Solomon's Pen

By Vaden Chandler

It is his last case ever, and all he has to do is read the book. 74-year-old law judge George Edgerton has earned the respect of both prosecuting attorneys and defense attorneys alike, but his last case before retiring is truly daunting. Faced with the distraction of the loss of his son, Judge Edgerton has to determine whether the client is guilty or innocent of stalking, and he must do so by reading the man's book. The journey of a lifetime begins with the turn of each page. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vaden Chandler
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223060628

Vaden Chandler

Vaden Chandler has been writing since he was six years old and he currently resides in the Amarillo Texas area with his wife Cheryl. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

The only time that George had ever seen his son kill something was when he had been four years old, and that had been purely an accident. He had been an active, energetic, happy-go-lucky child, and he could count on one hand the times that he had cried, even when he was an infant. He was a happy baby and a happy kid until that day his little boy had bounded over to see him after he had worn himself out with another long day in the courthouse with a complete docket of criminal cases. There had been one DUI, one armed robbery, and several instances of disorderly conduct, but the only one he had sentenced to jail time had been the rough person who had committed that armed robbery of the elderly lady who was simply biding her time until retirement and enjoying her scratch-offs at the local convenience store.

His attention was soon diverted to Roman, simply due to the fact that he was now howling because he had inadvertently stepped on and smashed a field mouse that had been running under his tiny little feet anyway.

Daddy, daddy, daddy! the little toddler son of his had screamed at the top of his lungs, the sound echoing off the hardwood walls of George’s upper middle-class office. Daddy! Oh my gosh! Ima killer! Daddy, I’m baaaaad! I killed this mouse! Daddy, please don’t take me to jail!

Oh noooo, son! George had cooed about as supportively as he could. No, no, no, sweetie! You didn’t kill the mouse! It was just an accident! You didn’t mean it! You were just excited to see me! That’s all!

That exhortation at least dried the kid’s tears as he scooped him up in his arms, and everyone was astonished that George always seemed to know exactly what to say to calm his youngest child down completely. Even his much-younger wife would stand in the area where the sliding glass door was and simply smile approvingly. That was the day that George realized that just because someone was different, it didn’t mean that they were bad. Roman was different. He was different, His wife Veronica was different. They were all unique vessels sailing to their own unique destination.

After going through half a box of tissues, there were nothing but tiny rivulets on the toddler’s face as he sat on George’s lap stoically, just like the incident had never even happened. As the mid-afternoon shadows bounced off the hardwood and the tremendous antique clock in George’s upstairs office, that was when the four-year-old spoke up again.

I din’t mean it? the boy asked rhetorically in that charming childhood lisp of his.

No, George replied as soothingly as he could even though his beard was grizzled from lack of trimming. No, you didn’t mean it. It was just that little mouse’s time.

That’s mice’s time, the child repeated softly."

Yes. His time. We all have one.

With that, his eyes perked up, his serious lips curved up in a jovial smile that only a pre-schooler could give, and he was off to the races once more.

Okay, Daddy! he said a bit louder than normal, and he bounded down the stairs back to the tremendous backyard to explore his world yet again.

George had been a man of the law for at least twenty years at that point and had even passed the bar exam on his first try, but he smiled in spite of himself.

Be careful! He called out to his and Veronica’s oldest child before snapping back into his revelry. This was his second family after his first wife had passed away several years ago from cancer, so he had other children that were leading productive lives. One was a chiropractor in Chicago and his sister had followed in her father’s footsteps and was taking names as a county prosecutor in Coral Gables, Florida.

Still, he knew inherently that this little man was going to scale new heights and do great things when he got older. He was simply the best. He was the best big brother to his youngest son Ulysses. He swore to God he was a kid who had learned his ABC’s and 123’s as early as two! Not to mention the fact that the kid had already been asking for crayons at the ripe old age of one-and-a-half. Yep, George mused, there was a lot about that kid of his to be thankful for. A lot indeed. He was living up to his name each and every day, he knew that for sure. Roman. It was a moniker that represented strength and power just like those from ancient times. Yes, they had simply picked the name out of a baby book, but he was proving it was the right choice with his waking breath.

He heard his wife’s melodious voice as she was reading to Ulysses in their downstairs bedroom, and he smiled again in spite of himself. He glanced around his office, looking at his cowboy boot cup, his gold miner statue standing at full attention on his desk, and the papers strewn here and there on the oak surface of the work station. He glanced at the landing where the stairs were, and he knew that the three bedrooms downstairs along with the guest room upstairs were a product of his hard work. Veronica had actually been a recently-immigrated college classmate of his chiropractor son, but she was the reason why he had continued on this positive journey and not totally fallen to pieces after his first wife had passed away. This was the life that he had built for them both. He had always told her that she could work if she wanted to, but for the time being she had been perfectly happy to be a stay-at-home mom to Roman and Ulysses. As a highly-respected criminal law judge, he was proud of the hard work he had put in to provide that opportunity for her. Even though he had been in his fifties when both of his boys had been born, he was also proud that he could give her a family of her own.

Speaking of family, George knew it was time to check on his oldest son in the backyard, if just for the fact that it was just a bit too quiet for his liking. He chortled a bit to himself as he made his way to the window on the wall of his upstairs office.

He saw Roman standing dead center in that backyard, and he was tossing a baseball up and down, about as rhythmically as possible, and it made George laugh out loud instead of just quietly giggling. There was going to be no tee-ball for him, that was for sure. Lord almighty knew where he had found that baseball, but he was handling it just as well as any collegiate baseball player or major leaguer would. Of course he laughed, simply because he was probably a bit biased for sure.

Needless to say, he felt the urge to ask him a lot of questions about his latest plaything, so he bounded down his stairs with the enthusiasm of a man half his age until he was headed down the hallway to that back door.

Hey Roman! he called out to his son from the top of the back steps. He was still just tossing that baseball up and down, totally oblivious to any of his surroundings at all. Just him and that white baseball, simple as that.

Hey Roman! George cooed again, this time getting the boy to finally turn his head. Roman, my boy, where did you find that?

He had that ten thousand watt smile on his face as he replied. Daddy, daddy, I saw this ball over there, and he pointed toward the fence about fifty yards away separating George’s property from the abandoned house next door. What is this, Daddy? What is this thing called?

He was momentarily struck by the innocence of the young child before he answered. He then smiled.

That, my sweet Roman, is called a baseball. It is a popular sport here in the states. In your mother’s home country of Spain it is not as well-known though. They prefer soccer.

He was a bit more confident than he normally would have been simply because he knew Roman would understand it.

Oh, Roman replied in a laid-back manner. Thank you Daddy for telling me. I like it. With that, he bounded off again with that baseball in tow, tossing it up and down as he went.

The day wore on, and soon enough it was time for everyone to turn in, including George because he had a full docket of court cases to deal with in the morning. He and his wife each had their own bedrooms; they both liked their own space and didn’t do well sharing a bed. The massive brick Victorian that he and his family called home was now dark yet again, and as he laid down in that king-sized bed the only sound came from the remote-controlled fan in the corner of the room. He was a pillar of the community he lived in, which was the Dallas-Fort Worth bedroom area of Jupiter, Texas. He had every reason to be at peace, and with that mindset he began to fall asleep, but yet again the voices (those strange voices!) began to erupt again, only bothering him occasionally at night.

They were toying with him, just like a cat toying with a mouse. And no, it wouldn’t be an accident if this field mouse died. It wouldn’t be one of those deals where a sparky, energetic pre-schooler such as his son had stepped on it. It would be predator and prey instead. Pure and simple. He was a man of the law. He was dignified and well-respected, even on the criminal defense side of the table. But that didn’t matter to these voices. They started out just like they always did, with brief whispers from hollowed-out tones, but he still could make them out if he listened, and he always did listen whether he liked it or not.

Once again, the minute flicker of a tear had begun in his eyes as his head was laid on that pillow. Once upon a time, the fabric had been badly stained as his facade totally crumbled when he was alone and grieving for his first wife. But now that it had been over a decade, the fits had become less frequent, and even Veronica did not know about them. He made sure about that. Regardless of how strong he came across at home or in the courtroom, the voices still continued, just as they had began right after the wake for his first wife had ended and the funeral had been long finished.

He had always had a hearty appetite, but compared to his wife he was nearly anorexic. As a proper southern gentleman, he was always telling her both while eating out and also at their own personal dinner table the words, you can go ahead and have the rest of this. Her stressed hands were always happy to take him up on the proposition each and every time. But the voices always reminded him of that very thing, even though it had been years and years since he had been married to his first wife.

George, George, George, they would always begin in that cold and callous manner. You are a legal scholar, no doubt, but you are no different than those assholes that show up in your courtroom day in and day out. You should be judged too. You should have told her to each more salad and less bacon. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault that she’s dead. ALL. YOUR. FAULT.

He was laying in that bed in that upstairs room in that gargantuan house that he paid the gargantuan taxes for and hired out everything that needed done, but these voices did not give him any peace.

He knew that Roman and Ulysses were downstairs with their mother, having pillow fights with each other and being tucked in by that wonderful second wife of his. He had seen it himself many times, and he went along with it with the most cheerful demeanor possible. No demure moments for him.

What of his double life anyway? The reason he kept these moments to himself was because he needn’t upset this new wife, nor did he need to concern the kids from the first marriage who thought everything was hunky-dory and that he had rebounded after their mother’s untimely death.

There was no doubt that it was hard to have any moments of clarity when he was half-asleep, but there were times he would jerk awake, eyelids fluttering, and he would challenge these entities. In a few words, they forced his hand. Why should I listen to you? he would challenge them telepathically. What rights do you have to my life anyway? Who are you?

It was those last three words that would prove to be his undoing.

George, George, George, we are legion, and we are here to stay. We are bent on revenge. We are going to come after you until you are white as sheet and in a matching white straightjacket! With that, they howled with soft laughter.

We are the vibes and bad energy of all of those who you sent to prison and all of those who you sent to the gas chamber. But you of all people would absolutely know that being an upstanding citizen sure doesn’t help with preventing those you love from dying, now does it?

At this point, he was blinking back the tears and staring at the ceiling.

This-this is not real, he told himself with as much self-assurance as he possible could even in a tone of total trepidation. I am just hearing things. I have moved on. I’ve got a new family to help raise. I don’t have time for this. There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. Nothing wrong with me.

He would always repeat those last four words just like a mantra when the attacks from those voices occurred, and he eventually would fall into some type of slumber, his wife oblivious to his inner turmoil downstairs. He had to keep the quiet dignity of a man with a Juris Doctor degree after his name. He had to do it for Veronica, but most of all, he had to do it for his children. Just as it always did, soon enough sleep overtook him yet again and for that he was thankful. The following morning was a routine day as far as the court docket went. Luckily for him, he would not have another one of those bizarre anxiety attacks for at least three years, when Roman was seven years of age.

George was still on the bench, and even though he was pushing 60 he was not looking to retire any time soon. He loved the law, and loved the mechanisms that were in place for ensuring every one either got a fair trial or got their due consequences. He was yet again upstairs at his desk in his bedroom, and he knew that Roman and his little brother were outside again, and yes, they were tossing a baseball around. Apart from his wife, his profession, and his boys, their trademark baseball tossing was one of the main constants in his life, one that he could set his watch to if he wanted.

Not one second later he heard his oldest yelping, but it appeared to be one of frustration so he let it slide. Just another one of their childhood squabbles, he thought. Whatever it was, it was a very heated discussion. The words were unintelligible, but George paid it no mind at that moment. After all, he had a very important legal case that he was pouring over his trusty law books for.

Indeed, he was lost in thought until he heard Veronica’s footsteps coming up the stairs and then that solid knock at his door. His head perked up; it wasn’t the usual type of rhythmic knocking that she did when she just wanted to ask him a question. Instead, it was a loud banging. Without a second of hesitation, he got up and opened the door.

He saw the look of panic in Veronica’s eyes and he knew instinctively that something was wrong. What is it? he asked urgently. Is everything okay?

Georgie, it’s Roman, she said in a dismayed tone. He fell off of the house next door. I had to call 9-1-1. I don’t know what he was doing, but come quick!

Oh my god! George replied, startled, and bounded down the stairs after her.

The boy glanced at his mother, father and younger brother with glazed eyes, mumbling all along.

Dad, he said while glancing at him. I-I think that I falled. I falled off that, that thing. George knew he was referring to the gray TV antenna right by the abandoned house. He must have been trying to get on the balcony. But why?

You were trying to climb that TV antenna? George asked. The boy tried to nod, but his grimaced, showing his tiny baby teeth. My God, George thought. He’s broken his neck. God no. Good God no.

The-the baseball, Dad. The baseball. Dad, my head hurts.

He did move his neck somewhat, and George had to heave a sigh of relief although he silently hoped that neither Veronica nor Ulysses had noticed it.

You were throwing the baseball and it landed on that house somewhere? George asked. Roman’s eyes moved upward before he replied, again with difficulty.

On that one thing, he said. On the second floor. It got stuck there. I threw it too hard, Dad. Ohhh my head still hurts.

I know, I know, Roman, we’ve called 911 and the doctors will be here soon. You took a nasty spill, little buddy.

Oh, he said quietly.

I’m sorry, Romie, I’m sorry brudder. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry! Ulysses started wailing.

George put a hand on his head.

It’s okay, Ulysses. It’s okay. It’s not your fault, kiddo. We love you. It’s not your fault.

It calmed him down and it about that time that the paramedics finally showed up. They did their protocols with Roman and then pulled Veronica and George aside.

Mr. and Mrs. Edgerton, the female paramedic said. I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?

The married couple glanced at each other and almost in unison they blurted out, the bad news! They had literally read each other’s mind and even almost laughed.

Okay, folks, well the bad news is that he has a concussion and we are going to have to keep him over night in the hospital...

George interrupted her.

Well, okay, what is the good news then? he asked urgently.

The good news, Mr. Edgerton, is that your son did not suffer any broken bones.

George’s whole countenance changed in a flash. Wow. Thanks for telling me that. That is a huge relief, ma’am. A huge relief. For a moment I thought that he had broken his neck.

No sir. No broken neck. We think the reason that he was having trouble moving his face is probably because it looks like he has a migraine due to the concussion he got from the fall.

I see, George replied. Are you all going to take him to the hospital now?

The paramedic nodded.

Okay, Veronica replied this time. We will follow you on the way there. And as the crickets were chirping away and the stars were high in the night-time sky in Jupiter, Texas, that is exactly what they did. It didn’t take long for Roman to get stabilized and he was situated in his own room and his own hospital bed on the second floor of St. Elizabeth Hospital.

He was much more alert now and he looked at George with a serious look that only a first-grader could give to their parent, one with tremendously large eyes.

I’m sorry, Dad.

George smiled reassuringly. Roman, you have nothing to be sorry for. Me and your mother are just happy that you are doing okay. We’re happy you didn’t break anything. Just next time, would you please tell me first if you lose a baseball?

He nodded.

Okay, daddy, he said, and then promptly fell asleep.

Chapter 2

Even many years later , George still remembered the look that Ulysses gave him in that hospital room. With those large doe-eyes that only a preschooler could give, he told him as clearly as possible, Daddy, I said to him not to do it, Daddy.

As a lawyer and judge, George was one of the most articulate men out there, but in this case he wasn’t sure what to say. God give me the words, he implored to whatever deity might be up there. People have put me on a pedestal, Lord, but I just don’t know what to say here.

Almost like flicking on a light switch, the boy’s eyes began welling up with tears.

Are you going to a-west me, Daddy? Are you going to throw me in jail with the bad people?

George kneeled down, getting eye-level with his youngest.

Ulysses, look at me. Look at me, my boy, he said.

Okay, he replied, but still with an air of uncertainty in his young voice.

No, George cooed, attempting to calm him down. Sweet little bear. No, no, no. You didn’t cause this. Of course I’m not going to throw you in jail!

Okay, Daddy! he finally said cheerily.

It was about this time that Roman piped up after quietly taking in the whole exchange.

Silly Ulysses! Of course you didn’t cause this! I’m the one who wanted my ball!

With that, they both laughed and the air in that hospital room didn’t quite seem to be as thick.

C’mon boys! George said. How about we watch a little TV anyway?

He reached for the remote on the headrest of Roman’s hospital bed.

It wasn’t long after that little exchange that Veronica came back with a feast literally fit for a king, complete with Subway sandwiches, chips, and an assortment of drinks. The family was soon laughing just like normal times watching the exploits of MacGyver on one of the oldies channels. Although George and Veronica were getting into it just fine, that was not what ultimately enthralled the boys though. During some point in that old television series, a certain commercial came on the screen.

It was a cheesy ad and one that George could totally see right through, but it did not resound that way with his youngsters. There was an older gentleman with a gray beard standing behind a motorcycle dressed in what appeared to be a reddish pawn shop type of business suit. It was not to be the individual man that caught his boys’ attention, though.

Have you been hurt in an accident involving a Harley Davidson? If so, you need to know what your rights might be. This is true whether you were the one riding the Harley Davidson or whether someone else was riding that motorcycle. Either way, you just might be entitled to compensation. Call me at the number below today so that we can discuss your options.

Veronica had her head buried in one of the leftover People magazines from the waiting rooms, so she really was not noticing any of the exchange, and even if she was, she was probably thinking it was just another run-of-the-mill ad out of the millions they saw every day. Thus, it was George, and George alone, who noticed the interplay between the television ad and his boys.

It was a brief, flickering moment that probably did not last more than about ten to fifteen seconds, but both Roman and Ulysses were staring gap-mouthed, not at the poorly dressed legal professional, but instead at that bike. It was an inkling that George could not put his finger on, and it was one that he could not fathom. But just like that age-old biblical story where Christ was calling on Lazarus to come forth from the tomb, he knew he was watching a moment that would have far-reaching consequences.

As the commercial ended and was eclipsed by a mundane fast-food commercial, other than the sound of the pitch-person selling that food there was nothing but silence. Veronica was still intently looking at that magazine and the kids were quiet until the old show came back on. Roman finally broke the ice.

Wow. Those were the words that escaped his lips, and that was when Veronica finally looked up ever-so-briefly from her magazine with an inquisitive look, probably just as a way to check up on him to ensure he was not taking a turn for the worst. She went ahead and looked back at her reading material when Roman arched his head toward his younger brother.

Ulysses? Ulysses. Did you just see that?

His little brother just nodded.

Y-yeah, that thing was neat, very neat.

George figured it was his turn to speak.

Pretty cool, eh, boys? he said, and they nodded enthusiastically. Those fancy bicycles are called Harley Davidson motorcycles.

Almost as if they were reading each other’s minds, they started repeating it in unison.

Harley Davidson motorcycles, Roman said quietly.

Hawey Davison motorcycle, Ulysses said right with him in his childish stammer, his mouth still agape.

The unique moment passed just as quickly as it came because the Jeopardy! quiz show came on almost immediately after that. For at least a year prior to that, Roman had enjoyed the show and even attempted to guess the answers as much as his young mind could.

After all of the introductions had been made and Alex Trebek was busily meeting the latest contestants, that was when all three of them couldn’t help but notice one of the very first questions.

This motorcycle brand premiered in the year 1890, and it is now estimated that at least 23 percent of the bikes on American roadways today have this same brand-name.

Roman’s seven-year-old eyes grew wide, and soon enough he was answering the question, just like he did on many other episodes.

What is Harley-Davidson? the boy quipped, and George, Veronica, and Ulysses all looked at each in surprise. Sure enough, one of the contestants