Betrayal By Blood and Demons: The Judas Factor

By Ian McBride

The depths of human darkness are probed in an epic battle of good versus evil as a father attempts to overcome the ultimate betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jan 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483421964

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Copyright © 2014 Richard William Dodd.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2210-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2197-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2196-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014920719

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 01/27/2015

Author Acknowledgements

This author is indebted to the influence of his favorite writers including Michael Crichton, Dennis Lehane, John Grisham, Dashiell Hammet, Ann Rice, Ernest Hemingway, Dean Koontz, Pat Conroy and James Dickey. My journey in completing this novel was given wings due to the wonderful contributions made by Diane Bucci, Terryee Abbott and Donna Howard of the Angel Network, Jan Kardys and Jeanne Rogers from the Unicorn for Writers Group, Jeanne Sutton, Alex Dawson, Susan Shapiro, Francis Flaherty, Gerry Jonas, and the Lulu Publishing Team.

Table of Contents

Author Acknowledgements

Part 1: Opening the Floodgates of Human Darkness

Prologue: Discount Blue Jeans to Armani Suits

Chapter 1: Early Morning Mischief

Chapter 2: World Trade Center

Chapter 3: Return to Paradise

Chapter 4: Interrogation

Chapter 5: Sister Katie

Chapter 6: Red Roof Inn

Chapter 7: Detective’s Return

Chapter 8: Meeting with Deano

Chapter 9: Pervert Prison

Chapter 10: Sleepless Night

Chapter 11: Lawyer Lessons

Part 2: The Stain of Betrayal

Chapter 12: Return to the City

Chapter 13: Rooftop Barbecue

Chapter 14: Country Club Brunch

Chapter 15: Thundercats Cheerleaders

Chapter 16: Jigsaw Puzzle

Chapter 17: Return Trip to Hell

Chapter 18: Greatest Bar on Earth

Chapter 19: Love in a Fallen City

Chapter 20: Ground Zero

Part 3: The Judas Family Courtroom

Chapter 21: The Verdict

Chapter 22: New Beginnings

Epilogue

Postscript

PART ONE

_________________________

Opening the Floodgates

of Human Darkness

People’s New Testament

27:3 Then Judas saw that he was condemned. The annals of men record no sadder history than that of Judas, impelled by avarice and resentment to betray his Master for money, and only to awake to the nature of his awful crime when it was too late.

In the summer of 2001 the gates of Shane Connelly’s personal hell opened. Dear God, why is this happening to me? My blood and their demons are trying to destroy me…

PROLOGUE

_____________________

Discount Blue Jeans

to Armani Suits

May 31, 2001, did more than approach. It screamed for attention like a two year old that dropped its pacifier in the cat litter box.

Shane Connelly awoke to the sounds of cats screaming, clawing, and ripping fur covered flesh. Jeez, that sounds like babies crying or banshee’s wailing, but I know the sound of feral cats in heat. He peered through his window to witness the sun rising with gentle touches of color and light as cats savagely mated. A scrawny kitten raced for cover along the densely wooded tree line in the back of the property.

He rose from his bed and walked to the hallway bathroom adjacent to his son’s room. Ouch! He looked under his right foot and found a broken glass vial. A steady trickle of blood oozed from his heel as it burrowed into the beige carpet leaving a sticky red stain.

He carefully picked up the glass shards. What the hell is this stuff? Maybe this is one of those perfume samples they give out in Macy’s. Odd, but there isn’t any odor. He entered the bathroom and placed the glass fragments into the waste paper basket. I better wash this cut with soap and water or it will get infected, he murmured.

The bleeding stopped.

Shane returned to his bedroom. Today he would meet with a financial planner to review his investment portfolio.

He momentarily glanced at the reflection in the dresser mirror. The seasoned contours of his face carried his ancestry’s markings with classic high cheekbones, an aquiline nose akin to JFK’s, electric blue eyes and jet-black hair. Upon closer inspection gentle wisps of silver strands were beginning to surface. He had a subtle but unmistakable likeness to the actor Pierce Brosnan.

He was taller than his favorite James Bond hero – standing six foot three – and carried two hundred and ten well-proportioned pounds. He showed no outward signs of middle age decay – especially the dreaded love handles. You’re fighting the good fight, he said with a thick dose of Irish Blarney.

He shook his head and smiled. It’s been some journey. You’ve come a long way from discount blue jeans to tailored Armani suits.

As he put on his suit jacket, the silk lining brushed against a raised part of his lower left forearm. He touched the jagged scar, a nasty reminder of the brutal gang fight between the Choir Boys led by his best friend Brad Lavorne and the Pagan Breed in his freshman year in high school. The Choir Boys kicked some ass that day. The Breed shouldn’t have crossed over to our turf. Bad idea.

He retraced the scar with his right index finger. The badge of hoodlum honor covered a wrist fracture that required a titanium screw to anchor the bone in place.

Well, I have my crazy friend Brad to thank for this piece of body art. God I miss that lunatic. But I don’t miss the street fights. It’s funny how things turned out. Brad went to juvie and I went to college. Go figure.

Welcome to the crazy world of Shane ‘Rags to Riches’ Connelly.

Everyone loves the story of an underdog making it in America. Living the American dream. Reaching for the stars, grabbing them, shaking them, and watching stardust fall on that thing called success – sweet, delicious, intoxicating success.

Shane silently sang Sinatra’s lyrics, If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere. It’s up to you New York, New York.

That’s bullshit, he thought. It’s up to me, not New York. It’s always been that way. And I made it, God damn it! I made it despite what the bastards told me from the time I was in grade school. They said I wasn’t smart enough. They said I ran with the wrong crowd – the Greasers. They said I should join my street fighting buddies in Vietnam. Shit even my high school guidance counselor said, "Son, you’re not college material. Don’t waste your parent’s money. You need to wise up and join the service."

Shane relished the day he graduated from Rutgers University with a business degree. Immediately after the graduation ceremony he drove back to his old stomping grounds to see Mr. Janeski. He entered the guidance office and threw his college diploma on Mr. J’s desk.

My, what’s that? That can’t be a college diploma. You said I wasn’t smart enough to go to college so I couldn’t possibly have earned a degree. Could I? Well, so much for your opinion, no make that career advice Mr. J. So what do you have to say now?

Son, I only told you that to motivate you.

Bullshit, Mr. J, you wrote me off. Bad move. And one more thing, in the famous words of my father, Opinions are like assholes, everybody has one."

Mr. J broke out in a big smile. Congratulations Shane! You did well. You’re the first Greaser from this school to earn a college degree.

Shane’s icy demeanor thawed. He smiled, reached out and shook his doubting guidance counselor’s hand.

That means a lot to me Mr. J.

Now go get your MBA Shane.

Shane left the room feeling a sense of satisfaction. He kept his promise to his parents. His blue collar dad and mom scraped and saved every dollar to give their son a chance to leave the tough streets of Smithvale and go to college. Richard Connelly worked double shifts as a welder at Ford assembling trucks while Adele Connelly worked at the local hospital in patient intake. Their faith in him was rewarded.

That same summer, Shane married his high school sweetheart, Tara Genovese. Tara, an only child, dreamed of having a large family. Shane wanted that and more. He wanted to make a fortune in business. He entered the consulting industry and climbed the career ladder as a turn-around specialist for failing companies while pursuing his MBA at Columbia. He used his blue collar DNA as a secret weapon to compete with blue blood Ivy League pretty boys wearing Brooks Brother suits. He was street smart, book smart and obsessed with becoming a success.

His hard work and ambition paid off. Who would have thought Shane Connelly would be a millionaire at the age of forty-five? Clearly not his naysayers – especially his Choir Boy gang buddies. Yet Shane parlayed an equity stake in his third turnaround company – a volatile Silicon Valley startup called Infinitron – into a cash-out exceeding a million dollars. Here he stood surrounded by the residue of success. He had a beautiful family, an estate home, a beach house, an apartment in New York City, a country club membership and a brand new Corvette.

I’ve beaten the odds. Shit, I could have been just another asshole Greaser smelling like gasoline with black grease embedded beneath my fingernails. I could have joined the pack of losers shooting pool at Kelly’s bar while hating my high school dream girl turned thunder thigh, lard assed wife raising a house full of rug rats. Good riddance to that nasty world I left behind in the old Smithvale neighborhood. Life couldn’t be better.

Shane finally achieved his career goal of making enough money to leave the corporate rat race. He planned to launch his own high tech firm, Parallax Café Technology. He believed his next challenge would be his finest moment, his defining hour.

He closed his eyes. His thoughts darkened. Who are you kidding? How did you let things get this bad at home?

A partially hidden birth mark, the reminder of his near fatal breech birth, surfaced in the shape of an angry crescent moon. He touched the raised area under his right cheekbone that carried the imprint of the obstetrician’s forceps. It appeared whenever he felt stress.

The clock was ticking. Tick tock. Tick tock.

*     *     *

CHAPTER 1

_____________________

Early Morning Mischief

On June 18, 2001, the phone rang at some crazy early morning hour when nocturnal creatures ruled the world and humans slept. Not this night. Not in the Connelly house.

The shock me back to my primitive senses feeling consumed Shane as he sat up. He wasn’t fully awake. He clearly wasn’t asleep. He was suspended in a queasy twilight state of unbalanced consciousness.

The room was dark. Coal tar dark.

He blindly grabbed for the cordless receiver. It slipped out of his hand, hit the floor and stopped ringing.

Jesus, who could be calling at this ungodly hour? he yelled.

He reached for his Sony dream machine combination clock radio and pulled it to his face. Without having his Bausch and Lomb multifocal contacts in his eyes, with a minus eight correction, he was virtually blind. He drew the clock closer to see the LED display. It was 1:30 a.m.

The phone rang again.

Shit. He reached for it and this time held on.

Hello?

Hi Dad, it’s me. I need your help.

Nick, what’s wrong? Are you in trouble again?

No Dad, my car won’t start and I need a jump.

Nick Connelly, Shane’s only son, had changed over the past six months. The little boy who Shane coached in baseball and basketball was now a man-child in search of something, but what? He was taller than his father by an inch, standing six foot four. He was Irish rogue handsome and carried an athlete’s physique on his chiseled two hundred and twelve pound frame. Yet something wasn’t right. Where he once could have once been mistaken as a stunt double for Brad Pitt, he now carried a malevolent aura. It followed him like a curse. He led a vampire-like existence of staying out all night, sometimes not sleeping for days and then collapsing in his bedroom.

Nick, where are you?

I’m at Kevin Coslett’s house on Nine Park Lane. You remember Kevin. We shot hoops with him and his brother John last summer. Can you come over with the jumper cables and help me get my car running?

Jesus Christ, Nick, do you know what time it is? It’s freakin’ one thirty in the morning. I have to leave for work in a few hours.

Shane heard the sound of bedroom doors opening.

Dad, who are you yelling at on the phone? asked his eleven year old daughter, Caitlin Joyce. She walked into his bedroom blinking sleep from her eyes.

Before Shane could answer his oldest daughter Jaclyn strode in and said, Go back to sleep, Sis. I have school today and you have cheerleading signup. It’s probably Nick out partying again and living life like a rock star … some rock star. If you want, you can sleep with me.

Shane stared at his girls with a mix of pride and pain. His oldest daughter had flowered into a statuesque beauty who could grace the cover of Vogue. She wore flats, never high heels, to stay a notch below the height of six foot. Her little Sister was no longer her little Sister. Nearly five foot seven, CJ carried the same features of her big Sis with large almond shaped eyes, a button nose, and honey blond hair. She was the tallest girl in her sixth grade class.

They don’t deserve being shaken out of their sleep again. This has to stop.

Jaclyn lovingly swept back some fallen hair that covered her sister’s face and said, Dad, I know that’s Nick on the other end of the phone. Tell him he needs to grow up and stop stealing shit from me and CJ. He’s an asshole.

The girls walked away with Jaclyn placing her arm over CJ’s shoulder as they entered Jaclyn’s bedroom. Jaclyn was more than an older sister. At the age of twenty-two she acted as CJ’s mentor, role model and surrogate mother.

Shane returned to the conversation with his son in a burst of frustration, Nick, now your sisters are awake. They deserve a normal house where normal people go to sleep at normal hours. You’re turning this morning into an absolute nightmare!

Shane heard breathing on the other end of the phone line. No response.

Nick, you know I get up at five to catch an early train into the city. Don’t your friends know how to jumpstart a car?

Dad, it’s just me and Sheri here. I really need your help.

OK, I’ll be right over. But this is crazy, Nick. This pattern of hanging out with your friends all night long has to stop immediately. DO YOU HEAR ME!

Shane slammed down the phone. I can’t believe this shit! he yelled.

Another voice sounded. Whazz going on? Now Tara Connelly was up with the rest of her family.

Something bad was happening in the Connelly home. The pattern began in January and showed no signs of ebbing. Money and jewelry recently disappeared from the house. Shane began locking his wallet in his car. His wife’s jewelry box was looted of her favorite gold earrings and diamond necklace. His daughters had money and personal items stolen from their purses. On three occasions cars vanished like ghosts from the driveway. First Tara Connelly’s car disappeared. Then Nick’s car went missing. Both cars mysteriously returned the next day before a police report could be filed. A third incident occurred the previous Friday. Now Nick had apparently located his car but it wouldn’t start.

Shane quickly dressed. He put on jeans, a black short sleeve shirt and brown loafers. He walked over to his wife’s bedroom.

Tara, Nick’s having car problems. He needs a jump.

Whozz there? Are you a bad person who wants to hurt me?

Tara, it’s me. Why are you talking crazy?

I’m not crazy. You’re the crazy one.

Shane heard the sound of footsteps.

Watzz wrong with Nick. Is he OK?

That’s what I’m about to find out.

The door unlocked.

A window in his mind brought Shane back to the day he met his wife to be in high school. Tara Genovese stood by her locker and their eyes met. He was smitten from the first magical glance. She had perfect Nordic features accented by shoulder length blond hair that flowed like delicate strands of tinseled sunshine. Her figure would have made the creators of the Barbie doll rethink the image of the ideal female form. Her otherwise faultless profile was marred by a single imperfection – a slight gap between her front teeth. She was perfectly imperfect. He knew she was the one.

The door opened.

Tara stared at her husband with an unsteady gaze, swaying back and forth. Matted yellow hair, bloated cheeks, and distant eyes, replaced her once beautiful Nordic features. The smell of rum seeped through her pores.

Something caught Shane’s peripheral vision. He looked away from his wife and peered into the partially opened bedroom closet. Three empty vodka bottles were littered on the floor. Returning his glance he spotted a liter of rum on her night table with a half full glass beside it.

"Tara, why are you drinking again? The doctor told you how dangerous it is to mix alcohol with Stelazine. At least listen to him, if you don’t believe anything I say."

I don’t need any med… med-a-k-shun. So when did you starrrtt worrying about me? You leffft me. Now yoooo return home and sleeeep in a sep-a-rit bedroooom. Why? Why did you come back? Nobody wants you here. You’re a hippo, a hippo-crit, she slurred. You’re a bastard.

Jaclyn and CJ begged me to come back home. They’re scared.

Scarrred of what?

Scared for their safety. They said Nick and his friends turned the house into a party and drug scene immediately after we separated and I began living in the city.

Thazz a lie. Nothing happened. Jaclyn just wants to get Nick in trouble. She’s a trouble maker.

Look Tara, I’ve come back home to try to make us a family again. My leaving didn’t solve anything. And your drinking won’t solve anything. You’re going to drink yourself to death. Don’t you know how much it hurts everyone to see you like this?

The door slammed shut. Shane heard the dead bolt slide into place and what sounded like a chair being wedged under the door knob.

Jesus, is Tara losing her grip on reality again? Is she hearing voices?

The Connelly’s house, a five bedroom Tudor styled estate in upscale Westvale, was their seventh home in twenty-four years of marriage. They had no choice but to move from their previous