Seven Minutes Into Darkness

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, b

• Language: English
• Publisher: Media Literary Excellence
• Release date: Nov 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958082348

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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Chapter One

The arena thundered with applause from ten thousand people when Mick Carter took the stage. As he peered out over the crowd of smiling faces, he understood why he loved his job. He loved the crowds, the singing, and the praises he led in the concert. He did not regret the tour but was ready to go home. Mick liked the way the tour had gone, but his voice was giving out tonight. It was time to go home and rest.

Mick hoped to get away from the city and spend time with his family. His sister Alex was recovering from leukemia, and he still worried about her. It still grated on his conscience that he had been away when his family needed him last year. Even as an adult, he remained close to his parents and sisters, checking in with them every couple of days. This tour had been grueling, and Mick had not called his parents in a week

Mick’s rise to fame has come like riding a rocket. He had been singing since childhood in churches and youth events. While still in college, Mick made extra money singing at local venues. At one wedding where he was performing, a music producer approached him to sing for him and his colleagues. From there, they propelled Mick into his rise to fame so fast, he struggled to finish his college degree.

When the car dropped him at the Hyatt Regency, he trotted through the doors and headed straight to the elevator. He had requested a hotel outside the city to give himself some quiet time to pack and prepare for his early morning flight.

Mick’s mind was on his plans for vacation when he heard, Come have a drink with me, A young woman was tugging on his arm saying. Please come have a drink with me.

Sorry, but I’m tired, and I don’t drink, Come on. Just one drink.

I’m sorry. Can I make it another time? No. Please, come.

OK, but I need a club soda only.

Before he could find a seat, she was back with the drinks.

I’ve heard your music and I love it. Man, you are so good. The girl was beautiful in a childlike way with framed glasses, hair tied in a low bow and schoolgirl uniform of a skirt and sweater.

Mick couldn’t determine her age, but she was more than a teen.

Thanks, but I can’t stay. I’m leaving on an early flight. Mick took a few sips of his drink. He couldn’t get his lips to work. What is wrong with me? he dropped his phone and could not pick it up. Another sip and he felt sick.

Help me, something is wrong. The girl just stared at him with a smile on her face.

Mick felt her arms go around his waist as he stood up. His legs tried to function but before he got to the elevator, his stomach rebelled all over the tile floor. He remembered sinking to his knees and nothing else.

Mick woke up with police officers shaking him, tossing him over and cuffing his hand behind his back. The officers yanked him up as he vomited into the nearest trash can. He grabbed some jeans and a shirt while they dragged him out the door and downstairs to the squad car. 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. Something must have been in my drink.

The officers fingerprinted him, took his picture, and threw him into a dark cell smelling of urine and vomit. If he could only stay still, he could keep his stomach quiet and quit vomiting. This must be a bad dream; I can’t get anything to work right. Where am I? Why am I itching all over?

With the cell quiet, he fell into a restless sleep until the clang of the bars woke him. A stranger strutted into his cell and said, Good morning. I’m Chris Haynes, and I’ll be your lawyer. I’ll take your case. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Five thousand dollars is all it will cost you.

Who are you? What are you talking about? What case? I have done nothing wrong. Why are you doing this? Mihck 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. Mick reached for his wallet but found his pockets empty. Where was his wallet and credit cards?  What was this man talking about? He could not form the sentence to argue with the man.

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 did nothing.

The lawyer didn’t seem to have time to explain what he was talking about. He left saying he would get the credit care information later from the sheriff.

From the sheriff? Why has the sheriff got my credit card? Think, brain, think.

Mick spent the night in the cold cell with one blanket. They offered him a bologna sandwich for a meal, but his stomach still would not receive food.

Mick’s arraignment came the next day. The bevy of officers shoved into the courtroom him. His lips were cracked and dehydrated. His legs felt like rubber. His head hurt, and he couldn’t get his eyes to focus. His body felt like a train had hit him. What day is it? I’m supposed to be somewhere. Where am I supposed to be?

The judge was a thin gray-haired fellow with a wrinkled robe stained with this morning’s coffee. The prosecutor rose and read the charges against Mick.

Your Honor, the defendant is a young man who is visiting the city and attacked a young woman last night in his hotel room. She got away without serious injuries, but he was drunk and uncooperative when we picked him up this morning.

Mr. Haynes, do you want to respond? the judge mumbled.

Yes, Your Honor. This man stands accused of a crime, for which there is little evidence. We plead not guilty.

Well, we must let a jury decide that. Officer, take him back to the cell to await trial.

Mick wasn’t sure what had happened when officers led him away, saying his trial would be scheduled soon. What was he being tried for? What did I do?

Haynes kept saying, Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this. It’s just a misunderstanding. They shoved Mick back into the same smelly cell. I need to make a phone call.

Sure, we’ll get to that, the officer replied and locked the cell behind him.

No, don’t leave. I need to make a phone call. The officer ignored his cry and left he cell block.

Chapter Two

Lynn and Peter Carter heard from their son every week while he was on tour. When they did not get his regular phone call, they did not panic, believing he would contact them when he had time. By the end of the second week, they called 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 concerns me. 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 even planners of the most recent concert. At the end of the second day, 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, Orange County Sherriff’s department, Deputy Able speaking.

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.

All right, tell me about him.

My son was staying at the Hyatt Regency near the concert hall. I don’t have the address. He is twenty-seven years old, about six feet tall and has dark brown hair and eyes. Can you tell me if you have any unidentified missing persons in your active cases?

No, but I’ll look into it for you. He said nothing further, and Peter got the impression the man was not eager to do any additional work.

Is that all you can do? Our son has been missing now for over a week.

The deputy didn’t give him any encouragement to pursue the issue. Peter continued, 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 junk can. There would be no paper trail from that call. There was no evidence of his involvement.

The door was closed when he went to the sheriff's office. 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. I agreed to help that girl, but I don’t plan on losing my job over this thing. Have you given him 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 note?

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, Deputy Able approached Mick’s cell. 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 $500,000. The note had no signature, but he knew who it was from. What is going on here? Mick paced the cell, trying to understand the message. After rereading the note, he wasn’t sure what to do. This note gave him a chance to get out of this mess. As he thought and paced, he rubbed his aching neck and back and got angry.

How could he give money to someone just to keep her quiet? It would mean he agreed with her he had tried to hurt her. His heart screamed, No way! Don’t do this.

When Deputy Able strolled past his cell, Mick called him over. You can tell her no. I am not giving her any money. I did nothing 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.

The kid 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 before it gets too messy?

I think so. Can’t you change his mind? It is going to be worse than messy if we don’t get this done in a hurry.

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.

Do it. The deputy left to make some calls. This would be tricky, especially if the Carters got in the way. But he thought they could move the kid before any damage was done. He would have to hurry. Mick Carter needed to disappear from his town.

That night, Lynn and Peter continued to discuss the possible whereabouts of their son. Peter, I think we need to go to Madison and talk to the hotel personnel. That deputy didn’t seem to care what we were saying. He is not taking you seriously.

I think so too. Peter looked thoughtful. Something isn’t quite right about this, and I think we need to know more. Let’s make plans to leave first thing in the morning.

By ten o’clock the next morning, Peter and Lynn were boarding a plane for Madison, Wisconsin. They arrived during the evening rush hour and went straight to the hotel where Mick had stayed.

Can you tell us if anyone remembers our son, who was here about two weeks ago? Peter pulled out a photo of Mick and started showing the hotel personnel.

Yes, we remember him, one man responded. In fact, he left his things in the room. They are all still here. Lynn took a deep breath to block the cry that threatened to escape her throat. Peter and Lynn followed him to the storage room and saw Mick’s old suit bag and his shaving kit.

That’s it, the hotel employee said. Are you guys going to take it?

Yes, we will take everything. They started gathering his belongings and took everything to their own room. There, they spread everything on their bed and looked it over. They found only several outfits Mick would have used for concerts and his regular toiletries. There was no clue where he might have gone. There was no phone, but his planner was stuck in his suit bag. They looked it over and confirmed