The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School . Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie. Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.
Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.
For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal. In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget. Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.
Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice. And, eternal friendship.
Chapter 15
The call came during my Thursday morning planning period.
“Ms. Sims? This is Stanley Vincent with the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences. Is now a good time to talk?”
I told him it was. He said Greta Vickers, the School’s bookkeeper, had given him my cell number after he told her who he was.
“Marshall County Sheriff Wayne Waldrup said I should call you.”
“Have you completed my mother’s autopsy? Darla Sims, Radford?”
“Yes, the County is here to pick up her body and transport it to McRae’s Funeral Home. I wanted to confirm that was correct, what you wanted.” Vincent said. I could barely hear him. There was talking in the background. I imagined several of his peers moving about, opening, and closing doors to temporary vaults.
“It is.” I semi-yelled.
“I also wanted to tell you what caused your mother’s death. Of course, you will receive a copy of the autopsy report, but I didn’t want it to be a total surprise.”
“Thanks. I’m pretty sure I already know. It was the Clonidin, the Zanax, and the alcohol. Correct?” I said, more focused on my review of Hemingway’s Hills Like White Elephants, the story I would be assigning tomorrow.
“That’s what we thought at first. Sheriff Waldrup had alerted us to the possibility of a drug overdose, although the only drugs he knew about were the Clonidin and the alcohol. Then, we discovered the Zanax, but the drugs are not what killed her.”
“So, what did? Did she have a heart attack?”
“I’m sorry to tell you your mother died from a single gunshot to the head.”
“Oh my God. Why did our Sheriff or the Boaz police or somebody else not mention anything about this?
“They didn’t see it. It was easy to miss. We naturally found it because we scrutinize every square inch of the body. We also conduct multiple x-rays. The entrance wound was exceedingly small and just inside her hairline above the neck. Do you want me to give you the details now or do you want to wait and read them in my report?”
“Thanks for being so considerate, but I prefer you just tell me. I might have a question or two.”
“The low-caliber bullet, a 22 short, entered the cerebellum. This is located at the rear of the head. The bullet then almost severed the spinal cord, but virtually missed the brainstem, and lodged itself between the basal ganglia and the cortex. As I said, the bullet did not exit the head.”
“Would she have died instantly?” I said for the obvious reason. I was never close to my mother, but I would never want her to suffer.
“That’s what’s puzzling. Normally, the subject, sorry to be so impersonal, lingers. A small caliber bullet shot directly to any area of the cortex doesn’t usually cause instantaneous death, but through excessive intracranial pressure arising from either brain swelling or edema, will no doubt cause death sooner or later, normally within a few days.”
“You are referring to the cerebral cortex?”
“Yes, it’s the wrinkly outermost layer that surrounds the brain. It consists of tightly packed neurons. The cortex is divided into four different lobes, the frontal, parietal, temporal, and occipital, which are each responsible for processing different types of sensory information.”
“You seemed surprised that she died so quickly. Why is that exactly? I said feeling sterile when I should be an emotional wreck.
“One would have thought your mother’s injury would have been analogous to that of Abraham Lincoln’s. He lingered for several days because of the brain injury caused by a low-caliber bullet that didn’t exit his skull after being shot at close range from the back. What appears to be the cause of an instantaneous death from a gunshot to the brain is damage to the brainstem. It is the part of the brain that regulates heart and lung function. As you might recall, the subject bullet barely grazed your mother’s brainstem. Although my report states the bullet as the cause of death, quite frankly, I don’t know what caused your mother’s instantaneous death.”
“Could the volume of drugs in her system have contributed to her instant death after the gunshot?”
“Possibly, but I doubt it. I first thought the information I had received from Sheriff Waldrup was inaccurate. His incident and offense report had mentioned both the approximate time of your phone call with your mother on the morning of her death and the exact time she was found by a Mr. Williams. If we did not have such a tight timeline, I would have guessed your mother had died a slow death over a period of hours, maybe a day or more. Of course, we know that’s not what happened.
“Can I ask one final question, Dr. Vincent?”
“Sure. I have a couple of more minutes before I have to go.”
“What happened to the bullet or bullet fragment?”
“We extracted it and will be sending it to Sheriff Waldrup. I suspect he has a homicide on his hands. There is no way this was a suicide. Again, Ms. Sims, I regret having to share such horribly stressful news. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you for your kindness. I’m sorry, but one more quick question. How would you describe the condition of the bullet fragment?”
“It’s not a fragment. The bullet is fully intact, in near-perfect condition.”
“Thanks doctor. I appreciate you calling. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye to you Ms. Sims and God Bless.”
“Thank you.”
I had been sitting at my desk in my little office all during the conversation with Dr. Vincent. When our call ended, I walked to the window and looked to a gray and dreary sky. I was praying that mother had not suffered when Cindy came in with her book bag and her normally eager desire to plan tomorrow’s lesson. I was thankful to have a good friend, especially one who, after seeing my sad face and serious tears, engulfed me in her arms and held me like I was her Alysa.
“I love you and so does God.” Cindy said looking directly into my eyes. I couldn’t help but think of Emily Fink in New York City, my best friend in the world up until now. Slowly, Cindy Barker was nudging to the head of my best-friends line.
The Pencil Driven Life 