13386240 Suffering Madness Promotional Copy

7/31/2019 13386240 Suffering Madness Promotional Copy

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Promotional Copy


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Suffering Madness, (Rev. 2)Copyright 2008 by Glenn E. Sasscer, Jr.Published by Geez Press

Imprint of Geez Press Publications

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means,electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, except asprovided by USA copyright law.

Cover design and illustration: Geez Press PublicationsIllustrations 2008 by Geez Press Publications

Published in the United States of AmericaISBN 978-0-9816574-1-7Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2008902665


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Thank you, Lord Jesus, for the gift of writing,and for teaching me to be a good steward with it.

My sincere thanks must be given to my beautiful wife, Karen.Even though she refuses to read the book until it is published,

she encouraged me through it all..Now it is published; now you can read it, Karen.

A special thanks to JoAnn Mitchell Benten (aka Jodster)and Patricia Sporkette Spork, my critique partners.

Their crits, suggestions, and encouragement are in these pages.

I doubt this would be a book without these three ladies.Thank you for helping me follow the dream.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers ofdreams.

- Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka;Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, 1971


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/ 5 /

Prologue

A heavy fog spilled around the tombs some time after

nightfall, giving the lights from the nearby village a hazy glow. Theoil lamps from the boat coming across the lake held a misty filteraround their edges. The cool night air kept the fog low, blanketingeverything in the dark shadows of the ancient graves.

He used THEIR power to feel the tombs and around theedges of the rocks where he could not see. He sensed only theswine herders on the next hillside, otherwise the beach reflectedhis feelings: deserted and isolated.

There would be no witnesses. He would attack the voyagerswhen they came ashore and THEY would be pleased.THEY stirred within him, pressing forward in his thoughts

with THEIR focus on the passengers of the boat no; THEY werefocused on only one passenger. Why such concern?

THEY pressed forward more, taking control and pacing theshoreline. THEIR anxiety built to frenzy, pushing his heartbeat toa stampede in his chest and tightening his breath to nearsuffocation.

An alien emotion washed over him: fear, a foreign feelingsince THEY became a part of him, now coursed through him witha vengeance. There was something bringing THEM to a point ofterror he was astonished. Would this be his call to freedom?

He watched with wonder as the boat ran aground and thelake travelers overflowed onto the sand. He felt his musclesthroughout his body tighten with THEIR iron grip, tension stillbuilding to a new extreme. A division formed within THEM, some

wanting to flee and others wanting to attack, a separation ofmotive and intent tearing through him as if to physically rip himin half THEIR powers were out of control.

One solidifying force caught THEM, compelling THEMtoward the visitors in lurching steps. Apprehension seized him as


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THEY fought to escape; yet THEY were now a prisoner just as hehad been THEIR prisoner for so many years.

He cried out through clenched teeth, falling at the feet of

the travelers. THEY shouted from within him, an unbearablesound of agony and hatred. He heard THEIR cries and pleadingas THEY spoke, though he did not understand THEIR words.

THEIR rage devoured his will. Just as he started to sink into avoid of unconsciousness, a hand caught his, drawing him out ofthe unfathomable blackness awaiting him.

He opened his eyes to find himself kneeling. THEY weregone For the first time in many years, he was no longer ahostage in his own body, but embracing freedom. His captorswere gone but where did THEY go and how long would THEY bethere?

He looked at the hand holding his, then to the smile. Thosequestions no longer mattered.


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/ 7 /


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Suffering Madness

Chapter 1

Friday, April 17, 1997

John Dakota opened his eyes in a lazy Saturday morningway. He started to stretch, feeling the beginnings of a much-needed yawn when he caught himself.

He snapped his eyes shut.The stench of a cheap cigar violated his senses, barely

allowing him to stifle a cough. Pain ricocheted across the back ofhis head. Sudden panic seared through John, adrenaline rapidfiring his heartbeat, though he remained frozen in place.

Where the hell was he?

He opened his eyes for a fraction of a second, taking asnapshot of his surroundings. He was slumped over in a hard,wooden chair, situated in the middle of what appeared to be adeserted warehouse office. Two men sat at desks off to Johnsright, one reading a paper and chewing on a cigar while the otherwrote in a ledger looking booklet. Trash and debris lined the floor.

Three other men paced the floor to Johns left, their suit coatsremoved to reveal their shoulder holsters.

The picture was grim. The smell of the stinking cigar thesparse warehouse office the three men pacing the room JacobWinters had him.

Johns last thoughts were walking along the street towardthe corner convenience store. Winters men must have got himfrom behind, explaining the painful throbbing in the back of hisskull. Jacob Winters, Toledos largest racketeering and Mafia-styled leader since the prohibition rum-running gangs funneled

bootleg liquor off the Great Lakes, was not a man to cross. Johnowed Winters money, and apparently Winters was going to extractsome interest.

Johns heart pounded in his chest, his breath stranglinghim as he froze his movements and questions blitzed his thoughts.


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/ 9 /

Did they know he was awake? Did they see him stir? Howlong had he been out?

The sound of his heartbeat was almost deafening, giving

John the crazy notion they would hear it and realize he wasawake. His only hope was to get out of the room and away fromJacob Winters. The element of surprise would be key. He forcedhis breathing to continue in shallow gulps, but it did not work.

One of the men in the room called his bluff. Hey lookslike the yelp is waking up.

Johns thoughts ceased. Time seemed to slow down as hisreflexes took over. He jumped from the chair into a run towardthe corridor leading away from the office. Ducking sideways toavoid a tackle, he slammed into another man to knock him to thefloor.

Ill get you, one of them growled.Terror replaced panic. He lunged forward, grabbing a chair

and tossing it in the path of the nearest man. He reached ahallway, expecting any second to feel his jacket snagged frombehind.

The sight of daylight filtering through an old, wooden

screen door gave him a target, a focus point. John ran hard,hearing the commotion fall away behind him until a loud pop andwhistling made the hair on the back of his neck crawl. They wereshooting at him!

Winters barking seemed miles away. Dont shoot him! Iwant him alive!

John slammed through the screen door with full force. Thedoor cracked open in three pieces, surprising the four men in the

alley next to the limousine. The sight of them hit John with adead, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Their athleticbuild, the identical crew cut hairstyles, and the gold chainsdraped around their necks gave away their identity.

Jacobs Enforcers! he mumbled.The lead man stepped towards John with his hands out, as

if to calm him. Just slow down there, partner. Youre not goinganywhere.

Johns heart raced, pounding his pulse in his ears. TheEnforcers had an infamous reputation. Stories of their exploitswere shared in bars and on the streets for years, though Johnrarely put stock in their elaborate tales. One of the Enforcersliked to burn people with a blowtorch, another liked to pluck out


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eyelashes, and a third used vice-grip pliers on various body parts.What seemed like made-up horror stories meant to intimidate nowbecame sudden truth as John stared at his fate stepping toward

him. A loud crash from inside the warehouse snapped John outof paralysis. He spun, charging down the alley with all fourEnforcers chasing him. A single thought hammered through hismind as fast as his feet hammered the ground beneath him: Dontlook back!

John rounded the alley corner in full stride. A burst of redglared in the corner of his eye. By sheer reflex, he skidded to astop and spun to embrace an attack. A prostitute stepped fromthe corner of the building, wearing a ruby satin blouse and a jet-black mini-skirt. In a hurry, sugar?

Leaping back into his sprint, John turned away as the firstof the four men rounded the corner, barreling into the woman. Heheard the two of them tumble over each other with curses and

yelling.He pressed forward, feeling the presence of the other three

Enforcers closing on him. As he turned at the next corner, he

heard music echoing between the buildings.The rally! The faint drone of music could only be the

weekly Friday festival at the downtown river park, breathing life toJohns hope. He would lose them in the crowd.

In a hurry, sugar? Ha!He led his three pursuers through the center of downtown,

leaving the warehouse district to find high-rise office buildings andcrowded parking lots. John darted through the swarm of tired

office workers, bumping and shoving people to gain distanceahead of the Enforcers. The music from the rally was louder,bolstering his confidence. He cut across a courtyard and jumpeda row of landscaped bushes decorating the perimeter. Slippingaround the port-a-johns set up for the rally, he dove into thecrowd and disappeared.


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/ 11 /

Chapter 2

Angie Klingninski slipped the deadbolt shut on herapartment door, the days exhaustion weighing on every part of

her body. She dropped the mail on the dining room table and lether purse slide to the floor as she kicked off her shoes. Wigglingher toes, she silently cursed the high heels she wore to the office.

She ran her fingers through her tightly curled, brown hairto relax the pull of the hair spray, reaching her hand upward tocoax her muscles into a stretch. The tension melted some, thoughthe office stress seemed to cling to her like a bad smell.

Tagging the play button on the telephone, Angie headedtoward the kitchen. Her messages began with ten seconds of dialtone indicated there was a hang-up and no message was left.

Good! I didnt want to talk to you anyway! Angie said,feeling the stress of her workday slip away with each word.

She fished around in the refrigerator as a beep announcedthe second message. After two clicks, the voice of her best friendgreeted her. Hey Ang, this is Linda. We gotta talk about this newguy I met. He is drop-dead gorgeous, and hes got a friend. Letsmeet at the pub tonight for a couple of drinks, huh? Call me,

okay? See ya!Angie snagged a bottle of wine from the rear of the fridge,

smiling in spite of the message.Hes got a friend? Angie rolled her eyes at the thought of

another one of Lindas blind dates.She was slipping the corkscrew over the top of the bottle as

the third message played. After two clicks, an unusual sounderupted from the machine, filling the room and stopping her

hands on the bottle.The noise began in quiet tones, sounding as if it wasemanating from a large chamber or cave. The eerie, deephumming sound mixed with a faint whispered echo.


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What the hell? she muttered to the empty room. Whatsgoing

Chills crawled along Angies spine, sending a shudder

through her body. She froze in her steps, listening. She hadreceived prank calls before, but this was different. This was nochild playing around with the telephone. There was a seriousnature with this call.

The sound was loud and the source seemed to change. Atfirst it was coming from the answering machine, changingsuddenly to the far side of the room. For a moment it was rightnext to Angie, a moment later it moved again.

The tone changed, the new sound stealing Angies breathwith fear. Chanting whispers, like the cadence of praying monksadded to the chorus. The whispers distorted, their strange soundgripping Angie in an icy, strangling hold.

She felt a new presence in the room an evil presence. Shefelt an indefinable source of a menacing prowess stalking herbaiting her toying with her the way a cat may toy with a mousebefore pouncing.

The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood straight.

She jerked around when she caught movement out of the corner ofher eye, but nothing was there. A shadow moved and she spunaround again. Her heart raced in her chest.

Whats going on? she cried. The murmurs swallowed thesound of her voice.

The whispers filled the kitchen. The murmurs surroundedher, poking at her confidence and feeding the fear growing inside.As the sound of the whispers grew, she could make out of few of

the echoed words.Starved arve arveNeeding ding ingHungry gry gryIn the undertones of the whisper, a muffled, but sinister

laugh began to swell. The maniacs laugh escalated Angies fear,creating a pit in the center of her stomach a knot of fear gnawingat her from the inside. Her legs began to shake. The gigglingmatured, chanting a horrid laughter with mischievous enthusiasmas if feeding on her fear.

No! No! Stop it! Angie cried. Leave me alone!The sound continued to build, filling the kitchen and

dancing around Angie as she stood trapped in their midst. She


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/ 13 /

turned, feeling the presence of evil in the room but not knowingexactly where. She was convinced there were a thousand eyeswatching her, mocking her.

As quickly as the laughter and whispers had built to anintense crescendo, they abruptly stopped, leaving a ringing inAngies ears. Complete silence was like a slap, stunning her asshe dropped to her knees.

Am I deaf?She turned her head, listening between gasps of breath.

The sounds of the apartment building filtered through her panicand lifted her fear, though not completely.

The kitchen was quiet around her still pounding heartbeat.Looking around the kitchen, everything seemed to be in its placeand nothing had changed except a coating of sweat covering herfrom head to toe.

As her heartbeat slowed to normal, her rational mindstarted to deny the episode. She wondered if her imaginationplayed tricks with her ears and created a state of anxiety. Shehad read about people imagining entire events to relieve stressand tension.

Yeah, thats it, she said to the empty room. Im stressedover the stupid crap at work and now Im freaking out. Thesound of her voice was a comfort to her, easing her feelings. Hervoice did not echo in the room her voice was normal.

She stood, set the wine bottle and corkscrew on thecounter, and ignored the red lines imprinted in her palms fromher grip on the corkscrew as she stepped toward the telephone.Rejecting the strength of the whispers and laughter, she wanted to

test her memory and confirm her doubts.She punched the play button and stepped backward,bracing herself to hear the message again. Thetelephone/answering machine announced in its expressionlesstone, No messages.

No way, Angie said to the empty room. She stabbed thesmall button, refusing to believe the message was gone. Thetedious, unchanging voice declared, No messages. All themessages were gone the hang up, Lindas, and the strange crankcall were all erased.

Angie considered the fear she had felt, the piercing terror ofunseen eyes watching her.


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Could it have been imagined? Perhaps the whispers neverhappened?

Angie returned to the wine bottle on the counter, uncorked

it, and grabbed a small wine glass from the cabinet. She held itfor a moment, looking intensely at the small glass beforeexchanging it for a larger one. She poured the wine and made herway back to the bedroom to change her clothes.

She was back in the kitchen thirty minutes later, wearingjeans and a casual blouse. Angie glided across the kitchen with acomfortable stride, her thin frame seeming to float across thefloor. She set the empty wine glass in the sink. With thememories of the whispers deadened, she grabbed the handset ofthe corded telephone to call Linda.

The dial tone clicked to a dead signal. She froze in hersteps, her breath caught in her chest. The haunting cavernoussound of wind blowing in the distance played in the receiver. Abreeze moved the air in Angies kitchen, cooling her skin andplaying with the curls of her hair.

Angie... gie... gie..., it... wont... be... long... ong... ong....,the voice echoed. The wind whistled in the belly of the whisper,searing the edges of her sanity and eroding the reality around her.Her pulse pounded in her ears, she felt the room shake under herfeet or was it vertigo?

The wind increased, blowing papers off the counter andflipping the pages of the telephone book on the table. Thedisturbing laughter began, hollow and menacing.

No! Angie screamed into the telephone. Leave me alone!She slammed the handset on the telephone, yanked the unit offthe wall, and threw it to the floor. The laughter stopped. Thewind disappeared. She fell to her knees, sobbing, hugging herself.Staring through tears at the telephone cast across the room, itbecame a blurry vision of an evil animal leashed to the wall with apower cord, the thin signal wire entwined around the leash like atail.

A knock came at the door. Angie? Are you OK?Linda? Angie mumbled, hope seeping through the tears

flooding her cheeks. She jumped to her feet, stepping backward.She glanced around the room, noticing the papers were back onthe counter and the closed telephone book.


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/ 15 /

There was another pounding at the door, louder this time.Angie! Are you hurt? Can you hear me?

Relief washed over her. She turned around and dashed

through the living room to the front door.Linda? she sobbed, talking through the door. Are youalone?

Yes, honey, whats wrong? Linda asked. Are you ok?Angie straightened herself. She wiped the tears with the

back of her hands and pulled the latch on the deadbolt. Lindapushed in as Angie backed out of her way.

My goodness, girl, Linda began, reaching to comfort herfriend. I heard you scream when I was on my way up the stairsand I thought something was wrong. Are you OK? What is it?

Angie blinked at her, thinking about what had justhappened and how she should explain it. Oh, Im just freakingout over work, she finally said, pulling from Linda and turningtoward the kitchen. There was some jerk playing tricks with meon the telephone. Angie yanked the dishtowel from the handle ofthe oven and dabbed her eyes. He was whispering and teasingme, and well I just freaked, thats all.

Geez, girl! You scared me! Linda stepped through thekitchen to pick up the telephone lying on the floor. I mean, Ivetried calling you and all I get is this busy signal, then I wascoming up the stairs to pick you up when I heard you yell

Well, it just freaked me out a little, thats all. Angiewatched Linda put the telephone back on the wall. Staring at it,she dared the evil animal to ring with her friend in the room.

Are you really ok? Linda asked. We dont have to go out

tonight if you dont want toOh, no! Im fine, Angie said with attempted confidence.She looked at Linda. Just a little stressed from work, thats all.

Are you sure? Lindas concern was genuine.Yeah, really! Im ok. I could use a little time out anyway.

Ill follow you over there so you dont have to drive me back.Do you feel up to driving? Linda asked. I dont mind

bringing you back.No, Im fine. Besides, I need to get some gas. She

paused, reading Lindas expression of puzzlement and concern.Im fine! Really!

OK, girl Just dont lose it before I can fix you up on thisblind date Linda teased as she opened the apartment door.


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Hey, now, hold the line on that one, little sister! Angiefollowed her through and closed the apartment door. Ive been onone of your blind dates before. You stink as Cupid!

They continued their conversation as they descended thestairs and left the building.


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/ 17 /

Chapter 3

Look! I dont care about your problems, John Dakotayelled into the telephone. You owe me for your stuff! You got

several bags, now I need the money.John stood in the telephone booth at the rear of the cornergas station parking lot. Despite his yelling, no one noticed him inthe booth waving his hands and pounding on the small triangularledge under the telephone. He was on his third call, chasing themoney owed to him by some of his customers.

Look, you owe me money The line went dead when theother end hung up. He slammed the receiver on the cradle andsmacked the side of the telephone. As a reflex, he checked thechange slot when he stepped out of the booth.

John slouched along the rear of the parking lot, intendingto use the restrooms in the back corner. An old GMC pick-up cutbetween him and the building, stopping in front of the restroomdoors. The driver threw the shift lever up, jumped out in a partialpanic, and walked in short, jerky steps to the door marked MENas he held his backside.

The pick-up, with a tool and ladder rack on the back, had

the words Drayton Contracting printed on the doors. Johnsmiled when he noticed the driver was in such a hurry he left theengine running.

In a hurry, sugar? He mumbled toward the restroomdoor, trying to mimic the hooker in only a casual way.

Without a second thought or a break in his step, Johnwalked to the truck, opened the drivers door, and slid behind thewheel. He dropped the shift lever and let the truck idle backward,

keeping an eye on the restroom door. Once he was clear of therear building, he shifted and pulled out of the gas station lot.


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Excerpt: Riding the Blue

The contractors truck cruised down a residential streetwith John behind the wheel canvassing the neighborhood. Hefound the right address from the contractors appointment book

and scanned the houses nearby for potential witnesses or anyonewho might complicate his scam.He was about to get himself some money.

John flicked his cigarette out the window and turned thetruck around to drive back towards his target. He pulled into thedriveway and took a deep breath. He snagged a baseball cap fromthe floor with the contractors name embroidered across the brimand adjusted it for his head.

Ah, thats a nice touch, oh Johnny-boy, he said,checking himself in the rearview mirror. Even with his dirty,grimy appearance, he would easily fit in as a hard workingcontractor.

He grabbed a clipboard from the seat and stepped out. Hechecked his reflection in the truck window one more time, feelinghis scam working itself out in the deepest recesses of his drug-leavened mind. When doubt tried to slip in, he reminded himselfof why he was there.

He was about to get himself some money.He would work the scam. He would work the scam and it

would work out like it always worked out. The words would cometo him when he needed the words.

His inner voice slipped in, telling him, the part of thecontractor in todays little scam will be played by little JohnnyDakota.

His inner voice was still reassuring him as he watched his

hand reach out for the doorknocker and announce his presence tothose inside the house. The voice ended the litany with a final,Heres Johnny!

An elderly lady opened the door holding a wet dish anddishtowel in her hands. May I help you? she asked.

Good evening, Maam, John began, easing into theconversation with his best manners and pervasive smile. Hetipped his hat and asked, Is Mr. or Mrs. Duncan available?

Im Mrs. Duncan, how may I help you? she asked him.He baited her for some information. Im Mat Drayton,

Craig Draytons brother. He just caught me on the cellulartelephone about a meeting with you.


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/ 19 /

Well, yes. Craig was supposed to stop this afternoon aboutthe siding contract, she told John. He told me the price andwanted to talk about the siding.

Perfect! And now the scam begins: Yes, Mrs. Duncan,thats what Craig told me on the telephone. He was asking meabout how much material we have left from our last job. It seemsthat you chose the exact same siding we used there and we havequite a bit left. You know what that means, dont you?

Well, no, Mrs. Duncan began, fidgeting. Im not surewhat that means at all. Her hands started to shake and hereyebrows furrowed into their own little frown. Her hand wentabsently to her pure white hair to catch a stray strand, as if onehad pulled from her tightly bound bun.

John read her body language. Well, Mrs. Duncan, whatthat means is we either have to take it all back to our supplier andget charged a restocking fee, or use it on another job as soon aswe can. It helps us to be able to use it on a job like yours, soCraig and I talked about giving you a real good discount to getthings started. Now, lets see here, John held the clipboard facinghim so she could not see the contents, flipping through the blank

pages as if the pages contained important information.Well Mrs. Duncan, I wrote that price he quoted you down

here somewhere, but I just cant find he let his voice trail off tolisten if she would provide some more information.

She stepped a little closer to the front door and glanced athis truck. Seeing the company name seemed to calm her. Well,he didnt give me a firm price, she explained. He said he wasgoing to calculate all the costs together first and get back with

me. That sounds like Craig, all right, John replied, stillflipping through his pad.

He told me it would be just short of four thousand dollars,she said, providing the final piece of information for which Johnhad been fishing.

Thats right, John stated, snapping his fingers. Hepaused, closing his eyes as if he were thinking. He let the secondstick off the clock before continuing. That means we should beable to knock off about a, he paused for another moment,about a full thousand if we got things started today. He finishedwith a huge smile.


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A thousand dollars! Mrs. Duncan smiled back at John,her eyes twinkling with delight. Thats absolutely incredible. Youmean you can save me a thousand dollars just by using some

leftover material?Oh, yes, John confirmed, nodding. You see, our supplyhouse will charge us almost eight hundred dollars to take all thesiding back, plus we have our labor on top of the eight hundred.If we bring the material here to your job and get started first thingtomorrow morning, youre saving us those charges. Were justpassing on the savings to you.

Mrs. Duncan stood absolutely still, staring at John. Shebroke her silence with a huge smile lighting up her entire face.Oh, youre such a peach. You know, you hear all those horrorstories about contractors, but I knew I could trust you men when Isaw your advertisement in the newspaper.

Do we need to discuss this with your husband, Mrs.Duncan? John asked, looking for additional information.

No, Im afraid not, young man, she replied, looking down.Jesse passed last year. It was the big C, you know. Cancer. Imalone here, which is why that thousand dollar savings is a real

blessing for me. Youre so nice!Well, thank you, Maam. Well just need a small down

payment John let his voice trail off to silence, baiting Mrs.Duncan to invite him in, run off to get her purse, or better yet,bring back her checkbook and ATM card.

Mrs. Duncan reached down, unlatching the screen door.She pushed it open and invited him in. Please come in, Ill runand get my pocketbook.

John Dakota, also known as John Dakin, John Dakiniak,and John Dakinski, stepped in through the open screen door.After Mrs. Duncan left the room, John locked the screen door andclosed the main door. The deadbolt sunk with a muffled thud. Hepositioned himself to the left of the hallway opening where she hadgone to get her pocketbook.

Just as Mrs. Duncan entered the room, John jabbed hersquare on the jaw with his right fist, twisting her head away fromhim and flipping her around as she fell to the floor. John stoopedover her, ready with another quick jab if she moved. There was noneed.

He rifled through her purse and found $105.00 in cash. Hesearched the entire house in about twenty minutes, finding


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/ 21 /

another $45.00. He stooped over her again, checking her eyes andwondering where she kept her ATM card or checkbook. He foundneither in her purse, nor in her house.

As he was about to search the pockets of her dress, shestarted to twitch. Her shoulder bobbed up and down, causing herhead to move and her arm to quiver. She twitched a few moretimes before stopping all movement whatsoever. John lookeddown at Mrs. Duncan with a sinking feeling growing in the pit ofhis stomach. She lay under him, his feet straddling her body,with blood seeping from her nose and the corner of her mouth.Her eyes were open, but death had glazed them into anunforgiving stare.

She was dead.No, lady, John pleaded, yanking his hat off and tossing it

to the floor. He reached for her shoulders as if to wake her from asleep. Dont do this to me! Youre not supposed to die! Hepulled her up, her head rolling backward as he lifted her.

Now, come on, Mrs. Duncan, John begged. Stop messingwith me! Youre not supposed to die.

He let go of her shoulders and Mrs. Duncan flopped to the

floor. Her head turned to the left, her eyes still open. A mixture ofdrool and blood oozed from her mouth.

John ran his fingers through his hair, mumbling, I cantbelieve this. I dont kill people! Ive never killed anyone. Whatsgoing on here?

He stood over the dead body of Mrs. Duncan, bent with hishands on his knees. He stared at her helpless face, hypnotized bydeath. Thoughts started to race through his mind, chasing each

other, intertwining with emotions and sudden feelings of panic.He ran his fingers through his hair again, pulling at the stragglingends.

He watched the body beneath him. He found himselfstudying the profile of Mrs. Duncan: the white and gray tuffs ofhair curled around her head, the light, almost invisible hair liningher ear lobe, and the soft, pallid wrinkles etching their owndesigns over her skin. His memories of his own mother invadedhis thoughts, tracking themselves from the forbidden regions ofhis past, dragging with them explosive events reeking of his ownfailure and weaknesses.


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No, no, no! he prayed, straightening and covering his eyeswith his hands. He surrendered to the feelings of abandonmentand hatred as tears seeped around his fingers.

Throwing his head backward, he stared at the ceiling. No!Not after all these years! You will not come back and haunt me!He forced himself to regain control over his rampant

feelings. He drew in deep breaths and exhaled. He closed hiseyes, concentrating on his breathing and constraining therunaway emotions tempting to weaken his composure.

Now youve done it, he said, staring at the body andstuffing the money he collected in the back pocket of his pants.

The memory of Mrs. Duncans voice rang in his ears. It wasthe big C, you know. Cancer. Now Im all alone.

No! John yelled, covering his eyes with his hands again.It was the big C, you know.An image of his mother danced briefly across his mind,

bringing another wave of suppressed emotions and anxieties. Hismothers image led a parade of other memories, including hisfather and Mr. Pennyton, his first grade teacher. Each imagecarried a new tone and gave strength to the buried past, secrets

he had closed away a long time ago.He heard his mothers voice. Im all alone now, you know.

It was the big C. Careless kids. It was his mothers face mockinghim in his memory, teasing him with a sneering grin. Im all alonenow, you know. It is your fault. You left me alone. It was the bigC. Cruel. Cruel kids. Yes, thats what it was. Cruel kids, sugar

Stop it! he cried, barely aware he said the words. Stop it!You left me. You left me so you could go out and mess around!

You were a whore You left us! You left us alone!Im all alone now, you know. My children left me. Theywere in a hurry, sugar, and they left their dear old mother to die.Im not surprised. Look what he did to Mrs. Duncan. Popped herright in the nose. Killed her like he killed me. It was the big C, youknow. Crazy Crazy Crazy

Anger slowly ate away the repressed hurt feelings of hisyouth. It was your own fault! He stepped away from the body ofMrs. Duncan and paced across the living room. It was your ownfault you lost your family, not mine! You did it! You lost yourfamily! You abandoned us!

He stopped in the middle of the room. He looked at Mrs.Duncan.


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/ 23 /

It was the big C, you know?Urgg! he grunted, running up to her body and kicking it.Whats the problem, sugar? In a hurry?

He kicked it again and again, opening and closing his fistsas he jack hammered his foot into Mrs. Duncans lifeless body.Exhausting his emotions and his physical stamina, he let

one more kick carry his weight over her body and toward the frontof the house. Before his emotions waged another attack, he pulledthe drapes shut on the front windows and double-checked thedeadbolt on the front door. He walked through the rest of thehouse, closing windows, shades, and drapes.

When he reached the living room, John glanced at Mrs.Duncans body. Her hand was still quivering. With his attentiondrawn to her hand, one thought occurred to John.

Fingerprints!Images of a police forensic team tracking through the house

with little magnifying glasses and dusting every surface with smallbrushes caught him in mid breath. He traced his steps in hismemory, realizing he touched almost everything in the housewhen he searched it, twice when he closed windows and drapes.

In a sheer panic, he ran into the kitchen to look for cleaning ragsand supplies.

No, no, no! I cant believe this is happening. All I wantedwas a little money. I didnt want to kill anyone!

Fumbling with the cabinet doors under the kitchen sink, hebroke the handle in his haste to yank them open. He pried themloose with his fingernails and peered inside for the cleaningsupplies.

He found a can of kerosene lamp fuel instead. He snatchedit out of the cabinet and held it in front of him for a moment. Hestared at the can. He read the stenciled lettering of an out-datedcompany providing fuel for antique lamps.

Kerosene lamp fuel!His panic started to ease. With a deep breath, he forced

himself to calm down. Each exhale took with it the panic chasinghim through the house, and each inhale brought with it a deeper-seated peace. This was going to work out. The scams always workthemselves out.

He looked back at Mrs. Duncan. He looked at the can ofkerosene fuel.


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Thats a perfect way out of this mess, he mumbled to thedead body of Mrs. Duncan. He set the can down in the kitchenand found his way to the basement to look for more. There were

several cans of old camping fuel, white fuel, and another can ofkerosene stored under the steps to the basement.

Thirty minutes later, John Dakota pulled the money heswiped from Mrs. Duncan from his back pocket and ordered hisfirst shot of whiskey for the night. He was at the Dixie News Barand Grill; a place a bit dirtier than his usual hangout, but hecould not risk another run-in with Jacob's Enforcers at least notuntil he had all Jacob's money. His usual routine would have tostop, which was fine with John since he did not feel very usual atall.

The bar was not crowded for a Friday, which suited John.The light crowd still managed to create a prevailing cloud ofcigarette smoke, which led him to shake out his own and light up.

The first deep draw eased his nerves.The contractors truck was parked a few blocks away in

front of a hardware store. John, now paranoid and veryconcerned about fingerprints, wiped every surface in the truckwith an oily rag he took from the house. He even kept the oily rag,shoving it in his pocket before walking to the bar, the smell ofmachine oil covering the bad scent of his body odor.

You look like youve been to hell and back, my friend, thebartender commented, replacing John's dollar bill with shot glassof whiskey.

Umph! John grunted, taking the entire shot of whiskey inone gulp. The hot, fiery liquid burned its way down his throat andinto his chest. John stared across the miles of horrors in hismemory to see the bartender a few feet away. No, I havent beento hell, but Ive felt the heat!

He slapped another dollar on the bar to order his secondshot. Looking at the single dollar, he wondered if he would everforget the dead, accusing eyes of Mrs. Duncan.

The feelings of remorse passed as his childhood memoriesattempted to press in. He remembered his father leaving when hewas young, his mothers late night visits to the neighbors house,her frequent trips out of town for work, the way she dressed forthose out of town trips, and the way she ignored his attempts to


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tell her about the "secret meetings"forced on him by his first gradeteacher. She would be Mrs. Duncans age if her heart would havekept ticking but would he have known her? Would he have

forgiven her of those escapades in his youth?Another memory trailed his mothers and his first gradeteacher came to mind. John went to him as a child, trusting himas he shared his troubles. Mr. Pennyton. He thought he couldtrust his teacher. He thought he would be able to tell him abouthis mother. What did he get in return? Secret meetings with histeacher? Secret games of touch and do not tell? Was that right?

He concentrated on Mrs. Duncan to guard himself from theemotions trailing off to those painful, younger recollections.

It was the big C, you know.The second shot of whiskey came, the liquid staring at him

as he thought about Mrs. Duncans death. He surrendered thethoughts to the demons in the glass, finishing them off in anothergulp.

In a hurry, sugar?John ordered a third drink without hesitation, seeking a

comfortable, protective haze to filter out the harsh realities of the

world billowing out of control.It was a familiar road.

Excerpt: Suffering Madness, by Glenn Sasscer

Glenn [email protected]

www.glennsasscer.com

Available for purchase at www.glennsasscer.com, Amazon, Barnes and

Noble, and through your nearest bookstore retailer.

13386240 Suffering Madness Promotional Copy

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