The List

By GL Edwards

Life is cruel; and then you die.

Sharon’s life has been especially cruel; and yet she has overcome the odds after years of abusive relationships, crushing heartbreak, and haunting memories. It’s only when she begins enjoying the life that she has always struggled against that tragedy strikes. A new lease on life, new friends, a budding romance, and a rewarding career – all in the palm of her hand, and then taken away in an instant. When given a choice for a temporary reprieve, she takes it without realizing the consequences.

Now, with the veil lifted between life and death, she must face the demons that have made her a target while attempting to make peace with her final days. When Sharon is reminded of the pain and abuse inflicted upon her, she realizes that there will never be peace…not for her.

With what limited time she has remaining, Sharon makes it her mission to balance the karmic scale; to make the world a better place by eliminating a handful of malignant individuals who have harmed her and those she has loved. She is not interested in playing fair and will not pull punches. Yes, blood will spill – a lot of it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Dec 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781662904851

Book preview

entered.

CHAPTER 1

The Last Five Years

By nature, I am not a violent person, nor have I ever been prone to violent episodes. People who have known me would say I’m shy, timid, somewhat withdrawn. Most would agree that I haven’t an aggressive bone in my body.

I have a story to tell, and unfortunately, I haven’t much time to tell it. By tomorrow at this time, I will be dead – that’s assuming I make it through tonight. No, I’m not ill; in fact, I’ve never before enjoyed such perfect health. Neither am I suicidal, for while my life has been difficult, unbearable at times, it has recently become so much better. There is an irony in this, my life. Just when I begin to experience a feeling of liberation from all that has weighed so heavily on my shoulders, it is now that I am to pass from this world, never to truly enjoy it.

Thanatos himself whispers to me even now, reminding me that my time is almost up. A most horrid demon is coming for me, and with absolutely no mercy, he will drag me into the depths of hell. I am unsure of what time I have remaining; hours, or possibly only minutes. I do hope that I have time to put my thoughts of the last several weeks to paper before I face my guaranteed death.

Although I am frightened (out of my mind), I refuse to cry... ever again. My tears are and have always been a sign of weakness and pain that this world will never again reap the pleasure of knowing from me. And while unspeakable torture awaits me and approaches closer with every passing moment, there is a mild sense of consolation in the fact that I will leave this earth a little better than it had been.

I find myself staring out the window into the blackness of the surrounding countryside. Did I see something move just then or was it just my imagination? I came to the only place I could think of to hide – The Old Morrow Cabin, nine miles from the nearest neighbor, who just so happens to be out of the country at the moment. Of course, I can’t really hide from what’s coming. I have been telling myself these last couple of weeks, the last several days in particular, that in the end I will be strong and brave. After all, I did bring this upon myself. But I’m definitely not strong right now, and despite my actions over the last month, I am more cowardly than I want to confess. My hands are trembling, even as I write this.

My name is Sharon Keller, and to look at me now, you would never believe the person I was just five years ago. That marked the first major turning point in my life; the second was thirty days ago. I suppose that in order to start this story, I need to go back. I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to for the last five years.

It all started with my divorce from my miserable ex-husband. While my ex doesn’t really have much to do with my story, he played a huge role in crushing my spirit before anything else ever happened. Of course, almost every part of my life before him was like poison, killing the person I could have been. Nick (the bastard ex) was more of the icing on the cake, so to say, the final crushing blow to my self-worth.

Nick was an alcoholic, a drug user, and very verbally abusive. He worked in construction and would always say that he used his addictions to unwind. Unfortunately, over time, his addictions, his demons as he called them, became who he was – they were his reason for waking in the morning. Of course, I didn’t dare tell him he had a problem, lest he would go into a frenzy, smashing dishes, throwing items. On a couple of occasions, he put his fist through the wall in anger with me.

I began to believe him when he said that our problems were my fault, though I tried to make things work the best I knew how. Soon he lost his job, which he blamed on me also. We were surviving on my income alone, which wasn’t much – I worked as a bank teller. I tried to be optimistic, thinking that maybe this could be the spark that drove Nick to change, maybe he would get help, maybe there would be a bright future if I were a bit more patient.

Well, Nick certainly changed – from bad to worse. It seemed he had no intention of finding work and was quite content to sleep his days away while I worked. At night, I would try to sleep, but the loud and obnoxious friends that he would invite over would get so wasted with him that they had little consideration for me. Like a zombie, I somehow made it through, day after day.

Why don’t you get off my back! he would shout at me when I asked him why he didn’t work. It got to the point that everything I said was met with aggression from him. One day, I broke down and cried to his sister when she came by. Christine seemed to come from a different family altogether as she was so different than Nick.

I honestly didn’t know what having a best friend was like. Through all my years in school, and all the years that came after, I honestly don’t know that I ever had anyone that I trusted enough to call a best friend. Sure, I had acquaintances, people that I liked, people that I hung out with, but no one that I truly felt open with. Christine was the closest person to me though, and while I didn’t totally trust her either, I felt I had to speak to someone about what was happening in my life. Her response totally surprised me.

Why don’t you just leave him? she asked.

I can’t leave him, I explained. Though I don’t remember the entire argument for my staying with Nick, I do remember that I felt bound to our marriage, as a prisoner is to prison. It was an obligation that I couldn’t get out of; my convictions about marriage were too strong to simply walk away. And even though he had a bad temper, he had never taken it out physically. Funny how, soon after I told Christine this, he did just that.

I had just returned home from work to find the house a total wreck. Nick had obviously just gotten up and although I wanted to say something to him about the house, I chose not to. I was hoping to avoid an argument if I could, as that was all we seemed to do.

There was no way to win an argument with Nick, or even reach some kind of civil understanding. At the top of his lungs, he would scream at me, calling me every profane or vulgar name he could think of. I’m sure everyone in the neighborhood heard him call me a worthless bitch on more than a few occasions. At the time, I had convinced myself that it was my strength that allowed me to endure the abuse. As I look back now, however, I realize that my real weakness was staying with him. Even now, after all this time, I become angry at myself as I think back at what I put up with.

Despite my best attempts to keep the atmosphere calm, Nick was in an awful mood and let me know it with the sharpness in his tone. Finally, enough was enough and I could not keep my feelings bottled anymore.

What the hell is your problem? I asked him.

You are; you have always been my problem!

What does that mean? I knew it was a mistake to start an argument when Nick had been drinking, but there never seemed to be a time when he hadn’t been drinking.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not happy with you? Did it occur to you that maybe I want someone who can give me a child? As he spoke, there grew a hatefulness in his voice that even I had never heard until then. His words cut through me like a knife. Everything else he had ever called me seemed like nothing compared to this.

For three years after our marriage, we had been trying but were unable to conceive a child. I was heartbroken when told by my obstetrician that due to injuries I had received earlier in life, I would never be able to have children. Nick seemed very supportive at first, and even talked about the idea of adopting. While we had many arguments over the span of our marriage, at no point did he ever bring up what he knew hurt me worse than anything else – until then.

It’s been said that alcohol has an ability to make people say what they were really feeling all along; maybe this was the case here.

Who would want you as a wife? You can’t even have children! he screamed at me. You are a barren fucking woman who doesn’t know when to shut up!

With tears in my eyes, I fired right back at him, It’s just as well that I couldn’t. Your lazy, drunk ass would have made a pathetic father anyway.

Things happened very quickly at that point. Nick exploded and, for the first and last time, struck me. So, to make a long story short, two days later I was in my own apartment. Nick called a few times to apologize, telling me he was willing to change and saying that he didn’t remember what had happened, and since he couldn’t remember anything, how could he have been accountable for it? But for me, it was all over and a new page in my life had started.

I feel that I’ve invested too much time explaining what happened with Nick anyway, especially considering what little time I have left. To conclude though, shortly after our divorce was final, Nick was evicted from the house and moved in with another woman. I have not seen or heard from him since.

While I have often spoke about how I simply got on with my life, the truth is that after the divorce, I was angry, hurt, and utterly loathsome. I fell into a dark depression, trying to fill what seemed to be a bottomless pit that opened into the center of my soul. My self-image, my... identity, had been lost. For months this went on, until I found it difficult to look at myself in the mirror.

Which reminds me – I should offer a description of myself. I’m about 5’ 8" tall, shoulder-length blonde hair, and a somewhat light complexion. I’ve been told that I have an athletic figure, probably due to the time I’ve spent at the gym (more on that in a moment). Of course, in my mind, I’m still the awkward-shaped woman I’ve been since high school. People have also told me that I’m beautiful, but I question the vision of anyone who thinks this of me as well. I’ve been told that I resemble Julianne Moore... hmmmm, maybe a little, on my absolute best day ever. Now based on the description I’ve given, one might think I’m overly critical of myself, but in truth I have developed a very positive self-image, which leads me back to where I left off.

Apparently, the state of my despair was visible to my co-workers, as one of them asked if everything was alright. She suggested that I see a therapist, and even offered one she thought highly of. At first I considered this a fruitless idea – after all, crazy people go to therapy (or so I thought at the time). Somehow, I did manage to talk myself into the idea and made an appointment with a woman named Cathryn Wells.

Though still quite skeptical of what psychotherapy could possibly offer to me, I arrived at my scheduled appointment with a mild degree of enthusiasm. I soon found Cathryn to be as wonderful as my acquaintance at the bank told me she was. And while I had nothing good to say about the idea of therapy before my first session, I had to admit how totally wrong I was about it. I left my first session feeling like an enormous burden had been lifted from me. It was truly amazing how opening up and talking about my feelings took the weight off of my shoulders. This was a person who believed in me; she saw value in me, or at least she seemed to. I wasted no time scheduling my next appointment – the following week.

For the next several months, my weekly visits with Cathryn were what I most looked forward to. After describing my feelings, she suggested that I take measures to re-invent myself; do things that will cause me to grow as a person, invest my time and energy in myself. I sat across from her desk, soaking in everything she said. It was through Cathryn that I realized that while down, I was not defeated. She inspired me to get back onto my feet, and not just stop there, but climb higher and higher.

After thinking about what she had said, I decided to go back to school, though at first I didn’t know what for. I toyed with the idea of going into psychotherapy, but quickly ruled it out. One of the programs offered at a nearby university was in nursing; I quickly applied to the program and enrolled in classes.

I also joined a health club and, though ill-informed about how to get the most out of my workouts, I eventually learned. I soon started taking aerobics classes, and when this didn’t seem to be enough, I would follow them with cardio-kickboxing classes. I even went as far as to take a few martial arts classes, though I must admit, they didn’t really interest me as much as I had hoped they would.

Though I was never really overweight, I did trim down and even impressed myself. While I would never really admit it, the truth is that when complimented by my co-workers or classmates, I would silently cheer. Of course, even though I felt proud of my accomplishments in the gym, I cannot say that I ever viewed myself as pretty. I would often stare at myself in the mirror – wondering what parts of my body I needed to work on.

After completing my prerequisites for school, I was accepted into the nursing program and, with hard work, I excelled. The next four years were hard, juggling work and school. I often wondered how women with children managed. Still, those years did seem to move by rather quickly, semester by semester. My life had become very routine – rise from sleep, work, school, the gym, and then a movie before going to bed (if I didn’t have a ton of homework). Somewhat dull, yes, but I was finally in a place where I felt happy. I still went to see Cathryn on occasion, though I don’t think I really needed therapy at this point, but rather I came to view her as a friend, and I wanted her to know what I had been up to.

I thought Cathryn was beautiful from the first time I had seen her − short, dark hair (always perfect), dark eyes, a gorgeous olive complexion, and most impressive to me, a flattering figure (especially considering that she was in her early fifties). In our talks, she claimed that she never worked out, and what’s more, she would eat horribly. When I commented on how great she looked, she laughed saying, With these hips?

I remember my last session with Cathryn. I was somewhat heartbroken when she said that there was no need for me to continue seeing her; that in her opinion there was little therapy was doing for me at this point. She felt that I had gained all the self-confidence that I would need to tackle any foreseeable problem that may present itself. She followed this by saying that if at any point in the future problems did arise, that she would always be there for me.

While it was true, I had developed a lot of self-esteem over the last couple of years, deep down I felt that I was still the same frightened, self-blaming little girl I had always been. I often felt that the biggest change I had undergone was simply to mask the old me with an illusion. It was actually this illusion that I had been working on rather than the real me.

Of course, after presenting this thought to her, Cathryn tried to convince me otherwise. Do you have any idea how beautiful and talented you have become? she asked. When you first came to me, I could see how troubled and broken you were, but I believed in you, and you showed that you had the strength to pull yourself out of that, and since then, you have accomplished so much. You cannot know how proud I am of you. Her voice was sincere and her words brought comfort to me as usual.

After a momentary silence, she spoke, Tell you what, why don’t you come to my house for dinner tonight. Without hesitation, I accepted and agreed to meet her later that evening. This would mean an interruption in my routine, but for this I didn’t mind.

Approximately five hours later, I pulled into the driveway of an incredibly large, three-story brick house. I parked next to a Jeep Cherokee on the side of the house that I assumed belonged to Cathryn. Stepping out of my car, I noticed a tall, lanky figure approaching me. He had blonde, wild hair and a distracted look on his face, as though he kind of noticed me but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Hi there, he said in a somewhat feminine voice, you must be Sharon, he said. My name is Daniel. With this, he offered his hand and I shook it. My mom is inside making dinner, but she is expecting you.

It’s nice to meet you, I said to him.

It’s nice to meet you too, and I’d like to stay but I have a concert to go to and I’m totally psyched!

Who are you going to see?

Tori Amos, he answered, and I’m running behind but I’m sure I’ll see you again soon. With this, he smiled and turned, quickly walking toward the Cherokee.

As I ascended the steps to the side door, Daniel’s headlights backed out of the driveway. I knocked on the door and Cathryn answered with a broad and welcoming smile. Inside, I could smell savory pork roast in the oven. I could also smell baked potatoes and freshly baked rolls. It seemed that besides being a gifted therapist, Cathryn was also a wonderful cook.

While the roast was finishing in the oven, we talked about the history of this beautiful house, including the stories that it was haunted. For over two decades, she had slowly worked on and restored the house to its present state. It had a Victorian feel with the lush furniture and brightly colored wallpaper. My hostess explained to me that the wallpaper used throughout the house were William Morris reproductions. I listened as she described the long process of re-creating each room while I closely studied the elaborate-scrolled floral patterns with backgrounds of red, blue, and green overprinted with shades of cream and tan.

We toured the first floor of this beautiful home and it seemed that Cathryn was certainly in her element here. I on the other hand felt quite overwhelmed by all that I was looking at, as if I were visiting a museum; everywhere around me – incredibly expensive antiques, large paintings, material wealth.

A short while later, Cathryn’s husband emerged from the basement. William was a doctor who at one time had a respected name in the medical community. In recent years, however, he had become addicted to various pain medications, or so the rumors went at the hospital where I was doing my clinical work. Though I was never one to take part in these rumors, I really couldn’t help but hear which doctors were total quacks, as one of my classmates called them. Dr. Wells was certainly, by reputation, a quack. Still, how bad could he be? I asked myself. After all, he was married to Cathryn, whom I considered almost a saint.

Still, I had to wonder; though I had never actually met Dr. Wells, the nurses at the hospital loathed him due in part to his volatile temper and unpredictable mood swings. Apparently, it was not uncommon for him to humiliate the nurses while talking down to them.

Just recently, I had heard of yet another malpractice lawsuit against him. Though I’m not entirely sure of just how common these lawsuits are for doctors, Dr. Wells did seem to get more than his share of them. Surely he would have lost his job as well as his license had it not been for his crooked attorney friend Tyler Voss who, as rumors went, could pull strings when he needed to. Of course, none of this really mattered to me; even the stories of his rude and obnoxious behavior were nothing but stories.

As he stepped through the basement door, I could see William’s eyes travel from my face to my hips then back again while avoiding any eye contact. I could smell the alcohol on him as though he had bathed in it – it was a smell I knew all too well from my days with Nick.

For what seemed like several moments, Cathryn stood frozen with an unreadable look on her face, searching for what to say. I am not sure, but I think I knew that look too. It was the kind of look one has when an alcoholic husband is about to do something stupid.

Dinner is finished whenever you are ready to eat, she said to him.

I’m not eating tonight, he said coldly to her. I’m going to the range.

Will, I really don’t think you should go after you’ve been drinking, she said as delicately as she could.

With fierce anger, he replied, Why don’t you get off my fucking back and worry about your company. With this, he staggered toward the door and slammed it behind him. Cathryn said nothing, but turned her back to face the oven, as though she were checking the roast – I knew better. Several seconds later, I saw Dr. Wells racing through the driveway in the red Corvette he had only just purchased. He had just missed my car by inches as he flew out of the driveway. My heart stopped for an instant when I watched his reckless driving nearly smash my car. I decided not to mention it to Cathryn, however.

I didn’t have to be intuitive to feel the shame and embarrassment emanate from her as she stood across the kitchen. I knew the feeling all too well. Finally, when she composed herself, she turned to face me. I am so sorry about that. In her voice, I could detect the emotion she struggled to maintain control of. I dared not say anything that would further fracture the dam that held those emotions in check, especially right at that moment.

I learned two things that evening. First, I hated William because he was an abusive alcoholic who made Nick look pretty good by comparison. His title earned him some respect within the community, but his name was all but destroyed as I soon learned that his drinking was common at the office as well as at home. The second thing that I learned that evening was that Cathryn was as flesh and blood as I was, just as prone to the problems of life as everyone else. Up until that evening, I saw her as a source of unending strength. In her life, there was no wrong; everything flowed with harmony and in all aspects of her life there was order. Well, this was an illusion of her that I created, and it simply wasn’t so. Knowing this somehow made me feel smaller; and yet, at the same time, I felt connected with her, connected to life, as strange as that seems.

After that evening, Cathryn and I became very close friends, though she told me that she normally didn’t make friendships with former patients. I felt honored to call her my friend, and in many ways I think we found strength in each other.

Over the next couple of months, the problems between Cathryn and William seemed only to escalate. Finally, and without notice, William left the wife and family he had been a part of. Later, I would come to learn that William had been seeing other women for quite some time. I remember feeling so sorry for Cathryn while at the same time thinking that this was the best thing that could have happened to her.

I have always found it funny and ironic how certain professionals seem to either neglect or have difficulty managing areas of their lives that complement their expertise. Like a carpenter whose home is in drastic need of repair, a plumber whose pipes are constantly leaking, or a mechanic whose car is always breaking down. For Cathryn, it was the collapse of her family over a long period of time while all the while she seemed either ignorant of it or incapable of acknowledging it. The cruel irony for her was that she had helped so many people with their marital problems, and yet she was unable to help herself.

As for myself, after more than four years, I finally finished with the nursing program. Shortly after receiving my degree, I took my boards and became a registered nurse. I had worked at several hospitals and clinics doing clinical work, but it was St. Francis Hospital that I chose to work for, due in part to how close it was to me, and also to the wonderful people who worked there.

So I quit the bank, not that I had been working there much anyway, and went to work full-time at St. Francis. That was only about six months ago. It seems hard to believe really, how much my life had changed, how I would never have thought I would be doing the things I have been doing.

In my personal life, I had refused to see anyone intimately until just a short while ago. Though I had been asked out by