A Sad Soul Can Kill You

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Also By Catherine Flowers

 

 

This book is dedicated to those with burdens unreleased, wounds unseen and unhealed. By God you were created—not to walk in sadness but to stroll in gladness with your head held high, trusting in Him with every step you take.

May you surrender to Jesus and receive the gift of salvation, joy, peace, and everlasting life. For these things and much more are yours to claim when you submit to Him and walk in the glorious light . . .

As always, to God be the glory. His magnificence reigns! I thank Him for the gift of writing. I would also like to give thanks to Joylynn Ross, acquisition editor at Urban Christian, for her advice, patience, and wisdom. Thank you to my editor, Maxine Thompson, of Thompson's Literary Agency, whose expertise remains an invaluable source for me. Thanks to Alanna Boutin for her copy editing expertise. And to everyone else who played a role in bringing this novel to fruition, I say, “thank you,” once again.

I certainly can't leave out my mother, DeLois Brown, who has been my self-appointed promoter from the very beginning . . . Thanks, Mom! And a magnificent thank you goes to my big sisters and a host of other family members (you know who you are) who supported me when I first began this journey of telling tales with a keyboard and a thought!

Finally, I, of course, want to thank my biggest supporters—my children: Walter, my eldest, who continues to encourage me in my writing ventures; Fatima Manson, who while making her own way in the literary world as a freelance editor, saw room for improvement in the early stages of this novel; Nick, whose encouragement resonates whenever we speak; and Kiana, my youngest, who advised me on the “proper” use of Internet dialect. Ty . . . lol!

“Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil
prowls around like a roaring lion looking for
someone to devour.”

(1 Peter 5:8)

“The human spirit can endure in sickness,
but a crushed spirit who can bear?”

(Proverbs 18:14)

Tia pulled the hood of her coat on top of her head and got out of her car. She shuddered as she moved swiftly up to the door. She stopped to catch a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the large office window. The white fur that trimmed the hood of her coat made her think of the storybook character, Little Red Riding Hood . . . only Tia wasn't going to Grandma's house.

Just as she put the key in the lock, the door swung open and Scamp, the nickname she'd given him, stood before her.

“Hello,” Scamp said expectantly.

She smiled nervously as she entered the sparsely furnished room. The only source of light was an old bronze lamp mounted on the wall. Its silhouette cast an indistinguishable shadow over the built-in desk below it. A chair accompanied the desk, along with a queen-size bed as the room's only décor. Tia noticed a Bible prominently displayed on the center of the desk, and she quickly looked away.

Scamp closed the door behind her as a feeling of disappointment slowly began to creep into her. She hadn't expected to walk into a luxurious suite, but she'd expected a little bit more than these shabby surroundings.

He removed her coat, throwing it across the chair. She smoothed the layered sections of her hair down with the palm of her hand and looked around the room again. She sighed heavily.
This room was little more than a meeting place for—

“I've missed you,” Scamp said as he gave her a big hug.

He hovered a full eight inches over her five foot four-inch frame, and Tia closed her eyes and let her head rest on the center of his chest. She allowed herself to enjoy the pleasure of his embrace, and the light, airy scent of cologne that wafted from his shirt made her forget the disappointment she'd felt when she'd first walked into the room.

She remembered how they'd first met right after the New Year—a little over a month ago.

Scamp released his embrace, and Tia opened her eyes.

“You look good,” he said softly. He held her hands and stepped back to look at her small, petite frame. “I always did love me some chocolate,” he said smiling.

Tia fumbled with the belt she wore around her tailored blouse, and then slowly gazed at the brown skin on his face before finally looking up into his hazel eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

He motioned her to the bed. “Sit down and relax.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and watched as he walked over to the window and closed the beige curtains. He returned to the bed and bent down to remove her shoes.

“Lay back,” he said as he gently placed her legs on top of the bed. “Relax and tell me about your day.”

Tia positioned herself on the bed and leaned back on the pillow. “Well,” she sighed, “it was a pretty slow day, thank goodness. I could even say it was a boring day, but I'm not going to.”

He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Why not?”

“Because tomorrow is another day, and we never know what's going to happen at the hospital.”

“Yeah, but you're a pretty tough nurse.” He stood up and removed his shirt, exposing his slightly protruded abdomen. “You can handle it.”

“I guess,” she said.

“You can,” Scamp said as he placed his shirt neatly across the chair on top of her coat. “You can handle that . . . and more.”

She gazed at the thinning mass of brown and gray hair that adorned the sides and back of his head. The multicolored strands were also present in greater numbers on the center of his chest, creating a triangular mass of thickness. “I'm just tired of the drama,” she said.

He sat down on the bed. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“Are we?” she asked.

He removed the belt from her blouse and changed the subject. “Turn on over, girl,” he said as he eased her onto her stomach. “Let me give you a massage.”

She turned onto her stomach and felt his hands stroking the back of her neck. She closed her eyes as his fingers slid under her blouse and pressed against her flesh, slowly gaining momentum, and then descending to her back. His hands traveled down the length of her waist, and then back up again, kneading her flesh the way a baker kneaded dough.

She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes. The leather-bound Bible sat directly in front of her, its contents tugging at her conscience. She turned away, not only from its image but from the truth she knew it held.

No, Tia thought, she wasn't at Grandma's house. But Scamp definitely was the big bad wolf, and by the time he whispered, “Turn over. It's time to do the front,” the fire burning in Tia was in full force.

 

 

Afterward, Tia lay next to him in bed, inhaling the industrial scent from the stiff pillowcases that had infiltrated her nostrils. She looked at the off-white curtains hanging from the window and noticed a brown stain embedded in the fibers of one of the panels. The blemish coincided with the way she now felt inside. A sudden gush of sadness engulfed her as she listened to Scamp sleeping soundly.

She eased out of the bed and got dressed quickly. Too bad those hands hadn't belonged to her husband, she thought as she walked out of the hotel room.