Bennett The Touch

1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 979-8-3509-1601-0
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 350 Seiten

Reihe: The Touch

Wesley Roberts was a happy family man with a loving wife and two wonderful children. But that was before a drunk driver killed his family and a slick lawyer robbed him of justice, leaving Wesley with grief, despair, and coals of smoldering anger. As time passed, smoldering coals became burning flames of revenge. One evening, with nothing to live for and nothing to lose, Wesley caught the slick lawyer alone and strangled him to death with his bare hands. On his way to strangle the drunk driver, Wesley stumbled over a blind man seated on a sidewalk in deep midnight shadows. Angry at being kicked, the blindman swung his empty wine bottle, whacking Wesley hard on his knee. It hurt. Already in a murderous mood, Wesley grabbed the man's head, touching the man's eyes, ready to gouge them out. From out of nowhere, a powerful force paralyzed Wesley. 'You're burning me!' the man cried out. As suddenly as the force had captured Wesley, it released him. Gasping for breath, the blindman said, 'I can see you.' Confused and afraid, Wesley ran away. Soon excited by and accepting his wonderous gift, Wesley exchanged revenge for a fantastic reason to live. He began a secret mission to heal the needy, including the murdered lawyer's desirable wife. But soon his quiet plan exploded in the glare of media cameras and network news, forcing him to embrace a well-planned, public healing ministry. Accompanying his ministry were guilty thoughts of embracing the dead lawyer's wife. All the while, Police Detective Cosgrove was convinced that Wesley was a murderer but couldn't prove it. It gnawed and gnawed at him. And though Wesley had become a much-needed savior, Detective Cosgrove refused to surrender his certainty.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Bennett, Brian

Leseproben

Chapter 1 A hint of another hot and humid Texas summer was in the air, but for now a lingering Spring still kept things relatively cool around the Dallas Metroplex. The brick and glass notice board outside the Bible Fellowship Church read: In Loving Memory of Lacy, Bethany, and Collin Roberts. Inside, men and women in somber suits and dresses filled the sanctuary. Seated on the front pew, Wesley Roberts mentally whipped himself as he saw over and over again his last conversation with Lacy in his mind. “You’re supposed to be cleaned up and on your way to pick up Bethany and Collin,” Lacy said over her shoulder, as she carefully placed the giant special-order cake on the serving table under the “Happy Birthday” banner. “We can’t have a party for them if they’re not here.” He offered an apologetic gesture to her back. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.” She turned to face him. “I can’t believe you mowed the yard instead.” “Yeah, okay, it was a bad idea. I just thought that, after the cake and ice cream, all the kids are probably going to be in the back yard for games and stuff, so I thought I’d neaten it up. I’ll shower right now and go get them.” “No, I’ll go. You neaten yourself up.” “Okay, I’ll hurry.” With a deep sigh followed by a slow smile, Lacy said, “I love you anyway, even if you are stinky.” Then with a quickly blown kiss she was out the front door. And gone forever. Standing behind his gleaming oak pulpit, Reverend Tim Smith read, “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord.” Wesley glanced up at his good friend who was trying his best to bring some comfort into a life torn apart. “Those that believeth in me, though they were dead, yet shall they live.” Dead. Squeezing his eyes tight, Wesley shielded himself against that awful word with ones he and Lacy had vowed together at their wedding and spoken at the baptism of their twins. “And whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.” Die. His shields pierced; Wesley surrendered. My fault! My fault! My fault! Alone in a tiny boat on life’s unsympathetic ocean without the anchor of his family, wave after wave swept Wesley Roberts far out to sea. Reverend Tim Smith turned his aging Dodge into a well-tended middle-class neighborhood. It was the kind of neighborhood that any realtor would love to show to potential buyers. However, looking through the passenger window, Wesley saw only memories. “Tarzan! Tarzan!” Bethany and Collin cried out. “Be Tarzan Daddy!” Their wish was his command. “Okay, climb on and hold on.” Standing with a laughing child hanging from each outstretched arm, Tarzan attempted his best to pound his chest. Tim glided his car gently to a curb in front of their destination and turned off the engine. He had been careful to drive without haste, and now that they had arrived, he leaned back in his seat. He hesitated a moment before looking over at his friend. “If you want to talk …” He let his offer trail off. A few heartbeats passed before Wesley returned to the present. He focused on the dashboard, the windshield, or the car’s hood, anywhere but on the front door of his home. “Anytime you need me, Wesley, I’ll be available. Just let me know.” Wesley took a deep breath before exhaling. “No need. I’m okay. Thanks.” For a few moments Wesley was ten years old again, readying himself to dive into the deep end of a summer camp swimming pool for the first time. He had not wanted to do that either, but he had. Now he would have to do this too—he could not put it off any longer. Placing a hand on the door handle, he pulled. The door swung open. As if physically painful, his movements were slow and deliberate. He stepped out. Tim leaned over toward the open passenger door. “I could come in for a while, if you’d like. I could help you straighten things up some.” His new offer hung in the air several seconds before drifting away. Wesley bent down to look back at Tim. “You’ve done all you can. Don’t worry. I’ll call you if I need anything.” His hand lingered a moment on the handle before shutting the door with finality. Good intentions politely, yet firmly rejected, Tim yielded. Starting his engine, he eased back into the street and drove away. The image in his rearview mirror showed that Wesley had not moved an inch, nor did it appear that he was inclined to. Tim fought the urge to turn around and try again. He won. It was a minor victory. Wesley watched Tim round the corner a block down and disappear from sight. His shoulders sagged with relief. Tim was a good friend, his best friend in fact, but he did not need the attention. Not right then anyway. Maybe later. There were other friends, too, but the thought of more sad faces and more comforting words made him want to run and hide. Hands in pockets, his gaze fixed on the pavement at his feet. Minutes went by. Like so many other things, time no longer had any importance now. It belonged in another life, not this one where time was paralyzed. Yet, deep in his gut he understood that time would go on, and on, and on, filling him with empty thoughts. Or worse, thoughts baring the sharp teeth of regret. The sound of an approaching car caught his attention. A neighbor slowed down to wave. It was a friendly, solemn gesture, one befitting Wesley’s loss. Wesley’s brief nod of acknowledgement encouraged the neighbor to continue down the street. Running a hand through his thick auburn hair, Wesley looked heavenward. Was there an answer up there somewhere? No, only the peaceful blue sky dotted here and there with fluffy white clouds floating off to wherever fluffy clouds go. Clouds were moving, but not Wesley. He could not keep standing on the sidewalk, giving other neighbors the opportunity to stop and chat. So, he turned away from the beauty of a blue sky to face his home—a home just as dead and buried as his family. Home? It was now nothing but a house. Plodding toward the front door, Wesley’s eyes avoided the red oak sapling that he and Lacy planted to celebrate the anniversary of their first date. On the door, above the welcome mat, some sympathetic soul had placed a black wreath. An odd reminder came to him, one from life before the car wreck. Today is Tuesday. Wednesday is trash day. Wreath and mat would be in tomorrow’s trash. Getting the door key out of his pocket was simple enough. Turning it in the lock and opening the door was hard. Forcing himself to step inside was worse. Nothing but silence greeted him. For several nights since the wreck, he had slept at Tim’s rectory, but now he would have to sleep in his own bed. Lacy’ bed. Their bed. An empty bed. No more. It would be the couch from now on. The sound of the soft click of the front door shutting behind him seemed to bounce off dull walls. The expression “silent as a tomb” popped unbidden into his mind, making him utter a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. Weary steps took him to the doorway into what was to have been the “party room.” He paused there to look in. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help himself. On the room’s back wall hung the “Happy Birthday” banner. On the table below was a dried-out birthday cake. Two sets of four little candles still waited to be lit, then blown out, before servings were sliced and passed around. Place settings on the assembly of small tables filling the rest of the room remained untouched. Blue and pink bunting that Lacy had strung around the room still hung. A few persistent balloons, their strings taped to each little chair, still floated in the stuffy air. Here and there others sagged, their air slowly seeping out, their strings no longer taut. Still others had long ago sunk onto the floor. Like helpless iron filings to a magnet, Wesley was drawn into the room. He stopped at one of the small tables where its four balloons still clung to life. He took in the neatness of Lacy’ preparations—four plates with napkins and forks. Reaching down, he picked up a small plastic fork. He tried to focus on a pink balloon floating next to him. Swiping at wet eyes helped. Keeping the balloon taut with one hand, he held the fork in his other. One quick jab and the balloon popped. That done, he moved around the little table to the next balloon, a blue one, his fork at the ready. POP! On to the third, again blue. POP! The fourth balloon was pink. Which little girl would have sat there? Maybe Bethany herself. For a heartbeat Wesley could not bring himself to do it. Then … POP! The blue and pink remains lay on the small table, tiny creatures whose lives had been taken away in an instant. He threw the fork across the room, then sinking to his knees, he slumped over the...