"Dr. T', awakened by his wife's surreptitious sojourn from their bed to shutting the front door behind her, leaves him to wonder why the sudden interest in the morning Raleigh News and Observer, when she only reads the Sunday paper? To answer the question, he tip-toes across the hall into his oldest daughter's bedroom where, peering through the head-high horizontal window, he sees his wife, her robe open, standing under the streetlight, exchanging oral fluids with the Mormon father of four from across the street. His male pride rules until back in bed he realizes that he is now free to harvest his Platonic love for Lori Phelps, former Miss Charlotte, and current social worker/colleague at the Thigpen Center for 1,000 mentally retarded adult wards of the State of North Carolina, under the stewardship of its governor, in loco parentis. At 2:45 that afternoon, Lori having been an unusual no-show for the 2 o'clock meeting, Dr. T' finds himself wandering toward the remote stand of pine and poplars in the back corner of the 55-acre sandhills campus, so far removed that Dr. T didn't ' know it existed. A high light rain causes him to scurry for shelter. Four gray, weathered picnic tables, camp off the road which encircles the grounds, just under the first trees. Two tables covered by pine needles, confess their infrequent use. The table deepest into the glen appears to have been the victim of a resident recently having spilled a drink -- maybe a coke or Dr. Pepper, a popular drink, with a Moon Pie in eastern North Carolina. With inexplicable caution, Dr. T dips his index finger into the liquid, smells nothing, then rubs his finger and thumb, announcing, "Blood!" Panning 180 degrees and seeing no one, he looks through the trees as deep into the woods as he can, until his view is cut off by a ravine. A trail of something being dragged leaves the foot of the table and heads down into the woods taking Dr. T with it...toward a log, as if the log had made the trail. Now within a few feet of the log, a spotlight prying away the branches overhead, shines on a strand of gold -- human hair. Picking away the dirt and debris, as if playing the child's game of pick-up sticks, he finds a face -- Lori's face! Like a lone wolf howling at the midnight moon, Dr. T wails his grief as if an echo to the storm's first thunder. After preening her face with his handkerchief, he closes her eyes, wipes blood from six puncture wounds the size of a .22 caliber around each nipple, concludes the wound in her neck was the fatal one, covers her torso with his dress shirt, and while carrying her to a more befitting bier, a posse lead by Lori's future father-in-law, and Raybon's father, Superintendent of Custody and Control, aka "Little Hitler," arrests Dr. T for Lori's murder. Murder or tragedy? Can someone with an IQ of 38 commit murder? Does someone determined not able to participate in his own defense, forfeit his due process rights. his 14th Amendment right to "equal protection under the laws," his right to an attorney and guardian as litem? How is Dr. T going to parcel out his desire to avenge Lori's death, his need to establish his innocence, his duty to represent and protect a resident in loco parentis, his belief that Lori would have forgiven the resident, his passion to decriminalize Lori's death -- celebrate her as the martyr and victim of the State of North Carolina's failure to train and protect Lori, and Dr. T's determination to demonstrate that the Governor's fingerprints were on the weapon that caused Lori's death
About the Author: Parentless, raised by adoptive grandparents and Boston foster father, exiled to a NC college by his pedophile high school English teacher, put himself thru BA, MA, and Ph.D, As sophomore, he writes a play attacking the Smith Act's violations of free speech, but no NC person would type script. Writes screenplay "Hoss", but Hollywood prof said he made it seem as if all MR's were murderers. (His son was mentally retarded). 'Hoss" now novel --"The Governor's Fingerprints." Until retiring, R.G.'s writings had been ambushed by needing "real jobs" --three daughters, one son, and four divorces. (Read "Johnny Carson, Ted Williams, and Me," for the sounds and fury of a wolf gnawing off its leg to free itself from trap laid by NC criminal -- "dirty judges" --described in his Book, "Good Dad-- Bad Mom" Part 2.