A Jeweler’s Eye View: Volume Three: a Dream’s End

By J. D. Riley

The epic saga of Jake Goodson comes to its conclusion in Volume Three of the trilogy, A Jeweler’s Eye View.

The spellbinding finale of the story begins with Jake Goodson and Sam Bailey in jail for the crime of a murder they didn’t commit. The incriminating testimonies and fabricated evidence brought against them are the result of the religious cult’s efforts to destroy them. At first, they seem to succeed. As the two men are left with the daunting task of exonerating themselves and even fighting for their very lives, they relentlessly continue their attempt to rescue the children from the Ekkklesia of Yahoeh.

The megalomaniacal leader of the Aryan sect allows his ambitions for power and religious supremacy to draw his followers into battle with all in the outside world who oppose him. While Hightower convinces them that all “outsiders” are in league with the Devil and must be destroyed, he focuses on removing everyone who gets in his way. As a result, he is brought face-to-face with Sam and Jake in a final epic battle. Jake attempts to outflank Hightower by infiltrating the Ekkklesia of Yahoeh, and this has turned on him as he is now immersed in his own rite of exorcism. The brainwashing strategies brought to bear against him invariably drive him deep into the psyche of his personal nightmares in ways that are completely unexpected.

As this exciting trilogy concludes, the forces of good and evil are brought into a final showdown as the battle unfolds between the religious cult and the two men trying to rescue their children from its grip.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Oct 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665711876

J. D. Riley

J. D. Riley is a licensed therapist who has worked in addiction treatment since 1982. He earned a bachelor’s degree in philosophy and religion from Berry College in Rome, Georgia, and a master’s degree in counseling from the University of Georgia. He is a US Army veteran who has a special interest in victims of PTSD, and cults and the psychology behind them. Riley currently lives with his family in Atlanta, Georgia.

Book preview

Prologue

O God, bring me to the sea’s end,

To the Hesperides

Sisters of evening,

Who sing alone in their islands,

Where the golden apples grow

And the Lord of Oceans guards the way

From all who would sail

Into their night-blue harbors

Let me escape to the rim of the world,

Where the tremendous firmament

Meets the earth,

And Atlas holds the universe in his palms.

For there, in the Palace of Zeus,

Wells of ambrosia

Pour through the chambers,

While the sacred earth lavishes life,

And Time adds his years

Only to Heaven’s happiness.

— Euripides;

Hippolytus

He stood at the precipice of the cliff, looking down on the beauty of the world below. Suddenly, thunder rumbled in the distance behind him, but he ignored it, remaining focused on the land stretching beneath his feet. Stratospheric mists blanketed the land below him, glowing saffron-gold in the afternoon sun. Occasional shafts pierced through, quilting the mysterious landscape far below with patchworks of gold, green and amber. It led him to drop to his knees, losing himself in its beauty.

Another low rumble led him to close his eyes and swallow hard, but he kept his attention on the world below. The thunder soon faded, leaving an ominous silence in its wake. The breeze resumed its soft whispering from the grassland at his back.

He breathed in deeply and studied the land below. The sea in the distance rolled softly on shimmering waters. To his right, a waterfall cascading down the enormous rockface tumbled and rolled down, dissipating in the shadowy mists at its base. To the south, a castle nestled into the rock promontory stood as a sentinel facing out to sea.

Please… He whispered again. Let me find a way down this time—please.

He looked down, taking in the enormity of the cliff below his feet. He shook his head, knowing that descent was impossible.

Believe… A soft, lyrical voice floated up the cliff face. Just believe… The words intermingled with a quiet, yet beautiful music drifting up to him. Faint yet distant, the sound of harps, lyre, and flutes intermingled with an indecipherable chanting behind the voice.

Wh…Who’s there? He asked.

The hermetic chanting continued, but no one answered. He leaned over the edge, desperate to find the source of the music.

The cry of an eagle high above drew his attention upward and he watched it soar on orographic swells as it glided north. When it reached the falls, it circled and dropped down, momentarily disappearing in the watery mists at the cliff’s base. It suddenly came back into view, swooping up and over the tree tops, landing on a high branch of a fir tree above the pool of water at the base of the falls. It drew his attention to a stone altar next to the pool. He then saw the source of the music.

Robed singers gathered around the altar, their flowing gowns appearing the color of the leaves and branches of the forest itself. The figure at the center of the ceremony caught his attention. From the distance, he was not able to make her out, but her beauty nevertheless held him captive. She alone did not wear the foliage of the forest, but was clothed in a soft, flowing white robe. Her hair was auburn-red and fell softly over her shoulders.

M…Mama?!? He gasped. Is that…?"

A loud, staccato crack of thunder rolling across the plains behind him jerked his attention from the falls. He panned the eastern horizon but saw nothing. He turned his attention back, but the music had stopped and the singers were gone. He leaned forward, desperately looking around for them, but they had vanished as if they had never been there at all. Thunder again rumbled at his back.

I’ve got to find a way down… He muttered, again studying the rock ledge.

He looked for a handhold in the granite but saw nothing but smooth stone. The enormity of the drop beneath him was overwhelming, irrevocably separating him from the world below. He sighed, and looked down at his worn hands and paltry rock-climbing attire, and knew he would not survive an attempted descent. He looked once more at the altar at the base of the falls, but it was empty.

I don’t believe you… He whispered, closing his eyes, and shaking his head, attempting to steady himself. This…This isn’t real; none of this is real, he muttered, looking down at his hands. This is only a dream, a figment of my mind—nothing more than a nightmare.

An unnatural peal of thunder caused him to spin around and look to the east, and he gasped. Someone was approaching through the grass. He rose and took a step into the yellowed stalks, squinting to make out the stranger.

The figure moved through the grass towards him, and though he at first appeared as no more than a dark speck on the eastern horizon, he gradually took on shape and form.

It was Sam.

He was moving through the sea of grass towards him, smiling. Though he looked haggard, seeing Jake seemed to revive him. Then, something else appeared on the horizon behind him. Jake stared past Sam with dread, as a line of robed figures marched straight at them from the east. The formation stretched across the entire horizon with each figure carrying a lit torch. As they drew closer, he saw they were dressed as Klansmen, and that the torches were flaming crosses. They held them up like banners, as if they were an enormous army on the move. Sam was oblivious of the macabre scene behind him and continued to move towards him.

Sam…NO! Jake yelled, waving to get his attention.

Sam smiled affably and waved back, unaware of the danger.

Suddenly, the line of robed figures stopped, as if on command. In unison the cross-bearers lowered their flaming pyres and lit the grass in front of them. The wind whipped the flames up with a roar, causing the dry expanse to burst into flames, rumbling skyward. In a flash, it became an enormous fiery wall, billowing up higher and higher, creating a blanket of black smoke that climbed straight up to the heavens.

The blackness grew with frightening speed, invading the entire eastern sky, rapidly billowing up to the zenith of the sky, mercilessly obliterating the azure blue, cresting into a black squall that obliterated the sun. It was as if the Klansmen had ignited the Storm of his dreams.

No, he said, shaking his head. Sam; RUN!!!

But Sam did not hear him. He kept coming, smiling, blissfully unaware of the danger behind him. Within moments, he was swallowed up in the dark wall of billowing smoke.

NOOOO!!! Jake yelled with despair. SAM!!!

The weather moved relentlessly across the fields, billowing at a frightening pace. It would be on him in moments.

You are not real either. You are just a shadow—a darker figment of my mind, he said, in a feeble attempt to brush aside his fear.

The wall rolled straight at him, mocking his declamations. The ferocity of the wind grew, blasting straight into him with deafening force. It snuffed out the last of his resolve, and he stumbled back with terror, falling to the rock, grasping for a handhold.

No…No! He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. I will not let you do this to me again! I do not believe in you! I won’t…

Step into it, Jake, the voice of his mother echoed up the cliff face, though he could no longer see her. Listen to the music and follow it.

The air shook the ground beneath him with a thunderous roar, buffeting him with merciless force. An explosive clap of thunder ruptured the air at his back. The enormous black cloud was now on him, barreling over him with deadly force.

There was no escape. He was caught in the vortex of a violent, swirling darkness that tore at his grip on the stone, and he began to slide backwards.

He tucked his head against the wind and glanced back to the West. Flashes of the sun still glimmered on the distant sea, but everything else was swallowed in darkness. A cold, musky blast slapped hard against him, dragging him along the wet stone towards the precipice. With a desperate cry, he closed his eyes and attempted to hold on with the last of his strength.

The very cornerstones of the earth suddenly shook with rupturing intensity, violently jerking away his grip on the rock. The black wall of cloud poured over the cliff’s edge, dwarfing the drop beneath the black colossus as it crested like an enormous wave and poured over the edge, swallowing everything in its wake.

NOOOO!!! He cried. The storm swallowed his scream with deafening effect, leaving nothing in its wake but a pathetic whimper. There was no escape from the shrieking madness.

He dropped flat onto the rock, continuing to slide. His grip faltered as he was dragged back. He found himself once again helplessly pulled to the edge of the precipice.

Not again...

He was suddenly swallowed into a cold, stygian darkness that slammed into him with freight-train ferocity. Lightning flashed angrily all around him, offering the only dim light in the swirling sea of darkness.

It violently slapped him into an outcropping of rock to his left and dragged him over the edge. He grappled frantically for a handhold, but to no avail.

The storm swept him over and the undertow of the rolling black wave tossed him like a ragdoll out into the black abyss, spinning out of control.

With an involuntary wail, he cried out as one whose very soul is being ripped apart.

Chapter One

The joy in his eyes was gone.

He no longer sang.

He no longer mentioned either

God or the Kabbalah.

He spoke only of what he had seen.

But people not only refused to believe his tales,

They refused to listen.

— Elie Wiesel;

Night

EEEEEIIAAAHHH!!!

With a start, Jake bolted up on his cot. Looking around, he became more frightened and confused as he saw he was not in his own bed, and that uniformed men were pushing through the doorway to get to him. He jumped up, falling back into a fighting stance, panicked, and disoriented.

Gaddammit, Goodson, keep it down in here! One of the men barked, standing just inside the jail cell door, afraid to move forward. He banged his night stick loudly against the wall. This led him to throw himself more resolutely into a fighting stance.

Get away from me! He yelled, ducking and crouching like a pugilist, fists upraised and ready to pounce, still in an altered state from his dream.

His jail door clanged open wide as three more officers rushed in.

Get back! Jake growled, pulling up his fists. Or I swear to God I will…

His words were interrupted by a loud whack, and flash of pain to his left temple, and within moments, the men had him pinned down on the cell floor, moaning, and immobilized.

Keep this crap up, Goodson, the first officer said as the men threw him on his cot and backed out of the cell. "And we’ll strap you down and leave you strapped down!" He yanked the cell door closed with a loud clang.

Uhhnh… Jake moaned. Wh…Where’s Officer Terry?

His shift was over yesterday morning, the man said, as the three other officers with him left. You’re stuck with us now…

Wh…What time is it?

It’s almost four, the man said.

Four? I missed the morning?

It’s four in the morning—you missed an entire day.

Where’s Sam?

Your accomplice?

My friend.

He’s not far, he said, nodding to his left. He is in a holding cell down the hall. Why…?

I…I would just like to know he’s okay.

"Both of you need to stop worrying about each other and focus on your own situation, the man said. Murder is no small charge. In fact, it could get you the chair in this state."

I…I don’t understand all this, Jake muttered, shaking his head. Why does everyone think we killed someone?

I’m sure they’ll let you know in a few hours, the man said. In the meantime, I would advise you to stop all that yelling. Besides, it damned sure is not gonna work for you to threaten law enforcement officers; not after what you did with those Twiggs County deputies. Many of these guys here are just wanting you to try something with them. So, I would advise you to keep it quiet, Goodson, or you will end up getting hurt—seriously hurt!

I’m not trying to hurt anyone; I…I was just having a dream, Jake muttered, gasping from the bruising to his ribcage he had received two nights before from Johnny Harris. A nightmare…

"Yeah, well, you are awake now. Welcome to the real nightmare, he said. Only this one ain’t going away."

Jake looked from his cot at the officer, dismayed at the inordinate venom pouring from him. The man spoke in answer to his look.

I knew Milo. We all did, he said. He wasn’t the brightest star in the sky and he damned sure wasn’t no saint, but he didn’t deserve what he got.

Jake sat up and sighed, dropping his head and rubbing his temple where he’d just been hit.

Sure, he would come in drunk and belligerent, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly, the officer continued. In fact, once he sobered up, he was a pretty nice guy. Many of the officers here have taken it personally what happened to him, and would love to get whoever killed him into the ‘special’ holding cell out back with a trustee of ours, Goony Wilson.

Wha…Who?

A skinhead with an attitude; that’s who. Some of the other officers are betting it wouldn’t take more than about twenty minutes with Goony before you started howling out a confession.

Jake laid back down and rolled over onto his side, turning his back on the man.

They say you’re a Vietnam veteran; that you were some kind of bad-ass over there. Is it true?

Jake remained silent.

Yeah; that’s what I thought, he said. It’s all talk, ain’t it? Anyone who would brutalize a helpless old drunk like Milo ain’t someone who’s got any real gravel in ‘im. Personally, I think you’re full of shit, Goodson.

Jake remained silent.

I ain’t gonna pretend Milo was the best human being in the world, but like I said, I knew the man for years and he didn’t deserve to…

I didn’t kill him…

Of course, you didn’t, the officer said.

Jake groaned at the pain in his ribcage, and rolled back over to face his oppressor. He looked up at the high cell window, making out stars in the distant sky.

What the hell…? He whispered, coming more to his senses. What time did you say it is?

It’s four in the morning, the man said, softening his demeanor at Jake’s obvious disorientation.

Ah, Sam… Jake muttered, rolling back to face the wall.

Like I said, I would not be worrying about your friend. He is safely tucked away…very safely tucked away. Again, you need to be worrying about yourself; not him.

He…We didn’t murder anyone, Officer Grant, Jake muttered having read the man’s nametag before he had turned away. We didn’t even know your friend, Milo.

I never said he was my friend, the man snapped. I just said he didn’t deserve what he got.

I agree with you, Jake said.

"Just try to go back to sleep, and do it quietly. I don’t want to have to come back in here; got it?"

Yeah, Jake said. Sure. Sleep…

The jailer studied him for a moment and then, shaking his head, turned and walked away.

I’ll be back in thirty, he said over his shoulder. Now, don’t go nowhere, he said mockingly. Get some rest if you can. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.

Jake remained silent as the man walked off.

Yeah, get your beauty rest, sweetheart, an inmate from another cell called out, snickering at the interchange after the hall door slammed shut behind the officer.

That’s right, another man said from a cell across from Jake. I can’t imagine it’ll go too well for you after threatening those jokers. Besides, I heard you left a trail a mile long. If you’re gonna kill someone, you should at least cover your tracks!

Yeah, a third said. Not too bright. You are lucky to be in here and not in GP. It’s not just Gooney you’d have to worry about. Skinheads rule GP!

Jake ignored the catcalls and looked out the window at the stars. After a few moments, he closed his eyes.

That was some shit what happened to Milo, wasn’t it? The first man muttered to the others.

Yeah, another said. It was some serious shit.

Asshole… Another inmate growled, insinuating Jake’s guilt with his tone.

Yeah, Jake muttered under his breath. Whatever…

Chapter Two

"One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding

is the wish to die. This life appears un

bearable, another unattainable.

One is no longer ashamed of wanting to die;

one asks to be moved from the old cell,

which one hates, to a new one, which one will

only in time come to hate.

In this there is also a residue of belief

that during the move the master will chance

to come along the corridor, look at the prisoner and say:

"This man is not to be locked up again,

He is to come with me."

— Franz Kafka; Blue Octavo Notebooks

Bibb County Law Enforcement Center

11:00 am, two days later.

The electronic lock on the iron door clanged loudly behind Jake, and he waited with his hands cuffed behind his back. The sheriff’s deputy opened the next door with a raucous clack and closed it with a loud bang as they moved through. He was escorted through a maze of doors and corridors from one cell block to another, moving towards the front of the building of the Bibb County Law Enforcement Center.

His attention was drawn to the sounds of inmates shouting as he past. He looked around, hoping to see Sam. He had not seen or heard from him since they had been separated, and he wished he knew what had happened to him.

They entered the front lobby and were met by an entourage of men in suits looking as if they had been waiting for him. Dr. John Shumaker was standing among them.

D…Doc? He exclaimed, surprised at seeing his therapist. What are you doing here?

Jake, Shumaker said with a nod. It’s so good to see y… what has happened to your face?

Jake had not had a chance to look in a mirror. An ugly swollen discoloration had flared up on his forehead where he had been smacked with a nightstick in the early morning hours two nights prior.

Bring him this way, Officer Butts, one of the suits barked before Jake could respond. The man wore his importance with a conspicuous badge of rank hanging from his suit lapel. Three uniformed officers stood deferentially behind him, beginning to move. Jake was nudged to approach the officer.

Just as the man of importance moved to step forward, he was intercepted by an elderly African-American man who had also been standing in the group. He was wearing an expensive suit and a look of grim resolve.

Mr. Goodson? He asked.

Yes?

I’m Eustace Driggers, of Driggers and Associates, out of New York, he said, offering his hand. You met with my associate, Mr. Hogan earlier and signed the contract allowing me to represent you? He held up a legal looking document.

Yes, of course, Jake said, taking his hand.

As Mr. Hogan explained earlier, we are also the Law firm representing Mr. Bailey, he gestured at the two men standing with him. You know Mr. Hogan, and this is Mr. Abrams. As Sam was the one who asked me to represent you, he wanted me to make sure that I assured you that you will incur no charges for my services. It’s already been taken care of.

Yes, Jake said, looking from him to John Shumaker, who nodded approval. I’m grateful to you, Mr. Driggers, and of course, grateful to Sam. How is he, by the way? Is he…?

Later, Mr. Goodson, Driggers said gravely, then turned to his companions. Have you got the writ, Joe? He asked Mr. Abrams.

Yes, sir, he said, opening his briefcase, and handing it to Driggers.

Eustace Driggers then turned to the plainclothes detective, and handed it over to him. The detective studied the document for a minute.

The first order of business, Officer Cowley, he said. Is for you to remove the cuffs from my client, as he is no longer under arrest.

"We have our protocols, sir, and according to this court order, your client is still to be detained until a psychological evaluation is completed. After that, we will determine if he is safe enough for his restraints to be removed. You may accompany your client, sir, but we will do this according to our protocols—not yours, Cowley said curtly, handing the court order back to Driggers, and waving them towards an administrative door. Bring Goodson, he said to the officer escorting Jake, then turned and looked challengingly at the attorney. And keep him secured—until we’ve completed the evaluation. Dr. Shumaker…?" He gestured for the psychologist to follow.

I will remind you, Officer Cowley, Driggers interrupted, stepping to intercept. "There is a difference—even in your own policy manual—between a ‘detainee’ and an ‘arrestee’ and how they are to be handled. I made sure before I left Judge Wilcox’s chambers this morning that my client was no longer under arrest for the crime of murder. As you can see, it’s spelled out right here." He pointed a finger at the document in hand. The District Attorney has conceded that he has no substantive grounds to hold my client for the crime of murder.

Yeah, well, Cowley interjected. There is still the matter of an assault on police officers on the night of his arrest, and his threatening behavior with my own officers two mornings ago, and…

Aggravated assault charges from the Twiggs County’s Sheriff’s Office have also been dropped through a plea agreement with the district judge of that county. It is only due to the insistence of a third party in the courtroom that we have agreed to an evaluation of my client’s mental stability, but this evaluation has nothing to do with the charge of murder. I want to make sure you fully understand that, Officer Cowley, before you continue the course you are taking with my client. I will also remind you that your officers went into my client’s closed jail cell with nightsticks drawn, while he was having a nocturnal nightmare. He was beaten by your men even though he did not make the first move of aggression!

He held the plainclothes detective’s eyes, remaining unmoving.

Are you threatening me, sir? Cowley growled with indignation. "In spite of your fancy law-talk, law enforcement officers have, in fact, been injured by this man in the last seventy-two hours, and I am not taking any chances, see? I understand you run a big-time law practice in New York, Mr. Driggers, but you are in my jailhouse now. The judge and the DA happen to be very close associates of mine, and…"

Reasonable cooperation is expected of a ‘detainee’ during an evaluation process such as this, Driggers interrupted forcefully. "I understand this, and so does my client. But the expectation of law enforcement personnel during such a procedure is that ‘reasonable’ detainment measures are used. And unless you can present me with concrete evidence that Mr. Goodson is unwilling to cooperate with you at this moment, or has acted in an unprovoked violent manner within the last forty-eight hours, you have no legal grounds for keeping him in restraints. With the obvious injuries he has incurred at the hands of your officers, I demand you take the cuffs off now."

They stood in front of one another, unmoving. Cowley finally cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Sir, I can appreciate that you want to ensure the legal rights of your client, and that you will twist your interpretation of what those rights look like in order for things to go easier on him, but when law enforcement officers have been injured in the line of duty by someone like your client, I will not take a chance on anything happening to one of my men, so I make no apologies for my men’s actions to contain your client the other morning, and I will restrain him until he physically leaves my facility. So, I will again ask you, sir, to step aside and let me do my job!"

He glared at the attorney threateningly.

"He was having a nightmare, and according to your own shift reports, your men knew that before they ever entered his cell. He was not making a conscientious effort to aggressively attack your guards until they moved in on him. So, I will ask you again to present me with evidence that my client—who is fully awake and alert now—is, in fact, acting less than cooperative this morning, Officer Cowley, he said. If so, I need to see the documented evidence of this before we proceed."

Cowley stood in silence, unmoving.

In terms of this psychological evaluation, Dr. Shumaker will readily admit right here and now that Mr. Goodson has PTSD from the Vietnam war, and that my client has nightmares related to this. It is my understanding this is the only evidence of a questionable nature that you have had to contend with in the past couple of days, and that it happened around 4:00 am. All that happened was that your officers went into his jail cell, unprovoked, and beat him for making ‘noise,’ Driggers said, gesturing at Jake’s facial injuries. "And for your information, Detective Cowley, the last time I checked, the Law Enforcement Center belongs to the taxpayers of this county—men like my client—and not to you, sir. You are a paid servant of the law, not the one who owns it."

Cowley stood in silence, and the rest of the room fell silent. Even Jake became anxious as he watched the Detective’s face turn red with rage, his neck bulging in his collar.

Sir, you can quote the law to me all day, but do not presume to lecture me on our policies here at the Center, Cowley shot back, glancing at the other officers standing with him, incensed at being called out in front of them, but hesitant to physically push the man aside due to the case’s high-profile status. I have served for the last seven years as chairman of the Community and Staff Development Committee with the Bureau of Administrative Services here at the Bibb County Law Enforcement Center. I personally oversaw the writing of the policy to which you are referring, and so, I am fully aware of what our protocols are!

Driggers again turned to his assistant.

Joe? He held out his hand, and Abrams rifled through the documents in his briefcase, found one, and handed it to him. Then I am sure you are aware of the specifics in your Policy on ‘Restraint of Detainees,’ in which you and your legal advisors outlined in response to the constrictions put forth in the Fifth and Eighth Amendments regarding use of ‘undue force’ by law enforcement in Section 509.3.1 of your policy manual. I’m also sure that you understand what the Constitution of the United States says about the rights of its citizens regarding the use of such force. On page forty-three of your policy manual, it specifically says…

It specifically says… Cowley interrupted. That a law enforcement officer with the rank of Inspector or above, has the right to authorize restraint of a suspect after ‘weighing the safety interests at hand against the continuing intrusion upon the detainee.’ I know what it says, sir.

The officers standing with Cowley grinned at his daunting response to the New York attorney.

"I don’t know how you do things in New York, Mr. Driggers, and frankly, don’t care," Cowley said, feeling vindicated. "But in Georgia, law enforcement officers will ensure the safety of their citizens as well as the safety of their fellow officers first, even at the expense of an individual’s ‘rights.’ Therefore, I will decide when it is safe to release Mr. Goodson. He smiled coldly at Driggers. Now, can we move on?"

After glancing from the officers standing with the police officer, Eustace Driggers stepped up to the Investigator, holding his eyes.

You think this is over, Officer Cowley? Driggers said. "You want to think you have won your little ‘saving face’ argument in front of your men here, at the expense of my client? I assure you, sir, you have not even begun to hear the last of this. I have nothing but time and resources at my disposal. He smiled coldly at the officer. And because of your admission of being the author of this policy, you will be defending the decision you’re making right now far beyond the confines of these walls, and beyond the hearing of your colleagues today. I assure you, sir; if it is determined you, in fact, have broken Federal law by use of excessive force with this decision of yours this morning, or with the decision you have backed with your men’s attack on my client, he gestured at his head wound. Your friends at the Bibb County Courthouse will be nowhere around when you and I meet in a court of law on this. In fact, they will end up like rats jumping from a sinking ship, leaving you standing at the helm alone."

He held his eyes with cold conviction.

"The Supreme Court of the United States has already decided through the Warren Court that ‘detainees awaiting trial are particularly vulnerable to government abuse and have the latitude to not have to prove their alleged abusers intended to harm them," Driggers continued, then turned to Joseph Abrams.

Joe, I want pictures of Mr. Goodson’s face and the bruises on his ribcage before we leave this facility this morning, Driggers said, and then turned back to Cowley. Now, my client will continue to go willingly with you—in restraints, Driggers continued. And we’ll finish this, and even though it becomes arguable that the outcome of such an evaluation is being influenced by the use of unnecessary force through your decision to keep him tied down like an animal, we will cooperate.

That’s good, Mr. Driggers, Cowley said coldly, again feeling vindicated. I will make note of your willingness to cooperate with our procedures. Officer Banks? Please make note of this. He turned to one of his officers, who pulled up his notepad and jotted something down.

Oh, we’ll cooperate with your ‘procedures,’ Officer Cowley, and then my client will go home, a free man, Driggers said, returning a cold smile to the lieutenant. "But you can rest assured, sir, I will be taking you and your little backwater jailhouse operation right up the steps of the United States Supreme Court in Washington on this one. And that is not a threat, Officer Cowley; that is a promise. The Writ of Habeas Corpus did not prevent me from appealing the innocence of my client in your Superior Court this morning, so I do not think it will prevent me from challenging your decision to keep him handcuffed like a common prisoner."

Your client was aggressive with my officers two mornings ago, sir, and…

Yeah, you go ahead with that one, sir, Driggers interrupted. But I think you are going to have a difficult time defending the actions of the men in your charge for entering my client’s cell and attacking him while he was experiencing a nocturnal nightmare—a nightmare directly tied to his medically disabling condition of PTSD.

He then turned to Mr. Hogan.

Frank, please make note that Officer Cowley claims personal responsibility for the writing of Policy 509.3.1, and for his personal decision on how it’s to be enforced here this morning.

He turned back to Cowley.

Now Lieutenant, let’s go ahead. Just know I will be sure everyone on your committee who participated in the signing of Policy 509.3.1 will be dragged into court with you, to defend your decisions here today.

He continued to level his eyes at Cowley as the Lieutenant stood in silence, glaring at him.

The judicial branch of government is my arena, sir, not yours, Driggers continued. "I have lived, and breathed it for a very, very long time. I have parleyed the ‘interpretation of the law’ for decades in courtrooms with the best rivals in the land, and I assure you, interpretation of how the executive branch of government—that would be you, sir—is to interface with the citizens of this country, is my battleground!"

Cowley stared at him, having become uncertain how to respond.

So, go ahead and debate with me on what the Federal Law says about ‘arbitrary and disproportionate punishments,’ or whether a police officer has the prerogative to deny a detainee the constitutional right to due process in disciplinary proceedings. As a paid government employee working for the executive branch of government, you, sir, are bound by the laws of the land in a way that would make the average citizen cringe.

He continued to stare at Cowley, who remained in stunned silence.

You want to know how we do things in New York, Officer Cowley? Driggers continued. "Oh, we have state laws in New York, just like you do here in Georgia. And we also know that the State operates with a certain amount of self-determination and latitude as offered by the Tenth Amendment of the Constitution of these United States. But in New York, we recognize that Federal Law still supersedes the prerogatives of State Law when it comes to the Bill of Rights. Now, it is my understanding that Georgia lost its prerogative to ignore these Federal mandates when it lost the war of secession over one-hundred years ago; or have I missed something…Suh?" He asked mockingly.

Cowley glared at the black attorney, incensed by his insolence and racial insinuations. He then looked around, as if suddenly caged.

Take ‘em off, Jack, he said to the officer holding Jake. Let’s get this over with…

Sir? The man asked, confused.

The cuffs! He barked at his deputy, who immediately released Jakes hands. Cowley then turned to Driggers. "One wrong move, sir, and I will place you both under arrest. Is that clear?"

Driggers smiled at Cowley.

Lead the way, Lieutenant, Driggers said with a wave of his hand.

Cowley glared at the attorney, swallowing his indignation, then led them into the administrative wing. After turning down a corridor to the right, Cowley swung open an office door and stepped back, but put up a hand to stop Driggers.

Detainee first, he commanded, as he nodded for Jake to be taken in, and the deputy ushered him to a chair. Driggers was then allowed to enter, followed by John Shumaker. The starkly furnished room had only a folding table and three chairs.

Would you like Officer Butts to remain here with you, Dr. Shumaker? Cowley asked, leveling his gaze at Driggers. In that the detainee is not in restraints and has a history of violence, I would strongly recommend it—for safety reasons, sir.

No thank you, Officer, Shumaker said. I’m fine. I would just like some privacy with my client.

You’re my witness, Officer Butts, that I made the offer! Cowley barked, turning to his subordinate, determined to get in the last word before he stepped out.

Yes, sir! Butts barked.

Thank you for defending my patient, Mr. Driggers, Shumaker said, as the officers left the room. I suspect this evaluation will not take long, but I would like some private time with him, if that is okay with you. I would also like for him to get medical attention for the injuries to his head.

Medical attention is already on its way. And I will give you privacy, Dr. Shumaker, Eustace Driggers said, with a nod. However, I would like one quick moment with my client if you don’t mind?

Not at all, John Shumaker said with a polite nod, then stepped back out of the room and into the hallway.

Well, he’s a piece of work, isn’t he? Cowley snarled at Shumaker, nodding in the attorney’s direction after the door was closed.

Perhaps he’s just trying to look out for the best interests of his client, Lieutenant, Shumaker said flatly. Then, with a syrupy smile, he turned away, indicating he wasn’t interested in a continued conversation with him.

Cowley turned and stomped off in a huff.

Thank you, Mr. Driggers, Jake said, rubbing his wrists after the door was closed. For everything…

Thank Sam, Driggers said. He’s the reason I’m here.

I will. How is he, by the way? Jake asked, leaning in. Is he out, too? Has he been released?

I’m afraid not, Driggers said. There’s ah…a little more involved with his case.

Why? Jake asked. He and I were together the day of the murder! I can testify to the fact that…

It won’t help…not at this point, Driggers interrupted. We are dealing with eye witness testimony claiming Sam was overheard promising to ‘take retribution’ against the man, Milo Johnson. They have actual photographs of him threatening him.

Yeah, I’ve seen those photographs. There’s no way those pictures are of Milo Johnson. He wasn’t even a resident out there on the night Sam was there, Jake said. It’s like I told your associate; I didn’t bring Milo to that place until a week after Sam was there.

They have argued that he was there at that time. They claim he has been in and out of their program numerous times and that he was there during a prior admission, Driggers said. They say he had left on a bender when you found him. At this point, we have no evidence to dispute their claim.

But…you got me out, and—

Your case is different. I was able to persuade the judge this morning that the so-called evidence against you was hearsay evidence—second-hand reports. I was then able to challenge the veracity of the evidence against you by pointing out how each of the eight-witness testimonies were given, one after another with the exact same wording—verbatim. I challenged the so-called evidence as having been scripted, because you never get eight separate witness testimonies without some verbal variations, even when testimony proves to be true. There are always slight variations in the statements given. Therefore, I was given the opportunity to cross-examine these witnesses, and their testimonies quickly began to fall apart. The judge had to let you go, even though the District Attorney wasn’t happy. Just know you are not off the hook. You are still considered a suspect, even though I have filed perjury charges against these so-called witnesses. In other words, you can go home, but you cannot leave the State, Mr. Goodson.

Hightower… Jake growled. And his man, Jenson; they’re behind all of this.

Yes, they are, Driggers said. Rest assured, I have them in my crosshairs. Falsifying evidence is a felony, and to do so on an investigation of murder is guaranteed to get a man prison time. We will start with the eight witnesses, then offer a plea bargain to them based on ‘harassment-motivated’ testimony if they are willing to implicate the ones who set them up. We will keep going up the ladder until we get to that minister and his leadership. I will not stop until I get them on the stand before a judge; don’t worry. I am going after the top brass of that Ek…Ekkklesia of…what do they call themselves?

…Yahoeh, Jake said. The Ekkklesia of Yahoeh—with three K’s, Jake added with emphasis.

"Right now, I am now going after the witnesses testifying against Sam, even though Hightower’s attorneys have them under lock and key, claiming they are afraid to leave the safety of the church compound. Even if we must get them escorted by the National Guard to the courthouse, they will have to account for their affidavits. I expect they are being coached right now. But in the meantime, Sam must stay put."

Sam doesn’t deserve this… Jake said, looking around, to make sure they were not overheard. "Now me, on the other hand, I may be innocent of these charges, but—between you and me—I would do something to that preacher if given the chance. The only thing Sam has ever done is try to talk me down. If anybody is innocent here, it’s Sam."

It doesn’t matter, Jake, Driggers said. We can deny the allegations are true, but the fact is, he was there on the night the photographs were taken showing him holding a chainsaw before a blazing tree he had ignited, and that has given the DA enough grounds to hold him. Besides, they need someone behind bars for the crime. At this point, it’s political as much as anything else.

They have those made-up photographs of me actually being in their compound eight months ago, supposedly attacking those men, Jake said. Why aren’t they using those against me?

They tried to, Driggers said. But I didn’t allow them to bring a prior conviction as ‘character’ evidence in this new case.

Why not?

They claimed it was ‘tendency and coincidence evidence,’ but I reminded them of the precedential supreme court decision regarding such a maneuver. The judge conceded that it was inadmissible as evidence in this new crime, and it was dismissed.

But with Sam…?

Due to the high-profile nature of this case, the judge has refused to set bail—at least until a thorough investigation has been carried out.

Hightower—that bastard… Jake muttered.

As far as I am concerned, they have nothing more than hearsay evidence against him, but the photographs and the witness testimony is enough to keep him behind bars—for now, anyway.

Jake sat back shaking his head.

But we got you out, Jake, Driggers said. Sam was insistent that I clear you first. That’s why you’re out before him.

Sam…

And in order to get you released, I had to concede to this evaluation with Dr. Shumaker. The prosecutor convinced the Judge of the need for a psychological evaluation of you.

Yeah; I’ve been here before.

They tried to push for their own psychiatrist to evaluate you, but I was able to appeal to the judge based on your history with Dr. Shumaker and how your time with him before has proven to be effective. Yet, I couldn’t sidestep the demand for an evaluation because of your episode with the police officers from a neighboring county.

Thank you, Jake said sincerely.

And even after this evaluation period, you will still have to continue to see the doctor once a week for ‘monitoring’—for at least, ninety days.

So, what’s new? Jake shrugged. Shumaker’s okay; I don’t mind.

At first, they did not want to concede to your release because of your behavior with Twiggs County law enforcement officers the night of your arrest. I used the reports provided by the GBI who ultimately arrested you to challenge the legality of the Sheriff’s officers’ methodology in detaining you. I pointed out how you willingly went along with the GBI. Then they tried to argue against your release because of the evidence found in your house.

They planted that stuff on me, Jake said. And the audacity of it is that it is exactly the evidence we got on how they killed my mother. I am sure those bastards even planted the very textbook about poisons they had used on her themselves, Jake said, shaking his head with anger.

I argued that their claims of the textbook and the vials of medications being put forth as evidence of your alleged conspiracy to commit murder is not only circumstantial, it has nothing to do with the murder of Milo Johnson. He was not poisoned.

That stuff wasn’t planted in my house to implicate me for Milo’s murder, Mr. Driggers, Jake said, shaking his head with disgust. It was planted to neutralize the evidence Sam had on how my mother was killed.

Yes, I know.

Hey…Can they hear us? He asked, looking around at the ceiling suspiciously. This room couldn’t be bugged, right?

Not during a meeting between client and counsel, Driggers said sitting back. They are not going to cross that line, I assure you. Say what you need to say, Jake.

The truth is, my mother was murdered, Mr. Driggers, Jake said. Johnny Harris, the Chief Investigator with the Twiggs County Sheriff’s Department was in on it. Jeff Jenson, the second-in-command at that church, is Harris’ first cousin. My mother was not the intended target; she was just caught in the crossfire of what was intended for Sam. And Sam only had those items because he…

I’m aware of the situation, Jake, Driggers said, throwing up a hand. I may not be able to get Sam out of here yet, but I have private investigators working on it. Sam told me everything.

They murdered my mother, Mr. Driggers, Jake said, his eyes bulging with sudden grief and rage. That is why I lost it and attacked Harris three nights ago. Sam was only trying to…to keep me contained long enough to get proof of their guilt. The only reason he did his own research is he did not trust that the evidence would go missing or get mishandled here in Middle Georgia. He was right. He was just trying to get the proof he needed to…

I know, Jake, Driggers said, putting a hand on Jake’s arm. I just wish he’d called me before he took the action he took.

Yeah, Jake said, looking down. Maybe. But maybe that wouldn’t have kept the evidence from getting dismissed or lost anyway…

Please try to refrain—for now—from publicly accusing particular individuals of murder, Driggers said. Let my own men work on it. Please try to avoid carrying out your own private investigation, Jake, or… Driggers hesitated, studying him. Or your own private vendettas.

Jake looked down, and after a moment’s hesitation, nodded.

If you have anything you think will help, please let me know—okay?

Jake looked at him.

You’ve got to promise me, Jake…

O…Okay, Mr. Driggers, Jake said, looking down at his hands.

I’m good at what I do, Jake, Driggers said with a reassuring smile. And I cannot be bought or blackmailed by the other side. Just give me a chance, okay?

Okay, Mr. Driggers, Jake said, looking up and meeting his eyes.

Call me Eustace, Driggers said, rising and offering his hand. Now, I’ll let you have time with your therapist.

Thanks again, Mr. Ah…Eustace.

Just keep in mind, that unless you decide to go crazy in your session with your doctor this morning, Eustace said. You’re going home today.

Jake looked up at him, and Driggers nodded with a reassuring smile and left.

Going home… Jake said, looking distractedly at the closed metal door, thinking of going to his mother’s empty house. He thought of Sam, and his own empty house. He thought of the children. He thought of his mother.

He thought of Liên.

Sure, Mr. Driggers, he said, looking at the closed door with a grim smile. Against his volition, his smile twisted into a grief he could not control. I’m going home…

Chapter Three

Everyone sees what you appear to be,

few experience what you really are.

— Niccolò Machiavelli;

The Prince

We have work to do, so let’s finish this up, Hightower said to his leadership team. They were meeting in the Board Room of the Chamber of the Fifth Seal. Brother Todd, Brother Edwards—you have your strategies in place?

Yes, Prophet, Todd said. We present the fact that our witnesses were under extreme duress from the terror they felt as a result of the threatening manner Bailey presented himself that night, and were traumatized two weeks later by the way their fellow congregant was murdered.

Good, he said. And Goodson’s witnesses?

They are being coached right now with how to respond to the perjury charges, Edwards said. Don’t worry, Prophet; we will get the charges dismissed.

Then let’s get moving. Get these ‘false evidence’ charges against our boys taken care of. You are dismissed.

The two men got up and left.

Brother Allen, he continued, turning to the Youth Minister, Allen Glover. Give us highlights on the children.

Yes, Prophet, Glover said, clearing his throat. The Children’s Unit is coming along fine. Scripture classes are in order, and most of the children are completing their assignments, and…

I’m not asking for a prepared speech on the program, Brother, Hightower snapped. "You know who I want to hear about; so, get to it! He commanded. One child at a time."

The boy, Michael Jenson, continues to resist our attempts to educate him. He even continues to defy his brother who also tries to coach him. He does not let up with his idolizing obsession of his former step-father. He keeps saying he wants to go live with ‘his daddy.’

What measures have you taken to quell his defiance? Hightower asked.

We have turned him over to young Brother Cory, who is only slightly older than him, but is one of our most devoted children, Prophet. Cory has his sights set on becoming a ‘Youth Warrior for Yahoeh,’ and has already had a strong impact on many of the other children, Glover said. He’s already begun some intense work with him, and… He hesitated.

And…? Hightower pressed.

Uh… Glover shifted in his chair, clearing his throat. The Jenson boy bit Brother Cory, and Brother Cory punched him in the face. Cory ended up in a scuffle with Brother Scott, and the two boys had to be separated. Now Brother Cory is back with his mentor for the next few weeks to regain his composure and Brother Scott is in the Mendicant Quarters with his brother. I am planning to get them back on track just as soon as…

No. I do not want the two brothers in close quarters to each other. Get Brother Scott out of there and back to where he can continue his private sessions with me. As far as this young degenerate, Michael, it is time for him to receive a special exorcism, Hightower said.

Special, Prophet?

He will be fine once he’s had several private sessions with me, Hightower said. Set it up with my secretary, Brother Louis. Now…who’s next?

The child, Susan Bowling, has become withdrawn and aloof, nearly unapproachable, except with one other child in her dorm room. She has become very distraught over the debacle with her father and because she has become aware of her mother’s bout with cancer. Our counselors have tried to explain to her that a deeper commitment to you on her part will help with her mother’s healing, but so far, she has refused to engage. She has even resorted to blaming us for her mother’s sickness. Prophet, the Prefect, Sister Margaret, has not spared the rod with the child when she starts with her insolence, but corporal punishment so far only seems to have made her worse.

We’ll come back to her, Hightower said. And the other children of concern?

Joseph Randal, known as Joey, has been the biggest challenge of all. He has already had three fist fights with other boys, two of whom were mentors who were just trying to lovingly redirect him. He punched two of them in the face when they offered a hand of friendship. He is also currently on the Mendicant Wing.

How long? Hightower asked.

He’s been there for four days, and is scheduled to remain for three more, Prophet, Glover said. Exorcism groups only lead to violence with him. He appears to have a host of demons in possession of his soul.

I know the child, Hightower said. Keep him in the Repentance Room for an extra week with only bread and water. He will need to be strapped down and gagged when he’s returned to the exorcism group. We will discuss his release next week after we see how he is doing at that time. And the fourth child?

Anne Randal, Joey’s little sister, Allen Glover said, clearing his throat. She cries all the time. We have tried every known method at our disposal for disciplining her, but this only leads her to yowl all the harder.

It is my understanding she has had moments of becoming submissive. Is that not correct? Hightower asked.

Yes, Prophet, Glover said. But only when we threaten to discipline her brother, Joey. She will then quiet down and behave for a brief time. Somehow, she found out that he is on the Mendicant wing, and this has led her to become worse. It is difficult to hold her behavior in check or to redirect her when she is in one of her moods. Both she and her brother are exceptionally defiant and rebellious."

Has she bonded with any of the other children? Jeff asked. Perhaps we could get to her through the same approach we are trying with Michael.

The problem is, the only other child she has bonded with in any way is the other young girl we are having difficulties with, Susan Bowling. The two girls have turned to each other for solace and companionship. We have allowed it because it stops them both from crying so much.

You stop that friendship right now, Hightower said flatly. Between the two of them, the demons occupying their souls will find a stronghold of faithlessness and rebellion through such a diabolical alliance.

Yes, Prophet, Glover said, again squirming before the Prophet. We have tried separating them because of our concerns about this, but the Randal child resumed her crying and whining that she ‘wants to go home.’ Then the other child starts doing the same, crying for her mother.

I don’t care, Hightower barked. Make sure the separation of the two girls is permanent. Move Susan Bowling back in the Induction Dormitory, Hightower said. I do not want them to see one another again—ever. Get the Randal child with Angela and the other young girls in Dorm Three.

Yes, Prophet, Glover said.

And mention to Archangel Uriel that Joey Randal will be joining his group of boys when he’s released from the Mendicant Wing, Hightower added.

The Youthful Warriors for Yahoel Group, Prophet? Glover asked, shocked.

If he wants to fight, we will let him fight there, Hightower said.

But, Prophet, he’s only ten years of age! Glover said, surprised. The minimum age requirement you set for the Invictus Youth Group is thirteen, and…

"I don’t need your elucidation of my rules, Brother Glover, Hightower barked. I want him moved, so do it. Make the preparations with Archangel Uriel. If he wants to punch other children in the face, let him try it with the older boys. They will be glad to discipline him in the ways of a true Aryan warrior."

Kerux Invictus has spoken wisely! Boyd said with a gleam in his eye. Brother Harding and I will work with several of the older boys who are anxious to become full-fledged Guardian Angels. Joey Randal can start all the fights he wants with them. The problem is, he won’t be finishing those fights.

Yes, Brother Raguel, Glover said, nodding obsequiously to the big man. I am honored to have you working with us.

Talk to Archangel Uriel, Hightower commanded Glover, concluding the discussion.

Yes, Prophet! Glover said. Through obedience comes enlightenment, through enlightenment comes salvation!

You are dismissed, Brother, Hightower said, and Glover immediately jumped up and left the boardroom.

Now, tell me about Susan Bowling’s father, Hightower said, turning to the Mustard Seed Program Director, Nelson Habersham.

Theodore Bowling?

We all know about his recent attempt to kidnap the child and escape with her, Hightower said. How was he able to get past your men? Where is he now with his treatment? Are you making any headway with his exorcism?

Well, Prophet, he is uh, especially tough, Habersham said, leaning back as if he was personally implicated in the treatment failure.

Why don’t you just tell us of his episode of trying to abduct the child to escape? Jeff asked.

Yes, of course, he said. Two weeks ago. After an especially intense exorcism group, he became extremely defiant and angry, and then withdrew into himself. This was not uncommon for him, but every time we challenged him, he would just scowl and refuse to answer. The demons possessing him are tenacious, refusing to relinquish their grip on him. But we kept on, and that is when we discovered something deeper in him than just alcoholism.

You discovered that the demon, Asmodeus was hiding underneath the smokescreens that Belphegor was fanning, Hightower said.

Th…The demon of Thrones, Prophet? Habersham asked, looking at his leader with apprehension.

"The demon of lust," Hightower said. "I saw this in him from the very start, and knew the beast would be tough when we began contending with it.

What was brought out in the thirtieth hour of his hot-seat group was that Bowling had been ah, inappropriate with his child’s affections, Habersham said. It was worse when he was drunk, but this tendency still lurked within him sober. When confronted by the group with these facts, he raged at us.

His demon was cornered, Hightower said. You were close…

Yes, Prophet. We sensed it, he said, becoming animated. The child’s mother was brought in, and through our guidance, confronted him with the truth of his despicable behavior. That is when he became violent, threatening her as well as us. He had to be restrained. Brothers Woods and Oakley held him down as the group continued to press in with the truth. I commanded the demon to reveal itself, but to no avail. I had to resort to threatening him with law enforcement and the Department of Family and Children’s Services for molestation of a minor, and he then seemed to pass out. We were unable to arouse him, so we thought we had succeeded in the exorcism, and he was out cold in its aftermath. We put him on a cot in the group room, and after a few hours of non-responsiveness, the group disbanded and went to bed. We left Brother Oakley there to watch him. Unfortunately, Oakley fell asleep at around three in the morning, and that is when Bowling slipped out of his restraints and attempted his escape. He’s been confined to the Mendicant Wing ever since.

For some, their demons have such a stronghold they will rip the very life out of their host’s body before allowing themselves to be expelled, Hightower said. I have witnessed this before, Hightower said. I’m afraid Bowling’s possession is of that type."

I believe you, Prophet. Bowling is one of the most stubborn men I have ever encountered in the Mustard Seed Program, Habersham said, hanging his head, abashed for his failure. All of our efforts have been in vain.

The Gospel of Matthew reminds you there are some demons more powerful than others, Hightower said. And that your faith is not strong enough. But fear not. The demon will be banished from our midst. He turned away for a moment.

The…The demon will be banished? Habersham asked.

Get Bowling in here, Hightower said into