Read Online The Light at the End of the Tunnel by James W. Nelson - Free Book Online Page B

fence, and the short
distance to the drop-off, brought an involuntary inhale from Les
Paul. Once more he saw that something falling. He didn’t know why
he would glance at the other people, but he did. Nobody was looking
his way. He stepped to behind his foster mother, placed his little
hands behind her knees, pushed, then quickly brought his hands to
just below her buttocks and pushed again, violently.
    She screamed and went over the fence. Les
Paul exalted in what he had done. His face grinned ferociously, but
he stayed quiet as he listened to his foster mother continue
screaming and watched as she rolled and fell and grasped at the
earth but kept falling, over and over and over…till the
drop-off.
    Her screaming continued…for two or three more
seconds then he heard no more.
    “Baby Boy!” His foster father reached him and
pulled him into his arms and hugged him closely, “Son! Are you all
right? What happened?”
    “Okay! I okay.”
    His foster father stood but held onto Les
Paul, “Tyler! Chloe! Come here!
    The brother and sister hurried over. The
father didn’t see the look on Tyler’s face. Les Paul did. Chloe
just rushed to her little foster brother, picked him up and hugged
him close.
    “Did either of you see what happened?”
    “No, daddy!” Chloe said, beginning to cry,
“Where’s mom?”
    “No,” Tyler said, but he continued looking at
his foster brother.
    Les Paul looked right back, but made sure
that neither the father nor the daughter saw the look he was
sending to his foster brother. The voice came to him again, You
can’t trust that boy, you might have to dispatch him too.
    Les Paul, of course, did not know the meaning
of ‘dispatch’ but his conspiring little hands understood
perfectly. In the meantime he enjoyed the warm arms of Chloe.

     
    Chapter 15 Training

    During their training sessions the chaplain
and Nicole often watched each other. Today it was Nicole’s
turn.
    “Loosen up your knees, Radford” Tucker said,
“You went to army basic, right? Didn’t they tell you not to lock
your knees? That you could pass out if you did?”
    The chaplain shook his head, “Yes, they did,”
and glanced toward Tucker, “I fired a pistol like this just one
time. Chaplains didn’t get a lot of training…least I didn’t.”
    “Well, you won’t pass out here,” Tucker said,
“But firing a big gun like that with your knees locked, could knock
you over. I let you shoot as you wanted that first day so long ago,
and you did fine with the rifles, the shotguns, even the M16, but
now we’re back to the pistol, the Colt .45 semi-auto, so just bend
your knees slightly and put your whole magazine into that
target.”
    The chaplain bent his knees and held the gun
out straight and stiff.
    “Too much on the knees and loosen your arms,
just a bit.”
    Nearby, Nicole was watching the chaplain
closely. She felt somewhat amazed that a man his age—well, she
didn’t know his age but he had white hair, didn’t he? But
his face didn’t look old, and his skin was fine. Several times she
had caught herself wanting to touch him, feelings that she always
dismissed as soon as she realized what she was thinking, and more
so feeling . She did allow herself to continue
admiring him, though, like how he was holding that .45 caliber
pistol.
    He shot once, then started squeezing the
trigger every couple seconds. The empties flew out the side and
very quickly the slide opened and stayed open, she knew meaning the
last bullet had been fired. The chaplain bent his elbows and raised
the gun to the sky, then waited.
    Tucker quickly walked to the target, a fairly
small circle, at only sixty feet, yes, but, still, it was a pistol.
“Good job, Radford!” Tucker called back, “Three bulls-eyes and the
rest at least in the target.”
    The chaplain glanced at Nicole and grinned.
She smiled back. Her own training was coming along fine, too, and
often—well, she never actually caught him watching her—and
admiring—but