Author Steven Clark Bradley is a multifaceted, professionally published author. Because of Steven’s unique experience as a world-traveling author, he is able to very vividly and authentically write about place that many have only read about and few have actually seen. Steven simply loves writing, and he has been blessed to travel extensively and loves to see the world. His travels around the world to 35 countries give him a really interesting amount and unique ways of explaining the characters in his stories. The driving force of his life is to tell the world around him what he has seen and how it impacts our lives today, how yesterday brought us to where we are now, and how it will certainly affect us all in the future.

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Read These On Author Steven Clark Bradley talks about his book Nimrod Rising Nimrod Rising book seeks answer origin terrorist scourge

1 - How did you get interested in the topic that’s featured in your book? - I returned back to the United States to live here after having lived abroad for over 17 years. My country had changed so much and the values had disappeared to a great extent. One night, back in 1995, I remember so well, I sat down and started writing and out of the consuming need to research and describe where the source of the heart-felt change I saw came Nimrod Rising. It represents 12 years of wonderfully difficult work. It is a work of fiction based on truth. No one knows what the terms, 666 or antichrist really mean. We can only put together what seems historically and biblically logical. Nimrod Rising is not a Christian novel, but does declare its premise to be based on what I believe to be truth in the Bible. It is scary, not so much for its content as because it is predicted to come to pass. All the background about Nimrod is true and factual as well as the scenarios of war and the prelude to war. I think it will speak to believers and non-believers alike.

2 - Tell us a bit about your background. What have you done in the past that relates to your book and that topic? – I currently live in Los Angeles but am a former resident and South Bend, Indiana. I was involved in a big political movement there and was the 1999 mayoral candidate. Needless to say, I lost. I have lived in or been to 34 countries. They include Pakistan, Iraq and Turkey and many countries throughout Europe. The story of Nimrod Rising takes place in many cultures, all of which, I am very familiar with, in terms of culture and language. I was able to put the images in very lively terms, having visited or lived in the places described. Also, Nimrod Rising is a real look at the religion of Islam. I have spent my whole adult life working with Muslims. That gives me a real knowledge of the faith of over one billion people. I have a master’s degree in liberal studies from Indiana University and I speak French and Turkish. I also have been an assistant to a prosecutor, a university instructor in several countries and a freelance journalist. These areas of expertise, along with my political background gave me an easy understanding of the world around me. I have also authored two other novels, Probable Cause and Stillborn! also published by PublishAmerica.

3 - What advice would you give to someone who is interested in your topic? – I think the most important thing for readers to be as they read Nimrod Rising is open-minded. They need to try to get beyond the physical world we see every day and try to accept that there is more out there than just us. I don’t want people to consider Nimrod Rising as just another scary story. It is far more than that. Nimrod Rising is a book about the history of life and the origin of evil. The reader needs to pose the questions such as the following: Who are we? Where did we come from? What was here before us? Where are we going? Are there answers to the question why the world faces its condition today? Nimrod Rising offers “possible” answers to those questions. It will awake the imagination and the cause self perception as they read.

4 - What do you see as the benefit to participating in groups and organizations? My first thought would be networking opportunities and the chance for personal and business growth. What are your reasons? – I want people to know that there is a novel out there like none they have ever read before. That is not a cliché either. I believe they will find Nimrod Rising very unique and thrilling as well as challenging to their long-held beliefs. Groups such as you represent are great ways of allowing those who participate to see that life is greater than they ever believed and that they are more than accidents on this tiny planet but vital living reasons to have hope and faith in a day lacking both.

5 - Who is the ideal person to read your book? If each person that reads this was going to recommend your book to one person, what sort of person would they want to chose? – I think anyone who feels that they want to know more about why they are here and who love history and whose imagination needs stimulus and challenge will love this book. Also, readers who have suffered things for which they may have no answer could find a few very helpful explanations about the things we cannot explain. I myself am one of those. I think it is important that young adults read Nimrod Rising. Today our kids are taught things about sexuality and acceptance of things once held as wrong. Those taught in such an atmosphere need to see what may be the motivations of those who teach as right that which was once held as completely wrong. It will cause you to pose those questions that we would never pose to ourselves without such challenge.

6 - What do you think ignites a person’s creativity? – I have always said that writing fiction is the closest thing to the divine that humans do. We take a world that does not exist, fill it with characters who have never been, develop scenarios and plots which have never been conceived of before, draw conclusions that are profound and make them speak to those who have never imagined the stories before. I want to try to answer the questions that we think of but are afraid, for many perceived reasons, to ask. That is the greatest way to germinate the creativity of the world around us. There are no stupid questions and no answers should be considered too asinine to approach. If I can stir up the imagination and the hearts and souls of those who read my works, I will have participated in taking the tragedy out of human and replaced it with unlimited courage and creativity. That is my passion and my devotion to my writing and to my readers.

7 - What have you found to be the biggest stumbling block for people who want to start writing? – I have written seven novels and have published three of them so far. Each time I start a new novel, I have those flutters in my stomach that remind of the massive task ahead. The time, the effort, the hours that consume us can be a monster that looms behind out eyes as well as a lack of self confidence can tell us and make us believe we cannot do it. Perhaps we have started a project before that we got into and the burdens of life and the responsibilities to family and friends seemed to crowd it all out. I have suffered those feelings more in the area of book promotion than in the actual writing. They try to have the same affects on me though. Yet, after having written one novel, and finally convincing myself that it is as it should be, I have now understood that writing is an effort of starting the work and then following it as it takes over and guides my fingers. Perhaps only a writer will understand what I am going to say, but I always have the most spiritual and amazing phenomenon come over me when I write a new story. It seems that the story really begins to write itself. Some friends I have bounced ideas off of before have often asked me how a new story is going. I inevitably respond, “I don’t know, the story hasn’t told me yet." It sounds crazy, but is perfectly logical to me. Also, we have to make ourselves believe that in writing, we are never late. Of course, some writers are under contract, but even in such situations, writers need to feel the words they are writing. So those times when the words are still making their way to us, it is not time wasted. If emerging writers can make themselves believe that, then they will overcome the feelings of failure. The only failure anyway is not trying at all.

8 - How would you suggest they can overcome that? – Every time I have finished a novel, I have had to take time to refill the batteries. I do that by reading other author’s works and unfortunately, critiquing them to death. Other writers will always get you going again. They are all different and all have very great abilities that are different than our own. Yet, I still believe the best defeat of defeat itself is by placing pen to paper and just start writing. Once the story begins to breath, so will you. Ride the idea, follow it and take stock of it and be willing to alter certain ideas and plots and above all, just have fun! It is a lot of fun to read what we have written for the day. Sometimes I laugh at my stupid mistakes and fix them and end up making them better than ever. I consider every character in all my novels to be my children, the good, the bad and the worse, none of them are ugly. :) They are all alive and need fed and dressed and I have to spend time with them. Does that sound wacky? Perhaps, but it works for me. Lastly, I think there is nothing quite like seeing a work on which you have spend a massive amount of time and toil finally bound and in book form lying in the palm of your hand! Once a writer has accomplished that for the first time, it will motivate them to feel the same thing as often as they can. Those are just a few personal and practical ways I keep writing even when I feel I cannot.

9 - Who is the “perfect” person to read your book? - The person who would most suited to read my book is someone who loves life and country and who are concerned about the direction of their lives and the nation they love. I write stories that touch subjects that may be difficult to talk about openly and for which people desperately are seeking answers. If a reader wants to read a novel that entertain and inform them at the same time, Nimrod Rising is a great novel for them! It will shake the foundation of their lives but will give them a firm foundation on which to build their imagination and keep them turning the page.

10 - Is there anything else you would like to share with us?
– I know that Nimrod Rising will both stimulate and propel readers into a world that no one wants to live in. That will serve in challenging each reader to possibly do more to ensure that our children and grandchildren always have a safe and secure world in which to grow. Nimrod Rising is just such a book. I believe you will love it!

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Review of Steven Clark Bradley's Novel, Nimrod Rising

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Summary of this Book...

Have you ever felt that the world was guided in ways that are beyond man’s control? The constant changes in the world since the time of Nimrod 4000 years ago until today and all the events that have shaken the world have been to bring the universe back into the hands of the Prince of Darkness, Lucia, a world that he had ruled with his Watchers before it was all ripped from his grasp when man was created. Nimrod Rising paints a diabolical picture of how the Prince of Darkness executes his evil plot to take the world back by force and destroy civilization in the process. From the Great Builder Nimrod in 4000 BC to today, 666 generations later, you can ride the storm of Nimrod Rising and experience the death of a world and the birth pangs o f another. You will swear it is really upon us!

I especially liked the title of Mr. Bradley's third book is Nimrod Rising. Nimrod Rising is a book that seeks to answer where the terrorist scourge that currently plagues the world came from. The premise of the book is that the evil hitting the world is more than just a political phenomenon. He paints the picture that starts actually more than 4,000 years ago when the first organized Satan worshiper, Nimrod, the first king of Babylon, is born resulting from a pact made with Lucifer by Nimrod’s father Cush. As he says on the back of the book, ride the storm of Nimrod Rising. Because Nimrod Rising is a vast story of International significance, my setting is really two/fold. Steven Clark Bradley spent a large portion of his life in the cradle of civilization. The main setting of Nimrod Rising is really, Israel.
I recommend this Book because it the strongest work I have read on the gathering storm of mayhem hitting the world today! It is stimulating and pricks the brain with the constant possibility that id could all be true! I was spin-tingly as I read the 596 pages of pure action and frightened at the plausibility of it all. I have read all three of Mr. Bradley's excellent works and this is the best yet! I know it will take you to the very last page and leave you wondering where we are headed as a world. I advise everyone to read it and wonder!


It should be read because it will speak to us about where we are going and what will be our consequences to bad actions in the future. It is a real treatise on America.

All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.

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Author, Steven Clark Bradley

How the Mighty Have Fallen
4000 BC
Cush was an old man. He was one of those of renown. He was a great
man of valor, a man who always left his mark. In fact, he was marked:
some said cursed, others blessed. He was the first of a new alliance, a new
breed. He was the first of the rebellious ones. His name actually meant
black. He was the son of Canaan, the son of Ham who was the son of
Noah, the man of Elyon. This man of antiquity had heard it all.
“He was marked of Elyon!” “He was cursed to evil!” “He was chosen
for greatness!” Before his eyes would dim, Cush would have seen it all

It had been a day that seemed to blast through the gloom and doom
that had always surrounded this patriarch’s life. Now, he held up in
front of his enlightened eyes the treasure that could guarantee his
continued posterity long after he and his wretched curse were buried
under centuries of prehistoric Earth. Cush had a daughter, but the old
man needed a son! He had to pass on his heritage and the
development of his people to a male child. For the past 15 years Cush
had never been allowed a heritage, for Elyon had determined to break
the existence of the seed of Caanan, to wipe it from the Earth. The
curse of the grandfather had marked him for life! Cush simply decided
to reject the God who had allowed Cush’s life to be marked by pain
and barrenness so that he determined to make a pact with the wicked
one. Why would Cush commune with a God that intended to snuff

out any vestige or proof that Cush and his seed had ever existed on the
Earth? The eyes of Elyon had looked down the tunnels of time and
saw the great adversary coming from the line of Caanan and intended
to cut it out! Cush turned his eyes off of Elyon and communed with
the evil one, the Serpent, the Liar, the Fallen Cherub. Cush promised
Lucia, the Son of the Morning Star, that if he would give Cush his
heritage then his seed would follow him forever. Lucia looked at Cush
with compassion.

“I served this God. He treated me as a rejected branch!” The fallen
Watcher stated.

“It was He who made maggots to spread out continually beneath me.
It was He who covered me with worms. It was not the real me, for wasn’t
I full of glory and music? With my harps, oh the music I could play!”
Lucia closed his eyes and seemed to bask in the thought of a past day
when he ruled the land that was ripped from him and given to Adam, that
weak creature. He opened his eyes with a bit of sorrow and rage spread
through them.

“This Earth belongs to me! I built it, I ruled it and it is mine and I shall
have it again! I was the Guardian Cherub! I was above all, the most
glorious of them all. He just made me too perfect, too close to himself so
that I was a risk, a possible drop of oil to His holy water! I was the model
of perfection; perfect in wisdom and beauty! I was in Eden, the garden of
Elyon! I was adorned with every precious stone. In my wings were
embedded the Ruby, the Topaz, Emeralds, Jasper, Turquoise and Beryl.
My joints and my entire frame were made of pure gold. I was blameless
in every way until one day, that one day, wickedness was found in me! I
was a threat to Jehovah! My great trade and authority was declared to be
that of violence and evil, that of a God. So, He drove me out of the
Garden! In disregard for my pride, Jehovah disgracefully cast His
Guardian Cherub out of the garden and into the world that both hated
and loved me. Those who served me then serve me today and I will take
back my kingdom! The slightest doubt in Elyon and he cast me down! He
knew that I wanted to eat of the tree of Life and be like Elyon himself. It
was the only thing that was lacking! Then He banished me, but I must
again enter in!”

Cush was transfixed on the image of the fallen Cherub and listened to
the evil fallen beast.

“You shall be the bearer of my seed, my disciple! The Lord has allowed
me to decree this, I shall return to the Earth! I shall rule from my realm!
I shall defeat the…I shall destroy the most….”

The fallen cherub could not finish the curses he wanted to declare
against Jehovah!

“I declare that from this day to the 666th generation of your seed, my
servant Cush and your son, born of his sister shall be worshiped as the
Great Father of the Prince that should come.”

The seed of Cush’s son would ultimately produce the one who would
fight the final battle with Elyon. Cush understood his Master’s words and
in that very night he entered his daughter’s room. It was a sin, the first of
its kind.

In spite of the months of rumors of the abnormal and immoral thing
in his daughter’s womb, the birth of his son seemed like the end of the
strife of his outward difference. “She was a child! How could a child be
with child?” people wondered. It was the continuation of the curse on
Caanan and the people feared it. Some wanted to take the girl and cut the
evil thing out of her. It was in league with the fallen one who had ruled the
Earth before the great void created when Lucia had tumbled out of favor
and out of the garden of Elyon. Cush feared no man! He was the great
father and none would oppose him but they could still talk. Cush just let
them talk. This was his salvation, his redemption!

The contractions from the womb of Cush’s daughter and mother of
his child came hard; his son came out fighting all the way! As soon as the
child was out, Cush ran over and snatched the male child from her hands
and raised high the fruit of his loins. Aliah, the child’s mother, lay
convulsing on the soil which bore the stains of the gushing well of blood
and afterbirth which was the result of the birth of this warrior. The
manner in which he had torn his mother on the way out seemed to say that
the infant had tasted the rage of his father while in the birth canal. The
people in the village on the night of the child’s birth had feared what it
would be like. Would the curse of Elyon fall upon them? It was a curse
placed upon the seed of Ham by the master builder and patriarch Noah
himself. Cush looked over at his 15-year-old daughter and decided the
woman could wait. To Cush, for all he cared she could just die in peace
with joy in her heart because she had born a king! He was the forerunner
of a great people and the rebellious seed that would bring forth the Son
of Lucia. But she intended to serve her purpose, and would live out her
usefulness in making her son the son he should be. She had born him a
rebellious heritage against the God who had cursed him! The wholly new
person who was both her son and her brother would give out the truth of
the Master and would be the father of a great people!

Cush took the newborn, still wet child into the palms of his hands. The
sight of his son brought back to mind the vow, which Cush had invoked
as he defiled his daughter.

“He shall redeem my shame! He shall repossess my pride! He shall
overtake the power! He shall rise up against the Most High! He shall be
rebellion!”Now, Cush looked down at the boy in his hands. The
screaming voice, the heaving chest tantalized the father. The child was
not black. The child was not white. In fact, he seemed to be the perfect
blend of both. Cush recognized that this man would one day give the
world back to the Master. Cush brought the child up close to his face.

“Scream my boy! Yell! Cry out and release the bitter heritage of my
pain! You shall avenge me! You shall be my redemption! You shall be
rebellion against the most high. Cursed be Canaan?!”

Suddenly, Cush thrust his son high above into the air.
“His name shall be Nimrod! The one who rebels!”

It was the perfect expression of what Cush held in his heart for his
Creator. He was cursed! Though Cush had never lifted a finger to oppose
the Lord, Elyon had cursed him because of his father’s sin. Through the
examples of pain, through telling his son Nimrod of the hurt, sorrow and
rejection because of an unjustified mark that had made Cush’s life forever
one of disdain and fear, the history and all the things recounted to
Nimrod, Cush made the boy bitter and defiant. He instilled a steel-like
burning, a craving inside the heart of Nimrod.

“You are the Lord of Lords, my son!

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Review of Steven Clark Bradley's Novel, StillBorn

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Summary of this Book...

When two brothers are separated from birth they usually find great joy when at last they discover each other. It is not always so harmonious, though. StillBorn explores what can happen when an Illegal adoption causes twins to be born without love and sold without remorse. When one is rejected because of a physical defect and left in an orphanage without identity and the other is adopted in his place into a wonderful life the result is one of bitterness and ruthless revenge. When they grow up and find each other a game of revenge and death is played out. See what a life of pain, suffering and abuse can do when vengeance becomes a driving motivation and humanity is shouting, am StillBorn!

The author of this Book...

Steven Clark Bradley worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and Senegal West Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries.

I recommend this Book because...

I am an avid reader, but I have rarely read any novel that has stirred mixed emotions in my mind like StillBorn did as I read through its realistic and well-detailed pages. The story seems like something that would have been completely impossible in a day long gone, but in the day today in which we live, such brutal actions against a child that could drive him into an aggressive adulthood seem totally plausible! I recommend this blood because it will keep you attention, make you want to take action to protection children and force you to ask yourself what you would do in just such a situation. The dialog is profound, and though the story is fast paced and thought there is a lot of going back in time, the author keeps the book tight and well connected. I hope others will read this story, though it is not bedtime reading; not because it is too frightening before sleeping. Rather, it may be difficult to put down and sleep. StillBorn! is a must read and I Steven Clark Bradley truly got this reader's attention!

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No Denying it...!

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The following excerpt is from Steven Clark Bradley's novel, Stillborn! It will capture your attention.

April 1, 1988, 2:03 AM

She had insisted upon hating it but there was no denying it any longer. The blowing night breeze gave a false sense of serenity to a tense evening with the growing thing inside her always bringing her back to reality. The moonlit night sky above caused a glimmer of misty light through a window into the land of the so-called living to expose the sleeping silhouette of a beautiful woman. Her restive eyes shifted radically behind her closed eyelids. She saw it all so clearly; that same evil nightmare that had plagued her since the thing had begun to sprout within her. She had purposed in her heart to abhor it because she was sure that would be the only way to survive the inhumane measures the thing’s appearance would unleash.

The dream was like a night in some evil cavalcade of misfits that always seemed to leave the taste of hostility on her tongue. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it. There was a sense that she had to walk the length of the environs and that she could feel arms pulling at her to compel her. It didn’t feel like she was heading toward anguish, but was actually being invaded by it, almost surrounding her! She ran into a pavilion as though in slow motion, with her feet moving as though they were treading upstream in a fast flowing river and traveling in the opposite direction! It was gloomy, sinister even rancid. She saw no one but heard the wailing hideous cries of babies in some hidden away place that made her blood crawl. She grasped her abdomen and followed the shrieking sounds to a hallway. She tried to open several doors and found the third one on her left unlocked and slowly slid it open. This had been the farthest she had ever ventured down the lingering hallway that had so often occupied her dreams. The weeping sounds stopped, but a vista appeared before her; a landscape she had seen before.

There before her own eyes she saw herself sitting handcuffed in front of a police officer’s desk. As she watched the scene unfurl before her eyes she spoke the words out silently to herself in unison with the man seated in front of her in this obscure panorama before her dreaming eyes!

“Susan, Susan, this is the third time this week! Can’t you spot a cop from a John anymore?”

“Mr. Policeman, I got no job but this one, no money, no family except back in Mexico. Me? I have only this beautiful body Mr. Policeman, and it don’t last too long either, so…”

The young beautiful sleeping beauty saw two officers walk past her and it was clear to her in the dream that they could neither see nor sense her presence. She was startled at the face of the tall one and grabbed her stomach and scared to death by the short older one and it made her hug the contents of her expanded belly. She saw both of them look at her image shackled to the chair in front of her in the dream, the short older cop in front of her had an inquisitive look on his face. As the shorter, older cop talked with the tall officer, the short one turned and looked at the woman in the chair and shook his head up and down slightly while scratching his chin and smiling slightly. The tall officer waved at the short one; both with perverse smiles on their faces. The sleeping treasure began to stir as behind her closed eyelids, suddenly, the lights went out in the room she was in while watching herself in the dream and she had to stumble in the darkness! The dreaming woman again clutched her abdomen! The thing within her was kicking, moving, heaving, and pushing her almost to the ground each time the woman’s insides received blows from the product growing and protesting within her! She turned around and painfully walked out the door. The pain was taking her breath away. It was kicking her on all sides and without mercy! As her foot touched the hallway again the wailing cries of the babies blasted out again and her pain subsided. She turned in an almost frantic, maternal manner to rush over to the door from where the cries were coming. She looked down at her own stomach and the thing was gone! Suddenly, she tuned her ears to the sounds of the babies’ cries at the end of the hall in front of her!

“My baby! I am coming baby!”

The woman lunged forward and ran at top speed to the door and saw it was partly open and the light inside the room was escaping out into the hallway. She aggressively pushed the door open. This time there was a background that she actually remembered from the previous times she had been there in her night visions. There was the short pudgy cop seated behind his desk. He leaned back in his armchair and looked her over. To the right was a man who had a face that looked like a mosquito. She recognized him! Best pimp she had ever had! The woman in the scene, of course she knew the insect-looking thing.

“Richie, thought you were my pimp, not a pig!” the woman shouted at the bug-like man. She watched the vision unfold.

“You know you have become somewhat of a public nuisance!” the
officer stated.

“Ah, business has been good and I feel quite well received, know what I mean sir? The public seems to like me very much, including several of Chicago’s finest.” The woman was smiling slightly.

The officer stared at the woman for a moment. His piercing look made the woman very uncomfortable and she began to look around the office to get a grip on her fear. As the woman in the dream and the woman watching the dream behind her closed eyelids surveyed the room, they both participated in on the eye parade. Together, they both noticed the diploma on the wall behind the dumpy old officer. It was too far away to read much of it but the part she could make out read, “Degree of Doctor of Forensic Medicine.” Somehow the paper made the woman calm down knowing that his looks were misleading and that in reality he was a doctor. She wondered though, “What kind of doctor becomes a cop?”

The sensuous street woman’s eyes slid down the wall behind the doctor-cop and finally met those piercing eyes in the head of this elusive doctor-cop seated behind the desk. He leaned forward in his chair. The sound of the old rickety chair thrusting forward to draw the man’s face closer to the woman in the dream alarmed the dreamer as she gasped.

“You know, I can have them throw the book at you. It’s not exactly my purview here, but put in the years I have here and you can pretty much have anything the way you want it, just touch the right people,
if you know what I mean sweetie?”

The woman in the chair was afraid, but she didn’t dare let on!

“Just listen to the man, darling.” the mosquito man pleaded.

“I just do my service to humanity senor. What you call it here, um, a free-market system or something like that?”

The dreamer thought that was a gutsy thing to say and felt proud of herself. In fact, she seemed to remember having said it herself at some point. The officer laughed, seeming to have appreciated the dexterity of the whore seated in front of him.

“She is perfect!” he thought.

She would be excellent and he could put up with her for 9 months anyway. She needed the money, wanted the cash, so why not go for it? He softened his facial expression and looked calmly at her. The woman watching the scene began to remember parts of the image before her and grabbed her stomach again!

“I have a proposition for you, Miss…?”

“My name is Susan,” the woman informed the officer.

Suddenly, the observer remembered it all! She remembered the contract, the money, the treatment and the thing developing inside her and her inability to hate it! She remembered the officer!

“Tell him NO!” the dreamer screamed at the woman.

She knew who the woman was! She knew her well! She was this woman seated in the chair in front of the police doctor-cop! She ran up and tried to shake the image of herself in the scene and her hand simply reacted as if it was touching the nothingness of a cloud and the image disappeared into a hazy fog and the sound of the crying babies again filled the shadowy and eerie atmosphere of the dream. She ran out of the room, and back into the hallway, which had gone black. As she ran down the hallway, she realized again that the heavy load she had been bearing in front of her was gone and her abdomen was empty. She panicked but kept running to open door where the sounds were so piercingly throbbing at the night air! She threw open the door and was shocked to find two infants lying in the corner of an eerily lit room. They were wrestling in a pool of mud and were crying out for their mommy! Abruptly, they ceased their wailing and turned their heads towards her and stared at her. One began to reach out for her crying while the other one screamed, “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

The dreaming woman began to scream and ran out of the room. Suddenly, the dark haired beauty opened her eyes! She felt tremors at her insides forcing her to grab her abdomen. “Oh God!” she prayed. She turned and punched the man who was asleep next to her with his mouth gapped open.

“Wake up! Richie! Wake up, it’s coming”, The body next to hers roused and suddenly sat up in bed.

“Ah, you ready to go?”

She looked at the man who had a bug-like face and shook her head in exasperation.

”Ah! It lives!” she grunted and pounded on the man’s shoulder.

He instantly lit a half-smoked cigarette. They sat up. She did so slowly because she knew her insides were very tender at the moment. The man took a cell phone and speed-dialed a number.


“Yea, it’s Richard. Your product is on its way!”

“One second please” the voice at the other end ordered. “Be there in five!”

“Uh, Good!” The man closed the cell phone.

“Let’s go Suzy Q. They’ll be right here! Now come on!”

“Sometimes you are Mr. Sensitivity himself, you know that?”

She picked up her suitcase and tried to give it to Richie to carry. He paid no attention to her so she lifted it and walked down the steep stairs from her apartment to the street down below followed by the bug-man. When they reached the bottom, a car pulled up in front of them and the back door swung open. The bug-man nudged her into the back seat and the car sped away. She remembered her dream. What did it mean? Soon she would learn. People will always do for money what they would never even dream of doing for food. She was not exactly a whore. She had a pitiful ability to be a beautiful, soft woman when she wished to. A reason or opportunity simply presented itself so rarely. Now, here she was just gasping for breath in the back seat of a stranger’s car ready to throw away the fruit of her loins. She had insisted upon hating it. The problem was that it had made its presence so well known in the last eight weeks. Against her own better judgment, she had allowed herself to commune with it. She had taken it as her own. She had finally found something she could not prostitute! She wanted it. Perhaps she loved it? Giving it away was such a vicious type of suicide. Giving it away would end her life! Some things were simply known far too deeply in the heart.

“How many minutes apart are they?”

“AH! Diablo! I think about three minutes. Richy, it feels like there’s an army in there or a mighty big one.” She clutched her abdomen and began to wince from the pain.

“Hey Suzy Q, you got to hang in there. We can do this.”

“The father was a big man. It was good!” she thought to herself. “This kid will be the same.”

“I’d swear there are four arms and four legs in there.” she informed Richie, grunting and moaning as she spit out her words.

She looked down at her baby’s soon to be abandoned shelter.

She rubbed her belly and said, “You will be ok. Oh God, let us be ok!”

She was not at all sure about that herself. The car pulled into an abandoned industrial complex.

“What is this? Where are we? This is not what I agreed to!”

Susan began to panic. She was told that she would be in a hospital. She wanted to leave. It was out of the question! It was not the way it was supposed to be. The car stopped. This beautiful woman reached for the door handle! There was none! She was about to enter her own self-made hell and this was no dream!

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Review of Steven Clark Bradley's Novel, Probable Cause

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Summary of this Book...

Have you ever wished you could decide the best way to right a serious wrong done to you? Chief Inspector Corbett (Core) Mandeville was the best of the best in solving the worst crimes in his state…until now. He and a killer have an uncanny affinity, with more than one attitude in common. This crime is too close to Core’s own heart and experience for comfort. This killer has a reason for his crime, and Core understands it completely. Get into the mind of the killer and the cop. Find a link that makes for exciting, lethal and profound act of vengeful justice. You will be tantalized and amazed by how similar they both can be when all their actions are
based on a new set of core values.

I especially liked...

This book is a ride that takes you deep into a plot that has no limits! I found the mind of the killer very well revealed and as much as I tried not to understand his cruel plot, it somehow seemed rational. That was concerning to me. But then there was the detective, Core. He was smart and clever and not far removed from the killer himself. The ending is amazing and I loved this book! I hope this author will write more books just as good as this one!

The author of this Book...

Steven worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and Senegal West Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries.

I recommend this Book because...

I recently read Probable Cause. This novel is one of intense desire to take back one's life that was ripped away by infidelity and betrayal. All of us have been hurt in many of the same ways that Steven Clark Bradley describes in his new novel, Probable Cause. This story about two mens' reactions to betrayal, one the killer and the other one the investigator, gets into the mind and puts the reader right at the same level of emotion that the characters have. It forces the reader to really look into their own hearts as they read. This is not just a murder novel. In reality it is a love story, about a love so real and profound that nothing can stand in the way of putting the shattered pieces back together again. Core, the detective, wants to catch the killer, but he too has been wounded and bruised and battered internally by the very same things that Grag Bradford has endured. His affinity with Greg Bradford realy puts the story into some amazing thrilling twists. It is enthralling to watch the acts of vengence and the reaction of a cop as he remembers his own remorse during his time of pain and depression at the loss of his trust in his fellow man and in his woman. If you want to read a story that will bring make vengence seem like justice and a book that is a real page turner, then Probable Cause is the book for you. I give it an A in my report card!

Further Comments...

It will make you think before you commit an act that can totally devastate a person's life. Fidelity is not just a virtue, it is a requirement.

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Probable Cause - Tools Of The Trade

Summary of this Book...

Have you ever wished you could decide the best way to right a serious wrong done to you? Chief Inspector Corbett (Core) Mandeville was the best of the best in solving the worst crimes in his state…until now. He and a killer have an uncanny affinity, with more than one attitude in common. This crime is too close to Core’s own heart and experience for comfort. This killer has a reason for his crime, and Core understands it completely. Get into the mind of the killer and the cop. Find a link that makes for exciting, lethal and profound act of vengeful justice. You will be tantalized and amazed by how similar they both can be when all their actions are
based on a new set of core values.

I especially liked...

This book is a ride that takes you deep into a plot that has no limits! I found the mind of the killer very well revealed and as much as I tried not to understand his cruel plot, it somehow seemed rational. That was concerning to me. But then there was the detective, Core. He was smart and clever and not far removed from the killer himself. The ending is amazing and I loved this book! I hope this author will write more books just as good as this one!

The author of this Book...

Steven worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and Senegal West Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries.

I recommend this Book because...

I recently read Probable Cause. This novel is one of intense desire to take back one's life that was ripped away by infidelity and betrayal. All of us have been hurt in many of the same ways that Steven Clark Bradley describes in his new novel, Probable Cause. This story about two mens' reactions to betrayal, one the killer and the other one the investigator, gets into the mind and puts the reader right at the same level of emotion that the characters have. It forces the reader to really look into their own hearts as they read. This is not just a murder novel. In reality it is a love story, about a love so real and profound that nothing can stand in the way of putting the shattered pieces back together again. Core, the detective, wants to catch the killer, but he too has been wounded and bruised and battered internally by the very same things that Grag Bradford has endured. His affinity with Greg Bradford realy puts the story into some amazing thrilling twists. It is enthralling to watch the acts of vengence and the reaction of a cop as he remembers his own remorse during his time of pain and depression at the loss of his trust in his fellow man and in his woman. If you want to read a story that will bring make vengence seem like justice and a book that is a real page turner, then Probable Cause is the book for you. I give it an A in my report card!

Further Comments...

It will make you think before you commit an act that can totally devastate a person's life. Fidelity is not just a virtue, it is a requirement.

Tools of the Trade

It was all under control. There had been a certain amount of improvising, but Greg found that he adapted well. He had come to realize that the thing that caused many a “Perfect Murder” to fail were feelings of guilt and fears. Even Greg was amazed that he now possessed neither. He knew he should be troubled by that, but he felt actually invigorated. He was totally compartmentalized and his eyes remained on the prize. He had already tucked the letter to his beloved Lisa in his pocket and had cleaned up the spots of blood that had fallen on the floor. He had looked at the bed and it was quite soaked with it now, but the jerk had been a thorn in his side ever since he moved in. Greg chuckled when he recalled the look of shock written across his Barney’s face. In Greg’s mind, it was a sight to behold.

“Just ask me if I am powerless now?” Greg asked himself and the snoozing public as he fastened the utility belt across his waist.

It was now 4:30 AM. No one would check on him anymore for the night. As far as the peaceful masses knew, he was sound asleep. He had about 2 hours to get to the security vehicle and get off the grounds. He knew he would have to ditch it as soon as possible and he no longer needed to check out. He had signed his release in blood. Now he just needed to get into the dental services office and grab a few needed tools of the trade. He would have need of them later in the day. Greg found the master key and inserted it into the lock. He turned the knob and walked into the dentist’s office. He knew where it all was. He had built quite a good relationship with Dr. Fisher.

He opened the utility cabinet and took out two tooth pullers. They were rarely used anymore and not at all sterile, but that did not matter tonight. He took what he needed and took up his walk and made his way out the back door and walked over to the security vehicle. He found the key and got in and drove up to the main gate. When he got there the security guard saw Greg in his uniform and simply waved him through. The employee turnover was so great, for all the gate knew, he was simply a new guard and he had all the trappings of security. It was about the time that the last check would have been done and it was nothing less than totally normal. Now all Greg had to do was ditch this vehicle for one far less conspicuous and he knew just where to get one.

By the time that Greg had gotten out of the compound and had gotten a safe distance away from Longcliff, it was already 5:42 AM. Greg had about one hour before Barney’s body would be discovered. Greg drove into Logansport and into an area, which was renowned for covens. He found the house where he had met with Queen Lizza. He drove past it and parked the security van about four blocks away. Before he got out he checked that he had the letter to Lisa and the little bag of tricks he had stolen from the utility room and the Dental Services office, including his old set of teeth and looked for a security pistol that he knew was in the vehicle somewhere. To his surprise, it was in the glove compartment. He checked the clip and it was full of tranquilizer darts. There was now just a twinge of daybreak in the air and the fog was lingering thickly over the bluffs that surrounded the hospital. He had to be very precise in his use of time. Once he got into the house of the female devil he could take his time. Greg began to laugh.

“Stupid old witch, shouldn’t she know that I was coming and that I intended to too…?”

But the house was dark and no one was awake. He knew that she was totally unaware of just how soon she would meet her master! Or, was she?

Greg pulled a small crow bar from his little bag of tricks. He walked around to the side of the house and bent down at one of the basement windows. Greg was thin and was sure he would fit in one of those midget windows. He forced the end of the crowbar and the window popped open. That scared Greg a bit. It was just too easy.

“Maybe her Master is sick of her too?” Greg wondered.

He shined the laser light into the basement and had to clasp his mouth to stop a scream resulting from what he saw in front of his face. Then he saw what it was. It was just a mask, horrifying, nevertheless. He knew that this evil woman had somehow gotten to his head. She needed getting rid of. He pushed it away quietly and slid inside and closed the window. The basement was clean and had lots of satanic paraphernalia. He looked around for a moment and then found the stairs. He was sure that the door at the top of the stairs would be locked but was surprised that it was not. As he opened it he saw that it led directly into the kitchen. He stepped into destiny and pulled out the service revolver. As he walked into the kitchen he saw a light come on in the living room to the right. Greg checked his pulse and it was racing. He knew he had not prepped himself enough for this chapter.

“Mr. Bradford”

Greg turned his head toward the living room and knew that she had been waiting for him. He walked in the room and saw Queen Lizza sitting in her rocking chair and fully dressed.

“So why you want to kill me sir? Have I led you astray up to now?”

Greg now knew now that this woman was the real McCoy.

“You were very calm tonight you know. I was impressed with the determination in your soul, Mr. Bradford”

Greg walked into the living room with the gun pointed out straight in front of him. He saw her and aimed it directly at her.

“How did you know about tonight?”

“Oh, you mean about your Barney, sir?”

Greg stared very intently at her when she used that name. No one could know that he called the old fool by that name.

“HAHA! Can’t get much by me, Mr. Bradford. Now, please put that gun down. It is not needed in this house. We are both about the same business ya know. Did you know I am from Jamaica?”

“You all are, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no, sir that place has far more enemies of the Master than friends. That is why we all come over here. Anyway, we have perfected many things. You put your hand down and I will put mine up.”

Greg dropped his hand to his side with the pistol pointing to the floor. Queen Lizza held her left hand up and she let a set of keys dangle downward in the air.

“Isn’t this what you came for? I even filled the tank for you. Here you go.”

She tossed the keys to Greg’s feet.

“Why are you doing this? I was going to kill you and you knew it.”

“Mr. Bradford, you are a desperate man. Your soul has been ripped out of you and I have been there also, I do not want to die, and why should I when we are so similar in so many ways. I know you do not openly serve the master, but I too am a person and you need to take back what your heart desires. So, do it well Mr. Bradford. I hope you die a very violent death tonight. Tell me about it later, ok?”

Greg bent down and took the keys.

“What if the police question you? You could destroy everything.”

“And why would they? And why would I? Is there anything linking us together? I have given you the car. There is no sign of violence in this house. Before you leave, you better close that window in the basement.”

“I already did.”

“I missed that, hmmm, that is concerning.”

“I hate to tell you this, Miss Devil, but I do not serve your master.”

“What! You do not serve the master? HAHA! Who were you serving very early this morning, Mr. Bradford? Jesus? Oh you serve the master! When you wake up and keep his system afloat, you are serving him. Even the Bible says he is the Prince of the power of the air, Sir, ya know, so never fear, Mr. Bradford, you serve him and he likes what he sees in you, so far. But just keep telling yourself that you are doing it all for yourself. Greed and selfishness are by far the greatest motivating emotions. The master was the first to use them, ya know. So, go forth, Mr. Bradford and do not look back.”

Queen Lizza put her left hand up to her forehead and closed her eyes. Greg thought she was about to put some curse on him and pointed the gun at her. With her eyes still closed she said,

“You better be going, Mr. Bradford and please put the gun down. I have no intension of cursing you. In fact, I have placed a blessing of success over you. Remember? That makes me a cohort, does it not? By the way, the light is coming outside and a certain housekeeper is just about ready to open a certain door, Mr. Bradford, back at the house of my master.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then Greg realized that she was talking about Longcliff. Greg looked at her and thought he should say thank you or something.

“Mr. Bradford, A thank you is not in order here, Sir. It could be interpreted as a sign of weakness. Just go! I hate that car anyway!”

“What you gonna replace it with, a hearse?”

Greg turned and walked to the kitchen and walked out the back door. Destiny was all around him and he headed straight for it. Queen Lizza began to tremble. She knew how close she had come to death and it was not as pretty as she had imagined it would be. Then she heard it.

Back at Longcliff, a housekeeper had just entered into Greg’s room. She saw a sleeping patient there. She decided to quietly gather up the dirty laundry and then she saw it, the blood, the open eyes staring straight up to the ceiling!

“Help! Help! Oh my God! Help!”

You can read lots more from Steven Clark Bradley at these sites. You might even find some Stories That Read You! at:

My New Project - Patriot Acts

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Patriot Acts
Today, America faces enemies that make the chilling world of the Cold War seem like much brighter times. The Islamic forces that have declared Jihad on America have caused the greatest threat to the life of the United States since World War II. The novel, "Patriot Acts" is a very original, well-researched and very plausible look into what could happen if the nation of Iran is allowed to become a nuclear power. All of the sites and stats and cultural aspects are true and thoroughly researched. Also, having lived in several Islamic countries, I have a first-hand ability to write about the lifestyles in places like Iran.

The setting of this story takes place in the very near future with allusions into the past from the main characters. The characters are very profoundly developed in the areas of action, dialog and emotion. In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of Iran and the only person who can effectively retaliate against their aggression is Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has.

Iran has represented the root of terrorism since 1979 until today. The only problem is that Fisher Harrison is in a federal prison, framed for a murder he did not commit, framed by his former boss, now the President of the United States of America. The plotting in this novel works from the premise that America faces three major challenges.

One problem this story deals with is the growing threat with Iran and its desire to procure nuclear weapons. The next problem is the insecurity that America faces from the border with Mexico. In Patriot Acts, the border easily allows Iranian operatives to infiltrate America. The third situation playing out at the same time in this novel is the threat of American radical militia groups joining hands with radical Islamic terrorists to try to bring down the United States Government.

In the midst of all the upheaval, Fisher Harrison, who is serving a life term in a federal penitentiary, is the only man trained well enough to stop this move against America, but he has a goal of killing President Christopher A. Tate, whom he believes framed him as a killer. The mysterious situation surrounding the murder and the truth of it all in the end makes for tantalizing intrigue especially when mixed in with the terrorist threats facing the country. You will take an amazing journey that will transport you from Alaska to the Midwest and to the heart of the nation of Iran itself as two enemies unite to save the nation. You will be amazed how possible this story is and may inconveniently render the reader afraid in realizing how close to home it could all be!

The main question is whether America is willing to do what is necessary to preserve, protect and defend the constitution of the United States of America? The deeds required and carried out in this story are not acts of terror, not acts of vengeance but in reality, Patriot Acts!

Steven Clark Bradley

Excerpt From Patriot Acts

Special Handling

Fisher Harrison’s eyes were closed in a drug-induced stupor, but his mind was replaying the day his family abandoned him! He saw it all afresh and looked out over a terrain that was lifeless, and yet there were living crawling things all around him, in the shrubs, in the bald headed trees and all around his feet. Some of the things were insects, others were reptilian but the large majority of them were human. Down the highway of death all about him was the burnt out carnage of a war that was caused by a man set on seizing the Middle East and setting it ablaze and resulting from a President’s lack of resolve to finish a job barely halfway completed. Cars, Trucks, both civilian and military, the carcasses of tanks and men alike were strewn about like God had reached down and picked it all up at once and tossed it into space and let it fall at will! Bodies of men with their limbs blown off were everywhere with the detached limbs of another comrade’s arm, leg or head laying next to them. This highway of madness Fisher Harrison saw so clearly as he looked at the residue of 100 hours of slaughter that had taken Saddam Hussein out of Kuwait. Fisher Harrison lamented, as he knew that his brothers in arms had been removed from their advance to kill the tyrant only to be assured that they’d have to return one day to repeat it all over again, only at a far more wretched price! They were all gone!

Fisher looked over the horizon in every direction to see if even a cloud of smoke could be seen from a retreating Bradley or Abrams. There was nothing! They were gone; all gone except for him! The only remaining American thing he could still see was the chopper he had escaped from death in; the chopper where 7 of his fellow Special Black Ops had not been so lucky. As Fisher took out his long-range viewers the only hint of the war left were thick, black clouds rising into the sky from the incinerated oil wells in Kuwait and the various cars, trucks, and military hardware that had not yet burned themselves out!

Fisher saw movement to his left. He walked over to a car that was burnt beyond recognition. Inside was the dead body of a young Arab girl, about 16. On top of her was an Iraqi soldier still breathing and still inside her where he had been when an exploding shell had impacted close to the car where he had been reviling her. His breathing was shallow and his eyes opened slowly as he regained consciousness and he mumbled!

“Allah Wakbar…”

The soldier’s eyes opened and Fisher saw him look down at the girl he had been raping when he had been knocked unconscious. The soldier had not seen Fisher but looked down at the dead girl under him and he started to laugh. It had seemed ironic to him that she had escaped her pain by dying and he had been forced to continue in his by living. The soldier slapped the dead girl across the face and then spat on her just before he pulled himself out of her. He stood up and looked down at the young Iraqi girl, one of his own, and laughed again before turning around to see Colonel Fisher Harrison’s gun staring in his face.

“American! You are American! War over! God bless America! God bless America!”

Fisher kept the gun directly about six inches from the Iraqi’s face and aimed between the Muslim Rapist’s eyes!

“Thank you, God always blesses America! Give your Allah my regards!”

Fisher squeezed the trigger and the Iraqi’s face exploded before Fisher’s eyes!
Fisher Harrison didn’t flinch! Killing was his job. It was what he did without the slightest increase in his pulse.

He heard a sudden sound of rotors twirling and saw the tornado-like affect of a Black Hawk heading his way and stirring up the desert floor. He looked straight ahead of him and up and saw a chopper and his heartbeat picked up speed when he thought of his brethren coming to take him out of this field of twisted metal, war-ravaged breathless faces and smoldering death!

The chopper continued its approach and then the pilot and his Ordinance Specialist saw Fisher! The chopper flew toward him and hovered overhead. Fisher started waving his arms until he saw the expression on the pilot and Or. Spec’s faces. Fisher then just stood there under the chopper holding his hands up with sand and debris being propelled all around him and in him realizing they had not come to rescue him but to kill him, to get him out of the way!

Fisher stared into their faces less than one hundred feet above him with a huge caliber round staring back at him. The pilot could not take his eyes off Fisher! Fisher was sure he had seen tears run down both of their faces! Fisher too had the same sort of eyes looking back at them pleading with them to take their brother home!

Fisher turned his back to them and fell to his knees and looked at the death all around him. He raised his arms and cried out!

“Who are we? What have we become? What can we defend?”

This was a case of ‘Special Handling’! Perhaps his own brothers would make him one with his dead comrades, but if so it would be a shot in the back! Why would he bravely take a bullet to the forehead when the nation he had so bravely fought for was about to so cowardly make him disappear?

The pilot just hung there in the air and Fisher resolved himself to his fate and knew there would be justice, even if not in this life! Fisher finally turned around and looked up at the two soldiers hanging in the metal whirling bird hanging not so far above him. He saw the pilot lean over and say something to his Or. Spec. Then the Or. Spec held a radio like the one Fisher had at his side. He flashed Fisher four fingers and Fisher turned the radio to channel four and could now hear all communications between the chopper and base camp. The chopper maneuvered about ten feet to the right of Fisher.

Inside the cockpit, Kuwait command enquired of the soldiers’ mission.

“Have you located the target?”

“That’s affirmative! Target in sight, Sir.”

“Execute then for God sake!”

“Roger that! Executing now sir!”

Then the chopper that had moved away from Fisher loaded its gun and the Or. Spec stuck his head out of the craft and Fisher saw him very plainly and clearly! Fisher had told himself he would never forget his face, but he eventually would. The Or. Spec waved at Fisher to get down on the ground. Fisher concurred and the Or. Spec fired off fifteen rounds just to Fisher’s right. Fisher knew they had missed and knew they had chosen to miss!

The chopper then maneuvered direct over top of Fisher and the Or. Spec took a large plastic bag full of blood and dropped it down from the chopper so it would fall directly on Fisher whose body was still splayed out flatly in the corrupted sand of the Highway of Hell! It busted open on impact! The Or. Spec then took a camera and shot several photos of Fisher lying there, apparently dead! The Or. Spec then looked down at Fisher and Fisher looked up and the soldiers above who had placed their right extended fingers to their foreheads and saluted Colonel Fisher Harrison!

"Kuwait Command, this is Merciless One”

“Merciless one? That is not your call sign.”

“Target is down! I repeat target is down!”

“Do you have verification?”

“That’s affirmative, Sir and we have just killed one of our own and have earned any call sign we chose!”

“You are to maintain radio darkness!”

“Sir, after we get this bird safely to her nest, consider the both of us as having resigned our commissions and never fly for this force again! And you can then take your darkness and stick it up your ass! Sir! Merciless One, over and out!”

“Come in Mercy One, Mercy One, do you read me...?”

The chopper lifted high into the sky and flew away! Fisher saw it leaving, growing smaller and then vanish! Fisher rolled over on his back and looked straight up and screamed!

“What have we become!?” and his eyes forced themselves open!

(-Go To NEW-Quality Of Life-)

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NEW - Quality Of Life - A Work In Progress-NEW

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How Shall We Then Live?

"After ruling our thoughts and our decisions about life and death
for nearly two thousand years, the traditional Western ethic has collapsed."

On this triumphant note, Professor Peter Singer began his milestone book, Rethinking Life and Death. His book proudly and shamelessly conveys an attitude of revolutionary confidence that brings to mind another atheistic iconoclast, Derek Humphry, when he said, "We are trying to overturn 2,000 years of Christian tradition." Attorney George J. Felos, a nationally recognized expert in right-to-die cases, is best known for the landmark case that helped establish an individual's constitutional right to refuse or have withdrawn unwanted medical treatment. This case known as Guardianship of Browning, and the most widely-known case of Terri Schiavo. Mr. Felos was featured on NBC's Dateline program and was propelled into the upper echelons of the Culture of Death movement. Felos has appeared on numerous television and radio programs including CBS's Early Show, CNN's Burden of Proof, Daybreak and Greenfield at Large, Court TV's Pros and Cons, Inside Edition, The Kathy Fountain Show, and NPR's All Things Considered. He has also presented seminars and debated end-of-life issues for various professional, civic and religious groups, and leads meditation and personal growth workshops.

Felos is the creator of the book, Meditation for Lawyers, the first-of-its-kind instructional course accredited for continuing legal education. His article by the same name has been published and posted in various journals. Felos graduated from Boston University School of Law, has practiced in Pinellas County since 1978, and is a founding member of the National Legal Advisors Committee on Choice in Dying, and served as Board Chair of The Hospice of the Florida Sun coast, the largest non-profit Hospice in the world. Together, those mentioned here represent a mere thimbleful of deceit from with the ocean of depravity in what is the culture of death in America.

If you’ve ever gone into a bank in America, and all of us have, you must have noticed just how quiet and serene that place was? There seems to be a reverence which rivals that found in most churches. The reason for such a display of piety is because in the unassuming financial institutions across America is the country’s fastest, biggest and most powerful religion, the worship of the Almighty Dollar. It can be truly stated that God is now green in America. Because of this devotion to this pious paper and pristine plastic, the nation has been plunged into the abyss of despair for the lives of the unborn, the infirm and the aged. Unborn children do not participate to a thriving economy, so their demise is of no avail. Those of us who cannot work, cannot walk, cannot feed ourselves are unproductive citizens, so we can be discarded as so-much rubbish if they cannot demonstrate some utility to the masses. “I’ll dare those old folks live so long and continue to drain our coffers of the funds that could be better spent studying the sex lives of the sperm whale!” “Should they not just get out of the way and die so there is a bigger piece of the pie for everyone else?” Does this sound like lunacy? Quite possibly, such words are reminiscent of a page or two out of Orwell’s 1984 or Huxley’s Brave New World? In reality, these unspeakable new age “Values” are found throughout the pages of yesterday’s and today’s newspapers, all throughout the country! Fitting examples are inexhaustible all around us. Perverted pedophiles are abducting and raping our children at an all-time alarming rate and they receive sentences that allow them to return back on the streets in incredibly short amounts of time only to again steal our children out of their beds and finally kill them. Yet, if you are the chairman of Enron or WorldCom and you can expect anything between 25 to 200 years. That should not be seen as shocking. After all, the offering up of our unborn and growing children, our disabled and bedridden citizens and the early demise of our elderly pales in comparison to any premeditated sacrilege against the Green God of America.

Is all life worth living? Do the old, unborn, the infirmed or mentally ill have no social value? The proposed and not so secret response from the brokers of the culture of death is a resounding, “NO!” In fact, it is easy to see that the whole catalyst of the death culture is centered around one overriding maxim purporting that population reduction must be accomplished without delay and by any means. Such culture transforming issues as abortion and such organizations as Planned Parenthood have led the way in what is considered to have changed the thinking of Main Street America in what now seems a permanently calloused culture and is considered as groundbreaking and deepening into a six-foot social grave. Though abortion is by far the most widely debated issue facing traditionally valued Americans, there are many movements afoot that are not even so quietly laying their framework of treachery and social engineering that also use the premise of population control as their dictum. The Euthanasia movement is now gaining great expanses of mental ground in the American psyche. The old, infirm and mentally impaired and their “safe”, “dignified” and “self-determined” death is considered one of the biggest pieces of the diabolical picture that is even now being sketched by the workers of woe within the Culture of Death. Matters such as the homosexual movement, assisted suicide, animal rights vs. human Rights, the environments movement and the dangers of socialized medicine in America and the financial constraints such a program will place on the keepers of the very life you cherish seem easy to isolate and identify within the society at large. Yet, it still remains that even the most docile and sanitized amongst us still require ears that hear and eyes that see.

Obviously, the raising of children in families that are so out of the natural order of things i.e. a mommy and a daddy will cause great concern and confusion for children and will cause them great concern about why they are so different from other families. Of course having a mommy and a daddy is preferable to having two mommies or two daddies. The whole issue of gay marriage fits into a nicely bundled, not so hidden, idea that it is necessary to reduce the world's population. Look at the issues that work all together to accomplish this task.

Though I am absolutely for planning a family and for the use of contraception, I would never support the use of abortion as a means of reducing the world's births. Margaret Sangor, the Founder of Planned Parenthood said herself, and I quote, "The most merciful thing a family does for one of its infant children is to kill it." She propagated wiping out the African American race and was a huge supporter of Hitler's views and today, her organization, with these goals, is supported even with federal dollars. George Felos, as pointed out earlier, is the leading lawyer for encouraging assisted suicide and euthanasia of the infirm, the elderly on the basis of some vague standard of the quality of life. Based on such a standard, would it not be logical to simply walk down the streets of our cities and rid the poor homeless of their lives devoid of quality? I know you do not think so, and nor do I, but is that not where such views eventually lead; to a place where no one has the right of self-determined longevity unless they possess some utility other than life itself? One need only us their mind to go beyond what your teachers taught us and let humanity speak to us and follow the statements to their logical end result.
The same package of death is applied to the growing support for gay marriage. There can be no population growth in such "families." This is not a conspiracy theory. Such conspiracy stories are germinated and hatched in the dark and hidden from public view and eventually disseminated piecemeal to the general public. These issues are not secretive in the least. They are out in the open for all to hear and research without the slightest bit of difficulty. I have learned these things as I have researched material in these areas for this novel. I want gays to live, children to grow and the elderly to have a long lives to bless their families. I want marriage to go on and to bless the mothers and fathers as they hold their first child in their arms. I support the spending of as much money as is required to find a cure for aides and to teach gays in America and Europe and heterosexuals in Africa where the disease is far from being mainly a "gay" disease to protect themselves. I want to see the world continue to possess a sanity where it is even worth having a child who can grow into a healthy, strong, values-based person..

Perhaps you feel these words are far fetched, but I have been around the world in 34 countries and I can say of a truth that the family and life itself is at risk by those who no longer hold anything sacred or of lasting value. The story you are about to invest your time in shall speak its mind and challenge you in many different ways concerning the dangers facing us. We fight to preserve a nation from terrorism, but if this is what we are fighting to preserve, would you lift a finger in the defense of an obtuse and reprobate society as that which I have just described?
Therefore, I wish to dedicate this book to all the Theresa Shiavos of America whose unfortunate lives have run headlong into the merciless, unrelenting will of the false god in whom increasing numbers of common people trust in this country today. This is not a book written against the liberals of this country. Nor is it a vindication of the political right, of which I have always considered myself one. In fact, it is an indictment of both sides of the massive green beast that runs roughshod over friend and foe alike. The real purpose of this book is to reveal the true nature of the culture of death that has come to pervade over every major decision we face. I will investigate many of the movements that have made America more the land of the freak and the slave than the free and the brave. It is not written with pride and bitterness. Rather, it has been penned to warn a great nation that a land is nothing without the care and mercy shown to its less fortunate. It is submitted to you to underscore that the measure of a great nation is not in its GNP or its S&P but in its TLC. On the contrary, the words written here have been tempered with fear and trembling for the nation I love. The indisputable facts laid out herein are written in shameful disgust over the failure of the moral base of America to adequately speak out and stand up to be counted. No great nation can long endure under the strains of the obtuse who seek to systematically destroy those whom our nation had so long defended.

America threw its youngest and brightest into WWII to fight an intolerable tyrant and the idea that only the State could decide who was worthy of life. We fought and died to bring Adolph Hitler and his regime to an utter end because of his disrespect and utter disregard for life. Now, today in America we have Judges seated in a leather chair behind some large desk not making choices to help someone live but rather deciding who should die. America stood tall and brave against the forces of Communism because of just such an evil philosophy as this, which religiously and progressively marched its people to a dreaded drum right to the very precipice of death and defeated; a defeat based on our commitment to freedom and life. Yet, today in America, are we really better than those we destroyed? Are we really different? Perhaps the Nazi movement and the Communist ideals are not so much dead as they are renamed and recast in more benign and more beguiling silhouettes; wrapped up in a tattered swath of red white and blue and empowered by a document that no more represents nor resembles the original constitution of the United States of America than did the Communist Manifesto or Mao’s Little Red Book!

The diabolical forces at work in America must be rendered powerless. We cannot stop them from speaking out, lest we defeat the very freedom we seek to preserve, but we must always be vigilant and ready to work against them by recognizing the forces at work, and the masters they serve, which make up America’s emerging culture of death, lest none of us have any quality of life. It is imperative that we take another look and reaffirm the words of Philosopher, Francis Schaeffer when he said that there is no life that is not worth living. If we believe that, then we should pose ourselves the same question he asked, how shall we then live?

Chapter One

Nothing was as lonely or as peculiar as the sound of emptiness. That was always compounded by a hollow edifice’s echoes emanating from some night cleaning crew going about their business when everyone was supposed to have already gone off to do their duty or to do their mischief for the night. It was almost always so in this now dormant enclave that may not have bustled as much as those that housed the other two branches of government, but nevertheless, this Romanesque structure that stood as a monument of fairness and prudence had its own assertive commotion. Yet, there had probably never been a day like the one that had just concluded for Supreme Court Justice Laurence Saul. He had stayed way past his government prescribed supreme bedtime. He had not exactly burned the midnight oil.

He had not sat at his large and ornate bureau either with exaggeratedly obese volumes thrown open in search of some precedent that would explain tomorrow’s world-trembling action or which could subdue the overly stretched nerves in the center of his head that had produced an excruciating, throbbing headache. No, such research would have been for his aides and law clerks to do, anyway. In fact, Justice Saul had not opened any books at all. What he needed, what he sought could not be found in books. His research was in his mind and a further eighteen inches from the top of his supreme head down to his parched heart; an organ that had beat without the slightest interest in its innermost unscrupulous nature that he had not quite unwittingly nurtured over so many years. Like a lesion that had expanded its horizons by virtue of having picked at its scab constantly, the meat of Saul’s heart had hardened, toughened until it had rendered itself into a not so fine consistency of cowhide. Yet, tonight, despite his attempts to get beyond feeling were in vain, and he knew it. He could not seem to get beyond his most earnest desires to render a ruling based on the inflated volumes of law that graced the shelves which prescribed past actions and decisions for which his current rendering would have no precedent.
His other eight colleges had seemed to have come down quite evenly on one side or the other.

Yet, he had allowed himself to be placed in his current plight; a situation that would have given many a Supreme Court Justice glee at having received their own fifteen minutes of fame to express themselves in unforgettable Jurisprudent Babel for which their was no precedent. Yet, tonight, Laurence Saul was down to the tender meat of his throbbing organ. This deed, this all encompassing verdict demanded a very non-lawyer-like searching of the now leathery organ that beat in his chest. There would be no legal cha-cha’s or any swinging your lawful partner do-see-do on this one, which was how he had always described the process in his mind. Therefore, neither lean nor mean, books just would not do. Instead, the supreme judge had just sat in his office with only a couple of nightlights burning and stared out into space contemplating his pronouncement.

“What would it do to my Grandkids? What of my legacy? What would I write in my memoires? How would it affect my family…me?”

There was also of course, just barely making the list of unanswerable questions with at least a smattering of consequence.

“What it would do to the future of the nation?”

He just looked intently into nothing and resolved himself as to his best course of action and in turn, talked himself right out of it time and time again. He heard the large clock on his mantelpiece chime loudly 12 echoing times throughout the office. It gave him a chill and reminded him that even prominence and stature had its burdens. He pressed a button on his phone.

“Yes, Justice Saul.”

“Peter, could you have my driver at the gate in ten minutes?”

“Yes, sir. Working late sir? Big day for you tomorrow?”

“Indeed, a big day it shall be. I just needed some time alone to reflect.”

”Oh, you’re not alone. You’re never alone.” a voice resounded from somewhere in the darkened office.

The justice was so startled that he yelped slightly and instinctively released his grip on the receiver and the phone tumbled right out of his hand! Justice Saul stood up abruptly!

“Whose there? Is someone there?” he enquired of the thin air in a shaking voice. He heard a voice again and realized that it was the guard’s panicked voice over the phone that lay on the floor beside his leather chair.

“Justice Saul? Justice Saul! Is everything OK in there?”

Saul bent down and picked up the receiver.

“Sorry about that Peter, my friend. I am just tired.” Saul said, glancing up at the clock. “My God! It’s 12:05 and guess I’m a bit jumpy! Think we could get that ride for me and I’ll get my bureaucratic rear end home and in bed.”

“That’s affirmative, sir, in ten.”

“Thank you Peter.” Saul sat the receiver down and shivered. The temperature had not changed, but he felt cold in his bones.

Justice Saul ventured out into the large Great Hall that led directly into the Court chambers. Saul heard his office chambers door click shut, but it sounded like several closing at the same time in the reverberating bareness of the hour. He walked into the semi-darkness and could still make out the square gold overlay tiles that adorned the hall’s ceiling. It was by any standard, magnificent to behold. Even in the darkness at almost half past midnight, the security floodlights reflected off the tiles and gave it an eerie mystique that both refreshed the fear cells and prohibited one from running away by virtue of the awe it inspired. The Justice paused from his departure and looked down the corridor of power and saw the marble pillars that lined the walkway. It was a thing to behold, even for a Supreme Court Justice who had seen it all day after day for past five and half years. He wasn’t the newest of the revelators of wisdom to sit on the bench, but his tenor was still young in comparison to the term he had sworn to fulfill.

“Lifetime is a long time to do the same thing.” he thought. “But then, we are about to do something completely different.” He affirmed to himself. “Perhaps my term shall not be as long as I had hoped, after tomorrow?” he speculated.

He walked on down the Great Hall and his footsteps resonated so much so that it sounded like another set in step with his followed in pursuit; so much so that he paused and just listened. His feet had stopped and so did the echo. Fatigue had gotten to him and so had the task at hand; nothing a good night sleep could not rectify, or so he told himself.

Justice Saul made his way down the hall. As he walked, his trepidation subsided and he realized that, though it was his fist time to have ventured down the elaborate walkway in the dark, he could really find his way with his eyes closed, which was virtually what he was doing just now. He walked out into the massive entrance and over to the twirling, spiraling stairwell, which was the largest one of two that twirled and twisted as one ascended upward supposedly into some just nirvana. Saul gazed upward into the darkened stairwell and made out the design and felt almost entranced by it.

“This was built to depict the nation rising to wisdom and justice.” He declared to himself. Tomorrow are we taking a plunge downward…reaching some new plateau as so many have declared?”

He was still unsure in a manner he had never felt before. He knew that what ever decision he rendered would have consequences.

“Temporary bedlam is certainly preferable to a future of madness! That is no future at all.” He whispered to himself as he continued to stare upward.

“Breathtaking, is it not?” a voice resounded behind the Justice!

“What the hell!” Justice Saul shouted, almost screamed with the echo bouncing off the walls and seemingly all the way up the stairwell! He turned around and saw a man peering up the stairwell with him. The man didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance over at Saul. He just stood there calmly and looked up while Saul’s heart rate evened out.

“Who are you? I have a radio you know.” Saul somewhat aggressively informed the man.

“I saw it the first time as a child you know.” The man said. “I was so stricken right there and then that I decided that this was a great country! I mean, only a great people could conceive of something so grand and stunning as these steps up toward a God who had destined we be here.” The man’s eyes seemed transfixed and glued upward.

“At first I wanted to be a lawyer, ha-ha, until I met a few. The ones I met weren’t going to be on staircase marching in that direction, any time soon.”

“Sir, I have a big day tomorrow and you need to declare your business or I will be forced to…”

“It was there and then that I decided that what I was born to do was to fight for the country…to ensure we always marched onward and upward.”

The man finally broke his gaze and turned his face toward Justice Saul’s and in the thick darkness, simply stared at him. Saul felt trembling begin to invade his every nerve and his knees began to buckle from fear. Saul finally found his second nerve and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go. My driver is waiting for me.”

“Sir, let me assist you. I apologize. The place always gets the best of me! It’s just that I’ve seen so many of our best and brightest fall downward so that Americans could freely mount those sacred steps. I hope I did not frighten you.”

“I’d be a liar to say you didn’t, but just get me to my car.”

“Follow me, sir.”

Justice Saul followed the man from a safe distance back. The man had a uniform on but even in the dark, the Justice could see that it wasn’t a uniform he had ever seen a guard wearing in the Court complex. The man seemed benign, yet mildly malicious. Saul could now see the exit with two guards in normal attire standing the waiting to escort the Justice to his waiting car. The man spoke up.

“Justice Saul, I think I heard you say that you had a busy day tomorrow.”

Saul stopped and looked at the man in the increased lighting near the exit doors.

“Just who are you, anyway?”

The man also stopped and turned his face toward Saul. His face was torn and one eye socket was empty and his shirt was filled with blood-stained holes.

“As I was saying, sir. You have a busy schedule tomorrow?”

Saul backed up further. “Well, yes…yes I have.”

“Just wait till you see how busy you’re gonna be tonight!”

Saul turned and started screaming out to the guards posted at the doors.

“Guard! Guard! Help me! There’s a crazy man here and he…” Saul turned back toward the man and he was gone! The guard rushed over to Justice Saul with his pistol in hand.

“Are you OK, Justice Saul? “

Saul looked around and still saw nothing until he looked down at the marble floor. There, he saw two photographs lying face up. One was of Katherine Pool, founder of the "choice for self" movement that had spearheaded most of which Saul was sleepless over way back in the twenties. The other was of Ralph Fellows, the lawyer who had made the case before Saul and his other eight fellow robed dispensers of wisdom only two weeks earlier. Both pictures had an “X” drawn across the faces in the photos with the words, “Enemies of humanity!” written across the center. Justice Saul bent down and took the photographs into his hand and tucked them into his suit-coat pocket.

“Yes…Yes I am…fine. Just cranky and tired!”

“I understand, sir. Please follow me.”

Those words frightened Saul. He had heard them before. Justice Laurence Saul walked up to the exit doorway that was being held open by the security guard. Before he walked out, he looked back into the darkness and wondered what he had just encountered. He knew it was more than his imagination and that this night had already had enough mental contusions. He just wanted to go home and retire up to his room and sleep. Being the swing vote on the bench made him, at least temporarily, the most power Justice in the Supreme Court.

“I don’t care!” he blurted out audibly!

“Sir, I am sorry but I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.” The guard inquired.

Saul looked embarrassed and he was sweating heavily and breathing quickly.

“Justice Saul, is everything ok? You seem a bit…”

“Thank you for your concern, Officer. I just want to go home and sleep.”
“Your car is just outside, Sir.”

Saul walked out toward the waiting limousine. He felt the cool night air enter into his lungs and it refreshed his senses. That voice and the man, whoever it was…whatever it was…if he was at all, had been almost like a fist to the gut and had knocked the wind out of him. The fresh air felt better than his first hot cup of coffee in the morning! He took a few steps toward the car and heard voices in the night air. He was sure they were real, but slightly doubted himself. He turned and looked at the guard accompanying him.

“Do you hear that?”

“What is that, Justice Saul? You mean those voices…the protesters? Yes, they’ve been out there all night. We were all a bit worried that you were still here so late with them out there and still wide awake.”

“Are they out there about tomorrow? What are they doing; carrying signs and dressed all up in black…you know painted faces and look all ominous and all?”

“No sir, they are praying.”

“Yes Sir; praying for you.” said the guard while opening the limousine door for Justice Saul.

Justice Saul slid into the car and it quietly pulled out onto First Street and he could see where the voices were coming from. He had expected anger and aggressive signs. What he saw surprised him. There were no darkly-clad images in the night. Instead, he saw groups of men and women huddled together and praying for God to give Justice Laurence Saul wisdom in his ruling. The signs spoke volumes to the Justice also.

“God Guide you, Justice Saul!”

“We are praying for you, Justice Saul.”

“Please think about the children!”

“Constitutional =The death of America! / Unconstitutional =America has a future!”

“Slow down Peter. I want to watch this for a moment.”

“Yes Sir, but it could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? They’re praying! They’re praying for me of all things!”

“A lot of us are doing that, Sir.”

Saul opened the back window and peered outside. There was no violence and those who carried the signs while the others prayed also kept a lookout for any opposing groups of thugs that might appear at any time. Everyone knew that America was only hours away from literally changing America completely and forever; everyone including Supreme Court Justice Laurence Saul. One of the lookouts saw the Justice’s face staring out of the car window. He dropped his sign and fell to his knees with his face bowed low and placed both hands in jacket’s pockets. The protester slowly raised his face up to meet Saul’s gaze. The man’s looked directly into Saul’s eyes and smiled ominously! His face became immediately clear to Justice Saul.

“My God! That’s him! That’s him Peter!”

“Who…who is it, Sir?”

“It’s that man I met in the building!”

“You mean the guard, Sir?

“Never mind Peter! Just put it in gear and get out of here!”

The man pulled his hands out of his pockets. He was squeezing on a live grenade in
each! He stood up on his feet! Saul’s driver, Peter saw nothing. Then the man with a disfigured face and blood-stained holes on his military fatigues took on an angry look and shouted at Saul!

“Enemies of Humanity all!”

He then reared back and threw a grenade at Saul’s car and
quickly turned and threw the other one across the street into a small group of supporters of the bill on which Saul would soon have to rule.

“Peter, didn’t you see that! Get the hell out of here! Before we…”

The grenade flew right through the window and landed in the back seat next to Saul and a blast rang out! Saul felt his skin ripping off his bones and the searing heat melted his eyes and he knew he had died! Then, everything was silent. Slowly, ever so carefully, Saul touched his eyes. They were still there! He was afraid to opened them! He called out Peter’s name. There was no answer.

“Peter! Peter! Are you OK? Are you alive?” No answer!

Finally, Saul forced his eyes open and looked and saw his driver, Peter sitting at the wheel waiting to be told what to do! The back glass separating Saul from the driver was closed. Saul hit the switch and it slid down.

“Are you ok, Peter?”

“Yes sir, I am fine. Are you sure you are alright, Sir. I’m beginning to worry about you.”

“You have to call 911, Peter! We have to help those people!”

“Where, Justice Saul? Is someone hurt?”

“I should say so! Didn’t you hear the explosion?!”

“No, Sir.” Peter responded and turned around to look at Saul. Justice Saul began to scream!

The man at the wheel was the same one who had just tossed the grenades!

“But you heard them, didn’t you?” the man said as he reached back and took Saul into his grip and pulled him up to the window!

“You’re gonna hear a lot tonight and you ain’t seen nothing yet!” Saul screamed a blood-curdling scream and opened his eyes again. He saw Peter on the phone calling for help.

“Put it away, Peter.”

“Sir, it is my duty to…”

“Put it away, I’m alright, I assure you.”

The car pulled out and the praying crowd waved at Saul. The sleeping remnant of the bill supporters, from earlier in the day, raised their middle fingers toward the prayerful group and shouted.

“Tomorrow, everything’s going to change! You’ve had your day!”

They began to chant, “Free Sex!” “Gay Rights” “Death Rights!” “Reproductive Rights!”

Saul’s limousine drove on, but he had heard them. He sat back and reflected on it all. He was certain, almost, that he had simply allowed himself to let his nerves shake his resolve. Saul was a true constitutionalist. Yet, the doctrine that espoused that the constitution was a living document had gained a lot of prominence in the past decade. Many cases had been decided or gone unheard by the court based on the living nature of the now tattered document. He had always believed that society needed to cleave to the document that was set in stone. That was why he had been nominated and why he had faced such an uphill battle during his confirmation hearings in the first place. Yet, beyond his ability to see it or to notice it, he had been affected by it all. The sodomy ruling, the failure of the court to rule on the Shiavo case during the Rehnquist Court’s purview had truly helped cement the living document into the social psyche. It had created precedents for future rulings that had naturally led to the case before the court that had rent Justice Saul’s amoral logic asunder! Now here he sat, in stunned silence, trying to understand the upside and downside of something just five short years earlier would have been decided on a good night’s sleep! Yes, everything would change tomorrow, no matter how he ruled, but one thing was already sure. Judge Laurence Saul had changed already. It was as though he were in a trance until he heard the driver communicating with Secret Service.

“Trump Card is at the perimeter and requesting access.”

“Roger that Trump Card, you are clear and in the perimeter. Joining your progress as we speak.”

“My-oh-my, Peter, I don’t know if I fell asleep or just staring off in space.”

“That’s ok, Justice Saul. You’ve got a lot on your mind, but it was the latter, sir.”


“Space, Sir. You were just staring into space.”

Saul just acknowledged with a small groan and a shake of his head.
The lights of Saul’s home could be seen in the distance as they illuminated the night haze of valley where it sat. It always gave off its greenish glow into the mist. Tonight, though it seemed different, somehow murkier than usual. Saul looked out the window at the trees streaming by as the car made its way down the winding path that led to his front door. It was a mystical and somewhat fearful site, considering all he had heard and seen tonight. He rather feared for his sanity. He was sure Peter, up front driving steadily and constantly looking back at his boss with worried eyes, had no doubt that Justice Saul had met his match of wills when it came to “The Individual Rights and Termination Bill” or IRAT as it had become known. Many had simply added an “E” to the end and expressed their feeling toward it.

Saul had read both sides of the issue and both the dissent and the approval reasonings from his fellow colleagues. It had constantly been an illogical and hypocritical thing in his mind that they who supported the right to die at will, the right of women to terminate what Justice Laurence Saul had always regarded as human life in their wombs were always the first and the loudest to cry murder at the execution of someone who had taken the life of another without their consent. It seemed duplicitous, to say the least. Yet, as the leaders of such groups were never wanting in their fervor to declare, those cases involved the deaths of individuals who, albeit heinous in life, had never given own consent to their own deaths. That somehow made sense to Saul, though it never had some five short years earlier. Washington tended to change a person, altered the mind due to a constant barrage of analysis of a public figure’s every move. Every word was measured, every restaurant was given a special significance and any human weakness seemed a scandal no matter how common it might seem for the common American. It had taken its toll on Justice Laurence Saul, as well. Family values and morals groups had a lot of hope in Saul and though they were worried that he could pull a surprise on them, they fully expected him to rule with the dissent and declare the measure unconstitutional. Yet, the new pagans, as they were loathed to be so designated, on the left, who were far less numerous in their ranks, but who always shouted the loudest, also had reason to hope. Saul was a deeply conservative man and had always declared his adherence to family values. That is, until he, himself was faced with his own personal tragedy.

As Saul’s car continued its approach along the path towards his semi-stately manor, his mind went back to a more tender time in his life. It was a moment in the life of every person when they longed to be adult and shed the confusion of being a minor-almost-adult. In fact, he found adulthood far more befuddling, which made those days of malaise so enticing now. It was during that time that he had met her.

Saul had met many young budding potential brides during his college years. It seemed harder to find a perfect mate at Harvard, and he suspected it was no less difficult at any IVY League school. It wasn’t that they were so much brighter and lofty than the “run-of-the-mill” institutions, just richer and better pruned. Though today, there was little to distinguish the beauties in any school throughout America, in Saul’s day of cracking the books into the wee hours of the night, they were all prim and proper and one could never be too sure or too careful before bowing the knee to make promises that always seemed impossible to keep. Yet, then, at that time of valor and honor, one did keep their word and he was not about to get stuck with some lovely shining thing who’d end up being a hollow statue, a mere shell of the woman he had first met. So, he waited, but he had never stopped looking.

Then, when he had lost the research volume he had checked out and had gone to the circulation desk at the Harvard Law Library to plead for mercy, he decided to just pay for the book rather than sounding like a blathering buffoon to the beautiful proper thing behind the desk. He had looked at her name tag that read Emma and then into her face. When he had told her he had to pay for the lost volume she said he should take a little more time to look for it and extended his grace period along with a smile that told him she had noticed him too. His eyes said a lot of things to Emma that day and His heart knew her right there and then, something only men could understand and which women never comprehended but had fully learned to use to its fullest advantage.

From that day on, he could count only two things that had never changed one iota in his life. He had never stopped gazing into Emma’s face and he had never paid for the book. From the time he had met her, asked her for that first date, bent his knee to her and extended her finger and held her in his arms on their first night of passion, he had loved Emma and had kept every promise he had made to her, except one. Throughout Saul’s rising career, when he had one more case, one more meeting to attend or one more opinion for her to listen to, she had made almost no demands on her husband. Through his busy, always working days, doing things that he new were vital, but which meant virtually nothing to her, he had never stopped gazing into her face and Emma knew her man loved her. She had been bright, supportive and content to stay right there and raise their one daughter, Isabel or Iggie as everyone one called her because as a child she could say the “z” sound. Theirs had been one of those remnant relationships that had truly been made in heaven. It seemed that everything they touched turned to gold, until the gold had run dry.

“Cancer? Cancer!” Saul shouted in his mind. He looked around in the car to make sure he had not done so audibly. The fly in the ointment, that one stroke that destroyed my masterpiece!” he told himself. Emma had been there with him throughout his meteoric rise to power and had been his very own very best adviser and supporter. She had taken his side even when she knew he was wrong, only correcting his way in the most placid and private manners.

“She knew her man!” he concluded.

Now, here he was, face to face with the biggest decision of his life, and no less so for the nation and the one person he had never doubted one time was no where to be found. It was exactly that, Emma’s absence, Emma’s harsh, lingering, soul-numbing death that made his decision tomorrow appear so hard to arrive at. He had always believed in life. He had opposed abortion and had always felt that no one had the right to end anyone’s life, even their own. Yet, had he not been charged with the awful reality that his wife’s life was gone and there was no hope. Had he not pulled the plug that at least kept her chest rising and descending, giving a semblance of life? He did not want anyone to have to makes such decisions on their own again, because he knew full well how painful that was, but he had not regretted trying and that was the other side of the picture in his mind. He had promised to save her life.

He had literally gone to the ends of the Earth to help her while he had sat there with her as she wasted away to nothing as he had seen her chest rise for the last time remaining there in suspended animation while her sight faded and as he whispered his last, “I love You” to her. It was a final conclusion he had prepared himself for physically, but for which he had utterly failed when the final devastating moment arrived.

Saul had heard Emma’s voice many times since her death. He had always put the sounds of her laugh and her voice in thin air over to a vivid imagination longing for her touch, her smell and her counsel. He had never sought it out, but she seemed to be with him every where he went. Now, he was actually seeking her advice. Who could know better what was right concerning his all-important issue? Yet, when he truly needed some mystic resolve, there was nothing. He actually felt she was completely gone from him for the first time! He was on his own. Then, the words he had heard from earlier in the evening came to him.

“You’re never alone!” he recalled. “Perhaps it was not some ogre but from…God? One never knows.” But he did know that there was no outside force that could render his ruling for him; not even Emma. The whole wretched experience had altered his life forever! The new pagans had cashed in all their chips in one human race gamble that Emma’s death would have the same affect on the country as it had on Justice Laurence Saul.

The car pulled into the circle driveway and stopped in front of the house. Peter got out and felt the drizzle in the air and heard the low growl of the gathering dark clouds above in the very early morning sky. He walked to the backdoor and opened for Justice Saul.

“Sir, is there anything else you need from me tonight?”

“Peter, I need you to try to get some sleep. I’ll need to leave for the office at around 10:00 in the morning.”

“Duly noted, Sir.”

Saul turned and walked up to the door which was held open by his housekeeper.

“Sir?” Peter called out. Saul turned slowly to look in Peter’s direction.

“Yes, Peter.”

“If I may, please remember, you are never alone.” Peter shouted

Saul felt his head slightly taken aback by the phrase but showed no surprise to his driver.

“Thank you Peter, that’s a good thought at such a moment as this.” Saul entered his house.

“We are burning the midnight oil tonight?” Saul’s butler asked an obvious question as he took the Justice’s coat.

“Sam, quite undesirably, I might add! There’s always a bigger fish. I my case it’s the people, of which you are one.”

“Quite proud to be so as well, I say.”

Saul turned to mount the stairs.

“Could you send up a nightcap? No food, won’t do at all.”

“Sir, I have already sent up the warm Bordeaux. Is that adequate for such a night as this?”

“Well Sam, there’s a question. Adequate? For sure not! But much wiser indeed.
Thank you Sam. It will do fine.”

“My pleasure, Sir”

Saul turned and climbed the first three steps.

“Oh yes, I forgot to tell you…”

“Yes, Sam” Saul stated, slowly turning around. “What is it, Sam?” asked Saul with exasperation and fatigue in his voice.

“You received this letter by special delivery. I took the liberty of signing for it. I hope that does not meet with your displeasure.”

“Perfectly fine, Sam. That’s what you're for and you are also for friendship, so stop being so incredibly kind.” Saul said as he walked and over to his butler.

“You can call Larry, like everyone used to, I have told you that.”

“Yes sir, Larry it is, Sir.” Sam affirmed.

Saul amicably snatched the letter from Sam with slight smile and fake aggravation in his movement.

“For goodness sakes, man, now that makes me Sir Larry. I kind of like the sound of that…Sir Larry, hum?”

He turned and climbed the stairs to the top. He looked at the envelope, which possessed nothing in the way of anything striking or special. It was common in every way. He turned it over and held it up to the light, as if he were forbidden from opening it. He had had it drilled into him that he could never take a chance with anything, even as passé as unexpected mail. Yet, it was not the lessons from his handlers that gave him such apprehension. It was this night; a night that was full of confusion, strange voices and deep soul searching.

Saul walked into his bedroom and tossed the envelope onto the bed. He flipped on the TV and started taking of his clothes. A shower would just have to wait till morning. The moment the TV flashed on, Saul saw his face plastered all over the screen. He flipped the channel, Fox, CNN, MSNBC virtually every channel including C-Span were covering the big ruling to take place in less than ten hours.

Saul sat down at the edge of his bed and listened to how the whole affair was being packaged.

“Chris, there is just no denying it. If the court upholds the IRAT bill, it will take on the greatest reach of the government into the lives of the American people to date. Perhaps there will never be anything ever passed like it in the future.”

“Yes Alex, there has never been anything like it. We’re joined by conservative talk show host, Michael Nance. Michael, I’m sure I don’t need to ask so tell us, at this juncture, what you think about tomorrow’s ruling, only hours away from what I suspect you regard as the abyss.”

“I am in no mood for your nonsense or cynicism! Let’s see it for what it is! We all knew all the warnings in the world would not stop the government takeover of our health care system. Chris, we would bitch, moan and scream about that, but we could almost live with that as much as we hate the idea. But this is not a mere takeover of Americans’ healthcare needs; this is a coupe d’état! This bill has already been overturned by two Federal Courts, a Federal Appeals Court and I am sure it will be turned over by the Supreme Court tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you Michael. Now let’s…”

“Wait…just let me say my bit and I’ll get off your show. If this bill is passed, it will be cradle to the grave control of the masses. It will regulate eligibility for education, it will control a child’s health records from birth and parents will be incarcerated regularly for obesity and numerous other heretofore unimaginable offences. There will be no resuscitation orders placed on those the “Government” deems terminal…which, by the way, will now be determined based on one’s quality of life rather than potential of living a good life even with certain infirmities. The mentally ill and those without the wherewithal to maintain a healthy life will be chosen for termination!”

“You are out of your mind, Mr. Nance! There has never been any provision for such things in this bill.”

Saul was looking around on the bed for the remote to change to another channel when he heard his name in the tube.

“I am not going to try to persuade you, because the hope making you and the loud minority of the country like you to change and see the truth will be when you wake up one morning and realize that you, your family nor anyone you love is ever safe again. I am speaking to Justice Saul, if you are listening Sir, we have faith in you, but there are a lot of forces arrayed against us now in the country and they are all aimed at you. Are you prepared to let the mentally infirmed, the aged, the terminally ill and the unborn never again have a fighting chance. Are you ready to approve, as the bill mandates, that some Human Utility Board be set up that will, in a very real way, have more power than the President himself in that they will decide who will live or die and who is useful or who merits touching the benefits we have all worked for all our lives? Think about it, Sir before it’s too late. Thanks Chris for at least letting say what I think the nation needs to hear. They have been warned!”

“Wow! Michael Nance, ladies and gentlemen. We are joined now by the founder of the Liberal Progress Board, George Sorloff. Mr. Sorloff, the floor is yours I guess in the interest of fairness.”

“Chris, we are hearing the same old gloom and doom and the fear tactic that the American people have grown accustomed to and are sick of...”
Saul reached behind his back and his hand searched for the remote. He did find it, but his hand found the envelope he had received earlier in the day. His finger wrapped around it when the TV screen suddenly changed. Before his eyes, Saul could see the Supreme Court swirling stairwell with him staring up at it. He seemed to be alone, but then something seemed to appear and disappear again. It was there, no it was gone! Then it appeared and stayed! It was him, that man, the one who had the bloody face! Saul rubbed his eyes and changed the channel. The images across the screen remained the same. Then it changed and to his abhorrence, pictures of aborted fetuses appeared. They were bloody, some in tact, others torn to pieces and in shreds. He wanted to turn his face away but the image was so shocking and searing to his soul that he was forced to sit there and watch the myriad of unborn human lives, America’s with no rights, lay there on metal tables, in trash bags and canisters with the biohazard symbol emblazoned on the side.

Then the image changed to the Image of Terrie Schiavo, the brain-damaged woman who in 2005 had been ordered to die without a shred of proof that she even requested to do so. There were pictures of her smiling at her mother and father, protesters for and against her life continuing, pictures of her crying and finally images of her dead, starved and dehydrated body lying on her bed. Random shots flashed across the screen of the infirm, the elderly and the mentally ill. The last photo that appeared on the screen was that of the most precious person in Justice Laurence Saul’s life. Tears formed in the corners of Saul’s eyes and then began to flow like a river down he tired and bewildered face.

“No! You can’t be so heartless as that! No!”

Saul heard a knock at the door.

“Judge Saul, is everything alright? Judge Saul?”

“Yes, yes ,yes! I am fine” Saul responded looking over at the door.

“Are you sure? Can I help you somehow?”

“I am fine Sam, go back to sleep.” He ordered. “Old fool never sleeps!” he murmured to himself.

When Saul turned back around, he saw the talking heads on the MSNBC report back on the screen. He truly wondered if he had lost his mind. Had he fallen asleep? He looked at his watch. It was 2:43 AM. He saw the envelope in his fingers. It made his hands begin to shake slightly. Slowly, he slid his finger under the sealed flap and slid it across the envelope until it was opened. He spread the envelop open and as though it were some chemical agent, two of his fingers took hold of the one sheet of paper inside. He pulled it out rather quickly, evidently finding his nerve again and held out in front of him still folded.

“Ah! What the hell!”

He unfolded it and dropped it to the floor and stared at the words, “You are never alone!” written across it!

“What is happening to me?” he quietly but fearfully asked himself.

He turned the TV and jumped under the covers! The man who held the power of life and death over the whole nation pulled the covers over his head and lay there shaking and bewildered until his heart regained a steady rhythm and weariness was overtaken by slumber and fell asleep only seconds later. Only Supreme Court Justice Laurence Saul could decide what type of world he would wake up in.

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