a massive stone-material fountain, with boulders and a naturalistic waterfall, combined with several swimming areas, water gardens, a sun-bathing ledge as well as a naturalistic waterfall. Even the pool lights were color-changing LEDs that put on quite the show.

      Hank Robinson had succeeded in converting his backyard from a neglected slope with drainage problems to an incredible outdoor living space that he hoped one day might even be used for his children’s weddings. If they ever got married.

      There were at least 30 dining tables covered in white cloths, eight chairs each spread throughout the entertainment area. Each table of guests received its own beautifully plated serving platter of food, which made for a wonderful — and edible — centerpiece. Each table had a large platter of gourmet-style sandwiches, stuffed with turkey, ham, tuna, cheddar cheese, and homemade basil mayo. For the littler guests, there were mini hamburgers, hot dogs, pigs in blankets and apples with peanut butter. Each table had an array of three to five cheeses with contrasting tastes and textures; along with a platter with crackers, baguettes of French bread, roasted red peppers, olives, capers, nuts and assorted dried and fresh fruits.

      For themed décor to amuse the guests, some tables had a pan covered in foil to resemble a metal hospital sterile tray, a jar of cotton candy gauze, and stool samples which were chocolate pudding cups. Other tables had urine samples, which were little cups of lemonade, band aids made from graham crackers with candy bark and a dollop of jelly. There were a variety of medical supplies, such as jars of pain relievers — M&M candies in medicine cups — tongue depressors which were wafer cookies and clogged arteries were licorice Twizzlers.

      On a serving table in the outdoor kitchen were two gigantic Mississippi mud cakes, both four tiers high. One was chocked full of marshmallows, pecans and walnuts, the other had caramel fruit fillings of cherries and chunks of pineapple. Both had candied tulips and roses on top.

      ++++

      AN HOUR LATER, HANK, Betty, Clint and Rachel Robinson sat at a table with their longtime friends, the Thomas’s, reminiscing old times and listening to the background music, watching people dance together and have a genuine good time. Everybody was engaged and Hank knew they would leave that evening with lasting memories.

      Hank looked at his watch.

      It was time for a toast to his daughter. He wanted to make sure she knew how proud they were of her. It took a lot of hard work and determination to make it through medical school, and he felt it only appropriate to have a toast in her honor and share a few words of kindness.

      He nodded to his son, who quickly hustled over to turn the thumping music down, while Hank stood up and clanged a spoon against a wineglass to get the crowds attention. He stood ramrod straight with authority, full military bearing even in khaki trousers and polo shirt, hair cut crewcut-style, his ice blue eyes penetrating the crowd.

      After many seconds, the crowd gradually quieted down. All eyes on the head table.

      Hank raised his glass of wine, and announced, I would like to propose a toast to my daughter Rachel…this is her day, her finest hour! This is a time to remember!

      He looked down affectionately at his daughter, a big smile of pride on his face.

      Oh, dad…please! Rachel said, covering her face with both hands, blushing.

      Ignoring her protest, he continued his toast, looking down at her with affection, Graduating from medical school is a huge accomplishment. It is the end of many long years of school and the beginning of long hours of a residency. A med school graduation party is a nice time to honor the achievements of the future doctor before she becomes consumed preparing for her busy career.

      Everyone, join me in honoring my dear daughter on her graduation from medical school today. Your mother and I were your guardian angels when you were just a tiny baby. Your passion for medicine has chosen you. You are now going to be the guardian angel for many people, those you meet and will get to know as your patients. That is a heavy burden to carry. But we know you are up to it. You’ve got some pretty big wings yourself though. So, wherever you end up, give those patients the wings they need to fly. Find your caravan and don’t let go. Like a military leader, some days you lead and some days you follow. Your family and friends will always be with you on your journey from this day forward.

      The guests clanked their drinks and the crowd roared in unison, Speech…Speech…Speech!

      Rachel finally stood up, unsure for a few seconds what to say, embarrassed beyond belief. Nearly six-feet-tall, with shoulder-length golden brown hair pulled-back in a ponytail, she wore a black cardigan with some cute cherries on it, over a simple bright red dress cut two inches above the knees, tights and boots. She looked stunningly gorgeous.

      She scanned the crowd, finally gathering her thoughts together.

      "Wonderful days like this call for good friends, food, and fun. I really can’t express how grateful I am to have all of you here with me today. I don’t like long speeches, so I just want to say ‘thank you’ to my mom and dad for throwing this epic event. As much as I would have liked to cook for all of you…I can’t cook at all — but I know how to take out an appendix or tonsils!"

      The people roared with laughter.

      She continued on, Being a doctor has opened my soul. Standing up here has made me struggle a little to find something useful to say that I can share with you, and I’m so grateful you’re all here. You know, you don’t have to be a physician to be a special person. You just have to make your mother and father proud of you. The most important thing I learned from my parents is to live my life with integrity and to not give in to peer pressure to try to be something that I’m not.

      Medical school is something you complete, life is something you experience. I never worried about my grades, or the results, or success. My medical education has made me realize real success is defined in a myriad of ways…everyone finds it when they understand it doesn’t come with grades. It comes from your own internal sense of decency.

      Thank you everyone. Cheers!

      As the crowd applauded and cheered, Hank Robinson stood once more and announced, Everybody have fun and enjoy yourselves, the celebration lasts until it’s time to quit — that’s when I’ll say goodnight and go upstairs to bed. Make sure if you’re drinking you have a designated driver and you get some delicious cake to take home with you…for the kiddo’s, we’re going to have s’mores over at the firepits.

      The DJ Hank hired, along with his son Clint, began to move some dining tables and carve out a front-and-center spot for the dance floor. It wasn’t long before dozens of guests began gyrating and showing off their best moves to the loud beat of R&B, dance pop, hip-hop and reggae music.

      CHAPTER 4

      RACHEL AND MARCY SAT in comfortable bar stools across from each other at the huge granite island in the kitchen of the house, away from the loud music and noisy crowd, catching up on things. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year.

      So, how are you doing Rachel — you still seeing, Bill? Marcy inquired, taking a swig of beer. How long’s it been — two years now?

      Nah, we broke it off about a month ago, she sighed, taking a sip of wine.

      Why — what happened — was he cheating on you? I never did like that guy, I thought he was arrogant and sometime just downright weird! Marcy huffed.

      No cheating, Rachel replied, but he did start getting a little strange the last six months, I concluded we were emotionally and sexually incompatible — at least I was.

      "Really — like how? You mean like he started wearing women’s clothing-type-strange?" she whispered conspiratorially, leaning forward.

      "Well, no — he started telling me he felt like he’d failed me, and that he felt…well, emasculated, his sex drive started dropping quite significantly. It made me feel like he wasn’t attracted to me anymore; I really started feeling upset and insecure about the situation, which in turn he said made him feel even more inadequate and emasculated.

      Marcy leaned back away, Oh, so he was having trouble getting his dick up? Did he masturbate and watch pornography a lot?

      How should I know, Rachel answered, flinching a little — then she broke out giggling. Who are you — Dr. Ruth?

      You should have checked his browser history, she pointed out. I’m not buying that emasculated part.

      Why?

      Because if he’s on the hub every day, then first thing comes to mind is he’s not suffering from a low libido, he just wasn’t attracted to you anymore, she said.

      I advised him to go see a therapist, but he refused, she shrugged. I tried to get him to take some zinc magnesium and vitamin D to raise his free testosterone levels…a lot of men suffer from chronically low testosterone, you know. I just didn’t have time to play detective to keep the relationship going, so it was time to move on.

      I hear you girl…maybe he just needed Viagra — my dad takes it, she speculated, heck, you’re a doctor, you could have prescribed it yourself, even slipped it into his drink to put a little lead in his pencil.

      There you go again, you’ve switched identities from Dr. Ruth, to Dr. Phil! she grinned. It finally got to the point I realized I had to tap out; our relationship was stuck in a ditch because he couldn’t deal with the insecurities. Worst thing was though, he always managed to remember Mother’s Day, but couldn’t seem to remember my birthday — that was the final straw.

      Think of me more like Samantha Stevens, Marcy said, instead of Dr. Ruth.

      Who’s she?

      "You know — the old TV sitcom Bewitched? She tried to hide her witch powers, but they always saved the day…that’s me. The responsibility for removing the root cause of insecurity falls to the person with the insecurity, not you. In this case — Bill. He should have actively engaged with a therapist to figure out why he felt ‘emasculated’ by his lower libido. My imaginary friend thinks Bill may have had some serious issues."

      And how do you know all this? Rachel wondered, folding her arms and raising a skeptical eyebrow.

      From my twisted group therapy sessions, she said. Menopause, menstrual cramps, mental illness, mental breakdowns, obesity — ever notice that all these problems begin with men?

      You go to therapy sessions? Rachel asked.

      Yes, actually I went to see a therapist a few years ago — turn up your hearing aid — my mother thought I was bipolar, or going schizoid — or something like that, she trailed off. My parents had this unspoken suspicion I was some kind of lunatic…I probably was a little schizophrenic back then, but we’re both okay now.

      Wow, I don’t know what to say, Rachel said.

      You don’t have to say anything, Marcy quipped, slurring her words a little. I’ve concluded insanity really doesn’t run through my family, rather it strolls through, taking time to get to know each of us personally. Really, the only thing I learned from the therapy sessions was the way to achieve true inner peace is to finish what I start…so far this evening, I’ve finished three sandwiches, six beers and two pieces of mud cake. I’m feeling pretty content right now, I could probably poop pink poodles.

      I take it you’re not in a relationship at the moment either? Rachel asked.

      Nope…you could say that; I love my relationship with my bed. No commitment needed. We’re perfect for each other. We just sleep together every night.

      Rachel busted out laughing.

      What’s so funny? All right then if you must know — actually I’m not single, she said with false indignation. I’m in a very long-distance relationship, it just so happens my boyfriend lives in the future and I haven’t met him yet!

      Stop, you’re cracking me up with your endless cynicism, Rachel chided. I guess that’s why I always liked being around you…you’re witty, outspoken, truthful, have a wonderful personality and are not afraid to tell people what you think.

      Thanks — you make it sound like I’ll only be able to marry a pirate or my cousin, Marcy lamented. Enough about me…how about you — I mean, where are going to work now that you’re a doctor?

      Well, technically I’m not a doctor yet, she pointed out. I still have my residency requirement, but thankfully I’ll finally be earning a paycheck.

      My word, how many more years of school is that — you’ll still be around here won’t you? Marcy wailed, I only trust a few people with my woes; you’re like the only close friend I have to talk to about my innermost fears and anxieties.

      Rachel laughed, Stop already, you’re being melodramatic — I suspect you’re a lot better off than you realize…you can always call me on the phone, or better still — talk to your therapist.

      You’re starting to sound like my mother…that’s scary. I got like 99 problems — money and a shrink can only solve 75 of them — so how long are you going to be in a residency program, did you say?

      Rachel turned serious, I haven’t said…but a three-year residency is normally required for doctors going into family practice, internal medicine or pediatrics.

      I assume you’ve already applied to residency programs?

      Yes, during my last year of medical school, I started the process, Rachel responded. "I applied to two different hospital groups: The first was to the WellStar Atlanta Medical Center (AMC) Residency Program in Family Medicine here in Atlanta; the second application was to The Mountain Area Health Education Center’s (MAHEC) Family Medicine Residency.

      I’ve heard of the AMC, but where’s the MAHEC located? she asked.

      In beautiful Asheville, North Carolina, nestled in the Smoky Mountains, Rachel grinned. She went on to elaborate, I’ve already been interviewed at both places by a panel of senior residents and attending physicians; and given tours of their facilities.

      So, when and how will you know if you’re accepted? Marcy wondered. Will you like, get a certified letter of acceptance in the mail, or something?

      No, not hardly, Rachel explained. "The way it works is you submit your official application electronically into the National Residency Matching Program, or NRMP; the hospitals review applications and they invite candidates they are interested in for an interview. I’ve already done that and submitted a rank order list of my choices to the NRMP. The two residency programs also submitted a list of their candidates in preferred order of acceptance. The information is inputted into a computer program, which uses an

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