“This is a book that every criminal should read. It shows how powerful forgiveness can be, how holding on to resentments can destroy you, how crime affects everyone, that we can change if we want to, and what can happen if we don’t.”

—Quincy Brown, #178172, Jefferson County Correctional Center

The Ravine

The Ravine

A NOVEL OF EVIL, HOPE, AND THE AFTERLIFE

Inspired by a True Story

Robert Pascuzzi

Copyright Page

The Ravine
www.theravinebook.com

Hope Messenger
[email protected]

This is a novel and entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or, if loosely inspired by any actual event, such event has been transformed entirely into fiction by the author and should not be read to portray any actual persons, living or dead, or locales or events.

Copyright © 2014 by Robert Pascuzzi

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any manner whatsoever, electronic, mechanical, recording, photocopying, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

ISBN-10: 0615982999
ISBN-13: 9780615982991

Cover design by Elizabeth Mihaltse
Cover image (c) Roy Bishop/Archangel Images

To our friends

There are some who bring a light so great to the world that even after
they have gone, the light remains.
—Author Unknown

Lord, help us realize that everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Help us realize that every sorrow or setback we experience can be transformed into a blessing, if we but trust in you. Help us realize that if we trust you, all things—even tragedies—will work out for our good.

Amen.

Prologue

HER HEAD ACHED the ache that always came when she saw things too clearly, when it was impossible to push the images and sounds out of her mind. It was especially difficult at this time of day—4 a.m., just before dawn, when the darkness grudgingly ceded its power and the veil was most transparent. This was a particularly angry dawn.

The cries of the little boy swirled through her head, ferociously bringing her to her knees and then all fours. The sound she uttered began as a growl and grew into shouts of an otherworldly language, before finally reaching a pleading howl. “No, dear Lord. Don’t let this happen. Stop him now!” But she knew it was too late. She could see the dark figure lurking at the top of the stairs, manipulating, dictating, and preventing the slightest hope of reprieve. There was only one place to go, one thing to do, and now it was done.

By the time the sun rose, Joanna was seated in her chair by the window. Watching, just watching. The breeze brought some sense of relief. The most intense pain had passed, but she was drained and weeping. Not for herself, nor for those who were gone, but for the people for whom this awful day was just beginning.