The Wisdom of Evil

THE WISDOM OF EVIL

By

Scarlet Black

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Little Black Books Publishing

Tampa, Florida

Copyright © Scarlet Black 2011

http://www.scarletblack.webs.com
.

http://www.scarletblack-author.blogspot.com

Licensing
Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Editor: Brieanna Robert
son

Cover: Dara England

Dedication

This novel is dedicated in loving memory to my nephews:

Alfred E. Fontina, Jr.  January 30
th
1978 - September 16, 1998

Edward A. Fontina, Jr.  June 30
th
, 1981 - June 27
th
2004

Author’s Note to the Reader

Anyone that knows Bostonians are aware that the letter “R” is virtually non-existent in a lot of words
, this book is written with the accent in the dialogue for a realistic effect.

“
The function of wisdom is to discriminate between good and evil.”-Cicero

Part 1: Death is Unacceptable

C
hapter 1

The snow would not stop falling. It eased up a little here and there, and fell without sound, but then, a gust of wind became a fierce reminder that the nor’easter was not yet done with them. February was the worst month of the year in Maine, feeling more like three months than one.

Glory
Solomon stood at the window, watching for the headlights to appear through the veil of heavy snow. The very edge of the woods lit up first and then darkened once more. Michael was home.

“Hey
, babe.” Michael shook the snow off and removed his boots in the mudroom.

“Jesus, I had no idea the winter would be so much ha
rshah than in Boston. It’s only seventy-five miles away for Christ’s sake!”

G
lory and Michael had only recently moved to Cliff’s End, Maine from Boston, Massachusetts. The city in which they’d grown up was now like most large metropolitan areas, increasingly crime ridden and dangerous. They’d both agreed they didn’t want to raise a family there. Besides, Michael was an only child and his mother, Joan, lived there. She wasn’t getting any younger. Glory was not close to her mother or her brother. She loved and respected Michael’s mother immensely and was happy to have her close by.

Glory kissed him
lightly on the mouth. As always, he had the ability to take her breath away just by his mere presence. That had always been true, ever since she’d first met him. Even now, after thirteen years of marriage, it was still that way. They were complete opposites. He loved her dry sense of humor and passion for life; she adored his even temper and quiet strength. Together, they were great together, raising two kids, both with good jobs. Life was good.

Haley, their Black Labrador Retriever
, ran up to them; his whole body wagged along with his tail. The dog always looked like he was smiling. He brought Michael his chew toy and dropped it at his feet; although it was now past midnight, he was always in the mood to play.

“Some
watch dog you are. You’d probably lead the crooks right to the computah,” Glory said, scratching his ears. She’d been petrified, living out here in the woods. After all, she was a city girl.

“As long as he doesn’t give ‘em the flat screen
, I’m good.”

“I really
wanted a watch dog, Michael. It’s
scary
here at night with you gone.”

“
Its safah here than Boston.”

“
Yeah, I guess you’re right, but it’s still scary, bein’ out in the woods without even streetlights.”

“You’ll get used to it. After all,
‘it’s God’s Country.’”

“
So, how was it tonight? Bein’ that this is such an excitin’ place to be a cop?”

It was Michael’s first night on the Cliff’s End police department.

“It was…different. Not much goes on here, that’s for sure. And that’s fine with me. I think we’ll be safe here.”

In the bedroom, Michael
began to remove his uniform. Glory stopped him.

“Mmm
. You look sooo good in that uniform. Let me look at you for a minute.” She looked him up and down, feeling the hunger of desire.

At
six feet tall, he towered over her petite, five foot frame. He was all man with strong, muscular arms, the kind a woman wanted wrapped tightly around her. His dirty blond hair was cropped, still damp from the wet snow. He had the faintest hint of razor scruff upon his face. So sexy, she thought. His long eyelashes, set above his hazel-green eyes, full lips and a strong jaw line, all added to his sensuality. He was nonchalant about his looks, not seeming to notice just how very irresistible he was, which made him all the more desirable.

“
Seen enough? Can I get changed now?” Michael laughed.

“Uh-uh
.” Glory wagged a finger at him, picking up where she’d left off, unbuttoning his starched blue shirt.

“As good as you look in this uniform…
oh yeah, I think it needs to come off, but I’ll do it.” She took off his shirt and threw it aside. Her hands reached for his belt, unbuckled it, slowly, pushing him down onto their bed, taking off his pants.

“Are the kids asleep?”
Michael asked, his voice growing husky with desire.

H
e loved Glory’s bold sexuality, her passion. She was beautiful, no doubt about that; her hair was a stunning mane of dark auburn, shiny and thick. Her deep brown eyes, so very dark, glittered in the darkened room.

“Yup. It’s just you an’ me. He-he. Are yah scared?”

“Of you?
Always
.”

She took off the t-shirt she was wearing; one of Michael’s, the only thing she ever wore to bed. He loved how they looked on her.

He lay still as she moved her body over his. He felt her hair brushing against his chest as she kissed him gently, moving down slowly. Licking his belly button, which she knew drove him crazy.

“Stop, Glory…you know I’m ticklish there!”

“I know…that’s why I do it.”

“You’re evil.”

She kissed him, her hair tumbling down all around his face. Straddling him, his manhood hard and ready, she eased her way down, loving the feeling of him inside her. Moving together as one, he quietly watched her face as she climaxed, her eyes closed, her face flushed. He relished that moment, always had. She was so…
alive!
She wasn’t quiet about it, either. There’d been times when he’d had to cover her mouth so the kids wouldn’t wake up. His wife was the best lover he’d ever known. Of course, he knew it was due to the fact that he was madly in love with her. And whether she believed it or not, she was also an extremely passionate woman.

Glory turned to her side, Michael enveloping her in his arms. “The big spoon and the little spoon,” as they called it
. They fell asleep each night this way, his arm across her, hands held. Glory sighed.
Their life together was perfect,
she thought
. Who would’ve thought she could be so happy after the horrific childhood she’d had?

Ah, but then
, as always, just on the very edge of sleep, the dreaded thoughts popped into her mind. She couldn’t stop them any more than she could stop a freight train.

The fear of death; that
one day she would cease to exist. She tightened her hand on Michael’s. The thoughts, unwanted, always came in the dead of night when she was alone and the house was dark. Most human beings had some fear of death, simply because they were able to understand the concept of mortality. However, her fear was not that simple. The thought of lying dead in the cold earth sometimes caused full blown anxiety attacks.

It’s true; it’s really gonna happen one day and there’s nothing I can do to change it!
she thought.

F
inally, she got up and pulled her hair. As if she could pull the thoughts right out of her mind. Her family hadn’t caught her during this ritual. Pacing, pulling her hair, looking in the mirror for any signs of illness, slapping her face to make it stop, the sweat pouring down her body. Lastly, she’d shake her head, and mutter, “No!”

Climbing back into bed, feeling Michael’s warm body next to her, and
Haley laying at the foot of the bed, another intrusive thought,
Someday, they’ll be dead too.
She shivered at the thought and cuddled up in the blankets, placing Michael’s arm across her once more. He sighed in his sleep, attempting to turn over, but she held her grasp on his hand. It took a very long time before sleep finally came to claim her.

Glory
had Thanatophobia, the fear of death. Unfortunately, for her, it was one of the more complicated phobias. It wasn’t as simple as a fear of spiders. Many, if not all people, were afraid of dying. However, this phobia was so prevalent it affected the sufferer’s daily life. The condition was most likely present for quite some time; probably since early adolescence. Michael was well aware of it and had even taken her to a psychiatrist for it. This doctor had diagnosed her. By the process of elimination, he’d ruled out “death anxiety,” and “existential angst.” Those were not phobias, he’d explained. However, his diagnosis was accurate as she fit almost all of the criteria for it! The very nature of the illness was one of obsession. It was an unhealthy and even detrimental compulsion, to think about death and dying continuously such as she did.

She was a near perfect example of one with a high risk for Thanatophobia; highly inquisitive, wavering in her beliefs about God and an afterlife
, always questioning and seeking different philosophical views on life.

It drove her completely mad that she had
no idea what happened after death. Even with religious belief, no one living could unequivocally prove what lay beyond the grave. As time went on, she had developed some of the side issues associated with the phobia, hypochondriasis and delusional thinking. Coping with this phobia was an ongoing daily struggle, although, the nights were the worst. Being alone, as the house itself was silent and dark, not distracted by everyday life, her brain was on fire with the intrusive thoughts.

The psychiatrist had told her to “find religion” as a cure. Hah! Part of her problem was that she
went back and forth in her belief or lack of it in God. She’d stopped seeing him after only three sessions.

Michael had
joined the Boston police force right after his discharge from the Navy. That was when they’d met, at the party of a mutual friend.

She’d
fallen in love with him at first sight. She hadn’t believed that such a thing was possible until it had happened to her. All that night, she’d felt his eyes on her. God, she’d wanted him, but she waited for him to approach her. Finally, after a few days, he called her and shyly asked her to go out with him. Even his inherent shyness was sexy! They’d been together ever since.

T
he police force seemed like a good career choice for him. As was his nature, he kept the truly terrible things he saw on the job to himself. However, his eyes couldn’t hide what he was unwilling to say, that the job was wearing him down. She knew it without being told, not just by his eyes, but by the subtle, small changes in his demeanor. He’d sit and watch the kids play or fight, as if studying them for hours.

Sometimes
, when she was at the stove, in the kitchen of their second floor apartment of the triple decker house they’d lived in, he’d come up behind her without speaking a word and hold her tight around her waist, almost protectively, placing a tender kiss on her cheek.

The constant barrage of violent crimes
ever increasing in the Boston area also triggered her Thanatophobia.

M
ichael often said she had a vivid imagination, and sometimes, it was a good thing. Other times, not.

She saw the way women looked at him
. Even though he was clueless about his looks,
she noticed.
A few times, she’d even gone into a fit of rage, accusing him of cheating on her. Knowing it was best not to feed into her delusions, he’d remain silent, yet compassionate, waiting until she tired herself out.

“Feel
beddah, now?” he’d say. She’d just nod, embarrassed, hating herself for her own insecurities. Hating that she’d screamed at the one person in the world she truly trusted.

Trust didn’t come very easily to her. She’d been betrayed by her own family. She just never really fit in with them, and that was fine, considering what they had become
; that which she would never become—an addict. How she’d escaped their fate, she didn’t know. At times, she even wavered about her feelings for Michael. Did she really love him, or did she merely desire him? What if the passion faded?

Michael was
a roll with the punches kind of guy. He was honorable to a fault and she knew deep down that he’d never hurt her. She never wanted to hurt him either, although at times, she’d just “shut down.” At times, she wondered what he saw in her at all.

She’d been fighting with the devils of anxiety, depression, and her horrid fear of death forever, it seemed. Even in the tender years of youth, she’d been aware of her own mortality and the fragile nature of humanity itself. The warranty that all species on Earth hold—a warranty that would surely be honored—the guarantee of death was her constant companion. She wished she was like animals for which the concept of mortality was unknown. The thought, always present, lurking in the shadowy ground between her conscious and subconscious mind, creating a sinewy web, much like that of a spider, ever growing as the spider lived, hidden, unable to be plucked out so that the web could be no more.

They’d made the decision to move to Maine for these reasons
, as well as the future welfare of their children and the care of Michael’s mother as she aged, now alone since the death of her husband.