DANIEL CLAY, Ph.D. and his group of colleagues walk hand in hand with abandoned, terminally ill children on the final steps of their journey. However, not content to wage a vigil of death, they employ the most creative of antics to transform the kids remaining days or weeks into a celebration of life.
Daniel’s direction is clear until he encounters his Iago, CHRIS, a consummate computer hacker and ex-con, who manipulates him into seeking revenge against the children’s abusers. With Daniel’s substantial inheritance and Chris’s unparalleled technological abilities, they concoct an intricate scheme that at first seems justifiable, but soon turns darkly evil. It forces Daniel to face his conscience across that steadily blurring line of morality between the abusers and himself. When suddenly, one hundred eighty degrees of surprise strikes, and he finds herself Chris’s prey in this twisted game, on the verge of losing everything he values-- especially Margie, his love and the angel on his shoulder who struggles to keep him from taking this disastrous turn of the road less taken. However, even though she races to save him in the crucial moment of his life, he is the one who must choose his deliverance.
THE JOURNAL OF MARGIE CLAY 21 JUNE 2008
Old age and impending death allow one a freedom, nothing else can-- absolute clarity. Which has come to visit me during the vigil I have kept over my sweet Daniel. And as I watch him slowly slip away I know it shall not be long until l too will pass over. So, with dusk descending upon my fleeting mortality it seems this is the most appropriate of times to strip the shroud of secrecy from my loving husband’s life and reveal it in the pure light of truth.
Though daunting, as this endeavor might be, that of limiting such a grand, full, sometimes incomprehensible lifetime, within the confines of a book, the reason I have chosen to embark upon this journey is simple. Long after children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren would have distilled Daniel’s time on earth into a cute anecdote told at family picnics or a brief reminiscence shared during holidays, I hope it might keep alive a more fitting memory, of a man I have cherished so dearly.
At first glance his story might appear to be the blackest of tales, of unique, and silent desperation. And not to be denied, there were moments of intense pain. Yet, I have no doubt, that those who are able to overcome their own fear and look death uncompromisingly in the eye will find this story to be one of overpowering hope. Joy. And rebirth.