SEVEN DEADLY SINS
A Novel Collaboration
by
Michelle Anderson Picarella
Stephen Penner
A.T. Russell
Dawn Kirby
Vickie Adair
Diana Ilinca
and
Tymothy Longoria
Published by
Published by
Ring of Fire Publishing
Seven Deadly Sins, A Novel Collaboration
Collection copyright 2012 Ring of Fire Publishing.
Individual stories copyright 2012 their respective authors.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity with real persons or events is purely coincidental. Persons, events, and locations are either the product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.
Cover design by Stephen Penner.
The authors would like to dedicate this collection to each other, for the hard work, support, and camaraderie which this project has fostered.
Foreword
by Braxton Cosby
Author of The Star-Crossed Saga: ProtoStar
What would you be willing to trade for Sin? And what would any man be willing to trade for Sin? The whole world? …His soul?
To those who believe, there is no price that equals the value of the human soul. That is the absolute truth, no comprising. But what is it about Sin that is so compelling? That constantly draws us in? That offers us pleasure while disguising the pain that subsequently follows? At its heart, Sin is the line in the sand between spiritual and natural existence. Sin entered the world and formed a schism between creation and the Creator. But we were all given a gift—a reward that not only retains the covenant between us and God, but also sustains the promise of glory—that being Jesus Christ, the Son of God; the perfect sacrifice. And through him, we have been redeemed by Grace, not of our own power.
So what of Sin, and its price? Seven Deadly Sins offers an answer to that question. This book captures the essence of the relationship between Sin and the struggles of the daily walk of just being human. Through the immaculate art of storytelling, the Seven Deadly Sins of Wrath, Greed, Pride, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, and Sloth are brought to life. We are told to be not of this world, but we must still live in this world, and the only way inevitably to free ourselves from the confines of Sin is to overcome our greatest enemy: our mind.
Penner's character Michael in Mens Rea demonstrates the disastrous effects of allowing unbridled anger to cultivate, maturing into its most devastating phase: Wrath. Greed rears its ugly head in Russell's story The Soul's Eye, where smooth-talking Iceman finally gets outhustled and burned. Pride and Lust come to the forefront in Adair's Queen of Black Dragons and Kirby's Sinful Pleasures, where the main characters of these tales wrestle with the crippling temptation of a covetous spirit, all the while losing sight of what precious gifts they already possess. Longoria's I am, Envy is all of that, and some. This powerful tale conveys a picture-perfect depiction of how dangerous it can be to submit oneself to the practice of Envy, but highlights the undeniable liberating capacity of charity. Hunger Pains by Ilinca illustrates Gluttony, in this fairytale that cautions the practice of having excess while losing sight of what is most important. Which perfectly leads us to Picarella's Sloth story, Claim Your Fate, which displays the values of hope and encouragement, along with the power of sowing a positive seed in one's own life by speaking things into existence: claiming your own fate.
So what is to be gleaned from the messages in these powerful stories? Or even in the words scribed on these few pages? I can summarize it in two words: Hope and Love. Hope for the continual deliverance from our own indelible inclination to justify our Sins and explain them away as merely innocent behaviors that define our existence of being human. It is Hope that makes us not ashamed and which allows us to accept our sinful nature, thus bringing accountability to the forefront, so that we can fully appreciate the importance of establishing change in our own lives. So that Love—once actualized as truth—can reign bounteously and empower all of us to do justice to one another, be merciful to those who hurt us, and walk humbly in the will of God.
Enjoy!
Table of Sins
I. WRATH by Stephen Penner
II. GREED by A.T. Russell
III. PRIDE by Vickie Adair
IV. LUST by Dawn Kirby
V. ENVY by Tymothy Longoria
VI. GLUTTONY by Diana Ilinca
VII. SLOTH by Michelle Anderson Picarella
About the Authors
Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason.
—William R. Alger
I. WRATH
Mens Rea
by
Stephen Penner
He dragged the plastic chair across the floor and sat down next to me. I didn't look at him.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked.
I didn't. But I didn't see why it mattered anymore. "I got angry."
"We all get angry, Michael."
"I got really angry. Really, really angry."
He didn't say anything for a moment, but I knew what he was going to say next.
"Tell me about it."
So I did.
I woke up late that morning, slept through my alarm. I'd stayed up too late reading the night before, but I couldn't bring myself to put the book down and go to sleep. It was like I didn't want the next day to come. I must have known somehow.
I pushed myself out of bed and went straight for the shower. When I got out I was a bit more awake, and I figured, if I hurried, I'd only be about fifteen minutes late. I'd been with the firm long enough that Old Man Johnson wouldn't have cared. The problem was, Old Man Johnson was dead and New Man Johnson was running things.
I pulled on my clothes, brushed my hair and went to grab my wallet, keys, and phone. There was a new message on my phone. It had to be Janie. She was the only one who called me that early. And when she did, there was only one reason.
"Hey, Mike. It's Janie. Look, um, about next weekend. I know it's your weekend with the kids, but Derek found this great deal to Six Flags, and he went ahead and told them about it, and they're really excited. So maybe we can swap weekends or something. You'll get to see them this month, I promise, it's just, well, you know. Oh, and um, even though Derek found the deal, it's still pretty expensive, and he still hasn't found another job, so I was wondering if maybe you could, you know, help out a little bit. Just a couple hundred. We can take it out of next month's child support or something. Okay, um, great. Give me a call. Thanks, Mike, you're the best."
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then I slid the phone into my pocket, grabbed my keys and walked to the front door, where I'd left the envelope with very expensive, right-behind-the-dugout tickets for next Saturday's game against the Yankees. I stuffed them into my briefcase and headed outside. My old Ford sedan only took two tries to start, and I headed to work.
Traffic was terrible. It always was when I left that late. Ten minutes late out the door meant thirty minutes late to work. And everybody else was late too, so it was all tail-gaiting and no-signal lane changes. Some jerk in a BMW swerved in front of me just before my exit and I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting him. That was great, except that the jerk in the BMW behind me smashed right into me.
"You fucking asshole! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
That might have been appropriate for me to yell, since I was the one who got rear-ended, but instead it was the short, mustached rear-ender who jumped out of his car and ran up to me before I could even get my door all the way open.
"Back up." I tried to stay calm as I forced myself out of my car. I wasn't the tallest guy ever, but I was bigger than that jerk and I hoped my sever
al-inch height advantage would convince him to back down. It didn't.
"You did that on purpose!" he yelled. "You slammed on your brakes on purpose."
"Yes, I did," losing my patience quickly. "Because somebody slammed their brakes in front of me."
"Then it's your fault," he shouted. "You admit it's your fault."
My size wasn't working, and I really didn't want to get into a fist fight with this guy—although the idea was becoming more tempting—so when I saw that the impact had popped open my trunk, I thought I'd try one more effort at wordless intimidation.
"No sir," I said as I stepped to the rear of my car and pulled the trunk all the way open. "The law is that you have to keep a safe following distance, enough to stop no matter what happens with the car in front of you."
"That's not true!" he practically wailed. "How do you know that's the law?"
"Because I'm a lawyer," I answered forcefully. Then I reached into my trunk and took out the holstered handgun I bought when I'd switched from criminal defense to family law a few years earlier. I pulled the holster over my shoulders and fastened it. "Now, let's exchange insurance information and wait for the cops to get here."
Jerk looked at me, clearly intimidated by the gun, but there was something more in his eyes.
"I don't have insurance!" he shouted. "So go to hell!"
Then he ran to his crumpled car and drove off, nearly crashing into yet another car as he swerved into traffic.
I closed my eyes and pushed the anger down into my stomach. Then I reached into my car, pulled on my suit coat and waited for the cops to arrive.
I was over an hour late for work, but I had a police case number for an excuse. I stormed into my office hoping that looking frustrated and frazzled might discourage the chorus of 'where-ya-been?'s I was expecting. It worked.
Mostly.
Danielle walked in right behind me.
"You're late," she said. It was somewhere between a growl and a purr.
She was the same middle-age as me, but you wouldn't know it looking at her. Long legs, long hair, with a perfect ass and tits in between. She was my legal secretary. Well, mine and three other attorneys. But that's all she was. Just my secretary. Really. Janie never believed it. I still think that's part of why she went looking for a Derek.
"I know," I answered. "Some asshole rear ended me."
"Tell it to Mr. Johnson," Danielle said. "You missed your nine-o'clock with him."
Damn it. I'd forgotten all about that.
I stepped around Danielle. She didn't move quite enough and my crotch got way too close to that perfect ass. I pushed those feelings down into my stomach too. I was pretty sure Danielle giggled at me under her breath.
I was going to bolt through the door and hang the quick right to Johnson's office. Mine was the last office before the Big Guy's. That was because Old Man Johnson thought I was the best lawyer at the firm. New Man Johnson not so much. Missing our meeting wasn't going to help.
But I was going to be even later. Jason Fletcher was standing in my doorway.
"Good morning, Mr. Mitchell," he said. "We all noticed you were late this morning. Is everything all right?"
Fletcher was a complete dick. He only called me 'Mr. Mitchell' to remind me that I was older—a lot older—than him. Like ready to get shoved aside older. And the only reason he was at my office was because he had his eye on it—and Danielle—since he'd shown up.
Oh, and he was New Man Johnson's college roommate.
"Fine, Jason," I grumbled. "Somebody rear-ended me on the way to work."
I expected him to get out of way. He didn't.
"I need to see Mr. Johnson now," I encouraged him to step aside.
He paused for a second—just enough to piss me off—then stepped out of the way. "Say Hi to Brian for me."
Subtle. First name basis with the boss. Got it.
'Brian' was sitting behind his daddy's desk, feet up, looking through some papers.
"You missed our meeting," he said when I walked in. He dropped his feet and motioned at the single chair opposite his desk. "Time is money."
I sat down. "Sorry about that. Some jerk rear-ended me on the freeway. He didn't have insurance and took off, so I had to wait for the cops so I could fill out a hit-and-run report."
I didn't mention the oversleeping thing.
He nodded for a few seconds, assessing my credibility. "Okay. Just get me a copy of that report."
Great. He wanted to see what time the accident happened. "Will do, sir."
Time to change the subject. "So what did you want to see me about?"
The sour expression he'd worn while assessing my story melted into a beaming smile.
"Money, Mike. I want to talk to you about money."
I tried to keep smiling. If there was one difference between Old Man Johnson and New Man Johnson it was money. Or rather, the way they pursued it. Old Man Johnson figured if he built a high quality firm with top notch attorneys, then the money would follow.
New Man Johnson wanted the money now. And as much as possible. It was a business to him, not a profession.
"Okay." I wasn't sure what else to say.
"You have the most clients here," he went on.
I knew that. Everyone knew that. I pretended not to, though. "Oh, really. Well, that's nice."
Johnson smiled, but a cold smile. "It is and it isn't," he said. "You charge less than the other attorneys."
That was news to me. I said so.
"No, everyone else is raising their rates, Mike," he explained. "You need to too."
I shrugged. It had been a while since I'd raised my hourly rate. I supposed we could do that. "Okay, I'll have Danielle modify my fee agreement. I've got a prospective client coming in this afternoon. Messy divorce. Kids, pets, boat. I'll start with him."
Johnson laughed, but a cold laugh. "No, Mike. Don't start with him. Raise your rates on all your clients. You have the most clients, that means you're costing us the most money with your low rates."
"But they have fee agreements," I protested too quickly. "I can't just raise my rates."
Johnson's smile and laugh—cold or not—were gone. "You don't care about the financial well being of this firm?" he accused.
I was staggered. "Of course I do. But I have contracts I need to honor. I agreed to do certain work at a certain rate. I can't just—"
"You can and you will," he interjected. "Raise your hourly rate by seventy five dollars. If they refuse to pay it, tell them we're done doing any more work for them. The last thing they'll want to do is go find another attorney, and if they do start looking most will charge that much or more. They'll pay it, Mitchell. Oh, they'll pay it."
I was disappointed in him. "That's not how your father would have—" I started but he cut me off.
"I'm not my father!" Johnson slammed the desk and stood up. He leaned over the large oaken table and jabbed a finger in my face. "I don't want to be my father! The days of my father running this business like a goddamn hobby are over. My kids aren't going to miss out on things they need just because their old man is too chicken shit to try and make a solid profit!"
I knew better than to say anything. I'm sure he already regretted blurting out as much as he had. I waited a moment for the blood to run out of his face and for his finger to drop a notch.
"Got it," I said. I couldn't bring myself to call him 'Mr. Johnson.' "If that's all..."
He regained himself a bit and stepped back. "Yes, yes, that's it." He picked up his figures and charts. "We can talk more after my lunch with Jason."
I forced a smile. "That'll be great," I said. Lunch with Jason. I swallowed my pride and added, "Mr. Johnson."
I walked back to my office to find Jason looking out my window.
"Nice view," he said when I came in. "Just admiring it."
"Don't start measuring the drapes yet, Fletcher," I growled.
"You're not gonna have this office forever," he shot back. "Things are gonna be changin
g around here."
"Yeah, I just got the memo," I said. "Now if you'd kindly leave, I guess I need to start calling some of my clients."
Before he could protest, Danielle walked in again. She leaned forward and placed some papers on my desk. Her boobs practically landed on top of them. "These were just filed on the Cunningham matter."
I managed to only look at her tits for a second before looking at the pleadings. It took all I could do not to look at her ass when she left.
Fletcher didn't even try not to look. He even whistled quietly as she stepped out.
"Damn, Mr. Mitchell. You've got one hot secretary."
"She's a good secretary," is all I replied as I scanned the motion to dismiss that Danielle had brought me.
"Tell me," Fletcher went on. "How do you think she'd look with my dick in her mouth?"
I dropped the motion. "Okay, that's uncalled for."
Fletcher put up his hands, but his smarmy smile remained. "Whoa, whoa. Sorry, sir. I thought you were done with her."
I narrowed my eyes at him. I thought that rumor had been put to bed. "I never started with her."
"That's not what I heard," Fletcher snickered. "Not that I blame you. Is she a screamer? She looks like she might be a screamer."
I'd had it. "You'll never find out, Fletcher."
"Why not?"
"'Cause when you started here, she asked about you," I lied. "But I told her you had a thumb dick and herpes."
Fletcher's eyes flared. "You did what?"
I shrugged. "She said she didn't care about the herpes so much, but she figured you might have a pin dick. She said it explained why you're always strutting around and talking so much."
"Go to hell, Mitchell!" Fletcher shook a finger at me, then turned toward the door.
"Don't tell on me to Mr. Johnson," I teased, "or I'll tell Danielle what you said, and she'll sue you and the firm for everything we've got."
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