Angellove: We Were the Lucky Ones. (Book 1 Part 1/3)

By Bronwyn Rust

When SADNESS turns to ANGER...
When the GOOD become BAD...

“The line dividing good and evil runs through
the heart of every human being.”

Set in the picturesque State of Oregon, in a small town on the coastline. Chief Medical Examiner and Consulting Forensic Pathologist, Dr. Madison Für Immer, and her sister, Lucy, are like night and day, but inseparable. Madison, her devoted boyfriend Dean, Lucy, their mother Jessie, and their friends, are thrown into a chilling web of helplessness and hopelessness, at odds with the justice system, when they are struck by an unimaginable tragedy of dark, horrific and graphic events that changes everything.
This tragic event has taken their dreams and plans for the future, on a path fraught with alcohol, drugs, depression, anger, sorrow, and pure animalistic rage.
In this suspenseful and gripping thriller, follow Madison on a journey, at war with herself, battling between what is good and what is evil, and the difference between justice and vengeance.
She finds herself in a nightclub, where drugs go down faster than drinks, and finds new use for her medical expertise when she decides to let all feelings disappear, and what chaos it brings. She goes on a violent rampage, and a pursuit of hair-raising suspense is underway.

At it's heart, it's a universal story of unconditional love, loss, friendship, and faith. It's chillingly mesmeric in tone, incorporating authentic forensic detail, with powerful intensity and palpable emotion.

"There is always some light in the darkness and some darkness in the light."

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LOSE SOMEONE, YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bronwyn Rust
• Release date: Jan 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780994668141

Bronwyn Rust

Born and raised in sub-saharan Africa, in the small city of East London, on the Wild Coast of South Africa. Bronwyn grew-up as the youngest of two children in a middle-class family of four. Bronwyn is of German and Irish blood ancestry, she stands at 5 feet, has green eyes, is fair-skinned, with long dark brunette hair. She wears glasses for reading. She was known to have a 'death-stare' in High School, and was coined the nickname 'Wednesday.' She displayed a very early love for animals which only grew stronger over the years. She is very close with her dogs and loves them implicitly, she has said openly that they have saved her life. Bronwyn Rust always had it in the back of her mind, that she would one day like to write a book. She was an average student, but being a dreamer, her interests were elsewhere...anywhere else. After graduating High School, she got her first job as a bartender, and at the age of nineteen, she left South Africa, solo, on a two-year visa, working and travelling through the UK. ​ It was after experiencing a tragic loss when she returned, that threw her into darkness. It was a traumatic loss and she was inconsolable. She fell into a deep depression and was highly medicated. ​ She was self-diagnosed, and later confirmed, as Bi-polar and a sufferer of major depression, which she credits her dogs, medication and playing the guitar, in helping her cope with her illness. After about a year to 2 years, after the loss; Bronwyn began writing. Initially, it was nothing more than a catharsis. A coping mechanism. She wrote days, nights, weekends, into the early hours of the morning, researching tirelessly, getting lost in the internet, from dusk through 'til dawn. She had a Google history, you would be concerned about someone finding. Writing about how she felt, her religion, her mental illness, about life and death, and the meaning of it all, if there even was a reason for it all. She wrote about things she wanted to say, but now couldn't. Angellove was born. It became her love letter, to her love. The novel; a dark thriller about loss, centers primarily on Medical Examiner, Madison Für Immer, and her close family and friends. What she says about the book, "Although it's fiction, it was based, inspired, and a true account of my feelings throughout the loss. Some events in the book, did happen. Some conversations in the book, did take place. Some characters in the book, do exist. In a lot of ways, it's like an autobiography of my mind; a mental and emotional documentary." It's fiction based on the author's reality. 'Angellove: We were the Lucky ones.' tackles; addiction, loss, mental illness, the justice system, what is good and what is bad, the difference between what is right and what is wrong...and if there even is a difference at all, and many other issues and theories. 'Angellove: We were the Lucky ones.' is the first book penned by Bronwyn Rust. It tells the story of loss, love, friendship, and faith...and the battles with each. She states about the book, "It was a labour of a lot of love, a lot of pain, and a lot of wine." When Bronwyn is not writing, she enjoys the company of her dogs, and stays away from cellphones and social media. She enjoys exploring other artistic avenues, such as; painting, sketching, playing guitar. She enjoys tackling home renovation projects, and quiet evenings in with the pups, and a bottle of wine. Bronwyn Rust currently resides in her hometown of East London, in the Eastern Cape, on the Wild Coast of South Africa, with her kindred-spirited Bullmastiff x Boerboel, Bella, and ferociously protective male Boerboel, Max..., and new addition feline Luna. "There's no place like home." Her other areas of interests: Firearms, weapons, forensics and forensic technologies, pathology and autopsies, biology, crime, mental illnesses, psychiatry, animals and nature, God and the afterlife, music, guitars, film, special effects, mythology, art, poetry, travel, Gothic architecture, muscle cars...

Book preview

ANGELLOVE:

WE WERE THE LUCKY ONES.

Bronwyn Rust.

wings

Copyright © Bronwyn Rust 2019 All Rights Reserved

Bronwyn Rust asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Angellove is a trademark.

Book design, interior, and cover, by Bronwyn Rust.

Modified images by Bronwyn Rust.

Ownership of images – © Unknown.

Disclaimer: The author does not claim ownership of the images, quotes, or fonts used herein, and although every precaution and effort has been taken to find and credit the owners, it was unfortunately to no avail. But they were ultimately used in the hope that they would help people cope with their loss, as they have helped the author with theirs.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9946681-4-1 (EPUB.)

0-9946681-4-7

www.bronwynrust.com

This novel is (entirely) a work of fiction, the names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Printed and bound in South Africa.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission (in writing) of the publisher (Bronwyn Rust).

Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Although inspired by a true story, certain names have been changed and some characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictional or have been adapted in the process of dramatization.

All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

Disclaimer: Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author assumes no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

Document1

My hope for this book is to shed a light on Bipolar Disorder and Depression.

These are serious illnesses/conditions that should be taken as such.

As a sufferer myself, I wish any other sufferers to know that they are not alone, and though there may not be a cure, there is help.

Medication has helped me. Medication has saved me.

Seeking help does not make you weak, it makes you smart.

Losing a loved one is the most traumatic and heartbreaking thing that can ever happen to you. If you can survive that, you can survive anything. There is nothing life can throw at you that is worse. Absolutely nothing.

You will never forget them,

You will Forever love them,

And when you see them in your dreams, know that they are visiting you, letting you know they have not left you.

And…of course, I would like to shine the brightest light on pet adoption. There is no greater love in the world. And if you witness or suspect any form of animal abuse or neglect, to please contact your nearest SPCA or Animal Control.

There is no greater legacy to leave, than a beating heart that would not have had a chance, had it not been for you.

– Unknown.

Much love

:)

This book is dedicated in Loving memory

to the Love, and Light, of my Life,

Lucky Rust.

"I aspire to be the person, you think I am.

I love you more than my heart can handle,

more than my mind can manage,

and more than my soul can hold." – Bronwyn Rust.

"The world is a better place for having you in it,

and if I display just a fraction of the love you showed in the world, then I know, I’ll see you again."

– Bronwyn Rust.

Te amo magis quam vivere.

"Leave it to the wrath of God…Vengeance is mine, I will repay,

says the Lord." – Romans 12 v19.

Document2

"Broken. adj.

having undergone or been subjected to fracture, unfixable, defeated, beaten, overpowered."

O

n an icy winter’s night, just before midnight on the 23rd February 2012, in a dirty alleyway next to a thumping and bustling nightclub, uniformed police officers had gathered around.

The perimeter of the alleyway was taped up with their yellow crime scene tape, gently flapping in the icy evening breeze. Crime scene photographers were snapping photos of the lifeless body of a young woman lying on her back. Crime scene investigators, wore latex gloves, and were carefully collecting any evidence. Police squad cars were parked around the perimeter of the crime scene; their red and blue lights flashed in the night, and illuminated the area. They were keeping the growing public and curious club goers at bay.

Okay, come on back up, back up! a police officer announced to the inquisitive crowd, as they pushed each other to see. They obeyed but tried to look past them to catch a glimpse of what had happened. Street lights glowed in the night; shining down onto the glistening wet street in white streaks as snow began to float down.

Two detectives arrived in their neutral-toned suits and ties with their badges attached to their belts, to investigate the crime scene.

The one detective was a white male, around the age of fifty-five, with graying hair and a goatee, an experienced veteran in the service. The other was a white, masculine English man with short black spiky hair and a clean-shaven chiseled jaw line, younger around the age of forty. They saw the deceased woman and it was clear at first sight what evil had been done to her, the terror she had gone through. She was Caucasian, slender, attractive in her mid-to-late twenties with long brunette hair. She was dressed modestly but her clothes were disheveled and her pants and underwear had been pulled down around her ankles. She lay motionless and colourless in the cold, garbage filled alley. Her eyes glazed open, staring blankly into the night sky with her mouth slightly open. She lay still, all alone and abandoned. Thrown away like a piece of trash.

Do we have a name? the veteran detective asked a police officer.

Yeah, Rebecca Sands. the uniform responded, Her friends identified her. They’re over there. pointing to them behind the yellow crime scene tape, where a group of young women stood embracing each other, devastated and crying.

The detectives approached them and promised, "We will get him."

Document3Document4

Cadaver Dog.

24th February 2012

I

owned a private local mortuary situated in a relatively old building downtown, the morgue was spotless and smelled of harsh industrial deodorizer. In the autopsy room, the staff were all dressed in long-sleeved blue surgical gowns over their scrubs, latex gloves and plastic booties over their shoes.

I got a lot of flack for my profession, people found it odd or creepy, but the living aren’t the only ones that need help. No matter who they are – everyone deserves justice. And I liked to think I was helping the living too, with answers and preventing future victims.

    We were busy with the post-mortem autopsy of a middle-aged man. I took the scalpel and made the classic ‘Y-shaped’ incision from each shoulder to the sternum in the center of the chest, straight down to the pelvis.

Autopsy literally means, ‘to see for yourself.’

    Almost all internal examinations begin by opening the chest, unless the cause of death is so obvious that the pathologist only needs to inspect a hanging victim’s neck.

    An inspection of the muscles and organs underneath the skin would reveal any subcutaneous bruising that might not have been apparent on the surface of the skin. There was little bleeding, as the lack of blood pressure means blood sinks in the body. Dead bodies grow pale as blood starts to stagnate in the vessels. However, both carbon monoxide and cyanide poisoning turn blood a bright red, which shows through the skin.

I used special bone-cutting shears to cut the ribs, to remove them and the collarbones. I extracted the breastplate to allow access into the chest cavity. I removed, weighed and examined the heart and took blood and tissue samples for blood typing and toxicology tests. I removed the lungs and then moved down to the abdomen.

Each organ was taken out, weighed, dissected to see for any abnormalities, and recorded before taking a sample. Special attention is paid to the stomach contents as this could help determine time of death, this was standard autopsy procedure.

    Then we moved on to the cranial exam for the brain assessment. First, it is standard procedure to shave the head and look at the skull for any signs of blunt-forced trauma or fractures not visible under the hair. We shaved his head and then we had to peel the scalp. I drew the scalpel from one ear, over the top of the head, to the other ear, called an Intermastoid incision; it leaves a neat cut line that can be easily disguised by a funeral pillow. The skin is then pulled forward over the face, and back behind the head, to expose the skull. This can take some muscle.

This was a gruesome job, but dead people don’t have a lot of blood, which is what made it better and easier for me.

  Then it was time to open up the skull, my co-worker covered with a face mask, started up the Stryker oscillating saw; a specially designed vibrating saw that can cut into hard bone without damaging soft tissue. It whined as she sawed the skull, and a bony dust drifted through the air, she sawed from the front and back at an angle, to ensure that the skull cap fits back properly when the body is reconstructed. The dome needed to be pried off with a chisel-headed key tool.

The sounds of an autopsy are pretty vivid, sounds you will never forget, a lot of ‘squishes’. It made me laugh sometimes; the look on new co-workers faces, you could actually see their skin crawl.

    On to the brain examination, I took the brain out and weighed and examined it, if no disease is suspected then a fresh tissue sample is cut, otherwise it is suspended in a fixative to preserve and stabilize the tissue; which ensures a clean and neat dissection. All samples are then sent to the histology labs to be made into microscopic slides. These allow for a more thorough exam as the wafer-thin slides of brain can reveal tiny blood clots and tears, otherwise undetectable. Toxicology results can take anywhere from two to twelve weeks.

    Post autopsy, we reconstruct the body by reversing the entire dissection process, placing the organs back inside the body and all incisions are sutured tightly shut so that body fluids cannot escape. The body is then washed and returned to the family, or funeral directors.

    My co-workers were cleaning the area of blood while I finished taking down notes from the autopsy. They began washing the body, and for minutes, the water that drained through the steel tabletop was bright red. They cleaned the equipment, steel table and medical tools, washing and rinsing them down with a hose of water as it drummed the stainless steel.

Madison? one of the autopsy technicians asked.

I paused taking down notes, resting the pen on the call sheet while I peered over my thick black framed prescription glasses, at the sound of my name.

Ready for the next one? she asked.

Yeah, you can bring them through, thanks Shelby. I confirmed.

Shelby was an attractive, white female with deep brown eyes, around the age of forty, with just past shoulder length, medium dark brunette hair, and a smile and dimples to kill. Her smile was magnetic. We first met in medical school and we became good friends.

    Before the autopsy room, on the left, was a double door to the cold storage room and walk-in freezer, where the bodies were stored before and after the autopsies and a freezer to stop the decomposition process of some of the already, or further, decomposed bodies. Shelby unlocked the stainless steel cooler, which was bigger than most living rooms, frigid air rushed as she opened the cooler’s massive door and she walked past body bags and bloody plastic shrouds and stiff protruding feet. The bodies are wrapped up in white linen sheets lying on wheeled medical steel tables. She rolled the gurney out into a blaze of fluorescent light, wheeling in the next covered deceased body. The table’s wheels clicked over tiles, she attached the steel table to a dissecting sink, ready for the autopsy. I washed my hands with antibacterial soap and an assistant helped me put on new latex gloves.

The morgue was a place where there was no loving touch, only a clinical objective and a possible crime to be solved. The procedure was done with seriousness and respect. We had a routine. First and foremost, we would pray over each body in the morgue before autopsy. Praying their soul found peace.

My co-workers set up my medical instruments and tools while I took the deceased patients medical records and police report. I read over them and filled my staff in, Okay, Caucasian female, her name is Rebecca Sands, twenty-seven years old, was found outside a nightclub in the back alley, police suspect drugs... (Yawn), I’m sorry, um, she has visible needle marks on her arms.

  Rough night? Shelby asked with a smile.

I laughed. Loose was up last night.

    Who’s Loose? the newbie asked.

Lucy, her sister, Shelby filled her in, Don’t worry, you will get to know everyone very well around here, really soon.

I cracked a smile and explained, She’s a musician.

They all smiled, knowing exactly what that meant, while they uncovered the female deceased body, I couldn’t help but utter, Damn it.

    Seeing younger people always got to me, they had so much life left. An autopsy was done only when foul play was suspected or might be involved.

It’s no secret that this job made me angry, made me hard, but I needed it, justice, finding the truth, the real answers. I needed to see it.

    The