With the help of my co-writer, David Dean, I have completed one novel and have concepts fleshed out for several more. It's a huge undertaking, and some other writing priorities have temporarily taken over. But these novels are begging to be written. They talk to me. Seriously! They do!
Anyway, for the time being, please enjoy this excerpt from my completed SF novel, The Return which is still in the midst of significant edits in pursuit of publication.
Anyway, for the time being, please enjoy this excerpt from my completed SF novel, The Return which is still in the midst of significant edits in pursuit of publication.
The Return, Chapter Two, Scene 1
Shannon paced anxiously as he waited for the prisoner to arrive. The cold bare room was silent except for the whispered conversation of the other four in attendance and the sound of his own footsteps. His stomach turned with a nervous nausea and he seemed to be stooping, as if under some invisible weight. He unconciously paced the room, clicking off the seconds in irritating monotony, only increasing the room's agitation. His heart pounded. No one in the room wanted to face the harsh reality of what was about to take place and yet each of them knew it was absolutely necessary. The visible signs of distress that Shannon displayed added to the tension of the others. They would each glance at him periodically hoping to find their strength in his, but it simply was not there to be found.
Shannon impatiently walked toward the entry door peering through the small square of glass to see if anyone was approaching. He caught a vague reflection of himself and studied it for a moment. He notice his brow slightly contorted and a pulsing movement in his temple, syncopated with the clenched grinding of his teeth. He took a deep breath and tried to relax his features. He knew the others were counting on him to keep the situation composed, but the thoughts now racing through his mind made him doubt his ability to live up to their expectations. He was plagued by one question which continued to nag at him, What the hell is happening to us? As he turned and walked back toward the others, he forced his face to take on what he thought was a relaxed expression. The others were not fooled. He wiped his clammy hands on his uniform pants and returned to pacing behind them.
A low table, dull-white in the flickering of the fluorescent glare, was surrounded by a haphazard grouping of ten molded plastic chairs, four of them occupied by the others in the room. Sarah Gross, dark-haired and quiet, stared in to the corner of the room, her thoughts miles away. Doug Lahey and Bob Elder spoke in hushed tones about trivial matters. Ben Fielding, hunched over, elbows on knees, his thin frame seeming to fold in on itself. As he noted the haggard faces dealing with the same disturbing thoughts he was facing, the metallic hiss of the automatic door drew their immediate attention. They ceased their whispered bits of chatter and sat up as three more people entered the room, one of them wearing a pair of handcuffs devised from thin plastic wire ties.
The prisoner moved slowly, with the shuffling, listless gait of the condemned. His eyes were downcast and his steps unsteady.
He stopped in front of the empty chair that waited for him, but stared as if not knowing what to do. The man behind him, apathetic to his assignment, shoved him down, and stepped to the side of the doorway. This earned him an angry glance from the third of the new arrivals, a young man with frightened eyes who moved to sit next to his friend.
Gerald Thompson, Jerry to his friends, kept his red-rimmed eyes focused on the tabletop. several days growth of patchy stubble darkened his cheeks and his brow was wet with perspiration. He trembled slightly at the lip and appeared on the verge of tears. The handcuffs did not hurt, but the awkward position they forced on him appeared painful.
Shannon took his seat in the center of the four others at the table, facing Thompson.
“Mr. Aarons, cut his hands free.” Raising an eyebrow at the request, the guard shook his head and reluctantly produced a small knife from his jacket pocket. He then sawed at one of the ties until it snapped. As the tension released, Thompson brought his hands around to his lap and rubbed the wrists lightly.
Shannon continued, “How do you feel, Jerry?”
Thompson blinked, but did not respond. His friend looked up at the Commander, an answer pausing on his lips, his fear silencing him. His anger almost ignited the courage to speak. He’s sitting here on trial for his life, how would you feel? His icy stare met Shannon’s weary eyes.
Shannon looked away abruptly, then spoke to the man on his right. “Ben, would you please read the charges?”
Ben Fielding, a geologist most days, looked back down at his PalmPad and stared at it a moment. He unfolded his glasses and placed them on his nose. He cleared his throat, then began to read:
“Gerald Richard Thompson has seriously threatened the welfare of the inhabitants of the Terran Biodome and violated the laws of humanity. He is charged with two counts of murder and mutilation.” He paused long enough to draw in a deep breath before continuing, “Specifically, he killed his mother and his father with a Lazer Saw three nights ago. He mutilated their remains by decapitating them. He then attempted to cover up the crime by disposing of the bodies, burying them near the mining site where his father worked each day.”
He let out an audible sigh, shaking his head slowly. Looking up, he removed his glasses to note any reaction on the boy’s face. He saw none. Thompson continued to tremble.
Shannon spoke up, “Do you understand what you did, Jerry?”
For the first time, Jerry raised his eyes to meet Shannon’s, if only for a moment. The pain there was real. His silence seemed to last an eternity. When he finally spoke, his voice was emotionless.
“I saved them.”
The stunned silence was pregnant with outrage. The three remaining judges in attendance turned to Shannon and Fielding and barraged them with whispered exclamations of shock and horror. The young man next to Jerry could only hear words scattered throughout the whirlwind, but he could put together the message clearly enough. Murdered...doesn’t care...parents...die.
Bob Elder was the first to lose control. He stood up, toppling his chair and pointing at Thompson, shouting “He’s a monster! What kind of animal could do this and...and just sit there like he doesn’t even care?” He charged around the table toward the boy. Shannon stood up quickly and wrapped his arms around the bigger man's chest.
"Bob, for God's sake, stop it!" Giving the Commander a disgusted glance, Elder pushed his arm away, swung around and stomped toward the far wall. Shannon took a step toward him, “Bob, that’s enough, you know the procedure here. We can’t –“
“We can’t what Shannon?” Bob Elder bellowed, whirling to face him. His deep voice taking control of the room, “I’ll tell you what we can’t do. We can’t let this maniac get away with what he did!”
“Bob, that’s why were here. Now please sit down and let’s do this the right way!”
Fielding dropped his head and breathed a heavy sigh. His eyes reddened and began to swell with tears of anger and disgust. His voice quiet and wavering, “They were decent people Eric. What did they do to deserve this? What’s happening here? I-I just can’t...” He didn’t finish. He wiped his eyes and slowly lowered his head shaking it in disbelief. Shannon watched his friend for a moment, then scanned the others. Sarah Gross was focused in the corner again, hollow eyes tracing shadows. Lahey had said nothing, had hardly moved. He simply stared at the prisoner with an incredibly sad expression. Elder had grabbed his chair from the floor and slammed it down in place again, his huge stature foreboding. His size amplified the anger in his bulldog face. As he sat, he continued to breathe through flared nostrils, his fiery eyes cutting holes through Thompson.
Shannon then turned his attention back to Thompson. He stood and walked around the table to where Jerry sat, then placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Mr. Thompson,” he paused for only a moment as Jerry’s eyes met his, “I am going to ask this one more time. I need you to consider your answer very seriously, because the question of your reasoning is the only one we can truly consider. We have already established your guilt. Your sentence has not yet been determined.”
Brad Giles, Jerry’s friend, could no longer contain himself and stood. Immediately coming between the Commander and the prisoner, his nose inches from Shannon’s, he cried, “You can’t just..he needs help!” Shannon took a step back as Giles continued, “He needs medication, or time off, or-“
“Mr. Giles,” Shannon cut him off, “you are not permitted to speak for the defendant. Please sit down.”
“But he has no one!”
“Because he killed his own family!” Ben Fielding shouted from behind, silencing Giles. Brad slowly sat down, acquiescing to the enormity of Fielding’s statement.
“Jerry.” Shannon began again, his voice soothing, “Why did you do this to your parents?”
The silence was absolute as everyone awaited Jerry’s answer. His eyes locked with Shannon’s in a liquid reflection. The emotion he had been denying crept in to them slowly, and Shannon was sure he would not be able to maintain the gaze much longer.
Finally, Thompson spoke, his voice an icy calm. “I saved them from the hell they’d been living in for the last twenty-two years. They were suffering. They were in agony, in pain. Every single day of their miserable, empty existence. Just like everyone else in this damn prison! You think I killed them? I didn’t kill them, I freed them. They were dead a long time ago. No, it wasn’t me that killed them, Commander. It was you.”
--excerpted from The Return, (c)2008, David Dean and Justin Lambert
Shannon impatiently walked toward the entry door peering through the small square of glass to see if anyone was approaching. He caught a vague reflection of himself and studied it for a moment. He notice his brow slightly contorted and a pulsing movement in his temple, syncopated with the clenched grinding of his teeth. He took a deep breath and tried to relax his features. He knew the others were counting on him to keep the situation composed, but the thoughts now racing through his mind made him doubt his ability to live up to their expectations. He was plagued by one question which continued to nag at him, What the hell is happening to us? As he turned and walked back toward the others, he forced his face to take on what he thought was a relaxed expression. The others were not fooled. He wiped his clammy hands on his uniform pants and returned to pacing behind them.
A low table, dull-white in the flickering of the fluorescent glare, was surrounded by a haphazard grouping of ten molded plastic chairs, four of them occupied by the others in the room. Sarah Gross, dark-haired and quiet, stared in to the corner of the room, her thoughts miles away. Doug Lahey and Bob Elder spoke in hushed tones about trivial matters. Ben Fielding, hunched over, elbows on knees, his thin frame seeming to fold in on itself. As he noted the haggard faces dealing with the same disturbing thoughts he was facing, the metallic hiss of the automatic door drew their immediate attention. They ceased their whispered bits of chatter and sat up as three more people entered the room, one of them wearing a pair of handcuffs devised from thin plastic wire ties.
The prisoner moved slowly, with the shuffling, listless gait of the condemned. His eyes were downcast and his steps unsteady.
He stopped in front of the empty chair that waited for him, but stared as if not knowing what to do. The man behind him, apathetic to his assignment, shoved him down, and stepped to the side of the doorway. This earned him an angry glance from the third of the new arrivals, a young man with frightened eyes who moved to sit next to his friend.
Gerald Thompson, Jerry to his friends, kept his red-rimmed eyes focused on the tabletop. several days growth of patchy stubble darkened his cheeks and his brow was wet with perspiration. He trembled slightly at the lip and appeared on the verge of tears. The handcuffs did not hurt, but the awkward position they forced on him appeared painful.
Shannon took his seat in the center of the four others at the table, facing Thompson.
“Mr. Aarons, cut his hands free.” Raising an eyebrow at the request, the guard shook his head and reluctantly produced a small knife from his jacket pocket. He then sawed at one of the ties until it snapped. As the tension released, Thompson brought his hands around to his lap and rubbed the wrists lightly.
Shannon continued, “How do you feel, Jerry?”
Thompson blinked, but did not respond. His friend looked up at the Commander, an answer pausing on his lips, his fear silencing him. His anger almost ignited the courage to speak. He’s sitting here on trial for his life, how would you feel? His icy stare met Shannon’s weary eyes.
Shannon looked away abruptly, then spoke to the man on his right. “Ben, would you please read the charges?”
Ben Fielding, a geologist most days, looked back down at his PalmPad and stared at it a moment. He unfolded his glasses and placed them on his nose. He cleared his throat, then began to read:
“Gerald Richard Thompson has seriously threatened the welfare of the inhabitants of the Terran Biodome and violated the laws of humanity. He is charged with two counts of murder and mutilation.” He paused long enough to draw in a deep breath before continuing, “Specifically, he killed his mother and his father with a Lazer Saw three nights ago. He mutilated their remains by decapitating them. He then attempted to cover up the crime by disposing of the bodies, burying them near the mining site where his father worked each day.”
He let out an audible sigh, shaking his head slowly. Looking up, he removed his glasses to note any reaction on the boy’s face. He saw none. Thompson continued to tremble.
Shannon spoke up, “Do you understand what you did, Jerry?”
For the first time, Jerry raised his eyes to meet Shannon’s, if only for a moment. The pain there was real. His silence seemed to last an eternity. When he finally spoke, his voice was emotionless.
“I saved them.”
The stunned silence was pregnant with outrage. The three remaining judges in attendance turned to Shannon and Fielding and barraged them with whispered exclamations of shock and horror. The young man next to Jerry could only hear words scattered throughout the whirlwind, but he could put together the message clearly enough. Murdered...doesn’t care...parents...die.
Bob Elder was the first to lose control. He stood up, toppling his chair and pointing at Thompson, shouting “He’s a monster! What kind of animal could do this and...and just sit there like he doesn’t even care?” He charged around the table toward the boy. Shannon stood up quickly and wrapped his arms around the bigger man's chest.
"Bob, for God's sake, stop it!" Giving the Commander a disgusted glance, Elder pushed his arm away, swung around and stomped toward the far wall. Shannon took a step toward him, “Bob, that’s enough, you know the procedure here. We can’t –“
“We can’t what Shannon?” Bob Elder bellowed, whirling to face him. His deep voice taking control of the room, “I’ll tell you what we can’t do. We can’t let this maniac get away with what he did!”
“Bob, that’s why were here. Now please sit down and let’s do this the right way!”
Fielding dropped his head and breathed a heavy sigh. His eyes reddened and began to swell with tears of anger and disgust. His voice quiet and wavering, “They were decent people Eric. What did they do to deserve this? What’s happening here? I-I just can’t...” He didn’t finish. He wiped his eyes and slowly lowered his head shaking it in disbelief. Shannon watched his friend for a moment, then scanned the others. Sarah Gross was focused in the corner again, hollow eyes tracing shadows. Lahey had said nothing, had hardly moved. He simply stared at the prisoner with an incredibly sad expression. Elder had grabbed his chair from the floor and slammed it down in place again, his huge stature foreboding. His size amplified the anger in his bulldog face. As he sat, he continued to breathe through flared nostrils, his fiery eyes cutting holes through Thompson.
Shannon then turned his attention back to Thompson. He stood and walked around the table to where Jerry sat, then placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Mr. Thompson,” he paused for only a moment as Jerry’s eyes met his, “I am going to ask this one more time. I need you to consider your answer very seriously, because the question of your reasoning is the only one we can truly consider. We have already established your guilt. Your sentence has not yet been determined.”
Brad Giles, Jerry’s friend, could no longer contain himself and stood. Immediately coming between the Commander and the prisoner, his nose inches from Shannon’s, he cried, “You can’t just..he needs help!” Shannon took a step back as Giles continued, “He needs medication, or time off, or-“
“Mr. Giles,” Shannon cut him off, “you are not permitted to speak for the defendant. Please sit down.”
“But he has no one!”
“Because he killed his own family!” Ben Fielding shouted from behind, silencing Giles. Brad slowly sat down, acquiescing to the enormity of Fielding’s statement.
“Jerry.” Shannon began again, his voice soothing, “Why did you do this to your parents?”
The silence was absolute as everyone awaited Jerry’s answer. His eyes locked with Shannon’s in a liquid reflection. The emotion he had been denying crept in to them slowly, and Shannon was sure he would not be able to maintain the gaze much longer.
Finally, Thompson spoke, his voice an icy calm. “I saved them from the hell they’d been living in for the last twenty-two years. They were suffering. They were in agony, in pain. Every single day of their miserable, empty existence. Just like everyone else in this damn prison! You think I killed them? I didn’t kill them, I freed them. They were dead a long time ago. No, it wasn’t me that killed them, Commander. It was you.”
--excerpted from The Return, (c)2008, David Dean and Justin Lambert