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    Rags to Riches
    Rags to Riches
    Rags to Riches
    Ebook211 pages3 hours

    Rags to Riches

    By Joe Bob Newman

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    About this ebook

    It started as a home invasion, which led to a country singer on the rise. Theresa became Terri and weathered a maze of corrupt executives. Even though he is inexperienced, Jeff leads Terri through a maze of bright lights to fame and fortune. Did she rise too quickly? Did fame corrupt her? Follow Terri and Jeff as they struggle through the life of the rich and famous.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJoe Bob Newman
    Release dateMar 1, 2019
    ISBN9780463201640
    Rags to Riches
    Author

    Joe Bob Newman

    I have been writing mystery and fiction books since 1982. I have never considered having any published until now. My career has been in writing technical documents for the defense industry. By profession I am a mechanical engineer, P.E. I have six grand children.. During the summer months, I spend a lot of time in the mountains of New Mexico. Watching wildlife and observing the ecology. i also enjoy riding my 4-wheeler. I built a cabin by myself, just above a stream filled with trout, perhaps i should say am building, I have been working on it for twenty years and it is still not finished, but it is livable, it has electricity, running water and a septic system. With that, I am happy to live there in the summer months and for a week or two in the winter, but I have found that I am not much of a "snow" person.I do hope you read and enjoy my books as much as I enjoyed writing them! Thanks for visiting my page.Joe Bob Newman

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      Book preview

      Rags to Riches - Joe Bob Newman

      Rags to Riches

      The Terri Thomas Story

      Joe Bob Newman

      Rags to Riches

      Copyright 2019 © Joe Bob Newman

      Cover Design by: Laura Shinn

      Edited by: Nick F. Bowman

      Published by: Smashwords.com

      License Notes:

      All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

      Written, Edited, Published and Printed in the USA!

      Rags to Riches

      Other Books by Joe Bob Newman:

      The Craft (Science Fiction)

      When Time Stood Still (Science Fiction)

      Phantom Canyon (Western)

      The Executive (Action/Romance)

      The Rig (Action/Romance)

      Cabin Fever (Action/Romance)

      Cabin Cruiser (Action/Romance)

      One for the heart (Action/Romance)

      Lady Texas Ranger (History/Action)

      Mystic Moon Man (Action/Adventure)

      The Alamo (History)

      Texas Football: The Lone Star of Texas (Sports)

      In The Dark of The Night (Suspense)

      Bad Decision (Action/Suspense)

      The Old Bull (Action/Romance)

      CIA The Slave Traders (Action)

      A Really Bad Day (Mystery)

      Tennessee Kyle (Western)

      When the Reaper Calls (Suspense)

      The Craft II - A New Beginning (Science Fiction)

      The Cravings of an Old Man (Fiction)

      Lost Highway (Science Fiction)

      After the Reaper Calls (Suspense)

      The Boys of Texas (Historical/Fiction)

      Lady in the Lake (Murder/Mystery)

      These books are available as e-Books at:

      Smashwords.com.

      Rags to Riches

      Characters

      Jeff Springer Homeowner

      Ann Springer Jeff’s Wife

      Brandy Springer Jeff’s Oldest Daughter

      Connie Springer Jeff’s Youngest Daughter

      Bradley Springer Jeff’s Son

      Kate Springer Jeff’s Mother

      Robert Dwayne Thomas Burglar

      Theresa Terri Thomas Robert’s Wife

      Toby Thomas Terri’s Son

      Tanya Thomas Terri’s Daughter

      Mr. Eli Manager of Mirage Hotel

      Ray Rodgers Security Man

      Hank Snow Songwriter

      Yvette Johansson Terri’s backup singer

      Courtney Dryer Flight Instructor/Pilot

      Larry Lawrence Owner of Winnie Studios

      Rags to Riches

      It was during the night that I woke up to a sound of someone walking in the living room; it woke my wife up too. I could see down the hall; there was a beam of light that shouldn’t be there. It was a flashlight beam, and as I got up, I could see it move around. Someone was in our living room. Thinking that it was one of the kids playing, I quietly walked down the hall, ready to lay the law down, when I was confronted by a large man that I had never seen before. I saw him shine the light into my face and move the gun in his left hand upward, and he pointed it toward my mid-section. I held up both hands, and I quickly said, Who are you and what are you doing in my house? At the moment, it was the only thing that came to my mind.

      His first shot hit me in the left side, rupturing my kidney. His second shot hit me in the left thigh, just below my hip. His third shot went between my legs, somehow missing me. His fourth shot entered my stomach just below my navel and nearly severed my spinal column. The bullet practically shattered my L-4 vertebrae and the lower disc. I collapsed on the floor and then realized that he was stepping over me. My legs wouldn’t move, but my arms would, so I tried to grab him, but my arms just flailed. Maybe they weren’t working either. As he disappeared into the hallway, I worked and worked at getting control of my arms and legs. My legs wouldn’t move at all, but rather quickly, I got control of my arms and hands.

      The man went into our bedroom, and I heard him say, Take off the gown and get back into bed!

      I realized immediately that he was going to rape my wife. I could hear her trying to talk to the man, then I heard him slap her, and she fell down. For a few moments, there was a lot of commotion, and then I realized that he was dragging her back to the bed. She wasn’t screaming; I later believed that she did not scream so that she wouldn’t scare the kids. What a hero!

      Somehow, by just using my arms, I crawled and pulled myself back into the hallway and made it to our bedroom. I was pulling on the carpet, door jambs, wall outlets, anything that I could get a hold of. When I got to our bedroom, I could see the man on top of my wife. I was angry beyond anything that I had ever felt before, but I kept crawling. As I got to the bed, I couldn’t see up on the bed anymore, but I could hear the man grunting, and Ann was gasping in pain. I could only imagine what was happening to her.

      I had to get to the nightstand. I pulled myself to the back of the bed and tried to stand up, but my legs just wouldn’t function. My hands were slippery; I was leaving a wide blood trail; I was bleeding all over the place. As I made it to the far side of the bed, I could see the nightstand; it looked so far away. I kept pulling and crawling. Finally, I struggled to the nightstand, opened the drawer and I quietly took out my pistol. I pulled myself up onto the bed with my left hand and with my right arm I stuck the gun up to the man's right ear. He stopped and looked over at me; I said, Get off her or I will kill you!

      He seemed to smile. You hold it right there. I have my gun at your wife’s head. If you shoot me, I shoot her. Put the gun down, and I will leave. I knew that he was lying; he would kill both of us. I was trying hard to remember how many bullets he had fired at me, but I couldn’t remember.

      I heard a noise in the hallway; it had to be my kids. I shoved my gun all the way to his ear canal and gently squeezed the trigger. He bucked and the second gunshot erupted a split second later. I didn’t know if I had fired twice or he had shot Ann. I pulled myself up onto the bed and shoved him over. My wife looked up at me; she softly said, I love you, baby! I watched as her chin dipped down and she stopped breathing.

      I dropped my gun, pulled myself up over her, placing my head on her chest, and I listened. Her heart was still beating, but even as I listened, it began slowing down and then it stopped. I repositioned myself, placing both hands between her breasts, and began doing CPR, counting rapidly.

      I heard another noise at the door, and I looked at my three children. I yelled, Brandy, call 9-1-1; tell them we need the police and an ambulance, and tell them to hurry.

      Suddenly, the room light came on, and I could see that I was covered in blood, and so was our bed. The once-white mattress and sheets were soaked in red ooze. My three children were horrified. Each one had their fists to their mouths. I could do nothing for them; I had to save Ann.

      Only minutes had gone by, and I could now hear the sirens, but something was wrong. I couldn’t see anymore, and I was getting very weak. My arms failed me, and I fell across my wife. I whispered, I’m sorry, honey! I couldn’t do CPR anymore, and I knew that Ann was going to die. The last thing I remember seeing was her eyes open up! Then I blacked out.

      My name is Jeff Springer. I am thirty-five years old, I was married to the love of my life. It has been five days since the incident, and I now lay in a hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down. The initial surgery to repair my spine found damage beyond the surgeon's ability to repair. The surgeon had given up, backed out of my spine and closed up the incision. He would later tell me, You will never walk again. You may eventually have some feeling in your legs, but they will never function. Without a doubt, those were the second worst words that I had ever heard! The worst were, Your wife is dead!

      My three children Brandy, Connie, and Bradley are staying with my mother, their grandmother. They walk to the hospital to visit me every afternoon after they get out of school. I love to see them but am not sure what to do with them. My mother lives on my dad’s pension and her social security check. She doesn’t make enough to take care of my children, and I won’t ever be able to take care of them myself either. Being paralyzed and thus considered handicapped is not something that I ever thought would happen to me. The police have interviewed me a number of times and have happily told me that I wouldn’t face any charges. That is a hoot! I find it very funny. Me having to face a grand jury for killing the man who mangled me and raped my wife is more than I can handle. To be honest, it has nearly driven me insane!

      After the shooting, an ambulance took me to the hospital where I was operated on, and the spinal neurologist gave me the news that my loss of movement in my legs would be permanent. I have had a number of my neighbors and friends show up as well-wishers, but they have done little to improve my spirits. I miss Ann terribly and am not sure how I will be able to live without her. My life would be over if not for my children; somehow, I have to go on!

      I had been in the hospital seven days when I had to have another procedure to remove my left kidney; it was leaking and damaged beyond repair. That surgery was successful, as was the one to remove the bullet from my left thigh. I was in the hospital nine days before I was released to a rehabilitation center. That in itself is a joke. Rehabilitate what? I am paralyzed from the waist down, and no amount of exercising will change that. I now have only one functioning kidney, and it only functions at about fifty percent. I have no idea why. As you may have realized, I am a little cynical and severely depressed.

      They say this is a rehabilitation center, but it is really a place where people come and wait to die. I don’t plan to be one of those people. Many of the people in here have debilitating injuries such as mine or have dementia or Alzheimer’s. Almost every one of them has just given up and accepted the final outcome.

      The center is based on a hub, or nurses station with five hubs or wings of rooms jutting outward. It is supposed to be state of the art, but it is an old center with dreary, stained walls. The walls have been painted many times, but the paint is flaking off. There are pictures of mountains, streams and animals on the walls. I am not sure what we are supposed to get from them. I guess they are serene but they don’t do much for me. I don’t like it here and am certain that no one likes me either. The staff just puts up with me. Then, there is the food here, it is institutional food, that is, it is supposed to be easy to digest. It looks okay, but tastes overcooked and watered down. What I wouldn’t give for a big, fat, juicy hamburger, some fries with ketchup, and a real Coke!

      Once a day, I get placed in a wheelchair and pushed down the hallways. Looking in the doors at the wide-eyed people is distressing. Both they and myself know that they will only leave here in a pine box. They want someone to talk to them, as I do, but no one stops to visit except the nurses. It is their job to stop, but they have little true interest.

      I have met one woman in here who is eighty-two years old. She has a good mind, but her body has failed her. She has severe diabetes, has lost both legs and the use of one arm. She is fun to talk to, but she can’t even go to the bathroom by herself. Hell, neither can I!

      Another woman that I have met in here is only in her sixties, but she has lost her mind. Her body seems okay, but she just sits in a wheelchair and yells, Help, over and over. She is annoying as hell. Just being in a place where everyone is waiting to die is depressing. Perhaps we are all just waiting to die, that may be true, but this place is one of brutal honesty.

      I have been introduced to nearly everyone in here, though some still don’t know who I am. Hell, some don’t even know who they are. One of the men in here goes by Cowboy. He broke his back in a fall off a ladder. He is okay to talk to; he has accepted that he will never leave this place. He says that every woman in the place is his girlfriend. He is harmless though, just like I am. Cowboy is a good guy, he just has no future. Apparently no one comes to visit him. On our good days, we ride the halls together. He points out the attractive women, mostly nurses, and I act like I agree!

      Hours go by slowly; I tend to watch the clock. Days go by even slower. The staff will occasionally push me outside and let me sit in the shade of an overhang, or under a tree, where I talk to myself mostly and complain about the bad break that I got. If his fourth shot had just been an inch either way, left or right, I would be up and doing something constructive. Now I will never do anything, won’t ever build anything, won’t ever be with a woman. Why couldn’t I have just died? It just isn’t fair. Why didn’t I just die like Ann did? Well, that is easy to answer; I have my children to take care of. So much for me shirking my responsibility. Ann would be upset with me for whining; she would want me to man up and do what is necessary.

      Two months have gone by now; I am still in the rehabilitation center, where I eat, sleep, and try to improve my arm strength. I have learned how to pull myself into the wheelchair. With a lot of effort, I can move my legs with my arms to position each leg where it needs to go. I can now transfer myself from the wheelchair to the toilet or to my bed. I still cannot change my clothes by myself. I work at it and try to be cheerful, but there is nothing to be cheerful about.

      I once thought I might will my legs back to moving, but that is obviously not going to happen.

      Since the night of the incident, a lot has happened. I lost my job, the mortgage company took our house, and the bank took both cars. It was once told to me that the bank couldn’t take both your cars, that they had to leave you one, but that is what happened to me. It really doesn’t matter; I can’t drive a car anyway, so I don’t have any hard feelings against them. I have heard about cars that a paraplegic can operate. If there is such a car, how would I get into it?

      I would like to get out of the rehabilitation center, but I have nowhere to go. I have filed for disability, but have been getting the run-around from the social security office. Even though I am partially paralyzed and everyone seems to agree that I am totally disabled, they will not allow my total disability claims. The nurses have told me that I need to get on Medicaid. So far, I don’t know quite what that means. Apparently, it would cover all my medical bills and give me minimal coverage. That doesn’t quite seem fair either. I would like to get a lawyer and fight them, but that costs money, which I do not have. What I need is a vacation. Okay, that is a joke!

      My mother has told me that she has enough in savings to take care of my children for two more months, then she doesn’t know what will happen. It is clear to me that CPS, Child Protective Services, will intervene and will quite probably put my children in foster homes. At least that is what I think will happen. If it doesn’t, I will be like my mother: I don’t know what will happen!

      However, if they try to take my children, I will fight them. If I can get a gun, I will shoot them. That sounds good and threatening, but I will probably just scream and cry, as the police took my gun.

      Speaking of screaming and crying, I can’t get it out of my head that my wife didn’t scream; she just cried. How could she be so brave? What if I hadn’t killed that man? She might still be alive, and she would be taking care of me, and I would get to see her pretty face. Is it my fault that she is dead? The guilt that I feel over her death consumes me. When I think about it, I lose all control and just want to die. I want to be with her wherever she is.

      Robert Dwayne Thomas is the man who entered our house through the unlocked back door. He died relatively instantly from my gunshot wound to his head. Most of the left side of his head was blown off. That is, his brain and ear were splattered all over my kids. I do not feel any regret in killing him. However, I do feel sorry for his wife and the two children that he left behind. His wife had no idea that he would sneak out and do this sort of thing at night. There is no

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