UNAUTHORED LETTERS - Chapter 12 (part) Removed

[An imaginary happening] 

Unauthored Letters is a 90-000-word novel told from the perspective of Dr. John Sanders (third person limited POV). Spanning over 18 years, this story shows how one weak girl, placed in unfavorable circumstances, becomes a strong woman, and how her growth impacts and changes the life of John Sanders.

Below is a chapter that was originally written to bridge a gap in the storyline. In the process, I became a fan of the Conrad Hooper character. However in time his placement took a different path.  

 A REMOVED SAMPLE CHAPTER

On a cool winter's evening, in the midst of his packing, a knock changed everything. John opened his apartment door to find a man whose large stature announced his strength.

"Conrad Hooper," the man stated.

John studied the man and waited. Yet the man said no more. Instead an awkward silence followed. Finally Conrad raised his Raiders cap, ran his hands through red curls, then said, "You don't remember me?"

"Should I?" John stared at the man's bloodshot eyes and the large fingers that stroked the neatly trimmed auburn beard. He could almost recall a familiarity. But the person he remembered had a different demeanor, loud and lively, not this tired man at his door. Yet John vaguely recalled sharing a conversation with a person who fit this shell.

            "Hooper," the man stated with a bit more force. "Dr. Hooper—Clearcreek 1989 until...its death," he said ferociously. "Can I come in?" The bloodshot eyes continued to stare at John.

            "You do look familiar," John noted and stepped aside while Conrad's large body strode into his living quarters.

            "Where should I sit?" He surveyed the area. Partial packed boxes, filled with books, dishes, and clothes were scattered across the room. 

            "Here." John removed a large box from off the couch and grabbed a chair to sit across from his guest.

            "I hear you're looking to surrender your license." Again, Dr. Hooper lifted his ball cap and rubbed the thick mass of red curls.

            "Who told you that?"

            "Landersen."

John persisted in studying the face, the slightly flat nose, the worn down eyes, the heavy voice, but all he could place was one interaction in Clearcreek's cafeteria, a solo introduction and conversation. For the moment, he could not remember the source, the topic, or any other doctors around, only that Hooper was lively, full of smiles and laughs, an extremely upbeat guy, not the red eyed, somber face before him.

            "So," Conrad's voice was gruff, "is that your plan?"

            The topic was personal, nevertheless, John responded. "It's likely."

            "You can't."

            John remembered a staff party, one in which Hooper had been an active organizer, where he had been the spokesperson, the gatherer, the real extrovert. "Surrendering would be the best choice for me," John offered.

            "Well, it's a dumb choice." His expression was blank.

"I don't see a reason to stick around."
            Conrad Hooper's eyes glanced over at a large cardboard boxes packed full of books. "You certain you've made your decision?"

            Nothing remained in San Bernardino, only humiliation and loss. Other than feeling like a slight coward, John needed to move on; he needed to start over and regain some dignity to his life.

            "Dr. Steven J. Gravers," Hooper spoke slowly, "is a wolf. Even while his own license has been revoked, he's still hunting, aiming to destroy."

            "He's powerful."

            "So how are you combating that?"

            Against his will, John shuddered. His testimony had been given. Then less than a week after his statement, the Board began researching and digging into John's mistakes. Gravers' threats had been true, and John no longer wanted to be trapped in his revengeful game. Instead he wanted to return home and start over. "If I have to, when the State puts him on trial, I'll testify."

"Good."

"But if they have enough from me, I'd prefer to move on to better things."

            Conrad glanced again at a box of books then looked at John and smiled. "You won't be sealing those up yet."

            Everything John did came with critical thought. This move from San Bernardino was not a rash action; rather, it was an inner battle, one that continued to be difficult and long. "Why not?"

Conrad's bloodshot eyes studied John while his body leaned forward. "Gravers' intelligence hurts all of us. He plans to weaken every one of us. If possible, he'll prolong his trial, I wager for well over a year, and during that time, he'll affect all of us, unless we don't let him. We can't let him. All of us need to be there. We need to testify, and we need to be strong."

"How has he hit you?"

Conrad leaned back against the couch and stroked his beard. "I've done stupid things."

"Like what?"

"A couple big mistakes. Issues that would have cost me a bad blow, but Gravers took pity on me. And I respected that man." Hooper's voice turned quiet. "And to a certain point I still do."

"Really?" The confession stirred John to feel disgust, yet intrigue.

"He helped me through some things, and we did some negotiating."

"Did you work with Rebecca?"

. . .