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To my mind, the hardest thing for an Indie author is certainly not the writing. It's the distribution. How do writers get the word out that they've written a riveting new mystery novel or a compelling treatise on the comparison of political parties in the twenty-first century? Don't expect me to offer any solutions because I have no clue either. The one thing I know for sure is how much I appreciate my readers. You are the ones who make or break an author.

Don't misunderstand, I won't stop writing if you don't buy my paperbacks or eBooks, because I love to watch a story unfold on my computer screen. I have taught school, earned a PhD and worked as a psychologist, even was the lead psychologist for one month in a men's prison. I have been thrilled with each opportunity. I know God's hand had been in acquiring several of my positions, like the director of the counseling centers at two universities: Taylor University in Upland, Indiana and Bethel College in Mishawaka. With my private practice, I've worked with people from age two to eighty-two. I loved my work and my clients. I listened while they talked.

At this time in my life, I find joy and profound satisfaction in the six novels I've written, with another book over half completed. I won't stop writing. It is my time to share my thoughts and words with others, my "listeners."

There's a great challenge in marketing your own writing. Just think of the thrill of selling your deepest thoughts in large quantities - a LOT of books. Without a large publishing house to support the writer with their vast marketing network, the Indie author must depend on their readers to "publicize" their work.

How many gifts do you buy as Christmas and birthday presents? What about a book as a "Thank You" gift or a first of the year teacher get acquainted present? Write reviews of Indie Author's books you've read on Amazon, and pass on books to others you've read and enjoyed. I tell readers they can find my books in the library. If mine aren't in your local library, just ask your librarian.

You, the reader, are who make a successful writer. You are the philanthropic society arts patron who makes writing possible for Indie Authors. A missionary group believed that their work was done by two groups of workers: the missionaries who went out into distant lands and the missionaries who remained at home and supported those who traveled. Each had equal value. Each was important to God's work. You, the reader, are my collaborator in writing. Thank you my friend.

Political Correctness Suffocates Freedom - Read: LENGTH OF DAYS TRILOGY

In the Length of Days Trilogy, political correctness leads to silence and death. That happens in 2112 when speaking the name of God is forbidden, even the Christ of Christmas is banned and only Gifting Day remains. A reverence for Life has vanished with the passage of laws and the passage of time. Political Correctness has chosen not to "offend" for over a century. Read what our society could be like one-hundred years from now, when Political Correctness is valued more than life itself. Those born after the Millennial Generation and Generation Z, who live through years of emptiness from drugged water and zero-ambition (Gen Z+0), have no memory of life before the emergency policies established during the crises of the previous century were put into place. Does that sound familiar? I pray our country can turn around before it's too late.  (www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, or www.cokesbury.com.

In Book One, Length of Days - The Age of Silence, Christiana cannot let her grandparents enter the never-ending-sleep because they have reached the end of their length of days without doing something. When Silas Drummond breaks the silence, a way opens for Christiana to overturn the Length of Days law. A quiet librarian, people soon discover that Christiana is a follower of the Holy One. How will God lead her in this dangerous mission?

In Book Two, Length of Days - Beyond the Valley of the Keepers, Christiana and her friend Jason cross closed zone borders to elicit the help of the Keepers on the other side of Howard Mountain; the Hollow Ones of the West; the farmers, swindled out of their family farms, in the Midwest; and the Underlings, forced to live in the old subway system of the East. Together, they attempt to get signatures on petitions to place a Citizen's Referendum on the next ballot.

In Book Three, Length of Days - Search for Freedom, Christiana's grandfather, Oliver Richly, the Center Chair on the Council of Elders, runs for president in the first honest and open election since a decade before the Sestercentennial. When Richly is kidnapped, Christiana and Jason search from coast to coast in an effort to find him. Those whose only mission is to kill them all, stalk them at every turn. Will Christiana and Jason survive the attack and succeed in returning their country to the land of freedom and opportunity again? Will we?

News at Eleven - A Novel (Copyright 2015 Doris Gaines Rapp - 13th Serialized Segment)

The April sky greeted Clisty when she finally awakened the next morning. She stretched until the tiny kinks that stiffened her back gave up, let go and surrendered to her rhythmic twists. “Good morning, day,” she said as she shifted her feet off the bed and onto the floor. It would be an exciting day. She was confident that their research would find a clue that would lead them to The Guardian and his Lady, or the devil and his consort, which she thought was a much better description.

Even though she still wore her sleeping shorts and oversized t-shirt, she was compelled to get at her quest. A splash of water on her face and a tooth brush across her teeth, a habit she was unable to break no matter how much she wanted to skip it on busy mornings, and she was ready to open her laptop.

The familiar stream of coffee dripping into the pot on the kitchen countertop was a welcome sound with an intoxication aroma. The timer on the maker had been set the night before and now the fragrance was filling her apartment with a heavenly perfume. She used the seconds it took for her computer to boot-up to slip across the room and fill her cup. She was just putting it down on the end table beside the couch when her cell phone rang.

“Hello,” she spoke into her smart phone, a little annoyed by the interruption—annoyed until she heard Jake’s voice.

“Well, you’re up earlier than I imagined.”

“If you thought I was still asleep, why did you call?” she teased.

“I’m at your mercy, My Lady. I have no come-back for that question.” His voice was warm and creamy which prompted Clisty to remember the whole milk in the refrigerator. She took her cup back to the open kitchen and poured a little in her coffee.

“Have you been able to do any research on the location of the Freedom Temple?” she asked while stirring the milk into her java. She tried to make a fancy swirl on the top but decided that was a talent better left to coffee shop artists.

“No, not I.” Jason’s voice dropped off with a sigh. “The Captain has me working on the bank robbery case. We want to make sure we can charge our man, Melvin Dean Fargo, with armed robbery in addition to kidnapping and Criminal Confinement. Rhodes is searching old files first. Then, he’ll hit the computer.”

“Okay, Jake. If I have a question I’ll call the station and talk to Jeremy.”

“Jeremy? You two on a first name basis now?” His voice was light and digging.

“Yes, Jeremy and I go way back ... almost a week now.” She laughed and picked up her cup.

“It’s not too early for your coffee, I hear by the sipping sound.” Jake said. “I’m sitting here at my desk, doodling coffee cups on a post-a-note. Now, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking of Faith’s eyes, so sad, so empty and alone.” He stopped. “Well, maybe not. She does seem to be stronger every time I see her.” He paused, “How about ... I meet you for an early lunch, about 11:30? Maybe ... that new place we saw over near Jefferson Point Mall.”

“That sounds wonderful.” She placed her cup on the end table and smiled. There was a light layer of dust on the dark wood, not a lot, but … it was there. The more amazing point was … Clisty didn’t

care—not a whit. With the tip of her finger, she drew a happy face and laughed.

“You sound happy.” Jake had a smile in his voice.

“I am.” Her finger drew a curled mustache on her artistic dust-face. “I think I have just conquered an old fear,” she shouted with glee and turned her attention to the research du-jour. She ran her finger over the mouse pad and logged on. “I’ll tell you what I find at lunch. See you there.”

They said their goodbyes as Clisty turned to her glowing screen. First, she typed in Melvin Dean Fargo. One site listed his age, fifty-seven; towns he had lived in, Fort Wayne, Indiana, Chicago, Illinois, and a couple of small towns in Tennessee; where he worked, where he studied and people to whom he was related.

“Chicago,” she spoke into the empty apartment. “Okay, not west of Chicago, as Darla’s driver/ kidnapper had said.”

“What about schools in Wheaton and Naperville,” she continued to talk aloud as she changed her search input information along another line. She quickly came upon each of the elementary schools in the two towns, their addresses and phone numbers. She jotted down the names in Wheaton and contact information. Next, she typed in research parameters for elementary schools in Naperville. Each primary school was identified and their “contact us” data as well. After writing it all down on a small note pad, she picked up her cell phone. She began a “rule out” search, by calling each school, in the order she had written the data.

Using a methodic research method, she wrote out a short script so she was sure to ask the same questions of each school.

• She would introduce herself and the TV station she   represents.

• Her next question would be; was a student, by the name of Pooky Jones, enrolled there recently?

       • Then, she would ask if the school had a mascot.

• Finally, she would find out if there is a church, named the Freedom Temple, anywhere in the area.

She got through the first two Wheaton schools with no success. Now, the phone was ringing at the third. She introduced herself and then asked her first question.

“I’m sorry Ma’am. We do not give out the name of our students over the phone. If you want to bring in a written request, our principal may release that information since you said the child no longer attends here.” The school secretary sounded sympathetic but could not bend the rules.

“Does the school have a mascot? Or, can you give me the mascot of the high school?”

“Wheaton North’s mascot is the Falcons. Wheaton Warrenville South’s mascot is the Tiger.”

That doesn’t line up, she thought. Then she asked, “Is there a church called the Freedom Temple in your area?” She held her breathe.

“I wouldn’t call the Freedom Temple a church,” the secretary drew out.

“So there is an organization called the Freedom Temple in Wheaton?” Clisty wondered if she had heard correctly.

“No, it’s not here. A group by that name has been in the news from time to time.”

“The news?” Why didn’t I research that so-called church first?

“There have been newspaper and TV stories about several people, I think two women and a man, who told police they had wanted to leave the church and they were told they couldn’t.” The secretary talked in hushed tones, like someone would if they were sharing gossip.

“Do you know why they couldn’t just ignore whoever told them? What was their name, the person who told them they couldn’t stop attending the church?”

“The Guardian. He is called, The Guardian. He manages to have all his followers sign over their home, their bank accounts, even their retirement investments to the Freedom Temple. If they quit attending the church, they forfeit everything.”

“And you said the Freedom Temple is there in Wheaton? Where exactly?” Clisty had her pen poised to write it all down.

“No, not here. It’s someplace south of Wheaton. They are very secretive. They’re out in the country on many acres, and back off the road.” She spoke to someone in the office and then returned to the conversation. “That’s really all I know and the principal needs me to look for a file. I hope that helps you,” she said.

“That’s a great help, thanks,” Clisty touched the screen on her phone and ended the call. “That helps a lot,” she talked to herself as she dialed the number of the first Naperville school. A computer generated map of that area of Illinois showed that Naperville lies in two counties. The northern part is in DuPage County, which allowed her to identify the northern edge of the school system and a probable school, positioned “south of Wheaton.”

“Hello,” a male voice at the school answered.

“This is Clisty Sinclair. I’m a news anchor with WFT-TV in Fort Wayne, Indiana.”

“Good to talk to you, Miss Sinclair. I’m Roger Mitchel, the Principal here. What can I do for you?”

“I’m researching a story that appears to have a connection in your area. First, do you know if there is a church called, the Freedom Temple in your area?”

“Yes, there is a group ... no one knows much about them. Their church is far off the road in a very remote, rural setting.” Principal Mitchel also whispered into the telephone receiver. His muffled words sounded like he had cupped his hand around the mouth portion for privacy. “Their teachings are very different from those in our area. Their leader is both charismatic and controlling. As long as you obey his every command, including turning over all your money, property, everything, to The Guardian, you’ll stay on his good side. If you refuse, he can get really mean. I’m sorry, but I think it’s a cult.”

“I have suspected the same thing,” Clisty agreed. “I’m also asking the schools I contact what the school mascot is in their area.”

“Mascot? Sure, we’re Huskies up here,” he said with pride.

“Big dogs,” Clisty thought out loud.

“That’s right. I guess we’re all big dogs,” he chuckled as he spoke.

“Now a question that may go beyond the bounds of confidentiality,” she crossed her fingers as she asked. “I need to ask about a child who attended there for a really short period of time, for about two weeks, she was in a little school play, Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Yes, the children did that play recently.”

“Her name was Pooky Jones,” Clisty reminded him.

“How could I forget a name like Pooky? I never heard that one before.”

“I certainly have. That was my nickname when I was a child. Thank you so much. The TV crew and I will be in your area soon. May we stop by the school?”

“Certainly, I’d be happy to meet you. Please, make sure you don’t video any images of the children here. That would breach their right to privacy – confidentiality rules and all.”

“Certainly … thank you Mr. Mitchel.” They said their pleasant goodbyes and Clisty touched the end call on her phone. “That’s it! Now I have to talk to Jake!”

•••••

Clisty entered the café to meet Jake on the glorious April day. She looked around while her eyes adjusted to the dimer light inside. Maneuvering past other diners, she slipped into a chair at his table. “You look good, Jake.”

“I thought it was my job to say that to you,” he said as he laughed. “You are enchanting.”

“Well, you are supposed to say that I look good. And, I like enchanting even better. But, you, my laced up detective, live in the wrong century. Women can say how scrumptious their men look too.” She kissed him on the cheek, removed her jacket and placed it on the seat next to her.

“Their men? Your man?” His eyes shone.

“Yes, my man. Is that okay with you?” she narrowed her eyes like she was avoiding a follow-up jab.

“Okay? It’s far more than okay.” He placed his hand on hers. “I’ll admit I’ve been worried about you going to New York.” She started to open her mouth to speak, but he continued without yielding to the Gentle Woman from Fort Wayne. “I’m not saying I don’t want you to succeed or have some fantastic opportunities. I’m saying ... I don’t want to lose you.”

Clisty put her hand on Jake’s shoulder and leaned her chin on her arm. As a TV personality, she had a taboo about displays of affection out in the public. Actually, she was trying to hide the tears that had started to drown her. “I don’t want to lose you either,” she swallowed hard. “I guess I have been wondering if you will let me rise in my career, even help me to succeed.”

“Let you? Don’t ever think I might hold you back. I want to give you all the space you need,” he choked on his words as he tried to control his own emotions.

A waitress had walked past the table a few times until she finally interrupted softly. “Can I bring you two anything?”

“Coffee, black,” Clisty responded quickly. “And, the pot too.”

“Make that another cup and a really large pot,” Jake added—his voice raspy with choked feelings.

Clisty rooted in her purse and pulled out a tissue that she dabbed under her lower eyelashes. She added a little sip of water to flush out some emotional gravel from her throat. “I have some great news.” She flashed a fresh smile and changed the subject.

“I am way overdue for good news,” Jake said and patted Clisty’s hand.

“I think I found the general location of the Freedom Temple—in Illinois, on the north side of Naperville. Pooky had attended school in that northern part of DuPage County for a few weeks and the principal remembered her.” She sat back as the waitress placed two steaming cups of coffee in front of each of them. “Jake—we have him.”

News at Eleven - A Novel (Copyright 2015 Doris Gaines Rapp - 12th Serialized Segment)

“This has just come into the news room,” Clisty reported from the prompter as the eleven o’clock news program neared sign off. “Authorities tell WFT-TV that a woman came into police headquarters less than an hour ago. She said that a man had kidnapped her over eighteen years ago, just like the woman who was the hostage during the recent standoff with the accused bank robber. For her safety, the police are not using her real name. They are calling the woman Darla.” Clisty read calmly into the camera with the same confidence she had before she froze on TV when Faith first re-appeared.

“Darla told police that she managed to escape,” Dan Drummond added to the report. “When the man stopped to use the restroom, before merging onto I-65 N, he forced her to stay in the truck. He told her she would never be able to get out. She said the doors weren’t supposed to open from the inside. The only way you could get out was when the motor was still running. He would open the door, then turn off the engine and take the key with him. She believed him—she wouldn’t be able to get out of the truck because she had tried when he filled the gas tank closer to Fort Wayne. It was different at the intersection of I-65 N. This time he had failed to close his door all the way.”

“That’s right, Dan,” Clisty tag-teamed the story. “She said she was able to get the driver’s side door open, escape and jump, unseen, into the back of a truck going east. Luckily, the driver was going all the way back to Fort Wayne. She climbed out of the truck when the east bound driver slowed before entering the clover leaf at Goshen Road. The traffic was heavy as she walked along on the berm of the road. Then, she came upon a patrolman who, with his lights revolving, pulled a car over. She walked over to the officer, tugged his pocket and said, “I want to go home.” At police headquarters, they quickly contacted her parents. With her mother and father present, she told her story to police.”

“At the time of the attempted abduction, Darla was able to give the authorities a clue to the town in which the perpetrator probably lived. However, they were never able to find who had kidnapped her.” Dan smiled and looked at Clisty.

He’s giving me the last word. She smiled confidently and put on her professional, neutral, balanced face. “My investigation will include several threads of this tangled story: the background of the robbery suspect who was apprehended after the stand-off with police; the backstory of the hostage he held in the house; the details of an unsolved kidnapping nearly twenty years ago; and how the information Darla was able to remind police may answer questions to all facets of this story. All of these will be the focus of my expanded report in a new segment, Stories from the Heartland. I look forward to bringing you along as we follow the trail of clues to a hopeful resolution of this case. From the Fort, this has been News at Eleven.”

“Great show people,” Becca clapped her hands together as the network took over the feed.

Jake stood outside the studio window and watched. With his hands in his pockets, his tall slender frame exposed a leather cross-body gun holster. His blue eyes flashed brighter each time he looked at Clisty. “Ditto that,” he agreed as soon as the studio door opened.

“Hi Detective,” Clisty teased. “What brings you here so late in the evening?”

“You, of course,” he spoke softly and stepped closer, into her space.

“Then, you are most welcome.” Clisty slipped into the news room and started to pour a cup of coffee.

“Hold off on that last cup of the day,” Jake warned. “I’m taking you out for decaf. It’s late.”

“Good idea,” she agreed.

“But first, I brought in my Atlas. Come over here,” he pointed to a table and spread out the book of maps.

“What’s going on?” Becca asked as she joined them over the Rand McNally.

Jake was excited as he pointed to the map. “I read Darla’s old file and found two details that add a lot to our quest.” His index finger followed U.S. 30, north and west out of Fort Wayne. “She told police, her kidnapper said, ‘only seventy more miles but first, I’m going to hit the head.’ So ...” he traced the route with his finger that the man must have taken. “He was going to take route 65 north-west for seventy miles. He also said something about their destination being thirty miles west of Chicago.” He targeted Chicago on the map, and then drew an imaginary line directly west of the city. “Wheaton, Illinois is ... twenty-eight mile west of Chicago ... Naperville is thirty miles.” He thumped his finger on the spot between Wheaton and Naperville and drew a circle. “The place where Faith was held, is somewhere in this area.” He grabbed Clisty in a bear hug and held on tightly.

“The Freedom Temple,” Becca hammered her fist into the palm of her hand. “If authorities in that area are aware of the Freedom Temple, maybe we can close in on the precise area.”

“Yes,” Clisty snapped to attention from her cozy spot tucked under Jake’s arms. “And, if we can find an elementary school that had a child named Pooky Jones for only two weeks, we will nail down the neighborhood.”

“The last name she used, Jones, may be too general to track,” Jake ran his hand over the back of his neck. “But, the first name, Pooky, sure isn’t.”

Clisty smiled. “It makes my hair stand up, too. It is so exciting.”

“We are all tired, Honey,” Jake said. “Let’s start the computer search and telephone calls early tomorrow morning. It’s not like Faith is still being held and we have to rescue her. It will do no one any good if we’re too tired to think clearly.”

“You’re right; you’re right; I know you’re right, but—“

“No buts about it,” Becca joined in. “I agree with Jake.”

Clint had listened and watched as the three had inspected the map. A quiet guy, he turned and reached for his hoodie. “Just point me in the right direction, so I can aim the camera there. I’m going home and fall into bed.” He zipped it up and started for the door. “I’ll be here at the usual time, or whenever you tell me different. Just let me know if we’re going to leave on a road trip so I can make arrangements for my cat.”

“Bad Kitty?” Becca asked. “I don’t know how you discipline that cat when you call, ‘Bad Kitty’ to give her a treat.”

“She does seem a little neurotic at times,” he admitted with a flippant expression. “Bye for now.”

“Are you ready to surrender for the night?” Jake asked as Clisty continued to study the map.

“I guess,” she drew out slowly. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Cocoa ... warm milk, will help,” he reminded her.

“I make cocoa with water,” she corrected him and patted her stomach.

“I don’t know what you have to worry about,” Becca quipped. “You’re so thin, I’m afraid to get a side view of you on camera. You might disappear altogether.”

“Becca, don’t be silly. You know as well as I do, if I were to gain ten pounds the station would replace me with a newer, slimmer model.”

“Can’t get much newer,” she reminded her. “You’re pretty young yourself. Beside, you know Fort Wayne viewers wouldn’t put up with that. The station reflects the community’s values of appreciation for hard work and family ties. You are family, Clisty.”

“Thanks Becca. It’s nice to be reminded.”

“Then, ten pounds it is,” Jake teased. “We’ll stop at a grocery and pick up some milk. Made with water, it isn’t cocoa at all. That’s just chocolate flavored water.” He took her by the elbow and started to steer her out of the news room. “Then, we’ll go to your house and I’ll make a cup for you.” He stopped. “You do allow milk in your house, I hope.”

“Fat free, of course.”

“I’ll think about that.”

•••••

“But, Jake, whole milk? Isn’t that a bit extreme?” Clisty complained as she took the milk and cocoa mix from the sack he had just carried in to her apartment.

“Extreme will come when we put the whipped cream on the top,” he said as he waved the squirt can in the air. He opened several cabinet doors until he found the pots and pans. “Here we go.”

“Do you really think we’ll be able to find him and bring him to justice?” Clisty asked as she spooned some cocoa mix into the cups. Moments later the microwave announced the hot milk.

“Find The Guardian?” Jake poured the steaming hot liquid into the cups, stirred the cocoa cups and took them over to the coffee table ottoman. “Sure, I think we’ll find him. But, I don’t know when justice will be served.”

“What does that mean?” Clisty followed him to the couch, folded her right leg under her and sat down on it.

“Justice usually takes time, Babe. Not your kind of time, as measured from one news headline at 6 p.m., to a verdict on the 11 o’clock news.”

“I know. That’s why I’m glad the network is giving me all the time that I need with the news magazine.” She sipped the hot, bone warming, sleep inducing liquid and smiled. “This is good.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, stirred his drink again and drank a little of the sweet brew. There was tense silence for a moment until Jake asked, “When do you leave for New York?”

“I don’t know,” she sipped noisily. “I guess, the truth is, I don’t really want to know.” She reached over and took Jake’s hand. “I just found Faith again and I know we’re going to find her captors. But ... I also just found you.”

Jake was quiet for a moment. “Have you talked to your grandmother about praying for you over this network business?” he asked and looked at the mantle. “That’s your prayer angel, right?”

“No, I haven’t called her yet … I had to talk to you first,” she sighed as her body reminded her of how tired she was.

“I appreciate that,” he said as he smiled.

They finished their cocoa in silence, except for the soft music that streamed in the background. A deep baritone was spreading musical notes on the evening air like warm butter on toast. Jake reached over and traced gentle figure eights on Clisty’s arm. He took Clisty’s cup, and placing it on the ottoman he took her hand in his, all with the smooth gestures that matched the rise and fall of the melody.

“Faith just came home, Clisty, and that is wonderful. For me personally however, the real miracle is that I just found my home in you.” She started to speak, but Jake continued. “Now, don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying—don’t move to New York. This is an opportunity that very few people ever get. I wouldn’t try to stop you for a minute. I’m just saying, with you in the east, will there be a place for me in your life?”

“Jake ... I am so torn,” she began.

“Don’t be, Honey. I’d never ask you to choose between New York City and me. That’s not even a contest and, I guess, I don’t want to know what the answer would be.” He caressed her hand, silently put his arm around her and drew her to his shoulder.

Clisty sat up quickly. “No, Jake, I admit I’m torn, but not between you and New York. The tug of war is between New York and Fort Wayne. See ...” she turned excitedly toward him and bubbled as she continued, "since Faith came home, I’m seeing what really matters in my life. Yes, a job I love is important. But, the people I love, people Mom used to call my lovelies, are more valuable than anything else.”

“I’m not sure if I fit in as a lovely,” Jake laughed.

“You do, Jake Davis. You are the loveliest of lovelies,” she laughed as she snuggled back in his arm.

“What I don’t know,” he admitted, “is how can you be in both places at the same time?” His eyes, cast down like a warrior who had just surrendered, didn’t meet Clisty’s.

“I can’t Jake. But, that’s all-or-none thinking. Just because I can’t be in the TV studio and here in my apartment with you, does not mean there is no solution to this.”

“That’s good enough for me tonight,” he said as he looked up with a sparkle in his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, and surrounded her with his love.

“This is where I want to be, Jake—in your arms. I know that. Somehow, and I don’t know how yet, I’m going to figure out how to do both. It’s an old idea to think I can do everything. But, I can choose where I spend my time. I do know I’ll have to do one thing at a time.”

Read my LENGTH OF DAYS Trilogy to see uncontrolled political power in action

In 2112, Christiana will no longer bow to the ruling elite. Follow her through my Length of Days trilogy to see how she overcomes Political Correctness and reveals the atrocities under Howard Mountain in - The Age of Silence; crosses forbidden zone borders to overcome the Length of Days Law in - Beyond of the Keepers and save her grandparents who will soon be forced into the never-ending-sleep; and helps campaign for a new president who could restore freedom in - Search for Freedom. All books are available on Amazon.com, Barnes&Noble.com and Cokesbury.com. PLEASE SHARE WORD OF THESE IMPORTANT AND TIMELY BOOKS.

News at Eleven - A Novel (Copyright 2015 Doris Gaines Rapp - 11th Serialized Segment)

“It’s great to see you looking so good,” Clisty stood back and held the door to WFT-TV.

“Hi Clisty,” Faith hugged her friend and stepped into the reception area of the TV station.

“Carol and Ralph, come in. We’ll make room for everyone.” Becca directed them to the chairs and took their jackets. “Jake Davis is coming too. Brenda, our receptionist, will watch for him.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Faith recoiled emotionally.

“It’ll be okay, Faith. You and I talked about it yesterday when I stopped by your parents’ home,” Clisty reminded her. Then she turned, “Hi Pooky.” She took the time to hug Faith’s daughter, hoping Faith would have enough space to remember their conversation.

Roma reminded her softly. “We all sat around the table, Faith, remember?”

“Let’s go into the studio and look it over. It’s just a room with special equipment in it.” Clisty led the way, through the news room and into the studio.

“Maybe,” Faith’s voice trailed off as she stared with wide eyes around the room.

“I know it must look very foreign to you, but it’s really just a work room, like the kitchen in your home. We make TV news programs in here, and you prepare food in your kitchen.”

“Where is the microphone and camera?” Pooky asked as she stepped out of the background and into light.

“It’s there on the news desk.” Clisty pointed.

“But we—“ Becca started.

“Aren’t quite ready for that stuff,” Clisty jumped in. She knew Faith didn’t want Pooky’s picture out in the public so they would need to take that slowly. On the other hand, Jake would need the interview on film so there could be no question later about whether we led her into saying things she would not have said on her own.

“Faith,” Clisty pointed at the large, floor-camera, “Clint can film Pooky on this camera, strictly for police use. It will not be broadcast into viewers’ homes. Or, he can use the shoulder camera if you think Pooky would be frightened by the big one.” She hoped if she gave Faith a choice, she may feel less vulnerable.

Faith’s shoulders dropped and her eyes shifted to the floor. “Maybe we’ll not film it at all,” her words tumbled out of her mouth in rapid succession. “What’s important is what she says, not what she looks like.”

“That’s right. You’re absolutely correct,” Jake added as he came into the studio. He stopped just a few feet inside the door so Faith and Pooky wouldn’t feel cornered. “The choice is yours, Faith. You’re the mom. It’s just that ...” he paused, slipped into the room and leaned casually on the wall. “If you decide not to have her filmed at all, when we catch your kidnapper, his lawyer could claim that we put the works in Pooky’s mouth. With the film, we can prove she said it all on her own. What do you think?” He paused and gave faith time for the words to catch up to her.

“Faith, I told you about my telling your story, using your words and Pooky’s memories too, on a news magazine. Maybe there’ll be something in the story that will help another child stay safe from kidnapper.”

Faith looked at her daughter. Her sad eyes studied the cherished face.

“Please Mama, please,” Pooky formed her hands into a prayer and jumped up and down.

Clisty saw Faith smile, something she had not witnessed since they were both children and her heart warmed. “I will do the interview myself. Jake is here only to take his own notes. As we take breaks from time to time, he may offer some questions I had not thought about. Does that seem reasonable to you?”

“Faith,” Roma said softly, “it sounds to me like Pooky will be even more safe if they can find the kidnapper.”

“The Guardian won’t be found.”

“Why do you say that?” Clisty asked. “We have to be positive.”

“I am, Clisty. I am positive you will not find him. He told me he wouldn’t be found, what seems like every day of my life,” her voice dropped off and she appeared to shudder, like a snake had slithered across her path.

“He told you lots of things, Faith, like you said, every day of your life. He probably said, ‘You’ll never get away,’ didn’t he?”

Faith’s eyes brighten, a positive sign Clisty had not yet seen. “He said it nearly every day, at least for the first ten or twelve years of my slavery.”

“I hate that word, Faith,” her mother set her jaw.

“I hate that life,” Faith answered, a little stronger than before.

“Hey, I thought this was about me,” Pooky insisted.

“You are absolutely right, Honey,” Becca agreed. “I’m going to be your director, so ... let’s place you on the interview set here, face to face with Clisty.”

“But, where’s the microphone?” Pooky asked as she studied the cluster of chairs.

“Right here,” Becca pointed to the little clips she held in her hand. “You wouldn’t be at the news desk, with all the equipment over there. Both you and Clisty will clip a tiny microphone onto your clothes. You can move around and we can still pick up you voice.”

“Well ... okay,” she said as she scooted back into one of the side chairs.

As Clisty took her seat facing Pooky’s, she attached her lapel mic. “Hi Pooky. It now occurred to me that I don’t know your last name.”

“What do you mean?” Pooky’s eyes blinked and she said no more.

“I’m Clisty Sinclair. I have a first name, Clisty and a second name, Sinclair. Your first name is Pooky. What is your last name?”

“I don’t have another name.”

Clisty stopped. She lost her next question, but gathered her thoughts again quickly. “Your daddy’s first name is Steven. What was his last name?”

“I don’t know.” She looked over at her mother and shrugged.

“Steven had no last name,” Faith answered in a flat tone, as if last names were rare.

“You said he went to school,” Clisty continued to question Faith where she sat off camera.

“He used the last name Jones. But, that wasn’t his real second name.” Faith seemed to chill for a moment. “No one was to speak the name of The Guardian.”

“So, did you use the name, Pooky Jones, when you were in school?” Clisty asked.

“Yes, Pooky Jones,” she remembered. “But, I wasn’t in school very long,” she said as she leaned her chin in her hand on the chair rest. Her expression had slipped into a pout.

“You told me about school. Do you want to tell the people about school?”

“I played Red Riding Hood in the school play. Daddy said I could go to school, but when Grandpa found out, he said I had to quit.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Why did he have to find out?”

“Do you know who told him you were going to school?” Clisty asked. “Where was your grandfather during the daytime?”

“He was at work.” Pooky swung her feet back and forth.

“Work? Where did he work?”

Pooky looked at her in disbelief. “I already told you. He’s the Head Master of the Freedom Temple.”

“That’s right, you did,” Clisty admitted, allowing the child to have the superior hand. “I guess I forgot.” She slowed down and looked away, sneaking up on the next question from the side. “Your mother told me that The Guardian smelled bad.” She looked back at Pooky, like someone in need of help. “How could a leader in an organization ... stink?”

“He wasn’t supposed to eat cookies or candy. When he did, he’d act funny, sweat and stink.”

“Did you hear Grandma warn him about sugar diabetes?”

“Yeah, that was the word.”

“So, he worked at the Freedom Temple? What is the Freedom Temple?” Clisty asked, careful to use low, non-demanding tones.

“It’s like a church, Grandma said.”

“Didn’t you ever go to that church?” Clisty tried not to shake her head. Everything Pooky told her sounded preposterous. A smelly, swearing, evil man who would kidnap a child and hold her as a slave, was the spiritual leader of a congregation?

“Grandma said no one was to know that Mama was Daddy’s sister. So, Daddy went to the Temple on Friday night, but not Mama or me. She said, Grandpa brought Mama home for her, to be Grandma’s little girl and then, when she was old enough, she’d be Daddy’s wife.”

“Wow,” Clisty exhaled slowly. “You remember all those relationships?” She felt sick inside. The Guardian planned Faith’s life even before he took her. Then, he controlled her so it would all work out as he planned.

“Sure,” Pooky said. “I had to remember about Mama and Daddy. We rehearsed it like my part in the play. Grandpa said I had to always remember, ‘cause if I didn’t he could lose Mama and me.”

Clisty smiled at her to reassure her. “You have a very good memory. Do you know why your grandfather took you out of school after your daddy said you could go?”

“It was my teacher’s fault,” she pouted some more. “She said she had to make a home-visit to all the kid’s homes in her class. She’d already gone to the other kids’ houses ‘cause they had started school before me. Grandpa said she couldn’t come and pulled me out of school.”

“I bet you miss the friends you made at school,” Clisty said as she remembered the wonderful times she had with Faith as a child. Her heart ached for Pooky and her lonely life.

“There was one girl. Her name was Leenie. She was my dearest friend,” her words seemed to drift off to a memory that hid from her grandfather in a secret corner of her mind. “In the afternoon, I would sit by the front window, behind the curtain I could see through, and listen to the kids as they laughed and played on their way home from school.” Tears slipped down her face and she brushed them away with her sleeve.

“I’m glad you had a friend, even if you couldn’t keep her.”

“Oh, I kept her,” she perked up. “She would leave a note for me under a rock near the end of our sidewalk. I’d sneak out at night and get it and leave a note for her.” Pooky turned up her chin in defiant satisfaction, folded her arms and sat back.

“That sounds like a dangerous system. What if you were caught?”

“I never was,” Pooky turned her head back and forth in an exaggerated no. “She’d tell me what she did at school during the day. Then, she’d sign it, Leenie Lambert, 1221 W. Benton Avenue.”

“You have a really good memory, Pooky.” Clisty’s pulse raced. Would she be able to get the information she needed?

“I remembered the nickname, something about a big dog.”

“Those are good words to remember, Pooky,” Clisty said as she reached over and patted Pooky’s knee. “I was wondering ... if your daddy didn’t want to lose you and your mother, why did he let you go?”

“Let us go?”

“Well, he didn’t come with you. Did he say goodbye? How did you two get away when you came here?”

“Mama and I put a few things in two pillowcases and walked out the front door. No one was at home. So we walked until we came to a gas station and found a man with a truck who was going to Indiana. Mama said we wanted to go to Fort Wayne and he said, ‘Perfect. I’ll call someone I know over there and he can find a place for us to rest when we get there.’ Mama said she would just find her home and he could drop us off there. He said, ‘Sure lady,’ but I didn’t like how he sounded. That’s the sassy way Kevin Ledbetter would talk on the school playground when he was lying. But, Mama believed the man with the truck. When we got here, he wouldn’t let us go.”

“You said you left when everyone was gone? Where were they? Where was your dad? Did he kiss you goodbye?”

“He kissed me goodbye three days before that. I remember. They were all gone ‘cause Grandpa wouldn’t let us go.” Tears again came to her eyes and filled them to the brim.

“Where wouldn’t your grandfather let you go, Pooky?”

“To Daddy’s funeral,” she stopped for a moment and sobbed. When she rubbed her eyes on the full length of her shirt sleeve, she continued. “He got really sick. Grandpa wouldn’t let him go to the hospital, so he kissed me and Mama goodbye and died at our house.” The salty tears streamed down her cheeks again. “He whispered in Mama’s ear, ‘Take Pooky and get out of here. Promise me.’”

“Mama said, ‘I love you Steven. I promise.’” Pooky looked over at her mother where she and her new grandparents stood crying. “Mama had never been out of the house before. At first it was so scary. We didn’t know where to go. But, when Grandma and Grandpa left for the funeral, Mama and I walked right out the front door and didn’t look back.”

News at Eleven - A Novel (Copyright 2015 Doris Gaines Rapp - 10th Serialized Segment)

“Monday always comes when it’s not wanted,” Clisty moaned to Becca, as her cell phone balanced under her chin.

“I know. I know, but just think of some of the reasons you would have to sleep all the time: recovery from the plague; really advanced old age; you have narcolepsy and you fall asleep on the creepy guy next to you on the bus; you died and were laid to rest last week; do I need to go on?” Becca quipped.

“I wonder, if I died what would my Heavenly job be?” she yawned. “I might be a cloud-comfort-tester. Then again, I’d probably chase rebellious cherubs all over the golden streets, so I can interview them and ask the age old question, “Why do you rebel?”

“Oh bother,” Becca laughed. “Maybe I’d have to direct that bunch of kids with the wings.”

“Becca, that’s it. Kids! What is it that Pooky told us? ‘Daddy said I could go to school but then Grandpa said no.’” Clisty raked her hand through her hair and looked in the mirror. “Oh Becca, I look awful. I’m glad that skype hasn’t come to the cell phone industry.”

“I told you to cover all the looking glasses in your apartment in black fabric and not pull them down until at least, uh, two in the afternoon. Before mid-afternoon, you’re only looking at the ghost of last night’s past.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Clisty started to pace along the carpet runner beside her bed. “Let’s get back to Pooky. Becca, the child may remember more than Faith does, especially if she was given a little more freedom, like her two weeks in school.”

“You call the Sterlings and I get ready and meet you there.” Becca suggested.

“Wait until I’ve had a chance to sit down with them. I don’t want to run in there with lights and camera blazing.” We settled it.  “I’ll call you after I talk to them.”

Clisty jumped out of her night clothes and into the shower. I hope this works. While the hot water peppered her body from the multiple jets, she started planning her strategy. Later, dressed in her new black spring-weight suit she had bought before the events of Friday had turned her world upside down, she hurried out to her car.

•••••

“Good Morning, Clisty,” Roma said as she opened the front door. “Come in.” She led the way through the living room. “Have you had your coffee yet this morning?”

“Just one cup. I’m ready for my second one,” she chuckled as she followed Roma into the kitchen.

“Let’s sit down here a minute.” Roma pointed to the ladder-back chairs that sat around the kitchen table. “Toast?”

“No thanks, Roma.” She reached for the sugar and stirred in a spoonful. “I was hoping to talk to Pooky this morning. What do you think? Will she talk to me?”

“Faith has wanted Pooky to stay in the background, out of the camera lights. I’m sure you can’t blame her.”

“Not at all,” Clisty agreed, and she did, but there were other issues at play. “Since Pooky was out in the world more than Faith, there may be someone who would recognize her. While they may be a friendly neighbor, they could also be the evil ones who kept her all those years. We all have to keep her safe.”

“That’s what I mean,” Roma agreed. “She is relaxing more and letting Ralph and I get closer to her. Although, it’s harder for Pooky to get near her grandpa. Literally. She talks to him now, but from a distance.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe we have Faith home. I can’t believe a wonderful granddaughter came with her. I can’t believe that Faith was held as a strange slave for eighteen years.”

“I know,” Clisty admitted. “She didn’t have to work for them; she just ... filled some role I guess.”

“I think her job was to be the lady’s daughter, but The Guardian couldn’t let go of his power as supreme ... what did she call him ... Head Master?” The coffee was still hot so Clisty sipped carefully. “Of course, I wouldn’t put Pooky on camera. Just talk.”

“I’ll have to ask Faith and she’s still sleeping.” Roma picked up the coffee pot, and then put it back on the warming burner. “She sleeps so much, Clisty.”

“That’s been her way of healing her mind and body, Roma.  She seems to have slept a lot over the last eighteen years. If she were awake all day, she would realize how alone she was ... for hours and hours. Those who are depressed, sleep a lot.”

“She did say she was allowed to read and she enjoyed that. It was her way of having contact with the world around her. Not just books, the lady let her read magazines when The Guardian wasn’t around.”

“Can you just imagine all the places Faith has been within the pages of her books and magazines?” Clisty thought for a minute. “I wonder how she could pronounce all the word. She was all alone in her room most of the time.”

“She probably just put her own sounds and meaning to the words. That’s what my father did.” Roma smiled the smile of happy memories. “Grandpa Georgie was a self-made man. He read everything he could lay his hands on. We sometimes had to figure out what he was talking about when he was trying to explain something he had read because his pronunciation was so bad, but we all admired his knowledge. Knowledge isn’t pronunciation, Clisty; it’s investigation, inquisitiveness.”

“I like that, Roma.” She paused and thought about all that Roma had said. “I want to investigate. I want to find out why that man took Faith, where he took her and what her life was like. And ...” again she paused to think if she was ready to tell anyone about her new career offer, “I’ve been given a great opportunity.”

“Can you tell me about it, Clisty? Maybe you want to talk about it?”

“It’s yes to both. But, there’s someone I need to tell first.” She had made up her mind. She had to find Jake.

•••••

Office Jeremy Rhodes jumped to his feet when Clisty walked into the police station later. “Miss Sinclair—“

“It’s Clisty, remember, Jeremy?” she said as she smiled.

“Yes, Ma’am ... Clisty. I’m sorry Ma’am. I watch you on the news every evening and it just seems like I’m talking to a celebrity.”

“If I ever become a celebrity, I will be forced to resign. I wouldn’t be able to stand to look at myself in the mirror. Come to think of it, someone told me a mirror shouldn’t be looked into before noon anyway.”

“I think I understand that rule.” He winked and rubbed his chin. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Is Jake in?” She looked around the room of desks and chairs, all lined up, yet working together.

“Did I hear my name?” Jake asked as he came out of a separate office. “Hi, Babe.” His smiled was large and matched the fire in his eyes. “What brings you down here?”

“I have to talk to you,” she said as she walked over to him, took his elbow and directed him back into his private office.  She could feel all the eyes in the department follow them. Even with the door closed, the glass in the window and in the door made her feel like she was in an aquarium. She laughed to herself. “Men do like their aquariums.”

“Is there something wrong?” he asked. His brow furrowed with concern or curiosity, Clisty wasn’t sure which.

“So many things, Jake.” She fumbled with the oversized gray buttons on her red coat. Finally, Jake took her hands and placed them at her sides. He drew so close she could hear his breathing. As her coat fell from her shoulders, she could hear a collective sigh from beyond the windows, while Jake placed the coat on a chair. The room was full of unspoken words, but Clisty knew there were words that she had to say. She didn’t know why her hands were shaking but she had to get through all the connected pieces of her life. “Jake,” she pointed toward the desk, “you sit there and I’ll sit here.” While she sat on one of the facing chairs, she barely perched on the edge. Jake leaned back on the desk and waited, his arms folded across this chest.

“First, it occurred to me that Pooky has lived in the same house, the same neighborhood, the same town as Faith has lived since she was born nine years ago. Maybe she can remember something, names, streets, even what town they lived in.”

Jake leaned in closer with the new possibilities. “Will Pooky talk if I’m in the room with you?”

“I think that will be okay. You were with us when we first met her and she was comfortable with you then.” She looked down at her fingernails; then she hid them in her pockets. “The other thing is ... I have been given the go-ahead to chase this story as far as it goes. That will probably mean, at least, leaving the state, probably going to Illinois. Can you ...” she hesitated. She didn’t want Jake to think she was being forward. “Do you think your department will let you go with us: Becca and Clint and me?”

Jake’s eyes brightened; the corners of his mouth turned up into a boyish smile. “You’re asking me to go to Illinois with you?”

“Jake, now, cut it out,” she blushed. “I’m asking if the Police Department wants to send someone with us as we gather information about an unsolved kidnapping.” In her embarrassment, she stood up and focused her eyes on the budding spring day beyond the window.

“Oh,” he drew out, “if that’s what you’re asking, then yeah, they will probable send me.” Jake reached out, turned her around so he could see her, and wrapped his arms around her. “That’s great. I’m glad the station is letting you pursue the story.” He leaned back and looked into her eyes.

She wondered if he saw the rest of the story. “It’s not just the station, Jake. It’s the network. They’re talking about putting it on the national news, like a spot on their Tuesday night news magazine.”

“Clisty, that is great! It could really advance your career,” he glanced at the other windows that formed the glass wall to the outer office.  “A kiss right now would be most appropriate, but perhaps all the eyes ...”

Clisty placed her hands on both sides of Jake’s face, pulled him close and kissed him with genuine tenderness. Looking at him, she added, “I agree, most appropriate ... and a little inappropriate. At least no one can accuse me of work place harassment. I don’t work here.” She pressed her forehead into Jake’s chest. “But ... maybe not the best timing ... or perhaps it is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but ... I think, I’m willing to listen.” He lifted her hands and kissed them tenderly.

“The kiss may have been an effort to soften you up before my last point,” she admitted. “My career may have already been boosted.” She turned and looked out the window again. “If the story goes well, the network is offering me a spot on their National, New York based, News Magazine. They’ll call it, Stories from the Heartland. They want to offer positive stories of victory over adversity from real people who live and work in the middle of the country, away from Broadway and Rodeo Drive.”

“Babe, that’s wonderful.” He threw his head back and exhaled from his toes. “Wait,” he stopped and jerked his eyes to attention. “You just said, New York based.”

“That’s right. The program is a network show, based in New York.” She turned to face him. “But, we can ...”

“Thank goodness, for a minute I didn’t know if there would be a, we can, anything in there.”

•••••

“We are continuing our expanded story of the suspected bank robber and his hostage,” Clisty updated the viewers that evening on the eleven o’clock news.

Dan Drummond faced the camera. “Melvin Dean Fargo, who was apprehended by police following last Friday’s stand-off, is charged with Criminal Confinement. His hostage? The woman believed to be the witness in Friday’s bank robbery.” They did not re-run the news clip from the ATM.

Clisty continued in confidence as her back straightened even more. “The network wants this newscaster to investigate Mr. Fargo, even beyond any involvement he may or may not have in the robbery of the bank. Our investigation goes far beyond those questions. It is our promise, to pursue this case until we answer all questions. And, that is the News at Eleven.