The Boomerang Effect

By Lindy Spencer

Being in the wrong place at the wrong time can end your life - or worse, postpone it indefinitely.

In Aspen Grove, Oklahoma, fifteen-year-old Katy had everything going for her, until an innocent decision to walk home from school set the karmic wheels in motion. Katy suffered a brutal attack, leaving her comatose. The legal system failed to convict the men responsible for this heinous crime - instead found them not guilty.

They’ve gotten away with it, or so it seems. Darnell and Jerome, then boys, now men, continue on with their lives; Bruce Hanson, the attorney tasked with convicting the two attackers, brushes off his loss and continues his climb up the legal ladder; Office Webster, the policeman who responded to the call for help, the man who destroyed evidence, forgets all about his part in the crime and moves forward in his lazy life; all of this while Katy lies in a hospital bed, still comatose, her life postponed, her loved ones outside of that room hoping and waiting.

Several years go by, bringing us to now. Something, or someone, has found a way to bring these individuals to justice; karma in its rarest form is being unleashed on the individuals responsible for Katy's situation.

Are they accidents? Could it be coincidence? Perhaps long-awaited payback disguised as the perfect murder? Revenge is a dish best served cold... and karma is a well-thrown boomerang.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindy Spencer
• Release date: Jul 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476476599

Lindy Spencer

Lindy currently lives in Oklahoma with her superhero family - Amazing Husband and Super Smart Dog. When she's not writing she enjoys spending time reading, riding motorcycles, and shooting things with a Canon.Killing people legally since 2012, and enjoying every minute of it!

Book preview

The

Boomerang

Effect

By Lindy Spencer

Copyright 2012 Lindy Spencer

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author and the power of Karma.

No part of this e-book may be copied, reproduced or redistributed in any form, written or electronic, without specific consent of the author. Piracy (Arrr, matey) is fun, piracy (stealing) is a crime.

*In the event you see an updated version of this book, it is most likely because I’ve found an editing oversight that bugs me, and I’ve fixed it, or there is a formatting issue that requires attention to make this story the best it can be. Though most edits after the initial version is published are for me, if you are one who enjoys having the best possible version, feel free to download the new update(s).

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Excerpt of Ripples of the Boomerang

Other Works by Lindy Spencer

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Karma is a well-thrown boomerang.

~ Andrea Parker

PROLOGUE

It would be so much easier if real life mimicked the movies and ominous music played itself when bad things were about to happen. It doesn’t, though, so if you aren’t sure you’re going to be ready, practice on your own. See you tomorrow.

With the concert coming up fast, Mr. Baxter, the band teacher, expected everyone to stay for extra after school practice sessions. The students grabbed their various belongings and made their way toward the doors, out of the auditorium, and into the parking lot where parents waited or students' cars were parked. The buses were long gone, along with the rest of the students and teachers. The only other person remaining at this time of the day was the janitor.

Glad practice was finally over, Katy stowed her music in her backpack, disassembled her flute, wiped it down and put the pieces carefully away in the custom case she’d saved her allowance to buy. Waiting for Andrea to finish talking with Mr. Baxter, Katy stood up on her chair and looked out the thin row of windows halfway up the wall. Oh, look, it snowed, she squealed to her best friend. They keep promising, and it finally did.

She grabbed her book bag, instrument case, coat, gloves and hat, jumped down off of the stage where they’d been practicing, and sprinted up the aisle. The low stairs led her past the rows of well worn, red velvet-covered auditorium seats where parents and guests would sit next Saturday night for the concert. Right now all she could think about was getting outside. Come on, let’s go, she hollered over her shoulder.

Thanks, Mr. Baxter, see you tomorrow. Andrea finished her conversation and scrambled to gather her things. Squinting at the clock on the wall, she could hear it tick, tick, ticking, but couldn’t read the time. Pushing her glasses back up her nose, the clock came into focus and she saw it was only 5:15 p.m. Wait, Katy, hold up. We’re done early. My mom won’t be here for a few more minutes.

Andrea took the time to use the stairs instead of jumping off the stage. Katy was out the door before Andrea even got near the aisle. Hurrying, she broke into a lopsided run, slinging her backpack onto one shoulder and bumping the saxophone case into her thigh to avoid crashing it into the rows of seats as she hurried by. Her mom would kill her if she banged this case up. The last one hit the seats one too many times and wouldn’t close and latch anymore. Short of breath, she mumbled, You’d think it was the first time it ever snowed here.

As long as they’d been friends, it remained a wonder to Andrea how Katy could show so much enthusiasm and pure joy over the changing seasons. Summer was fun, with the swimming and bike riding, but winter was definitely Katy’s favorite. Snowmen, sledding, and, just as she’d been expecting, a snowball flew at Andrea as she pushed through the door. Ducking, she laughed and called out, I knew it. You’re so predictable.

Scanning the parking lot and the road, she didn’t see her mom’s white minivan yet. Dropping her book bag on the steps and balancing her saxophone case on top of that, Andrea darted to the bottom and around the side of the stairs to where there was undisturbed snow. She grabbed a handful and packed it together.

Laughter bubbled out from behind the huge old oak tree on the school’s front lawn. Popping out from behind, Katy launched another snowball just as Andrea’s snowball burst against her shoulder, causing Katy to squeal with delight.

Even without the electric blue hat and hot pink gloves, Katy was difficult to miss. She was a stunning girl, already five feet six inches and a hundred and ten pounds at only fifteen years old. Her ice blue eyes and explosion of cascading curly red hair were stunning against her pixie-like features. That in itself was enough to turn the boys’ heads and make the girls jealous, but when she smiled, everyone around her smiled, too.

As far as Andrea was concerned, they made an odd sort of friends. Standing five feet tall and weighing in at a solid hundred and fifty pounds herself, she thought she resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy in her white down jacket and matching gloves. Straight, dull, mousy brown hair fell to her shoulders, and even as often as she pushed her glasses back up on her pug nose, she could never seem to keep them there. It wouldn’t have mattered to her if they had stayed put; in her opinion they didn’t do anything to enhance her boring hazel eyes or cover up her perpetually pasty white skin.

I just can’t stand the thought of missing out on this snow, Andy. It's so beautiful; I’m going to walk home. I’ll call you later, we can do algebra together, Katy called as she slipped her backpack on and skipped toward the sidewalk. Tell your mom thanks for the ride offer, but it snowed. With a wave, she broke into a full-out run and struck a surfer pose, skidding across the sidewalk.

Katy, wait. Andrea looked around, then back. "Come on, that’s her, coming around the corner, Katy. You’ll never get home before dark, it's over a mile." Katy waved in answer and kept going.

Agitated, Andrea slapped her gloves together, sending pellets of snow flying, huffed, then shoved the hair out of her face with the back of her gloved hands. Stomping back up the steps, she scooped up her stuff. As the van stopped, she ran down to the curb and climbed in, knocking the snow off her boots before swinging her legs inside. Hi, Mom.

Hi, kiddo. Where’s Katy? Did her mom come pick her up today?

No, she said to tell you thanks, but it snowed. She wanted to walk.

Frowning, Denise Parker looked down the street. How long has she been gone? Maybe we can pick her up, instead of letting her walk. It's over a mile.

I told her that. She took off right before you pulled up. If she wants to freeze, let her. I told her to wait; she just waved and kept going.

Andrea’s tone had Denise glancing at her daughter. Her furrowed brow, narrowed eyes, and clenched jaw all said she was irritated with her friend. Why don’t you call her later, make sure she got home safe.

She said she’d call me. Andrea buckled her seat belt.

Blinking, Denise pushed her glasses up her nose. Okay then. You’ll talk to her after dinner. We’re having lasagna, she said nonchalantly, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye, knowing that would bring her back around. It did.

Andrea smiled. Mmmmm, lasagna. Katy should have stuck around, she could have come over. She’s gonna be mad at herself when I tell her. Oh, well, her loss.

Denise laughed as they pulled away from the curb. How was your day?

Mrs. Pinch gave us like twenty algebra problems and she ‘wants to see our work,’ Andrea made air quotes with her fingers and rolled her eyes. How else do you get to the answer if you don’t do the work? she mimicked in a nasally voice, an almost perfect imitation. Pushing at her backpack with her foot, she continued. The rest was okay. Practice was pretty good, I guess. We’re almost ready for the concert, if Michael can ever get through his solo.

* * * *

Lazy wisps of smoke curled from the end of the cigarette, mingling with the light drift of the falling snowflakes. The garbage by the dumpster in the middle of the alley was piled up behind him, but the stink wasn’t as bad today as it would have been in the middle of summer. The icy cold more than made up for the lack of smell with its own form of misery invading Darnell’s dirty, worn out tennis shoes and wrapping around his feet as if they were tentacles. The threadbare, ratty, hand-me-down jeans were a size too big, three inches too long, shredded at the bottom, and being held up by a brown leather belt that had seen better days. The t-shirt and grey hoodie didn’t do much to keep the rest of his body warm, either.

There wasn’t much wind, barely a breeze, though if he stood just inside the end of the alley, as he was doing now, he was blocked from even that little bit. Not that it mattered. He preferred the cold outdoors to the foster parents’ shack. At least here he didn’t have to listen to her calling out for someone, anyone, to bring her another bottle or a glass of ice or, occasionally when the whiskey ran low, soda to mix with it so it lasted longer.

Who are you waiting for? He was startled by the sound, having forgotten that he wasn’t alone. The new kid had been around for a few days, and had looked at the fosters with the same barely-hidden disgust. The kid kept to himself. He had potential.

Darnell slid his gaze sideways, pinning the new kid with an empty look he'd worked hard to perfect. As he took a long last drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke, Darnell flicked the butt across the sidewalk and into the street. Karma. Fate. Whoever.

Jerome had been the new kid more times than he could count. It didn’t matter, he never stayed in one place long enough to bother learning names either. The first time something, anything, went wrong after he’d been placed in a new foster home, he always got the blame and got yanked out and shipped to the next house. It also didn’t matter that he wasn’t to blame, or hadn’t done whatever it was; he still ended up being moved. Keeping to himself didn’t help, maybe trying to make a friend would?

Turning back, Darnell nodded with his chin toward the school. There.

Jerome looked and spotted one girl exiting the doors of the school and another hiding behind an old tree on the lawn. The snowball fight was on. A pang of regret for what he’d never have sliced through him.

Which one? Jerome said, stamping his feet and blowing into his cupped hands, trying to warm up. His clothes were an almost identical mirror of Darnell’s, except the jeans. He’d gotten them at the last house, and those fosters bought clothes that fit the kids. He’d still be there if that little prick, Donnie, hadn’t lit his mattress on fire and then run and hid. They said nothing like that had ever happened in their house before, and Donnie had been there for a year. Nobody believed it wasn’t Jerome who lit the fire.

When Darnell didn’t answer, Jerome tried again. She do your homework or something?

Rolling his shoulders, Darnell’s face split into a humorless grin. Wanna…talk. They watched one girl wave and take off running. Let’s go. We’ll catch her at the other end.

They turned and jogged down the alley, around the corner and into the next.

Flakes continued to float to the ground, muffling the sound.

* * * *

As she rounded the corner from Elm to Park Street, with just a block to go before she crossed Boulevard into her neighborhood, Katy was beginning to regret her decision to walk home. It was so cold she could see her breath. Hunching up her shoulders she quickened her pace.

At this time of the year, it started getting darker earlier. A chill skittered up her spine as she passed the deli and then Mr. Candor’s flower shop, both closed for the evening. Normally, the pretty displays would make her smile, but not today. It felt like there was something wrong, someone out there watching her. She shivered and chalked it up to the weather.

As she passed the alley, a strong yank on the back of her jacket jerked her off of her feet and onto the ground with a hard thud, the shoulder strap of her backpack ripping loose, the backpack tumbling across and stopping against the side of the dumpster. She was dragged around the other side of the dumpster and out of sight of the street.

With the breath knocked out of her, it was all she could do to kick and swing her arms. She tried to get a breath, and as she opened her mouth to scream a hand clamped down over her mouth and a brush of air whispered across her ear.

Do it and I’ll fuck you up, whore. The voice was low and menacing, leaving no doubt that he meant it. As her pulse raced and adrenaline poured into her system, she froze. He pulled his hand off of her mouth and stepped in front of her.

What do— was all she could get out before she felt the crack across her temple and bright light exploded behind her eyes. She stifled an involuntary cry, but not before he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her head back, plowing his fist into her mouth. The pain blinded her and stars danced around the edge of her vision. She involuntarily clamped her jaw down and her teeth sank into flesh.

He flung her away, sent her sprawling on her back, her head bouncing off of the asphalt. Ow, God damn you, he rumbled.

What? a second voice said.

The bitch bit me. he growled, shaking his hand. Hold her.

As Katy scrambled to get to her feet, another pair of hands grabbed her arms, yanked her back to the ground and held her still. Katy shook her head and blinked several times, trying to focus.

The first thing she saw was Darnell, a kid from her science class, kneeling down in front of her. As their eyes locked, an evil smile spread across his face, he unbuckled his belt, yanked it off, and fumbled with the button on his jeans.

NO. HELP, she screamed, as she began kicking and struggling with every ounce of energy she had.

Pressing against the guy behind her, she got enough leverage to kick hard, her foot glancing off of Darnell’s cheekbone, snapping his head back and knocking him on his ass.

Fuck, I said hold her.

Man, I didn’t sign on for this, you didn’t say anything about this. You said talk! Dude, damn, stop, Jerome said, letting go of Katy and backing away.

Darnell’s face turned red, his eyes went flat black and bottomless. I knew you were a chicken shit, he yelled at Jerome.

Katy was scrambling back on all fours. Help me, somebody please help me.

Darnell put his hand to his face, drew it back. Blood. You piece of shit whore. He jumped up, took three steps, drew his foot back and kicked her in the ribs, then again in the kidney as she rolled. Yanking her up off of the ground by the hair, he flung her around and slammed her against the brick wall. Pulled her back, slammed her again.

Her own head cracking into the wall of the flower shop was the last sound she heard as darkness swept over her.

CHAPTER 1

I’m not a bad person. I’m more like you than you think. I drive the speed limit, help little old ladies across the street, keep my nose to the grindstone and do everything I’m supposed to do. While I’m doing that, I think about things I can change, things I can’t. I try not to dwell on the things I can’t change, for the most part.

For instance, the ridiculous length of time it takes for a murderer or a rapist or even an armed robber to get processed through the legal system frustrates me. Then there’s the amount of money the public shells out every year in taxes to provide legal representation for them, then keep them clothed and fed and sheltered while they wait for the wheels of justice to turn.

I’m aggravated that once the sentence is handed down, sometimes years after they committed the crime, they have cable TV in the prison system that’s paid for with taxes, while many taxpayers can’t afford it in their own homes.

I’m beyond mad that it’s the law-abiding citizens who have to struggle to keep up with the rising cost of gasoline to get back and forth to work so their taxes can support these criminals.

So, I don’t see that it makes me a bad person when what I want is to see the criminals off the streets, without Joe Q. Public having to support them. Even worse than the ones who have been caught and are sucking the system dry are the people still out there who have committed crimes, are continuing to commit crimes, and staying under the radar. Getting away with it. The thought of them continuing what they’re doing and not having to pay at all infuriates me.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I’ve found it. The way. I can’t do anything to make the legal process move any faster, but I can do something about the criminals that slipped through the system. We already know they’re predisposed to the sort of behavior that’s required.

You’ve heard about free will, right? How a person can’t be given a subliminal command to do something against their beliefs, something they wouldn’t do consciously? The people I’m interested in have already proven they aren’t against doing what I plan to subconsciously suggest they do again. They’ve done it before.

The importance is in the final product, not necessarily in the timing. Granted, I’d like to see the outcome of my hard work, but that doesn’t matter so much as knowing that it will happen. And it will. I have faith in that.

It’s said that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. Not your whole life, but the most important scenes. I believe that. In fact, I’m counting on it. If it were left up to the authorities, with all those legal wheels turning so slowly or sometimes not turning at all, a lot of people wouldn’t pay for their crimes.

Certain people can’t be allowed to get away with what they’ve done, and I’m counting on their being able to see what they did all over again right before they leave this world. It’s important they know why they have to die. I’m counting on their brain to show them.

Won’t it be perfect justice to have the guilty who have escaped prosecution be taken out by other guilty who have also escaped?

* * * *

Tom pulled into the visitor’s lot at Mid-State

Reviews for The Boomerang Effect

[karensstories · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

"The Boomerang Effect" is a good book, and an excellent first effort, for author Lindy Spencer. The opening grabs the reader's attention and hovers throughout the story. Though the well developed characters can be a bit confusing in the beginning, they are brought together as the novel progresses, drawing the reader into the story, in anticipation of the next chapter. There are some slow moving areas, within the tale, and that coupled with my initial confusion kept the fifth star from this review. I can, however, recommend "The Boomerang Effect" for anyone who enjoys a well written story, with an ending that is as unexpected as it is satisfying.