Myself

Copyright © 2015 Leigh Santoro.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-5787-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5786-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015902250

iUniverse rev. date: 2/12/2015

CONTENTS

The Rain…

Letter

Court

Thyme

Raine

Thyme

Raine

Warren

Thyme

Quinn

Brooklyn

Raine

Thyme

Raine

Warren

Thyme

Meredith

Warren

Raine

Thyme

Raine

Thyme

Raine

Thyme

Warren

Thyme

Raine

Thyme

Trial

Thyme

Trial

Raine

Thyme

Trial

Raine

Thyme

Trial

Raine

Thyme

Raine

Letter

Authors Note

This book is

dedicated to my father.

Dad, I miss you more with every passing day. I know our time was short; but you taught me many valuable Life Lessons. You gave me the understanding to know what unconditional love feels like. Thank you for that priceless gift. You showed me that family is so much more important than that of material things. You taught me the value of seeing people for who they really are. And most importantly, you taught me how to find out who I truly am. I miss you greatly. I love you, Daddy.

To my Bestie, Michelle, I can’t tell you how much your friendship, love, support, and faith has inspired me to do things I never thought possible. WPLF

To my fans, thank you for your support, feedback, and for pushing me to write more. I truly appreciate each and every one of you.

THE RAIN…

Like Summer mornings

the dew falling

I touch your face with my eyes

caressing the curves of your lips

looking for your soul

I lose my way

truth be told

I lose my way

the passage dissolves

never the same

searching your eyes

tasting the sweat that creeps

I see into the blue

the sparkle I see

is the reflection of me

the repetition of you

Colliding with my inner soul

within the eyes that behold

behold, behold forever shores

in an instance never more

Sandy blankets, mossy beds

passionate lies in books are read

never knowing what lies ahead

for now I wait

altho’ in vain

to see in color

the falling rain

Outside, outside

To go outside in the rain

with rain

to soothe my pain

this uncontrollable urge

a surge through my brain

to feel rain in my hands

to feed the sin of my skin

to quench my souls abyss

with her gentle liquid bliss

Kiss, Kiss

kiss on my lips

she falls to shower me with a menagerie

of animalistic purrs

that reverberate and negotiate

my tongue when I respond with GRRRR

Pulsing synapse in my thoughts

There’s a Glitch

a what?

a glitch

a glitch to which

I lay my claim

to be your bitch

within the liquid essence

of your Crystal… Blue… Rain

past the door

on the Other Side

_ Sebastian Ortiz

It has been said, time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.

_ Rose Kennedy

No passion so effectively robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning, as fear.

_Edmund Burke

LETTER

I wasn’t wanted as a child. Well not even as an adult, for that matter. What a thing to know and to have thrown in your face on a daily basis for your whole entire life. Just knowing that everyone was going through the motion of ‘ taking care’ of you. More out of a sense of legal obligation than that of real care. The thing they always forget is that a child hones in on that dishonesty quicker than a bullet being shot out of a gun. Children are able to spot disingenuous people from a mile away. Yes, siree bobcat tail, they surely can. The truly disheartening part is that the child doesn’t have the language or the tools to ask for help. Or replacements, even. Wouldn’t that be the get-all? No, these parents suck; may I see the next pair, please? Nope, next! Keep em coming! We’re burning daylight, here. I’ll let you know when I find a couple I want. Kinda like all the actors who go to auditions. Except this would be for real. And not one of those Lifetime movies, or something. That would just be the shit, right? I wish I had a way to go back and make that happen, I really, really do. Maybe things would have turned out a lot differently if I’da had options in the beginning. Or ever, even. My whole life might have turned out differently. Hell who knows? I may have even ended up as just another ordinary, average, every day, law abiding citizen. Screw that thought. As I know, beyond a shadow of doubt, how truly fucking brilliantly, dazzlingly, and wonderful I really am. And also in the same breath, I will honestly admit that I may have a flaw. Or four. But there is really no sense playing the " IF" game now, is there? Cause it’s far too late to change what’s already been done. Wouldn’t serve any purpose hoping for a different conclusion. " It is as it is" …is what they always say. That and a bucket of chicken will get you dinner, is my response to that gobbledygook. It is as it is …Makes me want to bitch slap the genius who made that shit up. It does. For reals.

Looking back, Winston Churchill said it best, "When I look back on all the worries; I remember the old man who said on his deathbed that he had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which never happened," one would think that would be the case for most all of us. In my life, it wasn’t. Far from it. No one would believe what I’ve lived through. Oh and the things I’ve seen and heard. And also done. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to acknowledge that wasn’t just a really bad dream. Nope, it was real, sure enough. It’s a total riot to me when people ask me to show them my identification to prove I am who I say I am. Who on this planet would want to be me? I surely don’t, and I AM me. I always used to wish that we got to pick who our families are. I sure as shit would have traded up from the one I was dealt. I must have done something really awful in a previous life to draw such a disastrous outcome in this lifetime. But dealt the hand I was, I can’t change it now. I tried back then; but the results were always the same. Still me. Kinda like the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I guess that’s the human thing kicking in as we tend to do that very same thing. And often. And that brought me to another thought, "I’m human?" I think not. I don’t remember a single day that I felt like another human being. I have always thought myself to be from another planet. Just here on planet Earth serving out some sentence. For what? I have no idea. So I have spent this Life stumbling from one incidence of disaster to another. Never knowing when the next bomb would hit. But knowing sure enough that it, in fact, would. You might think me to be a total pessimist and one of those feels-sorry-for-myself kinda person. Actually, I’m not. I am just very honest and accepting of how my life has been played. I am simply a realist. I tried my best and did what I thought was right at the time. You’d never know it from where I am now. But I truly did. I swear. Motherfucker, sorry, whenever I hear the word swear, well, I do. Shit. Sonofabitch. Again, my apologies. Where was I? Oh yeah, I really did try my best. But as you will see, I fell…well, rather short. The truth is the truth, after all, right? I have to express regret at this point as I have gotten way ahead of myself. Again. I do that a lot. I guess it comes from being a visionary. I really can’t say for sure. I guess I will have to start from the point in which things started to get really exhilarating. And just so you know, I have absolutely zero recollection of how they got to that fucking point. I’m just saying. I have to mention that in my own defense. If you know what I mean, and I hope you do. So, I hope your seatbelts are fastened as I take you back to when shit hit the fan. For reals. Afterward, you must let me know your thoughts. You simply must.

Sincerely,

Raine Justice Liverboardman

COURT

I t was a good day to stay inside. The wind whipped through your clothes and felt like millions of little bite marks on your skin. The temperature was thirty-two with a wind chill of twenty-two. The snow had yet to fall; but it would before the day’s end. It was a very odd winter’s day, especially it being in the South. Winter weather was not common, nor was it exceedingly welcomed. The gigantic oaks, willows, and magnolias thrashed their flagrant branches with wild abandon. The leaves falling from them whipped up into people’s faces as they made their way about their hurried business. No one looked up beyond the ground in fear of being accosted by the violent attack of the leaves thrown from the colossal giant trees as if a rampant rally of war had been declared on those brave enough to walk around the piazza and parking lot of the High Court Building. It really was better to be inside today, well, unless you happened to be stuck in Courtroom B.

Those unfortunate souls stuck in Courtroom B would be more likely to pursue the idea of committing suicide and or murder before this trial was over. Or at best, they would question their own sanity. The men would never again dream of snips and sails and puppy dog tails that is what little boys are made of. Nor would the women dream of sugar and spice and everything nice, that is what little girls are made of. Ever. Again.

Twelve unfortunate jurors and two alternates had already been selected. Of the jury pool, there were seven men and five women. The alternates were both men. They were all ordinary citizens, there to perform their civic duty by serving on a jury. None were particularly thrilled to be there; but little did they know then what would be in store for them.

The District Attorney and defense attorney were ready to go at the starting whistle from the High Court Judge hearing this trial. The District Attorney was a man who had served his community for twenty-five years. DA Edward Majors had seen and heard it all. Or so he had previously thought. He was ready to retire. He wanted to spend his remaining days fishing on his boat with his wife and grandkids. This would later be known as the last case he tried. It would be that devastating. The bizarreness of this case would test even the most seasoned of professional trial attorneys. Even the likes of DA Edward Majors.

The defense attorney was a bit of an odd duck. He was, coincidentally, trying his very first case. Mr. Alexander Littleton was neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin, neither old nor young. He was so non-descript in appearance, he wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone were it not for the very reason he was in the courtroom this very day. He and the DA were at their perspective tables. Each a bit anxious to get this trial started and concluded; but each for entirely opposite reasons. Now they awaited the High Court Judge’s entrance.

High Court Judge Eleanor Murphy entered her court room like the Queen of England taking the Royal throne. She wasn’t a conceited woman by nature, quite the contrary. She just had that authoritative and commanding presence about her that made her entrances seem as if she had arrived. Judge Murphy’s incontrovertible lack of height, the fact that she was the only female High Court Judge in the South, additionally to that she was a woman of great power in the South. She had learned many years ago to appear larger than life and to seize control of all situations quickly; or she would be swallowed up by the overbearing, self-imposing, old school thinking of the men with whom she worked. Today had been no different as she had taken her bench with a swift and almost silent swoosh of a breeze. No one would have noticed this amazingly hasty arrival were it not for the bailiff, Vestal Murray, bellowing out an, all rise, in his steady, unassailable baritone voice.

High Court Judge Murphy presiding. All sit, he announced loudly, immediately following his first demand.

DA Majors, Mr. Littleton, are you ready to start this trial, Judge Murphy asked. It was said rhetorically for the record, more than for a genuine response. Both men nodded in confirmation and said, Yes, Ma’am. While each nervously shuffled papers at their respective tables.

"Good. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are being asked to decide the guilt or innocence of the defendant in the matter of The People versus Raine Justice Liverboardman, who is charged with Attempted Capital Murder. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, these charges are very rare and very odd on two counts. Number one: the word attempted is never used with a charge of capital murder; however, due to the alleged heinousness of the defendant’s methods, the District Attorney had sought this very arraignment and was accepted by the Lower Court. Secondly: this will be the first time that the defendant, Raine Justice Liverboardman, will not be required to be present in the court room due to the defendant’s uncontainable and irrepressible behavior. The Court’s esteemed psychiatrist has examined the defendant and has asked for this finding. As the High Court Judge in this trial, I agreed with his findings and have ruled as such. So we will proceed accordingly, despite these two differences," Judge Murphy said.

She watched closely for the reaction of each of the jurors. Noticing that they had begun to shift and fidget in their chairs, she had hoped this wouldn’t happen. But she knew it was inevitable as she had sat over dozens and dozens of trials in her years as a judge.

No one noticed this more than the defense attorney, Mr. Alexander Littleton. His brow broke out in a sweat. He tried to control his trepidation by taking deep long breaths. It didn’t work, however. He had winced when the judge used the word heinousness. As he knew by the looks exchanged by juror’s three and four that they seemed to have already made up their minds to vote his client guilty. He had known, in taking this case, that his chances were slim to none. And that even though the burden of proof was on the prosecution; his job would be nothing short than an ascending mêlée of insurmountable obstacles. The judge’s voice snapped him away from his thoughts.

Opening statements will begin as soon as I have gone over the responsibilities and requirements from the jurors. After doing so, we will break for a lunch recess, Judge Murphy said.

Mr. Alexander Littleton then caught sight of the District Attorney looking at him with the snidest of sneers. Total victory was written all over his face. Like this was going to be short and sweet and he’d be on the golf course for cocktails this evening. Not if Mr. Alexander Littleton could help it. He wouldn’t be doing any such thing. No, siree, bobcat tail, he mumbled under his breath. Stop that, he chided himself.

District Attorney Majors, let’s get this started already, Judge Murphy practically barked at him.

Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I will be brief in my opening statement, District Attorney Edward Majors said. He stood and faced the jury with somewhat of a smile on his face. The Defendant Raine Justice Liverboardman is guilty. We have a voice taped confess-,

"Objection, I filed a motion to suppress the alleged confession due to its lack of admissibility. Your Honor has yet to rule on my motion," Mr. Alexander Littleton yelled. He then bolted out of his chair.

You are correct, Mr. Littleton. I have yet to make up my mind about the alleged confession as it is a voice recording and not a video recording. District Attorney Majors, let’s leave that alone for now. Continue on with your opening, Judge Murphy stated.

Thank you Your Honor, DA Majors said. He was barely able to choke out these words after his first chance at the jury had been squandered by his weak, inexperienced opposition. Regaining his composure and posture, he glided back to the front of the jury box. As I was about to say, the defendant Raine Justice Liverboardman is guilty of attempted capital murder. I will prove this beyond a shadow of a doubt. And you will have no other recourse but to vote, guilty as charged. With that bold statement made he once again took his seat. Sitting there all self-satisfied and contented with himself.

Mr. Alexander Littleton noticed the self-righteous, haughty look as he stood to address the jurors with his own opening statement. "Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I stand before you representing the defendant, Raine Justice Liverboardman, and will tell you the facts right now. The prosecution has no proof, let alone beyond a reasonable doubt, that my client did any such thing. Let alone commit a capital offense. This whole thing is a mockery and a blatant harassment of another person’s reputation. It is simply character assassination. The prosecution has no body, no witnesses, and no proof whatsoever. Just a voice taped alleged confession that may or may not even be admissible. There was never any written confession, no signature, nothing. This is a wild fishing trip by District Attorney Majors, of which we all know he is quite infamous," he said. With a burst of outrageous contempt He poofed out his chest like a peacock. And a resounding sense of newly acquired confidence, Mr. Alexander Littleton took his seat.

THYME

D octor Theodore ‘Teddy’ Thyme was one of the very best in his field. He graduated summa cum laude from Duke. Which was no accident, as he was from Durham, North Carolina. He had a PhD in Psychology. He was born and raised there by two loving parents. He was the typical university professor stereo-typical looking kinda guy. He had rather shaggy blondish hair. His mother was relentless in tousling his locks whenever he was in her presence, which was a constant annoyance to Dr. Teddy. His mother always told everyone it was, " dirty blonde" ; which always managed to infuriate him, as he washed his hair daily. It wasn’t " dirty" it was just brownish/blonde in color. Although he knew this to be a commonly to referred hair color, it didn’t confound him any less. A small side-effect to being analytical, one might declare.

Dr. Teddy was medium of build, and a lean one-hundred and eighty-six pounds. He was not the type of guy who worked out at a gym, as he spent all of his waking hours studying the human mind. He was prone to jog on his treadmill quite frequently, as it afforded him both exercise and an opportunity to listen to his taped audio books through his earbuds.

He wore leather padded elbow sports jackets or heavy sweaters and either were always accompanied with simple blue jeans. The only thing that was atypical about Dr. Teddy, and his profession, was that he never had worn glasses.

Dr. Teddy never married as he was a slave to his work. He never had room for dating, let alone a relationship. He knew it would be a grave disservice to any woman to ask them to be part of a one sided relationship. He reveled in his occasional visit to his parents’ home, where he had been raised, and deemed that enough interaction with loved ones for as long as they would be alive. Past that, Teddy was neither aware, nor concerned.

Dr. Thyme had been practicing psychiatry for twenty-two years. He had thought that he had seen and heard it all. Well, until this case. He felt out of his league. Which was simply preposterous as he was at the very crest of his profession. He had published several medical transcripts used at Duke and all other major universities. He had published sixteen books. Dr. Teddy was also a vital contributor in helping to define certain disorders and diseases that were both current and relevant for the newly updated and soon to be released edition of the DSM-X-TR (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders-text revision, 2018) which all psychology students acclaimed as the holy bible of psychology. He was frequently on newscasts as he gave his professional assistance in explaining the possible reasons for the acts of serial killers, child molesters, and other atrocities that mankind produced.

He was the number one expert in all things delving into the human mind. He had not been assigned to take this case; but, in fact, had asked to be involved with this case directly as it candidly intrigued him. He was fascinated with each and every aspect of this situation. He had been pushed beyond provocation by patients in the past. But this case surely transcended the rest.

Dr. Thyme was in his element with this occasion. So much so, that he had rarely slept or ate during the time he had spent interviewing all parties and then afterward assessing their sessions repeatedly. This project was so twisted, warped, and menacing that he had no idea how he was going to put it all into words when it came time for him to testify. He was overly anxious, even for him, regarding testifying. Teddy felt he needed far more time in which to study these people before he, himself, felt qualified to label, analyze, or even diagnose any of them.

He had only been conducting sessions with them for the past three months. That was not nearly enough time to formally compile a case for one patient, let alone four of them. Dr. Thyme had worked tirelessly, frantically, and vigorously to try and ascertain what made each of these people tick, never mind, how they managed to function within society. That was the most mind blowing thing of all, how could they