Monthly Archives: May 2015

James Eagan Holmes, An Opinion

The preceding video is only 24 seconds long. Holmes’ attorney whispered something to him. Other than that no sound. A longer video at the end.
I’m getting really sick of hearing about Holmes.
Yet, recently, there he is, sitting in court with sober face in the morning national news and the evening national news.
Nearly three years have passed since July 20, 2012, when he murdered 12 people at the movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, and wounded and maimed 70 others. At least he didn’t get bail. I mean he was guilty. He was at the scene wearing an assault vest (whatever the hell that is) and with all his weapons. So, he was, allegedly, guilty. (I love how they always use that word ‘allegedly,’ no matter the crime, and no matter there’s no doubt.)
A side note here, one that maybe should worry law-abiding gun-owners….
This boy from May 22, 2012 to July 2, 2012, ordered and/or bought in person and/or online two Glock pistols, a tactical shotgun, a semi-automatic rifle, an Urban Assault Vest, two magazine holders, and a knife. Earlier he ordered and bought online 3000 rounds each for the rifle and pistols, and 350 rounds for the shotgun.
Kinda sounds to me like he was planning to go to war.
(But why should law-abiding gun-owners be concerned? If NSA has figured out how to watch internet sales, that many close-together weapons-sales likely would send up all kinds of red flags.)
And yet, his attorneys, in the beginning, anyway, at least considered an insanity plea, but now, later, have settled on ‘Diminished Capacity.’
And what in hell is that? No! Don’t anybody write and tell me. I don’t freaking care!
That kid with the deer-in-the-headlights stare and the original orange hair (and calling himself “The Joker” of “Batman” fame) is guilty. He planned that rampage right down to the last detail and wrote it all out in a well-kept diary. Now, about this insanity thing, or that ‘diminished’ thing. I think a verified wacko—like this kid definitely is—would be able to push his humanity aside for the few moments needed to commit the crime that he did.
Afterward it would be completely permissible to be legally insane…or to expertly fake it.
He did it. He knows he did it. And he was sane when he did it.
The death penalty or life in prison I will go along with, but no hospital filled with candy-stripers! One of the worst punishments I can think of would be life in prison and never getting to see another living woman. But in the article I read—a bit quickly—I saw no mention of a woman in this boy’s life, so maybe never seeing another woman would not be so much punishment. Just today on the news I see he did have a girlfriend, and was a bit upset losing her, so went on that killing rampage–Right! Blame the woman!
Hey, I’m just saying too what would be punishment to me…!
I guess I agree with our legal system. I mean if I was wrongly accused of a crime I guess I would want my lawyer to have as much time as possible to prove I was innocent. Oh, wait, it wouldn’t be my lawyer’s job to prove me innocent, but just to get me either acquitted, or the best possible deal if the prosecutors got their way and sent me to prison.
So I guess I’m not against our legal system.
But when the national news is on I like to hear about the important stories happening in the country, and even more so what’s happening in the world. I guess though, that the mass media has to tell the stories that get them the best returns, like James Eagan Holmes, oh yeah and we must get a feel-good human interest story thrown in at the end.
At the end of my rant: this kid received $21,600.00 from the National Institute of Health. That, to me, sounds like a government handout. He also received a stipend of some sort from the University of Colorado. So he wasn’t dumb, for sure. Not exactly smart either, and certainly not insane.
But, on some level, aren’t we all insane?
The following eleven and a half-minute video is worth it to watch just to see the BS that takes place in a courtroom, and at least a dozen people getting paid a lot of money.

Holmes, to me, looks like one of three things. Waking up from a drug trip. Faking insanity with several wacko expressions. Or, as I suggested in my 3-book series, “New World Order Rising,” this boy and others like him are found and brainwashed by the Illuminati to commit mass shootings and then to either commit suicide or go wacko. And why would the so-called Illuminati do that? To create a reason for gun confiscation.

“The Light at the End of the Tunnel” A Supernatural Thriller

Light at the end of the Tunnel Final
At the end, look for a music-video and two customer reviews.
Worst-of-the-worst criminal, Les Paul, on the cover, is in the womb well on the way to his next life. Notice the extra umbilical cord, the one in his mouth. He has just committed his first evil act in his new growing life by using that cord to strangle his twin brother and receive the extra nutrition. He then kicked and shoved that useless presence toward that Light at the End of the Tunnel.

Worst-of-the-worst criminal, Les Paul, is on death row awaiting execution.
Chaplain Radford O’Hare, is trying to stop the execution, and not for the love of mankind.
Mrs. Leslie Markum, in nine months, will give birth to the reincarnation of evil.
Ms. Nicole Waters is nursing where the infant, Les Paul, will be abandoned.
Cassandra is yet divided between her mother and father.
Riley Stokes, ex-military, will train the chaplain and Nicole to become private investigators.

Cassandra is born on October 18. Halfway across the country another baby is born on the same day, just another child who will find no love. Les Paul will find no love because he is the reincarnation of a long string of evil killers, born with the memories of each prior life, not really intact memories but memories nonetheless, which will serve him well in his next new life.

Les Paul’s lineage begins in prehistory. He has a loving wife and a charming girl-child. They are happy. One night a group of men and a woman from a different clan enters their hearth and rape and kill his wife and daughter. During his first death, while his essence enters the womb of his next birth, he resolves to kill many, many, men, and kill and rape many women because of the act of that one woman who held his daughter while the men raped her. Over thousands of years Les Paul continues his killing rampage, constantly–through deja vu–vaguely remembering his family and re-experiencing his many, many, executions.
When Cassandra is born her mother will live long enough to name her. On the same day her father will die in Afghanistan. Cassandra starts her life alone. In foster care she will fall through crack after crack, as nobody wants to adopt this darling girl child. Lacking love, she soon discovers her crying brings her nothing. She stops crying. As she grows she does not come to love, anything, and does not come to trust…anyone.

The prison chaplain, Radford O’Hare, has received what he considers a devine message that leads him to a secret prison locker. Inside a huge book he finds the scrolled words:
“If the state kills a worst-of-the-worst criminal, rather than allowing a natural death, that criminal will reincarnate as not only the same person but more evil than before. He will have the same memories, though not fully intact memories, but they will serve him well in the new life. A worst-of-the-worst criminal MUST be allowed to die a natural death, which includes being killed by a fellow criminal.”
The chaplain is unsuccessful in stopping the execution, but continues to believe the message he received was divine and correct. Over the next nine years he will search for the reincarnated Les Paul.

The chaplain’s first lead arrives through a front page article, The National Infamies, ‘…Nurse Nicole Waters claims the baby not only tried to grab her boob but peed in her face twice and smirked each time…but only did things when only she was present, so nobody else saw what happened, so everybody thought she was making it up, but she wasn’t! It was all TRUE…!’

The chaplain and Nicole join forces and train at a desert survival school. Their goal has been—and remains to be—to track down the newly-born Les Paul—rampaging through foster home after foster home—and prove that this child, now nine-years-old, is truly the reincarnation of Les Paul, worst-of-the-worst criminal.
Viewpoint from Cassandra, now nine: She has just been questioned by the chaplain and Nicole about Les Paul (now called Baby Boy-Doe9) now also nine years old. A look at foster care:
From her window Cassandra could see Nicole’s minivan leaving. Then she sat down with a new sheet of paper. Soon she had drawn a nice picture of a white house, a big yard, a tall green tree, and three stick-figures: A man with white hair, a woman a little shorter with long brown hair, and a little girl wearing a yellow dress. She whimpered, a sound she never made because she knew it showed weakness, but she whimpered again, and choked, slightly. Her eyes felt strange, like maybe tears wanted to come—but she blinked several times, and then she screamed silently within herself and stopped them, and roared just in her own mind, and crumpled her nice drawing of three happy people by their happy little home, then she uncrumpled the paper and tore it into many little pieces.
She knew about tears; she knew what they were, but she was pretty sure there were none in her!
Her teeth gritted so hard and her mouth was so tight it almost hurt. Why are those people looking for Baby Boy-Doe9?—and what a stupid, stupid, name! Did they want to take him home to his real parents? Where he would live happily ever after? Why didn’t they come for me instead? She held her dolly more tightly to her front. Nicole was so nice. Why couldn’t she love ME? She whimpered again, and those tears really wanted to come, but little Cassandra would not let them. Somewhere far back in her mind she knew tears did not help a thing, and that if she ever let herself start crying she would never stop!

There you have the four main characters, each of whose heads you will be inside as this novel progresses.
Not too many songs about executions. I chose the “Braveheart” song because if you saw the movie you will remember the heartbreaking “execution” scene. The photo shows a moving moment between the main character and his love, which for the sake of this post we can imagine this is the early Les Paul with his loving wife; plus the music is quite beautiful.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel is enlightening and enthralling.
ByRhonda Lytleon February 22, 2012 Format: Kindle Edition
This book is engrossing. It’s not what I would call a warm, fuzzy type of read, but rather a real glimpse into some of the major issues facing society such as the atrocities committed upon children, consequences of the death penalty, and the ever declining social conditions regarding families and relationships in general all wrapped up in some addicting fiction.

The author, James W. Nelson, has an easy to read style that makes putting the book down difficult. His characters are rich, the storyline multi-layered, and the action moves at a good pace. One of the things I really enjoyed was that it was not predictable at all and there were surprises all the way up to the very end. I feel he has earned an all around five stars!
5 Stars Un-put-downable, absolutely gripping!
ByCarolee Samuda-Baileyon February 10, 2012 Format: PaperbackVerified Purchase
The most unique tale of the criminal mind. The story is scary but you don’t want to stop reading it because you have to know what happens. This book is thrilling and is wonderfully crafted. The author is definitely a mastermind at creating such stories and this is very believable. It has you wondering who the next Les Paul is or if he is right beside you!

“American Sniper” A Review

The following 2-minute video shows the best of the best of the movie. Clint Eastwood, Bradley Cooper, and Sienna Miller at their very, very, best.

Finally got to see the movie “American Sniper.” For a time a lot of Facebook posts have showed muslims very unhappy about the movie, and felt fear because of it, and in some universities they actually got the showing canceled. One university in Michigan, though, a girl student stood up, got a new petition rolling and got it reinstated. (Yes, there are still a few patriotic Americans around; some of the people running the universities…not so much.)
Right away we see Chris Kyle lying prone on a rooftop looking through his telescopic sights. On the street below rolls a tank and a squad of American soldiers. In his viewfinder appears a woman dressed in nun clothing and a small boy. Something is hidden beneath her clothes. They stop, she passes a grenade to the boy. Chris aims but….
While Chris was watching the situation through his viewfinder, the movie switches to his earlier life, and the events that led him to become the man he was. In my mind, a caring and kind man who did not like shooting muslims, what he did like was protecting and saving his boys, which required shooting the people trying to kill them. He also believed in the war and served four tours. During his trips home he lamented “Nobody gives a shit!”
True, Chris, Americans have not seen the danger of war since the Civil War. We have forgotten.
He met a fabulous woman in a bar. She, “…would never marry a SEAL.” but, evidently would date one. That first meeting goes on to some sort of drinking game and ends with the poor woman vomiting her guts. I think she would not have allowed the over-drinking if she had not already decided this was her man. (Just a thought.) They marry before he goes to war and he leaves her pregnant with their first child.
The movie returns to the first scene: The boy runs toward the approaching tank and soldiers. Our American sniper shoots the boy. The woman then runs, grabs the grenade and throws, and is also shot.
A woman and a child now dead in the street.
What was Chris Kyle to do? Allow American soldiers to be killed instead? I don’t think so.
I once spoke with a young Vietnam veteran who told a similar story. A young Vietnamese boy was running toward him with a grenade. He shot the boy, and now will live the rest of his life with that unending memory, but what else was he do do? Open his arms to that boy, which would have gotten them both killed? I think not.
War definitely is hell.
I sometimes felt sorry for Chris’s wife. Truly she was a strong woman; a necessity to be to be married to a professional soldier, but times when he came home she would say, “You’re here, but you aren’t here…” But such a thing is impossible for someone who hasn’t been “there,” to understand. I do understand.
During my four years in the navy’s submarine service, when I came home, often all I could think of was getting back. I never shared those thoughts with my family. They wouldn’t have understood (I didn’t understand, but now I do.)
What part of the movie this conversation happened in I don’t remember, but it’s unforgettable. They were riding and the word went out that the town was evacuated of civilians, “so any young man of military age is here to kill you.” Something like that.
The “Butcher” was one of the really, really, really, bad guys (favorite weapon a drill.) Not really certain if they got him. I think so and hope so. If any person truly deserved killing it was that man. One muslim sniper was plenty bad too, and plenty good with his sniper rifle. In one of the last scenes Chris finally got him, a shot over a mile. That scene got plenty busy. They were surrounded and suddenly there was dust filling the screen, but I suspect that is how war really is. Half the time (maybe three-quarters of the time) (dust, night, no uniform) you can’t see the enemy.
But what a man!
The last scene showed Chris leaving with the veteran who killed him.
I don’t consider that a spoiler because we all now know what happened.
One last word: The going away funeral Chris received was Texas extraordinaire!
This 4-minute video shows an interview with the real Chris Kyle and Conan O’Brian, my favorite talk show host along with Jay Leno.

The last 7-minute video is an interview with Bradley Cooper. Two things I’d like to point out. An only-time visit with the real Chris Kyle, he told Bradley he thought he was “too pretty” to play him. The other was when Bradley asked loser Sean Penn a question during an interview early in Cooper’s life. (Sorry, but I don’t care for Penn.)

Criminal Minds, A Review

The two videos mostly show Jennifer “JJ” Jareau (A.J. Cook.) Nothing wrong with the other characters. They’re all my favorites, but JJ stood out the strongest in the YouTube video selections. Both videos relate to the episodes when she was captured and tortured while in Afghanistan. It was very hard for me to see her getting hurt, even though I knew she really wasn’t.
Criminal Minds, I’d have to say is my favorite TV show. When it first came out I ignored it for the first two seasons. Criminal Minds, what the heck could that be about? I’m picky what shows I watch. If the show doesn’t get my attention right away, well…. Then I discovered it. I don’t know why or how, and ever since have watched it nearly religiously, and, lately, strangely enough, I’ve been leaning back toward religion.
For Christmas one year, a nephew bought me Season Two. I’ve watched all 23 episodes 3 times, some favorites five or six times, Then I stumbled across Season One at Walmart, bought that, and am starting on the fourth time with all 22 episodes.
No, I don’t sit in front of the TV constantly, but some nights there simply is nothing on, and I require at least one hour of drama per day. A half hour of comedy would be nice too.
Season Finale, May, 2015. I was elsewhere, so didn’t get to watch it on TV. Fine, online was better: no commercials. I watched it two nights in a row.
Because the episode touched on human trafficking (it’s usually serial killers.)
I also write fiction on human trafficking. It has become a bit obsessive to me. People whose daughters and sons have been abducted, trafficked, never heard from again, will understand the obsession. They never give up believing their children will return.
I didn’t lose a child. A child I cared about ran away, becoming a prime target for the traffickers. This child returned home and didn’t get hurt, thank God. Her experience inspired my interest in human trafficking: the “what if?”
In the Criminal Minds season finale episode, the daughter–and a close young friend–of one of the main characters was first lured, then abducted. The friend escaped.
The daughter first had her appearance changed, then was photographed and her photo put online to a website of serial killers for auction, and was quickly sold for $29,000.00. She was destined to literally disappear.
Here is my reason for writing this status and my obsession to watch the heartbreaking episode twice:
At the end, the girl’s hands were tied and the rope attached to the ceiling; she was standing on a crate, which upon removal would leave her hanging and helpless.
At the last minute, when the serial killer approached with his tools of her destruction, she fought, she screamed, she kicked him. Hollywood Ink, of course, came to her rescue.
But here’s the thing, folks, something we will never know. Maybe all girls will fight and scream and kick at the end. But if nobody is right outside and coming to her rescue, no matter how much she fights, she is lost.
I had to watch that brutal episode twice to see that.
In the following 5-minute video the problem of abducted children is touched on. Many abducted children are murdered. I doubt most fight at the end. I’d like to think that their mind sends them far into shock.

The Three Main Characters of “New World Order Rising” Book 3, The Next Generation Fights On

New World Order Rising-Book 3 Cover2 front

Look for a sales announcement at the end.

Warrior Jocelyn

Jocelyn—now a graceful, strong, and sinuous seventeen-year-old—leaned forward and patted her horse’s sweating neck, “It’s just ten more miles, Blue. I know you can do it, girl.” She straightened up and gazed west. The sun, about an hour high yet, was blazing and causing a red dusty haze. She could wait for night. She had Interstate 94’s ditch to travel in. No fences to worry about…but she had been gone two days, she wanted to get home. And if she left in daylight they could run all the way. Just walking, in the dark, well, who knows what they might walk into?
She patted Blue’s neck again, “What do you think, girl?”
The horse gently shook her head and gave a soft neigh, then leaned down and took a mouthful of green grass.
She ran her hand over the 30-30 Winchester lever-action rifle Carter had given her for her biggest armament when riding, then she dismounted, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Blue’s neck, “I want to go now, girl, and I bet you do too. I bet you’re just dying to run like the wind those last ten miles…aren’t you?”
Blue shook her head again and lightly stomped her right front foot.
“I knew it!” Jocelyn swung back up into the saddle, tightened her legs on Blue’s sides, gave a quiet couple clicks of her lips and gently slapped Blue’s rump, “Go, girl! Go like the wind!”
And they did.
She kept herself low against Blue’s neck and did nothing but hang on, watching the green world go by as a blur. Blue knew she was going home, and would go there without any further commands from her mistress.
A mile went by, then two. Ahead appeared a growth of giant cottonwoods on the other side of the interstate fence—
A blast!
She saw chunks of the earth coming up to meet them, then she was flying over Blue’s head…endlessly, and she knew—she just absolutely knew!—she had just killed her horse.
Her mind went to the first time she placed a blanket on little Blue’s back, and Blue’s eyes, how wide and wild they became and how she kicked and bucked and pulled confusedly on the halter she was holding with all her strength.
Grampa Carter was nearby, just there if she needed help. He was always there, just in case. He always encouraged her to do it by herself, and get hurt if necessary but to learn, and sometimes she did get hurt, but he was always there to keep her from getting hurt too much, just enough to learn.
“Just hang on, Sweetheart!” he had cried, “Blue needs to know who’s boss, and you are her boss, Jocelyn.”
How she loved her adopted grampa.
And Blue that day she whinnied and whinnied, just a high and piercing sound. She had never heard her little pony make such sounds but oh my, that day she did, and she just kept on and on and on—
Jocelyn hit the ground, tasted dirt and grass and rolled, and rolled, and stopped rolling to face the ground.
And that hideous whinnying just kept on and on and on—why wouldn’t she stop? Just a blanket could not be that bad, it just couldn’t…and then the whinnying stopped.
The world became so silent it hurt her ears. Her arm hurt. She felt for it, and rubbed it…not broken…what’s happening?
She rolled onto her back and faced what was left of the blazing sun. How beautiful it was. Whenever she and Carter were together and something wonderful and beautiful happened he made sure she saw it, and more importantly experienced it. Sometimes she would wait and wait for the sunset, and then she would watch it, and sometimes she would even set her alarm to get up for the sunrise.
As Carter said, “You can always see the sunset. It will just happen, with you or without you, but the sun rise is different, then you have to be there, and experience those first few streaking rays of fire…”
But the sun was disappearing. Where was she? What happened? Slowly but slowly she began coming out of her romantic daydream, or whatever it was—where’s Blue?
She became fully awake and sat up and looked all around, and saw her dear pony, in a heap—“Blue!!!!”
She tried to keep the scream quiet but knew it had come out loud and would be heard for a mile on such a quiet night. She went to her knees and felt a pain slash through her so viciously she didn’t even know where it started, so stayed on her knees and crawled at least forty feet to her horse.
How could she have flown so far?
She didn’t know, and reached her horse, and felt her insides collapsing, for her dear horse’s front legs were mangled, one even missing. The ground was soaked with Blue’s blood—“Oh my god, Blue, my darling pony!” She wrapped her arms around Blue’s head and neck and felt her breathing, and felt her heart and blood pumping, but very little life left—
“Get on your feet.” The command came not loudly and with no emotion, but then that was how they were. They followed orders and they gave orders. But they felt and showed no emotions, no feelings necessary.
“Get on your feet!” The command came a little louder.
She pulled her arms from her dying pony and looked at Blue’s eyes. They were faint, and clouding over. She would die soon. Nothing Jocelyn could do.
“Get on your feet!”
She pulled back to her haunches. How many were there? Just one? She could handle just one. She swung to her left to get her hands on the ground. She still hurt. It wouldn’t be easy rising, but she didn’t think anything was seriously damaged. She would hope.
Darkness was falling fast.
She positioned herself with her hands and knees supporting her. Then she looked up.
Just one all right. Just one black uniform close. But not ten feet beyond him were three more, all with their weapons leveled. And all with their dark face shields down—how the hell can they see with those things? But no matter how violently good a fighter she felt she was, there would be no chance against four of them.
She pushed back to her haunches again, then braced with her hands and stood.
The close one swung his weapon, she knew meaning to start walking in that direction. She nodded, then looked back at Blue, and saw what looked like a final movement. She wanted to cry for her horse, but she couldn’t, not in front of these inhuman creatures in black uniforms.
Satisfied, she turned to leave, then heard another sound from Blue, just barely a whinny. She stopped and turned back. Blue had actually lifted her head a bit, and looked at her, then the gentle head fell back again, and movement stopped. Her dear pony was gone.
She walked to the fence and crawled through.
“Move!” With the command came a not-gentle poke with his weapon.
She turned and grabbed the barrel, jerked it from the creature’s hands and slammed it into the black uniform’s face shield, “You mutherfucker! You killed my horse!”
She knew now that they were human. She could thank the South Dakota Militia leader, Wesman, for that information. He had gotten it from the lab technicians and doctors at Bismarck, who had cut some of the super soldiers open and discovered they were fully human, but plumb full of the drug…whatever.
She didn’t remember all the details and didn’t remember the name of the drug, and didn’t care to remember, but she knew drugs in the food and water had played a large role in the parts of the country that had been taken over by the Illuminati so quickly, and killed so many, many, people.
She followed the slam into the face shield with another slam to his throat. She didn’t even see a fifth black uniform who slammed the butt of his weapon into her head.
And her world went dark.

Second in Command Carter

Carter stared toward the rising sun. Where was Jocelyn? The young girl and he were still nearly joined at the hip, but sometimes she would go riding and not tell him, but she always rode into the pasture, the much safer direction being west—never east he had told her, and to his knowledge she had never gone joyriding east.
Was that what she did when she mounted her pony and went galloping away, just like her mother, Chantal, use to do? Yes. And he loved her for it. He loved her for whatever she chose to do, because whatever she chose to do she did well. He was so proud of her.
But where is she?
Gone for two days. Someone had to know. But Chantal didn’t, and Noni didn’t and Amber didn’t. None had any idea. Who else could he ask? Those three—and Sawyer, her new someday-daddy—were the only ones she had bonded with.
Other than himself.
Who else?
Would somebody have told her to do something important for the militia, something dangerous, something that would take her east toward the encroaching Illuminati super soldier camps?
Who would do such a thing? And especially who would order Jocelyn to do something dangerous without clearing it first with her grampa, her grampa who worshipped the ground the girl walked on.
Only one person. Why that one person could still feel such contempt for Jocelyn he could not imagine, but he knew she did, and it was time to approach her…and, finally, ask.
He shaded his eyes and looked west one more time.
There was no cloud of dust, no dot on the horizon.
His fists tightened, his teeth clinched, his heart gave a solid beat. He turned, and would find that one person, and ask her where she sent Jocelyn.
And why?!


On the way to find that one person Carter passed, “Axel, I might need your help, son.”
Axel nodded and fell into step with him.
When they reached the house, they met, “Sawyer, join us, please.”
They entered the house. Carter stopped them at the door to the computer room, “Wait here, boys.” He entered and saw, “Amber, would you please go get Noni.”
“Beth just relieved her,” Amber answered.
“It’s okay, Amber, go get her anyway.”
Amber’s eyes grew wide, but she hurried off.
Beth, sitting at the main computer terminal, turned and faced Carter.
The look in her eyes told him he was correct, “Beth, where did you send Jocelyn?”
“We got a message from Valley City that the Illuminati super soldiers had set up camp north of the interstate between Oriska and Tower City. I thought we should check it out.”
“So you sent Jocelyn out there alone?”
Beth didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
Noni and Amber arrived, “Carter, what’s up?” Noni asked.
“Sorry, Noni, but you will have to stay on duty a little longer.”
In the ten years passed, the girl’s rich black hair still shone, the dark blue eyes were always deep and sharp. Noni’s beauty had not left her, but she rarely smiled these days, and her normally sober face grew more sober as she answered, “All right.”
“Thank you, Noni.” He then turned to, “Amber, please go over to the other house and get…,” he thought for a few seconds, “I think Genevieve. Bring her here, and tell her to be prepared to stay, and then you join me out in the shop.”
“Yes, Sir.” Even more wide-eyed, Amber again hurried off.
“Noni,” Carter said, “Please train Genevieve to replace Beth, and pick someone else to also train, so that you girls can be eight on, sixteen off. That way all of you can get more rest, and help in other areas. If you have any trouble let myself or Chantal know.”
“Will do, Carter.”
“Beth,” Carter said, and started toward the door, “Come with me.”
He didn’t see Beth’s face, but he heard whatever she threw hit the floor.


Carter led the way to the shop. He had always liked Beth, at times he had even considered trying a relationship with her, but her never-disguised attitude toward Jocelyn had kept him from ever approaching her. He couldn’t help it. His adopted little granddaughter—even though now a grown young woman—would always be first with him, next to Chantal.
“I’ve seen how you look at that girl, Carter,” Beth said from behind, “How you’ve always looked at her!”
The tone of her voice repelled him. He couldn’t begin to think of a response.
“Are you actually fucking her now?”
He turned and drew his gun at the same time, cocked it, and aimed at the sky, “How could you even begin to think that?” He had never felt such fury, but kept the gun pointing up. If he ever brought it down he didn’t trust himself not to shoot her.
Everybody stopped.
Beth’s eyes told him she thought that too, yet, “Ask anybody in the militia, Carter. Anybody who has seen you two together would say ‘He’s got the hots for that little girl.’
He brought the gun down partway and took one step toward her.
Sawyer stepped between them, then faced Beth, “That’s not true, Beth. I’ve seen how Carter looks at Jocelyn, and it’s with the love of a grandfather.”
“I agree,” Axel said, “No way there’s anything different, and I’ve never heard a bad word from any of the boys, not from anybody.”
Carter stepped back, uncocked his gun and holstered it, “Thank you, boys.” He turned and continued toward the shop.
Luckily, years earlier, when they had planned to actually, maybe, have prisoners, they had constructed plenty of cells, four, six by eight feet, with a folding cot and latrine pail available for each one. Only one was occupied, “Put her in the far one, then bring—“
“You’re going to lock me up, Carter?”
“Until I feel I can trust you again, Beth, yes.”
“When will that be?”
“When Jocelyn is back, and safe, and unhurt, then, maybe, we’ll talk about it.”
“Talk now!”
“All right.” He looked into her eyes, but felt no emotion other than disgust, “Almost from the beginning you have had this…jealousy—can I even call it jealousy? I think so! Jealous of a little seven-year-old girl, Beth—what on earth?
Beth looked down.
“You left her behind at that last town in Kansas, didn’t you? You left her behind on purpose, and if Genevieve hadn’t screamed ‘Where’s Jocelyn?’ I don’t know how much longer it would have taken me to realize she was missing. We might have lost her that day. We were all stressed during that nightmarish trip and you took your one chance to get rid of her—am I right?”
She kept looking down, “Yes, and I’m sorry.”
“You’re ‘sorry.’ You can’t get away with such an act with just ‘I’m sorry.’ Lock her up, boys, then bring that other prisoner to the shop office, and you boys plan to stay too.”
They started away.
“One more thing, Beth.”
They all stopped, and turned. Beth’s eyes were wide, yet appearing to feel no remorse, he was sure.
“When this…event…started, ten years ago, when I left Fargo to look for my daughter and granddaughter, I told Mason, that if either of those girls got hurt, and I found out that he had anything to do with their abduction, that next time I saw him I would kill him. Little Dodie is still with her abductors…and I’m sure she has been hurt, many, many times. Anyway, luckily, so that I didn’t have to kill my son-in-law, he died by someone else’s hand.”
He hesitated, “The same promise goes to you, Beth, except I may just follow through anyway, whether we get Jocelyn back safe and sound, or not.” He then turned and walked straight to the shop office.

Warrior Dodie

Dodie, now a vibrant and beautiful sixteen-year-old, nearly a perfect picture of her mother, Chantal, was sleeping…and dreaming of happy times, times she had forgotten, times she had forced from her mind in order to survive her new life of being a love and sex-interest for an ancient old man.
A horse came galloping into her dream, a beautiful light gray Arabian horse and her colt running alongside—and her mom!!!!
She came out of her sleep and found herself fully awake! She stared at the ceiling; she still slept in the pink room with the huge pink teddy bear, an inanimate thing she had loved and held closely to also help her face her new life. How long since she had allowed herself to think of her mom? She barely remembered her mom. She just remembered the love, the hugs and kisses, and the last time she saw her mom, that look on her mom’s face and what her last words were, ‘Just do what he wants, Dodie.’
It maybe was the worst thing her mother could have said, and the best, for she had cooperated in whatever was required of her…and had survived. But she was all through with that!
Then her grampa came into her mind. Her last time with him was sitting on the bales with the kittens, and the one kitten with the attitude, and she asked, “Can you handle him, Grampa?”
But of course her grampa, a big strapping man who worshipped her, could handle a little tiny kitten—and the wave goodbye as she and her mom were walking home. She remembered that too, and could still see her grampa waving—and then she couldn’t see him anymore, and that bug sting came, or whatever that was!
Tears came. She could not stop them, but she did turn and bury her face in the pillow so that the sounds would not travel out of her room. She did not want that woman to hear her, that woman who had remained by her side all those last years, and not once—not once!—had the woman ever—EVER!—showed feelings for her. How could she be so cold?
But of course I have never once shown feelings for her either.

The tears stopped.
She remembered the woman’s last words before she went in to meet the old man, “You have to be a big girl, now, Dodie, for your life is going to change. You’re okay. Just walk on in, and there’s a man waiting for you. He’s going to take good care of you.”
He took good care of her all right!
Ten years later and all the memories were coming back as if happening just yesterday.
She knew why. Just that day, just yesterday, before she had been sent to her room—as if I was a child!!!!—she had seen and heard the news from Free America. She had heard the city of Fargo mentioned, and the small town of Sanborn, where her Aunt Dani had a farm. That night she listened to her own stolen radio under the covers, and learned even more.
She knew those two names—Fargo and Sanborn!
Her Aunt Dani would be there, and her mom, and her grampa, and she was going to go see them! She would do whatever it would take to escape from the old man—she would kill him if she had to! And that woman, and the maid, and the butler!
I’m going home!!!!
Nothing would stop her!
End of the first 3 chapters. Beginning at midnight, May 11, 2015, look for a free Amazon digital download, and remember, you do not need a Kindle but can read on most any electronic device.
Unfortunately, folks, with all the BS going on in our dear nation, right now, especially with Jade Helm 15 in full swing and hundreds upon hundreds of military vehicles on the move, my 3-book series almost seems prophetic. The following short video does not match the preceding material, but it does pertain to the reason why I began the series in the first place. Plus Jon Voight is one of my favorite actors, and I trust him.

The second video is slightly shorter, and a bit weirder, but, again, it pertains to why I wrote the series.

How To Recognise a Controlling Person

Blog of a Mad Black Woman

Those who try to control other people are, simply put, neither nice nor respectful! While a controlling personality belongs to someone who probably has deeper issues, such as codependency, narcissism, sociopathic tendencies or just sheer stubbornness, none of these negative traits should be shouldered by you. Controlling people are self centered and maybe immature. They are likely to put the brakes on your leading a fulfilling life if you’re in constant close proximity to them.

~ WikiHow

Click here to see full article.

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