Category: Literary Fiction Publisher: Nancy LaRonda Johnson
ISBN-10: 1479258555
Pages: 306
Copyright: October 2012
ISBN-13: 9781479258550
How far would a mother go to save her adult son when his father is Satan?
Alezea is an African American woman in her mid-forties, thick-boned and troubled. She lives with her 27-year-old son, Thomas, who is ordained to be a serial killer by his father, Satan. This tall, light-skinned, muscular and handsome man is happy to gratify is father by performing his job well.
An unlikely bond develops between Alezea and her elderly employer when she confesses her life of sin, from working as a drug-runner for her family as a child, to the devil taking claim of her as a young adult. This bond gives Alezea her first glimpse of hope that her life might change.
While at the Christian community, Gabriel, Alezea begins to see her son as a part of herself and not merely as Satan’s seed. Only, Thomas continues in his violent career path, which all but destroys his mother and nearly sends her fully into the devil’s clutches. Using a most unorthodox method, the people of Gabriel refuse to let that happen.
When Thomas escapes, he enters an unexpected union and schemes to further his father’s line. This venture takes him to new heights in his lifework, evolves him to maturity and forces him to encounter the astonishing truth of his heritage.
In a thrilling and mysterious journey of trials, growth and a touch of horror, is a chronicle of how God uses every person to fulfill a sinner’s hope. In beautiful, literary prose the battle between good and evil in one family is rendered to its destined completion.
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
No one knew the whole story of the caged woman. She appeared to be a living receptacle for the shipment of evil in today’s society. Keep her caged and everyone could be safe. Let her escape and everyone would be doomed. This seemed true even though most people in the world never knew she or her son existed. Blind and maimed, she was displayed in the center of town for anyone to see, understand and experience how close she had come to being extinguished.
Her empty eye sockets were permanently stained with the blood that once seeped from them as tears had before, and sat amongst welts that inched outward from the vacant pockets. More apparent were her arms, one which had a twisted hand with gnarled protrusions in the place of some of her knuckles. The other lacked a hand at all, being void midway down her forearm. Her lower extremities tapered to scarred, knobby ends just above her knees.
People almost laughed at her. Some of the children, not bold enough to get too close, while posturing in their ignorance, actually did. Those in charge, who somehow blamed her for the traumas of the last few days, were thankful for her survival and did not develop even a glint of humor.
At the moment, some art students were drawing her, creating sketches in charcoal and ink, and masterpieces in watercolors and oils. Her beauty was most visible through their creations, as they could see beyond the empty, stained orbs and imagine the fullness of her whole body, even if they had never seen it as it once was.
As it started to rain, the artists packed away their gear. The health care workers covered her display cage with a tarpaulin and placed a heater just outside of her reach, enabling her to use it only for its warmth. The old grandparents and caregivers sheltered themselves under the awnings of the nearby structures. The salt of their tears mixed with the rain that dripped down their cheeks. It was hard for them to watch a woman suffer in her existence and do nothing to comfort her; even her, who had caused so much turmoil. Life was difficult for the ignorant and the wise, the beloved and the evil, and especially for those torn between what was good and evil to the extent that the conflict became alive on their bodies.
Eventually, all turned away and left her in the center of Gabriel and to her own memories, hoping that she would deliberate on how her actions brought her to this point.
Inside her cage, she clasped a woolen mantle as best she could, savoring the scratches its coarse fibers caused on her skin, already raw from the violence she had undergone. The stinging kept her thoughts at bay, gathering and undulating as though they were waves at the shores of her consciousness. The waves would ultimately grow, forcing their way through the barriers of her mind. For now, the thrashing of her thoughts, as with the scrapes of the blanket on what was left of her once supple skin, was comforting. She reached for the heater, longing for the sear of its touch, but it was just close enough to allow the warmth to flow to her.
The heat did touch her and entered her through her nostrils and mouth as she breathed and gasped. Her head tensed back as she strained to keep the calming sensation away. Instead, her thoughts bombarded through the walls of her brain as the warming heater tempered her fight, and she lay still while the accounts of her life flooded and overpowered her.
~ ~ ~
Chances were there was no one who could understand how clean things had to be. Not only the floors needed to be scrubbed, then oiled and polished so as not to leave scratches, but all of the counters, including the hutch and the porcelain and crystal figurines inside of it, needed to be and remain dust free. The walls, too, needed to be washed, the clothes laundered.
This led Alezea to getting herself cleansed. Cleansed, not just washed, first using the luffa sponge with oatmeal soap, which in itself could take up to twenty minutes to get everywhere, every curve and fold and unseen place. Then the brush was used to remove as much of the loose and dead skin cells as possible, with extra attention paid to her heels and elbows. Next came the washing of her hair with prescribed antidandruff shampoo, although she had not suffered from dandruff since she was a teenager living in the humidity of the Bayou. It still had to be done. The conditioner, infused with an extra moisturizing formula, had to be used as well. She finished with another washing of her body with moisturizing soap.
No matter how hot or cold it was, Alezea dried in front of the heater, sans a towel. There could be no towel lint anywhere. By the time she dressed, with clothes preselected, it was close to ten o'clock, just enough time to go over her hair and outfit once more to ensure all was in place.
Then came the hollow knock on the door, which would be inaudible if there was the slightest of sounds, be it the hum of the TV or radio, or the clangs of pots and pans during their wash.
Alezea went toward the door, ready to open it, even though it was always opened before she raised her hand to the knob. As the door opened, she could see him there, appearing to get larger and grander as the door swung wider. His eyes were the first things noticed. They were blazingly crimson, fierce with bloodshot anger and eager to focus accusations and disparagement.
As always, she wondered why she had to go through such a stringent cleansing ritual, when even before he stepped through the door, he slid his large, scabbed, nearly scaly hands under her blouse to her waist, leaving smears of mud and whatever else was raised up with him. It seemed that bugs and, God forbid, worms transferred to her skin as he continued to slide the length of his arm around her torso.
Although not a slender woman, he lifted her with no noticeable effort and carried her to the newly washed, starched and ironed sheets in the bedroom, while tracking in clumps of mud and other sediment with every step. He laid her on the bed, where he took her, seemingly with no pleasure, other than that gleaned by those who reached their peak of excitement only by delivering the pain inherent with sadism and torture. For Alezea, the pain was intermixed, slightly, with pleasure. When it was done, there was only pain, her body covered with mud and grime from his body.
He then left, without having said a word, until right before he closed the front door. His final instructions sounded more like the grumble of a traveling earthquake, which she was sure everyone would swear they heard, although no one else could comprehend the message left within it:
"The next one will be a little girl; angelic… smart, but doomed. Let Thomas bury her at the Sarmeno's tonight, behind the shed. After the burial, but before you send Thomas home, tell him you will quickly finish your work and get home early. I want a show tonight."
Alezea would likely be at her workplace slightly before Thomas, who would have the innocent in hand. Now, she had to put out of her mind this innocent one and the countless other victims, as well as their disposals and burials. It was time for Alezea to prepare for her next penance.
Professional Reviews
A great read
If there was 'ever' a first chapter of any book that was going to hook you in- it would be this!
Well written with a superb plot.
Disturbing, sad, dark and at times-just plain creepy, but always a great read.
Claire C Riley
Limerence
Engaging Christian thriller
Anticipation of the Penitent by Nancy Laronda Johnson was a very compelling read. The author was able to create a tension that was present throughout the story. She was also able to effectively share strong Biblical principals without distracting from the plot. She was engaging and has a very strong command of visual imagery. Once I started reading this book there was no way that I was going to do anything short of finish it!
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