The Lesser Man of Shiloh

By George Bailey

When a burnt out journalist (Ben Seldon) is viciously attacked and left for dead, a local Good Samaritan (Sam Murphy) comes to his rescue. After losing his wife, his money, and his job, Bens life is at its most critical point. Sam helps him fight his inner demons and weather countless trials as he learns to walk by faith and not by sight. With Sam as his mentor, Ben is able to find peace with God, regain control of his life and fall in love with a young widow (Sarah Tyler). As Ben and Sarah struggle to survive in Shiloh, other dark secrets unfold that involve Sams tragic past, a corrupt local Sheriff, a repentant judge, Sarahs murdered husband and a vicious madman on the loose. In Shiloh, dark secrets await every step and every turn is filled with corruption bitter hatred jealousy and betrayal. The story comes to a climatic showdown as everyones faith is tested beyond measure. At Shiloh - cowards become heroes and heroes become legends as they all encounter The Lesser Man of Shiloh

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491841402

Book preview

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Afterword

About The Author

This book is dedicated to Tonya, George and Elijah.

With special love, I want to thank them for inspiring me to always do my best.

To my dearest friend and wife, Thank you, Tonya.

I couldn’t have done it without you. I love you!

In addition, I’d like to thank my family and the members of Shiloh Church.

For Jackie, Andrew and Terresa—I love you and thanks for always being there!

I appreciate you all.

CHAPTER ONE

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord.

Psalm 37:23

April 20, 2004

It was another sunny Sunday afternoon and Ben Seldon was just awakening from a long night of binge drinking. He slumbered through his house intent on rendering himself the usual hangover prescription of a tall glass of water, a ham and cheese sandwich and two pain killers. Today they were desperately needed! He winced as he finally realized the awful taste of tequila lingering in his mouth. As he staggered into the bathroom, he muttered, Man, this is getting old.

He knew he was scraping the bottom of the barrel. He had very little money, a little bit of a job left, and too much ambition with no means to get there. He hovered over the sink as he looked disgustingly at himself in the mirror. He hated what he had become and worse yet, could see no future in where he was going. Sighing, he washed his face brushed his teeth quickly. His headache grew worse by the second. He went downstairs, made breakfast, and sat in total amazement of how his life had come so far from where he had been.

It hadn’t always been like this. Ben used to be a major player. He had nice cars, a half-million dollar house and money to burn. Now, he’s just another hard luck story. He had no friends, no money and was a dying shell of a man without control of his own life.

As he sat and ate his breakfast, the phone rang which shattered his fragile senses. The noise echoed in Ben’s head like a bell tower. He picked up the receiver quickly and looked at the caller ID. It was his editor, David Sanders. Ben thought, Not now! The least he could’ve done is given me a few hours to recover before bugging me for some job he wants done.

Ben picked up the receiver and in a voice low and monotone said, What’s up, Dave?

Ben, you haven’t left for Waco yet? the man asked angrily.

As you can see, I am still here, but I am in the process of leaving soon.

The anger in David’s voice then rose as he said, I don’t know why I waste my time with you, Ben. I’ve given you every opportunity to get yourself back together, but at my expense you blatantly blow off all the assignments that I give you. If you don’t want a job let me know right now and we can take care of this matter, or else I suggest you get down to Waco and get me a story.

Ben rubbed his forehead as David continued to belittle him over the telephone. He had been assigned to do a follow-up story on the Waco incident that happened a decade ago, but the problem was that those kinds of stories were handed down to the scrubs in the newsroom. A real journalist laughs at such assignments. Only a second-rate journalist is sent around telling the same old story that everybody’s heard a hundred times, in a different way. Ben’s assignment, was to write a new story about something that happened ten years earlier and that nobody really cared about anymore, just like him. The tension in David’s voice was palpable as he screamed into the phone.

Are you listening to me Ben?

Dave, I’ve got it under control, all right. I’m going to leave in about an hour and I’ll be there by evening tomorrow. You’ll have the story by the end of the week, just in time for next Sunday’s edition like you asked.

Ben, I’m only looking out for your best interest, he said almost sympathetically.

Yeah-well, if you were looking out for my best interest Dave you wouldn’t have given me a crappy assignment like this but it’s okay cause I love you anyway, Ben said in a condescending way.

As he hung up the phone, Ben gave an exasperated sigh. He could just feel the life being sucked out of his body once again. He knew it wasn’t Dave’s fault; he was just trying to make a buck by filling a slot in a newspaper. If he’d only done things differently, none of this would be happening. Sometimes you can’t blame anyone but yourself for the bad decisions we make. He sat back down and finished eating his breakfast. A sadness grew over him as he sat quietly. Things weren’t always like this though.

Four years earlier, Ben was at the top of his game. He was married to a beautiful woman, they were planning their future together, and he was the lead reporter for a major news magazine, The Inside Track. His life came to an abrupt end when he wrote a column exposing corporate espionage but experienced a onslaught of vicious attacks from those involved. A friend had given him a tip on stock manipulations and inside trading and when he wrote about it in his magazine column, the corporate players decided to get even. They sued for libel and won. Nothing that was written could be proven due to pay offs and cover-ups and Ben was a marked man. As a result, of his negligence, they retired Ben’s column and fired him on the spot. He now works for a local newspaper that his friend Dave owns and manages. Ben sank into depression and destroyed the rest of his life. He developed a terrible drinking habit and bad debt. Over the course of the last year, he bungled most of the assignments that Dave had given him and was now on thin ice. As punishment Dave gave him less than adequate assignments. Now, all he writes about are the menial stories that nobody wants to read about anymore. Fillers!

Since his income dropped drastically, Ben’s wife lost interest in their marriage. She later cheated and took what was left of Ben’s money and possessions. He knew the money was one of the reasons why she married him; he just didn’t realize it was the only reason. So there he was—a thirty-five-year-old shell of a man getting by on a little better than minimum wage and binging on alcohol every chance he could find to ease the pain of it all.

As he finally finished his breakfast, Ben stumbled back upstairs. The pain killers still hadn’t kicked in yet. He had to pack some clothes for the trip, so he grabbed the usual items. T-shirts, jeans and a few odds and ends. He only packed enough things for one week, the normal time it took him to research, conduct interviews and write a story.

After he finished packing, he grabbed a beer and went to work on his computer researching the whole incident once more. He wanted to have all of the facts fresh in his head before he started interviewing people about it. After an hour of glancing over as much information as he could find, Ben decided it was time to go.

Time crept by slowly that day but Ben knew if he didn’t get on the road soon, he’d never hear the end of it. As he got into his metallic blue, 1968 Mustang Coupe, he began to think of the old days. The Coupe was all that he had left of his former life. It was also the only thing that was paid off! He had always wanted a Coupe and spent countless hours restoring it to mint condition. After losing his wife, he lost interest in the car as well. What once used to be a shimmering restoration of beuty was now a dusty banged up mess.

As he sat in the car he remembered how excited he used to be to write a column. It felt like a feeling of overwhelming accomplishment when he wrote an article that he thought would touch or even change the life of at least one person who read it. That’s the whole reason he got into the field of journalism. Nowadays it seemed that just getting past the first sentence was just a challenge in itself. He was tired and burnt out, just like an old boxer who’s on the way down from a knockout punch. He was on a downward spiral. The only question was, when would he hit bottom?

Ben was on the highway pretty quickly and was soon on his way. It’s a sixteen-hour drive from Chicago to Waco and he knew he’d have to stop somewhere during the night. He took his map from under the seat and began to look for a stopping point. It was already 4 p.m. and it wasn’t going to take long for the still-lingering hangover to make him drowsy. Ben only wanted to get to the border before having to stop.

The highway moaned an annoying lullaby from the moment he left, but as he guessed, it only took five hours before arriving at the border. Feeling totally exhausted, Ben began to look for a hotel to take a break for the evening. He pulled into a local lodge and got a room for the night. The dilapidated, eerie inn would make a great setting for a horror movie, but Ben didn’t care. He went across the street to a little package store and bought a twelve-pack of beer to take back to his room.

When he returned, he turned on the television to see what was on, but all that seemed remotely interesting was an old Western TV show. So he sat and drank his blues away and wondered once again, How did I get into this mess? Ben crawled into bed close to midnight and fell fast asleep. The next morning he awoke at 6:15. He still had a long drive to make and didn’t want to waste time getting stuck in morning traffic. It was still a ten-hour drive to Waco, Texas. Ben threw his things together, took the key back to the clerk and was on his way.

The traffic moved rather quickly that morning and soon he was nearing Arkansas. After four hours, hunger set in, so he stopped just past Little Rock, and got a bite to eat at a roadside diner. The coffee was just what he needed. As he sat and ate lunch, Ben looked at the map again since it was so hard to review it while driving. He began to memorize the route into Waco, while he finished his cup of joe. It was tough for him to concentrate on his trip due to the lack of time he gave himself to sleep and the excessive alcohol he’d been consuming the last few days. His hangovers were running into each other nowadays and only more alcohol eased the pain. As tempted as he was to drink, he knew that he couldn’t do that and drive.

It wasn’t long before he was back in his car, recommencing what was beginning to feel like a never-ending trip. Eventually, he crossed the border into Texas. Ben was a southern boy by birth. He had always admired the personage of a cowboy. That seemed to fill his mind as he continued on his journey. The scenic view of the reddish-orange soil and rolling green hills made him think of the trails that Jesse James and Billy the Kid must’ve seen. Even the rough, gritty features of the people he passed exemplified the true harshness of the living conditions and the extremely hot temperatures there.

After a while he began to feel as if something was wrong. I should be getting close by now, he said to himself. Ben wanted to take the straightest route to Waco, but didn’t realize that he should’ve turned earlier. He had gone past Austin and was entering Shiloh, Texas. His body was tired and it was getting late again.

It was around 6 p.m. and the sun was starting to go down. Ben didn’t know which road he was on, and began to look on the map to see where he might be. Without realizing it, he began to drift onto the shoulder of the road. His car began to make a strange sound and Ben realized that it was gravel under his tire and not pavement. He instinctively jerked the wheel to the right, but lost control of the car. The car spun around several times before coming to a stop on the shoulder of the road. As the car came to an abrupt rest, the left front tire struck a sharp rock, and with a loud bang, it burst.

Great, this is just what I needed, Ben said to himself. He sat in the car for a moment, catching his breath and thinking how thankful he was to still be alive. Then all of a sudden, a voice behind him asked, Are you all right?

A black four-by-four pickup had been parked on the side of the road along with a white extended van. Ben had come close to hitting them and seemed to have frightened the driver of the van. One man jumped around wildly and finally jumped into the van and drove off fast. There were three other men that remained outside of the truck. Two of them were holding large bags but dropped them when Ben drove by. They had been startled by his spin out and looked cautiously at one another. Ben sat in his car talking to himself and did not realize that the three men had walked over to where he was.

Hey, are you all right? one of the men asked.

Yeah, I think so, Ben muttered, still shaken up.

You sure took a crazy ride, man, said a tall, skinny man with long, oily blond hair.

What happened? asked a taller, more stout fellow.

I was just trying to look at the map and didn’t realize I had drifted, Ben said. Listen, man, I’m sorry about that back there. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Another young man in a green army jacket asked, You ain’t from ’round here are ya?

Ben smiled trying to appease them. No, I’m actually from Chicago. I’m a reporter for a news magazine there, he said.

So you’re a writer, huh? asked the man in the army jacket.

Yes. My name is Ben, he said, reaching his hand out to shake.

The man looked at Ben’s hand as if something were wrong with it but then reached out his own. I’m Pete, he said as he shook Ben’s hand.

Pete had a medium build, dark brown eyes and brown, wavy shoulder-length hair. He was wearing jeans, a black heavy metal T-shirt and a green army jacket that looked as if it was straight from the ’70s. Pete was a handsome yet ruddy young man, but there was obviously more to him than what lie on the surface.

This is Bo, as he pointed to the tallest guy.

Bo had long dirty blonde hair that looked oily from not being washed and wore a scruffy goatee. Obviously Bo belonged in a trailer park somewhere, Ben thought. His whole appearance was appalling to say the least. It seemed impossible to think that someone would wear a white tank top, ripped jeans and rattlesnake boots on purpose.

That’s Steve back there in the truck. He’s a little hung over right now though but we call this little fella here is Cake, he said as he hugged the biggest guy around the shoulders.

Cake was at least six-feet-five-inches and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds or more. His hair was long and oily. He had a thick beard and wore a bright yellow shirt T-shirt with a black smiley face on it. The only problem was that the face was bleeding and had a Swastika on its forehead. He was ghastly huge for a man and would strike fear in most people’s hearts just at the mere sight of him. Surely Cake would have done well on some professional football team as an offensive lineman or something like that. His smile was half-cocked and almost appeared to be taunting Ben. He was the stereotypical Paul Bunyan type.

Despite the pleasant introductions, the men made Ben very uneasy, and they were even pushy in their seemingly polite courtesies. Either way, Ben was sure that he didn’t want them around too much longer.

Aw man, you blew out your tire. You need some help here with that? Pete asked with a huge grin on his face.

No, I think I can manage it on my own. I appreciate it though, Ben said.

Oh no, me and the boys here don’t mind lending a hand to such a fine gentleman like yourself, Pete added as he slapped Ben a tinge too hard on the chest.

Nope. Sure don’t, Cake said as he took the keys from the ignition and went around and popped the trunk. He took out the spare tire and the tools, and then Pete took the lug wrench away.

Here, let me get that for you! You must still be shook up from that spin out, man. I know I would be, Pete said still smiling a crooked smile.

Taken off guard by Pete’s strangely accommodating behavior, Ben didn’t see Cake when he grabbed him from behind in a rear bear-hug. Cake wrapped his huge arms around Ben’s chest, trapping Ben’s arms in the process. Pete walked up as Ben struggled to get away but there was no use. Cake’s grip was so intense that he was just like a rag doll in the arms of a crazed child.

Looks like your day is fixin’ to get worse, Ben, Pete said in a grisly tone.

Pete and Bo began punching him in the face and stomach while Cake continued to hold on like a python. Ben struggled and twisted until he managed to get one arm loose to grab hold of Pete’s arm.

Pete yelled, Woo-wee! Looks like we got ourselves a fighter, Bo!

Pete snatched his arm away as Bo continued to ferociously punch Ben in the face. Pete picked up the lug wrench that he dropped and tapped Bo on the shoulder. Ben could hardly see any longer and was severely confused. The punches came in quick succession but had stopped for a moment. As Ben raised his head slightly to see why they’d stopped punching him, he was able to see Pete standing like a batter on a baseball diamond. Pete tightly held the lug wrench in hand as his face grimaced and his eyes bulged with rage.

With the wrench wrapped tightly in his hands, Pete swung the wrench as hard as he possibly could and struck Ben on the side of his head. Ben’s head whipped violently as the wrench struck his head and his body fell limp in Cake’s arms. Sensing that the hit had either killed him or hurt him severely, Cake let go of Ben. Ben’s body slumped to the ground and he laid face down in the road. Ben’s face was battered and swollen, his eyes were still open and filled with blood, however there was no movement in his pupils. He had a huge gash on the side of his head where he’d been struk by the wrench. Blood began to pour from the huge wound and seeped from his mouth and nose. Ben laid seemingly lifeless on the pavement as the men cursed him, spit on him and shouted obscenities. Ben’s focus grew more and more tunneled. He wasn’t dead but he felt that he was dying. The voices of the men grew muffled and he could only see shadows moving around him. Ben laid there helplessly as he heard the sounds of banging metal and maniacal screams. Ben was still hanging on but could not move. He gurgled as he tried to talk.

As Ben made a faint gurgling sound, it caught Pete’s attention. Realizing that Ben was still alive, Pete walked slowly back towards Ben. As he stood over Ben’s battered body, he drew back and kicked him in the head with his boot as hard as he could. Ben’s eyes closed shut as he lost conscienceness immediately. Their insults echoed in his head as his eyes closed.

*     *     *

Ben could barely open his eyes as rain fell across his bleeding, pounding head. It was a mixture of blood and crystallized water. It was dark now and he had no idea where he was. His head throbbed in excruciating pain. Ben tried to get to his feet but was unable to stand. He struggled to lift his head to see where he was and saw that he was lying in the middle of the road. Huge bright lights were approaching him from a short distance. As they got closer, Ben, still glued to the pavement, realized it was a pickup truck. With a seemingly supernatural strength, he managed to get on all fours and lift one arm into the air the best that he could.

His balance was thrown off so badly that he fell over on his side and saw a flash of light like a knockout punch. The rain pattered his face annoyingly. He could hear the sound of an engine getting closer and tried to focus his eyes again, but the pouring rain blurred Ben’s vision so badly that he could hardly see a thing. The lights got closer and closer. Ben thought to himself, This is the end.

With the truck within twenty feet of him, the driver finally saw through the heavy rain and realized that a body was lying in the road. The driver abruptly swerved to the left side of the road, then back to the right. It was a good thing that the driver saw him when he did, otherwise he’d have ran Ben over. The brakes squealed as the truck came to a stop. An old man jumped out of the truck as fast as he could and ran over to Ben, who remained lying helplessly on the road.

You all right? the old man asked.

The best Ben could do was mumble. His face was severely swollen and he could hardly see anything. His body ached with pain and panic whad begun to set in. This combined with the mixture of confusion and concern overtook Ben. He couldn’t help but think, The last person who asked if I was all right beat the hell outta me.

Let me help you off the road there, fella, the old man said.

Ben finally began to come around as the gentleman helped him over to his truck. Ben could barely see but managed to make out a severely beaten car on the side of the road. Those men had destroyed his car! They burst all of his windows, ripped up the seats and flattened all of the tires. On top of that, the front bumper was hanging halfway off, all the lights were shattered, and the hood was lifted, with all sorts of parts torn out. With all the dents Ben’s car sustained, it looked like those hoodlums took the wrench to it. Evidently, that car became the focus of their frustration after Ben passed out.

Looks like you must’ve made somebody awfully mad, my friend, the old man said. Don’t know why someone would do such a thing. The man continued to speak. He was kind and considerate as he tended Ben with great care.

We’re gonna have to get you to the doctor, son. Up you go. The old man lifted Ben up into his truck. Come on, I got ya, the old man said, helping Ben up.

The old man was unusually strong for his age. No doubt he was some kind of farmer or something. He put Ben into the truck and recognized that the truck was almost as old as his good Samaritan was. But no sooner than he got inside the truck, Ben passed out again.

*     *     *

It was 7 a.m. the next day when Ben opened his eyes again. He looked around and saw that he was in a doctor’s office lying on a bed. There were medical charts on the wall and instruments sitting on a table. It was a rustic-looking room, with Norman Rockwell-style pictures on the wall. The more he looked around, he could see that it wasn’t just a doctor’s office; it was a room in someone’s house. Ben heard voices talking on the other side of the door. He recognized one of the voices as the old man who had found him. The other voice was unfamiliar.

How you think he’s gonna be, Doc? the old man asked.

Well, as long as he gets some rest and takes it easy for a few days, I think he should heal up pretty good, the doctor responded. You say you found him just lying in the road like that, Sam?

Yeah, looked like he stepped into a war zone, the old man replied.

The door opened and an older black man entered the room. He was wearing a flannel shirt and had a stethoscope around his neck. He limped into the room followed closely by the old man (Sam). Both of them appeared to be in their sixties. The doctor had white hair, a matching patchy, white beard, and wore bifocals. Both men smiled when they realized that Ben was awake.

Sam here tells me you were on the road all beat up like this, the doctor queried. Can you tell me what you remember?

Uh… I remember a black pickup and somebody hitting me, Ben answered as best he could.

He remembered there being more than one guy, but never really got a good look at them. The aching was so awful that Ben felt like a boulder had squished his body. This, of course, made it almost impossible for him to think.

The doctor turned and looked at Sam, who just shook his head and looked down.

Do you remember anything else, son? the doctor asked.

No… Just that. What all did they do, sir? Ben asked concerned.