Successions of Somethings

By M.E. Woolery

Successions of Somethings is the first in a series of books that follow Pearl Mackinac through life changing moments in which various people and her interactions with them shape who and what she is. This first book in the series is Pearl's retelling of her confrontation with her childhood abuser and the demons that tormented her as a result of succumbing to victimization. She begins her tale when two police officers show up at her door to question her about her activities the previous night. Pearl takes the police officers on a journey though her childhood and through the activities that led them to her home. The officers and readers areintrigued and bewildered at her strange demeanor as she recounts her story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781449038779

M.E. Woolery

Mary Elizabeth Woolery was born and raised in Redlands, California to a mechanical contractor and a homemaker. She moved to rural Arkansas in 1990 where she currently resides with her family. She is a college instructor and a lover of life. She is an avid Kiwanis member and works primarily with their college group CKI. She loves volunteer work and helping students see their learning potential as well as their hidden servant heart. Although she often grows homesick for the sun and lifestyle in So Cal, she loves the Ozark hills and admits she cannot picture life more perfect than the bluffs and rivers of the Ozarks. You may visit her at [e-mail].

Book preview

Chapter One

"He Himself will deliver you from the hunter’s net,

from the destructive plague"

Psalm 91:3

SHE STOOD AT the kitchen sink, filled the stainless steel, cobalt blue bulb percolator, and looked out into the foggy, damp street. There she saw the street lamp flicker in those early morning hours. Twenty-seven year old Pearl Mackinac woke early in order to prepare for guests. No, she had not invited anyone, but she knew (the same way she instinctively knew so much before it ever happened) that someone would stop in for a visit today. She filled the percolator—as she was always unconventional where coffee was concerned and didn’t like the taste of that brewed in the coffee maker—placed it on the cook-top, and set the table for her guests. She set out muffins, sugar, creamer, butter, cream cheese, and other items to make her guests feel comfortable while they visited.

Seeing the table prepared, Pearl went into her bedroom, slipped into the shower, cleaned and dried, then put on her jeans and a blouse, fixed her hair and make-up, and tidied up the bed. She continued neatening the interior of the house and then turned the pot on the stove down to stay warm until the arrival of her guests. She was not nervous, as she had known for 20 years that this day would come, and all truth would be exposed. She sat on the couch and opened her Woman’s World magazine. She began reading and thumbing through the recipes when the telephone rang. Checking the caller ID, she answered.

Hi Mom. What’s up?

Pearl, I had another dream about you. Are you ok?

Yes, mom. I am fine. I’m just sitting here reading.

Pearl, I tried to call you last night and couldn’t get a hold of you. Your voice mail said that you were not receiving calls.

I’m sorry mom. I just wanted some quiet time. The kids are at their dad’s, and it was just nice to be alone.

Okay then… as long as you are okay. But, well, I know you are not telling me the truth. You never just turn off your phone. Hmm… Anyway, what are your plans today?

Mom, I am fine; just a little down. You know how I get when the kids are gone. I am alone with my thoughts and… well you know—I just threw myself a pity party and stayed in for the most part.

The truth was that her mother didn’t know how Pearl got when she was alone. Pearl thought; sure, but the memories that perplexed her mind were not only of her children but those of her own childhood and how she longed to protect her children from ever knowing the terrible truths that she survived. She longed to keep that part of life a secret and protect her children from ever seeing an existence like that. A life that they were unaware of, and as far as anyone else knew Pearl too was oblivious to pain of that nature.

Mom, I am in the middle of something right now… balancing my checkbook, and then, well, I am expecting a couple of people to discuss some business. May I call you back later tonight?

Okay, Pearl. You call me when you have time. Are you sure everything is all right? Sure you don’t need to talk? You don’t need any money do you?

Slightly grinning at the comment she answered, No, mom. Everything is fine. I will call you tonight after the kids get home.

Bye Pearl.

Good-bye mom.

Pearl hung up the telephone and continued thumbing through the pages of her magazine stopping only to stare at a recipe for which she would save that issue, only to throw it away later and never make the featured dish. She had always loved cooking. By the time she was eight years old, her parents had given her free reign in the family kitchen. She thought she was the queen of the cook-and-serve Jello chocolate pudding. She was the fourth of five children, and cooking supper with her mother became one of her primary responsibilities and passions.

As Pearl sat in the living room, she listened to the clock on the table next to her tick tick tick tick: Time plodded loudly as she sat in her aloneness. The phone did not ring except for her mother, nor had she heard a knock at the door. She began to play the previous night’s details through her mind. Starting with her ex-husband picking up her kids and telling her that he had forgotten about something they were going to do, so they would be late Saturday night. She quickly replayed moment by moment of the next ten hours and brought herself back to the moment she sat waiting on the couch for her guests. She was brought back to that time by a loud, sharp rap rap rap at the door and simultaneous chirping of the doorbell.

I’m coming. I’m coming. Just a minute, she said as she glanced through the glass then opened the door slowly to see who might be on the other side. There on her front porch stood her friend, Tom Conner, a man in his mid-forties who worked as a sergeant for the local police force. He stood with a female officer who looked to be all of 17. Both were dressed in uniform.

Ms. Mackinac, Pearl Tom asked.

Yes. May I help you?

Ma’am, uh Pearl, this is Detective Walters, and well—you know me. We need to ask you a few questions. May we come in?

Why, I suppose. I have kind of been expecting you anyhow.

The two detectives looked at each other in smug suspicion and quietly stepped in to the entrance of Pearl’s home. She showed them to the living room and asked if she could get them anything.

No, we are fine. We just need to ask you a few questions about last night.

Ma’am, said Detective Walters, There has been an accident, and we have some pretty difficult news to tell you.

The phone rang again, and Pearl excused herself from the room to take the call in the other room. From the other end she only heard crying and sobbing that was tinged with words she could not make out.

Mom—Is that you? She looked at the caller ID and said it again. Mom, is that you?

Yes, Pearl… . iiiiit’s awful. Ohhhh, Pearl.

Mother, where’s daddy? Tell him to get the phone. You go sit down, and get dad.

Pearl’s father was always better in a crisis than his wife. Countless times in Pearl’s youth, her father proved this, but one time always stood out more than others. When