Never Ending Spring Page 16

The high gray wall gave the Michigan City State Prison the appearance of a fortress. Some of the Christian inmates said it was like the walls of Jericho and they could only be brought down by faith in God.

  Jack and Ruth felt a cold chill pass over them as Barry drove the car through the gates of the state prison. When Jack proposed the idea, Norma had quickly suggested she baby-sit Emily.

  Barry had made a call to the chaplain the next morning. The chaplain called back an hour later with the arrangements. Now Jack felt the old familiar hatred charging in. What was he doing here? Why had he allowed Ruth to come into this place surrounded by murderers?

  Guards carefully watched from the gun towers as Barry parked the car. A slightly balding gray-haired man was waiting for them at the visitor center.

  "I'm Chaplain Marlow," he said, shaking hands all around.

  "I know this is very hard but Billy Bob has been excited and nervous all week."

  'You don't know the half of it,' Jack said to himself.

  After the guards had searched and patted them down, Marlow led Ruth, Jack, and Barry down a narrow hallway and then indicated a door to his right.

  "Here we are," he said, nodding to the burly guard who accompanied them. The man inserted a large key into the lock. With a loud squeak, the door swung open on rusty hinges, revealing a small room, bare with the exception of a wooden table and five chairs. The guard backed into the corner and folded his arms over his chest.

  "I'm afraid our accommodations aren't too comfortable. We don't receive many visitors on the row," Chaplain Marlow said apologetically.

  Jack and Ruth heard the chains before they saw him.

  Billy Bob shuffled into the room, his hands and feet bound. Guiding him to the side of the table with a lone chair, the accompanying guard helped him into the chair, then anchored his chains to a large metal hook embedded in the floor. He snapped a brass padlock closed, then after testing it, he stood and retreated to the opposite corner, taking up the same position as the first guard.

  Billy Bob's appearance shocked them. His pasty white prison pallor combined with his loss of weight made him look like a sickly child.

  Billy Bob smiled nervously. "Thank you for coming, I'm glad you're here."

  "What makes you think I want to hear anything you have to say?" Jack snapped, biting off each word. He was immediately astounded at his own words. He thought he had left that part of himself behind.

  "I'm sorry, it's just really hard for me to believe you've changed."

  "Yes sir I understand. It's hard for me to believe too. When I was little, my mother taught me about the miracles that Jesus performed. She said the greatest miracle was the new birth. When Dad came home, he would beat her for teaching me the Bible. The day Sheriff Curry came to our house and told us Dad had been killed, Mom cried but I went back behind the garage to where he used to whip me with that big leather belt he always wore. There I danced and spit on the place he would stand while he made me lean against the wall. Two weeks later, I heard his voice calling to me. Ever since then, I've heard it until I turned my life over to Christ. He sure made a difference in my life."

  "Mine too," Jack said softly.

  "I'm sure your mother's very happy and I know Jim and Kristie are," Ruth said, reaching across the table to touch Billy Bob's hand. The guard who had brought Billy Bob in started forward but the chaplain motioned him back.

  At the end a half-hour, the chaplain stood. "I'm sorry but I'm afraid our time is up."

  With the permission of the chaplain, Ruth hugged Billy Bob.

  Leading them back out the way they had come, Jack saw a lone tear run down the cheek of the burly guard. The guard quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  Back in the car, they started the four hour drive home.

  For the next hour, Jack was silent. Finally, he said, "He really has changed, hasn't he?"

  "And so have you dear," Ruth said, smiling as she took his hand in hers.

  ****

  One morning in September, Jack came into the kitchen looking stricken. Ruth was sating breakfast on the table and Emily was climbing into her chair. His work boots still on, he walked through the kitchen and the dining room to the desk in the corner of the living room. Ruth and Emily followed.

  "What is it, Jack?" Ruth asked.

  "I can't find it," he said, rummaging in the desk drawers.

  "Can't find what?"

  "The card the old black man gave me. I had forgotten all about him and now I can't find his card."

  "You mean this one?" Ruth said, handing him the tattered card. "I knew you'd need it someday so I put it away for safekeeping."

  ****

  The clapboard house was in desperate need of repairs. Several pieces of roofing lay in the overgrown yard. Jack glanced at the card; this could not be the right address, yet the card Amos Moses had given him declared it was. Jack knocked three times and was about to leave when he heard a shuffling inside. A thin black woman in her mid-eighties opened the door.

  "Yes, may I help you?" she said, peering up at him through thick glasses.

  Clearing his throat, Jack said, "You don't know me but my name is Jack Johnson."

  A smile brightened her face.

  "Why of course I know you, Mr. Johnson." She laughed at Jack's puzzled smile.

  "No, not by face, but my Amos, he spoke of you many times. He prayed for you every morning. 'Lord,' he'd say, 'you save that Mr. Johnson over at Elm Grove, he sure needs you Lord,' then he'd say to me, 'Maggie, someday a big white man's gonna come to our door and tell us our prayers have been answered.' Please come in."

  Tottering on a hand-carved cane, she led him into a sparse living room.

  When he was settled on a faded yellow couch, Jack asked, "Where is Amos? I'd like to give him the good news."

  "Oh he knows, Mr. Johnson, he knows," Maggie said, nodding her head. "You see, my Amos, he went home to be with his Jesus last week."

  Jack's face fell.

  "Now don't you look so sad, Mr. Johnson. My Amos, he loved spring. He'd start walking the park in February, planning what to plant in March, and by May he'd have them flower beds a shining. He used to say," Maggie said in a far away voice, "Maggie, when I die, I'm going to a place where there is a NEVER ENDING SPRING!"

  I hope you enjoyed Never Ending Spring.

  Keep reading for an excerpt of

  Sluagh

  Demon of the night

  To be released in 2013

  In the last 20 years, 68 children have

  vanished without a trace.

  Where are they?

  The new pastor of Waynesburg Baptist

  Church knows.

  In Celtic folklore, the Sluagh is a dead sinner come back as a malicious spirit to steal a dying person's soul. Having studied Irish tradition, Max Furman considers himself a Sluagh, a ghost man, a demon of the night, a stealer of children's souls. During his tenure, Max has functioned on the premise that he cannot be caught. He is invisible and invincible.

  Having taken acting classes at The Oxford School of Drama, Max can change his appearance within 90 seconds. He has perfected his art until he never leaves a fingerprint, DNA , hair or fiber. Children disappear without a trace, never to be seen again. Max only abducts boys between the ages of five and seven and he chooses only those loved by their mothers. He never takes an orphan or an unwanted child.

  Deprived of his own mother's love, he endeavors to capture what he has lost. As the child dies, he places his lips over their mouths, stealing their souls, their mother's love and their very lives. With each one, he feels reborn. Then taking their small bodies, he buries them deep, where they are never found.

  If his kills are in the spring, he buries them in fields prepared for planting or in freshly planted ground between the rows of corn, soybeans, or other crop. Sometimes he digs down to the vault and buries them in the fresh grave of one who died of old age or cancer. Occasionally, he carries the dead child to another state to make their grave i
n an abandoned field. He never kills in the winter when the ground is frozen; it's always in the spring, summer or late autumn. Sometimes up until Christmas, depending on the weather.

  He has accumulated many trophies over the years, newspaper clippings, or small pieces of clothing. He snaps photos and videotapes the child's death. He visits the missing children website and prints posters of their disappearance. He laughs at the parent's grief, knowing their prayers will never be answered.

  After 68 kills, it's not enough. He is the greatest predator who ever lived, yet no one knows of his existence. He wants the recognition of a great serial killer. He makes a fatal mistake: instead of burying his kills, he now displays them in parks, setting the child on a bench, or in a sandbox. At times, he props the child under a tree supposedly taking a nap. Then he becomes careless and leaves two witnesses alive.

  Where can he hide? He sees an ad in a religious magazine; the Baptist church in the small town of Waynesburg, Indiana is looking for a new pastor. What better place could there be to hide? Max puts together a bogus resume and applies for the job.

  However, time is running out for him. FBI agent Lsla McFarland and her partner Kevin Kibel are chasing the one they call 'the ghost'. Finally they have a lead and Lsla goes undercover to cozy up to the killer. She puts her life on the line. Will they catch the monster that is destroying families? Or will Lsla become his next victim?

  As angels, Andrew and Antoine were best friends. During the rebellion in heaven, each chose sides: Andrew staying loyal to the Lord while Antoine believed Satan's lies and along with his master was cast out of heaven.

  As Max's personal demon, Antoine has assisted him in all of his kills. The Lord assigns Andrew to lead His host to bring down Antoine and this demon of the night. These two will meet in the battle for Waynesburg as thousands of angels and demons battle for the souls of men.

  Dear Reader:

  While writing may be a lonely profession, there is always encouragement. An email note or remark from those who have enjoyed your previous works. An excellent comment from a reviewer or reader can send me back to my new manuscript buoyant to smooth out the rough edges.

  Even a bad review or remark helps me to take a second look at the book I am working on at the present time. As the story comes together, the characters begin speaking and telling their own view of the account. Now Never Ending Spring is completed. As always, I hope you enjoyed reading this novel as much as I did writing it. May God bless you.

  Darrell

  I love to hear from my readers. Your comments and suggestions are always welcome.

  Write to me at: writercase1@frontier.com.

  For information on my latest releases and activities, visit my website http://darrellcase.com/

  About the author

  Darrell Case has been a missionary to the Jails and Prisons of Indiana and Illinois since 1982. He has served as the associate pastor of Emmanuel Baptist Church and has written many works. Several of them appearing in national publications. He is the author of Live Life to the Fullest, Out of Darkness and is a regular contributor to the daily devotional "Call to Glory." He and his wife Connie live in central Indiana with one dog, one cat and an entire conglomeration of other animals on Peaceful Meadow Wildlife Sanctuary.