

# Murder In Woodbury

# A Duty To Warn

# Jill Province & Harry Cohen

© 2014 All rights Reserved

The events and information in this story are factually based on depositions, transcripts and research provided to me from legal professionals, and represents a faithful recreation of all facts submitted into evidence in both cases. Certain dialogue and scenes were fabricated to provide context and interest, yet were based on evidence from those related to the incident. Any deviation from fact is coincidental and not intended to shed any dispersions or personal interests.

# Introduction

Tarasoff vs. Regents of the University of California was a case in which the Supreme Court of California held that mental health professionals have a duty to protect individuals who are being threatened with bodily harm by a patient. The original 1974 decision mandated warning the threatened individual, but a 1976 rehearing of the case by the California Supreme Court called for a "duty to protect" the intended victim. The professional was required to discharge this duty in several ways, including notifying police, warning the intended victim, and/or taking other reasonable steps to protect the threatened individual.

This mandate did not address the responsibility of private individuals to act accordingly. If a family member was aware of such danger, they were under no obligation to warn or protect the intended victim. This gross negligence in the justice system left a gaping hole in what should have been a common sense extension of the law. That was about to change.

# Murder In Woodbury

# A Duty To Warn

Everyone has a moment in time they long to return to. A chance to warn their former self not to take that left turn, but instead continue straight ahead. Because they know now, in hindsight, that the left turn was the beginning of the end. And while most live through the long series of bad choices they make, there are those unfortunate few who will never live to regret that ill-advised decision. Such was the case for Stephanie Rawls.

In November 1993, Attorney Harry Cohen greeted an attractive, cheerful applicant for the vacant apartment in his building. Stephanie Rawls was accompanied by her mother, Sara Ingram; they were both pleased and excited about the living quarters.

Harry had acquired the majestic, old style, Victorian building with his previous partner, Charles Lehn, in the early seventies. Due to the ordinances of that time, Harry was able to maintain both commercial and living quarters under the grandfather clause. The efficiency apartment on the third floor appeared to meet Stephanie's budget. She signed the lease agreement, excited about her new job and new found independence. However, the events to follow would take a deadly turn and re-surface later as a landmark moment in Harry's legal career.

# Chapter 1

The phone call came a short time after Harry's tenant had moved into the building. Stephanie Rawls had been murdered. According to her mother, the suspect was Daniel Caiman, Stephanie's ex-boyfriend. The family was devastated. While the victim's parents were frozen from the shock of their daughter's brutal murder, the attorney began searching for answers. Driven by the rage of an injustice that had taken place too close to home, Harry directed a nearly comatose Sara Ingram through her story.

Stephanie had taken the apartment in Harry's building so that she would be close to her new job with a local fuel company. Previously, she had lived with Daniel Caiman, first as a nanny for his three children, and then as his girlfriend. When Daniel became violent, she left reluctantly. Her devotion and concern for the children continued to haunt her. But Stephanie took the only way out at the time and moved to a safer place.

Her first day on the job was also her last. The facts surrounding Stephanie's unfortunate choice to visit Daniel on the day of her murder varies from each storyteller. Stephanie still had possession of Daniels car, and, according to Sara's version, was invited back to Daniel's home so that he could inspect faulty brakes. A dinner was thrown into the mix. Sara did not know what time her daughter had arrived at Daniel's home or how long she remained there before Daniel made the distress call alerting his friend.

Daniel reported that he had just shot his girlfriend, Stephanie, and that she appeared to be dead. His frame of mind during that phone call was not disclosed. The friend immediately called the police, who arrived on the scene minutes later. The officers were cautious and did not enter the home. Daniel was contacted by phone from outside his front door and was told to come out of the house – empty handed. Daniel complied with the police and was taken into custody.

Two officers then entered the house through the front door and followed their suspicion to the master bedroom. Upon entering that room, officers found Stephanie on the floor at the foot of the bed. She was fully clothed, lying on her back. The top half of Stephanie's torso was wrapped in a blanket that was folded across her face. Her clothes were torn and there were several wounds to her face. A shell casing was found in her hair. The police noted a pool of blood by the wall, and drag marks from the wall to the foot of the bed.

It was at this point in the conversation that Sara broke down. Harry had to strain to understand what the woman was saying. In the midst of her sobs, he heard one final piece of information that would begin his crusade. In one of the bedroom walls, behind an undamaged poster, were three bullet holes, surrounded by blood spatter and hair. "Blood stained clothes were buried in a laundry basket." Sara blurted these last pieces of the story through gasping hysteria. This last twist in the officer's account would become the defense's greatest obstacle and Harry's greatest motivation. The guy knew enough to cover his tracks.

Harry realized he would have to gather more information. He asked Sara if there was anyone she could call for support. After confirming that she would be taken care of, Harry began to dig into the investigation. He had to find out more about the facts leading up to such a brutal attack. Through interviews with the police as well as neighbors and friends of Daniel Caiman, Harry began the process of looking into the mind of a killer.

# Chapter 2

Harry Cohen was a small town lawyer with a big heart. He began the practice of law in his growing hometown of New Milford, Connecticut in 1946, where he quickly earned a reputation as a fighter for just but difficult causes. The late Connecticut Supreme Court Justice T. Clark Hull referred to Atty. Cohen as a "fighter of lost causes." Small on manpower, but big on principle, Harry rolled up his sleeves and began the process of one of the most influential cases of the time. His investigation would reveal the following.

Daniel believed that the town he lived in was a dangerous place with toxic fumes waiting to consume him. From his perspective, the people of Woodbury quietly plotted behind closed doors, planting human doubles who lay in wait to destroy him.

Daniel Caiman was a junior in the sense that he shared the same name with his father. He was also a junior in the sense that his parents never allowed him to experience any true responsibly. Never having to find a job on his own merit, Daniel went to work for his father's logging company. The business was large enough to provide indefinite employment, but small enough to keep a watchful eye on a volatile child in a man's body.

In the true spirit of country life, Daniel senior brought up his son to be a hunter. If you were a man, you went out to find food for your family. Of course, in the twentieth century, food was easily obtainable at the A and P and fire was at the end of a good match combined with lighter fluid. Still the code stated that man should hunt, and the Caimans were men.

When Daniel was sixteen years old, he reached the right of passage. His father was so proud, awarding him with his first hunting rifle. The gun was soon followed by another, and then another. By the time Daniel reached the peak of his insanity, he had obtained six assault weapons, strategically placing them in all the necessary places. He believed that when a whole town was plotting against you, weapons had to be nearby.

No one really knows which came first - the voices in his head or the act of self-medication. But somewhere in his teens, Daniel found that alcohol had multiple benefits. For a time, his tormentors went silent and the need to defend himself would dissipate. When his delusions were unbearable, the addition of marijuana took all the sharp edges away and transformed a harsh environment to a soft comfortable blanket that engulfed and protected him. But even with all the chemical solutions, reality came back with a vengeance. By 1983, Daniel was twenty-seven years old and in full-blown delusional paranoia with a poly substance dependence chaser – a volatile combination.

Harry's initial investigation was both frightening and revealing. How could any sane parent, aware of their son's severe mental state, provide that person with dangerous weapons? Anyone delusional enough to believe that people were plotting against him would eventually choose to defend themselves. The fact that Daniel had attempted to cover up some of the evidence before police arrived made Harry wonder if the insanity was Daniel's way of maintaining some kind of rationale for his crazy behavior. Still, he had such a long history of psychological issues; Harry doubted it was all fabricated. He informed his new client, Sara, that she had a strong case of common law negligence against Daniel's parents. There was no current precedent for a case such as this. Harry knew that this would be a long journey.

# Chapter 3

#

# Woodbury, Connecticut

# Eight years earlier

The town of Woodbury exuded a slow and orderly growth since its foundation in 1672. Norman Rockwell could not have painted a more perfect world with early American style buildings nestled into rolling countryside. Woodbury was a scene from Brigadoon, where time had stopped, its people safe and happy within its innocence.

Woodbury gently rolled along, day after day in its well-founded routine. People went to work in the morning, lunched on quaint bistro patios and returned home to their children at night. Most were happy and content. Most were unaware of a dark force living within its boundaries.

In the fall of 1983, Daniel Caiman met Molly Satterfield. After a whirlwind courtship, they moved into a small apartment, residing in an anonymous space inside his own delusional world. As far as he could tell, Molly was not the enemy. Having decided such, he allowed her inside his circle. But that assessment was subject to change. Daniel was a careful man and he knew from experience that loyalty was a fickle thing. So he kept Molly on a very short leash.

Molly fit Daniel's profile. At five-foot-four and one-hundred and thirty pounds, she exuded an image of self-assurance. But Molly was something else entirely. Moving from one menial station in life to another made her vulnerable. As with some women lacking the support of education or credentials, she was easily swayed by the prospect of a stronger hand.

But Molly was not without backbone. She knew that life did not come with guarantees and depending on herself – at least to some extent – was necessary. There had to be a back-up plan. So early in their courtship, she began the process of arming herself with a viable trade. When Daniel learned of her enrollment into Bridgeview Nursing School to obtain her certification as a nursing assistant, the honeymoon ended.

The neighbors were the first to hear the drama through the very thin walls of apartment 3G. As a quiet dinner was in process in 2G, the Warners heard a sudden crash, followed by loud screaming. They recognized the male voice and unfortunately were able to make out the words.

"You stupid bitch! That's how they get to us."

The response was clearly from the woman living next door. "Who is 'they,' Daniel? What are you talking about?"

Her question was answered by another loud crash. It could have been a chair or something equally heavy, because it sounded as though the object was trying to come through the wall.

"The doubles, you ignorant slut. If you leave the apartment and go to this bullshit school every day, another one takes your place. That's how they get in here." The last few words were followed by a sharp slap to the face.

The Warners stared at each other in disbelief. Should they intervene? The guy was out of control. They feared for the woman's safety, but they also worried about possible retaliation for their good deed.

Molly was now crying from the pain, backed into a corner trying to cover her head from further assault. Daniel Jr.'s voice was moving now inside the apartment. "You know what happens to traitors?"

"Daniel, I'm not..."

"Shut up. Just shut the hell up."

The sound of a closet door opened and closed with extreme prejudice. The Warners heard, "Oh my god, Daniel, put the gun away."

Mr. Warner had heard enough. Upon dialing 911, police were dispatched to the residence.

When police cautiously arrived on the scene, Daniel was transformed. In a calm, almost rehearsed composure, he invited the police inside.

"Is there a problem, officers?" he inquired, innocently.

Police informed him that there had been a complaint phoned in by neighbors and they were here to investigate. Daniel looked surprised and then seemed to come to an 'ah ha' moment.

"We were moving some furniture and my girlfriend slipped and hit her head. That must have sounded terrible to the neighbors. But she's fine now."

"Sir, do you have a gun?"

Daniel did not miss a beat. "Of course. Doesn't everyone?" Daniel gave them a winning smile.

"No," the officer replied, unimpressed. "Do you have permit for that gun?"

Daniel - the man's man – had anticipated the question and produced the permit for the officer's inspection.

Great. Another loose cannon with a weapon. But the paper work was in order and up to date.

"We need to speak to your girlfriend."

"I told you, she fell. She's fine now."

When the police insisted on hearing this from Molly, Daniel reluctantly led them to a small bathroom.

"See, as I told you, she's fine."

The police eyed the young woman, skeptically. She didn't look fine. The side of her face was already swollen and the bruises were beginning to take shape in the form of a hand. They also noted that, despite her attempts to clean the blood from her split lip, some had escaped to her clothing. She looked at them through swollen eyes - a clear result of all the recent crying.

"What happened here?" the officer demanded.

Molly did her best to wipe her face, and stated, "I fell down."

The two officers exchanged glances. It seemed as though every woman in an abusive relationship was gravity challenged. It was time to interview the victim away from Daniel's watchful eye. They informed Molly that they wished to discuss the matter further outside. At that moment, Daniel's gentle demeanor turned cold.

"She's not going anywhere with you. She's already been through enough."

"We can see that," the officer agreed. He gently led Molly out of the apartment with a steaming Daniel at their heels. The second officer directed him to have a seat, remaining behind to assure that his order would be carried out.

As Molly was led away, she could hear Daniel yell, "Don't worry, baby, I'm right here." Molly understood the message. Everything she did or said in his absence would be subject to his presence – later.

"It's all a big misunderstanding," she told the officer. She was sitting in the back of a police car, feeling like she herself was the perpetrator. If any of her neighbors or friends should happen by at that moment, she was fully prepared to crawl under the floor mat. "We were moving the couch and a few chairs. I lost my footing and slipped. The next thing I knew, my face connected with the end table."

"And apparently that end table was in the shape of a hand," the officer countered.

Molly looked confused.

"Why would you say that?"

The office moved the rear view mirror so that Molly could examine her reflection. There it was in all its glory. Daniel, the great one, the guy that said he would take care of her for the rest of her life, had left his signature. What should she do now? He had told her what to say, he just hadn't covered the part about the hand print on her face. There were no words. So she just stared back at the officer, bewildered.

"Do you want to press charges?" the officer concluded. If the victim refused to admit to being a victim, there wasn't much they could do here.

Do I want to press charges, she echoed silently. Is he nuts? Daniel would go crazy. Even as she thought out her response, she had to admit quietly that he had already arrived there. "No, of course not. I fell."

"Suit yourself," the officer stated, flatly. "But if you have any further encounters with violent end tables, I suggest you find a safer place to live."

Molly thanked him and left the police car quickly. She told herself that this was a fluke. He was having a really bad day. It was no wonder, with all the late hours at work and the bills piling up. He was under so much stress. Daniel wouldn't hurt her again. Molly went home.

# Chapter 4

It was three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon when Molly was finally able to cut loose from Daniel's watchful eye. The all-night vigils he had maintained since the visit from the Litchfield Police the previous Tuesday had finally taken its toll. As Daniel slept with his riffle tucked under the bed, Molly crept out quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping prince.

Molly was not permitted to drive without his permission, but her story, should she find herself in need of one, was that they were out of milk, bread, eggs – and oxygen. The latter would remain unspoken. But the store run would be saved for later. Right now, she desperately needed to get away. Molly pulled the oversized sedan into her parent's driveway. The small house was set back from the road and felt so peaceful. She longed to be in their care once again. But that was a million years ago.

Her mother, who rarely received visitors, was already at the door. When she saw the bruises on the side of Molly's face, she yelled for her husband. The gist of the announcement was, 'Stan, he finally did it.' The tone was not one of alarm but of fulfilled prophecy. It was stated in the same way one would say, "See, I told you it was going to rain today."

Molly ignored the 'I told you so' tone in her mother's voice and pushed past her into the house. Her father was waiting inside, arms folded in an authoritative pose. He viewed the hand print and swollen lip briefly, making sure she wasn't seriously injured. Having determined that his daughter would live, he launched into the well-rehearsed, paternal speech that Molly was so accustomed to .

"Stop the clock," Stan Satterfield announced, humorlessly, as he feigned a time check with his watch. "I bet your mother it would take two days before the first assault."

"Dad, please..."

"Your mother, on the hand, had two weeks. We both lose. It took him longer to ditch the good guy routine then we gave him credit for."

Now, it was her mother's turn. "So, what was it, Molly? Steak instead of fish? The wrong toothpaste from the store?"

How could she possibly explain the moment that sparked Daniel's sudden change in behavior? She had allowed her human double to take her place so that their devious plan could be carried out. She couldn't believe it herself. How could she expect anyone else to understand? Since there was no good response to her parent's questions, she chose the only remaining alternative. The tears began to flow. Stan and Greta stood by, helplessly. Their daughter had made a terrible choice, and there was nothing they could do about it. Molly excused herself and retreated to her room.

The sun was getting low in the sky, and she knew she was pushing her luck. Surrounded by her stuffed animals and frilly bedspread, she longed to go back to a simpler time. How did things get so screwed up? As a child growing up here, she had wanted to be an adult. But now that she was with Daniel, all she wanted to do was come home. You can't go home. She reasoned that he was nice to her most of the time.

Molly got up and smoothed out the rumpled bedspread. Placing the stuffed animals in their designated places, she gave the room a final glance. She had just enough time to run to the store, grab the necessary items for her alibi, and pick up the ingredients for Daniel 's favorite dinner. A steaming plate of meatballs and spaghetti was always a good peacemaker.

On her way out the door, her parents asked where she was going.

"I have to leave."

Greta looked at Stan, desperately. "Stan, do something."

Stan shook his head in frustration. "Exactly what do you expect me to do?"

"Love you guys – bye," Molly said as she hurried past them to her car. Daniel would be furious if he woke up and I wasn't there.

There was no angry force waiting for her upon her return. The spaghetti dinner was already in progress when Daniel emerged from his long afternoon slumber. The smells of something wonderful filled the apartment and Daniel was again the charming Romeo Molly had fallen in love with. She could feel his arms wrap around her as he entered the kitchen. His face nuzzled her neck and she sighed with contentment. Everything was back to normal.

Once dinner was consumed, Daniel led Molly to the bedroom where they remained until Monday morning. He was so sorry. It would never happen again.

# Chapter 5

Several weeks came and went without incident. Daniel went to work every day and Molly attended nursing school. At night, they ate take out and fell asleep in front of the TV. They were the normal couple. Daniel's previous obsession regarding Molly's double and the possibility of infiltration went further back into the recesses of his mind. For the moment, all was quiet on the eastern front. But that would soon change.

Daniel's doctor appointment was set for two o'clock. The purpose of today's visit: to get a second opinion. Dr. Greenwald would in fact be Daniel's fifth second opinion. His illnesses were so obvious to anyone with eyes; he had a very hard time understanding how a medical person could be so blind.

The symptoms of his various infirmities were always just below the surface. The first signs of carbon monoxide poisoning emerged when he was only eight years old. As a result of using a chain saw, the toxic fumes had been both inhaled and absorbed through the skin. And even though none of the information on poisoning allowed for the possibility of absorption, he had seen the fumes enter his body.

His symptoms were textbook; shortness of breath, nausea, headaches, and dizziness - all disregarded by his parents as just another one of Daniel's attempts to stay home from school. The school nurse had informed Mr. and Mrs. Caiman that little Daniel had a great imagination.

Daniel reasoned that because carbon monoxide was odorless and colorless, at least to the untrained eye, and especially to adults, he was the only one who really knew the truth. Visits to the library confirmed that chronic carbon monoxide poisoning was significantly more difficult to detect in a person than acute poisoning as it occurs when one is exposed from lower- to mid-range levels of the gas over extended periods of time. And Daniel knew he fell into this category.

Removing himself from the contaminated area was not an option. He lived in the contaminated area, and that area was too vast to escape. He had to be admitted into a hospital where pure oxygen could be administered, and thus far, no one was willing to do that. His anger mounted over the years and into adulthood. A simple blood test was all that was required to prove what he already knew.

Daniel sat in one corner of Dr. Greenwald's waiting room, trying to separate himself from infected people. If they were void of any infectious diseases, they had probably been planted there to observe him. In a quick sweep of the faces, he saw no doubles of any friend or loved one, and that provided a small measure of comfort. In any case, he distanced himself as much as possible, counting the minutes until he could make his escape into a private room.

After a brutal fifteen minutes, Daniel was led to an area where he was weighed and cuffed for a blood pressure reading. When asked for the reason of today's visit, Daniel reported that his issue was top secret. The nurse raised one eyebrow in momentary amusement, jotted down the response, and led the colorful patient into an examination room.

The examination progressed in similar style. Daniel gave the doctor his diagnosis, and the doctor explained the unlikelihood of any possible poisoning. When confronted with the fact that the chain saw had always been operated outside, and therefore a concentration of fumes unlikely, Daniel argued that the symptoms spoke for themselves.

In the end, the doctor told him he did not have carbon monoxide poisoning, but agreed to a blood test in the hope that a very agitated Daniel would simply leave his office, never to return. His chart reflected a young man in his twenties with somatic disorder. His physical ailments were in his head.

Back in the car, Daniel was furious. Jabbing his car key into the ignition with extreme force, he began to yell at no one. How could the entire medical community be so incompetent? The answer: it wasn't incompetence. It was a carefully orchestrated conspiracy. The blood tests had been altered, and doctors were in well-planned cahoots with one another. Maybe it was a widespread contamination that was being quietly covered up by the government. Or maybe they just wanted him to go away and die of the illness. The latter would guarantee his demise, and maybe that was the goal all along.

The obvious questions that would form in any sane mind eluded him. How could toxic fumes contain themselves in a well-vented area such as the great outdoors? Why would doctors keep the truth from him and how could such a conspiracy benefit anyone? With reason so far out of Daniel's reach, he headed for the closest store. He needed a beer and time to plan out his next move. By all that was holy, they would not get away with this.

# Chapter 6

It was time to pick up Molly from school. The afternoon visit to Dr. Greenwald had resulted in a very drunk and agitated Daniel. Not fit to drive, he swerved into the school parking lot, almost taking out two nursing students who had enough sense to jump out of the line of fire. Before Molly got into the car, she knew he was trashed. When she asked if she could drive, Daniel 's drunken response was, "I don't know Molly, Molly – filled with folly. Can you?" This was delivered with a smirk. Daniel Caiman was a funny man. Then, abruptly his amusement died, the smirk replaced with hostility.

"Get in, Molly, or whoever you are."

The remark sent chills down her spine. She was in for a wild ride home.

They hadn't gone five miles before the sparks began to fly. The general theme of Daniel 's drunken tirade was that 'they' had observed him going into the doctor's office that afternoon and decided he was getting too close to the truth. In retaliation, Molly's double had been summoned to monitor the situation and report back...to whom? That part wasn't clear. Her denials only enraged the drunken Daniel further.

As she glanced into the backseat, she counted at least twelve empty beer cans. There may have been more. In any event, the car reeked of alcohol, and the charming Daniel didn't smell much better. She was carefully planning her escape, when he pulled over to the side of the road, hitting the brakes with such force that she almost went through the windshield.

"Now, I'm going to ask you one more time," he growled. "Where is Molly?"

She knew from experience that there was no correct answer to that question. Any denial or attempt to reason would confirm his suspicion. So she began to feel for the door handle. If she could pull the lever and jump simultaneously, she might have a chance of escaping. He would sleep this off and return to a more reasonable lunatic than the one leering at her from the driver's seat.

As her hand connected with the door handle, she suddenly realized the reason for Daniel's crafty demeanor. Child safety locks! He had locked all the doors from the control panel, and escape was impossible. Moments before the impact, her fleeting thought was, Why did I get in this car?

She only had a moment to ponder the question. A blinding pain seared through her face, as a cracking sound resonated inside her head. Molly saw blinding lights as the force of Daniel's fist smashed her against the passenger door. Instinctively, she reached for her face and came away with a handful of blood. Her jaw was already sending red alert messages to her brain.

Daniel took in the image of Molly's impostor and decided he had sent the appropriate message. He was now – and always would be – a force to be reckoned with. "Now, get out," he ordered the Molly double.

She wasted no time in complying with the directive. At the side of road, with a broken jaw, she watched as Daniel speed away.

# Chapter 7

# 1984 - One year later

After Molly's broken jaw had healed and a tidal wave of apologies was delivered – with roses – Molly returned to their tiny apartment. Daniel swore he would never touch another drink. He had been so remorseful; he had actually broken down at her feet in tears. Who could resist such soulful regret?

When Molly found out she was pregnant, she was overjoyed. Daniel did not seem to match her enthusiasm. In fact, he was very concerned about a potential breach in security. Since he had never met this new person, how could he be sure if the baby was authentic, or a double? The issue kept him up most nights.

Daniel did not have to circle the wagons around their fortress for very long. There were no elevators in the apartment complex. Standing at the top of the third story staircase, with Daniel standing close behind, Molly took an unfortunate tumble. She would not remember how she lost her footing. Her only focus at the time was the plunge to the bottom of the stairs.

The doctor determined that the fall had caused her miscarriage. Daniel stood close by, with a comforting arm around her.

In the months that followed, Molly became very depressed. She dropped out of school and spent most of her time in bed. Daniel continued to go to work each day and bring take-out dinners home each evening. Molly told herself that this was her life now. Nothing good would ever happen, but Daniel would provide for her needs.

On one flat, uneventful evening, Daniel returned from work with a big smile. Before she could fully grasp what was happening, Daniel gallantly dropped to one knee and presented Molly with a tiny box. Inside, she found a quarter carat diamond set in a simple gold band. As Daniel placed it on her finger, she felt the first wave of hope.

In November 1985, Molly and Daniel had a beautiful wedding. The ceremony took place at the Satterfield's church with a backyard reception. Molly was a radiant bride. Unfortunately for her parents, the wedding meant that they were forever connected to their daughter's poor judgment.

Molly became pregnant immediately and avoided the stairs. Daniel the third was born in August 1986. They were now bonded for life.

Over the next five years, Molly had two additional children, Derrick in 1988 and Dillan in 1989. During that five-year period, there were five additional assaults, requiring visits from the Litchfield police department, and one additional – unexplained – miscarriage. Daniel's delusions were getting stronger and more frightening with each passing day. On one drunken occasion, Daniel loaded one bullet into a gun and held it to Molly's head. With each release of the trigger, he reminded her that he could load all the chambers at any time. Three terrified children huddled together in the closet. Molly suffered a barrage of bruises, laceration to the head and face, requiring several stiches, and continual reminders that he could kill her at any time. Upon each episode, Molly called the police. Each time, Daniel was arrested. Following each arrest, Daniel's parents would post bond, and he would return home – temporarily subdued.

After five years of terrifying abuse, Molly went to see Daniel's parents. Daniel Sr. and Judy Caiman were resistant, to say the least. Molly begged for their help, describing the nightly tirades. She informed them that Daniel would hold a gun to her head, asking her if this bullet would be the one to do her in. She cried as she repeated his promises to shoot her, wrap her in a blanket, and drag her to the woods where he would bury her. No one would ever find her. Daniel was sure of that.

Daniel's parents were fully aware of their son's violent episodes. They had bonded him out of jail numerous times and hired lawyers who were strongly connected to the Connecticut 'good old boy' system. There had even been one occasion when Daniel arrived in their home and began breaking windows. They had called the police on that occasion as well.

Perhaps their refusal to assist Molly was out of some displaced sense of loyalty, or possibly because this information was coming from an outsider, but the Caimans stood their ground. They announced – with great pride – that their son was a hunter. They stated that this was how things worked in the real world, emphasizing their position with more firepower for their son.

Molly had no choice. Fearing for her life, she waited for Daniel to go to work. She knew that if she tried to take Daniel's children, he would follow her. So, on that fateful day, Molly called the baby sitter and informed her that she had a full day of errands. She never returned.

# Chapter 8

Molly's divorce was finalized in September 1990. Now, from a safe distance, Molly resided in Florida with her new husband and began to fight for custody of the children. During court ordered visits, Molly would attend court hearings by day and sleep in her car by night. Her attempts to obtain restraining orders were fruitless. Daniel had no regard for the law; Woodbury was his town. When she crossed that city line, she was expected to abide by his rules.

Despite the fact that Harry had actively practiced law in the state of Connecticut since 1947, he had never seen a situation where the legal system had turned such a blind eye to the obvious. Daniel's medical records showed a consistent and long history of Capgras Syndrome – the belief that people were replaced with replicas – paranoia, delusions, and poly substance abuse. He had been arrested over five times for violent acts, including an episode at his parents' home. His delusional and paranoid ideations were so profound that his ability to separate reality from his inner fantasies was volatile and unpredictable. And yet, the courts upheld their decision to award Daniel custody of three small children.

As far as Molly could tell, his violent episodes were not a direct threat to the children. He seemed to save his dark side for the women in his life. The Children's psychological issues, however, were profound. Harry could only conclude that the Caiman family was well connected to the community. This did not deter him from preparing for battle.

# Part 2

Daniel was not able to maintain a job and care for three children. His parents decided to move their son and grandchildren to a small rental home located on their property. But fulltime babysitting was not high on the Caiman's list of priorities, so in January 1992, Stephanie Rawls went to work for Daniel Caiman. Stephanie fit the necessary profile. She was sweet, beautiful, and appreciative of Daniel's job offer. The unfortunate left turn began when she accepted that job.

Stephanie was happy in her new position. Daniel was charming and polite – better than the usual array of potential bosses – and Stephanie was in her element. For a reasonable wage, she could do what she did best. It seemed the job of nanny for Daniel Caiman was a good match. For the time being, her feet felt firmly planted on safe soil. But the toxins within that soil waited just below the surface.

Stephanie made an instant attachment with the children and filled a void that had been sorely missing in all of their lives. While in this role of daily caregiver and homemaker, Stephanie and Daniel developed a romantic relationship. The nature of their involvement was not revealed to her family for some time.

When Molly learned of Stephanie's new role in her children's lives, she was grateful and relieved. Although Molly and Stephanie never met, they developed a strong bond and spoke by phone on a regular basis. It was not long after their telephone friendship began that Molly felt the same dread return. During frequent calls, she would hear the children screaming in the background, and could hear Daniel threatening to kill Stephanie. The scene was all too familiar to Molly, and she knew where Daniel's tirades would lead. She begged Stephanie to leave, and promised that if she stayed out of some displaced sense of obligation, Molly would be placing flowers on her grave.

"Where would I go?" came the reply. Stephanie had only heard Daniel ranting after a hard day at work. He was loud and menacing on those occasions, but it had only been words. Daniel loved her. He would never lay a hand on her. No, she belonged with Daniel and the children.

Molly knew the mindset of the complacent. She had been the poster child. She felt she had to make one last plea. Fearing for Stephanie's life and the safety of the children, she made a final attempt to contact Daniel's parents. On this occasion, Judy Caiman was hostile. She warned Molly that if she ever made another negative reference to her son's character, she would file harassment charges. It was an empty threat – but a definite indication that Daniel's parents would not intervene. Beaten and tired, Molly had to let go - but not without a great deal of remorse.

# Chapter 9

On October 16, 1993, the verbal threats ended and the violence began. Stephanie did not see it coming. It had started out as just another day. Daniel went off to work. After kissing him goodbye, Stephanie washed and dried the breakfast dishes. It was a cool, crisp, Connecticut fall day and the kids were full of too much energy. Stephanie took them to a nearby playground and let them blow off some steam. When they returned home, Daniel was there.

Stephanie could tell immediately that something was wrong. Daniel had been drinking and was not steady on his feet. She told the children to go play in their room, and prepared for a barrage of insults. When Daniel asked her who she was and why she was sent to spy on him, Stephanie made a fatal mistake. She told Daniel he was nuts and that it was time for him to get some professional help. She didn't remember too much after that.

After regaining consciousness, Stephanie raised her hand to her swollen face and then examined the blood on her hands. When she tried to sit up, she realized she couldn't. Daniel had broken two of her ribs when he kicked her in the side. She had no memory of this. Daniel had continued the beating after she had passed out.

Stephanie called out for help, but Daniel and the children were not within earshot. In excruciating pain, Stephanie crawled to the end table in the living room and pulled the phone line until the unit fell to the ground. The 911 call brought police and paramedics quickly to her aid. After they carried Stephanie out to the waiting ambulance, a warrant was issued for Daniel's arrest. The length of time Daniel spent in jail before his parents bonded him out is unknown; however, he was quickly returned to freedom, finding that Stephanie had packed her belongings and vacated the home - permanently.

After Stephanie was released from Danbury Hospital, she returned to her parent's home to recuperate. Her swollen face and bruised body would heal quickly. Her torso was tightly wrapped to support the necessary healing of broken ribs. She was incapacitated and in need of care for the next six weeks. She had much time to think about her situation. Going back to Daniel was out of the question.

Following Stephanie's recovery, it was time to find new employment. It was at this point in time that she and her mother entered the office of Harry Cohen, seeking residence.

# Chapter 10

On December 8, 1993, Daniel sat in his parent's kitchen. His mother wanted to cook him a nice dinner. After all he had been through, some comfort food was in order. Daniel and the children sat at the table with Daniel Sr. and Judy Caiman. Small talk filled the room initially, and then gradually focused on the missing nanny. Judy informed her son that she had a life and would not be able to watch the children every day while he went off to work.

Daniel continued to eat and devoted his entire focus to his plate. Judy, however, was not ready to let the topic go and pressed Daniel for a response. Daniel's father attempted to intervene, announcing that the dinner table was not the place to air family problems.

The visual changes in Daniel's face took place before the crash. Judy watched in horror as her grandmother's china hit the far wall. Daniel stood to leave, but before doing so, made one final announcement.

"I'm going to kill that bitch - Stephanie," he stated. "She's in this whole conspiracy up to her eyeballs. She will pay for this." With that, Daniel stormed out of the house.

Judy calmly cleaned up the mess and told the children to finish their dinner. "Your father was just having another one of his little temper tantrums." The children were used to their father's outbursts and complied.

On the evening of December 9th, at approximately 10:00 PM, Daniel shot Stephanie Rawls. The funeral was short and few attended. Molly and Sara Ingram placed flowers on her grave. Daniel's parents did not attend.

Part 3

When Harry Cohen learned of the fatal shooting, he advised his new client, Sara Ingram, not to speak to anyone regarding Stephanie's final days. He was not sure if there was any kind of legal justice available to the grieving family, but he did not want a potential case corrupted by the media. After digging into Daniel Caiman's history, he determined that the family had a legitimate case against the parents of Daniel Caiman. Ordinarily, in cases where the defendant is an adult, they are held solely responsible for their actions. In the case of Daniel Caiman, there was no doubt that his mental capacity was severely compromised, and that his family – fully aware of his mental state – had ignored numerous warning signs. They had also provided the weapon used by the defendant to commit a brutal and predictable murder.

Sara Ingram, administratrix for the estate of her daughter, instituted a civil action for damages for the wrongful death of Stephanie Rawls against Daniel Caiman Sr., Judy Caiman, and Daniel Caiman Jr.

As expected, the defendants filed a motion requesting a stay of proceedings in the civil suit until the termination of the criminal case. The judge ruled that the civil suit might prejudice the rights of the accused during the course of the initial trial.

The facts of the case were not in dispute; Daniel had murdered Stephanie. The circumstances surrounding the shooting, however, continued to change during the trial. Daniel Caiman first testified that the shooting had been in self-defense. He provided the jury with a long narration regarding Stephanie's threatening demeanor. He further claimed that Stephanie had threatened him with a gun.

Testimony was provided by police officers, stating that the alleged gun had not been found at the crime scene, and that the defendant had attempted to cover or hide evidence prior to their arrival.

On cross, Daniel changed his story, and admitted that the victim had not threatened him prior to the shooting. He stated that he did not know why he'd killed her.

Against this formidable presentation of evidence by the State, the defendant pleaded insanity. The defense called to the stand forensic psychologist, Dr. Julia Ramos Grenier. After a lengthy oration of Grenier's credentials, her testimony was presented. Dr. Grenier had administered several psychological tests over a three-hour period, on three separate occasions. Tests included an IQ test, a personality evaluation, an assessment for cognitive function, an evaluation for depression and anxiety, the Rorschach inkblot test, and the Bender-Gestalt test for impaired motor function. The cost for administering these tests was not discussed, however, in the real world – Daniel's reoccurring interpretation of ink butterflies would probably lean towards lurking predators. As far as his motor skills, he certainly had the necessary hand-brain coordination to pull the trigger. Whether or not Daniel was depressed on the day of Stephanie's demise was anybody's guess; however, the defense would be hard pressed to find anyone who cared.

At the trial, Dr. Grenier explained the significance of each test. She stated that Daniel reported that the woman he was accused of killing was not the real Stephanie Rawls, but rather a double. Dr. Grenier concluded that at the time of the killing, Caiman was suffering from a delusional disorder that prevented him from appreciating that his behavior was not in keeping with what was expected by law and society. On cross, the state reminded the jury of the fact that Caiman had deliberately covered spattered blood and bullet holes with a poster. His bloody clothes had been stashed away.

The next witness presented was psychiatrist, Dr. Borden. He testified that Daniel Caiman Jr. had a clear diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia, poly substance dependence, and somatic delusions, the fixed, false belief that one's bodily functioning, sensation, or appearance is grossly abnormal. He explained that a somatic delusion has to do with the distorted idea that the person's body is diseased in some way. In Daniel's case, he believed that he had been poisoned by inhaling toxic fumes. In addition, Borden testified that Daniel clearly presented with Capgras Syndrome, the belief that people were replaced with replicas. Daniel had not shot Stephanie Rawls. He had killed an imposter who was plotting against him.

On September 26, 1996, the jury had heard all of the evidence and rendered a guilty verdict. Following a lengthy probation report, the court sentenced Daniel Caiman Jr. to serve a term of sixty years in confinement.

# Chapter 11

As Harry Cohen waited for the criminal trial to conclude, the defense filed for appeal with the Supreme Court of Connecticut. The defense contended that the jury should have been instructed that in deciding whether the defendant had substantial capacity to appreciate that his conduct was contrary to societal morality, their judgment should not be have been limited to the defendant's appreciation of such morality. Rather, the jury should have been instructed that it must also determine whether the defendant maintained a sincere belief that society would condone his action under the circumstances as the defendant honestly perceived them.

The appellate court upheld the decision, determining that the defense was not entitled to such an instruction, based on their failure to prove Caiman's inability to make this distinction. The jury had not been persuaded by the evidence that the defendant presented in support of his affirmative defense.

# Chapter 12

With the murder trial concluded, Attorney Cohen was free to begin the civil trial against the parents of Daniel Caiman, Jr. The civil trial for damages for the wrongful death of Stephanie Rawls was held in a newly designated court in Waterbury, Connecticut. The Plaintiff was fortunate to have Honorable Judge Hodges, a judge that Harry knew as fair and insightful, presiding. The defense team of Halloran and Sage from Hartford were one of toughest and most prestigious firms in the state. The small-time, country lawyer would be bombarded with mountains of depositions and discovery requests, designed to overwork a one-man band. The assistance of Robert Rosen, a former member of the state police force, joined as co-counsel. His strong presence provided Harry with access to Caiman's records of prior arrests – something that might have otherwise been blocked by privilege or privacy. Rosen's contacts made it possible for a state police officer to appear at the trial and testify with full cooperation.

But even with Rosen as co-counsel, it was a David and Goliath marathon, with the giants waging war on their tiny opponents.

The burden of proof facing the plaintiff was clear. Attorney Cohen had to prove that the parents of Daniel Caiman Jr. had been legally responsible for the death of Stephanie Rawls. It was Cohen's contention that the Caiman's had owned and controlled the property where the convicted had resided. He further asserted that they were aware of their son's mental state at the time of the murder. They had a duty to warn police and the potential victim.

Although the evidence of the criminal conviction was not admissible, much of the testimony was usable, and the previous trial was a rich source of information. In addition, the plaintiff had the powerful deposition of Molly Satterfield. The defense attempted to whack away at the testimony Satterfield provided at her deposition as inadmissible with some success. However, the remaining testimony powerfully presented the key elements of the plaintiff's case. The relevance of the pattern of behavior that was established long before Stephanie's arrival could not be ignored.

During the deposition of Daniel Caiman Sr., all knowledge of Daniel's psychological issues and alcohol use were denied. He further denied any knowledge of his son's arrests, and history of threatening behavior.

In spite of the vigorous attempts of the counsel for the defendant to confuse, obstruct, and impede the plaintiff's case, the jury, on August 19, 1998, rendered a verdict for the plaintiff in the sum of $800,000.00. The defense filed a motion to set aside the verdict, claiming there was no precedent, and that the court had erred in its charge to the jury. The court denied defense's motion and upheld its decision.

An appeal to the Appellate Court by the defendants was filed on October 23, 1998. On March 10, 1999, the appeal was withdrawn on settlement of the parties. It took five years and three months to extract justice. The monetary gain was minimal in light of the family's loss.

On a larger scale, a new precedent was established. Until the case of Ingram vs. Caiman was successfully tried and won, families of dependent adult children were not considered to be responsible for their children's violent acts. The landmark decision is cited in similar cases to this day.

# A note from the authors:

In the 21st century, there is a massive outbreak of violent acts at the hand of the quietly insane. Close friends and family members report having no prior knowledge that the perpetrator was about to shoot randomly through an elementary school or public gathering. Upon closer examination, it is usually revealed that the offender had a long history of mental impairment. Days before a fatal shooting, the individual usually showed increased agitation, and in most cases, had made threatening statements. In a world where violence has become the accepted norm, where does responsibility lie? We should not act solely because we are required by law to do the right thing. We should protect the innocent to save humanity.

***

Now, turn the page for Silent Plight.

Morgan Foster learns that living your fantasy sometimes comes with a price

## Silent Plight

Chapter 1

Morgan Foster had finally found the promised land. She now had 5 published novels including one on the New York Times bestseller list. Her career was officially taking off. With book signings winding down, she had been directed back home.

Morgan paid the cab driver and entered the prestigious building that housed World Boutique Publishing. She was early for her 10:00 am meeting with Dana Richards. Downtown Manhattan traffic was always a crap shoot, and her journey from Long Island was hard to predict. Early was better than the alternative.

As she sipped on the cappuccino the receptionist had graciously handed her, she reflected on the past. At no time during her struggle as an independent author had anyone brought her coffee. This was better. Well, almost better. She was rarely home. Her husband had been supportive in the beginning, but the out of town promotions were keeping her away for long stretches. He wasn't actually complaining, but he wasn't subtle about his frustration either.

Zack wasn't her only mounting concern. Her two children were growing so fast without her daily interaction, she was missing a lot of special moments. What was she supposed to do? She should not have had to choose between her good fortune and her family. She would certainly have supported Zack if he had suddenly been Attorney of the year. Oh, who was she kidding? Mr. Responsible chose the perfect job. And if 'Husband and Daddy of the year' was awarded annually, he'd be right in line. Morgan sighed at the injustice of it all, and quietly finished her drink.

Dana finally appeared and summoned Morgan back to her office. Additional coffee was declined and the meeting began.

"Your sales are soaring," Dana said, happily. "And, we need to keep the momentum going. If you stop producing, readers forget you,"

"Don't I know it," Morgan concurred.

"So we need another dazzler."

"No problem," Morgan said, anxiously, "I have several ideas."

Dana shifted in her chair, and said, "I'm sure they are great, but you'll have to stick a pin in them for the moment."

"Okay," Morgan said, cautiously. She had enjoyed her literary freedom. As an independent, she wrote about whatever seed had been planted in her mind. From there, a whole garden grew. She had also sold about 25 books a month. Now, thanks to the millions of dollars in World Boutique's marketing account, she was selling millions of books each year. The freedom to be invisible, or success? A no brainer.

"Your next masterpiece is entitled, A Christmas To Remember. The format we want for this next one is a tried and true formula, and that's what we're looking for this time ."

Morgan silently sunk into her chair. Formula writing was the devil. She had always criticized writers who basically wrote the same story over and over again. The only changes were the names and the venues, but the basic plot never deviated from the norm. How safe and how tired to walk in those same tracks every time. She told herself to keep quiet and smile. They had paid for her success and they were the ones calling the shots. She wanted to argue the point, but instead, she said, "Tell me more."

"Well, we don't want to micro-manage you." Morgan fought the urge to give her editor the universal eye roll. "But the general plot takes either a single career woman or one who is married with children. We'll leave that up to you. She is going about her life, quietly wishing she had made better choices."

"You mean a single career woman wishing for a family?"

"Yes, that's the general idea."

"Okay, I'm with you so far."

"Well, something happens. A shooting star crosses the sky or she hits her head and blacks out momentarily. Again, that's all you. Suddenly, her life is transformed."

"Don't tell me," Morgan interjected. "The life she leaves behind is magically replaced by the new one, and she freaks out."

"So you're familiar with the storyline?"

Who isn't? Morgan thought loudly inside her head. It was the most overused TV movie plot, especially during Christmas.

"This character immediately dives into denial," Dana continued. "This can't be happening. This has to be a dream."

"Or an elaborate scam," Morgan added, reluctantly.

"Right. She goes around trying to figure out what in the world is happening to her.

"But gradually, she gets used to the new life," Morgan sighs. "Almost begins to prefer it. Or maybe she's learning a hard lesson"

"Until bam! The same shooting star sends her back to her old life. She's sad or elated, again, that's all you. The reader is conflicted. They have been riding along with her new life, and they are not sure what to make of the sudden return back to the present. "

"But it all works out in the end," Morgan concluded.

"Sounds like you know exactly what were looking for," Dana said, beaming.

"You could say I know it intimately," Morgan confirmed. Anyone with a pulse knows this story line intimately, she thought. She wanted to discuss the merits of creativity. She also knew that Dana was only the messenger. If World Boutique wanted this tired formula story for a Christmas promotion, they would have it. If she didn't write it, someone else would. As their newest author, she should be honored that they chose her. And, the newbie was not in a position to argue with them. So it was a done deal.

Morgan sat on the train and stared out the window as it gently vibrated its way back to the Glen Cove station. She was not happy about this assignment. The idea of making the work a short story was immediately rejected. The required length was debated for several minutes with Morgan emphasizing the lack of sub-plots. Sticking to the formula did not allow itself too many twists. They finally agreed on approximately 100 pages. Too long to be considered a short story while remaining a substantial read.

She had 3 months to write it. The time frame was not a concern. The stupid thing would write itself. Staying awake through the process? That would be the real challenge.

# Chapter 2

Morgan arrived home to find the usual struggle. Erin, 6 years old, was refusing to put on clothes. Her husband, Zack, took a ten second break from chasing his half naked daughter through the house to give Morgan a quick hug.

"Welcome home," he yelled, as he resumed the chase with pants and shirt in hand. Morgan could hear the struggle when Erin was finally trapped and forced to cover up the zoo animal underpants fashion statement. Erin was easy parenting. The biggest issue with their daughter was clothing and the endless circular discussion as to why children do not eat ice cream for dinner .

Danny, age 14, was far more emotionally draining. Danny's mission in life was to push the teenage attitude envelope further than any teenager had pushed before. Morgan found him in his room in his usual position; laying flat on his back with headphones blasting the latest mind-numbing, non- melodious crap Morgan had ever had the misfortune to hear. When she caught his attention, he nodded a greeting. "Touching," Morgan commented on her way out of the room.

Morgan made her way to the master bedroom, and kicked off the uncomfortable heels she had worn to her meeting. Trading the suit for jeans and a faded sweatshirt, she surveyed her work area. Everything was organized and neatly set in piles according to project. There were several works still in the draft stage. When she left the house that morning, her intention had been to choose the most promising of ideas and run with it. Now, they would all have to go into limbo for an unspecified stretch of time, aka novel suicide.

With exaggerated movements, she gathered the work product of her active imagination and threw them all in a file marked, 'pending.' The surface was clean and awaiting a resuscitation of the very tired 'what if things had been different' saga.

Morgan booted up her outdated desktop computer. She had never been able to get used to the laptop style so many had embraced. The keyboard was mushy, small, and unintended movements activated unwanted changes. The stupid thing needed to be recharged every 5 minutes, and never at a convenient moment. She vowed to stick to her traditional friend until the end of time.

Morgan stared at the blank screen. It was always a little daunting to begin. Even when countless others had already done the work for her. She was about to click out the first paragraph when Zack entered the room. When he saw her in front of her computer again, he let out an exaggerated sigh. This was designed to let Morgan know of his disapproval. Normally, the interruption would have annoyed the crap out of her. Today, she welcomed the break.

"So, what's up?" she inquired, cheerfully.

Zack ignored the question and nodded towards her work area. "I thought you might get at least a short reprieve from all this."

So much for light conversation. "This is my job," she said in defense. "The editor wants this by the end of October."

"Why? Are we going for the Halloween effect?"

"No." This was delivered with some added force. "It's a Christmas book. It takes a few seconds to publish from the time they get it, Zack."

"Well then, before you dive into another project, there are a few things that required our attention."

It was Morgan's turn to sigh loudly. She was not in the mood for Zack's laundry list of current problems. Instead, she said, "Shoot."

"For starters, Danny was suspended from school."

"Shit. What did he do now?"

"He told off his math teacher. Apparently, math is a stupid waste of time, and no self respecting person would spend their days teaching it, much less learning it."

"Great."

"Oh, there's more. "He has also decided that on the day he turns 16, he is dropping out of school to follow his true destiny."

"He's going to become a full time pain in the ass?"

"I wish. Actually, his calling is to become a rock star."

"Don't you need some kind of ... I don't know... musical ability?"

"He's a lead singer." Zack stated with extreme disdain.

Morgan shook her head to purge the insanity overload. "When did our son become a singer? I've heard him in the shower, Zack. It's brutal."

"I think it would be far more brutal with amplification."

Morgan massaged the growing headache of being home. "We can only hope for a sudden personality change. He's already done that a thousand times. Maybe he'll chose the priesthood by then."

"Danny?" Zack exclaimed. "We're still discussing our son, right?"

"One can only dream," Morgan concluded. "Are we done?"

"Sadly, there's more."

"Lovely."

"The entire basement became an indoor pool when the hot water heater exploded."

"They do that?"

"This one did. After the flood, I had to replace the damn thing. The water cleanup, hot water heater purchase and installation, came to a grand total of $4500."

Morgan took in the old walls of their bedroom. The entire house was in need of a facelift. She entered the forbidden topic once again. "Paradise Grove just finished construction." Zach only rolled his eyes at the unavoidable discussion. "That place is so beautiful," Morgan continued. "They have three bedroom condos with a fitness center, tennis courts, and an outdoor pool." Zack let out a groan. Morgan ignored the non-verbal objection. "The rent is less than our mortgage, Zack. No property taxes, no home owner's insurance, and best of all, no repairs. Ever.

"You know what else there would be no more of?"

"What?" Morgan asked intrepidly.

"Me. There would be no more me."

"Why are you so closed minded about this?"

"Because I hate apartment complexes. You have no privacy. "And, what are you going to do if some loud family with heavy feet move in directly above you?"

Morgan gestured as though shooing away annoying flies. "Never mind. I just thought it was worth considering."

"I'm not an apartment guy, Morgan. Sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Can I get back to work now?"

Zack responded by holding up both hands in surrender, and walking out of the bedroom.

Morgan had all the material she needed for this project. All she had to do was take in her surroundings. The first part of A Christmas To Remember, centered around a weary couple who had two kids. Their marriage was okay. Their kids were fine if you ignored the ranting of a 14 year old boy who believed he had discovered the art of being a moody teenager.

# The house they lived in was approaching it's fiftieth birthday, adorned with peeling paint and rotting wood. This would not have been a problem if the couple could agree on a solution. The woman loved the idea of 'new construction smell.' A brand new complex with modern fixtures, granite counter tops, and bathrooms so luxurious, it felt like being on vacation every time you were in there.

# The man, on the other hand, wanted to keep the broken down house. His wife usually kept quiet about it. The only time they argued was when the aging piece of real estate sucked major bucks out of their bank account. The homestead debate changed nothing.

# The lead character had a silent fantasy. What would life be like if she didn't have to worry about 3 other people all the time? How would it feel to have a desire and then make it happen without first consulting 'the committee?' Total freedom!

# Morgan named her leading lady Chloe. This was a significant choice. She loved the name and it had always been forbidden. She had debated with Zack daily after the ultrasound that informed them they were having a girl. But Zack was adamant in his ban, stating that only airheads and debutantes were named Chloe. Morgan's rebuttals that his statement was undoubtedly the stupidest assumption she had ever heard, made no difference. In the end, Morgan was defeated and forced to compromise with her second choice. Erin was a cool name. But it wasn't the one Morgan would have chosen, if she lived in a world where she was in charge.

# Morgan went about setting up the first 10 pages or so. Chloe was a freelance writer. Her articles were picked up by various publications, paying her 5 cents a word. The novels she had written sat on the Amazon book shelf gathering cyber dust. But Chloe kept writing. Had it not been for her blind ambition, she would have stopped writing a long time ago.

# Her husband, Glen, a successful attorney, assured that the family would eat and stay out of foreclosure. His job saved her from being out in the jungle every day, working hard for minimum wage, and sucking up to bosses with marginal managerial skills.

# Chloe and Glen had 2 children, Kara and Timothy. Kara was a hyper 6 year old who never had a bad day, and entertained the family with her improve dance moves. Timothy was a 14 year old dark cloud, believing that everything was stupid or lame. Chloe's best hours were the ones when everyone was out of house, and she could write in peace.

# Morgan went about setting the mood and characters of the first chapter before calling it a day.

#

# Chapter 3

# Morgan sat on the bleachers with the other soccer moms, focusing on the pile of work that needed her attention. Her deadline was looming over the horizon, while she pretended to be excited about a bunch of 6 year olds swarming like bees over a ball with no real understanding of what they were doing. If she had to wager a guess, she would conclude that the cluster of little running bodies would much rather be doing something else right now. When was it decided that all 6 year olds had to engage in sports?

# As the game ended, each team lined up and made an assembly line to high five the competition. This should have been the end of an unproductive afternoon, but Erin would soon be in route to dance class. Mother and daughter made their way to the car, while Morgan engaged in small talk with the other parents. The weather was certainly lovely today, and the presidential election was getting seriously stupid.

# Erin climbed in the back seat and buckled up while Morgan worked to pull herself away from the post game excitement. They were already running late. Morgan drove out of the ball park and tried to negotiate traffic while Erin complained about the song on the radio.

# "Mom, this song is so stupid."

# "You have been hanging around your brother too much," Morgan concluded. "And, this happens to be a classic."

# "It's poo," Erin stated boldly. "I want to hear Z103. They only play cool stuff."

# Morgan was not in the mood to discuss the finer points of classic rock with a 6 year old, and grudgingly hit the pre-select for her daughter's station. Steely Dan was abruptly replaced with high, airy voices having difficulty finding a melody line. Now this is poo, she thought. But it kept the peace.

# When they arrived at the dance studio, Erin bolted from her seat and raced into building. Morgan locked the car and dragged her feet to the dance rehearsal. The presentation was much like the clueless running bodies, only set to music. Just before she was able to reach the front door, her cell phone chimed World Boutique's special ring tone. It was Dana. She sounded pretty stressed out.

# "Hey Morgan," She began breathlessly.

# "I only have a minute, but the senior editor is asking for some kind of status update on A Christmas To Remember."

# "Coming along," Morgan answered cryptically. The truth was that she really hadn't gotten past the first few chapters. Her family kept her busy when she was home, and her motivation for this story was in the toilet.

# "Well, he wants the first 50 pages by the end of week," Dana reported. "I assured him that wouldn't be a problem." When Morgan hesitated, Dana assumed the worst. "Please tell me you're closing in on this deadline."

# Morgan looked up at the clouds for inspiration. She was nowhere near the halfway point. What was she supposed to say? These people did not want to hear about soccer and dance lessons. Dinners did not cook themselves, and she had failed to lock in on self cleaning laundry. "Relax," she informed her editor. "This baby is writing itself. I know you'll be pleased."

# "That's what I wanted to hear," Dana said, relieved. "Just be sure and email the first 50 pages by Friday. Gotta go. I'm late for a meeting." And the line went dead. Morgan stared at her cell phone. It was Wednesday, and she had 40 pages to complete by Friday, and that was without any fine tuning. Shooting off a first draft was risky. They had never seen her initial writing, and she didn't think they would be too pleased with a rough outline.

# Morgan spent the entire hour of Erin's dance rehearsal watching the clock and planning her mommy escape. They would pick up pizza on the way home, and Morgan would immediately lock herself in the bedroom, not emerging until she had banged out half of this stupid story.

# When the rehearsal ended, Erin ran up to Morgan. "Mom, Sandy's mom said I could go to their house for dinner. Can I? Pleeaaze?" Morgan took in an exacerbated breath. While this sounded like an easy and non-evasive request, the time issue was not. Sandy lived 25 minutes from the Fosters. The main part of town was only 10 to fifteen minutes away for each party, but they each resided on opposites ends. Retrieving Erin would eat almost an hour of her evening.

# "Not today, sweetie. Mom has too much work to do."

# "But, I never get to do anything fun," Erin whined.

# Morgan counted to 10 before continuing the argument with her daughter. "We just spent the entire afternoon having fun."

# "Soccer and dance are not fun," Erin said, sticking out her bottom lip and kicking the ground. "I want to hang out with my friend."

# And I want to check into a hotel, Morgan thought. She was tired, desperately behind on her work, and in no mood to discuss the fact that soccer and dance practice had not been fun for her either.

# "I'm sorry you didn't have a good time today," Morgan negotiated. "But I have to get home and I won't have time to pick you up later."

# "This blows," Erin shouted, causing several pairs of eyes to turn their way.

# Morgan closed in the distance and bent down to her daughter's left ear. "Don't say another word and get in the car now." This was delivered in a quiet but deadly tone. Erin knew that tone, and skulked to the car. The battle may have been over, but the silent 6 year old in the back seat glared holes through her mother's head all the way home.

#

# The passage of an hour had not improved Erin's mood. The family was seated at the dinner table with two large cardboard boxes of pizza as the center piece. Without Erin's constant chatter, the room was deadly silent. At some future point Morgan would be concerned that without a 6 year olds enthusiasm, the Fosters were zombies. Tonight, she could not possibly care less.

# Danny sat motionless, chewing quietly, and staring at his feet, while Zack attempted to provoke some kind of dinner conversation.

# "So, how was everybody's day?" he began, with false enthusiasm.

# Erin answered her father by glaring at her mother. Danny provided one of his famous one syllable responses. It may have meant to be a word, but came out more as a grunt.

# "Great," Zack said. "How about your day?" he added in Morgan's direction.

# Morgan shook her head at the loaded question before pushing ahead. "My editor called. They want the first 50 pages in 2 days."

# "So what's the problem? You can knock that out."

# In an alternate universe where my time is not eaten up with terminal parenthood, Morgan thought. Instead she said, "It's not that easy."

# "Writer's block?" Zack ventured.

# Morgan shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "More like time block."

# Zack just stared at her. "How can there be a time issue? You're home all day."

# "That doesn't mean I have all day," Morgan countered. "There's soccer, dance rehearsals, laundry, dinner, house cleaning..."

# "Okay, we get it," Zack interrupted. "Parenting 101. What did you expect?"

# "An occasional minute to myself would be a great start," Morgan spat back.

# Zack put up both hands in surrender. Arguments at the dinner table were against family policy. "Any chance your editor can give you more time?"

# Morgan glared at him in place of a response. "The book is entitled A Christmas to remember, not The greatest Easter of all time."

# "I don't get why you have to write those stupid books anyway," Erin chimed in.

# "Ah," Zack said. "She can speak."

# "I mean it," Erin continued. "Things around here suck ever since you got famous."

# "Well, when I get famous, I'm outta here," Danny chimed in.

# "We'll help you pack," Zack shot back.

# "This is all fascinating conversation," Morgan said, getting to her feet. "But I have a deadline. Please do not bother me unless one of you needs to go to the emergency room." And with that, she grabbed a final slice of pepperoni pizza and headed for the bedroom. The family stared at each other as they heard their mother lock the door.

# Chapter 4

# Morgan was in her story line typing furiously. Mother, Chloe was sitting at the dinner table arguing with her family. Kara, her 6 year old was refusing to eat. Timothy had returned to school after a 3 day suspension with no sign of improvement in his attitude. They had already received a follow-up call from Tim's math teacher, informing them that Tim was still refusing to participate in class. Father, Glen attempted to reason with the 14 year old rebel without a clue. Morgan typed on:

"So what's the plan here, Tim? You have 2 more years before you can drop out of school and become a rock star. How do you plan to stay off the radar?"

Timothy responded by kicking the floor.

# "I'll buy your MP3's," Kara offered. Tim gave his sister a weak smile. She seemed to be the only one capable of provoking any kind of emotional response from her brother.

# Glen ignored the ridiculous comment and pressed on. "So here's the deal. Obviously suspensions are not a punishment. Not if staying out of school is the real goal. So The next time we get a call about your attitude, you can forget friends, cell phones, TVs, laptops and any other form of electronics for an indefinite period of time.

# "My homework is online," Tim shot back.

# "Except that, smart guy."

# Chloe took a long breath and tried to focus on her slice of pizza. She had slaved in the kitchen for an hour, learning the fine art of pizza making from scratch. No one seemed to notice.

# "I'm writing an article on homemade pizza," she interjected. "Anyone care to comment?"

# All eyes seemed to glaze over as a collective 'huh?' resounded. This was followed by 3 minutes of dead silence, before the conversation continued.

# "I want to have a sleepover," Kara announced.

# Both parents eyed each other knowingly. The last one was a disaster. 6 year olds do not work and play well over a long, never-ending, night of free-fall . Arguments over what to play, who got to sleep next to who, and endless chatter into the wee hours of the morning, rang loudly until parents mercifully arrived to retrieve their precious ones. There was always a bed wetter who forgot, or was too embarrassed to wear the nighttime pull-up. This resulted in some quick damage control to avoid further teasing by the more potty trained.

# "I think we'll stick a pin in that one for now," Chloe said.

# "But, I never get to have any fun," Kara whined.

# "From where I sit, it's the parents who never get to have any fun," Chloe remarked. One Husband and two kids looked at her in surprise. "Did I say that out loud?" Chloe laughed awkwardly. Lately the filter in her brain was failing and her true thoughts were getting harder to hide.

# "I believe you did," her husband confirmed.

# Well there was no denying the obvious. Chloe's life felt mundane and repetitive and she was tired of pretending as though life was a friggin circus. "OK," she admitted. "Let's start with today. This pizza you are all chomping down is not delivery and it's not Digiorno. I found this really cool recipe online and thought you all might like something homemade. But has anyone noticed? No, of course not," Chloe confirmed. "We're all too busy discussing the same..ad nauseum... problems.

# "The pizza is very good," Glen said, trying to appease his wife.

# "Mommy," Kara interjected. "Are you going to throw up?" Tim exploded with laughter and sprayed the entire table with pizza remnants.

# Chloe stood up and brushed the pizza storm off her shirt before turning to her daughter. "Why would you say that?"

# "You said you were nauseous."

# Now the entire family was rolling with laughter. Chloe was not. Quietly, she grabbed one last slice of homemade pizza and announced, "As amusing as this all is, I think I'll finish my dinner in the bedroom." She gave them all a fake smile and left the room. As she retreated to her private world, she heard, 'What's wrong with mommy?"

# Kara's question was followed by her charming son's remark. "She's probably on the rag." There was no adult response. Great parenting, Chloe thought as she closed the bedroom door.

#

# It was a disgusting cliché, but Chloe had to admit that her moods were very similar to a terminal menstrual cycle. Writing for a newspaper or magazine had been fine when the words lasted longer than a mouse click. But the 21st century e-versions were fleeting. Someone clicked on an article or touched the screen of their iPhones long enough to scan her words briefly. A nano second later they were on to something else. It felt empty.

# Doing things for her family wouldn't seem so bad if they didn't suck every waking moment of creative energy from her life. Then they ran off each day to have a life. Chloe had a house. Something had to change. She just didn't know what that might be.

#

#

# Morgan sat back and stared at the screen. She had never been able to write without putting her deepest emotions into the mix. And she had to admit that the sentiments of her character, Chloe, were her sentiments - exactly. She hadn't taken the time to tap into her emotions. She had been too busy to reflect on anything.

# She had a loving husband, 2 great kids when they weren't making her crazy, and a career that was finally taking off. So why was she so unhappy? Simple. Her independence was gone. Freedom to do what she wanted in her own home had drifted away a long time ago. And now her writing was being micro managed as well. It was the last brick in her autonomy. Morgan and Chloe had one thing in common. They both dreamed of the path less taken. The one where decisions were simple and dreams were only a few personal steps from being realized.

# Chapter 5

# Morgan had slept fitfully through the night. Her dreams left her exhausted and feeling a little guilty. The nighttime Morgan had packed one suitcase and set sail for exotic Caribbean islands. She felt elated during her escape - a joy she had not experienced in a very long time.

# Now, she was acting as cereal referee to two loud people fighting over the last bowl of fruit loops.

# "We have ten boxes of cereal in this cabinet," Morgan announced over the mayhem.

# "I want fruit loops," Erin wailed.

# "She only wants them because I got the box first," Danny yelled, while doing a tug of war with his sister.

# Morgan was about to end the insane cereal war, but as she moved toward the struggle, the box settled the score by becoming two separate halves and Fruit Loops became confetti. That was it. Morgan hit the end of her maternal patience and sent both kids out the door. "Here are two bags of peanuts from the plane. You can eat them on your way to the bus." And with that, Morgan slammed and locked the door, leaving two confused children peering in the side glass. Morgan used her hands to shoo them away. "Go to school," she yelled through the door and walked back into the kitchen.

# Morgan sat at the kitchen table, still breathing hard as though she had just run a 10K. She had probably overreacted. Well, no probably to it - she was losing her patience and her perspective. They were just being kids. It was her. The gaping hole in her life was getting bigger with each day. And, Zack was no bargain as of late. He had been so supportive in the early days. " You have to do whatever it takes, don't give up," and blah blah blah...rang inside her head.

# Now, the little innuendoes about the amount of time she put into her work were evolving into direct protests. What did he think? Books magically write themselves? She was here to tell the empty kitchen that they most certainly did not write themselves. It was a long, painstaking process. But she had put in her time, done the whole starving artist thing, and here was her reward. She was being directed to rewrite the most tired overdone formula in book and movie history. Congratulations Morgan.

# After a few more minutes of coffee, arguing with no one, and self pity, Morgan dragged herself to the computer. She was nowhere near the first 50 pages, and her editor was expecting to be wowed in the next 24 hours. She stared at the blinking cursor, with no words inside her head. Fingers twitching in nervous succession over the keys, she willed the characters to come alive.

#

# Chloe was in the kitchen arguing with her kids. Glen was long gone taking a deposition in the city. A box of exploded cereal was covering the table, the chairs, and most of the floor. The dog was in heaven as she aided in a most important clean-up mission.

# Chloe, who was usually a pillar of strength, threw both kids out of the house with nothing but a bag of peanuts for breakfast. Not her proudest moment as a parent.

# She had to get out of this house, if only to drive around the block a few hundred times. Chloe threw on a worn out pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from the eighties. Her tennis shoes were older still.

# Chloe rounded the first corner and decided to stop at the Starbucks on Glen Cove Road. She had spent many hours there with her laptop laboring over whatever article she was working on, sipping strong motivation and watching the foot traffic outside the large window. Maybe getting back to a happier time would restore her equilibrium.

# Chloe parked next to a red Jeep Liberty eyeing it longingly. She had wanted one of those, but Glen said they weren't safe. "You know what's not safe?" she said to no one, "not getting to make any decisions. Ever! It turns nice people into crapheads." Boy, she was in a foul mood.

# Chloe stuffed her keys inside her bag and headed inside for an overkill of caffeine. She made her way to the counter and looked into the face of someone she did not recognize.

# "Hey," she said, forcing a more normal persona. "Where's Peggy?"

# The woman gave her a blank stare before answering, "I'm sorry, who?"

# "Peggy. The person who has been working here since the dawn of time." Okay that was more in line with her mood. Chloe didn't care. In fact, she was only one more act of invalidation away from taking off someone's head. The woman shook off the inappropriate remark and responded by not responding at all. "What can I get you?"

# Chloe took a breath and gave up the battle of Peggy's whereabouts. Maybe this woman had her tied up in the back room, holding her coffee hostage. " A Latte Grande, please." While Peggy's abductor went about the task of getting her coffee, she shook her head at the ridiculous image. Writers can't ever seem to shut it off. Maybe her next short story would center around a coffeehouse murder.

# Chloe carried her coffee to a table and waited for a few familiar faces to wander in. It was one of the things she loved best about this place. There had always been someone to talk to. A little adult conversation was exactly what she needed right now

# As the minutes ticked by, Chloe began to notice some strange things. Not only was the clientele completely unknown to her, the additional trickle of staff were made up of strangers. She knew everyone that worked here. Who were these people?

# Chloe sighed and finished her coffee, leaving a dollar in the tip jar. Just another nail in her crappy day. The Jeep Liberty had taken off for better horizons, and Chloe exited the lot with no real destination. She drove to the park. Watched kids feed ducks, and hit a Burger King in protest of her dietary restrictions. She and Glen had elected to avoid all dairy, soy, wheat, corn, white potatoes and processed sugar. Today, she abandoned the Nazi diet in favor of a whopper with cheese, fries and a coke. In an hour, she would be extremely sorry for her rebellion. At the moment, her lunch was a slice of heaven.

# Now it was time to go home and face the dirty dishes along with their counterpart - laundry mountain. Reluctantly, She got out of her car and slipped the key into her entrance to purgatory. The key didn't fit! "What the hell?" Chloe exclaimed, trying to jam the key in again.

# Suddenly, the door swung opened, revealing an Amazon of a woman. "Can I help you?" she demanded.

# Chloe took a reflexive step back and gasped at the stranger blocking her entrance. "Who are you?" Chloe stammered.

# "What's it to you?" the Amazonian shot back. "And since we're playing 20 questions, why are you sticking a key in my front door?"

# "Your front door?" Chloe said in disbelief. "This is my house."

# "Dave," the woman yelled to someone behind her. "Call the police."

# An equally giant male version of Amazon woman came to the door. "What the hell is your problem, Bonnie?" He slowed his pace when he took in Chloe's confused appearance. "Are you armed?" he began with a smirk. Chloe just shook her head in the negative. Giant Dave turned to giant Bonnie, and said, "being on a no carb diet is no reason to call in the girl scout cookie police."

# "Ha, real funny," Bonnie countered. "This woman was trying to break into our house. She says she lives here."

# "Really," Dave said, amused by the whole exchange. "Do you mind showing us some proof? I'd hate to be in the wrong house."

# Chloe fished out her driver's license, ready to stuff it down the guy's throat. "Here," she said, as she thrust it in the man's face.

# Dave took in the information, and started laughing, uncontrollably. "According to the DMV, you live at the Paradise Grove Apartments, Unit 12C."

# "What?" Chloe yelled. "Let me see that." Dave handed her back her license as he shared an all knowing glance with his wife. This woman was a nut case. Chloe stared at the license in shock. That was her picture. That was NOT her address. She was about to launch into a futile argument , when the door was dramatically slammed in her face.

# Chloe staggered back to a car, she didn't own - a red Jeep Liberty, and sat in a driveway that no longer belonged to her. She remained there for several minutes in a daze. What should she do now? With nowhere else to go, she drove to the address on her license. The feeling was surreal, as she moved through familiar streets, having lost all sense of familiarity.

# Chloe pulled into the beautiful grounds of Paradise Grove. Her key slipped easily into the door of 12C and opened to furniture Glen would never have approved of. Two matching old style wing back chairs were grouped together with a distressed end table. A ceramic lamp, with a flower design was placed tastefully upon it. The far wall was covered by a huge sofa and coffee table with decorative inlay. It was the very decor Chloe would have chosen if she were the one in charge of her life. What was happening?

# She moved on to the rest of the apartment. An aging hippie lived here. From the wall hangings to the unique furnishings, the space was a total flashback to the 60's. Glen would have had a cow if she had tried to bring this look into their painfully conventional house. Correction - former conventional house. The question as to where those other occupants now resided were not yet on the forefront.

# Chloe drifted to the bedroom, which was equally unique. She sat on the bed and gazed at the life size painting of a unicorn taking flight. The walls were painted a soft sky blue with clouds. "What a peaceful place," she exclaimed. She kicked off her shoes and spread out over the incredibly soft mattress. Glen would never have slept on this bed. He needed his back support. Their bed was one step from a cement slab. "Heaven," she murmured, sinking into the plush comforter.

# Chloe felt so content, she almost nodded off, when she noticed a picture on the night stand. She reached over and studied the happy couple. Chloe stood arm in arm with a guy she had never seen before. From the background, it appeared that she and this mystery hunk had been somewhere tropical. Glen hated beach vacations. She had long given up forcing the issue. Chloe and the hunk's attire, combined with the zip line in the background told her that they had been on some kind of adventure. "Always wanted to try that," Chloe marveled. "Guess I did."

# She went back to the picture trying to remember the handsome face. He had her in a tight, possessive bear hug. "Who is this guy?" Chloe got off the bed and went on a scavenger hunt looking for more clues into this alternate life. She found a cardboard box in her closet. The inside was filled with pictures and legal papers. Chloe found another of herself with the hunk. She was wearing an evening gown and the man was in a tux. She turned the picture over and found some helpful information. The caption read, "Me and Andre at the Book Signing"

# Well, his name was Andre. Fitting. Andre was a livewire. Pictures of skydiving, deep sea adventures and poses next to his motorcycle covered the first few layers of memories.

# Chloe dug deeper into her alternate life. Her divorce papers were neatly folded inside an envelope from the Grover Law firm. Well, that explained Andre. Chloe scanned the closet and dresser drawers, concluding that she lived alone. If Andre was a constant in her life, he had not taken up permanent residency.

# She moved on to the bathroom. "Wow," she said to her reflection. "You could land a plane in here." She marveled at the beautiful tile, the enormous bath tub with separate tiled shower, and the expanse of sea decor. A few plants and candles were spread out around the deepest tub Chloe had ever seen. "I bet we have a good time in here," she concluded.

# She didn't feel guilty about this elaborate fantasy. If she was divorced, she had committed no crime. If this was a dream, she would wake up soon and paradise would melt away.

#

# Morgan pushed back from the keyboard. Her book was taking form, the characters becoming real people. She stretched her back and sighed, sadly. Creating the person, Chloe, had brought so many emotions to the surface. She envied Chloe. How great would it be to wake up in the tapestry she had just woven.

# Chapter 6

# The door opened with a decisive thud. Erin walked past her mother without so much as a "hi." Danny dropped his book bag on the kitchen floor, and yanked open the refrigerator door.

# "How was your day?" she inquired, hoping he'd lighten up a few shades.

# "It was crap," he shot back. "You starved us, remember?"

# "I also recall two kids unable to navigate a simple breakfast without creating a cereal war. A battle that resulted in an explosion of food particles."

# "Whatever," Danny responded, flatly.

# Morgan watched her son grab a cold slice of pizza and step over the book bag on his way to the door.

# "Where are you going?" she yelled to the departing rebel.

# "What do you care?"

# And with that, the door slammed loudly. Morgan shook her head. This was not the child she had raised. She grabbed the book bag off the floor and headed to Danny's room. The adjoining room harbored one brooding 6 year old. After depositing her cargo, Morgan popped her head into Erin's domain.

# "So I guess you're mad at me too.?" Erin remained silent and glared at the floor. "Would you like a snack?" There were still no words, just a slight nod in the affirmative. The ice began to melt. "We'll I think we still have some leftovers. Let's go see." Erin followed her mother into the kitchen.

# Morgan popped the pizza in the microwave and Erin took a seat at the table.

# As the pizza continued its circular movement inside the buzzing box, Erin raised her brave chin and said, "Danny says you don't like us anymore."

# The comment took Morgan by surprise. It shouldn't have. Danny was a mountain of teenage adversity. But now he was poisoning his sister. Morgan sat down at the table and looked her daughter in the eye.

# "Sweetie, that's insane. I love you guys. You know that."

# "We know you love us," Erin retorted. "We just don't think you like us very much."

# Wow. This, from a 6 year old. Was her dissatisfaction showing that much? Morgan reached out both arms and said, "Come here." The 6 year old happily complied, not yet jaded by rebellion. While mother embraced child, the world seemed a softer place for a moment. But only for a moment.

# The front door opened loudly and one very angry boy entered.

# "I thought you were getting ready to travel to lands far, far away, "Morgan said.

# "Ha. Funny, mom. No one was home."

# "The whole town is gone?"

# "Yeah." Danny headed for his room, but turned back to face his mother before retreating to his private space. "And, I'm still mad at you. I just have nowhere to go."

# "Copy that," Morgan said, as she saluted her son.

#

# Dinner that night was no better than breakfast, just minus the yelling and flying food. Danny must have shared the morning experience with his father, because no one was talking, and no one would look in Morgan's direction. Finally, after a 10 minute awkward silence, Morgan cleared her throat and addressed the family.

# "I am sorry for sending you guys off to school with bags of peanuts. Are we ready to move on?" Responses came in the form of extreme interest in the table, floor, shoes, anything but the question at hand. "Seriously? You're all going to continue the silent treatment?"

# "That was pretty excessive," Zack commented.

# Morgan began a slow internal boil. "Really? You think so?

# "I do."

# "Well, you weren't here," Morgan reminded him. "Did the information hot line also inform you that a box of cereal spontaneously combusted all over the kitchen?

# "Still," Zack stated, standing firm on his analysis.

# "Yeah," Danny chimed in.

# "Okay, fine," Morgan said lifting her hands to the sky in surrender. "Stay mad. I'll be in my room if anyone cares to accept an apology."

#

# Morgan closed the bedroom door and sat at her makeshift desk. As the minutes ticked away, it was clear that no one planned to come after her. Kids were kids, but Zack was an adult. How could he be so unforgiving?" She eyed her unfinished work, and shut down the computer. She couldn't write a postcard in her current frame of mind.

# Laying down on the hard surface they called a bed, Morgan watched as the last of the sun slipped away, replacing itself with an all consuming darkness. The sky matched her heart.

# Chapter 7

# Morgan had slept hard through the night. She found herself in the same position as she had been in before drifting off. She felt surprising rested. The bed was even less cement like, and felt more like a cloud cradling her body. With eyes closed, she stretched and savored the moment.

# The house was strangely quiet. Everyone must have managed to start the day without her. Maybe they had taken their resentment to whole new level. She willed her eyes open and glanced at the clock. What she found instead jolted her to her feet.

# Sitting on a night table, alongside a lamp she did not recognize, was a picture of herself with guy she knew as Andre. What the hell? She shot up and took in her surroundings. The bedroom was exactly as she had envisioned in her book. Impossible, Morgan thought. She had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation for this.

# She decided to enjoy the moment before the dream disappeared. Tentatively, she roamed the living room and kitchen area. "Good replica," she announced to no one. Everything was exactly as she had described in her book, down to the macramé wall hangings.

# She returned to the bedroom and grabbed the faded jeans and sweatshirt Chloe had been wearing when her world suddenly morphed into paradise. "Paradise!" Morgan exclaimed, and looked out her window. "I'm in the Paradise Grove Apartments, number 12C. At least the dream is accurate."

# Morgan grabbed Chloe's worn tennis shoes and ventured to her attached garage. A red, Jeep Liberty welcomed her. "Nice," Morgan replied. She went back inside the condo and waited for her moment to fade away.

# There is a fine line between vivid dreams and reality. The dreamer almost always knows they have been graced with seconds of an altered universe. Most tread lightly through their euphoria, not daring to force their will, less the spell be broken. Morgan wasn't ready to face the obvious.

# The keys to her dream car were sitting on the kitchen counter, willing her to go for a test drive. "What the hell?" She'd probably never get another chance. Morgan placed herself in the driver's seat and went to adjust the mirrors. No need. They were already set in the perfect position for her height. Of course, she thought. My dream - my car.

# Morgan backed out of the garage assigned to her unit, and turned onto the main road out of Paradise Grove. The grounds were even more beautiful than the last time she had visited the premises. Now, where to go?

# With no real destination, Morgan took her time driving the streets of her familiar town. After an hour, she decided to head back to the dream condo. Entering the grounds once again, she slowed down to take in the elaborate landscaping. She and Zack could never have afforded the people responsible for the expanse of what she could only define as art work. The bushes were meticulously trimmed and the flower beds, breath taking. She sighed sadly with the knowledge that she would wake soon to her dying, scrawny trees and failed brown garden.

# When Morgan returned , she was surprised to see another car already in the garage. She chose the adjoining visitor space. How did she know the space belonged to her? Good question. She also somehow knew that Andre was inside the condo. He had a bad habit of stealing her parking spot.

# Morgan opened the garage door and found Andre making coffee. "Hey babe," he said, without turning from the task. "Want some?"

# "Sure," she replied, with some measure of confusion. Dreams do not go on this long and with such crystal clarity. Morgan plopped herself into one of the comfy wingback chairs she had created in her fantasy and waited for the punch line. What in the hell was going on here?

# "Listen," Andre began, as he handed her a steaming cup. "I can't make the book signing tonight. I have a business meeting."

# "Really?" Morgan inquired, with some measure of annoyance. Her most recent work was going to be launched in the city tonight. Andre had known about it for some time, and yet he scheduled a meeting during the same time? The clarity of this realization hit Morgan like a brick to the head. This was not a dream!

# Suddenly, there was too much history. Andre had been making a lot of strange excuses lately. There had been a lot of arguing. Flashes of many late nights preparing for the launching of her new book came in rapid succession. Memories too vivid to be part of a fleeting nighttime subconscious activity.

# Morgan jumped to her feet, almost dumping the coffee Andre had just handed her. "Gotta go," she announced.

# "You just came home. Where are you going?"

# Morgan was out the door. The response, "to a nut house," was echoing inside her head.

#

#

# There was only one way to confirm what she already dreaded. Morgan drove to the house she had lived in for most of her adult life. Her mind was racing as she took each turn at record breaking speeds. Panicked and breathless, She ran up to the front door and attempted to slide her key into the lock. She was not at all surprised when the key appeared to be a hundred miles too large for the tiny hole.

# There was no shock when the door suddenly opened, presenting a very tall woman. She looked annoyed. Sure, Morgan thought. Someone was sticking a key in her front door. Who wouldn't be just a little displeased?

# "Bonnie, I presume."

# "Yeah, that's me. How the hell do you know my name?"

# "I created you," Morgan said mostly to herself.

# "Dave," Bonnie yelled. "There's a lunatic at our front door."

# "Are you armed?" Dave said, sarcastically.

# "Nope," Morgan answered. "Just another girl scout cookie salesperson.

# Morgan left the two tall people staring at the strange departure, as she climbed into her Jeep Liberty. Her dream car skidded out of the driveway as she made her escape.

# The ride home was a blur. Her mind was racing. One thing was certain; this was not a dream, and she was now living the reality she had created on paper. Where was Zack? What had happened to Danny and Erin? How the freak had this happened?

# Chapter 8

# When Morgan arrived back home, the garage was vacant. It was time to find some answers and she knew exactly where to begin. Morgan made a bee line to her closet and dragged out the box Chloe had found. The divorce papers were easily accessible. Morgan took them to the kitchen table and began to scrutinize each line.

# She and Zack had amicably reached an agreement with a 'no contest' divorce. Morgan had given custody of their two minor children to Zack with generous visitation rights. She was paying no child support, and Zack paid no alimony. He retained the house and the mortgage, along with all of its furnishings, and Morgan was awarded free will.

# Everything seemed to be right in line with what would have happened in an alternate life, until she reached the signature page. The date the papers were notarized sent her reeling. Chloe stood up abruptly, knocking over the chair. The date of her divorce was one year in the future!

# There were no words to describe the combination of panic, relief she was experiencing at that moment. She had gone to sleep in the present and awakened in the future. Everything she had secretly wished for was now a reality. This was the life she had fantasized about for a long time. Now, she was living the results of that desire. But how? This could not be happening, and yet, here she was.

#

# Morgan spent, what felt like an eternity, hugging herself to stop the trembling fit. Elation combined with sheer terror was too much for her analytical mind to absorb. As her breathing slowed and her body returned back to a normal heart rate, Morgan heard the garage door open and shut. This was followed by foot steps into the kitchen. She pursued the sound to its conclusion.

# "Bagels," Andre announced, happily.

# Morgan stood, frozen in her tracks and watched Andre skillfully slice his prize and slip it into the toaster. Upon completion of this noble task, he turned and took in her demeanor. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he observed. "What is wrong with you?"

# So many answers ran through her panicked mind. I lost a year of my life and woke up to a divorce I don't remember and guy I don't know... I died in my sleep and got lost in the fabric of time... there is a strange man toasting a bagel in a kitchen I may or may not own... none of which were an option to share. Instead, Morgan said, "Bad night."

# Andre gave her a momentary look of doubt and moved on. "Well, I have bagels so fresh, they're still warm." With that, the toaster popped up and Andre retrieved the promise of a cure. "This will fix anything that ails you."

# "Doubtful," Morgan mumbled, as she followed the intoxicating scent. Even insane people living inside a delusional state deserve a good breakfast. Andre completed the preparation of a second bagel and joined her at the table. Morgan chewed and studied the face of someone who was completely entrenched in her life, while the object of her scrutiny read the paper.

# After several minutes of silence and no closer to any kind of understanding, Andre looked up to her intense stare. "What?" he inquired.

# Morgan attempted a neutral face and began her fact finding mission. "So business meeting, huh?"

# "Yeah, bad timing, Babe. Is this what it's all about? Your book signing?"

# "What do you mean?" Morgan attempted with complete innocence.

# Andre gave her a look of serious doubt. "Come on. I'm referring to the cold shoulder, stone face thing you have going on here. I was with you last night. Not such a bad time based on my recollection."

# "Just tired today," she answered, defiantly.

# "Suit yourself," Andre concluded. More silence continued, as pages loudly turned. He was dodging her question! This irritated her, although she could not explain why. She really couldn't care less about the comings and goings of this stranger, yet she wanted to slap that unresponsive face. She made one more attempt.

# "So what came up at the last minute? You've known about the book signing for months."

# "It's not like it's your first one," he answered, defensively. Again, a clever side step to a direct question. Andre was good. Morgan decided to change direction. She had to begin putting the pieces of this new mystery life together.

# "That's true. " She pretended to be deep in thought before continuing. "So, how many book signings has it been?"

# Andre chewed on this question for a few beats. "I came to the last one. It was great, Babe, but I really don't need to be there again. I just hovered in the background all night. You really didn't need me there."

# So, he had only been around for the previous book release. Based on the frequency her editor had been expecting her to crank them out, she estimated that Andre had become a fixture in her life recently. Even still, not a long time to remain single after a lifetime of marriage. Maybe single life had not been what she had expected. So many questions ran inside Morgan's head. No answers were forthcoming and Andre was not the best source of information. She sat in silence for the duration of breakfast. Finally, Andre broke the silence.

# "Well, gotta go. Landscaping does not install itself."

# "Have fun," Morgan answered, as she processed his occupation. What kind of an evening business meeting does a landscaper have?" Never mind. While part of her felt tightly invested in her relationship with Andre, a big part of her was strangely detached. She watched him grab a clients folder, kiss her on the cheek, and head out the door. She barely heard the car drive away. She was already focused on her next plan of attack.

# Chapter 9

# Morgan may have been living in her future, but some things do not change. She pointed the Jeep Liberty to the place she had felt the most safe - the home she grew up in. She used to tell her mother everything. Now, she needed to tap into that wealth of information.

# As Morgan entered her childhood sanctuary, she instantly felt better. The smell of bacon wafted in from the kitchen. She followed it to find her parents who were engaged in their usual morning ritual. Mom kicking back with her coffee, dad reading the news on his laptop.

# "Morgan!" her mother said, happily. "What brings you out to Oyster Bay? I thought you had a book launching tonight."

# "I do. I Just wanted to visit you guys. I have time."

# "Pancakes and bacon?" her father offered.

# "Pass," Morgan responded, taking a cup out of the cabinet and filling it with coffee. "What's new?"

# "Nothing is ever new around here," her mother answered.

# "Too much yard work, not enough give a shit," her father chimed in.

# Morgan took a seat at the table and smiled to herself. Yep, some things never changed. She enjoyed the moment before shifting back to her mission. What had transpired over the past year, and what sort of life was she living now? Her mother was always sledge hammer obvious in her opinions. She decided to start with Andre.

# "So, Andre won't be at the book signing tonight." Her parents exchanged a knowing glance before her mother succumbed to temptation.

# "Another grass emergency?"

# Yeah, kind of her thoughts in the matter too. But she needed more.

# "He's usually pretty reliable," Morgan baited.

# "He was in the beginning, Morgan. Lately he's been a little erratic, don't you think?"

# "What makes you say that?" she inquired, innocently.

# "Are you suffering from some kind of amnesia?" her mother shot back.

# Like you wouldn't believe, Morgan thought. Instead, she said, "I don't think so. Why?"

# "Look honey," Her father intercepted gently. "We know the divorce was your idea, but we also remember how devastated you were when the 'new' wore off."

# "I'm ok," Morgan countered.

# "Oh, please," her mother argued. "When Zack met that Cynthia woman you cried for days."

# " And every time you go to pick up the kids - she's there," her father added.

# Morgan felt a sharp pain in the pit of her stomach. She had been so busy focusing on how this mystery had impacted her life, she hadn't thought at all about Zack. She had to know everything.

# "Well, the kids seem to be doing ok."

# "If you consider Danny dropping out of school and leaving the house in the middle of the night ok...then yeah, they're great."

# "Danny is missing?" Morgan exclaimed.

# Both parents gaped at Morgan with extreme surprise. "For the past 6 months, honey. Ever since you started dating Andre. You knew that" her father said, soothingly. "What is going on with you?"

# "Yeah, I knew that," Morgan lied, "I guess it just hits me harder at times." The lie was lame, but neither parent called her on it. She pressed for more.

# "So, while were being brutally honest here, what do you guys really think of Andre?"

# There was an awkward pause. The kind that takes place when people are deciding between truth and diplomacy. For Morgan's mother, it was always a no-brainer. "He was your transitional guy, Morgan. Singlehood got lonely. Your pride kept you from crawling back to Zack - and then it was too late. That Cynthia woman was suddenly there so Andre filled the void ."

# "He seemed ok in the beginning," her father continued. "But let's face it honey, he hasn't quite filled those enormous shoes Zack left behind."

# So there it was in a nut shell. Her life had felt mundane and she finally jumped ship. The great single life had not turned out the way she imagined. She had lost Zack. Danny, who's sanity had been hanging by a thread, severed all ties with the only thing that was holding him together. And why? Because Morgan had needed to run away herself.

# She didn't know how Cynthia had affected him, but clearly, Andre's presence had been the final nail in Danny's coffin. And Andre! That was another issue she didn't want to face. Singlehood had been a wash. Handsome hunk enters and fills in a void that shouldn't have been an issue in the first place. Her head was spinning.

# "I guess I better go," she said, weakly.

# "Honey," her father interjected, "are you ok?"

# "Fine," Morgan lied. She forced a smile and added, "Gotta get ready for tonight. It's hell being famous." Both parents smiled back, hiding their concern. This hadn't been the first of these conversations and it wouldn't end today. Morgan's parents kissed her goodbye and watched sadly as she left the house.

# "Our girl really made a mess of her life," Morgan's father stated, regretfully.

# Morgan's mother nodded in agreement, and sighed with quiet resolve.

# Chapter 10

# Morgan returned to an empty condo and examined her closet for appropriate attire. She was scheduled to arrive in the city in 2 hours. She needed to shower, dress, and wipe the depression off her face. This nightmare would have to be placed on hold until after the book signing.

# Morgan wrapped a towel around her wet hair and grabbed a tasteful black dress from the hanger. She continued the mindless task of being a good soldier. But, she just couldn't get past her current dilemma. In the time it took her to style her hair, apply some make-up and dress in her evening attire, she had constructed a new plan.

# The book signing could not begin without her. Morgan dialed the number to World Boutique and left the receptionist with a clever excuse. Her father had been rushed to the hospital and she had to assure his well being. She would be there, but she would be late. She hung up the phone with resolve. No one would expect her to abandon her family in an emergency. She had bought enough time to execute her plan.

#

# Morgan got into her Jeep liberty and drove down around the block. On a distant road, she found a well hidden parking lot that was concealed by a row of thick bushes. She glanced at the clock and waited the appropriate amount of time.

# When the sun began to slip down towards the horizon, Morgan removed the heels, placed them on the passenger seat, and slipped on her tennis shoes. With great determination, she began the trek back to her condo. Andre's car was predictably in the visitor space. She paused to reflect on the irony. He knew she would be gone, AND CLEARLY, HE HADN'T LEFT FOR A MEETING.

# Morgan carefully opened the front door and removed her shoes. As she quietly slipped through the house she already knew what she would find. It wasn't hard to determine the source of the moaning. Andre's sounds were matched by a woman's voice who felt the need to agree with him - loudly.

# Morgan opened the bedroom door and flipped on the light. "So did you decide on shrubs or flower beds?"

# "Babe," Andre shouted, as he jumped off the bed. "I thought you were in the city."

# "Clearly," Morgan countered. She was just about to order him out of her house when a new piece of the puzzle jolted her. The woman in the bed with him was not a stranger. She should not have recognized this person - and yet, she did. Just as pieces of unexplained memories of the past year haunted her, this knowledge was embedded in her mind. "And, Cynthia Summers," Morgan announced, triumphantly. "Does Zack know about your landscaping activities?" The woman looked back at her with contempt.

# "That's none of your business. You were stupid enough to throw him away."

# "So you decided to do the same?" Morgan countered. Cynthia did not reply. Instead she grabbed her clothes and pushed past Morgan to the door. "You might want to go ahead and gather all your shit as well," Morgan directed to Andre. "I want you out of here now."

# Andre quietly packed his small back pack with the few things Morgan had allowed him to leave in her condo. Even in her extreme loneliness, she had known that Andre was a poor replacement for the real thing. As the door closed behind him, Morgan laid on the bed and hugged herself in the fetal position. What had she done?

Chapter 11

# Morgan woke up with a start. Panicked, she grabbed the clock off her night stand. She had slept through the book signing! How could this have happened? One minute she was laying on her bed, feeling sorry for herself, and in the next moment, daylight was streaming in from the window. This was going to be a little harder to explain than a quick trip to the hospital.

# Her mind was racing as she worked on a plausible excuse. She was Morgan Foster! They wouldn't kick her to the curb over one book signing. Running to the bathroom to assess the damage, she admitted that the evening ship had sailed. Morgan slowed her pace and her breathing. It really didn't matter how disheveled she was after sleeping in her dress. It was over.

# There would be a lot of damage control today. After all, her writing was really all she had left in the world. Sadly, she slipped out of the dress and replaced it with worn out sweats and a comfortable, ratty tee shirt.

# Morgan exited the bedroom and came close to passing out when she realized she was no longer in her condo. She had been so absorbed in the fatal error of sleeping through her book signing. she had failed to take note of her surroundings.

# "Feeling better, sleepy head?" Zack said, as he handed her a steaming cup of fresh roasted heaven.

# As Zack went back to his paper, Morgan stood wide eyed for what felt like an eternity. She was about to move towards him with arms outstretched when Danny entered the kitchen.

# "Peanuts for breakfast again, mom?"

# "Danny," Morgan shouted, happily. Closing the distance in 2 long strides, she took her son into a warm embrace.

# "God, mom. What's wrong with you?" Morgan simply laughed and held on to Danny as though he were a life saver in a raging sea. He continued to say all the things teenagers are required to say, however, he returned the hug a thousand fold.

# Finally, Morgan released him and stoked his hair. "I'm thinking pancakes and bacon."

# "Cool," Danny responded, and took a seat at the table.

# Morgan wrapped her arms around Zack on the way to her breakfast mission. "Did you know that I am crazy about you?"

# "Okay," Zack said slowly, and abandoned the paper to return the embrace. "I don't know what's going on with you today, but I like it. A lot."

# "Me too," Morgan agreed, moving in for a kiss."

# "Yuck," Danny interjected. We're trying to eat here."

# "Sorry," Morgan laughed. As she danced through the kitchen, Zack and Danny eyed each other. Mom had flipped. Oh well. It wasn't the first time, and most likely would not be the last.

# As the smell of bacon wafted through the old house, Erin wandered in rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Morgan removed the last of the sizzling meat from the pan and picked up her daughter.

# "How is the prettiest princess in New York?"

# "Fine. You're not mad anymore?"

# "Nope. What would you say to a sleep over this weekend? I'm talking pizza and ice cream."

# "Really?" Erin began jumping up and down. "You are the best mom ever!"

# "Not so much," Morgan said, reflectively, "but this is a good place to begin."

# Chapter 12

# Morgan watched as Dana Richards read through the final pages of A Christmas To Remember. Her continued nodding told Morgan that the final draft was a winner. Finally, Dana turned to her and said, "This is incredible. I knew you'd put your own personal touch on this overdone story line, but how did you come up with this?"

# "Just doing my job," Morgan said.

# "Don't be so modest. Moving ahead one year into the future...it's genius. The character acts on her desires and gets a bird's eye view of the repercussions. She's made a mess of life, and then she gets a second chance. I know it's been done, but this is a great twist."

# "Thanks," Morgan said, humbly.

# "Well, we want you to take the rest of the year off. Thanksgiving and Christmas are pretty dead around here. Everyone takes off for the holidays. So enjoy. You've earned it."

# "Okay," Morgan said happily, and shook Dana's hand.

#

#

# One month later

# Morgan was standing at the checkout line at the grocery store. Her cart was filled to the brim with a giant turkey and an abundance of ingredients destined to become the best Christmas dinner in the history of Foster family feasts.

# She had been taking advantage of the time off, spending every free moment with Zack, Danny and Erin. As a result, Zack was more attentive than ever, and Erin was more bubbly than her previous effervescence. Even Danny was beginning to come around.

# Who would have thought that his rebel without a cause persona was really a cry for more time with mom. He was attending classes, avoiding conflict and even managing passing grades. He did not, however, give up his dream of being a lead singer in a hot rock n' roll band, but Morgan decided that part of their future would take care of itself.

# Happily humming a Christmas tune, Morgan began unloading her cart on to the conveyor belt, when she heard a familiar voice. "Looks like you're planning a monster dinner."

# When she turned to find the source, she dropped the eggs to the ground. It was Andre, offering one of his world winning smiles. The one that had captured her the first time. Another piece of a memory from another time. "Oh, sorry," he said, in his rich, seductive voice. "Let me go get you another one."

# "No thanks," Morgan said, decisively. "They were backup eggs anyway. I'm good." And with that, she turned her back, never to lay eyes on him again.

# Thanks for reading Murder in Woodbury, A Duty To Warn and Silent Plight. Please take a moment to share your experience with other Amazon readers.

# If you enjoyed these short stories, continue on to the Carol Freeman Series beginning with Silent Epidemic (always free on Amazon.)

### The adventure begins with

### Silent Epidemic:

Dominex Pharmaceuticals must get their new drug on the market, or the company will go under. Pay offs for quick approvals won't work this time – the new gatekeeper at the FDA plays by the book. To maneuver around this new obstacle, the company orchestrates a creatively deceptive plan, using 500 study volunteers towards a deadly result.

Silent Epidemic, inspired by too many true stories, takes the reader on a wild journey. At the end of this adventure, you will know the truth about the world's best kept secret.

### The series continues in

### Grave Perception:

Mitchell Becker's wild and destructive lifestyle had cost him a marriage, a family, and a home. He had two choices, pull himself out of the ashes of his miserable existence – or die.

One year later, still shaky and vulnerable, he makes two important trips, the first to his beloved and reluctant ex-wife, Jodi, and the second to his mother's gravesite. While begging for forgiveness for the second time that day, he notices a strange woman lurking the grounds. She appears lost and so out of place in the twenty-first century. Becker writes her off as just another freak encounter and returns home.

Had Becker remained with Jodi on that day, he may have been able to prevent her murder. Instead, he becomes the prime suspect. A corrupt district attorney becomes Becker's worst nightmare, and a guilty verdict is all but a sure thing, as a creative DA spins a web of deceit for the jury.

Becker's freak encounter becomes his only alibi, but there's a serious problem with her testimony. She is considered to be psychotic and delusional, destroying any hope of being a credible witness.

Although she is unable to help in the conventional sense, and all seems lost for Becker, she offers him a solution no one ever thought possible.

### A Cycle of Greed

### #3 in the Carol Freeman Series:

Cait Milner is a brave and vibrant woman struck down by a common and incurable illness. Her need for a lifetime of treatment triggers the loss of her insurance. Cait, while in her distorted mania, decides to fight back. The CEO of America's largest insurance company, Medwin Insurance, becomes the target. In the ultimate irony, she decides the best revenge for an insurance giant is a taste of his own medicine.

As Cait single-handedly goes after retribution, the powers of the healthcare empire and political community have their own agendas. Faced with a potentially damaging presidential candidate, they seek the aid of a very private, elite organization to find anything scandalous that will guarantee a win for the incumbent. They are not about to see their massive profits invaded by an over-zealous boy scout. But with their opposition so close to victory, it is a race against time.

This seemingly unrelated whirlwind of agendas comes together with astonishing clarity and shines a blinding light on the domino effect that has become a multi-billion dollar empire. Left in the hands of those who profit most, it truly is a Cycle of Greed.

### The Hummingbird Effect

### The Carol Freeman Series, Book 4

Mitchell and Jodi Becker return, only to have their lives turned upside down once again. In Becker's new endeavor, he becomes a key witness to something his employer will go to great lengths to hide. Vital500 is the answer to expanding waistlines - or is it? The miracle cure for the overweight is making record breaking profits for Wholegrains, but the product has an unfortunate side effect - the untimely death of millions.

When Mitchell Becker discovers his employer's deadly secret, he immediately become the target of a corporation's revenge - payback so deadly, Mickey stages his own death to protect his family.

But all is not quiet on the eastern front, as the CEO of Wholegrains, Bradley Diamond, becomes obsessed with eliminating the only remaining link to a lethal plan.  
While millions of people innocently continue on the path to their own demise, Wholegrains seems to be unstoppable, until....

The Dark Side of Light

#5 in the Carol Freeman Series

In the fifteen years since Cait Milner's revenge against a giant Insurance corporation she and her family had settled into a peaceful existence. The two point five million dollars that was ingeniously extracted from her target remains tucked away. Cait's life continues happily until tragedy strikes.  
She quickly learns that when heirlooms and assets are divided between family members, the darkest face of human nature comes alive. Cait and her sister Sabrina are already alienated. But after the death of their mother, hostility turns to warfare.

While one sister goes on a litigation binge, the other turns to a far more savage means of revenge. As two sisters engage in mortal combat, Abigail Conner's common law dependants, having no real claim to her estate, quietly lurk in the shadows to undermine the probate process.

The Dark Side of Light is a common tale of greed and retribution where human decency is quickly abandoned for capital gain. A fight for every scrap as the family claws their way to the finish line.

Lost Souls #6 in the

Carol Freeman Series:

When Carol Freeman returns to the work force, her unfortunate tendency to get too close to the fire places her life in serious jeopardy. The chase for her missing client leads Carol and company to a harsh wilderness where Kyle's abductors are on a holy mission. Wrong thinking must be erased and these people do not play by the rules.

In a cruel twist of fate, evidence suddenly appears implicating Kyle's father who is charged with his son's murder. While Kyle, who is very much alive, struggles with his imprisonment, Wendy Cox and partner Tyler Graham are back in the limelight working to prove their client's innocence.

The family along with Carol and friends are up against a surprising force that is hidden in their own backyard. In a fight between good and evil, it appears that evil will prevail --until...

### About the author:

Jill Province is a retired counselor. Her psychological thrillers are a mirror image of her past experiences working with the human psyche. Formally from New York, having moved too many times, she finally found paradise in the North Carolina Mountains with her family and two Eskimo Spitz cuties. Happily settled into mountain time, she continues in the Carol Freeman Series and spend time with good friends.

