John R. Warmus
Pam Hastings was beautiful, intelligent, and liked by everyone who knew her. She had just turned eighteen and was to start her senior year at Millford High until . . . leaving behind no note to justify her tragic decision, she drove out to Forest Lake and killed herself. The small, affluent community of Millford, Indiana is stunned by her unexplained suicide.
A short time later, another high school student drowns during swim class. An accident or suicide? And still another takes his own life.
Psychiatrist Robert Steiner is shocked at the loss of three of his son's best friends -- his son who is now living in Israel with his mother.
Desperate for answers, the mayor of Millford engages Steiner as a forensic psychiatrist. While attempting to uncover the underlying reasons for the deaths, Robert receives a phone call from an old professor who offers a startling explanation for the deaths.
'A Suicide Club,' Professor Stanley tells his ex-student. 'It only strikes in even numbers. You don't have much time until the next one dies.'
Not sure whether he should believe such a bizarre theory, he is afraid of the consequences should he ignore such a possibility. Robert rushes headlong into his search for the obvious connection that ties the members of the Suicide Club together. He only hopes it will be in time to stop its next victim.
John R. Warmus was born in Chicago, Illinois and educated in the city's parochial school system. Always restless, he moved to Scottsdale, Arizona where he met his wife (a published poet) and 'in-house' editor. He has divided his time between traveling and writing, using the former to enhance the latter. Currently settled in Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, he has lived in Costa Rica and spent extensive time in Kenya, Africa, specifically areas in the northeast which form the backdrop for his latest novel, THE TOURIST LADY.
Other Books by the Author
THE INSTITUT D’INFANTILES: LaRochelle, France; 1938. Edmond Defont begins his police investigation into the nightmares of David Proust, a young, affable priest who dreams and women die. When his prime suspect disappears in the middle of the night, followed by his best friend, Defont’s search takes him to the Institut d’Infantiles: an ancient Roman fortress in the middle of the Carpathian Mountains in the wilds of Poland: a place that conceals the mysteries of centuries.
THE TOURIST LADY: Three million people have died in the Bush country of Northern Kenya. The desert scrub hides the corpses. The Tourist Lady: cold, heartless, unsympathetic to Lucy’s progeny, is on the loose in Africa and the world turns a blind eye to the destruction of the Third World. The WAO’s diabolical plans to bring Africa back to its primitive ways is churning ahead full steam. Can Bob Samuels discover their secret in time to prevent genocide? If the WAO is not stopped, all of Africa will be turned into a giant game park. Scheduled for publication in late 2000 or early 2001.
THE GREEN MAN: (Work in progress.) An ecological thriller set deep in the Amazon Basin. An American expatriate and his adopted Peruvian daughter are caught up in a revolution to save the rainforest.
Chat with the author: jrwarmus@yahoo.com
Moonlight shimmered across the rippled water. Caught in the late summer breezes, Forest Lake danced wildly one moment and then, as the wind died to a whisper, lay still with the quiet of impenetrable depths. She tried to imagine the scene as it might have been viewed by ancient men, with awe and the intelligence to appreciate the beauty; to wonder why moonbeams did not penetrate the water and disappear; to wonder why the surface of the water danced with light while the rest of the lake remained black as obsidian. Frogs croaked their melodious messages of creation, anxious with the coming of winter. Insects fluttered and buzzed. Occasionally catching the glare of a stray moonbeam, they turned into iridescent sprites.
She sat on the north bank of the lake several hundred yards from the picnic area that only a short time ago had been filled with families celebrating Labor Day. The faint odors of spent charcoal, barbecue sauce and grilled hamburgers still lingered, but gone were the sounds of laughter, screaming kids, splashing water and parents' warnings to stay where the water was shallow.
Several years ago, the very place where she now sat had been just a barren stretch at the lake's edge. She could remember coming here with her parents; helping plant the seedlings that had grown and now covered the landscape. The renovation of Forest Lake had been a community affair, a labor of love designed to beautify what had once been a gaping hole created to supply gravel for the new interstate highway. Now the lake was the main source of water for Millford. A state-of-the-art water tower held court directly across her line of sight, visible in the glare of the upturned modern lights that surrounded its base. Shining a pure white against the night sky, it had a certain charm she could not understand, nor did she try. There were other things on her mind.
Her red tank top and matching pair of shorts had been fine for the heat of a summer's day, but nightfall had brought a taste of autumn to the air. Even though she usually adored running barefoot, her feet were cold inside her summer sandals. If she had rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, she would have smiled to feel chilly bumps beneath her touch, but one hand held a can of Pepsi and the other tightly clutched an empty plastic container. With a shiver she tucked her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms tightly around them and nestled the Pepsi can in the soft sand beside the top of the pill bottle. It seemed so important that it not spill. Strands of auburn hair covered her face, occasionally pushed back in a gentle caress by the soft wind. It was a fine night to die.
Her eyelids grew heavy. As her vision slowly blurred, she delighted in surrendering to the overpowering urge to lie down and sleep. After all, this had been her decision. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was the right one and then laughed. It didn't matter now. The deed was done. She would be sleeping soon and then, if everything were right in the universe, she and her friends would be joined for eternity. Of that she had no doubt.
It had not taken long to know who she wanted to spend an eternity with. They all had felt the same. No one could have convinced her that death would not be the fulfillment of their dream. No one. Not even if they had been around to try. This bond of friendship, the seal that had been broken, would be closed.
She had no regrets. No regrets at all.
In that last rush of breath (she could not know it was her last and yet she knew) she saw them standing around her, smiling. Saw each of them reach into a discarded cereal box painted in bright yellows and reds and pull a number from its depths. Saw herself clutching a number, peeking, feeling flush and thankful that she had drawn the honor of being first even though it no longer mattered. From the moment the numbers had gone into the box, the pact was irrevocably sealed. Each and every one of them knew what their future held. The only mystery that remained was the date and for that they were content to wait, secure that their fates would be spent together, happy and laughing as God had intended.
A small gust of wind pushed her over. Her fall was without pain. The plastic container she had clutched so tightly dropped from her hand and rolled a few feet away. For a moment it was caught in the light of the moon and glistened like a star in the heavens.
* * *
The Chief of Police stood mesmerized by the slight smile on her face. Frank Rios had seen too many dead in Vietnam to know that no one smiled with their final breath. Faces froze with silent screams, terror still evident in unseeing eyes when death whispered in their ear. But when he had brushed Pam Hastings' hair from her face, the smile had been unavoidable. Not a full bubble smile, but the light trace of happiness reflecting some far off expectation, some inside joke he could not understand.
He thought of his two daughters he would not trade for the world: Emily, only fourteen, and Joyce, looking forward to turning sixteen so she could drive. Already she wanted to rush into life. Already . . .
Not sure why memories of his family flashed through his mind (Oh, yes, he was. Oh, yes. They were precious to him. Bright and alive. They were where he wanted to be right now. Some place away from here .. . Far away.), he looked up from Pam's curled and lifeless body and watched as one of his police officers finished carefully bagging the empty pill container, cap and partially filled can of Pepsi. Not one single, hopeful sign of a struggle.
The confusion only added to his pain. (Why had she done this?) He knew the dead girl. Had gone to school with her father. Both the Hastings' and the Rios' families had lived in Millford for over a hundred years. Pam was not a stranger he could walk away from after a perfunctory glance. (And why was she so happy?)
For the last forty minutes in the gray light of dawn, he and his men had searched the area surrounding the young girl's body for anything that might erase the blatant, unavoidable, unbelievable conclusion . . . suicide. There had been no reason for Pam Hastings to take her own life, yet she lay on the ground only a few feet away, chilling him with her frozen smile.
