The Road to Lazarus (The First book in the diaries of Lazarus House)

by Patrick T. McAlister

  From the Diaries of Lazarus House

  The Road to Lazarus

  The first book in the diaries of Lazarus House

  Written by:

  Patrick T. McAlister

  Cover Art by:

  Randy Dolowy

  All works within are registered with the Screen Writers Guild of America under Registration number 1416658

  All Characters are fictional. Any likeness to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Dedication

  I would like to dedicate this book in loving memory to a teacher that changed my life. If not for your constant attention to not only my grades but how I was living at the time, I may not have made it here. Mrs. B. I dedicate this book to you. Thank you for changing the lives of so many kids. Most of all thank you for believing in me, when no one else did. May you rest in peace at the party in Heaven.

  Acknowledgements

  - Randy Dolowy for his excellent work on the cover art.

  - Lynne Francis for her help in the beginning of this adventure.

  - To my buddy Rough Rider. Thank you.

  - Frank Tomlinson thank you for being the sage in my life that pushed me to be the man I am with Christ as the focus and purpose.

  - Cathy Heaton-Morey, Girl for over twenty years you have been a treasure!! Thank you for getting this book past the final hump. Bravo Zulu Marine!

  - Dr. Barry Foster. Thank you will never be enough for you or the other pirates!!

  Foreword

  Before you is a book that is fast paced sort of fiction, The story line is intertwined with twists and turns and curves and then, boom! The End. Yes, it is a quick read. Interesting characters are introduced to you. Okay. You have seen it before—or have you? No you have not. These characters are touchable, believable, and almost real. They say things I would have said. And they say things I would think but never say out loud, at least not around anybody else. You’ll probably find yourself saying the same things to yourself. “Hey, I was thinking that, too!” Of course you were.

  This book is the first in a series of books which deal with problems and situations that are plenty real, but not discussed very much. PC? Not likely. But you have wondered about these issues. You have thought that there must be something to the smoke that surrounds the hot topics we don’t discuss with anybody but our closest friends. And then we wonder if we have said something we shouldn’t have. In this book, and in the books to follow, you will have confirmation that where there is smoke there is fire.

  The stories contained in this book and those books in the series which follow are very entertaining, quickly read, and good for a rainy day snuggled up in the confines of your secure abode.

  The author, Patrick McAlister, is a part of my eclectic collection of friends bound together mostly by a love of motorcycles, riding, spirits (me not so much), and freedom. When we gather we discuss a broad selection of topics ranging from religion to politics to family issues to world problems to screwed up people we have had to deal with, present company excluded. But nobody, and I mean nobody, in my group of associates can weave a good tale like Patrick.

  His writing is the kind that grabs you by the gut and is relentless. But, boy howdy, it is intense writing, and I’m talking about the feeling you get when you’ve just been dropped one hundred and fifty feet straight down on that thrill ride on top of the Stratosphere in Las Vegas. Patrick has a kid’s knack for imagining story lines, dialogue, plots, and characters, yet he utilizes his adult vision to bring these imaginative creations to life.

  Patrick is a lunch pail writer. He hails from no sophisticated educational institution (unless you consider the Marine Corps as such), has no pedigree, and boasts of no previous literary contributions beyond the internet musings of his searching, The Soul of One Man. Patrick makes those of us who word craft for a living become just a bit peevish. He merely sits down and starts writing and all of this “stuff” just comes to him. Arggghhh! There, I’ve said it. For Patrick, writing is not so much work as it is an afternoon spent.

  So, now you need to sit down, start reading, and enjoy an afternoon well spent. Oh, and who am I? Just a character in the story, just like you.

  Barry W. Foster, Ed.D.

  Chapter 1

  In the quiet of the night, she decides to wash away the day. As she walks through her silent apartment her mind runs over her life. From the moments when she felt as if there was no way to ever escape to the moments when her heart was so filled with love and fire. She stops to light the candles in her bathroom. With each one she lights her mind goes to a place she never explored.

  She walks to her deep tub and turns on the hot water. Walking back to her bedroom to undress and get her night clothes, she sits for a moment lost in her thoughts. She feels something within her. As if something has come into her silent dwelling, watching over her. She smiles to herself as the feeling brings some comfort to the images that dance around within her mind. Standing, she walks to her window and looks out to the world she tries to escape in the time she soaks in her tub. Slowly, she begins looking over the city lights. She reaches up to the stars, trying to take hold of one for luck. When she is done she closes the blinds and drapes. She turns to face a room bathed in the soft flickering light of the candles burning in the open bathroom.

  As she walks across the room to the waiting tub she feels the presence that has been taking over her thoughts, for the past few days. When she enters the bathroom she looks at the steamed mirror it allows her to see herself... barely. In what she can see of herself the image brings goose bumps to her skin. She feels as if the presence is watching over her as she looks at herself. She enters the tub slowly, relishing the sensation as the hot water begins to touch her skin. She sinks gradually down into the steaming water.

  Raven closes her eyes to relax in the warmth that has surrounded her body. Her mind now clears further, as she focuses on the presence. She has no clue as to what it is. Only that it brings a measure of comfort and passion to her. The presence allows her to escape into her body like no man or alcohol has done before. Just thinking about it makes her smile, knowing she will soon be feeling nothing but what the presence draws out of her. As she finishes her bathing and exits the tub, only to feel the presence again, pushing her to explore the thoughts in her mind. While standing naked she shivers as if a hot breath caresses down her back. Once again, an unknown wisp of air touches her skin. She reaches up to touch where she felt the breath.

  As her mind clears of life and the day she has had, she takes the moment at hand to explore herself and the thoughts building in her mind. She escapes into a fantasy, knowing that the presence will teach her more about who she thinks she is.

  Behind closed eyes, her mind takes her to a sandy beach where she is laying in the warm sun, on her stomach, topless, legs slightly spread. Her body is now glistening from sweat and tanning oil. Her hands slowly glide over her body. In her mind, she sees and feels the mystery man appear and he touches her softly.

  Whereas she would once pull away from a touch like this she allows him to massage her back. His hands gently glide over her back with glancing touches to her sides. He slowly moves down her back to her legs, massaging each one, softly kneading each muscle. His imaginary touch sends a shiver up her spine. “Why is this happening?” she questions herself. Her body yearns too escape further; get lost in the fantasy.

  His massaging shifts to butterfly kisses upon her neck, his breath in her ear. She rolls over as his hand moves slowly over her cheek, branding a trail of desi
re as he moves down her neck, taking hold of her face. He kisses her passionately, biting her lower lip slightly as he moves away from her mouth to begin kissing down her body. She does nothing to stop him. All she feels is her body wanting more. His kisses move down to her belly, as his hand reaches for a piece of ice from the champagne tumbler. Holding it above her sun baked body he lets the cold water drip into her belly button sending shivers of pleasure through her core. Lazily he bends forward licking up the little droplets. She is simply paralyzed in passion.

  She looks down over her glistening body, as the man rises from kissing her belly. His eyes lock on hers as he approaches her face giving her a deep passionate kiss. The kiss sends her over the edge again. She reaches hungrily for him but he stops the kiss looking deeply into her eyes he calmly says “this is only your moment. He will not let her have any part of him other than what he has given her.” He bends down to kiss her again. She moans wanting more. He touches her one more time ever so lightly with his finger sending another wave of pleasure through her. Then he slowly stands to walk away.

  Opening her eyes back in her real world she succumbs to the passion still running through her body. As it takes over she finds she has lost control of herself. She is hardly able to breathe from the sensations running through her body. She can hardly keep her eyes open from the nerve endings that have been explored and released.

  Finally, she stands and walks to her bed still wet from it all, the bath, the fantasy, her passion. Easing between the covers, her eyes drift closed, falling off to a slumber that she has longed to have. She feels the warmth of the presence as she brings the covers tight around her. She drifts to sleep with her mind still wondering what this is all about.

  Her alarm wakens her at an ungodly hour. She doesn’t want to release the covers and face her day. She just wants to return to the peace and warmth best sleep she has had in years. With a sigh she gives in and turns the alarm off. Taking the covers off she is surprised to realize that she slept naked. “Hmm. That is odd. I always sleep with something on.” She says out loud, to the emptiness of her apartment. Standing, she turns on the light as the sun has yet to make its presence known. She walks into the kitchen to get her morning coffee. Her mind still lost in what had happened the night before. She wonders how she has never known her body the way she did the night before. What is the presence she has been feeling? Is the man in her fantasies even real? Does a man like that even exist? As she drinks her coffee she is caught between preparing for the work day ahead and internalizing the events of the night before. She jumps in the shower to wake up completely. When she is about to leave for work she returns to the bathroom for one more inspection of her outfit, she notices one candle still burning by the bath. She is almost positive she blew them all out. She walks over to extinguish it, as she does she feels a shiver run through her body, making the hair on her arms and neck stand on end. “Wow! What the hell was that?” Shivering, she shuts the lights out and opens her blinds to see the first rays of the sunrise come crashing in on her face, she rubs the front of her neck still feeling the scar that has been with her for years. She lets out a deep breath, and then walks out the door. Her shivers come again right as the door closes. “What is going on with me?” she mutters under her breath.

  She takes the elevator down to the parking garage. Where she walks to her car and gets in. She sits for a minute going through the radio stations to find the music that will get her through the long commute into downtown. To the job that belittles her talents, like life has belittled her all these years. What happened to the person she once was in her youth? Where did that all go? Did a part of her die with each man that abused her? She hears some Nickleback, and starts her Mustang, lowers the top and begins to drive with the hard rock music blasting through the parking garage. She makes her turn onto the 101 freeway. Just like every other day some idiot has blocked the freeway with driving skills that suck a monkeys butt. She hates this! This is the time when her mind wanders to her not so distant past, to the horror of the years she spent trapped by a man that broke her down every time he could. She sits there wishing that just one day she could haul ass to work, taking her mustang to speeds that allowed her to feel the pure adrenaline from excessive speed.

  Not today. No, she is stuck remembering again the touch of the asshole as he punished her for crimes she committed only in his head. She rubs her neck with her right hand again. The scar still there puffy and jagged, “How the hell did I ever let this happen?” Her drive begins to pick up. She cuts across the 101 to the 134 freeway to make her turn to the side streets that will bring her to the office.

  Her mind clears to finish the drive as she pulls into Parker Center. She reaches into her purse and gets her badge, ID, and gun. She looks at the ID badge and sees a face she hardly remembers. Next to her picture it tells her story. Detective II Raven M, Wagner, the name has been hers since birth. Now it is so foreign to her. Just like her life seems so foreign. For a moment she drifts back to life in the desert of the “Four Corners,” area of Arizona where she had grown up, before she ever ventured to the bright lights and great beaches of California.

  Her daydream is interrupted by the honking horn of her partner. Dennis Tomlinson has been with LAPD since the invention of the wheel in her opinion. He is old school. He still carries a weapon that the liberals long ago outlawed for anybody in the state. He is a relic of bygone days. More like the glory days of the department, he hands her a doughnut once he gets out of his old Crown Vic. She notices he has finally washed it. When she mentions it to him, he shrugs his shoulders saying, “Well sometimes I have to clean up my appearance.” She laughs because he is wearing jeans and a T-shirt. So far out of dress code she couldn’t even believe it.

  They walk and talk as they approach the elevator. Although they were partners, Dennis showed up to the office maybe once a month or on pay days. She doesn’t know why but she seemed to be tethered to a desk in the Robbery Homicide Division. There are e-mails, faxes, cell phone texts, and satellite communications that she used in working cases. He doesn’t have any part of it. If he actually answered his cell phone she would almost fall out her of chair. Dennis Tomlinson. You just had to love the old man! When the elevator finally stops he reminds her that they have to go down to “the Mission” for the autopsy on their latest case. She nods her head in acknowledgement as she sits down at her desk. Her mind wanders again. What was it with the night before?

  How could she even feel her sexuality like this? How or what was turning her on so quickly to explore her body like this? This wasn’t anything like her husband who would tie her up and take her from behind as he slapped her around. This didn’t leave her feeling bruised and dirty like a cheap whore. This didn’t leave that jagged scar on her neck. This was so different… She can’t bring herself to fathom that for the first time in her life she has had multiple orgasms all from a fantasy and her own touch. Dennis interrupts her from the daydream. “Come on Raven; let’s hit the “Mission” and see what the M.E. has found.”

  As they drove, Dennis asked how she is doing. Is she healing from the wounds her husband had inflicted before she put two clips worth of bullets into his worthless body? Dennis has a way of cutting the politically correct bullshit out and just asking straight up questions. She replies “Things are getting better,” He nods as he takes a bite out of another doughnut. In the 2 years they have been partners she can’t remember him eating anything but those twist glaze doughnuts and drinking straight black coffee. In her head she chuckles as the word “relic” dances in her subconscious. When they arrive at the morgue it is business as usual... death everywhere stacked eight high and four deep. The bodies of the dead lined the walls of the halls, waiting to be picked up for burial or other disposal. She hates coming here. It smells so bad!

  They walk into exam room 3 for the autopsy. On the slab is a thirty-four year old male victim. He has been shot four times in the heart and six times in the skull. Whoever committed this crime was extrem
ely brutal. Little did she know that when the clothes were removed they were even more brutal? Even the Medical Examiner stepped back when he saw that a dart had been shoved through the victims’ genitals with bite marks on the region from a rat or some other rodent. The site almost made Raven and Dennis retch standing there.

  Dennis asked some questions of the M.E. as he continued to work. Three hours pass as the body of the victim was dissected for evidence and records. Photos from every angle were being taken by the coroner and sent directly from the camera to her hard drive back at the Robbery Homicide. Suddenly she looks as the M.E. examines the eyes. “No, it can’t be” she says. Dennis and the M.E. look at her and in unison and ask “What can’t be?” She says nothing in response to their question. Her mind was back in the fantasy. She has looked deep into these green eyes as they look back at her in the fantasy. The body isn’t the same just the eyes. She was lost in them the night before. The things they had done to her. The feelings they had caused.

  She found it almost impossible to stand as the blood rushed to places that it had long bypassed during her terrible marriage. “How could this be she thought, those eyes. Is the victim the presence I felt last night?” Dennis nudged her again as she stands in the exam room completely dumb founded. Those eyes!!

  Driving back to Parker Center the ride was silent. When he drops her off, he tells her “I will stay in touch.” She walks up the stairs to her office this time. Hoping the walk will somehow clear the image of the eyes out of her head so she can concentrate on her job. As she walks she looks down at her cell phone for the time. It was just past 3:00 p.m. the day seemed to have flown by until she opens the door to the bull pen that is RHD Parker Center. The volume is at a frenzy.