The Devil and the Timekeeper

By Terry Lee Weekly

In Iraq, a U.S. sergeant major is desperately tired of the hazard and hardships of the occupation. Unexpectedly, an ancient mystagogue of incredible power and under CIA surveillance allows him to escape to the American frontier in 1876 and from the frying pan to the fire! Will the tender love of a good woman and the urgent need to exercise his leadership and military training cure his psychological problems, or will they drive him deeper into a mental abyss? Would you like to read and find out?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terry Lee Weekly
• Release date: Dec 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301314355

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The Devil and the Timekeeper

By Terry Lee Weekly

Copyright 2012 by Terry Lee Weekly

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE: THE OCCUPATION

CHAPTER TWO: THE DEADLY STORM

CHAPTER THREE: THE COLD-BLOODED MURDER

CHAPTER FOUR: GREETINGS FROM ANGRY BEAR

CHAPTER FIVE: WHEN TWO ARE JOINED IN A HOLY UNION

CHAPTER SIX: THE DEEPER YOU FALL IN LOVE,

THE CLOSER YOU COME TO DEATH

CHAPTER SEVEN: A CHRISTMAS DINNER’S GIFT

CHAPTER EIGHT: TURMOIL, CONFUSION, AND HATE

CHAPTER NINE: THE BIG FIGHT

CHAPTER TEN: THE SHOWDOWN

CHAPTER ELEVEN: STANDING AT THE DOORWAY TO DEATH

CHAPTER TWELVE: GOD’S REDEEMED VESSELS

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: BY THE HAND OF GOD

AFTERWORD

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

QUESTIONS FOR BOOK CLUBS

DEDICATION

Dedicated to the memory of my mother, Rosette, a beautiful Irish lady.

CHAPTER ONE

THE OCCUPATION

In an ageless war, a warm luminosity easily pushed an invading darkness back. This peaceful entity had effortlessly forced an ancient evil to wait and watch outside the sergeant major’s window.

An invisible sight for mortal eyes, for flesh could only see how the office light transformed the tiny snowflakes into miniature flares as they slowly drifted by the glass. Travis had been sitting at his desk since 0300 hours. His office was a bone-chilling cold, evident by the frosty cloud of his every exhale. His small electric heater would stretch only halfway to his desk. Worse than that, it was barely adequate at keeping his office no higher than the freezing mark. He was hopeful that Supply would get in some more heaters and extension cords by next week, since his big one burned out days earlier.

Time had flown by and the sun was at its apex as the timeless sentinel for Satan looked on in hateful silence. Travis glanced at his watch. If he waited for another twenty minutes, he would miss eating lunch in the mess hall for the seventh day in a row.

This had been a very trying week for the sergeant major and it had nothing to do with being stationed in Baghdad, Iraq.

A knock at his door brought a momentary halt to all of his paperwork, or so he thought when he looked up and angrily barked, Come in!

It was Corporal Jackson with Friday’s mail. He marched into the office, handed Travis a legal-sized envelope and a post slip without saying a word.

Why the reticence? Well, Sergeant Major John W. Travis was the most feared and hated man in Iraq, now that Saddam Hussein was dead. Every soldier dreaded having to face Travis’ eerie blue eyes that penetrated so deep into your soul that your body felt violated. That and having to listen to his harsh acidic words that were so chock-full of hate.

If any lower-ranked soldier were to make the slightest mistake in his presence, they could end up mopping the floor as a private. For that reason no one ever struck up a conversation with him unless they were ordered to deliver an oral report.

Travis glared at the corporal as he waited for the young man to do an about-face, march out, and then close the door behind him. He saw the return address on the letter and it confirmed what he had dreaded for the last several months. It was from Judas I. Boothman, his wife’s attorney.

Travis had fought long and hard to prevent this divorce. No one could ever take her place in his heart, for she was his first and only love. The coldness of the letter forced him to get up and warm his hands in front of his heater.

When he sat back down, he couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander back to when he was just a private at Fort Gaustark in Ireland. Travis was celebrating his 18th birthday at a pub when he met Dorothy Erin O’Toole. No different than her name implied, this beautiful lass was God’s gift from Ireland.

Her long brown hair was as soft as an angel’s wing, and when he looked into those mesmerizing green eyes, Erin would be the only thing that existed.

He loved to study how her high cheekbones gave Erin that bold, dignified look that would rival any throned queen. Why, the beau mode models at that time could never compete with the radiance of her silky white skin.

Erin’s very presence dominated everything. Her playful and innocent voice was so sweet that the songbirds would hush their singing and flock around her feet. But the number one thing that attracted John was her precious and contagious laughter that filled your heart with joy. She also became a strong encouragement and supported his climb in rank until her first pregnancy.

Travis was rudely brought back to the present. The rumble of distant thunder had slightly vibrated his desk. However, he knew that it wasn’t thunder but the power of a homemade bomb that just blew someone up.

Travis’ anger burst into searing flames and he slammed the envelope down onto his desk and got up to lock the door.

Whatever Erin’s back-stabbing lawyer had in that envelope, he didn’t want Major Trevor or Colonel Deming to see it. For they could suddenly burst into his office as they so typically had in the past.

This was especially true if he was at the crux of something that would so disturb Travis that it would make him want to kill that vile vampire that Erin dragged up from the pit of hell.

The news on the inside was far worse than what he had expected. Erin was awarded all of their savings, the house, both cars, and the forty acres of Alaskan real estate that they had finally paid off last year. They had wanted to build a summer home there after he retired.

But all of that changed one dreadful night while he was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas. He came home especially late one evening with lipstick and blonde hair on his collar and smelling of perfume. He tried to explain to Erin that he had stopped off at the Top 5 Club for just a few minutes to wind down with a friend.

He was headed home a little later than usual when his headlights shone upon a car that appeared to be broken down. There was a young blonde-haired woman standing next to the driver’s door waving frantically for him to stop.

She was apparently having a lot of difficulty in her attempt to remain standing because she was starting to stagger and sway against her vehicle.

Travis jumped out of his Explorer and ran to her, catching the woman before she slumped all the way to the asphalt. There wasn’t another single soul in sight as he tenderly lifted her up and gently held her against his chest. Travis carefully laid her in the back seat of his SUV and whisked her away to the nearest emergency room. He explained to the doctors how he had found the poor woman. Other than that, he knew nothing about her.

They rushed the ill female inside, leaving Travis all alone. After he had waited a whole lot longer than he should to hear of her condition, he headed for home. When he unlocked his front door, it was so terribly late that he stealthily crept into the house with his boots off so that he wouldn’t wake his family.

Erin had been waiting up for her husband and when she flipped on the living room light, she gave Travis a vicious what-for. As soon as she was close enough to smell the other woman’s perfume, she spotted the blonde hair and lipstick on his collar. Erin went ballistic and wouldn’t listen to a word that he said. She kicked him out of the house, and later that day she went shopping for a divorce lawyer.

Travis couldn’t count the times that he tried to talk to Erin. To even see his kids was out of the question because whenever he knocked at the front door, she refused to answer. When he tried his key, he found that she had changed the locks. Shortly thereafter he was shipped to Iraq.

When he flipped over to the next page, he found a personal handwritten letter from Erin. In it she said, "J.W., the love that I once held for you died so very slowly, piece by piece, and bit by bit over the years.

"I did everything that I could to get us into a marriage counselor’s office, but you proved to be way too stubborn and prideful for that.

"Do you know the number one reason why our marriage started on its downhill plunge to destruction? If you’re too heartless to figure it out, then I will spell it out so that a moron like you can understand.

"Do you remember the cold way that you reacted to the death of our babies? It was like a dagger of ice in my heart and my once loving husband turned his back to my suffering and my needs.

"After we separated, I ran into Gary at my new church. I instantly fell for him because I could see that, unlike you, he was kind, loving, understanding, a good listener and very sweet. All of those qualities died in you when our first baby miscarried.

I didn’t want both of my children to grow up with a loveless dad, or to take a chance that they would turn out like you. Throwing you out was the best thing that I have ever done for both me and the kids!

The material things he lost didn’t matter. They were replaceable, unlike his family. But the things that his ex had said and the uncaring way that she chewed him out, that’s what made his blood boil with rage.

Erin had won sole custody of the two children that they adopted from Kosovo a little over four-and-a-half years ago: Nora Lynn Travis, who was now five, and four-year-old Michael Dewayne Travis.

They were the only babies that John would ever have. But they were as good as lost now, thanks to Erin. According to military law, his ex-wife could remarry twenty-four hours after the divorce had been finalized.

That’s exactly what she had done, as she so coldly and heartlessly explained. "My new husband’s name is Dr. Gary McDaniels. He is a very godly man and a wonderful father to the three children that his deceased wife had left him.

But for us to be one big happy family, Gary and I were hoping that you would abdicate your parental rights for Nora and Michael. Simply because Gary would love nothing more than to adopt them as his own. That and it would be best if all five of the kids, who are close in age, had the same last name.

The most important reason, she begged, "and I’m asking you to use your heart in this and not your military reasoning as you always do. I want you to ask yourself this question.

What is more important for the children’s happiness? What you personally want for their future, or what they personally need to be one family and have a life full of joy and security? So please, J.W., sign the attached form before a notary public and send it back to my attorney.

Travis thought about that for a long, long time. His mind wandered to Erin and how the bitter cold outside his office was also the norm for his wife and the affections she showed him.

In the beginning, Erin was full of love and life. Why she turned into a block of ice, he couldn’t understand, or begin to thaw her out. He knew that her depression must have been overwhelming after losing their first baby. The newborn looked perfect, but the little girl’s heart defect only allowed life for a very brief moment before she breathed her last.

The Iraqi wind howled just outside his window. That terrifying and mournful sound brought back Erin’s heart-wrenching wail.

Travis could do nothing on that fated day but helplessly watch as the nurse tore the chrisom child from his wife’s cuddling arms. This was the most painful memory that had ever haunted Travis’ mind.

He was relieved when this scene faded from view, only to be tragically dismayed when it returned. But this time he would see things from a totally different perspective.

This time he found himself standing just to the left of Erin’s hospital bed and he could easily see the facial expression on his former self. That and somehow, in some amazing way, he could feel his wife’s emotions.

Travis would never forget the overwhelming agony that flooded his body when he watched his firstborn slip away from the living. The burden of his suffocating grief was so severe that Travis was unable to move or speak.

As his former self painfully watched Erin crying in her hospital bed, an old defense mechanism from his childhood kicked in and emotionally he shut down.

Travis’ body became as rigid as stone and from all outward appearances of his former self, he looked to be chock-full of hate and blame toward his wife. Travis never knew he had reacted like that. For the first time he could see that her coldness was his fault. He could feel her unbearable suffering as well as her desire to be held and now knew why she screamed at him to get out, and that he did.

From that point on they never discussed what happened or even tried to comfort one another in their agony as they slowly drifted apart. Erin’s self-esteem eventually bottomed out after the fifth miscarriage. When tests revealed that the congenital heart defects were inherited from her, they adopted two children, and she had a tubal ligation.

She was in a suicidal state months later and was forced to enter a mental hospital. Once in there she was given a strong antidepressant, causing Erin to gain a lot of weight and to sleep her life away. John took his anger out on his soldiers by being extra strict and what the army thrives on.

In time he became the most political back-stabber ever as he worked his way up in this dog-eat-dog world. This was his choice for dealing with his pain for the son and daughters that he lost and the loveless home he was in.

John felt that he would go completely mad if he couldn’t shake his mind off this memory. He had buried it so long ago, just as he had successfully buried his love for God until he was given this revealing truth.

Its dread flowed over him like a cold and angry wave. Its wake covered him from the top of his head to his toes, and completely filled him with remorse. Accepting the circumstances that were placed before him, John picked up the phone.

He told Private Donahue in the P.A.C.K. office (the management section of the building) to inform Sergeant Flores to report to his office on the double and to bring his notary seal.

He hung up and unlocked his door, and moments later there was a tall and very handsome sergeant standing at attention directly across from his desk.

Travis carefully studied the young man who was new to his battalion. With Flores’ jet- black hair and olive complexion, the young sergeant was surely a ladies’ man.

Travis handed the form to him and with a deep growl, he said, Read it and if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll bust you down to a private. I’ll have you cleaning the latrine all through Christmas until you reenlist or discharge!

Sergeant Flores acted very cool as he read the form, but on the inside he was like a cat on a hot tin roof. Flores wanted out of this lion’s den, as his friends called it, and pronto. He handed it back to the big man and he politely said, Sergeant Major Travis, just sign and date the form and I’ll do the rest.

Travis laid the paper on his desk and for the very first time, he took his unnerving blue eyes off the buck sergeant. He then signed it and dated it December the 8th, 2006.

As soon as Sergeant Flores did his part, Travis sealed it in the stamped enveloped that Boothman had provided. No doubt this lawyer was a slimy leech that was sucking the very life out of him. But at least he made it a little bit easier for the sergeant major to give up what was left. When he handed it to Sergeant Flores to drop off in the mailroom, the young sergeant instantly executed a perfect about-face to leave.

Travis got up as soon as Flores left out and warmed his hands again. He then subconsciously relocked his door and sat back down at his desk, prepared to go about his daily business.

Before he could read the first word on his procurement sheet, his vision suddenly blurred. John’s eyesight had always been strong enough that glasses had never been required. But everything in his office was so severely out of focus that he was almost legally blind.

His first thought was that he was either having a stroke or that he had suddenly developed an acute case of diabetes. Knowing this from years ago when he was a medic platoon sergeant gave Travis a little knowledge about medicine.

When he leaned forward and groped for his phone, two foreign objects fell from his eyes and his vision improved drastically. They made a sharp and distinctive plop, plop when they hit the paper below him. When he looked, he was stunned to see that they were only two small drops of water that had quickly soaked into the paper.

This was impossible! He was crying! Of all things that are unmanly, this was the worst. The last time he did that he was no more than eight, and for all the years after, he always kept a stiff upper lip. When he developed his face of iron and his penetrating blue eyes in his early teens, that’s what made him the leader that he is and a man’s man in today’s world. Two more tears fell like rain, only to be swiftly followed by a flood that couldn’t be measured.

What’s wrong with me? he fiercely whispered. Have I so lost my mind that I can no longer control my body?

He dried his tears in the hopes that the flow would cease, but the liquid drops of pain came harder than ever. Travis was in a panic about what to do. At any moment a high-ranking officer could knock on his door, and he didn’t know how to act. Travis was desperate for something that would bring this weakness of his to an irreparable end.

John thought back to all of the high-ranking officers and NCOs who had committed suicide in the past rather than face dishonor. Their reasoning behind that decision was different in each and every case. Even so, the curse of dishonor was so powerful in the American military that it far exceeded all of the normal reasoning and understanding of a sane person. John recalled Christopher Jenson, an associate of his who was a first sergeant in an infantry company. His duty station was at a little post in Germany called Ayers Kassern during the late ’80s.

One day Christopher received a depressing letter from his wife. She told him that their only son, who was eighteen at the time, had just announced that he was gay. The first sergeant called home and talked at length with his son and his wife. When he hung up he wrote a suicide note and left it in his room before he disappeared into the night.

Early the next morning, someone was dispatched to look for their missing top sergeant and discovered the note. It didn’t take long for the Army to find what was left of the first sergeant. His mutilated body parts were scattered down a pair of bloody railroad tracks for a mile. His last living moment was in a heavily forested area about five miles from the post.

Other suicides were the result of DWIs, failed drug tests, a cheating spouse, or a Dear John letter. The list just went on and on like a broken record.

But what Travis didn’t realize was that he was severely depressed over the loss of his wife and children. Yet his heart was so cold and stony that he couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

Travis credited his tears to his inability to control his emotions. He rightfully believed that he would lose his ability to command his battalion if this came out. Then a breath-catching thought came to him.

My dad had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s at the age of fifty and I’ll turn fifty-one in two months. I’ll never forget my dad’s first symptom, which was uncontrolled crying, no different than what I’m doing right now.

Travis knew that he stood a good chance of inheriting the disease and if he did, he had already prepared for a way out. Long ago he decided that he would not die having to be hand-fed and wearing a diaper like his father did.

The demonic spirit smiled when Travis removed his sidearm from its holster. It jumped with demented joy when Travis chambered a 9-millimeter round into the breach. He flipped off the safety as tears streamed down his cheeks and then rolled off of his strong jawline.

He placed the pistol’s muzzle against his right temple and squeezed the trigger. But there was nothing more than a loud metallic click from his Glock. Travis was enraged by the weapon’s failure to fire and its inability to put him out of his misery.

He was both vindictive and brutal when he jerked back on the slide and ejected the bullet from the weapon. Of his thirty-two years in the Army, he had never had a weapon misfire, even in the worst of conditions.

As he gave the deadly projectile a close and thorough inspection, he could clearly see where the firing pin had struck. It was a mystery to him as to why it didn’t go off.

He determinedly placed the pistol up to the side of his head again, but before he could squeeze the trigger, something extraordinary happened.

A slip of paper that had been under a heavy paperweight dropped into his lap. He hesitated for a second because there wasn’t even a hint of a draft or a breeze strong enough to stir a feather.

This phenomenon so intrigued him that he carefully laid the semi-automatic weapon down. For the first time, he read the slip that had arrived with his letter.

It was nothing more than a postal reminder telling him that he had a package to pick up between the hours of 0700 to 1700 hours.

Travis just wadded it up and threw it on his desk. When he tried to pick his weapon up, he was more than astonished because he found it to be burning hot.

His hand instantly recoiled from the unexpected pain. In shock, he dismayingly stared at the weapon and thought, How could it be hot? Slowly he arose and backed away from it without letting it out of his sight.

Eventually, pain worked through his shock and he grabbed an ice cube from his mini refrigerator to cool his fingers. Still watching the motionless pistol, he cautiously sank into his chair.

Travis said in a whisper, My mind must be tricking me. It’s impossible for my sidearm to be that hot. The room’s freezing and the heater’s too far away.

Naïvely, he reached toward his 9-millimeter Glock again and before his fingers touched it, he jerked his hand back. It was still radiating a great amount of heat. The desk wasn’t showing any sign of scorching so what was going on?

John didn’t believe in magic or miracles. But that’s when the same postal note fluttered back into his lap. This time it had straightened itself out, leaving no wrinkles or creases.

John felt the hairs tingle on the back of his neck just as they had when he and Erin watched The Passion of the Christ. But that was before he was kicked out of the house and shipped over here. That and it was shortly before he had completely fallen away from his faith, and yet he knew God was the only explanation for what was happening. So he picked up the paper with all the deliberate care with which a mother would pick up her newborn baby. He almost fainted when he saw some words that he knew weren’t there before. They were perfectly written in a blood-red ink and said that he had a very special Christmas card from his Aunt Lois.

Travis guided the paper into the pocket of his field jacket with the same meticulousness of a top surgeon. But as soon as he did, he heard, or more like felt, a soft gentle voice within his mind. It told him to recline in his chair, close his eyes, and to remember. When he did, Travis stretched out his arms to each side. His massive body had completely engulfed his armless support. If any other eyes had seen, he appeared to be levitating in mid-air with his boots suspended a few inches above the floor.

Seconds later, his mind had flown all the way back to when he was the age of four. Travis was watching his own history from what felt like an elevated position. From there he could see his tiny body standing in the oil fields next to an office window. That and he was flying one of those old kites that had the traditional long tail of that era.

His dad yelled from inside his small office called a doghouse with a deep and booming voice. It’s time to go home so bring that kite down.

Little John jumped at his dad’s graveled voice and he knew that his daddy was in a bad mood, as was typical. They were far out in the country and his dad would have to drive over to the main office to meet his relief.

He watched his skinny young arms wrap the string around the spool just as fast as he could, but the pull from the kite was wearing him out. He had a good way to go when his dad called out again with a growl, If you don’t have it down by now, then you better hurry up!

Travis could see the fear and panic on his little face and he could remember how terrified he was of his dad back in those days. Little Johnny was so scared now that he dropped the spool. That way he could bring the kite in faster arm over arm, letting the string pile up on the ground. As soon as little John had the kite in his hands, his dad said, Is it down yet?

Yes, sir, came his fearful reply and his little heart pounded in his chest like a drum.

Then bring it to me so that I can put it away for you!

He watched helplessly as little John carried it to his father, knowing what would happen next. He tried to shut it out but his only choice was to watch in dreaded silence.

When this big, broad-shouldered man with Arnold Schwarzenegger arms glanced at the tangled mess of string, his explosive hot temper peaked to the boiling point. With a bull’s bellow, he said, Why didn’t you wind it around the spool?

Little Johnny was so horror-stricken that he couldn’t explain it, and with tears forming in his eyes, he said, Momma is good at untying string. She can do it.

Your mother is too busy! Then, in a fit of rage, he tore the kite to shreds and screamed, This is what I would do to you if I had the time! Now get your little butt in the truck and wait for me, and when we get home I’m going to wear you out with my belt.

Johnny started crying so hard that all he could do was wail. He climbed up into the pickup truck and because of the Texas heat, it was like an oven.

As the scene started to fade, he remembered how his momma jumped all over his daddy for what he had done, an action that brought her son’s spanking to a screeching halt.

The time advanced to when he was five. In those days, kindergarten wasn’t free. His sisters had gone but his dad refused to pay for the son that he believed to be retarded. Johnny was left with his dad one morning while his mother was dropping the girls off at school before going to her doctor’s appointment.

Their home was very plain, no carpet or throw rugs, and spartan furniture in each room, simply because their father spent his money on himself first and he had a lot of costly hobbies. Johnny’s dad was in his recliner and was watching TV when he barked out his disgruntled order. Bring your bowl of cereal and the glass of milk into the living room and sit on the floor next to me.

When little Johnny did, some of the milk spilled out on the hardwood floor and he knew that he was in trouble. Johnny looked at his dad, who seemed to be absorbed in the TV show. He jumped up and grabbed a towel and mopped it all up, but he was so nervous now that his hands were shaking. When his little fingers tried to pick up the wet glass, he spilled what was left.

This time his dad looked down and screamed at him and said, You stupid little retard! and the big man jumped up and savagely whipped his son with his heavy doubled-over belt.

Little Johnny cried so hard that his asthma made breathing difficult, but his punishment was far from over for the worst was yet to come. This mere mountain of a man grabbed his son by the hair of his head, lifted him up and screamed into his face, Do it again! Do it one more time!

Johnny was struggling to breathe. The tears were still flowing hard and heavy and the only sounds that he could make were gasps as he tried to draw air into his lungs. In the late ’50s to early ’60s, there were no inhalers that helped, and when he had a serious attack he had to be rushed to the emergency room or die like so many had back then.

His dad shook him and said with an explosive yell, I want you to do it again! I want you to do it one more time so I can tear your little butt up worse than the first time!

Johnny was finally able to catch a deep enough breath and he said, Nooo, Daddy.

Why not? bellowed his dad.

Be-because I’ll ge-get in tr-tr-trouble again.

His dad released his grip on his son’s hair and after he refilled the boy’s glass, he sat back down. With a heavy tone of aggravation, he said, Eat your cereal and don’t spill that second glass of milk that I brought you. It was with a searing look of hate that he said, The best part of you ran down my leg, boy. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so retarded and a disgrace to the family.

Travis shamefully knew that this scenario would happen over and over again to him and his sisters. He just never understood how his dad could be so loving one minute and so hateful the next.

He had always believed that the punishment that he had received was no more than what he deserved. Or at least that’s what his dad told him, and over the years, his heart grew hard and cold and his mind became numb and insensitive to the pain.

Erin had changed all of that until the death of their children brought his robotism back out. But now that Travis had seen this from an objective point of view, he realized for the very first time that his dad had seriously overreacted. That and his punishment was both physical and psychological abuse.

But why did his dad hate and torture them so? That’s the one question that he could not answer and what he needed to know for his own healing. Years later they learned that his dad was clearly bipolar and needed medical treatment, and yet a very important piece of the puzzle was still missing.

Travis’ rage had grown to the point of exploding, and suddenly he saw a scene that he didn’t recognize. The unfamiliarity of it gradually eased his anger as he watched a toddler who was playing on a plain wood floor.

He had a Buster Brown haircut and the boy looked remarkably like Travis did at that age. The perplexity of the scene and yet its odd commonality was drawing him in like a strange magnet. He had never seen this room that the boy was in. But by the calendar on the wall, it was the month of January and the year was 1925. On the first day of the month there was a circled H.B.D. To the boy’s left there was a dining table that was covered in a beautiful white lace. Other than that it was carefully set for what looked like some special event. Over in the far corner was a gas heater with the flames leaping high as they could go. Other than that, the room was as empty as the one he grew up in.

A tall, plump woman walked into the room with her brown hair tied securely in a bun. She was carrying a large chocolate cake with four unlit candles arranged around the name of Henrick. Travis knew in an instant that the boy was his dad and the woman was his grandmother Anna.

The little boy climbed up into one of the chairs to get a glass of milk and he tipped it over. It spilled out onto the tablecloth and down to the floor.

Anna flew into a blind rage and spanked her poor son far worse than he deserved and then taunted him just like Travis had been by the adult Henrick. Deep down, Travis realized that this was a common practice in his family and like pictures in a photo album, he saw glimpses of that abuse until his dad grew into a man.

A hard chill ran up his spine and Travis wanted to open his eyes and put this behind him. However, he couldn’t so much as lift a finger or wiggle a toe.

Every muscle in his body was in a state of relaxation and was now completely flaccid. For one fleeting moment he tried to cry out in panic but could not, so he did the one and only thing that he hadn’t done in years.

He prayed and asked God for help.

In that instant he found himself surrounded by a powerful presence that gave him peace and soothed his mind.

Travis heard a gentle voice that spoke ever so softly to him. It lovingly said, The sins of the parent will be passed down to the third or fourth generation.

Travis knew that he had never once whipped or taunted his kids as he had been. Even so, he was