A CHILD IS TORN

Description

When dependable Evan Madison fails to show up for work, police are dispatched to his home. His ten-year-old son, Brad, is discovered inside, unharmed and seemingly alone. He is stoic, sitting in front of the television playing his favorite video game, Super Mario—and he's covered in blood.

Veteran Police Officer Marty Keal is the first on the scene. With his many years of experience, he thinks he's seen it all. That is, until he discovers Brad's not really alone after all. Upstairs in their bedroom lies the brutally bludgeoned and deceased bodies of both his mother and his father. When questioned, Brad confesses to the horrific murders.

When Brad is transferred to a local mental health institution for children, Dr. Hope Rubin is brought in to evaluate and treat the child. A preliminary investigation shows no evidence of any kind of mistreatment in his past. She must determine the disturbing truth: Is Brad telling the truth? Or is he covering for someone else?

Detective Jean Whitely rounds out the investigative team; and she suspects there is much more to the case than what meets the eye. The happily married mother of two is unwavering in her determination to uncover the real truth about Brad. Was he abused? Or is he the product of an evil seed born to kill?

As the layers of truth about Brad are systematically peeled away, you will be compelled to ask yourself, which is the more dominate factor in contributing to who we are—NATURE or NURTURE?

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About the Author

Author Name : DAWN KOPMAN WHIDDEN

     

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Latest Poem

I was alone

when I went searching

   for your face

in all the crowded bars

where love hides out

under an assumed name.

           

There were many other faces

decorated with whiskey smiles

   and anxious lips

ready to whisper

anything I wanted to hear

but never telling me

what I really

   needed to know.

 

Why do those faces

always look so desirable

   at night

and so terribly lonely

when the morning sun

invades my one-room world

and splashes across

   the tumbled bed?

 

I didn't know your name

   then

or even what you looked like.

But I recognized you

by the sadness

in your eyes.

   Or was it

the reflection

of my own

lonely stare?

(Excerpt from the “Sadness of Happy Times” by Lou Duro: www.louduro.com)

 

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