The Accidental Hero (3 page)

Pete sniffed wetly.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do. By
instinct, he stepped forward. The killer’s autopilot instinct was
kicking in. Pete stepped up to the foot of the stage. Pastor Rick
had come down to meet the half dozen people coming up for
prayer.

Pete reached into his breast
pocket.

Gripped his gun.

The idea of coming home, in
from the cold, the rain drew him like a moth to a porch light. And
yet, the part of him that was so natural, so ingrained compelled
him to finish the job.
Don’t get taken in.
You’re just getting emotional.

He was sobbing now, but it didn’t draw
any undue attention. The other people coming forward were also
weeping. Tears of joy, tears of repentance. Something amazing was
happening to them.

And something horrible was happening
to Pete.

His mind, his soul was being torn in
two.

He thought of his hatred for
God.

He thought of his love for his
father.

Without thinking, but sobbing
shamelessly, Pete pulled out the Glock.

Screams went out. People spread out
away from him like oil from a drop of dish soap.

Burly security guards rushed
forward.

But then Pastor Rick shouted, “Wait!”
Somehow he knew.

Stunned, the guards
stopped.

Pete fell to his knees, holding the
gun by the muzzle and offering it to anyone who would take it. “I’m
sorry! God, I’m so sorry!” The gun fell to the floor with a quiet
thud.

Burying his face in his hands, he
rocked back and forth and felt something deep in his spirit—a place
he didn’t know was there and yet, he always knew.

Peace flooded it.

Right there, right then, Big Pete
prayed with Pastor Rick, and asked The Big J into his life. He’d
never known peace like that in his whole life, because he knew he’d
been forgiven.

Big Pete felt so much joy because that
day, when he set out to kill a man of God, he found his redemption.
It wasn’t hard for him to turn himself in and confess to the judge
and jury all the crimes he’d committed because he’d already made
the big confession.

So he pled guilty to twelve counts of
murder and didn’t bother to appeal. The judge sentenced him to
death. But he did some good, my man Pete. A whole lotta good, you
know? He turned in all those people who’d hired him for murder, and
that wasn’t all. For the nine years he’d been here on death row,
he’s become the most respected and feared inmate in Salton Sea
State Penitentiary.

And not only that; he’s helped over a
hundred and fifty men, young and old, find the same peace and
forgiveness he has. Some gang members here really turned it around
through his help, even went back into the real world and have
become ministers, and youth workers helping kids avoid the same
mistakes they made.

Big Pete speaks once a month at the
chapel and says, he needs to pay for his crimes here on earth, it’s
only right. But he knows that he’s been forgiven—even someone with
as rotten a past as his. And one day, like the prodigal son, he’s
going to go home to where all things will be made new.

So right now, I’m looking at Big Pete.
He’s smiling at me, even though he’s in chains about to be led into
the execution chamber where they’re gonna pump him with a lethal
cocktail.

“
You okay, Big Pete?” The
words snag in my throat like a hook.

“
Yeah. Don’t worry about
me, B. I’m good.”

I reach over and hug his neck, bash
knuckles with him, and try not to cry, but I can’t help it. Big
Pete’s been like a father to me. He turned me around from an angry,
violent kid, to someone who’s helping other inmates find their
redemption. “You’re a good man, Pete.”

He shakes his head. “I only pray that
those families will find it in their hearts to forgive me for what
I’d done. But even if that don’t, I’m ready.”

Pete stands. The chains around his
feet jangle as he meets the guards at our cell door. He’s about to
walk the Sunset Mile, that long orange corridor to the chamber. His
eyes light up. “Don’t worry, B. It’s not goodbye. Not
forever.”

The cell door slams shut. I watch as
he strides with his head held high past cells and cells. All the
inmates that Big Pete has reached, too many to count, stick out
their hands, pat his back, his shoulder. They all call out their
good wishes, some of them—big tough men—their voices
breaking.

“
Goodbye, Big
Pete!”

“
We love you, Big
Pete!”

“
You da Man, Big
Pete!”

Big Pete stops for a moment. The
guards just wait. He turns around and smiles, his eyes shimmering.
“Y’all be good. I’ll see you all there, on that day.”

Then he takes a deep breath, turns to
face the corridor,

And walks the Sunset Mile.

FROM THE DESK OF JOSHUA
GRAHAM

Dear Reader,

I’d like to take this opportunity
to thank you for reading THE ACCIDENTAL HERO.  It means so
much to me.

Did you know that
you
 
as the
reader are the
 
reason we writers write?  Sure, we write to make a
living, but most of all we write to entertain
and
 
take you
places you might not otherwise go in “real” life.

As
writers,
 
we
owe such a great deal of our success to you, for it there were no
readers, there would be no way for a writer’s career to
succeed.  Yes, I am stating the fairly obvious, but what you
may not know is that you hold the power to turn your favorite
authors into bestsellers.  That’s right,
you.

How, you may ask?

It’s a simple thing you do all the
time without even thinking about it.  It’s called “word of
mouth.” 

If you have enjoyed any of my
work, please recommend my books and stories to your friends. 
One day, you can say with pride that you helped me become a
bestselling writer!  Wouldn’t that be fantastic?

Here are some other ways you
can
 
support
 
your
 
favorite authors:

1. Send a note with your
feedback!  You can reach me at:
 
www.facebook.com/j0shuaGraham

2. Leave a glowing review
wherever you can
.

3.
 
Keep reading!  The
more
 
of
 
an
author’s work
 
you read, the more it encourages him/her to continue
writing.

Thanks, and I look forward to
“seeing” you in my next story or book.

Best wishes,

Joshua Graham

PS: Be sure to check out my
debut novel BEYOND JUSTICE,
 
available
at
 
all major
online retailers.

EXCERPT from the #1 bestselling
Legal Thriller and winner of the 2011 International Book
Awards

BEYOND JUSTICE, by Joshua
Graham

PART I

The descent into Hell is not
always vertical.

—
Bishop Frank Morgan

Chapter One

The question most people ask when they first
meet me is: How does an attorney from a reputable law firm in La
Jolla end up on death row? When they hear my story, it becomes
clear that the greater question is not how, but why.

I have found it difficult at times to forgive
myself for what happened. But a significant part of the answer
involves forgiveness, something I never truly understood until I
could see in hindsight.

Orpheus went through hell and back to rescue
his wife Euridice from death in the underworld. Through his music,
he moved the hearts of Hades and Persephone and they agreed to
allow Euridice to return with him to Earth on one condition: He
must walk before her and not look back until they reached the upper
world. On seeing the Sun, Orpheus turned to share his delight with
Euridice, and she disappeared. He had broken his promise and she
was gone forever. This failure and guilt was a hell far worse than
the original.

My own personal hell began one night almost
four years ago. Like images carved into flesh, the memories of that
night would forever be etched into my mind. The work day had been
tense enough—my position at the firm was in jeopardy because of the
inexplicable appearance of lewd internet images in my folder on the
main file server.

Later that night, as I
scrambled to get out the door on time for a critical meeting with a
high profile client, my son Aaron began throwing a screaming fit.
Hell hath no fury like a boy who has lost his Thomas Train toy. In
my own frenzied state, I lost my temper with him. Amazing how much
guilt a four-year-old can pile on you with puppy-dog eyes while
clinging to his mother's legs. His sister Bethie, in all her
seventh grade sagacity, proclaimed that I had issues,
then marched up to her room, slammed the door and
took out her frustration with me by tearing though a Paganini
Caprice on her violin. All this apocalypse just minutes before
leaving for my meeting, which was to be held over a posh dinner at
George's At The Cove, which I would consequently have no stomach
for.

I couldn't wait to get home. The clock's amber
LED read 11:28 when I pulled my Lexus into the cul-de-sac. Pale
beams from a pregnant moon cut through the palm trees that lined
our street. The October breeze rushed into the open window and
through my hair, a cool comfort after a miserable
evening.

If I was lucky, Jenn would be up and at the
computer, working on her latest novel. She'd shooed me out the door
lest I ran late for the meeting, before I could make any more of a
domestic mess for her to clean up.

The garage door came down. I walked over to
the security system control box and found it unarmed. On more than
one occasion, I had asked Jenn to arm it whenever I was out. She
agreed, but complained that the instructions were too complicated.
It came with a pretty lame manual, I had to admit.

The system beeped as I entered the house,
greeted by the sweet scent of Lilac—her favorite candles for those
special occasions. So much more than I deserved, but that was my
Jenn. Never judging, never condemning, she understood how much
stress I'd been under and always prescribed the best remedy for
such situations.

From the foot of the stairs I saw dimmed light
leaking out of the bedroom. It wasn't even date night, but I had a
pretty good idea what she was thinking. So before going up, I
stopped by the kitchen, filled a pair of glasses with Merlot and
set out a little box of chocolates on a breakfast tray—my secret
weapon.

As I climbed the stairs I
smiled. The closer I got, the more I could smell the fragrant
candles. From the crack in the door classical music flowed
out:
Pie Jesu
from Faure's
Requiem.
Must've been writing a love scene. She always
used my classical CDs to set her in the right
mood.

A beam of amber light reached through the
crack in the doorway into the hallway. The alarm system beeped. She
must have shut a window. It had just started to rain and Jenn hated
when the curtains got wet.

Kathleen Battle's angelic voice
soared.

Pie Jesu
Domine
,
Dona eis requiem
,
Requiem sempiternam.

Jenn didn't know a word of Latin. She just
liked the pretty tunes.

I nudged the door open with my
foot.

"Honey?" Caught a glimpse of a silky leg on
the bed. Oh, yes. I pushed the door open.

Shock ignited every nerve ending in my body
like napalm. The tray fell from my hands. Crashed to the ground.
Glasses shattered and the red wine bled darkly onto the
carpet.

Jenn lay partially naked,
face-down, the sheets around her soaked crimson.
 
Stab wounds scored her entire body.
Blood. Blood everywhere!

"Jenn!"

I ran to her, turned her over.

She gasped, trying to speak. Coughed. Red
spittle dripped from the corner of her mouth. "The
kids..."

I took her into my arms. But her eyes begged
me to go check on them.

"You hang on, honey. With all you've got, hang
on!" I reached for my cell phone but it fell out of my belt clip
and bounced under the bed.