The Common Thread

Michael Adams walked out his back door into a yard beautifully illuminated by a full moon. He looked at the silver blue ring encircling it, ice crystals promised winter. He savored the quiet moment. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind grabbed and swirled the remaining autumn leaves at his feet, creating ominous whispers through the pines—murmurs that sent shivers down his back. He scanned the area. Over the last month, he’d been unable to shake this strange, uneasy feeling. This sensation wasn’t new—always an omen for the unexpected. Dark clouds closed in on the moon forming eerie shadows on the lawn wrapping him in darkness. Michael took a deep breath and asked for protection. Traces of moonlight played on the turrets of his house—a forewarning?
The slamming of his neighbor’s door jerked him out of his trance. He hurried toward his car—time to get to work.
* * * *

Traffic was heavy for this time of night, probably a game in town. He flipped radio stations hoping to hear something other than dire news. He shook his head. Not much good happening in the world.
His evening talk show at EPOH radio was one of the joys of his life. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into tonight’s broadcast. A recent judicial ruling lit his fire and he wanted to fan the flames with the public. It was bizarre any rational human being could award probation to a child-molester. Something was ¬definitely wrong and something needed to be done. He hoped the debate on this evening’s program would turn up some answers.
As he drove, his sister’s image played in his head. As always, sadness followed remembrances of Celeste. He pounded the steering wheel with his fist. What a lousy big brother. Big brothers are supposed to take care of their little sisters. It’s been twenty-eight years. Where are you, Celeste? How young and stupid I was back then. I hope I’m wiser now and, God knows, I’m certainly older.
Children need protection. They need a champion. That’s what my show is about.
Hell, that’s what my life is about. If I wanted to play it safe, I would have gotten into a different line of work.
* * * *

He had little time to catch his breath before taking his seat and greeting his guests, retired judges and lawyers. He had to keep his cool—there was a lot riding on tonight. He was on.
Michael started the child-molestation debate with some hard-hitting questions about laws protecting children. Accusations and criticisms soared around the table. Accountability and solutions grew into pompous rhetoric. The call board blazed with lights, but he waited for the dialog to heat up. When he smelled smoke, he answered calls.
“Hello, Chicago.”
“Hey, Michael. Love your show. I can’t believe this could happen. What kind of man is this Judge Evans? Obviously, he doesn’t have kids.”
“I agree, man. Thanks for calling.”
“New York?”
“Michael, I think the judges who let the guys or gals walk are sick. Makes me wonder why they empathize with these criminals. Are they cut from the same cloth?”
“Whoa! I don’t think we want to go down that path—that’s another show. Thanks for your call.”
“Arkansas, you’re on.”
“Michael, Reverend Shaw here. I really enjoy your show. I didn’t agree with what Judge Evans did, but I do think some of these troubled people who harm children can be saved and should be given a chance. ‘Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.’ I preach forgiveness every Sunday to my congregation.”
“Sorry, Reverend, but I couldn’t disagree with you more. I think we have enough data on child molesters to know very few change. They might want to, doctors prescribe drugs hoping they will, but sometimes hideous beasts lie just beneath the surface waiting for reasons to strike.”
“Alabama, let’s hear from you.”
“God forgive me, but until you experience the pain—” he hesitated— “you have no idea. I say Reverend Shaw is wrong. I think we should take revenge here on earth, let God handle them when they’re dead. I say kill the bastards.”
“I understand. Ohio, what’s on your mind?”
“Well, Michael, I’m shocked the gentleman from New York would come up with such a ridiculous idea about our judges. I’m sure all our judges are fine, upstanding people. Cut from the same cloth—what a terrible thing to imply.”
“I’m sure most of our judges are fine people.”
“California, you’re on.”
“I see no excuse to ever take a life.”
“Well, that’s debatable.”
Michael started wrapping up the night’s session by reviewing listeners’ outrage that a judge would give a child-molester probation. Most callers demanded Judge Evans step down, others agreed that molesters deserved a second chance, some suggested counseling.
The director motioned to Michael—lines were closing.
“Thanks to all for sharing your opinions. We’ll be back tomorrow night with—”
“Michael?” A woman’s captivating voice drifted through the studio.
Michael looked toward the director in the control booth. Bob raised both hands showing he had nothing to do with the caller.
“Michael,” the voice continued, “time is of the essence. I’m very troubled. My world is filled with evil that’s spreading like fungus on a tree, and the tree is dying. It seemed insignificant when it started, but now it’s consuming the whole tree. My question is, should I let it die a slow painful death or end it now?”
“Wait, please. End what? Let’s talk about this. Things can’t be all that bad.”
Bob’s voice played in his ear. “Keep her talking—we have some time to kill.”
When the caller didn’t get a response, she began again. “Michael, are you still there? I need someone to tell me what to do. I hope you and your listeners can give me some advice on how to get the evil out of my world.”
Michael ran his fingers through his hair and tried to sound composed. “Exactly what evil are you talking about?”
“You discuss it every day on your show—people who destroy children, kill, steal, start wars in the name of their gods. Right now, Michael, there is more hate than love in my world, more evil than good. It’s not the first time this has happened. I’ve handled it in the past, or thought I had. Some good died with the bad, but this time I let it go on too long. Now it’s widespread.” She hesitated and a heartfelt sigh drifted through the studio.
“You know, I would love to help you. I don’t want anybody to die. Unfortunately, my air time is over, but I’d like to stay and talk with you off air.”
“Oh, Michael, maybe my timing is wrong. I’ll say goodbye for now. I’ll try to sort this out.”
“Well, folks, sorry we have to end without a response for our intriguing caller, but regrettably I must say good night.”
As he went off air, he stared at Bob. “What the hell was that about? You kept me on the hot seat way too long. Christ, look at my shirt, it’s soaked. Why did you keep me on air with a nut case?”
Bob tried to smile. “Calm down. Something is screwed up.”
“You think?”
“Easy, man. She popped up at the last minute, I got so caught up in her voice that by the time I looked for a way to cut her off, she did it herself. I have to tell you though, I wouldn’t mind if she called back—the switchboard lit up like the New York skyline. Time stood still for a few minutes. What a voice. If she’s not too crazy, maybe I’ll hire her.”