Home
The Transformation Trilogy
A Picture is ...
Events and Workshops
Post Publication Research
Reviews
Links
Stories
Music for Moods 
Memorial
A Pesticide Connection?
The Infection Question and other triggers
For Professionals: Highlights of Orthomolecular Health Conferences, 2008 and 2005

Prologue

James Mangram had scarcely moved since starting his trip early on the morning of July 26, 1932. Between his departure from Los Angeles and his arrival in Oakland in the late afternoon, he mostly sat slumped in the rail car holding his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. Passengers embarked and disembarked, but he did not look up, and no one intruded upon his evident preoccupation. Only when the train pulled out of the Oakland station on the final leg of his long journey did his grief-weary eyes glance up to take in the sight of the early evening fog rolling in, half-shrouding the San Francisco skyline and covering the bay with an eerie blanket of gray. Each clack of the metal wheels took him one rail-length closer to his Napa destination. As the clatter increased, the train picking up speed, James put his head into his hands again. His thoughts were fixed on the car behind him. It held the remains of what had just two days earlier been his 36-year-old wife, Harriet, and their 7-year-old son, Lloyd. The bodies shared a casket.

Paying for two caskets would not have been a problem. James’s career with the Associated Oil Company in Oakland and, later, Los Angeles, had flourished. Since he and Harriet had married in 1921, they had purchased and rented out three houses, all of which assured extra monthly income. Financially, in spite of the Depression, life had been good to them ... that is, until now. No, paying for two caskets was not the issue. The issue was the possibility of someone seeing him with two caskets, offering condolences and then, as if that gave them the right, asking unwanted, unanswerable questions. Besides, despite what had happened, he wouldn’t have felt right separating mother and son.

As he had done repeatedly since their deaths, James retraced his actions prior to and during the day of July 24th. Had he said something unkind? Had he been too busy with his work? Had there been an unresolved argument? He couldn’t identify anything out of the ordinary. Lloyd was a friendly, cooperative child. James could think of nothing that Lloyd might have done to provoke his mother’s rage. James had never known Harriet to lose her temper, either at him or at Lloyd. He had noticed that Harriet had been quiet and not sleeping well, but she had experienced this problem before and it had always seemed to pass.

He replayed the unwanted scene over and over again in the back of his mind. He recalled how the shots had awakened him in the early morning, felt again the initial shock, the confusion, how his mind had almost immediately begun to search for explanations — engine backfires, an explosion, a lightning strike, anything but the murder-suicide of his son and wife. But when he’d stumbled into his son’s bedroom, as much as he wanted to deny the evidence of his eyes, he could not. Even now, he could not escape the image of his mortally wounded wife lying over the lifeless body of their only child. He doubted he ever would.

To read more click here.

Nu-Tune Press

Transform the labels;  Transform a Life

The Transformation Trilogy

Dream TOC Foreword Intro Prologue

           E-mail feedback, stories, comments  

                      Call 530-432-4863 to inquire about speaking engagements, workshops.           

              Copyright 2003 Nu-Tune Press, All Rights Reserved
            Last modified: August 14, 2016