The Light at the End of the Tunnel

The Main Characters

Worst-of-the-worst criminal Les Paul is on death row awaiting execution.
The chaplain is trying to stop the execution, and not because of a love for mankind.
Mrs. Leslie Markum in nine months will give birth to the reincarnation of evil.
Ms. Nicole Waters is nursing at the hospital where the infant, Les Paul, will be abandoned.
Cassandra is yet divided between her mother and father.
Patrolman Sikorsky is just doing his job and hoping to advance to detective.
Riley Stokes, ex-military, will train the chaplain and Nicole to become private investigators.

 When Cassandra is born her mother will live long enough to name her. On the same day her father will die in Afghanistan. Cassandra starts her life alone. In foster care she will fall through crack after crack, and nobody wants to adopt this darling little girl child. Lacking love, she soon discovers her crying brings her nothing. She stops crying. As she grows she does not come to love, anything, and does not come to trust…anyone.

  So, on October 18, this little girl will be born. Halfway across the country another baby will be born on the same day, just another child who will find no love. Les Paul will find no love because he is the reincarnation of a long string of evil killers, born with the memories of each prior life, not really intact memories but memories nonetheless, and they will serve him well in his next new life.

What follows is the prologue two excerpts, reviews, Table of Contents, and Contact information.

Prologue

His skin crawling with goosepimples the prison chaplain opened a wall locker that he had never seen before. He expected the hinges to creak. They didn’t. They moved as if oiled regularly. Inside lay a book, a big one, like an old-fashioned scrapbook but with hard covers. No dust anywhere.

     He placed his hands on both ends and lifted. The book was old, and heavy enough to bend in the middle. He stepped back, smoothly turned, and placed the book on a table, then lifted the hard cover and placed it open. The pages were worn. Some showed folds on the corners, as if others had regularly looked and marked pages. But nobody had, as, to his knowledge, the book and the wall locker did not exist. The goosepimples continued their rampage as he stared, and remembered his dream.
     Was it a dream? Was I awake? Was I sleepwalking? Was I dead…? AM I dead…?
     An hour earlier he had awakened, and remembered his dream. He didn’t remember dreams. Not ever. But this one he did. The dream showed this wall locker where no locker had ever existed. But his telepathic instructions were clear: ‘Go to the prison basement under the chapel. Open the locker. Remove the book. Open it gently. Grasp a handful of pages and turn them.’
     He had done everything but the handful of pages. He grasped them and turned them over.
     Just one verse appeared in very large calligraphic lettering:
     ‘If the state kills a worst-of-the-worst criminal, rather than allowing a natural death, that criminal, man or woman, will reincarnate as not only the same person but more evil than before. He or she will have the same memories, though not fully intact memories, but they will serve him or her well in his or her new life. A worst-of-the-worst criminal MUST be allowed to die a natural death, which includes being killed by a fellow criminal.’

From the Back Cover
Six months after his execution Les Paul is swimming in a warm pool of amniotic fluid. Through instinct his hands realize he wants more room, so, he uses his twin brother's own umbilical cord to strangle him, then pushes and kicks that useless presence toward that light at the end of the tunnel.

Excerpt (Entirety of Chapter 7 The Abandonment)
     
      Just after dark, three days later they entered the small city of Wayne Ridge, Nebraska, about the center of the state, and pulled into a station. Evan started to get out. They needed gas, and something to eat.
      “Wait, Evan,” Leslie said, “Let’s do it first, then we can go back to that little town about thirty miles back.” She leaned over and looked at the gauges, “We’ll have enough gas.”
      Evan slipped back behind the wheel, closed the door, and glanced at his wife. Her gaze and demeanor were calm, her beautiful dark eyes shining. And she held the baby against her bosom as if she loved the child, but he knew she somehow was able to fake it, and in faking it, convince the child that all was OK.
      When out of the child’s hearing they had decided to never talk bad about him again—at least not in front of him—and that, both of them, especially Leslie, would feign love for him. Even while discussing it they had both felt foolish. A child just two months old could not understand speech, or could he?
      During the incident three nights earlier, they remembered that every word they said just made the child cry louder…and, seemingly, angrier, but when, through intense emotion on Leslie’s part, she had again taken the child into her arms and held him, and…loved him, he had settled down.
      “We do need to know where the hospital is though,” Evan said, but even as he said the word ‘hospital,’ he noticed a change in the child’s expression. He had thought the child was asleep, “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out, hurried into the station, asked for and received a phone book—could hear the child crying, loudly and angrily again—wrote down the address—and almost without decision tore out the page with the city map—hurried back, and again slid in behind the wheel.
      “There, there,” Leslie was saying, rocking the child in front of her, totally acting the loving mother. She glanced at her husband. Her eyes snapped, but she said quietly and under control, “Let’s go!”
      As Evan drove and watched street signs he pulled out the phone book page from behind his shirt and handed it to, “Honey, look for Gardenia Boulevard, the hos—it, it’s 1430 Gardenia Boulevard.”
      Leslie took the sheet and said, “You tore out the page.”
      “I couldn’t exactly ask for directions, and give the clerk reason to remember me. We don’t need any witnesses that we were ever here.”
      “You’re right, dear.” She quickly scanned the page, then watched house numbers and signs “Here, turn left up here, go about six blocks and we should get to the right street. I’ll keep watching the house numbers.”
      A few minutes passed.
      “Is…he…all right…?”
      “I think so…one thousand…,” she began reciting, “Hard to see the numbers this time of day…1101…” Another moment passed. “1214…Gardenia, yes, keep going, a couple more blocks.”
      A few moments later they approached a large four-story building, with lights on every floor, but not shining from every window. “Right there, Evan,” Leslie pointed, “That must be the emergency entrance, and it’s quiet, and dark.”
      Evan guided their car into the narrow lane, and began feeling warm in his chest area, not sweaty but much warmer than usual, like the inside of his body soon would start steaming. He felt a strained breath leave him, and another one—
      “Stop the car,” Leslie said, “But let it run. You get the basket ready, and I’ll….” She then flipped her door handle and said very quietly, “Hurry.”
      Carrying the basket Evan stopped at her door and waited. Carefully, Leslie swung her legs out and glanced at her husband. He looked back but said nothing. Hanging onto the child as a loving mother would, she stood, “I’ll carry him.”
      Together they moved to the barely-lit door. A barely readable sign said ‘Emergency Entrance’ so they knew they had come to the right place. Evan stopped. At the same time his head clanged. He had never before felt such emotions running through his body. When he leaned over with the basket he feared he would keep going and fall right onto his face. When the basket stopped he held on for a few seconds, then stood up and felt his head whirl, and looked at his wife only with peripheral vision.
      She stood holding the child and looking at it, her face emotionless, then she leaned and kissed the child’s forehead but left her eyes open—I’ve never seen anybody, ever, leave their eyes open for a kiss—then she leaned down and placed the child in the basket and tucked the blanket around him, then stood.
      For another moment they stood there. Then the child’s eyes opened, and it moaned. Evan heard his wife gasp, and saw her start to reach for him, “No!” He grabbed her arm and spun her around, then grabbed her waist and hurried them to the car. Her door was still open. He pushed her in, “Don’t slam it!”
      Evan then hurried to the driver side and thanked God they had left it running. Quietly they backed to the street, onto it, then back the way they came.
      “What if they don’t find him?” Leslie’s hands went up on her face, “Oh my God, Evan, what have we done?”
      “What was necessary, Leslie. They’ll find him!” Strangely enough, until that very last second, Leslie had been in charge, brutally, maybe, but in charge, the one leading the way and telling him—her loving husband—what to do, and he had done everything she said. But the child had begun acting like a normal baby again, but even so, Leslie had kept up her front…the inner strength that must have taken. He reached to her arm, “My darling, we did the right thing. They will find him, and take care of him, and he will act like a normal baby until their guard is down, and then….”
      “Then what?” She put her hand on his hand on her arm, “Then what, Evan?”
      “I don’t know. He won’t stay at the hospital, not for long, not once they determine his health, then he’ll go…to foster care, I suppose.”
      “Until the foster family doesn’t want him either, then another foster family, and another.”
      “Honey, don’t do this to yourself.”
      I gave birth to him, Evan. He was our child.” Her hands went to her face again as she quenched a sob, “We even named him.”
      “But have you noticed, since the incident we haven’t called him by name. He’ll get a new name, and…he’ll go from there.
      Thirty minutes later they pulled into a gas station at that last passed town, got their gas, then to a diner, got a mostly-conversation-less meal, then a motel room, where they—furiously—made love.
      “What if the next child is like this one, Evan?” Leslie asked as they lay in each other’s arms.
      “Don’t worry, my darling, it won’t be. What happened was a once in a lifetime—once in ten or a hundred lifetimes, but it won’t happen to us again.”
      “The child was evil, Evan. It was born evil. It will grow up evil, and will do terrible things.”
      “He already has done terrible things, my darling.” But I’ll never tell you what.

 The following is from Chapter 19 "Talk With a Drug Pusher." The chaplin and Nicole Waters (the nurse from the hospital where the infant Les Paul was abandoned) have became partners and have followed Les Paul (now approaching three years old) from foster home to foster home, but they know there is a long road ahead of them and they need to make a living. They choose private investigation, which goes right along with what they are already doing, and find Riley Stokes to teach them, who later hires them. Chapter 19 is what they are required to do for graduation.

 The Denali was waiting when they got there.

Nicole strived to see their abductee. To her knowledge she had never seen a drug dealer, and expected to see a long-haired, bearded, Jesus Christ look-alike…that, or a shady-looking and dark-haired Hispanic man, with maybe a knife held in his teeth. She got neither. Dressed in a white shirt and beige jeans, the grinning young man who stepped from the back door of the Denali looked like the most studious of college freshman or sophomore. “Hey, guys, I wasn’t exactly looking to go joyriding in the country,” the young man said, then looked at Sadie who had just stepped down from the shotgun position, “Miss, what’s up?”

“He’s just a boy,” Nicole whispered to the chaplain, which brought a grin and quiet chuckle from Riley Stokes.

The other two men from the pickup closed their doors and came around to stand at each end of the pickup. The young man looked from one person to the other, “Don’t you guys…I mean, weren’t you planning…,” he swallowed, maybe finally realizing his possible predicament, “A buy?” He finally got out.

Riley then stepped out of the van, closed the door, and leaned against it.

“Oh, I see,” the young man said, “We were waiting for the big boss…howdy!” He waved to Riley, who made no return gesture.

Then the rest got out of the van. The other two men, who Nicole didn’t remember the names of, moved to the two ends of the pickup only farther away, and crossed their arms.

“Guys,” the young man said, “I don’t really understand what’s going on.” No more grin remained on the young man’s face. He now acted pretty sure that he might be in trouble.

The chaplain and Nicole waited for their entry. Nicole felt calm, yet her heart was beating at a rate she didn’t remember ever feeling. She hoped the chaplain was also under control. He appeared to be calm, and ready.

From the rear Tucker started to walk toward the young man. Sheldon started from the front. The young man realized both were moving toward him. He began looking first one way, then the other, and finally focused on Riley, “Sir!” he cried. “What the hell is going on? Who are these two goons?”

Probably the wrong thing to say. Nicole felt herself bristling. She was so ready to do her part!

The young man took two steps away from the pickup, and continued looking in all directions. The four men closing in on him continued moving slowly toward him. Nicole noticed Sadie move to slightly behind Sheldon, where there was the widest spot opening. The young man noticed the opening too, and sprang toward it, then through it, but Sadie was ready, and tripped him.

He sprawled and rolled a couple times. The four men closed in again.

“Get’im up!” Riley said.

Two of the men jerked the young man to his feet, then released him.

Riley turned to the chaplain and said just his name, but very quietly, “Radford….” The orders were no names spoken out loud, nothing for this drug dealer to remember and charge them with.

Upon reaching the isolated ranch the chaplain had installed his Colt .45 shoulder holster, then checked his gun’s magazine, then inserted it into the handle but did not pull the slide back. Nicole had basically done the same with her Walther, only had put it in her purse.

Go, my man! Nicole watched the chaplain step away from the van, draw his gun, advance to within ten feet of the young man, pull the slide back and grip the bottom of the handle with his left hand, then point it at the young man’s face. He held it there for at least fifteen seconds. Then he pulled up slightly and fired twice past the young man’s left ear, twice past his right ear, then emptied the magazine into the ground between his feet.

On about the fifth shot Nicole felt sure she saw something dripping from the young man’s pants leg. A second or two later she saw the front of his beige jeans getting wet. She brought her hand quickly up to cover her mouth. She wanted in the worst way to laugh. She couldn’t help herself. Here was this big bad drug dealer pissing his pants. She wondered what he’d do when it was her turn.

When the chaplain’s gun ejected its last round he pulled it up and started to return, but then looked back as the young man’s eyes rolled and he collapsed upon himself.

“Get’im up again!” Riley said, then advanced to where two of the men were holding the young man up. “Let’im stand alone!” Riley said, “And if you fall down again, buster, I’ll shoot your ass myself! No, we are not out here to set up a big drug deal for you. We are here to stop you. Now I’d like to introduce you to the mother of that young girl who died of a drug overdose last week—“

“No! I—I—didn’t have anything to do—“

“Shut the fuck up!” Riley said, “And don’t you dare fall down again!” Riley turned but didn’t say her name, “Your turn, ma’am.”

“No!” the young man cried, “I didn’t do anything! Please!”

With her purse hung from her right shoulder and resting against her left hip, Nicole stepped forward, opened her purse, pulled her Walther out, held it to the sky and advanced to within six feet of the young man. She looked into his eyes. Nothing but fear there. No remorse for anything he had done. She cocked her gun, placed her left hand on the bottom of the handle and slowly brought it to aim at the young man’s face, just as the chaplain had done.

She continued looking into his eyes. She wanted to see some emotion there, some…humanity. She saw nothing but greed and indifference. She felt her finger tighten on the trigger. She placed the sights on the top of his nose. She so wanted to end this worthless life…

She pulled up slightly and peeled off the four rounds just as the chaplain had done. But then she stepped out of their set plan. She brought her little gun to bear on the young man’s face again, and held it there, staring at his face and thinking of all the pain she had seen and heard about caused by drugs and its pushers. The young man’s eyes looked like they would soon explode—then she jerked her gun down and emptied it into the ground between his legs. The young man collapsed on himself and a huge stink erupted from him. Everybody knew what it was and stepped back. They all knew that human emotion could stand just so much before losing that bodily function. All the men there were ex-military. Some had been interrogated and tortured as prisoners, and had brought their learned skills back to teach to others.

After the last shell ejected from her gun, Nicole kept her cool and did what was necessary for the gun, then returned to the van and laid it on the carpeted floor, and brought both her hands to her face. She could barely believe what she had just done, and could barely believe even more what she had wanted to do. A few tears formed. She gasped, and leaned against the side of the van, then felt welcome arms around her, “My god, Radford. I wanted to kill him, and I enjoyed doing that.”

“I did too, my dear.”

Sadie arrived next, and put her hand on Nicole’s shoulder, “You did good, Nicole, it’s something we all have had to do at some point in our training.” She patted Nicole’s shoulder, “And there’s more. Just come and watch and listen to Riley.”

Nicole gave a quick and extra hug to both her man and Sadie, then wiped her eyes, picked up her gun, released the slide, lowered the hammer gently, and put it back in her purse, then glanced at Sadie.

“Come on,” Sadie said.

The three approached to where the continuing stink began to intrude on their senses again.

“Throw the water on’im!” Riley said.

Two men used a three-gallon pail each. The young man, now not classy-looking at all threw his arms up, opened his eyes and looked around.

“Get your ass up, buster,” Riley said. The young man stood, then looked at the eight people all around him, but at a distance away. “We are finished with you, for now, but if we ever get word again that you—and we have your name, address, phone number—what your first car was and where it is today—a whole pedigree on you, sonny—if we ever hear of your name again involved with drugs of any kind, well, you can ingest as much as you want yourself, but don’t ever sell again.” Riley hesitated, “If your name comes up again, we will be back, and next time we won’t miss. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” No arrogance or even a bit of class remained.

“Good.” Riley pointed, “Over there about a half mile is a pond. You can wash out your slacks there—I wouldn’t drink the water, though—well, go ahead and drink it if you want to, as you’ll probably be thirsty about then—and, in about three miles in the same direction—or maybe it’s five—is the highway back to Phoenix.”

The young man, his eyes wide, said, “You don’t know how far?”

The innocent question caused Riley to laugh. Then, without answering, he turned, “That’s it. Let’s go.”

 

Reviews

ONE

5.0 out of 5 stars The Light at the End of the Tunnel is enlightening and enthralling., February 22, 2012      By Rhonda Lytle (Liverpool, TX United States) - See all my reviews
     This review is from: The Light at the End of the Tunnel (Kindle Edition)

This book is engrossing. It's not what I would call a warm, fuzzy type of read, but rather a real glimpse into some of the major issues facing society such as the atrocities committed upon children, consequences of the death penalty, and the ever declining social conditions regarding families and relationships in general all wrapped up in some addicting fiction.

The author, James W. Nelson, has an easy to read style that makes putting the book down difficult. His characters are rich, the storyline multi-layered, and the action moves at a good pace. One of the things I really enjoyed was that it was not predictable at all and there were surprises all the way up to the very end. I feel he has earned an all around five stars!

TWO

5.0 out of 5 stars Un-put-downable, absolutely gripping!, February 10, 2012

     By Carolee Samuda (Kingston, Jamaica) - See all my reviews      This review is from: The Light at the end of the Tunnel: One theory of reincarnation (Paperback)

The most unique tale of the criminal mind. The story is scary but you don't want to stop reading it because you have to know what happens. This book is thrilling and is wonderfully crafted. The author is definitely a mastermind at creating such stories and this is very believable. It has you wondering who the next Les Paul is or if he is right beside you! 

Table of Contents

1   Meet Les Paul                              29  Last Foster Home

2   Meet the Chaplin                         30  Jail
3   It’s Time                                      31  Marriage
     Interlude                                      32  Learning his Trade
4   First Evil Act                               33  Meet Patrolman Sikorsky
5   Meet Cassandra                           34  The Tommerdahls
6   Second Evil Act                          35  Juvie
7   The Abandonment                      36  The Markums
8   Meet Nicole Waters                    37  His First Sex
9   Alone                                          38  DNA Disappointment
10 Lay-down Comedy                    39  Adoption
11 Foster Family #3                        40  Hitchhiking
12 Partners                                      41  Nicole’s Confrontation
13 Meet Riley Stokes                      42  Back Room Prostitution
14 Murder                                        43  He Remembers Her
15 Training                                      44  The Discrepancy
16 Still Alone                                  45  Diva Girl
17 For Graduation                           46  Lights Out
18 More Murder
19 Talk With a Drug Pusher
20 Baby Boy-Doe9
21 The Barbie Dolls
22 Cassandra at Four
23 Employed
24 Les Paul at Seven
25 Rape!
26 A few Foster Homes Behind
27 Meeting With Cassandra
28 The Engagement

Contact

nelsonjim1@live.com

http://morningshinestories.com

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004GW465S (Author page at Amazon. Read all the reviews)
https://www.facebook.com/#!/james.w.nelson2
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