Could innocent blood ever be washed away? Would my hands ever be clean again if I continued on this course? The gas would make them choke, gasping for breath as life was strangled to nothingness. Morphine would make them euphoric, and an overdose would put them to sleep, peacefully, with no pain. A sleep from which they would not wake, but they would be safe from the evil that awaited them otherwise.
I filled the second syringe. I thought of each child as I punctured the rubber stopper, the needle sucking up the lethal fluid filling the tube. Little Wilhelm. My treasured leader of the pack. The braces on his legs never stopped his imagination from soaring. Lara. An artist’s soul expressed with the one good hand she had. Art reflective of the beauty living in her heart. The twins. Isn’t intelligence measured with creativity? I would sorely miss their energy.
My hand slipped, and the needle grazed the knuckle of my thumb. I swore and bit my lip. Perfect. I’ll kill myself before I get a chance to euthanize my children. Then, after I enter Heaven’s gates, if He lets me inside them, God can tell me I am an idiot and a murderer.
I rubbed my shoulders. They hunched with an invisible weight that made my back ache.
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Today, I have Candace Black on my calendar scheduled to do an interview. I even found one email of correspondence I made to her to prove it. So her interview date is approaching, right, and I write her a little note, letting her know about the gig here on my blog and sending her my interview questions. But she doesn't write back.
No big deal. I wait, and wait some more. As the interview date approaches, I figure if I can't get a hold of her, I'll just talk about her behind her back, promoting her work however I see fit! And onto the researching her I went. I look and search everywhere online for a Candace Black. Don't find her.
I scratch my head.
I know I didn't make the lady up. I have a freaking email from her. At this point, I vaguely recall someone telling me they'd changed their pen name from one pseudonym to another.
Okay. Really wishing I would've saved THAT email, I dig deeper into the world wide web until, aha, I find another interview for a Candace Black about her Wild Rose Press story, Kindertransport!
So if you're dying to read an interview about this enigma of a woman, HERE's the link!
But alas, the mystery is not solved there. When I google her title (KINDERTRANSPORT) at The Wild Rose Press, I find Candace Black did not write this book, but Jennifer Childers did! And, YES, the email I kept was signed by a Jen. (so I'm thinking she really was the name-changer!)
Eureka! I think I found our woman. I hope.
From her bio on The Wild Rose Press, mysterious Jennifer lives in North Carolina with her husband and son. She's been in medical profession for 25 years and volunteers guardian ad litem, and works in child abuse prevention classes. President Bush Sr. even wrote this grand lady a letter of appreciation for this work.
So there, you have her. Our unknowing guest for the day: Candace Black--er, Jennifer Childers in a nutshell! And without further ado, here is a blurb for her published novel, KINDERSTRANSPORT
One of her children, Heidi, has no visible handicap, and thereby has a small chance to escape the Nazi destruction, but for the rest, Erika must find a way to escape—or face the heartbreaking decision to give them a peaceful death by her own hand. Will she find a way out? Can she trust Rickard, when he wears an SS uniform? ===================================
And here is Kindertransport's buy link : The Wild Rose Press