The Fallen

By Clay A. Kahler

ANNOUNCEMENT: "The Fallen" is slated to become a feature film!
http://www.texomashomepage.com/news/local-news/burkburnett-mans-book-may-become-movie/674849126

Out of deceit, betrayal, and murder, can reconciliation and forgiveness arise?

Forged in the hot west Texas wind, the Allen brothers grew up. Johnny and Coy had the same parents, same environment and had the same advantages and disadvantages. Yet they would grow up to be so different. Coy, the younger Allen brother, grew up to be a successful Baptist Pastor, Johnny, a death row inmate.

With years of separation and a wall of bitterness and rage, can these two men come together, can there be reconciliation? This is a story of murder, mystery and redemption. Dr. Coy Allen is a preacher, an evangelist, a minister of the Gospel. But, there is one man that he had never even tried to reach. Now after years of silence, with his execution looming, Johnny Allen is asking to see his younger brother.

Can Pastor Coy Allen bring himself to forgive his older brother; can he practice what he preaches?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clay A. Kahler
• Release date: Oct 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301055579

Clay A. Kahler

Dr. Clay A. Kahler is founder of Sharing the Word Ministries, which included the radio program, Sharing the Word, heard in Ray County Missouri. He served for nine years as the Senior Pastor of First Baptist Church in Orrick Missouri, but is now on sabbatical to write. He also served as professor of theology and New Testament Greek at Carver Baptist Bible College in Kansas City Missouri. Clay has written for Preaching Magazine, Christianity Today and To His Glory, as well as a number of other journals and periodicals. He is the author of six books and currently working a new projects. Prior to entering into ministry, Dr. Kahler served in the United States Army, including service in the Gulf War. Following his military service, he began a career in Law Enforcement. He worked four years with the Village West Police in Louisville Kentucky as a patrolman and as a trainer. He was recruited away from the department and into corrections and became the Director of Training and CERT Team Commander in a federal prison in San Diego California for the U.S. Marshals. Clay has served as the President of the San Diego County Southern Baptist Pastor's Association, on faculty at Southern California Bible College, on faculty at the Southwest College of Biblical Studies, on faculty at Carver Baptist Bible College, and on faculty at Midwest College of Biblical Studies. He served as the Founder and President of the Soldiers of the Cross - Motorcycle Club. Clay has a Bachelor of Arts degree, two Master's degrees, and a Ph.D. Books: Simple Theology: Theology for the Rest of Us Against Protestant Popes Torn Asunder: A Biblical Look at Divorce and Remarriage Salvation: God's Greatest Miracle The Unashamed: The Inductive Method of Bible Study The Fallen- A Novel

Book preview

The Fallen

Kahler, Clay

Copyright 2012 by Clay Kahler

Smashwords Edition

PART 1

Chapter 1

Reverend Allen?

Upon hearing his name Coy slowly looked up from the commentary that he was studying. Seeing the uniform clad figure standing in his doorway, Coy was suddenly and instantly transported. Gone was the commentary that he had been reading. Gone was the polished oak desk that he sat behind. Gone was the high back leather chair. Gone was his spacious office lined on each wall with bookshelves. Without warning, he was no longer Dr. Coy Allen, senior pastor of Millview Baptist Church in Oscar Texas… No, instead he was Coy Allen youngest son of Dorothy and Hubert Allen, playing in a dusty yard outside of a small house in Freebolt Texas.

Welcome to Freebolt, the Boomtown you have been searching for! read the faded and dilapidated sign on the outskirts of town. Freebolt could have been any number of small dusty towns in West Texas. If you were a visitor driving into the small village on Main Street, the town would strike you as rather unremarkable. Though there were 15 or 20 buildings that lined Main Street, in 1978 there were only five businesses that were left open. On the south side of the street was Lucinda's Beauty Shop. Lucinda's was a landmark in its own right. The faded blue clapboard building, highlighted by the bright pink shutters surrounding the dusty windows, had stood the test of time. Lucinda's was known as the cultural center of Freebolt’s feminine population. The ladies of the community would gather there during the day to have their big hairstyles reinflated and lacquered with hairspray, and to catch up on the latest news.

With a number of empty vacant buildings separating it from Lucinda's was Watson's liquor store. Though not maintained in nearly as good a condition as Lucinda's, Watson's was just as busy. The other buildings on the south side of the street stood vacant, paint peeling, windows broken, looking very much like rundown monuments of better days gone by.

As you looked down the north side of the street, the financial picture of Freebolt did not appear to be much better. The first open business that you would have seen was a small grocery store ran by a kindly old man named Mr. Garcia, who was known to slip hard candy to the kids who visited with their mothers. Further down the street was the post office, the only brick building on Main Street. At the end of the street was Scooter's Garage. If Lucinda's was the cultural center for feminine life in Freebolt, Scooter’s was the haven for the men folk. There, one might overhear the daily conversation of the town’s elders. Men dressed in faded overalls or well worn Wrangler Jeans, Stetson hats and John Deere caps, spitting and discussing the never changing weather.

It sure is a hot one…

Yup, but it’s a dry heat…

Jackson lost a couple of head of cattle out on his place…

Yup, coyotes are thick this year…

Though these were the only businesses on Main Street that were open there were other businesses in town, just outside the city limits was the farm and supply store, one of the men of the town had a barbershop in his garage, and of course, two streets east of Main Street and across the abandoned railroad tracks was Austin street where the City Hall stood.

And finally, at the Southeast corner of town you would find a dusty little street, Pine Street. Pine Street however, could hardly be called a street at all. This narrow dusty thoroughfare was filled with more gravel and potholes than asphalt. As you turn off the main street and gingerly negotiate your way down Pine, you would notice the tiny poorly maintained homes that lined each side of the road. One thing all these little houses had in common was the incredible amount of refuse that filled the yards surrounding them, and the stark lack of grass. On any given day your progress would likely be halted by a championship neighborhood football game, or one of the many Evel Knievels preparing some death-defying leap off of a poorly constructed ramp. Were it not for the oppressive heat, you might have your windows down. Then you would hear the squeals and giggles of children playing, intermingled with the violent outburst of a drunken husband berating his young wife. And this was Pine St., Freebolt, TX, the proving ground of the Allen boys.

Hubert and Dorothy Allen made a home for their two children here in the last house on Pine Street. The Allen house blended in well with the rest of the Pine Street homes. This sturdy old two story clapboard house had seen a lot of history. It had housed five families prior to becoming the residence of Hubert and family. Just like the other houses on that side of town, it was built according to a very specific plan. A plan dictated by the now defunct Freebolt Oil Company. These prefabricated homes had the appearance of having seen very little maintenance since the FOC ceased its drilling operations. The weathered front door of the Allen home opened into a small living room. This is where you could bet on finding Hubert on the couch in some level of drunkenness half watching some news program or sit-com. Directly opposite the front door stood a doorless entry into the small poorly equipped kitchen. To the left of it was a second doorway that led to either Hubert and Dorothy’s room, or up the stairs, or to the one bathroom in the small house. Upstairs was the small, cramped room that Coy and Johnny called home. At the back of the kitchen was the back door that led out to the small yard which contained a poorly constructed tool shed and beyond that a forest of mesquite trees.

Hubert, an out of work construction worker was a man that tended to settle his differences with his fists. He wasn't a horrible father or husband, he did take the boys fishing, taught them to be men, but like many men who had found themselves out of work for an extended period of time, Hubert discovered the comfort of the bottle. With her husband being out of work Dorothy took the mantle of provision on her own shoulders. She was a slight, homely woman, who openly wore the cares and worries of the years on her face, giving her the appearance of being ten years older than she was. Dorothy brought in a meager income cleaning houses and taking in laundry. She was a soft-spoken demure proper Texas young lady. While it was her husband's duty to teach her boys to become men, it was her duty to make sure that they became good men. On Saturdays Hubert would take the boys fishing, or wrestle with them in the front yard, or help them construct their latest invention. But, on Sundays Dorothy took over. Every Sunday she would gather up her two boys, leaving her hung-over husband at home, and walk with them up Pine Street, take a right on Ash, continue up four blocks take a left on Brooks Street, where they attended Brook Street Baptist Church.

And, every Sunday Coy would be dressed and ready to go, while Johnny huffed and puffed and cried and screamed and begged and pleaded for the freedom not to. Upon arriving at the church, Coy would immediately run down the stairs to his Sunday school class, he couldn't wait to find out what amazing lesson was waiting for him. Meanwhile, Johnny would shuffle his feet, visit the restroom, and eventually find his way to his classroom where he would slump in the corner and not pay attention. After Sunday school, and after the church service was complete, the trio would begin their walk back home Coy bursting open with his newly discovered information, Dorothy excited to hear all about it, and Johnny oblivious to it all.

The few that knew this family were quick to point out that though Johnny was just like his daddy, Coy, two years Johnny's junior, had the sweet spirit of his mother.

Reverend Allen?

Coy was quickly propelled through time back to Oscar Texas, back to Millview Baptist Church, back to his office, where this uniformed intruder stood waiting acknowledgment. Reluctantly, Coy slowly stood up from his desk and looked at the officer that was still waiting at the door of his study.

Yes, I am sorry, Coy said greeting the man. Already suspecting the answer he asked, How can I help you?

Reverend Allen, my name is Captain Marlin Davis, from the Texas State Penitentiary at Huntsville… As the words crawled out of his mouth in that slow West Texas drawl, Coy recognized, with contempt, the low breeding, and lack of education that he had been fleeing from most of his adult life.

Captain Davis, please come in and have a seat, Coy said with as much grace as he could muster. As Coy came around his desk to greet this trespasser with a half hearted handshake, he wondered where his secretary, Susie was.

Reverend, I am here on behalf of Warden Marsh. There is an inmate scheduled for execution who has requested a meeting with you.

Coy was in the process of lowering his six foot five inch frame into his chair when the Captain’s words forced him down with a sudden thud. The sound of Coy’s collapse startled the Captain, however, both men came to a silent agreement that it never happened.

Coy had not seen nor spoken to his brother Johnny for at least eighteen years, not since his conviction. As he sat there in dread, haunting memories of the past came flooding in on him.

Chapter 2

It was a typically hot West Texas summer day. The wind blew hard and hot across the burning sand carrying that stale odor of desert plants mingled with hot asphalt. The year was 1981. Coy was 9. Hubert, still out of work, still searching for his dignity in a bottle, had devolved from a drinker to a mean drunk. He no longer accompanied his boys on their fishing excursions. In fact he rarely left their little run down house at all. Dorothy grieved the loss of her once strong and proud mate, and she feared the example that he had become to her boys.

On that particular summer day, Johnny and Coy were out ridding Freebolt of its imaginary pirate problem, Hubert was seeking to discover just exactly how much cheap whisky the human body could survive, and Dorothy was cleaning city hall. And so it was, Hubert self-medicating, Dorothy working to provide for her family, and the boys out slaying the evil pirates and providing for the safety of their community. As each member the Allen family went through their routine the merciless clock ticked away slowly counting down the minutes to the end of the day.

Having finished her work at City Hall, Dorothy took the money that she had earned to the grocery store. She couldn't get much, a small ham, some potatoes and milk. She got what she needed to feed her family. As she checked out Stephanie the stuck up high school dropout that manned the register handed her back her 72 cents in change with a demeaning look of contempt. Dorothy just stood there in the checkout lane staring at the change in her hand that represented everything that her family had. As she contemplated her position in life, the whiskey soaked excuse for a husband that she had, and the two boys that seemed to suffer the most she made a decision. She handed the change back to Stephanie, and selected two chocolate bars. As she left the grocery store she smiled and nodded to Mr. Garcia, and began the walk home a little lighter on her feet thinking of the excitement of her two boys receiving their chocolate bars.

Surrender or die!

The sound of Johnny's voice resonated through the Mesquite trees as he shouted his ultimatum at the imaginary pirate just a few feet away. Johnny expertly wielded his wooden sword fashioned from a