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 41
“She’s the queen of all bitches.” Cindy said, literally tossing her book bag onto the credenza across from my desk. She didn’t turn to look at me but just stood and looked out the lone window in the tiny office behind my classroom.
“Can I assume you are referring to cat-faced Paula?” I knew there was no one else in Cindy’s world who could come close to winning this honorable title.
“Please shoot me if I don’t find a way to quit the Young-But-Maturing club. Once again, after Sunday School, she was in the Ladies restroom and virtually attacked me. Said she knew I was pregnant with Patrick’s baby. Katie, I know she knows. She’s been spying on me.” Cindy had calmed from explosive to volatile which was about like saying she was no longer a carrot-top; she had transformed into a redhead.
“Did she say how she knows this?” I feared what was coming. Spying can’t be good.
“Out of the blue she asked me how Dr. Ireland was doing. How the hell does she know I’ve been seeing an obstetrician?” Cindy asked, finally calming. In a way I wished I had been more faithful. She had asked me to go to Sunday School with her. I hadn’t.
I really didn’t know how to answer but I tried. “Maybe she’s been following you. Maybe she has a friend who saw you, or one who works at Dr. Ireland’s office. It could be a lot of different things.”
“What do you think she is going to do? Now, she knows I’m pregnant.” Cindy asked, leaning back in her chair and reaching for her book bag.
“Legally, I’m not sure she has any rights. She’s not like a grandparent. I’m not a lawyer but the only two people with custody rights would be you and Wilkins, and he’s dead.” I said realizing this wasn’t exactly what Cindy feared.
“I’m sure as hell not worried about custody and visitation issues. I’m worried that the bitch is going to broadcast this all over town and you know who will find out.” I had never seen Cindy more worried. Her blood-shot eyes, normally light-green, seemed widened apart, revealing both surprise and fear.
“Maybe it’s time you had that talk with Steve. Cindy, he loves you. Hearing this awful news from you will be a world better than him stumbling into it at work. Even worse at church.” I said, wishing I had demanded that Cindy be fully open with Steve when the rape first happened.
“I know you’re right, but I just can’t seem to take that first step. How do you push the most important person in your life off a cliff? That’s what it would be like. His world would never be the same. I’m afraid he will crash into a million pieces.” Cindy said reaching into the pocket of her matching navy-blue jacket.
“Oh, I forgot. Pastor Warren gave me this after church. You know, as Steve and I walked through the firing line.” Shaking hands with the pastor was now nearly as painful for Cindy as it was for me. She handed me a folded canary-colored envelope with my name handwritten above his own name, one familiarly printed. His was crossed out. No doubt, the same envelope Cindy and I had taped to his basement door last Wednesday night during Prayer Meeting.
“Oh my God. This can’t be good. It’s a response to our demand.” I said, lowering my head and shoulders readying myself for surrender.
“That’s what I figured. I started to open it but obviously it’s intended for you.”
I had to use scissors to slide through the tape Warren had layered across the envelope’s seal. I unfolded the single sheet of white paper. The message was short. Three lines:
“We can work this out.
We will pay but need your promise, and all recordings.
Call me to discuss. 256-390-3053.”
The note was unsigned. I read it twice and handed it over to Cindy.
After a ten second pause she said, “Funny, he didn’t request an in-person meeting.”
“Do I just call him up? Right now? You know he and his four buddies have something up their sleeve. They definitely want the videotapes.” I said.
“Funny. Did you hear yourself? Tapes? Remember, there’s only one.” Cindy said, holding the letter up toward the fluorescent light overhead as though it would reveal a secret watermark, one that would guide us.
“I hear you. Why not make a copy of my videotape and arrange to give it to them in exchange for say, half the money?” I said.
“That might get us half the money. I doubt if it will get the other half since we don’t have another tape to bargain with.”
It came over me like a tsunami. I hadn’t had this feeling in nearly fifteen years. It was anger so fierce I could bite through a steel rod. As Cindy was repeatedly asking me, “What’s wrong? Are you having a heart attack?” the thought kept rolling around in my head, ‘I’m the one who was fucking raped. Why am I even considering how to negotiate with these bastards? They will fucking do what I tell them to do.’ And then, I reached for my iPhone and dialed 256-390-3053.
Cindy stood as I was dialing, to see who I was calling. She shouldn’t have had to wonder. I selected ‘speaker.’
After three rings, “hello, this is Pastor Warren.” The bastard answered his fucking phone with pastor? My next call I will answer, ‘hello, this is Virgin Mary.’
“This is Katie Sims. You asked me to call and discuss. Let me be clear, there will be no discussion. Here’s the deal. You and the other four criminals will deposit the money, one million, two hundred fifty thousand dollars into a bank account of my choosing. Once the deposit is made and verified I will give you the one and only videotape of you five bastards raping me. I will also give you my written promise to maintain complete confidentiality. I will retain the arson videotape as my insurance. You give me or Cindy Baker any trouble at all and that tape goes to Sheriff Waldrup. Do I make myself clear?” Sweat was rolling down my face as I ended my demand.
“Katie, you didn’t address one issue. In your letter to Ryan you demanded he pay two thousand dollars per month until Cullie is twenty-one.”
Warren started another sentence, but I stopped him. “That demand remains. I will promise to not divulge the circumstances of my pregnancy. Ryan Radford is Cullie’s father and I’m her mother, these roles carry a heavy lifetime responsibility.” I said anxious to end the call.
“I understand. I suggest you and Ryan talk this out. Now, when do you want your money?” Warren said as though we were closing on a real estate transaction.
“Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon.” I said. And then it dawned on me. Pastor Warren was responsible himself, responsible for Cindy’s problem, nearly as much as Wilkins was. “I have one other demand and it too is non-negotiable.”
“What is it now? You’re beginning to wear out my patience.”
“You bastard, you could have helped my friend Cindy when Patrick Wilkins was abducting her. But you didn’t. Now, you will deal with his wife. She’s abusing Cindy, thinking she’s pregnant, by her late husband.” I said wishing I could recall what I had just said.
“Katie, I know, as well as Paula knows, that Cindy is pregnant. One thing I don’t know is that her husband is dead. Why don’t you share what you obviously know?”
Does the whole world know that Cindy is pregnant?
Warren continued, “If he’s not dead then where is he? He’s been missing going on a month.” I had to change the subject. This was the one thing I didn’t want to be discussing. Hell, now I was in a discussion with the phony pastor.
“I’m not asking again. Deal with Paula. Do what you need to do, but my deal is contingent on her staying the hell away from Cindy. Do you understand?” I was surprising myself. I had never been so controlling.
“I’ll do my best. Now, back to the money. A million plus dollars is quite a sum. We need a month.”
Again, I interrupted. “You have a week. I’ll call you the account number. Meet me at Wells Fargo Bank on Billy Dyar Blvd., at 10:45, Monday morning the 13th. That gives you one week. When I arrive, the money better be in my account.”
“I’ll do my best.” Pastor Warren said, repeating himself.
“And, if you’re best fails to timely deposit the money, my best won’t fail to release your little videotape.” I said, impressed with the fire and the results hellfire anger can cause.
“I’ll be there with the money. November 13th.”
I ended the call.
For the next hour Cindy and I failed to escape the tangled web curling our lives. After our argument over whether we had asked for enough money and whether money pain was real justice, we ignored my faint call for us to engage in lesson-planning. As we walked across the parking lot towards our cars, Cindy promised she was headed home to have a heart-to-heart talk with Steve. “It’s time. I have to tell him the truth.” I was proud of her. I knew it was the right thing for her to do.
Less than an hour after arriving home to Cullie asleep on the couch, my phone vibrated. It was Steve.
“Katie, it’s Cindy. She’s been in a car wreck. We’re at the Emergency Room, Marshall Medical Center.” I could tell he was shaken. I’d never heard him cry, never heard his voice so low, slow, weak, and desperate.
“Oh my God, how is she? Tell me she’s going to be okay.” I was nearly shouting. Cullie woke up and walked over to me standing by the kitchen bar.
“I haven’t seen her. She’s being x-rayed. A nurse said she was banged up pretty bad, but her injuries weren’t life-threatening.”
“Oh, thank you Jesus.” The words just poured out of my mouth. For a second, I wondered if Jesus was responsible for protecting Cindy. If so, why hadn’t he prevented the accident?
“Katie, I hate to ask you, but would you mind going to our house and staying with the kids?”
“I was about to ask about them. Cullie and I are headed there right now. Please keep me posted.” I said while motioning Cullie to follow me out the back door.
It was nearly 7:30 p.m. before Steve led Cindy through the sliding door from their deck. She looked awful and had a cast on her left arm. The right side of her face was almost black. She had a bandage across most of her forehead.
“I look worse than it is.” Cindy said, clearly in pain. Her eyelids fluttered as she sat down in her chair in the den while Alysa, Arlon, and Anita all crowded her stealing touches, hugs, and kisses.
She explained in detail how the accident had occurred. Within ten minutes Steve had dismissed himself and headed to Walgreen’s to pick up a pain pill prescription for Cindy. For some reason she was hungry for pizza. Steve promised to pick up her favorite, a large Supreme from Pizza Hut. After he left, Cullie and Alysa went to her room and Arlon and Anita sat glued to the TV.
Cindy struggled to get out of her chair. “Follow me.” she said motioning me back towards her and Steve’s bedroom. The room was a wreck. The bed was unmade, and clothes climbed out of open drawers, and clung to the backs of two rocking chairs that faced a balcony overlooking the swimming pool in the backyard. This didn’t include two laundry baskets of what I hoped were clean clothes awaiting folding.
She sat down in one of the rockers. “Here, sit.” I willingly complied with her directions. “Katie. It wasn’t an accident. It was the bitch Paula. She ran me off the road. After I left the school I noticed her behind me on Martin Avenue. I ignored her and kept going. But, she kept coming. After I turned left on Highway 431 she got right on my bumper. I always turn right at Huddle House onto Bruce Road until it intersects with Beulah Road. She stayed on my tail for a mile or so, until she could see past me enough to pass. She gave me the middle finger as she drove past and raced ahead. Right as I was coming around the curve a half mile or so before the vet’s place, Dr. Creel, I saw her barreling back towards me in the center of the road. She was coming at me head on. I didn’t have any choice but to hit the ditch. Unfortunately, it didn’t move.”
“You are lucky she didn’t kill you. Cindy, you must report this. I’m calling Wayne.” I said determined that Cindy wasn’t going to stop me this time from protecting her from herself.
“Wait. I promise I will after I tell Steve. Obviously, I haven’t had a chance to tell him the full story. On the way home from the hospital I subtly indicated that I had something important to tell him. I think he thought I was a little out of my head from the medications because he didn’t press me.”
The rest of the night, until after the ten o’clock news, the three of us ate pizza. The kids were full of all the junk I had let them eat while we were waiting this afternoon. At 9:00 p.m., an hour before the news began, I had wanted for Cullie and me to leave but Cindy had insisted we stay. It was like she would do anything to avoid being alone with Steve.
At 10:45, I finally told Cindy I had to get home to bed. My 4:30 a.m. writing time would come soon enough. As I walked out onto their deck I whispered to Cindy, “tonight’s the night. Jump off the high dive. I know Steve will catch you.”
The Pencil Driven Life 