In the blackness he identified the shape of a raccoon moving in the underbrush. Downwind, the
animal suddenly gained his scent, spun and scurried into cover. He put the weapon away, and turned back to the wreck.
The cold grew more intense, so he lit a cigarette. He knew he shouldn’t, but field stripping and taking it with him removed the risk of detection. How long had he been standing on this spot? Too long! The reflective dial of his watch showed 10:42 p.m. in Powhatan, Arkansas, 11:42 here in Elkton, Indiana. He shuffled, as he got colder, but it didn’t help the numbness in his feet, hands, and face. At his age, getting into the ravine to confirm the results had been difficult, and it’d be doubly hard to get out. He didn’t know why he delayed.
Maybe he felt he owed it to Timmons. Another signal from the cellphone brought him back to his situation. He texted Merry Christmas and put away the instrument. One more second confirmed the night remained silent and unaware. A final glance at the dead man, and he turned to leave. He drew comfort knowing God would forgive him this sin, as he’d been forgiven so many times in the past. Before beginning the journey up the bank and out of the hole, he wondered why God hadn’t given Jackson Timmons the same consideration.
Upcoming Events
Book Signing - Saturday, February !st
Sundog Books 89 Central Square Santa Rosa Beach, FL
Book Signing - Book Club
Tuesday, January 28th
Shane's Restaurant
Panama City Beach, FL
An amazing influence from my Childhood
I was a teenager when I read The Fountainhead.
Why do you want to write a book? Why not?
I’ve talked to so many people who they had a book in their soul begging to be written. Really, it’s an inner voice we all possess, yearning to be heard and understood. Closer to the end than the beginning, I decided to listen.