Beyond Desperation

By Scott Lilly

Brett has three days to get back the raw diamonds that were found on his brother's farm, about four million dollars worth, that he gave to Joey Santini’s men. Unfortunately, Joey never received them and he thinks Brett is backing out of their deal and keeping the one million dollars that was paid to him upfront.

As punishment, Brett’s wife Chantel is murdered and as insurance that Brett finds the diamonds and gives them to Joey, Brett’s only child, eight-year-old Madison, is taken to be held hostage.

Rudy Nicola, Sophia Santini’s uncle, has Madison. His partner, Alex Baxter, hurts people for a living. Their instructions are to kill Madison if Brett fails in getting the diamonds to Joey on time.

Madison is locked in a room in a basement and fights for her life. She holds on to the hope that her father will rescue her, while the trauma she suffers slowly takes away her identity.

Homicide detective, Samantha Gray, is searching for Brett for his wife's murder in Salt Lake City. Motivating her every move is trying to find the whereabouts of Madison, since she is missing or is a victim of Brett as well. Samantha has pledged that she will find Brett and put him in prison for what he has done.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Lilly
• Release date: Aug 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466101890

Scott Lilly

I live in West Valley City, Utah.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Have you ever loved someone so much that now they are gone, all you do is cry from the emptiness you feel? Because of where I am, I can only cry on the inside. On the outside, I have to be tough. I cannot show any weakness. If I do, the predators will eat me alive. This is just a defense mechanism for survival. It is not in any handbook that they give you when you first get here.

This is how I lived for the last three years. I am wearing a mask over my true feelings. Pretending that everything is okay, that I am strong. When, in fact, I am neither okay nor strong. It seems that I have been trapped in a time that is standing still as life outside goes on without me. For me, every minute of every day is a struggle to stay sane.

There have been many minutes that were a battle, I thought that I was going to lose. You see, I am in a prison of my mind, not just my body.

Imagine waking up every day in a twelve foot by nine foot cell. You sleep on a metal bunk that has a mattress about three inches thick with foam. There is a stainless steel sink with a toilet right by your head. The worst part about waking up, well, one of the worst parts, is when you wake up, and you are facing a cinder-block wall. You open your eyes, and you see a painted white cinder-block wall. It does not take very long to realize where you are, either because of the aches and pains in your body from sleeping on that tiny mattress or because of those thoughts and feelings that come back to you from the night before, all reminds you of where you just woke up.

I usually have to lay on my bunk for five or ten minutes praying, praying that today I will be stronger, that I will make it, because it is so easy to give up. It is so easy to be walking down the tier and decide to jump, hoping that four floors high, will break your neck quickly and end this lonely solitude.

No one can really imagine what prison is like, day after day, month after month, year after year of the same boring routine. There is no true friendship, no one to honestly open up and talk to. Everyone has their own problems, and nobody wants to hear yours. Even though hundreds of people surround you, you are constantly alone.

Something happens to people when they go to prison. It changes them forever. The correctional officers treat you as if you are a nobody. Other inmates treat you as if you are a nobody. A person can only handle several months of being treated as they are nothing, before they actually start to feel that way.

Where is the hope? Where is that one thing that you hold onto, so you will be strong and survive each day and not jump? When you’re going to the chow hall for lunch, and you walk by a cell, where a new guy has just moved into, a fish is what he is called, and within his first hour is already being raped, as you keep walking by you wonder if you are having a tuna fish sandwich, or if you're having a baloney sandwich today.

You pretend you did not see anything. It is none of my business. Better him than me. What does that do to a man? How do they ever expect you to go home one day and move on with your life as nothing has happened? Like your life was not changed by the prison experience? Some days as I just lay on my bunk in my cell, I wonder why I even try to stay sane. Wouldn't be easier just to let go of my sanity?

In here, when you stop feeling, when empathy is lost, you can survive. When you stop thinking and stop caring about the outside world, mentally, you are safe. Am I winning the day-to-day battle to stay sane? I do not think so. I am losing the fight. I can feel it. I re-live memories day after day, month after month, year after year. They rip me apart inside. I do not know who I am anymore. I just do not feel any more.

They say that time does change people. Has it changed me for the better or for the worse? I just do not know. A little of both I guess.

All I think about is what if things were different. What if I was not home that day in May when my brother John called from Idaho and told me about what he had found in his potato field after that flood had washed away several feet of topsoil? What if I never got the idea to sell them? What if I still had my wife and daughter in my life? What if. Thinking this way has been just another day in here.

My name is Brett Campbell. I am on death row, for the murder of Chantel Campbell. She was my wife. I killed her three years ago. I have been in prison for three years now, and the day has finally come. The correctional officers say that it is time to go. I have spent too long inside myself wondering if this day would ever happen. Now that they are here for me, I just do not know how to feel. I am troubled by the choices that I have made that put me here. No one can imagine what thoughts and feelings I have, as I stand in the middle of my cell for the very last time and put the last three years of my belongings in a shoe box. Today, I can finally cry. Only, there are no more tears left.

* * * * *

CHAPTER ONE

Three years ago.

When Brett woke up that lazy Saturday morning around 7:00 AM, his only thoughts were to sleep in for another hour or so. Are you awake? He asked Chantel. He did not know that she was laying there reading. Chantel was an anchor for KCMP News in Salt Lake City. She always read something, keeping up on current events. Have been for a while, she said. Brett rolled over on his side and opened his eyes. With a sleepy voice, he asked for morning sex.

Only if you make breakfast. Chantel said with a smile. She put the paper in her lap, and looked at Brett. Deal! Cereal counts as breakfast right? Brett said laughing, while he reached for his wife. Chantel flung the covers off her and got out of bed. She stood in front of Brett nude. She was thirty-nine years old and went to the gym three times a week. Chantel moved her hands up and down her body and said, All of this is worth steak and eggs buddy! Brett looked at Chantel. He was still very much attracted to and in love with his wife of ten years. He said, I will go to the farmer's market and buy a cow and some chickens this afternoon.

Some time later, they both were out of the master shower and sitting in their room. Brett was dressed and putting his shoes on when Chantel said, You remember you told Madison that we are barbecuing lunch today? She invited some of her friends to come over. Chantel sat at her Vanity brushing her shoulder length Auburn hair. She was wrapped in a towel, and Brett watched her. He saw that some water had dripped from her hair and was now slowly running down her back. He tried quickly to look away, but the temptation was too strong. Brett walked up behind her and kissed her neck and shoulders. Chantel got goose bumps on her arms and told Brett to stop. Did you hear anything that I said? She said as she leaned back to accept the kisses.

Brett stood up, Yeah, something about Madison, friends and barbecuing right? He looked at Chantel in the mirror and gave her that hurt feelings look, he gave when she asked if he was paying attention to her. Brett then started laughing when Chantel stuck her tongue out at him. He looked down at Chantel's bare shoulders, thought about starting something again, then sighed because even though he wanted to, his body was telling him that twice in an hour was not going to happen. I will go get breakfast started. Brett said sadly.

Brett worked at the University as a geologist teaching a classroom of those interested in rocks. He spent time in the field and enjoyed taking his students on trips more than teaching in the classroom. Friday he had taken his students to Antelope Island and spent the day digging for Geodes. He was only forty years old, but on this morning, he felt every bit of his age. He felt the stiffness in his legs and dreaded having to walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

As Brett walked past Madison's room at the top of the stairs, he heard the thumping bass of some music. He knocked on her door and said that breakfast would be ready in thirty minutes. As he walked away, Madison opened the door. All I want is cereal dad.

Brett laughed and said, No, your mom would divorce me if I made cereal. With a shrug, Madison said whatever and shut the door on him. He stood there for a moment looking at the door thinking how much she was like her mother. Shaking his head, he walked away.

Once in the kitchen, Brett opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. He took out a package of bacon and the carton of eggs. He opened the carton of eggs to find six already used broken pieces of eggshells. How could they not throw this in the garbage was beyond him. Like always, he threw them away then walked over to the counter to grab the loaf of bread and turned around just as Madison was coming up behind him.

Boo! She yelled. Brett jumped out of his skin. Madison had her long brown hair in front of her face, and her hair was wet from a shower. Her hands were stretched out in front of her, and she looked like that girl in the movie that came out of the well, through your television and left you for dead with a scary face. That was not the first time Madison had done this. She knew her dad got scared watching that movie. She watched it with him and was not scared at all. Brett loved watching scary movies and was thrilled that Madison enjoyed them too.

Shit! Ha-ha. Brett said. Thanks for volunteering to do the morning dishes honey. He was standing over Madison with his hands on his hips.

No way, mom told me to do it! Besides, you cussed so you do the dishes, or I'll tell mom you’re a bad influence on me. Eight years old Madison put her hair behind her ears and folded her arms across her chest to make the point, but it did not work.

If your friends told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it? Brett said while he picked the bread up off the floor and tossed it on the counter. He turned on the frying pan with the bacon in it and cracked some eggs open into a bowl, shaking in some pepper, garlic and onion salt and started stirring.

Madison was shaking her head. Dad, you need to come up with some new material. That stuff doesn't work with little kids anymore. Madison had grabbed some butter out of the refrigerator and walked over to the counter where the toaster was. She opened the bag of bread, put four pieces in the toaster, and looked at her dad. Don't make too much food, I want to be extra hungry for lunch. She said with a smile.

Why? Brett said, not missing a beat. This is all the food you get today. Little kids nowadays don't need that much food to grow old and wise you know. Brett put a lid over the pan of bacon and was pouring the eggs in another frying pan to make scrambled eggs.

Madison started the toaster and turned to her dad. I told some friends that you were barbecuing lunch today, and they are coming over later. I know you are old and wise dad, but you couldn't have forgotten about our Saturday routine. First, we get up. Then, we eat breakfast and then shower. Mom does the dishes. I play until lunch is ready. Then, we watch movies later while eating pizza and popcorn for dinner. She smiled and hoped that he caught the mom did dishes part.

Brett stopped working on the eggs and looked at Madison in fake amazement. We do all that? Shaking his head. I had no idea.

What's going on? Chantel said as she walked into the kitchen. She looked at the stove then walked over to the coffee pot to pour herself a freshly brewed cup. Breakfast smells great honey. Brett got a smack on his butt as Chantel walked by him, and she sat at the counter where she could watch her family.

Mom. Dad forgot that he was barbecuing lunch today. I think he has the old-timer's disease. When the toast popped up, Madison puts them on a plate and put two more pieces of bread in the toaster. She started to put butter on the hot toast that sat on the plate.

Oh honey. Your dad is old. Let's give him a break okay? Winking at Brett. Who had stopped working on the eggs and looked at his wife. He was about to say something about his performance earlier that morning when Chantel said to Madison, You must have scared him pretty good for him to be teasing you this much.

Yeah. It was awesome. Madison said, she smiled and poked Brett in the side.

I wasn't scared! Brett said. He looked back and forth at Chantel and Madison.

Whatever. They both said in unison. Then they started laughing while Brett mumbled something under his breath and went back to the eggs.

When breakfast was eaten and the kitchen was cleaned up, Madison got on her bike and said she was going for a ride to her friend's house. Chantel went to her study to check her E-mail and to catch up on a bit of work. Brett wanted nothing more to do than lie on the couch and take a quick nap.

Instead, he went into the backyard and thought about cleaning the barbecue grill before becoming lost in the garage working on his 1977 Firebird that he was restoring. It was painted Victory Red, and Brett was working on re-upholstering the front bucket seats. The interior would be snow white once he finished. It did not matter that there was no engine in it yet or no tires or rims. This car was his lifeline to his youth. At least, that was what he told Chantel. Really, he just liked driving fast and knew that someday all the men in the neighborhood would watch him drive by and be jealous.

Several hours went by, and Brett thought that he should get lunch started. He walked into the house and found that Chantel and Madison were in the kitchen preparing baked beans, potato chips, iced tea and all the other goodies needed for their feast.

Brett grabbed a plate of meat and went outside to start cleaning the grill. It took him fifteen minutes to hose down the grill and scrub off last weekends cooked on barbecue sauce. He was about to put the meat on the grill when he heard Chantel scream. He dropped the plate and ran to the house. As he stepped through the sliding glass door, someone who was waiting on the inside hit him hard on the side of his head. The only thought that he had as darkness overcame him was, oh shit, the diamonds.

The bright blinding light in his head helped him to be painfully aware that he was still alive. When he could finally keep his eyes open, he saw two identical men standing in front of him, with a gun pointed at his face. As he blinked several more times in confusion and tried to focus, the two men slid towards each other and turned into a chipmunk.

Joey Santini was thirty-five years old and five feet nine. He had to be around one hundred and eighty pounds. His hair was slicked back with at least a quart of 10-40 car motor oil. His nickname, the Chipmunk, was given to him right before he dropped out of school in the tenth grade.

Actually, he was permanently expelled for accidentally stabbing the science teacher three times in the left leg while the teacher sat at his desk, explaining to Joey why blowing up a toilet in the girl's bathroom with a quarter stick of dynamite was not an acceptable science project. Obviously, Joey thought otherwise.

While growing up, Joey was an ordinary sized boy, except, he had a round head that did not fit with the rest of his skinny body. His face was fat with cheeks that looked like a chipmunk with a mouth full of walnuts. All the kids called him the chipmunk. The nickname did not stick long, anyone who called him that got a punch in the face. However, when you first saw him, a chipmunk was what you were reminded of.

Standing to the left of Joey was a man about forty-five years old and close to two hundred pounds on a six-foot frame. Brett had never seen him before. His straight black hair was to shoulder length and had to be a dye job. It was too black. He had a gun pointed at Chantel and Madison, whom both were sitting on the couch with duct tape wrapped around their feet and hands and a strip of tape across their mouths.

Chantel was crying, and Madison was crying so hard that her shoulders were heaving up and down, and Brett could see that she was having problems breathing through her nose. Brett could see the terror in their eyes and felt guilty. His stomach hurt so much that he thought he was going to throw up. They had no idea what he had done to bring these people into their lives. Brett sat in one of the high back kitchen chairs that had armrests. His arms were taped to each armrest, his feet to the chair legs. There was a coffee table in front of the couch, and Brett was about five feet away from it. As he looked around and understood what was happening, he too was scared.

Joey sat on the edge of the table facing him and calmly asked, Brett, where are my diamonds? Brett did not know this at the