By day (and night, presumably), Brock Booher flies commercial airliners for a living, but somehow found the time to give life to his debut novel, “Healing Stone,” which hits the market on April 8, 2014.
About the book:
Abandoned in a graveyard and a mother who was never found—that’s all Stone Molony knows about his birth. But now he needs to know more. A tragic accident has awakened a powerful gift inside him that changes everything. As the town stirs up around him, Stone journeys through corruption, racism, and violence to uncover the truth about his past.
“Healing Stone” is available in bookstores and from online retailers.
This is an excerpt from the opening scene. Stone has mortally injured his dog Rusty with a sickle blade mower and cannot bring himself to put the animal down. He discovers that he has a gift – the power to heal.
I looked at the dark rifle in his outstretched hands and a chill ran down my spine. I had killed wild turkey down along the Cumberland, and several covey of quail flushed out by Rusty himself. Just last year I bagged a ten-point whitetail buck, and we were still eating the venison. I had killed snakes, rats, and even a fox that was killing our chickens. But I had never killed like this.
I hesitated and then knelt down beside Rusty again, as the scripture scrolled across my mind over and over. His crying had been replaced with soft whimpers, and his chest heaved up and down. I could see his eyes glazing over as I reached out and stroked his head. I shook my head and said, “I can’t do it.”
“Stone, sometimes killing an injured animal is better than letting it live,” he said in a calming voice. He placed the butt of the rifle on the ground beside me for me to take. “End his misery.”
Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live. The haunting words went round and round in my head, almost audible. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the words, and then I recognized the scripture. It came from the headstone where Sheriff Pace found me as a baby.
I felt my scalp begin to tingle. It started at the base of my neck and worked its way up until my entire head felt like it was host to some personal lightning storm. Tiny bolts of power struck with random accuracy. Each jolt of electricity flashed inside my mind and momentarily lit up a vision of what I should do. I could see my hands reattaching the paws to the legs, like snapping the final pieces of a puzzle into place.
As if the sensational electric storm in my head wasn’t enough, my hands began to burn. It wasn’t painful like the time I burned my hand on the wood stove, but it felt more like the time I had a fever and my Mama caressed my head with a cool cloth. My hands felt like living torches of spiritual energy.
I knew what to do without thinking, almost as if possessed by some spirit, but I knew it wasn’t an evil spirit because it wanted me to do good. I remembered the verse from Matthew, by their fruits ye shall know them, and gave in to its urgings.
I reached out and took Rusty’s front left leg in my right hand. My left hand picked up the corresponding paw. I put the two together, and recited the scripture in a whisper. The burning in my hands increased, and the tiny lightning storm raged even more. When I dared to open my eyes and look, the paw had reattached – skin, tendons, bone, and all.