Remission: A Justice Seeker Novel

By T. D. Croel

James Chalmers, a less-than-honorable attorney who has lost everything due to his drinking, womanizing, and gambling, is dying of cancer. He stoically accepts his fate until a mysterious woman from his past shows up to offer him the ultimate giftimmortality. But there is only one problem: the gift comes with a catch.

In order to keep his cancer at bay and get a second chance to be a good person, Chalmers must be willing to take the life of another and seek justice for those who cannot find it for themselves. Haunted by the thoughts of having to murder in order to stay alive, Chalmers struggles to understand how his gift is anything more than a curse. Chalmers is befriended by fellow Justice Seeker, Carlos. Together they head to Mexico with the hope of a better life. There, theyll have the chance to learn to accept their fates. If they cant do so, they can pass their gifts on to anotherwith death as the consequence.

In this novel, a tortured soul embarks on a remarkable path of self-discovery as he contemplates how far he will travel to preserve his life and whether the cost is really worth it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491719060

T. D. Croel

T. D. Croel earned a bachelor of arts from the University of Michigan–Flint and a master’s degree in sport management from the United States Sports Academy. He is a freelance writer, screenwriter, and author of the novel The Secrets and Lies of Yooper Girls. He lives in Chicago, Illinois.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Mr. Chalmers, the young doctor said, looking down at his clipboard, refusing to look the 40-year-old lawyer in his eyes. You should have come in much earlier…

James Chalmers had been forced to listen to the man repeat this statement three times already. He finally cut him off.

But, I didn’t…so, I’m guessing it is throat cancer. His voice was raspy and sounded as if he had just finished a screaming match with a teenage girl—and lost.

The doctor finally took his eyes off his clipboard and looked at Chalmers. Our worst fears were confirmed—yes, throat cancer…but, it’s metastasized to your stomach and kidneys. His voice trailed off.

Chalmers knew what the doctor’s uncomfortable and awkward demeanor meant, but asked the question anyway.

Any hope?

Well, we can hope to make you more comfortable, but a complete recovery? I’m afraid not.

Chalmers chuckled. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark, hair like a comb—a habit.

Jesus, I go from thinking I have the worst sore throat ever to being told I’m a dead man.

I wish you would have come to me sooner, the doctor said, once again diverting his eyes to the clipboard. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. What’s done is done.

Chalmers waved a hand at him in dismissal. Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty much an asshole. I’m pretty sure I had it coming.

The doctor bit his lip, unable to respond to the bizarre comment. Chalmers felt a sadistic joy in making the oncologist uncomfortable. He stood up and walked toward the examination room door.

Mr. Chalmers…we…we haven’t discussed treatment to prolong your life and make you more comfortable, the doctor stammered.

Not interested, Dr. Stewart, Chalmers said, opening the door.

The doctor hustled to the door and put a hand on Chalmers’ wrist. Sir, I know this is hard to hear, but trust me, the pain you will go through is going to be tortuous.

Chalmers didn’t answer. Instead he waited for the doctor to remove his hand from his wrist.

Dr. Stewart added, Isn’t an extra few months with your loved ones worth it? Chalmers still didn’t answer. Maybe you are an asshole, I don’t know you. But, you don’t have to die one…right?

Chalmers smiled. The doctor had balls after all.

I tell you what, Dr. Stewart. Let me take care of something. If things work out then I will do everything I can to prolong my life. If you don’t see me soon… He shook his head and smiled. …then I die an asshole.

Dr. Stewart took his hand off of Chalmers’ wrist and let him go. Good luck.

Chalmers felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He read a text before thrusting the contraption back into his pocket. Christ, Figgins. Something came up.

Chalmers parallel parked his used Volvo into a spacious spot in Wrigleyville—directly in front of a fire hydrant. Time was tight and he didn’t have any to spare. He slammed his door shut and sighed as he carried a wrapped present that fit neatly in the palm of his hand.

As he reached the top step of his destination he placed his head against the door, sighed, and pressed the doorbell. He felt like a schoolboy ringing the door of a crush—only his desperation in avoiding rejection was neither cute nor frivolous.

Chalmers pulled his head back quickly as the door suddenly opened.

You’ve got to be kidding me, the man at the door barked. He folded his arms and shook his head.

I want to see her, Chalmers said with complete control. Please.

Who? My wife or my daughter? Because neither one of those two things is going to happen.

Venom swept through Chalmers’ body. She’s my daughter! He threw his hand up to his throat as the pain rushed through his voice box. He could taste the stale metallic flavor of the blood that had crept up into his mouth.

A woman walked up behind her husband with her arms crossed. What are you doing here?

The petite brunette tucked her shoulder cropped hair behind her ears then brought them back to a folded position.

Calmness returned. Chalmers hated losing control of his emotions; it was the one thing he owned and was able to use to his advantage in nearly any situation. Janine, please, he said hoarsely. You know what I’m doing here. He held out the present to confirm it. I just want to give my daughter a present on her birthday.

No, the woman said coldly. You had your chance to be a father to her when we were married and you had no time for her. You had your chance after our divorce and you made it even worse.

Listen, I know I screwed up…repeatedly, but this is too much.

No you listen! The judge said she doesn’t have to see you if she doesn’t want to, Janine seethed. Her husband threw an arm around her in support.

Chalmers started to chuckle, but quickly stopped as the pain came back. She doesn’t want to see me because you’ve poisoned her mind when it comes to me?

Yeah, that’s what I did. As she sat on the couch time after time waiting for her father I wasn’t telling her that you were probably just delayed. When you didn’t answer the phone I wasn’t telling her that you have a very important job and probably can’t answer, but you will just as soon as you have a chance…because you love her and would never hurt her. Her sarcasm was thick and sharp with the truth.

Chalmers stood mute. He still didn’t believe that she would ever defend him, but also knew it was his fault that he was in the position he was in. Well, I’m here now and I’m trying to do the right thing.

Doing the right thing? Janine laughed. Like when you had an affair with your boss’s wife?

Jesus, Janine. You’re bringing up that? So, I shouldn’t be able to see my daughter because of it? It wasn’t while we were married. Chalmers decided to go from the defensive to the offensive. I was out the door for how many weeks before Captain Douchebag, here, was sleeping in my bed?

Danny Anderson, a blue collar type and a head taller than Chalmers, thrust a finger at him. You better hope it doesn’t come to me having to open this door, friend.

Chalmers took his eyes off the much bigger man and returned them to Janine.

You promised me when we divorced that you would never keep Maria from me.

"You’re right, I did; but under certain conditions and you couldn’t meet them. All you had to do was keep in regular contact with her, see her every other weekend. You couldn’t do that. You couldn’t stop screwing up…You couldn’t stop gambling, drinking, whoring around. No one was, or ever will be enough to stop you from being you. You’re sick, James. Just get help and leave us alone."

Maria! He caught a glimpse of his thirteen-year-old daughter walking toward the door. She saw Chalmers and retreated immediately to the kitchen. He immediately started coughing uncontrollably.

Does it look like she wants to see you? Janine said calmly. Don’t come around here anymore or I will call the police.

Janine started to slam the door, but Chalmers put a hand out. His face was bright red and he couldn’t stop coughing.

What’s wrong with you? Janine said with absolutely no sympathy.

Chalmers hunched over and put his hands on his knees, desperately trying to stop the coughing and regain his composure. Finally, he stood up and managed to get out, I’m dying, Janine.

It seemed like an eternity to Chalmers before his ex-wife finally elicited a response. It wasn’t the one he was hoping for. She burst into laughter.

Oh, that’s good, James, he heard as the door slammed in his face. He thought about pounding on the door, but knew it wouldn’t solve anything. He would end up with an injured hand, or worse, in jail. He gently tapped the side of his fist against the heavy door before setting the gift down on the porch and slowly walked back to his car.

Chalmers pulled an orange envelope from under his windshield wiper. He looked around, before spotting the yellow-vested meter man across the street. He gave the man a sarcastic wave.

Chalmers opened the door and slid into his car, defeated. He threw the parking ticket onto the passenger seat—directly on top of two other orange envelopes, knowing the City of Chicago would never see any more money from him.

Janine sat on the couch; her 13-year-old daughter next to her with clenched hands. Honey, if you still want to see your father you can.

Maria Chalmers-Anderson shook her head. No, she said firmly. I just want him to leave me alone.

Do you want to keep the present? her mother asked.

Maria looked at the small gift that sat in her mother’s hands. No, she said sternly, despite the fact that her curiosity was nearing in power to her will.

How about if we just put it up in the closet? If you ever decide you want to open it, you can. If not, we’ll just let it collect dust.

Okay, she said, looking to her mother. It can also serve as a reminder of what a loser he is.

Danny Anderson stood to the side, not quite knowing what to say or do. His attention was taken away from his adopted daughter and wife to the television. As the news anchor spoke, a police sketch of a young man wearing a hoodie and sunglasses appeared in the corner.

Janine turned her attention to her husband as he pressed the volume button higher and higher. Does it really need to be so loud? she asked.

Without taking his eyes off the television he apologized and lowered the volume. Sorry.

The police now believe that they have an accurate description of what may be a serial killer they have dubbed the ‘Vigilante,’ said the anchorman. According to police, upwards of seven convicted sex offenders, including four child molesters may have been killed by this man.

The shot switched to a street corner; a microphone thrust into the face of an African American woman in her early twenties. If you ask me, I’m glad this dude is out here taking care of business.

So, it doesn’t bother you that he may be trying to supersede the justice system, the reporter asked.

Justice System? the woman asked incredulously as she scrunched her face. I prefer this type of justice.

Do we really have to watch this, right now? Janine asked.

Sorry, her husband responded again, hitting the mute button.

CHAPTER TWO

There he is, Chalmers heard as he made it to the final step.

He had attempted to circumvent the large gathering of media by outflanking them to the left of Cook County’s wide grey cement steps. Like bees on honey, they swarmed him before he could make it through a revolving door.

Chalmers ignored the cameras and microphones and pushed his way through the crowd. A hundred questions were thrown at him.

What do you think your chances are now?

Is there a plea bargain on the table?

What about justice for Katie?

Chalmers ignored them all. He was never a media whore. He saved his charm for the courtroom and the ladies. The media rarely had an impact on what went on inside the walls of the courtroom—that was his domain.

Chalmers made his way to a waiting bench outside of Courtroom A; the room set aside for the cases that garnered the most media attention.

Jonathan Figgins, a portly man and a head shorter than Chalmers, hustled to catch up to him.

Hey, Chalmers, what gives? We were supposed to meet for tennis this morning.

Jesus, Figgins, something came up, Chalmers chirped. He looked over his friend and opponent’s head, trying to find his client.

Yeah, what was her name? Figgins pouted. You could have called.

Chalmers rolled his eyes. His friend knew him too well, but was dead wrong in this situation.

It’s not too late for a plea bargain, you know, Chalmers said, changing the subject. He plopped a lozenge into his mouth; something that had become almost as much habitual as it was necessary.

You still got a cold?

Yup, nasty thing it is, can’t seem to shake it, Chalmers responded still on the lookout for his client. Plea bargain, Figgins? Your last chance. You know you can’t beat me in there.

Chalmers finally looked down at Figgins.

Not a chance, this mother is going to get her justice.

It had already been clearly established by the prosecution that there would be no plea in this case. Chalmers’ client, insurance executive Ted Conrad, was going to be the first person in the state of Illinois to be tried for murder in a drunk driving case.

Chalmers grinned and smacked his friend lightly on the cheek.

How many times I have to tell you… Chalmers set his eyes on Figgins. …justice is like Santa Clause. It’s fun to believe in… Chalmers leaned down and whispered, …but it’s not real.

You’re an ass, you know that?

Don’t forget to put a quarter in your wife’s swear jar, Chalmers countered.

Figgins shook his head and stormed off.

Chalmers looked down at his watch. He didn’t notice a man hidden by the day’s newspaper.

Big day, James.

Everyone except for his family and his ex, referred to him by his last name—everyone, except Gary Jones, a law firm partner. Jones referred to all of his subordinates by their last name—every subordinate except Chalmers.

I didn’t see you there. You should go into espionage.

Jones didn’t laugh. Have a seat, he ordered. Chalmers did as directed. You feeling all right?

Chalmers looked gaunt and jaundiced. Yeah, I’ll be okay.

Jones nodded, but his eyes suggested he doubted the validity of the statement.

Guess what I have in this here briefcase, Jones said, patting the expensive executive model between his legs. His eyes had a stony grey seriousness to them.

Well, my birthday is coming up, Chalmers said nonchalantly, still looking out for his client.

You’re a funny guy, James, Jones said. I suppose it might be considered a present. It’s your severance package.

That hardly seems fair, Chalmers calmly responded, finally looking at Jones.

Jones chuckled softly, but his eyes never changed expression. James, your work here at the firm has been in a steady decline for the past three years. You’re a gambling addict, a drunk, and probably a sex addict to boot. Now, for the longest time, everyone just looked the other way because of your track record. We used you. Hell, we even fueled your fire. It was a symbiotic relationship for sure. But even a rhino eventually gets sick of the oxpecker. And yes, you’re the pecker in this relationship.

Chalmers smiled. He didn’t like Jones, but he did appreciate his humor. So, is this a done deal?

Jones sighed. No, nothing ever is. You get the prosecution to lower the charge to vehicular manslaughter and a minimum sentence and you keep your job.

Well, then I’m not worried. So, you rooting against me?

Jones stood and looked down and into Chalmers’ eyes. Despite the fact that you slept with my wife… I always root for the home team.

Go, team, go, Chalmers said to no one. Jones had already departed for a good seat in the courtroom.

Chalmers stood and watched as his very wealthy client strolled toward him like a man heading for the beer line at a Cubs game. The man looked too casual and too cocky for Chalmers’ liking.

Hey… Chalmers said before being interrupted by an elderly African American woman.

The elderly woman stood directly between him and his client. She held her purse under her arms and shot Chalmers a gap-toothed smile. She ignored Conrad like he was invisible.

You don’t remember me, do you? she said gently.

No, ma’am, I don’t. Listen, my client, there, he said, pointing over her shoulder to Conrad, needs me right now.

The woman reached out and took hold of his wrist gently. I won’t take much of your time.

Ma’am, I’m sorry, I really am. Let me give you my… He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Her grip got stronger, incredibly strong for such a frail looking woman. He tried to pull away.

Please, don’t, dear. She patted his hand with her free one. Kenton Pharmaceuticals.

Chalmers’ eyes lit up. He finally recognized the woman. He looked over her shoulder to Conrad. Meet me inside. I’ll be right there. Conrad walked away and Chalmers returned his attention to the slight woman. Ma’am, I’m very sorry that we didn’t win that case, we should have. But, sometimes, things just don’t work out. He tried to remove his hand again, but her grip got stronger. He could have escaped it, but felt silly participating in her tug-o-war and allowed her to hold on, impressed with her physical strength.

I picked you specifically, you know.

Chalmers softened. Why?

Because I saw kindness and compassion in you. You weren’t like the others. What happened, dear? Her smile softened to a disappointed look only a grandmother can give.

CHAPTER THREE

1993

A 25-year-old Chalmers sat back in a diner booth, his tie undone. His thick mane of dark brown hair and physique were the same as they would be fifteen years later. The only difference—a young man’s face, free of all wrinkles. Chalmers cocked his head to the side and tapped quickly on the table like a drummer.

I have you boys and you know it. His smile was wide.

The man across from him didn’t return his smile; his look was serious. He pushed a fine leather attaché case across the table.

What’s this, a bribe? Chalmers said, laughing.

The man kept his silence and held out his hand suggesting that Chalmers open it.

Chalmers’ smile disappeared. He unbuckled the antique snap and peered inside the case. He whistled before returning his eyes to the mysterious man. How much?

The man finally smiled. I was right about you.

Chalmers repeated himself—with attitude. How much?

Five hundred thousand, the man said. He remained stone faced.

But, my client is only asking for one hundred and…

The man held a hand up and stopped Chalmers. "Come on. Mr. Chalmers, you’re a bright guy. You know this isn’t about 150K. It’s about millions, perhaps even a billion dollars. She wins and the tsunami of lawsuits comes crashing in on Kenton. You do realize you’re her second attorney. We already offered her three times as much to settle out of court. She refused.

Chalmers shook his head. He had never been faced with a dilemma of this magnitude.

Mr. Chalmers, we know about your debt. To Visa, Master Card, your landlord…and yes, even Cesar’s Palace.

Chalmers swallowed hard. He threw his hands up in the air. You just said it, she isn’t going to settle, so what do you expect me to do?

Look inside the envelope.

Chalmers reached inside the attaché case and pulled out a manila envelope. He chuckled as he looked over a thin, stapled packet of papers. He flipped one page after another, scanning the contents. And starring the bumbling, idiot lawyer…James Dean Chalmers.

Just follow the script, the man said as he stood.

Chalmers stared at the attaché case, and then looked up at the man. Any adlibbing?

Very little, Mr. Chalmers, very little. The man walked away before turning back to Chalmers. He smiled. You’re a smart man. Do not attempt to have your cake and eat it too. It’d prove to be very unhealthy for you.

Chalmers watched the man leave. A few minutes later he threw everything back into the attaché case and left. Come on cake, let’s go eat some pie.

He followed the script as ordered. He botched certain aspects, but in a way that made him look like the rookie lawyer he was, not someone who was bought off. He led his witnesses right into the teeth of Kenton’s corporate sharks. The jury deliberated for all of one hour before finding in favor of the pharmaceutical giant.

Outside the courtroom Chalmers tried to avoid Selma Barron. He attempted to make his way through the crowd of court hall dwellers and out of the building, but she caught him as he made it to the revolving doors.

His conscience wouldn’t allow him to brush her off and walk past the smiling woman.

I’m sorry, Mrs. Barron.

She slapped him gently on both cheeks and smiled her gap-toothed grin. You did your best, and that’s all you can do.

Chalmers could only nod. He tried to escape her eyes, but it was impossible.

She gave him one more pat, then moved on and back to her simple life in a ghetto neighborhood on the west side of Chicago taking care of her remaining two grandsons.

Selma repeated herself. What happened, dear?

Chalmers came back to the present.

I lost my way, he mumbled.

Yes, sweetie, you did.

I tried to help in my own way.

I know you did, and the mysterious money that landed on my doorstep certainly helped to raise two wonderful grandsons. They both graduated from college, ya know. You helped, James, you really did. Selma sighed, before continuing. But I never wanted anyone’s money. I wanted justice, James.

Eventually, Kenton Pharmaceuticals did go under, Ms. Barron. You did get your justice.

Eventually, she said as if it were a mysterious word. Yes, but how many more children died from their poison, James? How many?

Chalmers remained mute. He could only shake his head.

You’re a good man, James. I believe that. As God is my witness, I do believe it. But, you’re still lost…and you’re sick; very, very sick. She looked around his face and saw everything but his face.

Chalmers had forgotten all about court. Is it that obvious?

Selma Barron ignored the question. James, I’m going to give you a gift. I can see in your eyes that you truly want to live. You still have a chance to be a good person. Just not the way you wanted to. That time is gone.

Selma Barron leaned into Chalmers as if she were ready to plant the biggest kiss upon his lips. Chalmers imagined they looked like the most unlikely romantic couple ever. He heard the bailiff inside calling for the courtroom to rise. He quickly came to his senses and jerked himself away.

Ms. Barron, please don’t go anywhere. Okay? I’ll be out in a few hours.

Okay, James. She waved him off. You go find justice for those who cannot.

Chalmers ran into the courtroom and was met by the steely glare of Justice Kinsey and the curious stares of everyone else.

I apologize, your honor. I’d explain, but I don’t think you would believe me, so…

So, let’s get going, the white haired, no-nonsense judge said.

CHAPTER FOUR

The thoughts of Selma Barron and her mysterious chatter distracted Chalmers. He didn’t hear the judge.

Mr. Chalmers…your witness. The ultra-serious justice put an open palm out toward the prosecution’s witness.

Yes…sorry, your honor.

His client looked at him curiously. You all right?

Yeah, I’m fine, Chalmers answered back, staring at the woman on the stand.

God, I hope so. I’m certainly paying enough, Ted Conrad said, clearly agitated.

Chalmers sighed heavily before standing up. Cross examination was where he made his name and his money. No witness was too tough; even a vulnerable one that had the jury’s strongest sympathies. Monica Standard bore a hideous looking scar above her right eye, walked with a limp, and most importantly had lost her three-year-old daughter in a devastating crash.

Ms. Standard, when you drive, do you often text?

Chalmers caught Figgins sitting up straighter in his chair. He turned back to the witness stand to see Standard looking over at Figgins.

Ms. Standard? Chalmers repeated in the calmest voice he could muster.

Not often, no? she answered, wringing her hands and biting her bottom lip.

Did your ex-boyfriend ever complain about you texting while driving?

He complained about everything, she answered with conviction. She glared over at a Hispanic man sitting in the gallery.

Chalmers laughed politely. Boyfriends usually do.

There was an uncomfortable smattering of laughter in the courtroom. The mood was one of sadness and anxiety; humor had a hard time finding a place in the tense atmosphere.

Miss, did he specifically have an issue with your texting?

Yes, she answered sharply, seeming to find her voice.

Chalmers continued. Did he specifically have a hard time with you texting while your child was in the car?

Figgins jumped up. Objection, I don’t see how this line of questioning is relevant in this case, your honor.

Kinsey, with eyes still peering over her glasses, moved them from Figgins to Chalmers. She arched them, suggesting she was giving him a chance to answer.

Your honor, my client is on trial for murder. I am trying to show that his actions played only a small part in the death of the child.

That’s fine and dandy, Mr. Chalmers, but Ms. Standard’s past texting transgressions don’t warrant any merit here, Justice Kinsey answered.

You’re right, but her texting that night, did.

Figgins came to a near scream. I object! He wiped the rapidly developing perspiration from his forehead. The defense has not presented any discovery of my client texting the night of the accident.

Is this true? Justice Kinsey asked Chalmers.

No, your honor, the evidence was given to Figgins’ aide three days ago.

Chalmers looked over to Figgins. He watched as he had a very animated, but quick discussion with his legal aide. Kenny Lewis, a mop topped kid in his last year of law school, frantically sifted through a box of pages as Figgins bombarded him with questions.

Okay, Mr. Chalmers. I’m inclined to believe you. She snorted. I know you’re not dumb enough to jeopardize your client’s fate with a mistrial.

You son-of-a…you buried the evidence, didn’t you? Figgins stood up holding a handful of paper. Your honor, he buried the evidence in hundreds of pages of drivel.

Figgins, it’s not my problem if the state doesn’t have the man power to sift through that much paper work, the judge answered. Get more interns…or a new one.

The three turned their attention to Kenny. He appeared to be in prayer.

Mr. Chalmers, you may proceed. I want to see a record of the discovery you sent to Mr. Figgins’ office immediate after the defense rests.

You got it… Chalmers felt an incredible pain in