Finding Faith: Seven Deadly Sins 5 (Gluttony)

By Ruth Munro

Faith is one of those children. She's a very pretty child, and always well dressed. Her family is rich and she has everything she needs. She's got a pretty mother, and a workaholic father, and a nanny. Or does she? Why did her mother sack the nanny and not tell her father? Who is looking after Faith when her mother is elsewhere, and her nanny is gone? What is her mother really up to?
For behind closed doors, with no one to see, what could be happening to Faith? Trafficking happens. We know that, but Faith is not the kind of girl that gets trafficked. Her family is rich and middle class, and trafficking doesn't happen in our country. It certainly doesn't happen in our neighbourhood. It happens overseas, doesn't it?
What if it did? How would you know? Are there signs that there are problems with her mother? Would you notice Faith and her mother were missing? Would you get out of your chair, and walk down the road, and look for a child who suddenly isn't around? How long would you look for her? Is it your business anyway? Who is finding Faith?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Munro
• Release date: Oct 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370667550

Ruth Munro

I am Australian widow, who doesn't like to admit her age, with four children and two step-children, living and working in China. I wasn’t always a writer. At different times, for reasons of acute boredom I have pursued a lot of entertaining professions and hobbies. Personally if I lived my life the way I wanted I would spend all my time on my favorite activities. I like to catch up with family, write, read incessantly, watch movies, and study towards my Masters. Fortunately God insists I live a balanced life. So in my spare time I pray a lot, spend time with God, and work a full time job! I am so blessed because my genetics have meant I rarely need much sleep. As to my career I am an experienced teacher, although I have also worked for Social Security as a clerk, sold roof tiles, been a wife and mother, worked as a Podiatrist and run various departments (or worked in them) in my church. I have always taught. I held my first unofficial math class on the steps of my neighbour’s house when I was about ten. I am also a jack of all trades since I’ve been a single mother since my husband died when we were both 34. In 2012 after living in India for two months working at Asha Bhawan, God gave me the theme of this series, and revived my desire to create stories that amuse, but also make us think. I hope you enjoy them. I have just published the sixth book in the seven book series. I am still struggling with the seventh book in the series which is mostly written. I am taking too long I know, but I really hate the subject matter. I will get it done by December even if I have to rewrite the middle and change some major plot events. If you like my books please leave a review. If you hate them also write a review. Like all authors I will think about your criticisms, although like most of us I hate criticism! May my God bless you!

Book preview

Finding Faith: Gluttony (Seven Deadly Sins 5)

Text copyright 2014 Ruth Munro

All Rights Reserved

Book Cover Artwork Copyright Frina Art, accessed online at https://www.selfpubbookcovers.com/FrinaArt

Declaration

I declare that I am the original writer of this book, wrote it in 2012, perfected it until 2014, and claim all rights to it. However I want you to remember this book is fiction. You may meet some characters you think you know. They aren’t them, but may carry superficial resemblance because people are alike. We are products of our upbringing, our society and our genetics. We are also all human, and so all flawed. I apologize in advance if anyone thinks they see themselves in this book, and gets a shock.

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold 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 return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright Acknowledgement

I have used song titles in my book but the actual lyrics are copyright and are not used. In addition the story behind each song is not included in this book, though song themes may be alluded to.

While it would be a violation of copyright to include lyrics I am hoping the song writers or performers do not take me alluding to them by their titles as a violation of copyright, but rather as a compliment. Good music speaks to the soul, and the fact these songs speak to the heroine is a compliment to the songwriters and singers. I am hopeful some readers may actually listen to the songs or even purchase them as a result of reading the impact on the heroine’s life.

As the reader you also need to be aware that the book is also historically impossible. At least four of the songs my heroine listens to and takes meaning from were not even published at the date cited. These songs are ‘Addicted to Love’ (Robert Palmer, 1986), ‘Everybody Hurts Sometimes’ (R.E.M., 1992), ‘I swear’ (John Montgomery, 1993) and ‘There will Come A Day’ (Faith Hill, 1999). I swear was written by the date in the book, but it was not published for four more years because foolish record executives thought it wouldn’t sell! For these reasons I thought about changing book dates, but really no other song titles so aptly fit the events of the book and the events in the book fit life in the towns mentioned on those dates, so I left it alone. I was bad. Be warned.

Other song titles used are: ‘Killing Me Softly’ (Roberta Flack, 1973), ‘All You Need Is Love’ (The Beatles, 1967), ‘Don’t Laugh At Me’ (Mark Willis, 1998), ‘Home Is Where the Heart Is’ (Elvis Presley, 1961), ‘Love Hurts’ (Everly Brothers, 1960), ‘Somebody Got Murdered’ (The Clash, 1980), ‘She Works Hard For the Money’ (Donna Summer, 1983). I formally acknowledge these songwriters or the bands and singers that released these songs here, and attribute all rights to their genius.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my beloved step-son Kevin, though you are not my blood, you are still mine, a son of my heart. My dearest hope is: may the Lord who loves me find you, for He is the true home and peace of all who find Him. In Him may you be complete.

Foreword and Adult Content Warning

This book is not about historical inaccuracy however, but about the human fault of gluttony. Gluttony is not just a desire for food that causes obesity. Instead it is defined as the insatiable desire to consume, to the point of robbing others of what they need. Its real name is selfishness and it besets our western society.

When the desires of parents for things rob children of food, or of love because they are working too hard and have no time for their children, or when the desires of drug addicts for drugs and the theft and sale of material possessions or people to gain those drugs hurt those around them, the person is selfish. It is also against the law in almost every country in the world to traffick humans. Yet despite this slavery is at the highest level it has ever been. Even in free countries it goes on and we should all stand against it whenever we hear of it. Most would say it is not present in the lucky country, but in fact I know someone who was trafficked at the tender age of twelve back in the Pre-Fitzgerald inquiry days of Queensland.

Our society tells us it is okay to live for our own pleasure, to amass more possessions than we need, and to fulfill every desire of our hearts. Is it really? When does our own selfishness become obscene? I would argue, as soon as gluttony is present, when others are hurt because we take what they need or we refuse to fulfill the needs of those around us because we are too busy living for our own desires. It also becomes obscene when our loved ones become goods to sell. May this book help you examine these things to find a better path for you and those you love?

While the subject of this book is gluttony (or selfishness) there are no scenes in this book where a child under fifteen is actually attacked, and scenes centered on trafficking do not occur in a child under eighteen. However since the subject matter is trafficking of women and young girls this book is not suitable for children under eighteen. Despite the subject matter there are no real sex scenes in the book.

Contents

Front Matter

Prologue: Killing me Softly

Chapter One: All You Need Is Love

Chapter two: Addicted To Love

Chapter Three: Don’t Laugh At Me

Chapter Four: Home Is Where the Heart Is

Chapter Five: Love Hurts

Chapter Six: Somebody Got Murdered

Chapter Seven: Everybody Hurts Sometimes

Chapter Eight: She Works hard For the Money

Chapter Nine: Every Breath You Take

Chapter Ten: I Swear

Epilogue: There Will Come a Day

About the Author

Prologue: Killing me Softly

For centuries the death penalty, often accompanied by barbarous refinements, has been trying to hold crime in check; yet crime persists. Why? Because the instincts that are warring in man are not, as the law claims, constant forces in a state of equilibrium. - Albert Camus

God said, "But your own lifeblood I will avenge; I will avenge it against both animals and other humans.

Whoever sheds human blood, by humans let his blood be shed, Because God made humans in his image reflecting God’s very nature…" - Genesis 9:5-7, NIV

I was shocked.

Who’re you? I didn’t want to get personal, but the guy looked like he’d been mainlining speed. I had to say something.

The stoned look was not unexpected when you considered I had come visiting my mother, the drug queen of the southern hemisphere. I know, I know – who visits a mother they can’t trust? Me I guess.

I’d avoided a visit for years. It was time. I was old enough now that the risks to me should be less and I was stronger than her now. I’d never been able to kill my love for her, no matter what she did to me. Love unrequited is a form of death, the death of hope. However, blood it seems really is thicker than water.

Looking at him now, the bloke standing in my Mum’s flat was more off than most of her visitors, as well as 20 years too young for her usual John’s. It took me a second too long to realize why. Were all those blotches blood? I ran. All the time I was screaming -

Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God -- He cut me off when he slammed me into the wall. Disturbingly, in the background Mum’s radio station switched tracks and started playing ‘Killing Me Softly’. I hoped it wasn’t a sign. My life has always been linked with weird coincidences, like song titles that are oddly apt during whatever personal tragedy was happening at the time. It was almost like someone out there was trying to tell me something…

Shut up! He ordered. I mentally rolled my eyes as he hissed his demand, because I had no plans to obey anything this creep said, but I pretended to show the utmost respect verbally and physically. Cringing works, in case you’re wondering. I’d had plenty of practice cringing during life with my mother. Sometimes cringing is all that saves you from a beating. Of course sometimes with some people cringing only makes things worse. My philosophy is, when in doubt cringe. You can sometimes change your choice later when it’s time to run…

I was also praying, but I wasn’t really expecting some miracle. It was like an automatic response. I’m pretty sure God’s not real, or if one exists, he hates me. I pray in moments of extreme peril, out of desperation in case I’m wrong. My life has always sucked. I’m cursed.

I was counting on someone hearing my earlier screams – it was ten am and I was upstairs in a shopping district, one block from the police station in Warwick. Surely someone heard?

You got it, I whispered.

He slammed me against the wall again just to show he could.

Where is it?

Uh… Where is what?

You know! Where’s her stash.

This was really tough to answer, because I hadn’t lived with her since I was fifteen, and it wasn’t like we were best friends. Mum always hid her stashes. She didn’t like to share. To her, I was a burden, not a friend, and occasionally an asset. I’d always come home with one eye on the exit, and prepared for a fight or to run. Why had I forgotten the lesson?

My mother was a drug addicted prostitute who would sell her own flesh and blood for a fix. I knew. Her pimp held my auction just before I left. I hadn’t stuck around for the end of sale. This creep was not the most stable though; who knew how he’d react if I didn’t cooperate. So I lied.

Uh… She has a few places.

Show me. He was shaking more, and I would have been pleased at this evidence he was a bit weak from withdrawal, except he had what felt like a knife. I couldn’t really see it, pressed up face first against the wall, with it jammed against my back. I was of the opinion that if it felt like a knife, it was most likely a knife. Besides he had blood on him.

Sure, I offered, thinking quickly, I’ll even share it with you, but can you calm down, you’re hurting me.

Shut up! He hissed again.

He eased up a little, but he was still rough. His hands might be shaking, but he was still keeping himself under some control. This was good, because he hadn’t gone berserk and started cutting me. It was bad because he was still thinking very fast, and had enough self-control to be dangerous. The voice was a dead giveaway. He kept his left hand firmly clamped around my right arm, and spun me around with it, the knife in his other hand dropped to his side. He shoved me up against the wall and leaned close. I held my breath.

Believe me when I say speed makes you ugly. It’s in the eyes, but also in the skin and the teeth. You don’t look after yourself, so you get ugly. My mother wore make-up to hide it, which went with her job description. She was a hooker. He was just a guy. He had been ugly before speed I would imagine, with brown straggly curly hair, a weak chin, and eyes that were too close together and an odd blue-green. Speed didn’t help.

He also had very bad breath and green teeth. I’d never seen green teeth before and I’d seen some horrible sights. Mum’s teeth were yellow, not green. His breath was like he’d inhaled six week old rotting smokes, and mixed them with stale mayonnaise. I wouldn’t have cared. It wasn’t like I was looking at dating the creep, except now he was up close and personal. I was hoping like crazy he wasn’t thinking about what I was most afraid of. He leaned even closer, and then I knew he was.

Uh… I gasped out. I can’t find it, if you don’t let me move. He backed off, but kept a grip on my arm. I pulled away, and acted unconcerned. He probably thought I was one of her ‘girls’. Mum ran a ‘stable’ now I’d heard. ‘Girls’ like that only care about the colour of your money, and would sleep with a corpse. I was hoping my acting was up to the task.

Sometimes she keeps a stash in here, I said, as nonchalantly as I could. I’d be fine if I didn’t piss myself. Ease up; I can’t open her hidey holes if you don’t let me go. This was true. How could I pull a chest of drawers away from the wall, or crawl under a sink if some idiot was holding me this close. I walked round the corner into the sleeping area as I spoke, and my voice gave way to a gasp. Then I found it again.

You killed her!

Shut up! He dropped the knife and grabbed me. I guess he thought I was too small and weak to get away fast enough so he didn’t think he needed it. Was he right? His hand was over my mouth, he had another hand round me pulling me close again. He smelt worse than his breath. Did this guy sleep at the town tip?

I told myself to stop being an idiot and focus. What did it matter if the guy hadn’t bathed in twenty years, lived at the rubbish dump and had the manners of Sid Vicious? The only important thing about him was he was coming down off a speed high, and was violently unstable.

Lmmmgo! I mumbled. He didn’t, but his hand eased off my mouth cautiously.

Don’t scream again.

It was a shock. He loosened his hold. I drew in a shaky breath.

Don’t scream again. He repeated himself.

I won’t. He let go.

The ‘victim’ was my mother, assuming she was dead. I suppose that explained the blood on him. There was a lot of blood. I’d seen movies with dark dripping blood. This wasn’t like that. It was more like bright red dye, and it was spattered on the walls, bed and window. Some had dripped down like when you spray too much cleaner on the wall, and it hits it and trickles down. Some had pooled on the floor. Could a human body contain that much blood and live? I didn’t see her chest move.

I wasn’t sure if my reactions were at all normal, since I was looking at the body of my mother. Shouldn’t I feel something? Well, shouldn’t I feel something other than fear of the creep who’d obviously killed her, and some nausea. Perhaps this was shock or something – this numbness at the sight of her. Then I told myself anyone who’d had the life I’d had wouldn’t care about the suffering of their mother. Then I told myself to focus on escaping.

Next door I could hear someone making sounds like they were preparing to run. Furtive sounds, quick packing sounds, sounds like the quiet opening of doors… It wouldn’t help me. People here, renting two room apartments that were virtually squats, in this part of town, were not likely to ring triple zero. My only hope was the pedestrian shoppers downstairs - or getting away myself.

Can you move her? He gave me a suspicious look.

Why?

She often has a stash back behind it, I indicated the drawers near her body as I spoke. I didn’t know if she did, but I hadn’t seen a power point anywhere else in the room, and there was a lamp on the drawers. A power point is a hole in the wall, so something could be behind it. When he reached down to grab her, I went on, I’ll just get a bread and butter knife from the kitchen to use as a screw driver. I went as innocently as I could around the corner, calling out – Move the drawers!, as I went because I needed him busy, and loud.

I was lucky. The guy was desperate, shaky and not thinking well.