Seven Minutes

By Linda McClung

Mick Carter is a rising star in the contemporary music world. He loves the crowds, the singing, and the praises he leads in the concerts. A man of God who has spent his life inspiring others is jolted by events that send him to prison for fifteen years for a crime he did not commit. His faith in God is challenged by the men he meets in prison, but they are all he has, and he learns how thirsty they are for meaning and purpose for their lives.

He discovers God’s plan for him among the lost, angry, and afraid souls in the prison as he begins to share his faith. Like Joseph in Genesis, Carter finds God’s purpose for him is greater than anything he could have planned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664224353

Linda McClung

Linda spent her early years believing their heritage was Scot Irish. Where her siblings became interested in genealogy, they found their Cherokee great, great grandmother who lived during the time of the Great Removal. There is no record of how she came to live on a mountain in western North Carolina, but a trip to the area confirmed her gravesite.

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Copyright © 2021 Linda McClung.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

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without the written permission of the author except in the case of

brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

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and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International

Version® NIV® Copyright © 1973 1978 1984 2011 by Biblica,

Inc. TM. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2434-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2433-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2435-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021903358

WestBow Press rev. date: 3/29/2021

Contents

Acknowledgments

Part One

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

Part Two - The Retrial

10

Part Three - Starting Over

11

To Michael T. and Keegan W.,

who will become mighty men of God

and a light wherever they go

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to R. G. Woody Lookabill for his assistance with the legal aspects of this book. All mistakes are mine.

And to Wanda Stewart, Karen Gibson, and Hazel Harrison, my readers and helpers in all things.

PART ONE

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1

W

hen five thousand people stomped and clapped their hands, the arena thundered as Mick Carter entered, and he knew why he loved doing this. He loved the crowds, the singing, and the praises he led in the concert. He loved meeting all the people he sang with and the amazing music he could make. He did not regret the tour but was ready for it to be finished.

The concert was rocking the house. It had been planned by a consortium of evangelical churches in Madison, Wisconsin, and the huge crowd had gathered in a converted church building. That night, the opening act had been a young female artist whose notes rang like a bell and whose words stirred the soul. Mick was pleased with the way the tour had gone, but he was tired and ready to get home to Charlotte. It still grated on his conscience that he had been away when his family needed him last year when his sister was sick. It was the last night of the concert. He was scheduled to board a plane at eight o’clock the next morning for some much-needed rest at home.

From the time he’d sung with other children at church while growing up and throughout college, Mick had always loved performing. He could always find a reason to sing. But he had never experienced anything like the rigors of a tour. He had sold a lot of albums, and his name was recognized around the world. He was just beginning to realize how much everyone loved his music.

When the car dropped him at the Hyatt Regency, he walked rapidly through the doors and headed straight to the elevator. He had requested a hotel outside the city to give himself some peace and quiet, and the reception area was quiet at that time of the night.

A young woman rushed up to him and started telling him how good he was. She said, Please come have a drink with me.

Sorry, but I’m tired, and I don’t drink, Mick managed to say.

Come on. Just one drink, she said.

I’m really sorry. Can I make it another time?

No. Please, come on. Whoever she was, she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

OK, but I need a club soda only. I don’t drink alcohol. Mick hoped she got the message soon. He wasn’t sure he could keep his eyes open much longer.

He turned away to find a seat, and she came back almost immediately with two drinks, which she plopped down in front of him. She sat and watched him expectantly. He took a sip and was glad to see she had gotten the club soda he requested. He took another sip and began to feel sick.

Something was wrong. He could not get his brain to work, his legs felt detached from his body, and his stomach was revolting. She took him by the arm and led him to the elevator. He was fighting to keep from vomiting on the carpet. By the time the elevator came, he could hardly manage to stay on his feet. He did not remember getting off the elevator or opening the door to his room.

He woke up with police officers shaking him. Again, the nausea hit like a storm cloud, turning his stomach inside out as he vomited in his trash can. The officers yanked him up as he managed to grab some jeans and a shirt. He made it to the station but had to use a trash can when he got inside and vomited again.

Man, you are so drunk. An officer smirked.

It’s not alcohol. I’m not drunk. I’m sick, Mick said.

They fingerprinted him, took his picture, and threw him into a filthy cell that had not been cleaned since the last victim of drunkenness. If he could stay still, he could keep his stomach quiet and quit vomiting.

Several hours later, a man strutted into his cell and said, Good morning. I’m Chris Haynes and I’m your lawyer, and you’ve got nothing to worry about. Five thousand dollars is all it will cost you.

Who are you? I don’t even know you. Mick was fighting to keep his stomach quiet and make his brain work.

I keep up with those who need lawyers here. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of everything, Chris reassured him.

I don’t have five thousand dollars. He pulled out his wallet; he had only $150 and one credit card. Mick was still sick, and his brain was not fully functional, but the lawyer acted so confident that he couldn’t argue.

Don’t worry. I’ll get the charges reduced to a misdemeanor. All you have to do is cooperate with them.

"What do you mean by cooperate? I didn’t do anything."

Without listening to Mick’s side of the story, the lawyer left with all the cash Mick had and his credit card number for the rest of the fee.

Mick’s arraignment came the next day. He was feeling a bit better, but he was weak and dehydrated. His lips were cracked, his head hurt, and he had trouble getting his eyes to focus. He wasn’t sure what had happened when officers led him away, saying his trial would be scheduled soon.

2

L ynn and Peter Carter faithfully heard from their son every week while he was on tour. When they did not get his usual phone call, they did not panic, believing he would contact them when he had time. By the end of the second week, however, they became concerned enough to call his agent.

Kathy, have you heard from Mick? Peter was more worried than he let Lynn see.

No, he should be home now. He finished his tour two weeks ago. I understood he was taking some time off.

We have not heard from him. He did not come home as planned.

Well, that is concerning. I haven’t heard a word from him. Let me start making some calls, and I will get back to you.

Thanks, Kathy. We are really worried about our son. This is not like him.

Kathy Myers spent the day calling musicians, publicists, sponsors, and event planners of the most recent concert. No one had heard from Mick. At the end of the second day of calling, she phoned Peter and Lynn.

Peter, I have had no luck in finding Mick. I think you need to call the police station in Madison. That was his last stop. I’ll give you the number.

When Peter called the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, a man answered and identified himself as Deputy Able.

Deputy, my name is Peter Carter. Our son has gone missing. His name is Mick Carter, and he is a singer who was last seen in your city two weeks ago.

OK, I’ll look into it for you.

He said nothing further, and Peter got the impression the man was not anxious to do any additional work. Can you tell me if you have had any unidentified missing persons?

No, sir, we have not. The deputy didn’t give him any encouragement to continue.

I’ll leave you my number, and I need to hear from you in the next twenty-four hours, or we are coming there.

Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll get back to you.

As soon as Deputy Able hung up the phone, his notes from the call went into the trash can to assure there would be no paper trail from the call. He was committed to leaving no evidence of his involvement in the scheme. He calmly walked to the sheriff’s office and closed the door.

We’ve got a problem.

What? Sheriff Dale did not like having problems to solve.

The parents of that kid we’ve got here called. They are coming here if we don’t do something. We’ve got to move this thing faster and get him out of here.

You need to get on it then, the sheriff replied. I agreed to help that girl, but I don’t plan on losing my job over this thing. Has he been given the note?

No, sir, I was going to wait till the trial, but I think we’ve got to give it to him now. Have you got the lawyer lined up?

Yeah, yeah, that’s all set. Chris is taking care of things if he doesn’t play ball.

OK, I’ll get the note to him. If he doesn’t pay, we’ll need to get a trial set up quick. We don’t need anyone to go looking for him.

That afternoon, Mick was approached by Deputy Able. Hey, kid, I’ve got a message here—says to give it to you. The deputy pushed the note through the bars. I’ll be back soon.

Mick read the note: I’ll withdraw the charges for $400,000. He reread the note. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but this note gave him a chance to get out of this mess. As he thought more about it, he got angry. How could he give money to someone just to keep her quiet? It would mean he agreed with her that he had tried to hurt her. His heart screamed, No way! Don’t do this.

When Deputy Able strolled pass his cell, Mick called him over. You can tell her no. I am not giving her any money. I did not do anything to her, and she knows it. He turned his back on the deputy to let him know the conversation was over.

Deputy Able had no choice but to go talk to Sheriff Dale again. He said no. He isn’t giving her any money. I think he means it. He means to go to trial with this thing. Can you set it up quickly?

I think so. Can’t you change his mind? It is going to be messy to set a trial this quickly. How did this go wrong so fast?

Don’t think he’s going to change his mind. He’s a stubborn one.

I’ll call a retired judge I know. He’ll do it for me. And the prosecutor owes me a favor; he’ll go along too.