When the Wood Is Dry: I. Call of the Innocent: When the Wood Is Dry, #1

By Joseph Cillo, Jr.

"Sometimes we must suffer if we are to save souls."

Jesus' words echo in a recurring dream to Lali Russo, a seventeen-year-old Catholic school girl.  

Lali wakes and asks, "Why that dream again?"

Two thousand years ago, the scourged and bloody form of a man who claimed to be God carried the wood on which he would be crucified.  Coming upon some distraught women, He says, "Women of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but for yourselves and your children.  For if these things are done when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?"

The novel, When the Wood Is Dry by Joseph Cillo, Jr., attempts to answer this question.

When the Wood Is Dry will be published in three parts: I. Call of the Innocent; II. Crucifixion, and III. Resurrection.  In I. Call of the Innocent, Lali is called to walk a path of suffering that she struggles to understand.  Praying at an abortion clinic, she encounters the pregnant girlfriend of a notorious gang leader.  She confronts the girl's boyfriend, the ruthless Ralo as he sharpens his machete.  

"Go away, little girl, this is no' ju beesness."  

As the subtitle, An Edgy Catholic Thriller suggests, When the Wood Is Dry is Edgy - Intended only for mature audiences, Catholic - includes overtly Catholic religious imagery and perspectives, and Thrilling- "full of twists and turns, action and heart-wrenching moments," as one reader commented.

Some readers who may love the first and third parts may find the second part too intense, so we are recommending that such readers read I. Call of the Innocent, then skip the second part and read the synopsis included in III. Resurrection. More daring readers can journey with Lali in II. Crucifixion, but only with the sternest warning.

"The storyline is like nothing I've ever read before. "
"...a chilling, unpredictable, fascinating story which I couldn't put down."
"...a well thought out, complex story with strong, diverse characters and a unique concept. The story was easy to read and follow. Full of twists and turns, action and heart-wrenching moments."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infornuity Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781942590170

Joseph Cillo, Jr.

Joseph Cillo, Jr. passed through his early years of Christmas scoffing and bah-humbugging. The current story is in no way based on his personal journey. He has, however, emerged on the happy side of Christmas present, and hopefully, Christmases yet to come. He had a good share of Merry Friggin' Christmases, which he needs no Ghost of Christmas Past to help him revisit.

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WHEN THE WOOD IS DRY

I. Call of the Innocent

An Edgy Catholic Thriller

By Joseph Cillo, Jr.

Infornuity Publishing, LLC

When the Wood Is Dry: An Edgy Catholic Thriller is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

When the Wood Is Dry: An Edgy Catholic Thriller

Copyright © 2017,2019 Joseph Cillo, Jr.

All rights reserved.

Based on the screenplay, When the Wood Is Dry, Copyright © 2011

All rights reserved.

Cover art copyright © 2018 by Nick Iorfino

Used by permission

EBook ISBN: 978-1-942590-17-0

In memory of Dolly Cillo, the mother who gave me the gifts of life and love.

Jesus turned to them and said, Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep instead for yourselves and for your children…For if these things are done when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?

Luke 23:28,31

I

Call of the Innocent

Do all things without grumbling or questioning, that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world.

Phillippians 2:14-15

1

Lali

LALI LOVES TO SPIN. Leaning her head back, gazing into the clear blue sky, a lonely cloud circles as her long dark hair whips round and round until she falls laughing on the ground. Giggling, she scrambles back to her feet, the world swirling in her dizziness, and there He is, again. In a white tunic, bearded, dark curls of hair bounce on His shoulders. He smiles and laughs, His eyes bluer and more intense than the spinning sky. He opens His arms invitingly. She staggers toward Him, the red blotches on His palms awhirl as she struggles to steady her focus, to see them more clearly. As she draws closer, the light peeks through the wounds, twisting and turning in her disoriented field of vision.

He bends down as she approaches. His eyes now on her level, He grins and extends His hands toward her with His palms up, the red circles of dried blood more visible now, as her vision steadies. The holes become more distinct, like peepholes into another world, a glimpse of the other side before deciding to open a door. Her heart fills with empathy, sharing the pain of the wounds. She takes His right hand in her little hands. She traces the wound with her finger and looks quizzically into his piercing, yet gentle, blue eyes.

Does it hurt? She tilts her head, and raises her eyebrows, her long hair lightly dancing in the gentle breeze.

Not anymore. But sometimes we must suffer if we are to save souls. Jesus takes her little hand in His own and traces a circle on her palm. I will be with you when your time comes.

The world spins. She falls through space and time in an endless swirl, and then, for just a startled second, she hears angels singing and giving glory to God.

Lali awoke and looked at the clock just as the alarm rang and quickly silenced it. Why that dream again? She turned her body and sat up on the bed. Lali cocked her head and glanced at the statuette of the Sacred Heart of Jesus on the dresser. The man from her dream pointed to His heart wrapped in the crown of thorns, rays of light streaming from the wounded source of love and mercy. Her heart warmed but not so much as to remove her sense of foreboding. Twelve years, and now that dream again.

The memories of when she first had the dream that she never told anyone about swirled in her mind. It was Him, He who hung from the great cross in the front of the church, his hands and feet nailed and bloody, the great wound in His side. It was Him! Her five-year-old heart had swelled with joy. But what did it mean, Sometimes we must suffer?

And then Papa had told her. Mama was dying and to pray for a miracle. And she had prayed. And they had suffered.

Lali started from the swirling flood of twelve-year-old memories, caressing the Miraculous Medal her mother had given her, and focused on the clock. It was late. She would have to hurry. She quickly put on her Catholic school uniform, a plaid skirt and white blouse, and the navy sweater with the school’s insignia, St. Mary’s High School. She hurried down the stairs. The familiar aroma of burnt bacon amplified the mix of emotions from the memories inspired by her dream, the loss of her mother, the consoling love of her father. Papa was at it again, trying to make breakfast. Lali chuckled to herself as she entered the kitchen. He stood over the frying pan, an apron over his police uniform, his jacket hung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

Good morning, Officer Russo, Lali said cheerfully, coming up to him from behind, smoothing the shoulders of his pressed shirt, not that they needed any smoothing. You look quite dashing, today!

Papa scraped some runny eggs and burnt bacon, a sticky mess clinging to the pan, onto a plate.

I’ve made some bacon and eggs for breakfast. She followed his eyes to the mess now moved to the plate. I know I’m not much of a cook, but I try.

Lali smiled. Thank you, Papa. You know I love you more than anyone in the whole world! She kissed him on the cheek.

Even Rodrigo? Papa raised a suspicious eyebrow.

Yes, most certainly, even Rodrigo. She rolled her eyes. I don't love Rodrigo, at least not like that. I'm just spending some time with him. We enjoy each other's company. You should really give him a chance. He's really smart, you know. He's taking all honors classes.

The heat of his glare forced her to look away. She dropped her gaze downward, to where the wall met the floor. She had given him an opportunity for his favorite lecture.

He's in with a bad crowd, Lali, She sensed his searching eyes but avoided them. "A very bad crowd. That gang he's with, that La Hermandad, we’re investigating them for dealing drugs. Lord knows what else they may be into. He's a bad influence on you."

Lali regained his eyes and struggled to smile, but her exasperation grew. "You always say that! Do you ever think that maybe I’m a good influence on him?"

I really don't care about him. I'm trying to protect you. You're all I have since your mother died, you know.

There it was, again. The bubble of protection, promising a place where all would be safe. But how could she live, if she was always in the bubble and safe? She huffed, then raised her head.

Yes, I know. But you have to let me live, Papa.

I know, Lali. He turned to put the pan in the sink. But it's hard. You're so innocent, and I’ve seen so much evil. You can’t know all the bad things there are out there. I just want to protect you.

Perhaps she had won a little victory? At least he knew he needed to let her live, and she could not always be safe. She reached beneath her blouse for the miraculous medal and pulled it out to show him. She pointed to the image of the Blessed Mother, the tarnished silver allowing only a slight glint of reflection, weathered as it was from years of wear. She brimmed with confidence, holding up the medal with the figure of the lady in long robes, arms extended, palms up, and the words around the image, O MARY CONCEIVED WITHOUT SIN, PRAY FOR US WHO HAVE RECOURSE TO THEE. Mother Mary will always be with me. She’ll never let any harm come to me!

Don't worry, she'll protect me.

She didn't protect your mother so well. Papa looked away, resentment and hurt in his voice.

Oh, but she did! Lali pulled the medal back and forth on its chain. I believe Mama is with her right now. Safe as can be.

Lali tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. He had lost his faith. It was so sad. Mother Mary, pray for him!

Her father shook his head. She was waiting with a smile when he raised his chin.

You're so sweet, Lali, he said, then his expression turned more serious. But I'm telling you, you want to stay away from Rodrigo and his crowd. They're bad news.

Lali replaced the medal under her blouse and kissed her father on the cheek. Then she changed the subject.

I’ll be stopping by the unwed mothers’ home to help with the kids after I pray at the abortion clinic. I'll call you for a ride about seven.

Papa let out an exasperated sigh and glanced down at the runny eggs on the plate. I really wish you would stay away from that abortion clinic. That's a very bad place too, you know.

Lali closed her eyes for a moment. The words from her dream rang in her ears, sometimes we must suffer… And then the gospel message, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father. And finally, the commandment, honor your father and your mother. The messages crashed against each other like confused currents roiling against the rocks. Her way forward seemed to spin like a faulty compass, pointing one way and then as quickly the other. To dispel the confusion, she would need his permission, or at least, his tacit acceptance.

Yes, I know it’s a bad place. Lali stabbed a piece of burnt bacon with her fork but thought better of eating it. She pushed the blackened meat into the runny yellow of the egg. That’s why I go there and pray for them, and for the babies that will never be born. You know, there are people in there who are doing these things, and they really don’t know what they are doing. She turned and faced her father. They need our prayers. And, they need to know we are praying for them. We have to be there for them.

He closed his eyes, then glanced back at her. Lali noticed the softening of his eyes, the hint of resignation in his voice. Just be careful, Lali. The world can be a very hard place.

But maybe we can make it a little softer if we are there, present to those who are caught in hard places. If we always just stay safe, won’t the world become even harder?

And then there it was, the glint of a tear in his eye, the sigh, the slumping of his shoulders, and the pensive smile.

Well, we'd better get you off to church. He cleared the plates and placed them in the sink, then grabbed his jacket from the chair. Or you'll miss the readings again. We don't want any trouble with Father Fernandez.

Lali considered