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Your business is no longer what you intended it to be and, when you aren't doing what you love, who can blame you for lacking the motivation to take the next step? A long hiatus may be exactly what you need to rediscover the meaning behind your goals. Take the time to focus on something else and let your previous goal marinate for a while. When you return, you will likely have a new perspective on how to move forward and better understand your intentions in doing so. It's crucial that you don't put your goals on a shelf as an excuse to avoid the hard work that comes with any and every goal you will face in | Your business is no longer what you intended it to be and, when you aren't doing what you love, who can blame you for lacking the motivation to take the next step? A long hiatus may be exactly what you need to rediscover the meaning behind your goals. Take the time to focus on something else and let your previous goal marinate for a while. When you return, you will likely have a new perspective on how to move forward and better understand your intentions in doing so. It's crucial that you don't put your goals on a shelf as an excuse to avoid the hard work that comes with any and every goal you will face in life. There is a big difference between burnout and laziness and it's important you don't trick yourself into believing one is the other. Our friend Kevin who is starting his own granola bar business needs a break because he has hit a brick wall at forty miles an hour. He has tried every option in the book and now needs some time to find a new book. A lazy person, on the other hand, may have given up during chapter one. Don't let yourself take a break when you secretly know that laziness is to blame. Be honest with yourself as you consider next steps and whether burnout is inhibiting your progress. If it is, a break is likely the healthiest thing you can do for both yourself and your goals. When you return, you will rediscover a motivation and passion you wouldn't have tapped into had you worked relentlessly. Take care of yourself. Life has no set path, so you might as well take a few detours along the way. ##Balance Think about all of the sleepless nights you spent working to finish that project or the amount of family dinners you had to skip because of a looming deadline. At some point, the annoyance of catering to the every need and whim of a goal does not seem worth the reward of completing it. Yet, you push through, believing that you'll have time for your family, friends, and personal hygiene once you've tasted success. You reach the finish line, take a sigh of relief, and find yourself staring the next obstacle straight in the face. This goal is even bigger and more time consuming than the one before. You want to throw all of your energy into it, but all you can think about is the number of Saturday soccer games you're going to have to miss in order to complete it. While it may be clear in the example above that something isn't right, this happens all too frequently without us even noticing it. We live in a world in which we believe we should have it all. We all want to be perfect parents, perfect spouses, and perfect friends, all while moving up the ladder and becoming CEOs of powerful companies. Now, this is not to say that this isn't possible. There are people out there that change the world every day and still have time to watch reality TV on the couch at night. For the majority of us though, this is hard. The endless pursuit of goals can take a toll on our lives and make us lose perspective on why we want our goals to begin with. Balance is that word we love to hate. We all want it, but we criticize those who have it for not working hard enough. Since when did sleep deprivation and answering emails at midnight become a badge of honor and success? There's nothing noble about self-imposed suffering for the sake of your goals. Believe me, that promotion, new car, triathlon, or certification can wait. Your hopes and dreams will still be waiting for you when you get back from that family reunion you've missed for the past five years. In regards to balance, falling into the "what now" trap can occur for two reasons: 1) a failure to take breaks between your goals 2) a failure to diversify your goals to satisfy your wide range of interests, passions, and values. Firstly, we all know that distance makes the heart grow fonder. This is why kids love the last day of school before summer, but are itching for the classroom come August. Nothing is appealing if we spend too much uninterrupted time focused on it. Even apple pie loses its flavor after the first slice. Our goals are the same way. Without space from them, they lose their flavor. When we compulsively jump from one goal to the next, we deny ourselves the chance to cleanse our palates for the next bite. Start to see time away from your goals as a required component of your path to success. Once you begin to realize the power of breaks to reinvigorate your desires to pursue your goals, you will understand that only by stepping back can you eventually move forward. Take that day, week, month, or year away from your goal. When you get back, you will find that taking that next step is much easier than it would have been had you not taken a break. Secondly, balance doesn't always imply the need for vacations or putting away the computer for a week. Sometimes balance is something that, instead of pulling us away from our goals, needs to be infused into our goals themselves. We all naturally compartmentalize our lives into a number of different categories depending on our interests. For example, my categories are work, academics, family, friends, athletics, and writing. My goals are spread across each of these categories and my goal of traveling to Kenya is very different from my goal of finishing this book. As such, I can chose to spend my time in a number of different ways while still pursuing my goals. They're balanced. If instead, all of my goals fell into the one category of work, I would spend so much time focused on work that I would no doubt lose interest and motivation to work towards that promotion. Falling into the "what next" trap is a common side effect of stacking all of your goals into one category. Without a diversity of ways to spend your time, you'll become fatigued, lose interest, and not want to take the next step. A goal of earning a promotion leading to a goal of earning another promotion can become hackneyed. On the other hand, if your goal to earn a promotion is balanced with a goal to volunteer your time with that charity you've had your eye on, you will be energized, as your attention in one area will be recharged while it is focused on the other. Finding balance within your life and your goals isn't easy, but it can be the bridge leading you from giving up on your goals altogether to finding the energy you need to continue pursuing them. Don't assume that it's easy and that a spontaneous trip to Vegas will solve all of your problems. Balance is something that needs to become a regular part of your life in the same way that getting dressed every morning is a part of your daily routine. Only then will burnout seem like a foreign concept, as your lifestyle is designed to evade it. Find balance wherever it may be hiding and don't feel guilty for indulging in it. It is the only thing that will energize you when your goals seem like a broken record. ##Retune Your Purpose You start goals with certain intentions, but they turn out differently than you expect. Maybe you decided to train for a half marathon so that you could improve your health and have extra years to spend with your family. Your intentions are good, but you soon find that you're missing breakfast with your kids on the weekends to complete your long runs. What started out as a goal that would benefit your family, is now a goal that is keeping you from them. Suddenly, running and family don't mesh as well as you first believed they would. We like to write down goals in thick black marker and post them on the refrigerator for everyone to see. They become as permanent and immovable as the days of the week on a calendar. We look at our goals, written three weeks, six months, or two years before and tell ourselves that they are still what we want. And maybe that's true. I had a goal of convincing my parents to get a dog when I was six, and I still had that goal at fourteen. More often than not though, we hold firmly to our goals because it's easy to. Reading words that are carved into stone is easier than erasing them and starting from scratch. When we believe our goals to be our unquestioned fates, we dodge the hard work of actually discerning what it is we want from our lives. Let me explain by dissecting the running example. You've been training for a half marathon for three months and are finally starting to see some progress. Your weekly mileage is increasing, you feel strong, and you can clearly envision race day. You feel great. Conversely, you've missed three of your daughter's gymnastics classes and had to pass on a piece of your son's birthday cake because of a training run the next day. Your spouse is annoyed by the early alarms and the fact that you never have time for lazy mornings. Your relationship is littered with more tense moments than it used to be, your kids are irritable, and even the dog is feeling neglected due to the lack of his usual morning walks. It's clear that what started out as a goal to benefit your family is doing the exact opposite. So, what do you do? You could ditch the race, throw all of your training time and progress away and commit to spending every second with your family. You could also ignore the signs of your family's duress and continue training as you have been. I mean, your son will have a birthday next year, right? Clearly, neither of these are a great option. They are both an easy way out and won't make either you or your family happy. The best solution is a lot more complicated, but will hopefully leave you with a win-win situation. When we talk about goals, we either talk about completing them or abandoning them altogether. We forget that there's this murky middle between failure and success. We forget this murky middle because it isn't a fun place to be. It asks us to reconsider our values, be vulnerable to the needs of those around us, and possibly shift our attentions to new directions. It's much easier to write down goals and chain ourselves to them like prisoners in high security lockdown. The reality though is that life happens, and we often need to retune our focus along the way. Instead of thick black marker that we either have to honor or throw away, our goals are written with a pencil with a large and well-used |
They would turn 11 in August of that year. The girls lived with us most of their lives. We did not go anywhere without them, except to work. Sometimes they did go to work with Hank! If he was in a ditch digging up waterlines, they were in the ditch with him! We sacrificed much for them, because we loved them so much. The were and still are the apples of our eyes. I don't think I ever really knew the true meaning of the word love until they came into our lives. My son signed the paperwork for us to petition the court for custodial rights. Soon, the biggest upset to our family ever was about to | They would turn 11 in August of that year. The girls lived with us most of their lives. We did not go anywhere without them, except to work. Sometimes they did go to work with Hank! If he was in a ditch digging up waterlines, they were in the ditch with him! We sacrificed much for them, because we loved them so much. The were and still are the apples of our eyes. I don't think I ever really knew the true meaning of the word love until they came into our lives. My son signed the paperwork for us to petition the court for custodial rights. Soon, the biggest upset to our family ever was about to begin. The twin's mother petitioned the court against us. In May 2008, we headed to family court. We lost our case. The judge gave the girls back to their mother, because her parental rights trumped ours as grandparents. This was a shock, considering her known history of drug use, child abuse in 2004, verbal abuse, neglect, filthy living conditions, having a registered sex offender boyfriend, and arrested for four counts of contributing and neglect due to the sex offender being around her children! This felt like the worst day of my life. It was unbearable, having to tell the girls they would have to go back and live with their mother. They screamed and cried, stomped their feet, and begged not to have to go. They asked "why can't we talk to the judge? ", "what about all the notes you have Nanny?, What about all the nasty clothes you have saved Nanny?". I was crying so hard, I could not even answer them. I had never seen Hank cry until that day. Our hearts were broken. We promised the girls we would continue to fight with all we had to get them back with us, no matter how long or what it took. That lead into a huge fight between my son and me. I was so filled with anger and hurt that I allowed Satan in. I told my son I hated him. I told him to never step foot on my property again. Did I mean it? Yes, at the time I did. Did I mean it the next day? No, but the damage was done. Now I would have to reap what I had sown. Always remember, with every action there is a consequence. I could not understand how I could let myself get so filled with anger. Now I had to deal with the loneliness, bitterness, and depression that would consume me for the next five years (along with the diagnosis and treatment of breast cancer within that same timeframe). Ephesian 4:26-27 "And don't sin by letting anger gain control over you, Don't let the sun go down while you are still angry, or anger will give a mighty foothold to the Devil". James 1: 19-20 "My dear Brothers and Sisters be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger. Your anger can never make things right in God's sight." No matter who the girls talked to, no matter who they told, no one could or would help. One lady that was a neighbor to the girls even told me, "I don't want to be involved". The girls would often eat at her house and she would drive them home so they would not have to walk down the highway. Many calls were placed to the Department of Children Services but no investigation took place. Hank and I went through three attorneys, a private investigator, and $67,000.00 in the process. I spent endless sleepless nights. I prayed to God day and night, beseeching him to please bring the twins back to us. God just did not seem to hear my prayers. My life seemed hopeless. I even contemplated suicide. Somehow, God gave me grace and the willpower to hold my head up and continue on. During this time, I went through 33 rounds of radiation for my breast cancer and gratefully, survived, but I was depressed. One day the Lord brought Pastor Tricia Trull into my life, when I so desperately needed Jesus. She witnessed my struggles with anger, and depression that had built up inside of me. She understood my desperation. She began to help me. First, she taught me to pray differently than how I had been praying. She said, "instead of praying for God to bring the girls back to you, pray for God to change the mother's heart, to change the hearts of people with authority, and to ask God to put people in their path that can make a difference". So, I started praying the way she advised. For a year or longer, I would ask God to show me a sign that would give me hope. I also prayed for happiness for both my son and for the twin's mother. On three occasions I experienced what I believed to be signs from God. Once while driving down the road, three white doves flew along beside me. Another time, three white doves flew across the road in front of me. I believed the doves represented my son and the two girls and that this was a sign that we would all be together again soon. A few weeks later, I was again driving and praying when I felt a strong prompting to look up into the sky. It was a rainy, gloomy day. There, right in the middle of this big dark gray cloud was a small bright white cloud shaped like the letter J, or an upside down shepherd's staff. I knew at this point God was trying to tell me "let it go, and give it to me, take your hands off this situation". I knew right then there was hope. Luke 1:37 "For nothing will be impossible with God." At this point I told God, "If you will bring those girls home, I will let you use me anyway you desire". A few days later God started working in a mighty way. He prompted the girl's mother to move to Weakley County, TN. Shortly after moving there, the girl's mother dropped the girls out into the parking lot of Jolley Springs Baptist Church. Little did the mother know, she was introducing her girls to a Department of Human Services employee, Pastor Tony Michael. Over the next several months God would allow things to happen like more physical abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, neglect, and filthy living conditions. On two separate occasions, the pastor and his wife took two electric heaters to the girls, due to the fact that the step-father had cut the heat off to the girls part of the house as punishment. By now, Hank and I were arguing almost day and night. The financial stress and the worry had taken over our lives and our relationship. It got really bad some days. At one point Hank told me "I don't care about the girls anymore", and I told him "I did care, and that I had turned the situation over to God to handle, and was at peace with that choice". It was a strange mixture of pressure at home but peace with God. This is hard to reconcile. Martin Luther King Day, January 21, 2013 - God released those girls from their hell. the Department of Children Services did an emergency removal due to the abuse of the step-father. He has slammed one of the girls against the floor, the temperature in the house was 53 degrees and there was no food for the girls to eat. Our granddaughters were finally returned to our care! My granddaughter's Jennifer and Jessica came back to live with us the very next day. Naturally, there were many adjustments to be made. They were 15 when we got them back in January of 2013. They turned 16 the following August. They will be back with us this January 2016, for three years now. It was a very hard adjustment especially for my husband. When they left they were little girls and he was a hero who could do no wrong in their eyes. But when they came back they were young ladies with their own ideas and own way of doing things. It has been a rough road. But if I had to do it again I would do it all over again. The twins are well adjusted and healthy, except Jennifer has anemia right now. Jennifer plans to attend Murray State University where she will study music and social work. Jessica is undecided which college, but most likely Murray State also. She plans to become a teacher, and major in Spanish. She may minor in photography. She also loves art. It is amazing how well they are doing these days, considering what they had to endure. God has surely covered them with His amazing love. There is still much healing to be done. As far as my relationship with my husband goes, well I guess I can say it is still a work in progress. I won't lie. The whole situation darn near broke us up. The future is never promised. I'm still trying to hang in there with him. We just had our 38th wedding anniversary. Our relationship was damaged, that's for sure. Hank has not yet learned to let go of everything. I don't know if my relationship with my son will ever be the same. We have reconciled and we have both said we was sorry, but I don't know that he is truly over all the hurt either. He has two other children that I've never seen. His wife he is married to now refuses to let me and my husband see them because of the past. I've talked with her, and we have both cried, but she is still on her guard. Remember the bargain I had made with God? Well, He started using me almost immediately. I started feeling in my heart to do mission work. I had the urge but didn't know how or where to begin. God showed me the way. I was invited to attend the United Methodist Church Generative Leadership Academy (GLA) 2014. After our second weekend session there was homework assigned. The assignment was to implement a mission into our local church or community. I started a blanket mission for the sick, and a handmade greeting card mission for our local United Methodist Women (UMW) group. The urge kept getting stronger and stronger to do more mission work beyond my own church. After the third weekend session of GLA I was invited to go along on the Volunteer in Missions trip to Mexico. Not knowing how I would raise the money to cover my expenses, I said yes. I immediately began to worry about how I was going to finance the mission trip. God was about to show me! To make a long story short, I have gone to several churches to share my story |
"But its cold," called back Janice. "Do it," retorted Mum. "I hate you," shouted Janice. "Love you too," replied Mum. Eventually Janice made it to breakfast. She ate her weetbix, toast, and Milo, and then left the house to meet her mates for the walk to school. While Mum cleaned up Jan's room and made her bed, both chores Jan's extra sleep had prevented her doing, Jan was telling her mates how much she 'just so didn't like' her mother. All the rules and uncool things she had to do were just too much. "I like, really hate her you know, | "But its cold," called back Janice. "Do it," retorted Mum. "I hate you," shouted Janice. "Love you too," replied Mum. Eventually Janice made it to breakfast. She ate her weetbix, toast, and Milo, and then left the house to meet her mates for the walk to school. While Mum cleaned up Jan's room and made her bed, both chores Jan's extra sleep had prevented her doing, Jan was telling her mates how much she 'just so didn't like' her mother. All the rules and uncool things she had to do were just too much. "I like, really hate her you know," stated Janice. At lunchtime, Jan's friends begged bits of her lunch that was way better than theirs. "Your Mum must be neat," one of the girls ventured. "Are you nuts?" asked Jan. "She's like, duh!" After school, Jan spent time with her boyfriend Ian. They sat on a stone fence not far from the school and secretly held hands while discussing teachers, fellow pupils and parents. Jan liked Ian even though he went to church and a youth group. "You must have a great Mum," said Ian. "Not really," said Jan. "If she was like Alice's Mum she'd be great. Her Mum lets her go out at night with Robbie and on the weekends she's allowed to stay over at his place." "Do you think that would be a great way for your Mum to show you she loved you?" asked Ian. "I think she's right. She must love you to do all the things she does for you." "I hate her," stated Jan." I think that's very sad," said Ian letting go of Jan's hand and standing up. "Tell me, when you get home later what will happen?" "Oh, I'll get told off for being late, have something to eat and then get nagged about homework and all before I'm allowed to use the 'phone. And that's another thing. If she loved me she'd let me have a cellphone. Everyone has them." "I don't," retorted Ian. "You don't really hate her do you?" "Yes I do," retorted Jan." A long time ago," said Ian. "When Jesus was alive, one of his disciples, the one called Peter, told him that he would never say he didn't know him. When the pressure went on him though, he did say exactly that. Not once, but three times! How many times today have you said that you hate your Mum?" "I don't know," said Jan." Three times?" asked Ian. "Maybe," conceded Jan." You don't hate your Mum," explained Ian. "You're just trying to be big with your mates. To be one of the 'cool' kids. Your Mum loves you. Don't be a fool. Just like Jesus loved Peter, your Mum loves you. Don't deny her love. Don't let her down. Jesus forgave Peter. Go tell your Mum you love her." Story 8 Joe Against the World Joe was having a real bad day. First he was yelled at, by his Mum, for getting up late. He didn't know why she was on his case. After all, he had got up the third time she had yelled. Then she had been on and on about him not making his bed. Well he didn't have time did he? She wanted him to go to school so why couldn't she make up her mind. It was either school or the bed. She couldn't have both. A pretty clear-cut case the way he saw it. Then on the school bus, the driver had picked on him. He had blamed Joe for pulling the stop cord. Joe had tried to explain his arm had accidentally caught it when he was trying to protect himself from someone. Because of that, he had had to walk the last mile to school. That made him late, and he got in trouble with the teacher. Things were certainly on a downward spiral. It wasn't his fault that nobody loved him. It wasn't his fault he had to fight everyone to protect himself. It wasn't his fault that he got caught stealing lollies. At lunchtime, he wandered out onto the playing fields and checked out the groups. He noticed a new 'kid' sitting off by himself so he targeted him. The 'kid' was eating his lunch. "Gidday," said Joe. "Hi', replied the 'kid'. "See that group over there," said Joe pointing across the field. "Best keep out of their way!" As the new 'kid' looked over towards the group, Joe quickly pocketed a packet of his chips. The new 'kid' turned back. He looked up at Joe. "You only had to ask," he said. "What do you mean?" demanded Joe. "You didn't have to steal the chips. If you're that hungry I would have given them to you." "You're crazy," said Joe and walked away. At the afternoon break, Joe was throwing his Kung Fu star at a wall when the new 'kid' walked up to him. He handed Joe a small packet of biscuits and said, "God loves you". Joe stood still, looking silly. As the new 'kid' walked on Joe was speechless. Suddenly he ran after the 'kid'. "What do you mean God loves me?' he demanded. "Who says he does? You?" "No," said the 'kid'. "The bible does." "Yeah right," said Joe. "Yeah right," said the 'kid'. "Can you read?" "'Course I can," replied Joe. "Well read the bible then," said the 'kid'. "There are 30 different books in it. They all have good stories in them. There are many war stories. There are love stories. There are escape stories. There are ghost stories. There are adventure stories." "I thought it said about God loving me," said Joe. "Indeed," said the 'kid'. "It tells about God's love all through it, but you'll have to read it to find that out. Trust me though, it does say that. It also tells you how not to steal, how to plan your life so you're not alone, how to be loved by others, and best of all, how to love them back." And do you know what? Joe found out that when he was angry he only had to read Ephesians 4: 26 to 32, when afraid, Romans 8: 31 to 39, and when lonely, Psalm 91. He also found out that God did love him. When he found that out, he changed, and people suddenly started to love him back. Story 9 Lucy and Mary The leaf of the pansy looked lovely to Lucy the Ladybird as she flew over it. The pansy flower shaded a part of the leaf so Lucy landed on it, folded her red wings with the black dots, and crept into the shadow from the flower. Nobody could see her crying. Her tears were big, for a ladybird, and fell onto the leaf in big wet patches. Her sobs were very loud for a ladybird. They were so loud that Mary the Monarch butterfly could hear them as she flew past. She turned around and landed on the pansy flower. "What's wrong Lucy?" she asked. "Nothing,' sobbed Lucy. "Just leave me alone." "I'm your friend Lucy," said Mary. "I want to help you. Friends love each other. Tell me what's wrong and let's see if we can do something to make you feel better." "It's Samantha," said Lucy. "She's being mean to me. She's saying awful things about me and won't let me be picked in the plant eating competition." "Ah," said Mary. "Samantha the slug! Yes, she's not very nice is she? Mind you, she's not very nice to any one really. She used to say things about me also." "Why doesn't she do that now?" asked Lucy. "Because I became her friend," explained Mary. "She used to call me all sorts of names because of the colour of my clothes. Really she was just jealous. It will be the same with you. When others do not like you, it is usually because they are jealous. You look lovely in your red coat with black spots on it and I'm afraid poor Samantha looks pretty plain." "So if I become her friend will she stop being awful to me?" asked Lucy. "Not straight away, and maybe never," said Mary. "Just say hello to her and don't say anything bad about her and in the end she won't be able to help herself and will start being nice to you. If she doesn't, then don't worry, there are plenty of others in this world." "But they've all got their own friends," protested Lucy. "Yes but every-one needs as many friends as they can get. Remember that to have a friend you have to be a friend. That is the big thing. To be a friend you need to show love to that person. Be nice to people every-time you can, say hello to them, offer to help them, and soon you'll have more friends than you'll know what to do with." "Okay," said Lucy wiping her eyes with her feelers. "I'll try." "Remember Jesus," said Mary. "He had a lot of friends but he had enemies who hated him. He was always nice to them even when they were being mean to him. In that book that humans read, called the Bible, it says in Matthew Chapter 5, verse 44 that you are to love your enemies. That is what you will be doing if you become friends with Samantha. Never forget that you always have your invisible friend Jesus. He is always beside you wanting to hold you and love you. You can always talk to him." Story 10 Meeting Jesus Once upon a time, a young girl went to Sunday school every single Sunday. She loved hearing about Jesus and was sad when the school holidays arrived because at her Church it meant no Sunday school. The thing was, though, that she had never met Jesus. Her teacher told her all about him, his father God, and about his relatives and friends, but she |
"We on the other hand would wish them every liberty to pursue the life they choose, as long as they are not damaging others. That is the difference between us and domestic enemy, and that is why we are good and they are evil. "Some of these personality issues result from actual mental illnesses. As has always been the case, movement leaders usually succumb to delusions of grandeur. Like Stalin, a failed priest, that probably still believes he will unify the world under the USSR. They may rule as untouchable tyrants, but they are still very sick people and doomed, ultimately, to fail. "I'm certain that the mole selected to take down America | "We on the other hand would wish them every liberty to pursue the life they choose, as long as they are not damaging others. That is the difference between us and domestic enemy, and that is why we are good and they are evil. "Some of these personality issues result from actual mental illnesses. As has always been the case, movement leaders usually succumb to delusions of grandeur. Like Stalin, a failed priest, that probably still believes he will unify the world under the USSR. They may rule as untouchable tyrants, but they are still very sick people and doomed, ultimately, to fail. "I'm certain that the mole selected to take down America will suffer from some similar condition, maybe a narcissistic personality disorder. Like Stalin, he will be as thin-skilled of well-earned criticism as a Disney princess and absolutely tone-deaf to the real needs and desires of his people." "One could only hope for their failure," Moe retorted. "So what do you think they want, ultimately? "I imagine initially to hijack our birthright to think and say what we believe. You know, the Bill of Rights. First the 2nd Amendment, then the 1st. Try to steal our love for liberty. Ultimately, I guess it's to create the same kind of slave state same as they made behind the Iron Curtain. "I believe their primary operational goal will be long-term impoverishment of the country with outrageous and unsustainable debt coupled with crippling taxation and debasement of the currency, thus setting the stage for a quick power grab disguised as a number of supposed solutions. These so-called solutions will involve wresting control of financial markets and government takeover of large sectors of the private economy, the way the German fascists did. And these efforts will be overseen and implemented by the same criminals that engineered the crises. Also, like the Nazis did, they will enforce their edicts using a corps of uneducated, easily manipulated thugs. "What might be more surprising is that the press, both newspapers and radio programs, will be thoroughly corrupted to function as a fifth column, in collusion with the power grab. So will the universities and education at all levels, as will business interests that might be in position to benefit. In cooperation with each other, and under the direction of the Red leadership, the so-called journalists and educators will attempt to control access to useful information through suppression, distortion and fabrication. Even selected churches will be infiltrated, and of course all of the government agencies, Congress, and the courts. "The corrupted newspapers and radio stations will operate in lock-step with the government, having perfected techniques of omission, suppression, distortion and fabrication, to advance government propaganda while obfuscating and confounding the patriotic opposition. Another trick is to slant all of the headlines, because a lot of folks only scan the headlines. It's one of the most effective ways to corrupt a message. Josef Goebbels was their professor and role model. "The schools are probably going to get hit the hardest since they are already under government control. American universities will end up ideologically pure, like something from Heidelberg in 1938. The professors and administrators alike will be card-carrying members or fellow travelers, and they will brook no dissent from the Red orthodoxy. The lunacy will eventually extend to engineering and the sciences and, before you know it, the higher education system will be so degraded that our best corporations will be forced to look outside our own country for talent. "Eventually, the young will only know the propaganda and depression instilled in them by their teachers. They will know mostly everything wrong with American and hold close a hatred for their own country. Excepting those with exceptionally effective parents, the young will have little understanding of the wonderful people and their sacrifices and successes that gave us our priceless freedom and rich life. "I don't know. I've heard the Russians accused of historical revisionism ..." Moe interjected. "Trust me. This will happen here. The charismatic leader himself will be a result of the brainwashing. Perhaps he will be a Red-diaper baby, born from and raised by died-in-the-wool Communists to parrot the Party line. In any case he will be carefully groomed by both foreign enemies and domestic traitors to further their aims. "Jesus, Yuki! Where did you get all this?" asked Mack in some dismay. "I've had a lot of time now to think about it. I've tried hard to project forward impressions Lupe gave me about the leadership of this crowd, what they want, and the methods they use. "But more than that I paid attention in school and read between the lines. I knew when the teachers were being dishonest—they were more transparent than they thought—and I learned where to go to get the real story. "It's really not that hard. Most of the time it simply came back to the words of the Founding Fathers; they as much as predicted this outcome. They knew that government was intrinsically evil, people often weak and susceptible to tyranny, and freedom as elusive as mist throughout human history. "Their wisdom is unparalleled and reading them at the right times made my teacher's occasional forays into Red propaganda sound illiterate. If more citizens took their education into their own hands they wouldn't be so easily fooled by these pathetic tools." "In future parents will teach their children the American values that will be banished in the public schools. They'll find ways to inoculate their children from the subversive propaganda of their teachers, and the kids will come home from school and laugh with their families about the ridiculous freedom-hating foolishness they were subjected to that day. Resisting the bumbling fools will become top family entertainment, until the day of reckoning comes." "Also, the entire profession of American journalism will lose credibility and self-immolate as a consequence of their devotion to the establishment. The foreign press will look on with amusement and fill in the blanks because they will have retained some professionalism and have no particular dog in this hunt. Americans will be able to look to foreign news sources to get truthful coverage of what the tyrants are up to, although they might have to wait a few days to get it. Americans will find other means of learning and communicating the truth. The country will become divided between moral degenerates and self-styled underlings slopping up government-programmed drivel from the so-called unbiased media and free men who will seek elsewhere for the truth. "One might wonder how this minority of creeps succeeds in thwarting the dreams of an entire society, but the truth will be, as it is now, that they are very effective at making noise and are masters at manipulation. "And they will have lots of deputies. These moles will foster the kind of America that grows a large underclass of non-productive bums and parasites. As the Founding Fathers foresaw, these turds will learn to vote themselves all kinds of benefits at the expense of their betters. "The establishment will start this by finding ways to divide us as a society. You all know how this country is a Melting Pot of peoples from every part of the world that assimilated around the privilege of living as free Americans. Well the communists will find a way to cleave apart this Melting Pot. They'll come up with lots of devious little ways to carve us up and set us one against another. They'll divide us by race, by culture, by religion into little tribes, calling it 'multi-culturalism' or some other meaningless but catchy absurdity. "What are you talking about?" Manny asked. "Bums, homos, gimps, rubbies? "Yeah, them. And colored folks. And other people of foreign heritage. Asians. Mexicans. Mostly good folks, but also bad folks. Habitual criminals and n'er do wells. Lazy bastards. Men with no spine. Ugly women. Women who hate men. Not that any of us has anything much in common, apart from being Americans, but just pretty much any group they can organize to kick up a beef, consider themselves victims, and enjoy a good pity party. For lots of people self-pity is its own reward. Many others in these groups will have too much pride to participate, but eventually they will be viewed as turncoats and be ostracized . "Another from their bag of tricks involves speech and thought control. You may have heard about the Frankfort school that was influential in Germany around the 1920s or 1930s. They came up with a concept they called 'political correctness,' sort of a tool to transform speech and thought to conform to what's acceptable to the establishment. For example certain acceptable thoughts and speech will be mandatory, and others will be banned. The press will know which thoughts to promote for public consumption and which to banish. People who use banned speech will be ostracized or persecuted. "The trick is to create a body of false precepts and get people to accept them as truth. The goal is to create confusion, normalize irrational thoughts and behaviors, enforce conformity, and silence dissent. This has been well thought out already and is in practice behind the Iron Curtain. It will be popularized in our society someday." "How stupid is that?" Norton spat with disgust. "Well, most of the stupidity underlying this concept is only there for purposes of conditioning people to police their own thoughts and speech. In our case, the principle use of this weapon will be to attack the ideals on which the country was founded and that have made it thrive, to ridicule and sanction those ideals until they vanish. "But getting back to your question: 'How stupid?' Try this. What if some simple descriptive language we all use today, for example 'colored people' were changed to something different like, say, 'people of color.' And what if use of the latter phrase was a code word for acceptance in polite society while use of the former could get you fired from your job?" Yuki paused while Norton stared in disbelief. "Yeah, just that stupid," she summarized. "Hogwash! Mack grunted. "That will never happen in this country." "Maybe they believed that in Eastern Europe too toward the end of the war. At least until the Russians were in their back yards and the writing was on the wall. Now they are told what to think and say and they live their lives under continuous threat of torture or murder for any deviation. "Think of it as two parallel universes: ours and theirs. Here we have freedom of thought and speech, not to mention economic freedom and prosperity. Behind the Iron Curtain they have only repression and economic slavery, enforced by terror. Two entirely different worlds and the only thing they have in common is they both exist on this earth. Well, the Communists can effect 'change' in this country by layering their universe on ours bit by bit until ours is eliminated. "Lupe told me that Antonio Gramsci, |
Dad asked from across the table. I stared at the grilled chicken on my plate and stabbed the piece I'd cut off with my fork. Taking a bite, I put on a strained smile and directed it to my father. This was the third dinner in the space of two months. August was on its second week now. Tara was determined we reconcile, but I firmly believed in baby steps towards any goal. Except job hunting, that I didn't mind leaping with great strides. I still couldn't forgive my dad for letting me down when I made my own career choices. He was doing his best to make up for it, but I'm a stubborn bastard. Dad | Dad asked from across the table. I stared at the grilled chicken on my plate and stabbed the piece I'd cut off with my fork. Taking a bite, I put on a strained smile and directed it to my father. This was the third dinner in the space of two months. August was on its second week now. Tara was determined we reconcile, but I firmly believed in baby steps towards any goal. Except job hunting, that I didn't mind leaping with great strides. I still couldn't forgive my dad for letting me down when I made my own career choices. He was doing his best to make up for it, but I'm a stubborn bastard. Dad put his fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He was older than I remembered, his hair graying at the temple, when I'd left, he'd had a healthy black mane, strange how things changed with time. He watched me with green sad eyes. "Liron," he started and I sighed knowing this was going to be another talk about forgiveness. "We don't have to do this if it's so hard for you." "Tara asked me to come, so I came." "You've always done what she asked of you." He smiled fondly and my scowl must have deepened because he continued quickly. "It's a good thing, Liron. At least there is still someone you trust in the family." "I trusted you too," I said giving up on the food. It was delicious, but my appetite seemed to have flown out the window along with my patience. "Why the hell did you want to punish me for choosing to be a graphic designer? Why was it so important I become a doctor?" "Liron-" I'm really curious. If you tell me why, Dad, I swear, I'll do my best to make this relationship work." "I didn't mean for our disagreements to go so long," Dad said quietly. "I thought you drove out of here to blow off steam and then you'd be back and we would talk. Instead, you never came back and I was too proud to look for you." "You told me to pay for my own college. I went out to sort myself." "I wanted what's best for you." "Being a doctor wasn't what I wanted, so it wasn't best for me. You'd think you'd be more pissed about my coming out." "I was wrong, you were right. I should have trusted the son I raised to make his own decisions. What you've managed to accomplish despite me is great, I'm proud of you." The words came out so easily, I wondered if he'd rehearsed them. Gazing at him across the dining table, his green eyes so similar to mine implored me to believe him. He meant his words. My resentment protested against my father's simple disarmament strategy. Dad was giving me the apology I'd craved for four years without a fight. "I need time," I said grumpily. "You can have it," he said with a small smile. "Are you going to stop depositing checks in my bank now?" He'd refused to cash them all. Gosh, he was so stubborn. "Maybe you can use the money to go on that trip Tara keeps talking about. She said you got a ticket for a concert in New York?" "I can't, got a new job yesterday." I was still surprised that Colins & Higgins had called me in for the position. It was low pay, hardly glamorous, but with hard work, I'd see a promotion in the next years. It was a start. "That's good news. Why aren't you happy?" I reached for the glass of wine he'd placed beside my plate and sipped. "I am happy. It's a step in the right direction for my resume." Dad nodded in approval. He was pleased. Sadly, I just felt...hollow, like that night after being with Lucas in the arena bathrooms. I hadn't seen Lucas since the day we tore down the bunkers in the arena. He'd tried talking to me, but my head was so full of Milo, I had no space for anyone else. Since Milo, I hadn't seen anyone. It didn't seem right somehow. I left Dad's after dinner and got home at around ten o'clock to find Tara at the kitchen table paying August bills. "How was dinner?" she asked when I opened the fridge. "It went okay," I said taking out a can of soda. I popped it open and joined her on the table. "We're probably going to have a few more awkward dinners before we can go back to normal, Tara. I'm trying." "That's all I ask." She signed a check and attached it to the electricity bill. "How much do you need from me?" I asked. My bank account was moderately healthy, although I wasn't planning vacations just yet. "Nothing, I still have the check you gave me two weeks ago. Save your money until your new job pays you." Tara glanced at me after a moment before she said quietly. "Are you alright? You've been acting weird lately." "Weird?" I smiled at her and wrinkled my nose. "What does that mean, Tara?" "It means you haven't been out partying for almost a month. Your friends have been calling, Tim and Van, they say you didn't show up for Van's birthday party last weekend. Should I be worried?" "No." There wasn't much to celebrate these days. My hand slipped into my jeans pocket and I pulled out the worn out paper Milo had given me. I'd caught myself dialing the numbers so many times now. Shaking my head, I looked up to find Tara watching me. "Okay, something is bothering you." Tara leaned on the table and narrowed her eyes. "What's going on?" I stared at the number for a moment before I gave in. "I met someone when I was working at the arena." "Is it serious?" Tara's eyes lit up with promise of romance. "Do I know him?" "Kinda," I hesitated before I met her gaze. "It's Milo Kai." Tara burst out laughing. I thought she was going to fall off her chair. And the tears in her eyes-" Hey, I'm serious here." "Yeah, and I'm dating Usher." She pulled napkins from a holder on the table and wiped her eyes. "Liron, you don't have to tell me his name. I'm happy for you either way." "I am telling you the truth." I glared irritated by her laugh. This was important to me, I needed-, I wanted- _What did I want_? "I need you to listen, because I think I made a mistake." "A mistake," Tara frowned sobering up. "Are you being serious?" "Tara-" Jeez, Milo Kai?" she asked in disbelief. "Why couldn't it be someone from around here, someone realistic?" "I think I love him." Placing the paper on the table, I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "Sounds insane but I haven't been able to think about anyone else since he left." "You're serious. Jeez, Liron," Tara said her voice dripping with sympathy. Yeah, that pity thing she did so well pissed me off. Obviously, she didn't think Milo and I had any hope of making it. "The card you showed me, did you get it from Milo?" "Kardis and Rob told me to show up for the band's final concert in New York." I shrugged. "It's in two weeks; don't know if I can leave my job so quickly." "You're right, this is insane." "Why?" She grinned at me. "If it were me, I'd leave you right here, Liron." _How touching_, I shook my head. "Then I should have gone with Milo when he asked me to go on tour with him." "He asked you to what now!" Tara's eyes were wider than I'd ever seen them. The pity was gone; she wanted to take my head off. "Milo Kai asked you to go on tour with him and you're sitting here because ..." " I didn't want to leave you in the lurch. We do pay rent and bills here. Jeez, Tara, I live in realityville." "Well, I'm booting you out of the island, kiddo. Have I taught you nothing?" Tara demanded. "What are you talking about?" "I wish Neal would catch on and get serious. We've been dating forever. You meet a rock star, and he asks you to commit; I'm assuming you two did more than talk." Tara glanced at me expectantly and I blushed. "Ha, that good," she said with wide eyes. "Was it kinky and hot or a slow burn?" "Burning fire, scotching the sheets hot," I supplied with a wide grin. "I can still feel him on me." "Okay, you're an idiot." Tara declared sitting back in her seat. I dropped my head in my hands and groaned. "I don't know what to do. What if it was a fluke...maybe just one of those things that don't work?" I glanced up to find Tara frowning at me. "That's not the reason you didn't go." "What?" "You're feeling obligated to stay here with me, because of the bills and Dad." Tara touched the electric bill. "Honey, I lived alone before you moved in." "So, I live with you now. We look after each other." "Yes, we do." Tara reached for my hand and held it tight. "And because we look out for each other, I think we should get you to New York for that concert." "Tara-" No, one of us has to follow love and it's definitely not going to be me. My love life is practically next door. So," she squeezed my fingers gently, "go find him." "What about my job?" "The concert is on a Friday night. You're off during the weekend. Go, see Milo, if things don't work out, you'll come |
I didn't mean to! Just...just tell me what to do!" He had folded into a crouch. He pressed his right hand, still clasping the gun, up against his temple as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Alright." A brief pause. "I'm assuming you weren't irrational enough to use an unsilenced weapon were you?" "N-n-no?" "Good. Leave the body, there isn't enough time to deal with it now. Grab the hard drives and destroy everything else. Make it look like a gang hit or something. Then get the hell out of there as fast as possible. Start the upload as soon as you | I didn't mean to! Just...just tell me what to do!" He had folded into a crouch. He pressed his right hand, still clasping the gun, up against his temple as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Alright." A brief pause. "I'm assuming you weren't irrational enough to use an unsilenced weapon were you?" "N-n-no?" "Good. Leave the body, there isn't enough time to deal with it now. Grab the hard drives and destroy everything else. Make it look like a gang hit or something. Then get the hell out of there as fast as possible. Start the upload as soon as you get home. I'll send you an email with further instructions soon." "A g-gang hit? W-we don't have gangs here ..." " Well, whatever then! Just get your ass into gear and finish the job!" The connection cut off and Kyle let his hand drop to the floor. After a few seconds of violent, fearful quivering he rose to his feet, fumbling the phone back into his pocket while stubbornly ignoring the silent accusations of the prone body and the slick of reflective blood pooling underneath it. "Okay. Okay. Okay." His teeth chattered raucously and his head pulsed with alternating pangs of fear and regret. He turned his back on the mortifying display. He took a deep, choking breath, gulping oxygen greedily to steady his spinning head, and tried to return his focus to the task at hand. He eyed the jet black server cabinets in the corner of the room and stumbled forward, careening back and forth off the cubicle walls, oblivious to the pain in his arms and shins as they struck hard against exposed edges. His eyes remained fixed on his goal, fear and despondency leering menacingly from the perimeter of his focus. He would let them encroach no further while he still had a job to do. There would be plenty of time later for regret. ROUGH HANDS AND SHIFTING SANDS Charlie awoke to the languid serenity of his empty apartment, the whining of the traffic outside little more than a muted, buzzing duet with the peaceful hum of his computer for accompaniment. A weak smile skittered across his mouth as he arched his back and stretched his arms. He struck the mahogany headboard of his bed with an echoing knock. His smile rapidly transformed into a grimace. He rubbed his smarting knuckles and rolled sideways, mustering up the strength to fumble across his bedside table for the familiar rounded corners of his Samsung phone. He forced his eyes open and loosed an almighty yawn. He hammered at the various buttons, but to no effect. He stared at the blank black screen, mystified by his own tousled reflection glaring stubbornly back at him. He expended well over ten seconds with fruitless taps and swipes before he realised the phone was dead. His eyes flared from clouded and sleep-ridden to wide and alert. "Crap!" he yelled, his sleep-choked cry corrupting the tranquil atmosphere that had suffused the apartment. He kicked his legs and leapt out of bed, sending the thick black-and-white checkered blankets tumbling to the floor. He hobbled through the doorway, his legs protesting the sudden call to arms. He halted with his hands resting on the back of his furry dark-green couch. He squinted at the clock hanging on the wall across the room. The leaving-home gift from his mother was of the minimalist school of design; two narrow black hands with barely-visible, unlabelled notches marking out the hours. Currently the hands were closest to 12 and 2. Phew, thought Charlie, it's only 2:00 a.m. Back to bed. He smiled and span back around before his brain finally escaped its dreamy quagmire. Wait a minute...Daylight bled in around the edges of the thick navy drapes hanging from the window beside his TV cabinet. The muffled toot of a blaring horn rose up to penetrate his consciousness as a taxi narrowly avoided a jaywalking pedestrian on the street below. "Ooh...shit," Charlie mumbled through gritted teeth, hanging his head in his hands. He tenderly massaged his fleshy face before reluctantly bending down and picking up the remote from one of the couch cushions. He aimed it at his LCD television and tapped the power button. The screen blossomed into anticlimactic life, a small purple box in the top left corner the only blemish on a jet black canvas. The first line of text within the rectangle read HDMI1 – No input detected. He had left the TV on the channel for his Xbox. His eyes drifted to the proceeding line. The TV's digital clock displayed 14:03. "Dammit! Stupid goddamn phone!" He slammed the power button again and threw the remote back onto his couch. He ran towards the bathroom, stripping off his t-shirt as he ran inside. A thirty-second shower, and he was bounding back out, sprinting into his room and recklessly flinging clothes from his wardrobe as he searched for a clean shirt and a decent pair of pants. Amidst the cavalcade of Mario, Halo, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Futurama t-shirts he managed to extract the light brown button-up he was looking for and, along with a pair of thin, black suit pants, he deemed the outfit suitable for work. In reality, anything that covered at least 75% of his body would have been suitable for work. IT wasn't exactly an industry known for its impeccable dress code. But Charlie still preferred to maintain a cloak of semi-professionalism. He had been lectured often in his youth with the old adage cleanliness is next to godliness, and though the state of his apartment belied that particular lesson, when it came to presenting himself for work, Charlie took to heart every word of advice his parents had given him. Charlie, you've got nothing to lose and everything to gain by dressing yourself well. Clothes may not make the man, but they can sure as heck give him a leg up on the competition! He scooped up his laptop and its power supply and shoved them both into his laptop bag. He stared accusingly at the lifeless phone resting on the bedside table. Grumbling unhappily, he added it and its charger to the bag before jogging out of his clothes-bombed bedroom and into his apartment's small kitchen. "Bit late for breakfast. Oh well." He procured a muesli bar from the pantry and ripped it open, biting a sizable chunk out of it while he gathered his wallet and keys from the bench and slipped them into his pockets. After taking his habitual survey of the living area to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything, he stepped out the front door, locked up, then half-jogged down the corridor towards the elevator lobby. *** The street outside Charlie's apartment was bustling with traffic both mechanical and human, a far cry from the gentle smattering of early morning commuters he was accustomed to. A typical work day consisted of a 6:00 a.m. departure, the roads still warming up to peak-hour congestion, and the sleepy atmosphere only occasionally tainted with the ding of tram bells and squeaking brakes. Today, though, was a public holiday, that bastion of slothfulness embraced with sleep-ins and lunchtime barbecues. Unfortunately for Charlie, he was not amongst those blessed with reprieve. Granted, he was permitted a late start, one that he had successfully managed to sleep right through, but that did little to assuage his disappointment. He manoeuvred through the throng of carefree individuals, many of them clustered around the McDonalds just a few buildings down, and made his way towards the tram platform at the nearby intersection. He let out a miserable sigh. A crowd clustered there, shoving and squirming against each other, fighting for the last few inches of free space on the already vac-packed tram. Yet another problem he normally managed to avoid with his early morning commute. Interacting with people wasn't exactly Charlie's strong suit, and that was reflected in his choice of career. Working for a software development company, even in a predominantly Quality Assurance role, necessitated far less human interaction than most other occupations. He was still required to communicate regularly with his co-workers and, on occasion, his boss, but such discourse was conducted in the infinite digital void rather than the physical confines of meatspace. Emails, instant messaging, and Skype video-calls were far more palatable than face-to-face conversations. It wasn't that he actively loathed the company of other people, it was just that he never felt quite at ease when the eyes of observation were upon him. Ridiculous though it may be, he could not help but imagine his every action scrutinised and judged by those around him, and he feared unwittingly causing disapproval or distress, of losing respect or inviting animosity with some errant comment or flippant remark. Digital correspondence granted him a buffer of distance and deliberation, a means by which he could vet his every word before surrendering the message to interpretation. This mentality would occasionally manifest itself in a brusque, unintentionally rude demeanour. To avoid the inevitable embarrassment that came from trying to explain his peculiar mindset, Charlie limited himself to one-on-one interactions wherever possible, steeling himself with slow breathing and tunnel vision when the monthly team meetings rolled around. Life online was an entirely different story. Without the humid claustrophobia that hallmarked physical communication, Charlie was able to mingle confidently with friends and strangers alike, free to employ thorough consideration and forethought to every reply without judgement. But the security of asynchronous communication offered little comfort to Charlie in his current situation, and he was forced to squeeze into the infinitesimal gap between a tall, lean man in a business suit and a rotund woman, her generous chest almost overflowing from her shockingly inadequate blouse. Charlie clung to the nearest sweat-sticky silver support pole and closed his eyes, trying to picture himself somewhere else, anywhere else, pretending that the hot flesh rubbing into him was nothing more than the cushions of his couch, the gentle rocking motion of the tram simply a violent storm raging outside his apartment...He longed for the aural escape his iPod provided. I can't believe I left it on my desk. Idiot! He tried to conjure the music in his head, the resonant crash of cymbals and the dirty chug of distorted guitar, but it was a fragile mockery and failed to drown out the drone of conversation and the irritating sniff of some unseen passenger with a phlegmy cold. Squeezing his eyes tighter, he anxiously counted down the stops until he arrived at the office. One...Two...Three...Four...Five! The double ding of the tram's bell signalled a heavenly reprieve from the harsh confines of the metal casket, and Charlie catapulted himself out from the mass of sweaty flesh, apologising profusely to those he squeezed past even though he had no cause to. He dropped onto the platform and side-stepped the cluster of people waiting to board. He took a deep, hungry breath of the fresh, early-afternoon air. Unsullied oxygen |
I used my momentum to swing him around and threw him at the door with full force. Talisha screamed as he crashed through it tearing it off of its hinges and landing on the door. Considering how thick Motel doors are, that was pretty impressive. He laid on the ground gasping for breath as I turned to face Talisha. I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her in behind me and shoved her towards the bed, where she took a seat. I pulled Gary in and stood the door up, closing it the best I could. "Leaving without a goodbye, Gary? That's pretty cold of you, I thought we were closer than that." I said | I used my momentum to swing him around and threw him at the door with full force. Talisha screamed as he crashed through it tearing it off of its hinges and landing on the door. Considering how thick Motel doors are, that was pretty impressive. He laid on the ground gasping for breath as I turned to face Talisha. I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her in behind me and shoved her towards the bed, where she took a seat. I pulled Gary in and stood the door up, closing it the best I could. "Leaving without a goodbye, Gary? That's pretty cold of you, I thought we were closer than that." I said as he started standing up. "You too missy. Didn't your mother teach you better than that? I think old Mr. Moneybags is still looking for you." I continued, to Talisha this time. She seemed to take offence to this because she stood up and starting beating my chest, and yelling. I shoved her away and she fell to the floor. "You're supposed to be in jail!" She wailed. "Surprise! Also, I'm claustrophobic. Sorry doll." Gary took this opportunity to man up. He lunged at me and tackled me to the floor. He sat up on my chest and started pummeling my face. When he stopped for a second to catch his breath and see if I'm out cold, I opened my eyes. "Is that all you got big boy? I thought you somehow got your act together since we've been talking, but clearly you're still working on that." I taunted. His face turned bright red and he went for another swing. I was torn between letting it connect and catching his fist with my hand, but I felt I needed it to wake up so I let it through. At the moment of impact, I sat up, pushing him backwards, but I also brought my knee up and kneed him in the back. He arched his back trying to numb the pain so I punched him in the stomach as hard as I could. He doubled over trying to catch his breath again. He was gasping for air and rolled off of me. Talisha screamed again and started kicking me in the side with her pointy-nosed stilettos. Although they weren't doing any damage, they did hurt quite a bit. I caught her leg, and rolled like and alligator, bringing her to the ground too. I jumped to my feet quickly and kicked Gary in the stomach making sure he's staying down. I took the Colt out of my pants and pointed it at Talisha. Gary won't be much of a threat for the rest of this little scuffle. "Now, were all going to get in the motherfucking car, and have a lovely little trip. Are we clear? Any questions? No? Good." Talisha was almost glowing with hatred, she started to protest. "Shut the fuck up, bitch. I am this close to making sure you stay here, and never make it to Brooklyn." I said, and held my index finger and thumb really close together. She stood up and I shoved her towards the door. "Move it, cunt." She glared at me, but stayed silent. I bent over to help Gary up by his arms. We walked out to the car. There was light coming from the reception. I took a look at the door, the old receptionist man was standing there, his face as blank as ever. He did a little headshake of disappointment. I ignored it and got in the car, in the driver's seat. Gary was beside me, and Talisha in the back behind him. I turned the ignition and we left lot, unknowing that we would never make it back, not together. * * * * * Sorrenson and his partner were in the Eagle police station, just a few miles from Gypsum. They had both unbuttoned the top buttons on their shirts to fight against the heat. Sorrenson was hung up the phone but immediately started dialing again. Although he was calling a number 1200 miles away, someone picked up after a few seconds. "Lacroix here." "Lacroix, this is Sorrenson." "Sir! I have some news!" "Out with it son. Let's do this." "So i did a little research on James' history. I got nothing from that though. Literally nothing. Not until he got into his boxing career. Now he has a private business. He works with nobody, so that didn't help much either. No affiliates, no sponsors, nothing. It's like as if he doesn't have a relation with any of his clients." "Thanks Lacroix. It's a start, but we will need more. Keep on searching." Sorrenson hung up glanced over at Agent Miller. He got an idea. He called the local police office. "Special Agent Sorrenson here. We are tasked with finding Roy James. Could you get someone from forensics to go to the Motel-70 in Gypsum and dust for prints? They will tell you which room to search." Miller looked at Sorrenson curiously, who shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Come on, let's take a lunch break." Miller and Sorrenson didn't get back to the office for another hour and half. The prints from the motel were all filed neatly and placed on the desk assigned to Sorrenson. He picked on up and gave it to Miller. "Let's get someone to run a quick scan on these. You never know until you know. He might just have a background already." "I will find someone who can do this for you." Offered Miller and she was already off. "Don't go too far! I think we need to check back at the motel soon." "I doubt that receptionist could tell us anything new, sir." said Miller. "I don't want to talk. I just want a room." They asked for the same room that James and his companion had taken for the evening. They looked around to see if any traces had been left that would be of use to their investigation, or anything out of place at all. They were simply doing it out of habit, rather than hope. They didn't expect to find anything, because these rooms were cleaned every day. The door handles and many surfaces that are frequently touched were covered in graphite powder. The forensics unit had left those there when they were searching for prints. It didn't bother them at all because they just wanted to use the bed. The overnight flight had exhausted them, and they still suffered from jet lag. The extreme heat wasn't easing their case. Special Agent Sorrrenson knew that a well-deserved rest would bring progression, and the little annoyances would no longer be the hindrances they were being. Merely a quarter of an hour later the phone rang, waking them up. The receptionist was on the line. "Sir, you are needed at the station." Came the message. So they had found a match after all. All feelings of exhaustion were gone from Sorrenson now. Finally, they had another clue, and a big one, to zeroing in on James. A trail they could follow, a scent they could pick up. They hurried back to the base as fast as they could, to learn more about this secretive partner. His name was Gary Palmer. Born in New York. He had a criminal record from trying to break into a car when he was 15. He was in a youth correctional facility for two years and had gone clean since. Or was never caught. But his record said he was clean. "What would a guy like this be doing with a murderer like James?" Asked Agent Miller. "I have no clue." "Let's call Lacroix. Maybe he got somewhere too." They dialed the station back in New York again and got connected. "We have the second identity. We are faxing you the details right now." "Mhmm, got it right here.... Palmer? This guy, Gary Palmer?" "Do you know him?" "Never even heard of him." "Didn't you come across him while searching James' history?" asked Sorrenson. "No sir. I would remember something like that." Miller dialed the Youth Correction Facility where palmer spent two year of his life. However that was close to thirty years ago. None of the staff had been there for that so they were no help at all. "Sir, if I remember correctly, you said that the suspect was heading west, right?" asked Lacroix. "That's correct" replied Sorrenson. "I tried to get in touch with the victim's wife, if she maybe knew a thing or two about Palmer or James. She wasn't at home. In fact, she's not even in town. She left to Vegas on the day of James' arrest. It gets better though." "Let's hear it son." Sorrenson felt his heart pounding, and adrenaline coursing through his body. "Mrs. Kirkwood, she too spent time in the same correctional facility as Palmer. At the same time." "That's my man, Lacroix!" Sorrensons practically yelled. They were hot on the trail once again. He hung up the phone and slowly turned to face Agent Miller. "What's going on, sir?" She asked. "How do you feel about gambling and prostitutes, Miller?" "Not again ..." * * * * * The motel receptionist reached for the phone as the suspicious vehicle pulled out of the parking lot. He was on the night shift, so this was very unusually. He was dozing off when he heard the tires squealing on the pavement. He heard the shouting, screaming and a loud crash. He didn't feel safe enough to go outside to investigate so he watched from the lobby window. He saw the black sedan behind the red Mercedes with its trunk open. Soon enough he found the people making the racket, the only people who were checked in at this time. There was a blonde woman with a limp who had been here for a few days. Her hair was now a mess and her dress straps were sliding off to the sides. There were two men behind her, those who arrived today. One of them was double over and seemed drugged. The larger one looked and made eye contact with him. The receptionist was glad he didn't go outside, because he noticed the weapon in the larger man's hand. He slid more to the side of the window but continued watching. They got in the car, and quickly drove off. He didn't know what to do. He felt it was his duty to report it. What is they caused more problems elsewhere and it caused someone to get hurt? He couldn't live with that possibility, so he called the police |
This is the type of company where no one can take a vacation. It is not that people choose to abandon their relationships, they just do not have time to do anything besides work. In order to maintain our focus on work we withdraw from our relationships. Our love for each other grows cold. The one style that is hardest to explain is "dysfunctional". This is an organization where there is little focus and little bonding. The trick in linking this with the conflict resolution style of forcing is to get the right perspective. Many managers believe that forcing is the best way to get work done. Their relationships with their employees are hostile. They demand that everything be done their | This is the type of company where no one can take a vacation. It is not that people choose to abandon their relationships, they just do not have time to do anything besides work. In order to maintain our focus on work we withdraw from our relationships. Our love for each other grows cold. The one style that is hardest to explain is "dysfunctional". This is an organization where there is little focus and little bonding. The trick in linking this with the conflict resolution style of forcing is to get the right perspective. Many managers believe that forcing is the best way to get work done. Their relationships with their employees are hostile. They demand that everything be done their way. And so it seems that the manager has a high focus on the task. The problem is that the employee does not share that focus. So everything seems to work out acceptably as long as the manager is there. Once the manager steps out for lunch or takes a vacation, however, then everything falls apart. The fact that everything falls apart when the manager leaves is what distinguishes a cold environment from a dysfunctional environment. I think there is a fit, but perhaps this is not an ideal junction. I feel like this is pointing to something, and yet I feel like it is incomplete. Rather than continue to wrestle with this small set of data, I then added on one more model. The model that was the most helpful to add next is the team formation model, shown below. I believe that forming is a time when teams have comfortable relationships and yet little focus on getting things done. I believe that storming is a time when teams have hostile relationships and are impaired from getting things done. Norming is the time when a team has comfortable relationships and a focus on the work. But where does performing fit? As I struggled with this I realized that I needed to extend the graph to the left, as shown below. Notice that the Blake-Moulton styles have moved to the left. The center of this grid now expresses neutral relationship. The left expresses loving relationships. And the right holds hostile relationships. A cozy environment has love without being able to focus on the work. A dysfunctional environment has no focus and no relationships. I think this is a better fit than when I had previously tried to fit dysfunctional with forcing. A cold environment has no relationships and yet there is high pressure to do the work. And an optimal environment is one with loving relationships and a committed focus on the work. To make this work I needed to add two additional conflict resolution styles: pampered and aligned. A pampered relationship is one in which our every desire is fulfilled and yet we are not held accountable for anything. An aligned relationship is one in which we agree without needing to speak. Alignment means we all strive to resolve the conflicts before they create any ripples in our relationships. Also, since the purpose for this book is to focus on projects, I changed the upper label from dissonance to task. Our focus is on the task, not on our psychology. Now, I think we can add the Hersey-Blanchard model on top of this, as shown below. When you adopt a selling style, then you explain the concept and your team buys-in. Since everyone is in agreement, then the team is aligned. But the key to a successful sale is the relationship. Unless we have a warm, trusting relationship, then I am not going to fully commit to the deal. Without that relationship we slip from selling to telling. Telling is when we focus on the work and avoid the relationship. Participating is a bit harder to explain. As an example, think about a loving mother teaching her daughter how to bake cookies. Or think about a pre-school teacher showing her class how to paint with her fingers. There is a lot of love and some focus on the effort. This is not like pampering in which I do all of your work for you. And this is not like selling because the amount of work that we do is small. Delegating is another difficult concept. People often think of delegating as empowering. When I empower you, I give you the tools to do the work. This is not what Hersey and Blanchard mean by delegating. They use the word to mean a cold relationship with little concern for the work. When they use this word they mean a dysfunctional type of management. The best way to understand the Hersey-Blanchard model is to read The One Minute Manager. (4.2) In that simple story Blanchard teams up with Johnson to illustrate an optimal management style. In that story the ideal manager explains what needs to be done and then their subordinate gets the work done. People often misunderstand the concept and think that it is delegating. In common usage, delegating means there is little communication. Blanchard tries to explain that an ideal manager has a lot of communication. Some of that communication is explicit and some is implicit. It is the invisible implicit communication that goes unnoticed. It is because the manager and the subordinate are aligned that the amount of communication can be reduced to only the essentials. I believe I see a pattern here that merges conflict resolution styles, the Blake-Moulton managerial grid, the stages of team formation and the Hersey-Blanchard model into one. The next challenge is to fit in the Vroom, Yetton and Jago model, shown below. I think the key here is to link the concept "participation" with relationship and link "urgency" with focus. Thus, Vroom's consulting aligns with Hersey's selling. Vroom's authoritative aligns with Hersey's telling. Vroom's delegating aligns with Hersey's delegating. And Vroom's group aligns with Hersey's participating. I then added McClelland's three primary workplace motivations onto this grid. I believe that a pure focus on power expresses the conflict resolution style of forcing. The task is not important and the relationship is damaged. So this motivation is in the lower right part of this diagram. Pure achievement is focused on the goal and ignores the relationships. Thus the achievement motivation plots in the upper center of this grid. And the affiliation motivation is primarily about the relationships with little concern for the work. So I plot affiliation in the lower left of the grid shown below. I believe we now have a grid that expresses the primary organizational psychology models that were discussed in this book. What I wanted to do next was to add the human psychology models onto this same grid. To do that I first did two work related case studies. I did the _Communicating Effectively: A Case Study in Project Management_ and _Workplace Ecology: A Case Study in Project Management_ case studies and found that I could make use of this grid on actual projects. Actual projects, however, are complicated. It was often difficult for me to maintain my objectivity. So I turned to literature and did case studies based on biographies of a few famous people. The primary source that I used in those studies was the Christian Bible. My research notes are posted on my web site at <http: //www.robertperrine.biz/Vision/index.html>. From those studies I learned that this grid needs to be extended downward. Just as the dimension of relationships is not bounded on either side, so too, our ability to focus is both positive and negative. Denial is the word that describes an active avoidance. And with that I finally began to see how to fit the scientific theories regarding human psychology onto a grid that had begun with organizational psychology. One key was to add existential psychology. Viktor Frankl was the founder of this movement. Basically, this school of psychology believes that we experience events and then interpret those events. It is our interpretation that triggers our response. If we can learn to interpret events neutrally, then our psychology will remain neutral. When we interpret events with hostility, then we experience hostility. The goal is to find the center and not allow events to disrupt our interpretation of life. Next I needed to swap out some of the older schools of psychology for one of the more dominate modern theories – cognitive-behavioral psychology. Cognitive-behavioral has absorbed the good from behavioral and analytic and merged them into one. (4.4) The key concept is that thoughts and behaviors are bound together. If we do something, then we will alter our thoughts about the event to justify our actions. If we think something is right, then we will change our behaviors to align with our self-image. The key to cognitive-behavioral is to become aware of this relationship and then change whichever is easier. For example, if I believe that exercise is important, then I will be unhappy with myself unless I exercise. I then have two choices – either change my behaviors by exercising more consistently, or change my thinking to put less emphasis on a belief that I am not fulfilling. I then added relational psychology to express the horizontal dimension and created the diagram shown above. If you want to know more about these concepts read my books _Coping Styles: Dealing with Life on Life's Terms_ and _Growth Rings: How We Get Connected_. The scope for this book is broad enough already. Psychology of Project Management The focus of this book is project management. I have led you on a vast exploration of the human relations aspects of project management. What I want to do now is make this relevant to you. I believe that most project managers understand the basic sequence in the stages of team formation. My plan is to build upon your understanding of team formation to explore the management styles that correlate with those stages. Forming A team begins in the forming stage. People relate to each other formally. The relationships are neutral. There might be people you already know, but, if this is a new team, then there is something new. Either the people are new, their roles are new, or the project is new. When a project starts there is insufficient information to immediately deliver results. The project needs to be scoped and the product needs to be defined in detail. Blake and Moulton describe a dysfunctional management style as low in relations and low in focus. That description implies a flawed organization. That same description, however, can also apply to an excellent project team that has just not had enough time to get organized. The new team needs to put effort into learning about the relationships and defining their focus. Thus, an organization that gets stuck with low focus and poor relationships is dysfunctional. But there is nothing dysfunctional about a project team that is simply passing through this stage. The problem is that there are few results from what seems like a lot of effort. Thus this startup time is risky. Too often project sponsors kick off a project and then expect to see results within days or weeks. As long as the team remains in the forming stage there will be few deliverables. As a project manager, I think the Hersey-Blanchard and the Vroom-Yelton-Jago concept of delegating is valuable when a team is forming. No one knows the deliverables or the relationships well enough to assume anything. So the project manager needs to use more authority to assign work. Those |
Drew looked at a swanky watch on his wrist. "Nine." "It's nine in the morning, and I'm not drunk yet. That's a damn sight better than I was six months ago, so cut me some slack." I pulled on a pair of basketball shorts I found balled up in the corner by my mattress. "Fair enough," he said. "You have put on some weight too, so I guess I should keep things in perspective." "So you are jealous of my looks." When Drew had found me hiding out in the mountains of West Virginia, I weighed less than a hundred and sixty pounds. Considering my frame and | Drew looked at a swanky watch on his wrist. "Nine." "It's nine in the morning, and I'm not drunk yet. That's a damn sight better than I was six months ago, so cut me some slack." I pulled on a pair of basketball shorts I found balled up in the corner by my mattress. "Fair enough," he said. "You have put on some weight too, so I guess I should keep things in perspective." "So you are jealous of my looks." When Drew had found me hiding out in the mountains of West Virginia, I weighed less than a hundred and sixty pounds. Considering my frame and height, that was not so good. People who saw me in town, (buying beer, of course) thought I had cancer or was addicted to meth. After the IED hit my Humvee in Iraq, I didn't wake up for almost two weeks. When I finally came back around, I couldn't even remember my own name. My memories were hazy, dancing around just outside of my recollection. Confusion fogged my entire life. It took about a month for most of my memories to return. They'd sent me back to the States, and I was in a room at Walter Reed Army Medical Center when I heard the first echo. The damn thing scared the hell out of me. I sat bolt upright in my bed, looking around for someone else in the room. But no one was there. Things got a lot worse over the next couple of weeks. I tried to explain that I was hearing voices in my head to the doctors, but I quickly realized that would earn me a permanent stay in the loony bin. The Army had really started to crack down on soldiers and officers they thought had PTSD. If they thought I was a danger to anyone, as hearing voices in my head would indicate, then they wouldn't release me. I knew this because I could literally hear what my doctors were thinking about me. So I started telling them what they wanted to hear. It was hard to do though, because any time more than two or three people came into my room, I had trouble focusing. Imagine having three people standing beside you, all screaming into your ears at the same time. That was my life. As the Hummer flipped over and over in the middle of that shitty street, my head bounced around like a racquetball. The traumatic brain injury I suffered was what kick-started this whole telepathy bullshit. At least, that was as close as I could figure. I could have stayed in the hospital and let them jam tubes and needles in me forever, but to hell with that. Besides, anyone who had ever been inside the military healthcare system could tell you about the quality of their care. Eventually, I was honorably discharged due to the lingering effects from the brain injury, and from what my doctors believed was a mild case of post-traumatic stress disorder. The official reports cited a withdrawal from social situations, increased agitation, difficulty communicating, chronic fatigue, and other anxiety symptoms. They were right, of course—I suffered from all of those things, but it wasn't because of PTSD. The brain trauma allowed me to get disability from the military. That was what paid the rent, bought my beer, and covered the gym membership. My checks weren't big enough to pay for anything else. When I got out of the hospital, the echoes were so bad that I couldn't bear to be around other people. So I fled to the mountains, renting a dingy cabin for three hundred bucks a month. I discovered that alcohol helped blunt the worst of it. But, in order for me to have the cash for booze, I couldn't eat much. The weight loss came quickly. The guilt I felt over losing my men, _all_ of them, pushed me to drink even more. I was the only one who didn't have a family, and yet I made it out of there. It was hard to describe survivor's guilt, but it was real and severe, and anyone who said otherwise was an asshole. Barker's death was the one that bothered me the most. His wife and little boy came to visit me in the hospital. I bawled like a baby when they walked in. That kid would never know how great of a man his dad was. Seeing pictures and hearing stories about your father didn't equate. I could feel the conflicted emotions coming off Lisa Barker. She was both relieved and saddened that I had survived. She wished it was her husband there in the bed instead of me, and then she hated herself for feeling that way. Her hand squeezed mine as she looked down at me, imagining that I was Barker. I wished he were the one there with her too. I still had nightmares about his blood on my hands. No one blamed me for wanting to get away when I moved to West Virginia. The mountains gave me the solitude I needed, just not for the reasons everyone thought. They assumed I wanted time alone to gather _my_ thoughts, when I was actually trying to escape _theirs_. To my shame, I abandoned all of them. I couldn't stand to hear their sadness, or taste their disdain for my survival and their loss. I'd been living in the middle of nowhere for going on four years when Drew Lloyd knocked on my door. We hadn't spoken since I'd left Iraq with my injured head swollen to the size of a basketball. He'd tracked me down through a series of townies a few miles away. They pointed him toward the drunkard living off a jeep trail. By the time he arrived at noon, I was already plowed. He pitied me when I opened the door, and he saw my appearance. He didn't say it aloud, but I heard it nonetheless. "Fuck you!" I'd screamed at him. "I don't need your pity. I'm alive and they're dead, so pity them." Drew had seen his share of shit over in the sandbox. He understood half of what I was dealing with. My inebriation hadn't allowed me to understand that at the time, however. I tried to shoo him away as I had everyone else. The stubborn bastard wouldn't leave though. I shouted horrible things at him, but he wouldn't budge. And then my anger and drunkenness led me to make a big mistake. I used something against him that he'd never told me before. Something he'd never told anyone. Something I'd read in his mind. About how his father had abandoned him. It was a piece-of-shit move, but my mind was so addled by alcohol, guilt, and hate that I didn't even know what I was saying. But Drew was as cool as a cucumber. He picked up on that thread and kept pulling at it until my cloak of lies fell apart. I was blubbering like a baby by midafternoon. At first, he wasn't certain that he believed what I told him about hearing people's thoughts, but we squashed that in a hurry. He would think about a color or a fruit, and I would tell him exactly what it was. It blew his mind. I know because I was in it, even though I didn't want to be. With his support and advice, I slowly started my climb back to the land of the living. It was his idea to start fixating on physical fitness. Drew said that the mind and body were connected and that sharpening one would help to focus the other. He was right. As my ability to control my mind grew, my dependency on booze lessened. I still needed it, but I wasn't drinking a gallon of vodka every day. Switching from liquor to beer made a big difference on my ability to function. Drew drove from Baltimore a lot to help me out. He wanted to make sure that I wasn't backsliding, and it helped keep me accountable. A year later, and here I was, sitting in his home city, listening to him give me hell about my life. Things were better, but I still had a long way to go. Moving to a populated area was his idea, and it turned out to be a good one. Having people's thoughts constantly bombarding me had really strengthened my mental power. I learned to hone in on one person's mind, blocking out the others. I could flip through their memories, searching for something specific, rather than being helpless and only seeing whatever popped up. Instead of spending my money on nothing but alcohol, I now blew most of my disability check on rent, jiu-jitsu classes, and boxing instructions. And a little more food, thank God. I owed Drew my life. "Blah blah blah," he said, dismissing me with a wave. "I didn't come here for the witty banter. You had a busy evening." I was sniffing a shirt I found crumpled under the coffee table. It smelled good enough to wear if I rubbed some deodorant on the inside of it. "Me? Busy?" I knew he was talking about the bank, but I wanted to screw with him for a bit. "Don't screw with me, Ash." I laughed. Nailed that one. "What?" "Nothing." "Cut the bullshit. I saw the security footage from the bank last night. You ran away from the scene of a serious crime." "A crime I didn't commit. So what? I was hurting bad, and I knew I wouldn't have the strength to go through a night of questioning." "_So_, your face is plastered all over the news. The press is looking for a hero. Imagine their surprise when they find you." I gave him the finger. His face hardened. "That was a pretty crazy thing you did. Walking up to a man with a shotgun isn't going to extend your life expectancy." "Hooah." "Oh, shut up." Drew rolled his eyes. One of Drew's biggest pet peeves while we were commissioned was the overuse of 'hooah' by a handful of the soldiers underneath him. It drove him nuts. He thought that he'd never have to hear that word again once he got out of the army. I tried to work one or two in every day now, just to piss him off. Worked like a charm. I put the shirt on and caught a whiff of something unpleasant. Took it back off. "Did the guy who was shot survive?" "He's in critical condition, but they think he'll make it. Look, Ash, it's not just the press who are looking for you." "The police? Newsflash, Drew—you're a cop." "Thanks for the tip. I'm taking care of things on my end—you 'll |
The child's ribs were apparent, the cheeks and eyes sunken. She starved to death standing on her feet. Dana's attention was brought back to the scrolling data on the screen. "Stop there," she jabbed a finger at the text, freezing the search, "'XYBR', that's what I'm looking for, a connection to Xybercorp." The technician squinted at the text, "I can run a search for it in the data we've collected so far," he looked and shrugged, "It's a stretch though. We're not getting much data back from this machine. The owner used a pretty advanced cleaning program on it." " | The child's ribs were apparent, the cheeks and eyes sunken. She starved to death standing on her feet. Dana's attention was brought back to the scrolling data on the screen. "Stop there," she jabbed a finger at the text, freezing the search, "'XYBR', that's what I'm looking for, a connection to Xybercorp." The technician squinted at the text, "I can run a search for it in the data we've collected so far," he looked and shrugged, "It's a stretch though. We're not getting much data back from this machine. The owner used a pretty advanced cleaning program on it." "Where did this reference come from?" Dana asked, tapping her finger on the monitor. "That ..." the technician paused to scan the context, "came from a history table." "A VR history table? A Web address history table? What kind of table?" Dana demanded. "I don't know," the technician shook his head. "Just a history table, and this is an entry in it. That's all I can tell you. I might be able to learn more when we finish cleaning the machine. You know, we usually have network support for this." "No time," Dana dismissed the idea and continued searching the ASCII jungle. "I see it," Dana froze the screen on another code string, "That's a Web address history reference isn't it?" The technician squinted at the piece of text, it was part of a web address followed by a date string, "Possibly, but we don't know if we're looking at the same file. Besides, that address is in Ireland." "Where they're working on new battle-bot control software," Dana had been cramming on Xybercorp, wholly owned DataStreams subsidiary, all morning. "True," the Technician admitted, "but I would hesitate to connect the two references. The main problem is that XYBR's a stock ticker symbol. It's a financial reference, not a web address." "What's all this nonsense following it?" Dana's finger traced a string of characters seeming to run forever, highlighting it with her touch.." Don't know," the technician shrugged. "Possibly a media stream of some sort." "Play it," Dana ordered. "Detective Summerall please," the technician said, "You have to let me do my—" " Stuff it," she ordered. "Play the media thingy." He sighed and selected the text string with his forefinger, tapped to cut, and then tapped to paste it into another window, "This will take a few tries." He saved the file in several audio formats, but the media player returned errors and dissonance. Then he ran through the video formats, more gibberish. His third save into a VR compression opened it. The window was a first person perspective without sound. It bobbled and became blocky with low resolution, revealing what looked like toy robots and a cloaked figure. The jerky perspective was frustrating. For a second the camera revealed the cloaked figure's profile, a young girl. The camera hovered at her shoulder, alternating between her and something else. Finally the girl turned away, leaving the camera to watch her leave, robots following, and returned to the thing. He looked into the camera, his eyes intensely serious. There was a flash of something inhuman, a blur of teeth and eyes. The clip ended. "Good enough for me," Dana muttered. "What was that?" the technician asked uncomfortably. "Some kind of video game?" Dana did not answer. Instead she made a hand-gesture to speed dial the extension where Devin and the blind girl were working. The phone rang a full minute before Alice picked up. "Yes Dana?" Alice demanded impatiently. Dana was confused, "Alice? Is that you?" "Yes it is," Alice replied quickly. "I assume you are calling to check on Devin's investigation?" "Yes I am," Dana answered. "How did you know it was me?" "I recognized the digital signature of your cell phone's white noise, not to mention your biorhythms." Alice cut to the point, "Devin and Zai are online, and exhibiting the heart palpitations and excessive muscle tension associated with a stressful situation. Their inability to log out implies they are prisoners of the cyc hive-mind. This should confirm your suspicion that the DataStreams I-Grid hosts Flatline and the cycs. I must go now." "Alice wait," Dana commanded. "Go where? What are you doing there?" "I need to access the World Wide Web to complete our research," Alice answered. "I am preparing to go online with the cyc I have merged with." "What?" Dana was shocked, "I forbid you to go online. You're a security hazard. We don't know anything about what's happened to you. If you go online you could—" " There is no time for this," Alice cut her off, "I am no longer part of your agency and I do not recognize your authority. I will call when I have further need of you." "Alice?" Dana heard the line go dead. "Damn it Alice!" Another series of hand gestures and she speed dialed the Authority, attempting to find someone who could stop Alice, but was met with a recording stating the phone system was down. Dana knew Alice was behind it. The woman identified with the AI's above her own species. Regardless of her intentions, Alice was betraying the human race. An air-raid siren wound up into a blare outside the house. Dana's radio squawked, and an alert came over the speaker. It was from a Government-Contract Coordinator several miles away, in the city's center. An army was invading DC. Dana saw the ISF officers scrambling into their vehicles through the nearby window, and she grabbed the technician's collar, hauling him to his feet, "Give me your keys." He fumbled through his pockets as Dana dragged him through the house and across the front yard. The ISF vehicles were racing away, and Dana put the tech into the forensics van, catching the keys as he dropped them. Swinging into the driver's seat, she started the engine and punched the accelerator to gain some ground on the train of emergency vehicles speeding toward the Memorial Bridge. Two miles down the George Washington Parkway and she saw what the alarmed Coordinator was talking about. A line of towering objects were lumbering slowly through the waters of the Potomac. They stood taller than the Memorial Bridge, and were headed for the Washington mall. Dana noticed the train of brake lights just in time to swerve off the road and onto the bike path alongside it. She followed this all the way to the bridge, where she skidded to a halt. Jumping out of the van, she ran towards the bridge and leapt up on the hood of a Military Humvee for a better view. There were eighteen of them; towering mecha walking on four stalks each. At their peaks was a large, steel orb bristling with radar, antennas, digital receivers, and other unidentifiable instruments. They glistened with water droplets, and seaweed clumps dangled from various precipices. The first of the towering robots stepped gently over the bulkhead toward the Lincoln Memorial. Dana hopped down from the Humvee's hood and ran between the rows of abandoned cars across the bridge, fighting against the throngs of fleeing civilians to follow the silent invaders. Once there she saw more robots rising from the deeper waters in the distance. At the point where the bridge met the bulkhead, several bus-sized scorpion-robots were climbing the stone wall. One paused to focus several camera stalks on her momentarily before continuing. Then a swarm of orbs, each the size of a basketball, descended from the cloud canopy to surround the procession, using three propellers to create a gyroscopic effect. An array of appendages dangled from underneath each one, and their metal orbs, were covered with lenses, providing them a nearly omniscient view of the surroundings. Water rained down lightly on Dana's face as she craned her neck to watch one of the tower-bots step over her. They were navigating carefully, causing no damage. Their long thin legs avoided people and cars as they progressed slowly into the city. It was beautiful. "That's a Science Warfare Applications sentry bot," a nearby Monument Security contractor said, craning her neck at the towering robot. "Carrying a Xybercorp EMP missile," the Industrial Special Forces™ commander was shaking his head in disbelief. "It's a hostile corporate takeover." The wind was knocked out of Dana as someone tackled her to the street. All around various contracting agency officers took positions between the abandoned vehicles. Dana could not catch her breath to protest, and, with horror, she realized their intentions. The entire area was about to become a war zone, and she was standing at ground zero. Her heart jumped as the first shot was fired, and she dropped for cover as a barrage of bullets like a flood of fear and rage let loose after it. 3.08" What do you mean you're not logging out?" Devin demanded, his shock affecting his voice's pitch. "Don't you realize the danger we're in?" Zai was defiant, "Don't you realize that if we leave Samantha here they'll kill her?" Devin looked at Samantha, who was clutching Zai's hand and leaning against her thigh protectively. He swallowed uncomfortably, already regretting what he was about to say, "Zai, she's a mind without a body. You and I have a real world to return to. We can do more good there." They stood in a sterile white room, barren, cold, and without visible dimensions. A lone doorway stood on its own, leading back to the Internet. This was the lobby for their makeshift server. "Forget it," Zai said. "Why the change of heart?" Devin pointed at Samantha. "Earlier she wasn't even a real person to you. Now you suddenly care about her?" "You go back to your body and see what you can do," Zai replied, "but we both know there isn't anything." "Nothing I can do?" Devin countered. "I can do plenty." Zai heard a low rumbling, and the nearby doorway trembled. "Do it then," she said. Devin logged out. It was simple. All he needed to do was take the server offline. Then the AI's would have no way onto the system. Samantha would be safe on the flash drive in their basement computer lab. |
This could prove very interesting, she thought. Angie felt her stomach growl, begging for food. She checked her watch and was surprised to find that she had been treasure hunting for three hours. She took the box of antiques downstairs to clean up as she fixed a bite to eat. She made a quick lunch of grilled ham and cheese and potato tots. I really need to start eating better, she reminded herself again. She carefully cleaned the vase and set it on the table. It was beautiful white porcelain with red, orange and pink roses. It reminded her of one her grandmother used to keep on the entryway table. Angie remembered herself as a little girl, standing on the | This could prove very interesting, she thought. Angie felt her stomach growl, begging for food. She checked her watch and was surprised to find that she had been treasure hunting for three hours. She took the box of antiques downstairs to clean up as she fixed a bite to eat. She made a quick lunch of grilled ham and cheese and potato tots. I really need to start eating better, she reminded herself again. She carefully cleaned the vase and set it on the table. It was beautiful white porcelain with red, orange and pink roses. It reminded her of one her grandmother used to keep on the entryway table. Angie remembered herself as a little girl, standing on the tips of her toes, trying to smell the perfume of the lilac branches hanging from the vase. Angie wiped the dust from the silver frames but the tarnish would have to be dealt with later. The ladies' gloves were in the sink soaking in soapy water. Back to the treasure trove, Angie told herself as she climbed the staircase. She went to the closet and pulled out three more boxes. As she turned to set the third box in her small clearing, a box slid from its' stack and landed behind Angie. She had the feeling she should look through that one first. The box was filled with books, letters and loose papers. The papers were mainly old business receipts and order forms from a fishery in Coos Bay. They were dated from the early nineteen hundreds. The books were financial logs and business related texts. One book stood out from the rest. It was a plain gray and blue cover that had been torn from a book entitled, Modern Fishing Industry. Inside was a diary that had been glued by the spine to the cover. It was written in what looked like a nervous feminine hand. Angie set it aside and made a point to read it when she was done with her treasure sifting. She also set the letters aside with the diary. Three more boxes were old business and mariner books. One trunk caught Angie's eyes. It was a wooden box that had a fold of soft white but dusty cloth hanging out and crushed by the closed lid. She lifted the rusty lock plate hinge and lifted the heavy lid. Inside she found a beautiful white wedding gown that had been moth-eaten over the years. As she lifted it, she could see that it was a very fine quality, magnificent at one time, piece of wedding finery. Didn't Wes say that the Sandmier woman was found hanging in the attic wearing her wedding dress, Angie thought. Looking at the dress brought a rush of memories of her own beautiful wedding day. It had been a perfect day. A lump formed in her throat and a wave of emotion tried to choke her. She was in no mood to write a letter to Bill right now, but she took a deep breath and concentrated on her feelings. She would write later. She crushed the dress to her bosom and cried into the soft white gown. Chapter Eleven Angie settled into the plumb colored sheets, opened the old makeshift diary, and read. "Because of the strange goings-on and my suspicions, I need to make a secret record that will not be found by William or the nanny, Sophie. I made this book so that it could be hidden where nobody would likely find it- in plain sight, on the bookshelves in Williams Library. William goes to sea frequently and often for extended lengths of time, so when I told him that I miss him dreadfully, he mistook it for sad longing and reprimanded me for complaining. He told me that he would be hiring a nanny to help me with Stanley since the new baby would be taking much of my attention. I tried to convince him that it was not necessary but he insisted. Two weeks later, just before he was to sail again, he brought Sophie to work for us. She was quiet and attentive but cold and unfriendly. William told me to give her a little time to settle in. The night before he was to leave, he excused himself from our bedroom to talk to Sophie about her duties while he was away. I was appalled that he closed our door behind him and that he went to her room in his nightclothes. I could hear them talking in the hall then her door closing. I expected his return momentarily but he was gone for nearly an hour. I fumed the entire time and resolved to address him on it. Finally when he returned he avoided my conversation and only wanted to get to sleep. The only thing he would say is that he had explained her duties. "A few days after William left, I became violently sick. I had lost much of my bodily fluids and became quite dehydrated. Doctor Morris was called to our house. He said that he feared I might lose the baby. He was correct. Three days later, our baby girl was stillborn. I named her Josephine, after my father Joseph Phineas. I was extremely distraught at the loss of my beautiful daughter. She was far too small to survive this world. Her entire body would fit inside my hand. It tears up my soul to write of it. I had Sophie arrange to have a family grave fenced in on the hill above the house. I began to regain my strength quickly so on the fourth day after her death, I was able to climb the path to watch her burial. I visited her every day for almost a week. Then on Sunday as we returned from church, I climbed the path and Sophie took Stanley to change clothes. As I sat next to her grave, I heard an unusual sound come from below me, down the hill. It sounded like Sophie yelling. I hurried down the hill to house. I heard commotion from upstairs so I rushed up the stairs. Nobody was on the second floor! At that moment, Sophie came running from the attic door. She said that Stanly had fallen from the balcony to the ground. We rushed downstairs and to the seaside of the house where we found my dear little boy unconscious. The fall was not far, but he had an enormous lump on his head where he had hit it. Sophie said she did not see what he hit but that he seemed to 'bounce' off something. "Dr. Morris was again summoned to our home. With a tear in his eye, he told me that we could do nothing but wait and pray. I stayed by Stanley's bed for three days. He only woke twice to ask where Papa was. He never cried once. On the third day after the fall, he passed. Part of me died with him." Angie laid the diary on her lap and leaned her head against the headboard. She sighed and wondered at the tragedy of which she was reading. That poor woman, she thought, how could she stand so much pain? Angie got up to stretch her legs and back. She used the bathroom and went downstairs to get a soda. She returned to finish the diary. There were only a few pages left. "I spent four days in my bed crying. Sophie brought me tea and soup but I took little. Finally, when I was able to gather my thoughts and courage I dressed and went downstairs to talk with Sophie about Stanley's burial and related arrangements. Sophie told me that she had taken care of everything and that Stanley had been buried the day before! I was in such shock and so angry that I wanted to attack her. She had taken away my chance to say goodbye to my little son! I ran with all the strength I had left, to the top of the cemetery path, and there next to Josephine was a second little grave and a stone with Stanley's name engraved on it. I cried for a long while. My next memory was waking in my bed a few days later. I began to watch Sophie very carefully. Her every move, her every word became suspicious to me. Finally, I asked her why Stanly was on the balcony. She told me that she had taken him there to see if Papa's boat was coming in. I asked her why she would do that if she knew William was not due for another week. She smiled and said she was just boosting his anticipation. "The next day I called on the sheriff's office and asked that he look into the accident. He came by the following day and said he was suspicious of the loose railing, but there was no real proof that it had been tampered with. I knew that it had. It was solid every time I had been up there. I had spent many hours during the summer watching for Williams' steamboat to return up the river from the bay where he moored the fishing boats. "I worried about how I was going to tell William of the tragic events that had taken place while he was at sea. How could I find any words tot tell him that he had lost both of his children within two weeks time? It turned out that I did not need to tell him. After his ships docked and before he journeyed home on the steamer, he had stopped at the pub he visits after every voyage. As he was drinking, someone gave him the horrible news. He returned home in a fury, bursting through the front door and climbing the staircase like a demon. I had gotten up from my bed to go to him but he rushed into the room and shoved me back onto the bed. He slapped me several times and my ears could only hear some of what he bellowed at me. I only remember hearing things like: irresponsible, unworthy, misfit, and whore. When he was finished pummeling me he went to Sophie's room. The door slammed shut and there were only the sounds of his sobs for a long while. I had never before heard him cry. And, I have still not seen it. A few hours later William returned to our room and he slept until the next afternoon. I offered to escort him to visit the graves but he asked that I stay behind. He returned with eyes red. I wanted to cry with him but he avoided me for several days. Several weeks passed. There was no peace but there was quiet. I grieved every moment. Several nights I woke to find William missing from our room. The night before he left for his spring voyage, he forced himself on me. My sweetheart had lost his tenderness and had become brutal. For a long time I thought it was because of our loss but I think now there is more. William had been gone for nearly a month when I discovered that I was again expecting. This time I felt no joy or anticipation, only fear. One day, Sophie took the horse and cart and went into town to shop for the weekly kitchen needs. I noticed her bedroom door was ajar. It had been a long time since I had seen the |
No, of course not. All they can do is, prior to dining, bulls*** about whether the restaurant deserves one or five stars; relying solely on the adequacy of the waitress' worn-out smile and the number of stars granted by the 'Michelin Guide.' This country is more f***** up than it has been any time since the Great Depression. If you don't believe me ask any young, non-Ivy-League person trying to get a start. Ever since 9-11-01, the US economy has faltered, due to the dictated security and military spending. Personal freedoms and the right to privacy have been sacrificed. Some teddy bear cuddling, inner infant discoverers will note the plethora of ones in the | No, of course not. All they can do is, prior to dining, bulls*** about whether the restaurant deserves one or five stars; relying solely on the adequacy of the waitress' worn-out smile and the number of stars granted by the 'Michelin Guide.' This country is more f***** up than it has been any time since the Great Depression. If you don't believe me ask any young, non-Ivy-League person trying to get a start. Ever since 9-11-01, the US economy has faltered, due to the dictated security and military spending. Personal freedoms and the right to privacy have been sacrificed. Some teddy bear cuddling, inner infant discoverers will note the plethora of ones in the magical date and conclude that it is a sign that the friendly angels are watching out for us. Excuse the hell out of me as I attempt to not rudely laugh out loud. Just a minute.................. Okay. Okay. Ignore the easy and irrelevant distractions. Leave the over-privileged bear haulers with their worshipped meta cherubim and seraphim. It's been fifteen years since the start and from any statistics available the "War on Terror" has only expanded, depleting more US resources. Obama has spent four times more money and has dropped four times as many bombs than Dubya. Yet, you will never hear a question or criticism from a white liberal, and you know f****** well why. In addition, the military industrial complex as well as the interests of the foreign owned media know all too well and capitalize on it. This war has grown from an idealistic statement of armed belief to one headed by hating, low class and low income thugs assisted by stupid or sociopathic rich Arabs; many on the Sheikh's payroll. While fifteen years ago it was possible, though US unpopular to consider the complaints of Bin Laden headed Al-Queda. However, the actions taken by ISIS, whatever their preferred name, are intolerable. Originally the crux of the dispute was solvable through honest negotiation. It might have revolved around the US defilement through uninvited presence in Islamic holy land and the US 'purchase' of mid-east sovereigns. This was likely done in the hope of ensuring the continuance of its supply of the oil to which it had become addicted. For me, at that point, it seemed as if the US had a lot of moral apologizing to do. As a practical matter it seemed that the US should stop their many incursive maneuvers and facilities established without the invitation of the people they claimed to be 'liberating' or some such thing. It's been on Muhammed's holiest of lands, from which it is still right to withdraw. I mean it's so obviously wrong. How would we Americans feel if the Chinese established a military presence in Chicago, and decided to take the Crip side? Still, at an earlier time an optimist would have seen the possibility of a negotiated solution. But, instead of talking, the Bush boy led a US declared war on something difficult to define; terrorists. Now, it's crazy season on all sides of the issue. While, for the moment ignoring my value judgmental commentary, this general scenario is viewed as cynically acceptable 'wisdom' to those majority pundits working at the first level of accessible deception. A wider explanation would involve rank, nuances, disputable degrees of logic, the amount of influence held by the corporate war machine; in our interest to better manage, but not obliterate; the need to be electable in a democracy resplendent with one issue voters; some of the more vocal in possession of stuffed toys, and the over-lapping relationship with an Israeli ally, hardened by 65 years of suicide bombers and scud missiles. I regret to say that that is simplistic; each factor with all its permutations merits its own study, in the long run. Right now, the ISIS thugs have taken over the Arabic cause; causing many Arabs to flee Arabia. They extoll their supposedly minority interpretation of Islam while those in the Islamic mainstream flee for various reasons. That's supposed to be some kind of joke, but it's just too sad a one to laugh at. The lack of organization which takes 'credit' for the ugliest of deaths and calls itself ISIS has openly said that it seeks no negotiation and is only committed to the total destruction of the west and the institution of its conveniently misunderstood Sharia law throughout the world. These few, cruel, brain damaged devotees of woolen sock head fashion, have crossed a line, best not crossed armed only with knives, automatic rifles and internet tutored explosive devices. Whether or not Al-Queda or ISIS was originally started by the US CIA, FBI, Black Ops or any secretive organization buried within, doesn't matter anymore. They have vowed to kill us. The 'reasons' for their indoctrination may matter to their mommies. Only. Allowed the freedom of speech non-existent where they come from, in the US the foreigners are still permitted to continue to attempt to make a living off the backs of many US citizens, too long suffering under the constrictions of a war economy, with no regard for their effect on the populace anywhere. The big boys have been pestered into letting the little s***s from the boonies capitalize on them. Some US instinct for brevity curtails the subsidiary considerations. Having said that, here's the game with which the US has been presented; so far the field defined by others. It can continue to slowly but surely go down the namby-pamby path suggested to it by many who have appointed themselves some sort of moderator or indie critic; in what is merely a further dive into a Babel confusion and an Adam Smith bankruptcy. It can defer to the blank of its fascination with its un-elected royalty and subsequently bitch with a dick up its ass. It can seek political reform while trying not to be too obviously a joke. It can f*** everybody up with a bomb like they haven't seen in seventy years. The US has spent fortunes building the largest arsenal of nuclear explosives ever known. For what? To further the impoverishment of the American people? F*** that s***. It was made to be used when needed. Okay. Warn the f**** first, but if they don't cut the s***, obliterate 'em. It won't hurt. It's a kind of mercy. And it's economical. With the exception of a few jackasses who think that they're filling the hole in their mentally challenged head with an ISIS affiliation, the rest of the world truly wishes that the sock-heads would be slowly tortured to death with a blowtorch or the object of their greatest fear. The idea behind democracy is the deference to the majority, with recognition of minority rights. Yes?.......... Okay. While western democracy is declared an enemy with the threat of death over-hanging; if the idea of democracy was ever worth a f****** thing, wouldn't it stand up for itself and the ones it loved? Yes!!!! Yes!!! Inevitable f****** yes!! The trap and the noose have the most temporary of times; a blink in the eyes of a blind toad. ISIS has displayed a useful additional lack of knowledge in guerilla warfare tactics. Rather than dispersing and offering no clear target, they have sequestered in what they must consider some sort of stronghold. They must be too stupid to know that this is an easy target; even for a drone. Look! This expensive bulls*** has been going on for fifteen years now and is still escalating. We can't afford a 100 year war here. The only beneficiary of that would be the military industrial complex and those s***ty writers from New Zealand who can copy it into another low end book. And; I've got some news. No one wants any further "debate" about the merit of each side; the possible false flag procedures; whether or not the majority of eastern and domestic Muslims are peaceful people and whether or not they are supportive of the US and whether or not, as the conspiracy theorist nuts say, that America is the cause of all the problems. I don't give a flying f*** if it was the CIA, NBC or the piss-ass unemployment line where these low class slob barbarians were first organized. These scumbags want to kill us and our friends. What more do you need to know? F*** it. Just f*** all that blah, blah, blah, stupid s***. Get ye some trustworthy patriots and build a plane which gives the appearance of being one from Russia; or some other country with nuclear capabilities which we dislike even more. Use it to drop the f****** nuke right on ISIS territory. What the hell else did we build them for? To keep them in some hollowed out mountain for the dinosaurs to guard and have some conspiracy assholes piss and moan over? F*** that subversive s***. Do two, at the very least. Do three. Don't feel badly over the low numbers. It's the quality which counts most. The machines have yet to figure out how to calculate that one. Burn the plane at Area 51. Provide a film of the bombing event with the Russian insignias all over the plane. Issue statements deploring the atrocity. Even bring it up at the useless UN. Be deaf to the inevitable recriminations to follow. Collateral damage? Surprise, m**** f****** surprise. It's called a war, dickass. How long do you have to be told that s*** happens? Say so sorry, really; if they can pin it on ya. It's a Pynchon paradise or a Pynchon dystopia, depending upon book and point of view, without the overly thick attempt at obscuration." "Allow me to jump in with an observation or two. It seems rationally consistent that your point of view coincides with that of someone who has been periodically ignored; and has been very hurt by that. I'm almost sure that you are aware of the possibility of that 'psychological' interpretation. Following from that, it would be logical to assume that you have herein, today enunciated something which has been courageously appreciated, within its limitations. But on the other hand, it is clearly recognized that this often naïve presentation, posing as sophistication is yet to be accepted anywhere. Recognized authorities have been reticent to bestow accolades, and those requiring a leader have no one to follow. This may be overly kind to someone with no merit. Some would say that it seems that it is very possible that you have purposefully concocted a viewpoint which may work only for you; insofar as you have calculated its personal benefits; not much different than the two decades old David Foster Wallace attempts at an un-democratic, concealed desire for complete dominance, masked by a longevity with which few have been blessed. Back to the situation at hand, it does seem eminently possible that the author has surreptitiously built in, through his unilaterally chosen scenario, a situation in which his hidden biases are justified by the Drucker defined |
What would you like me to do?" "I need you to take that picture of the Crystal to Haneltha's Magic Crystal Shop. She will know more about that crystal than anything else." "Okay. What will you do?" Jayson picked up the sheet containing the students' names and he showed it to the Knight. "I'm going to interview the Breakfast Club and see what they can tell me. If one of them is lying I'll be able to spot it." Nathaniel once again nodded his head and in a blue light, he disappeared from the office. Jayson let out a deep sigh of frustration. If the Witch wanted to solve this case | What would you like me to do?" "I need you to take that picture of the Crystal to Haneltha's Magic Crystal Shop. She will know more about that crystal than anything else." "Okay. What will you do?" Jayson picked up the sheet containing the students' names and he showed it to the Knight. "I'm going to interview the Breakfast Club and see what they can tell me. If one of them is lying I'll be able to spot it." Nathaniel once again nodded his head and in a blue light, he disappeared from the office. Jayson let out a deep sigh of frustration. If the Witch wanted to solve this case before the end of the day, he was going to have to take part in something he never enjoyed doing: socializing. Chapter 8 [*Back In The Past*] In The Echoes Kingdom: Nathaniel entered his bedroom at the Echoes' castle and took off his leather doublet vest. He placed it on the back of a wooden chair located just a few feet away from his king sized bed. The Prince's room was brightly lit with twelve flame lit torches bolted onto the stoned walls. After the long day the Prince had, he just wanted to snuff out the flames and fall into a deep slumber, but he couldn't. Something- someone\- was running rampant through his mind and he loved every second of it. Knock! Knock! Knock! A soft knocking caused the Prince to turn his attention over to a pair of large wooden doors, which led out to the balcony. Only wearing his blue riding breeches with brown high boots and with his trusty sword still in its holster located on the right side of his hip, he walked toward the doors and pulled it open to be greeted by the black night sky and frigid Winter wind. He walked further onto the balcony to find a basket located on the ledge with a note on it. The Prince looked around cautiously. He was met with green vines, which grew against the outside façade of his wall and straight across his eighth floor balcony was the amazing view of Sandston just a few miles away. Nathaniel slowly placed his right hand on the handle of the sword as he approached the basket cautiously. In the basket was a small note on top of a purple blanket, but strangely an aroma of Apple Pie danced around in his nostrils. He took the note and read it to himself:" Nathan, I hope this is an appropriate means of gratitude. Do not fret, this contains no Poppy Extract or poison. - Jayson" Nathaniel pulled back the small blanket to find a golden, warm and freshly baked apple pie inside of it. A smile spread across the Prince's face as he could imagine the struggle Jayson had to go through just baking it. "Oh there you are Darling!" The voice belonged to a woman who stood by the doorway of Nathaniel's bedroom, hearing her voice he flinched and turned to her nervously. She stopped dead in her tracks and couldn't believe the sight of Nathaniel standing in the frigid cold, shirtless! "Darling it's frigid. You need to come in before you fall ill and-" She stopped speaking as she noticed the basket on the ledge. "What on Earth is that ghastly thing?" "It's an Apple Pie." Nathaniel answered the beautiful woman. "It is a gift from a Witch I saved earlier." "A Witch?!" the woman gasped. "Surely you are mad if you think I am going to let you take one bite of something a Witch made! They are as poor of bakers as they are poor in hygiene and beauty." The woman was no older than twenty-seven, but her flawless features hid her age very well, anyone who came across her for the first time would assume she was in her early teens. She wore a red ball gown embellished with beautiful Rubies. Her blonde hair was styled in a neat bun on her head and around her neck was an Echoes family heirloom; a snake like necklace embellished with Ruby and Emerald stones. "I assure you Cassandra, this Witch is different. He is a great person that is just trying to find his place in this Realm. Away from the people who judge solely based on who he is." "He is a Witch, darling, there is no turning a blind eye on that. He is no more of a menace than a cult of Vampires descending onto a group of low life whores. It's what they do." Nathaniel had to admit, the analogy Cassandra said made no sense to him and he was one hundred percent certain, she, herself, had no idea what anything that came out of her own mouth meant. He smiled and took her hands in his. "If it makes you feel better I will discard the pie." She smiled and gazed into his eyes, "That would make me feel exceptionally well." He nodded and gave the woman a soft kiss on her forehead. "Now if you do not mind, please come indoors before you fall ill. My mother is arriving tomorrow for the wedding rehearsal and I want to make sure, when she meets my fiancé, she meets the healthy and strong Prince I agreed to marry. Not some sick peasant." The Prince once again gave her a nod. She softly kissed his lips and placed a hand on his bare chest. "I love you Nathaniel." "I love you too Ja-" he stopped short when he heard the words about to come out of his mouth and before Cassandra could sense something was wrong he quickly fixed the situation. "I love you too, just give me a few seconds to pray...then I'll come back in." Cassandra smiled, turned on her heels and reentered the room closing the doors behind her. The Prince let out a sigh of relief and ran his fingers through his hair. "That was a close one." A high pitch voice was heard in the dark night. "Yeah, any closer and she would have heard you confess your love for Jayson." Nathaniel watched as three glowing lights-Red (Rojò), Blue (Azùla) and Green (Verde) - fluttered down in front of him and he looked back at the wooden doors quickly. "I don't love Jayson!" he stated returning back to face the Fairies and lowered his voice. "Two men cannot fall in love. That is forbidden. So please stop making up fictitious stories." "The rules have been broken before." Rojò said. "That is right." said Verde. "You can't put rules on love." added Azùla. Nathaniel rubbed his forehead in frustration as the Fairies started to have a conversation amongst themselves. "Focus!" The Prince stated clapping his hands causing all three to remain silent. "I need you three to keep watch over Jayson." "Because you like him?" asked the Red Fairy. "Do not be stupid Rojò! Nathaniel doesn't 'like' the Witch...He loves him!" teased the Blue Fairy. Nathaniel growled softly causing all three Fairies to once again stop speaking and he inhaled deeply. "Please, just keep an eye on him." The Fairies agreed in unison and they fluttered away into the night sky. The Prince glanced down at the pie, he waved his right hand over it and in a blue light, it disappeared. He smiled to himself as he turned around and made his way toward the double doors. He pulled the doors open and reentered his warm bedroom, hoping to run into the Witch some time again. Chapter 9 [*Present Day*] Haneltha's Magic Crystal Shop: Nathaniel pushed the door of the Magic Shop open and he felt a familiar chill run down his spine as he passed through the threshold. He was shocked to see the sun shining in the small town of Doole, but he forgot time between Realms differed. While it's around 3:30am in the Mortal Realm, it's 12:20pm in the Farietalè Realm and 4:00pm here in the Magic Realm. He ignored the growling of his stomach as he wondered if he ate breakfast in the Mortal Realm and then lunch in the Farietalè Realm, if that's considered cheating on his diet. It had been ages since he walked through the same door and saw the same various shapes of colorful crystals organized on the shelves by size, color, weight and Magical attribution. He closed the door behind him and made his way toward the counter. The boutique wasn't filled with any customers shopping or guests frequenting the aisles in search of anything that caught their eyes; instead it was just the Knight. Once at the counter, Nathaniel noticed a clear crystal heart in a box not far from the cash register. The clear crystal seemed to have soothed the Knight; it cleared his mind from the craziness he endured in the past couple of hours. "Beautiful isn't it?" The question broke the Knight's concentration and he looked to find Haneltha standing by a curtain made up entirely of pink glass beads a few feet away from the counter. The woman looked no older than 29 years old. She had shoulder length lavender colored hair, which was practically glowing due to her dark brown skin. She had two bright hazel eyes and wore a black form fitting dress. Her voice was smooth like velvet and she had an accent that the Knight had heard many times while he visited New York City years ago. He couldn't help but wonder if her family was the group of Witches that migrated here during the Dark Realm Wars in 1346 A.D. She approached the counter as Nathaniel cleared his throat, "Yes, it is." He answered. "I just got it in today. It is said to glow pink when two people who are destined to be together are in the same room and if it glows black, that means they are not meant to be. Sounds like a cliché I know, but I assure you it's quite romantic." Nathaniel nodded. "I'm sorry to just drop in like this." Haneltha smiled placing her hands on her hips. "Don't apologize, business never needs an appointment." She paused as an unsettling thought rushed into her mind. "Oh dear Goddess, are you here because the Kingdom is in trouble?" Nathaniel quickly shook his head and met her gaze. "No not at all. I was actually sent by Jayson." She let out a small gasp at the mention of the name of her old friend. "How is he? I've been trying to call him for two days now." "He's been good." The Knight stated. "Agatha's passing hasn't really hit him yet. That or he's just super cold on the inside, since...you know." The shop owner giggled |
There was no shortage of money, of course, but both of them seemed to behave like many privileged sorts, in that they liked to appear personally frugal, despite driving in Ferraris to and from their mansions. They took family life in their stride alongside their studies with the help of a full-time nanny and home help. They did do their own cooking. Orthodox Jews usually do. And it was clear that both Sophie and Adam were headed straight for the family business, different families, same business. So why Southeast Asian Studies? My dad's choice of degree always interested me. A brokerage firm always needs a supply of lawyers, so Sophie's specialism was of direct use. | There was no shortage of money, of course, but both of them seemed to behave like many privileged sorts, in that they liked to appear personally frugal, despite driving in Ferraris to and from their mansions. They took family life in their stride alongside their studies with the help of a full-time nanny and home help. They did do their own cooking. Orthodox Jews usually do. And it was clear that both Sophie and Adam were headed straight for the family business, different families, same business. So why Southeast Asian Studies? My dad's choice of degree always interested me. A brokerage firm always needs a supply of lawyers, so Sophie's specialism was of direct use. Pop did eventually explain. There had been a plan. The company had planned to go into Hong Kong, Singapore and Bangkok. And this was only the early sixties. They were really ahead of the game. The problem was that no-one had really sounded out Sophie and she got cold feet. She threw a wobbler and the project was delayed. I don't know the details, but it is highly likely, let's say it was in character, for it to have coincided with my dad committing an indiscretion or two. It might just have been Sophie asserting her control. To this day I don't know what caused their split, but I do know that a rift developed, and they separated after just three years of marriage. Pop had only just completed his doctorate and the twins were just two. That was not the last they saw of him, but he was certainly not around very often for them after then. My pop did go to Thailand and spent some time visiting other places in the region. He was still based in Bangkok when the firm decided not to open its Asian office and soon after dad joined up for service in the military. Exactly how or why it happened, he will not say. The region was, of course, at war, but he wasn't drafted. He volunteered. It is possible that he was selected, or made an offer, perhaps one he could not refuse. He did some active service in South Vietnam and he was wounded, though not seriously. He did need a few weeks in a military hospital in Thailand, but I believe he was there for training, because he was then recruited into a different kind of service. And now the other end of the story, the part that began with our arrival in the States in 1978. Pop went back into the family firm, opened business in Asia, made a fortune in emerging markets, spotted new investment opportunities before others and made an even bigger fortune in dot coms. He lost most of that in the late nineties, made another killing in the noughties and lost again in the crash. Then he had a stroke and died a decade into the century. It was at the reading of the will that I first met the twins. They knew I existed, but they had never expressed any desire to meet. I had asked my pop to let me meet them, but that had been many years before and he was reluctant, so I did not pursue. To say they were angry at what unfolded at that meeting with the attorney would be understatement. Pop's logic was simple. He had two families, so his estate would split down the middle, one half each. The daughters had assumed it would be three ways at least, one third for each child. Sophie had died some years before, so there was no-one else, as far as they were concerned. But my pop's thinking was to provide support for my mom and Mary, of whom the girls probably had no knowledge. But my pop knew he could trust me. Whoever he had been living with over those decades - because it certainly had not been Sophie, my mom and certainly not Mary - was obviously provided for by some legacy of which we knew nothing. We did not even know if such a person existed. Rest assured, however, she did, and there is no need to assume it was only one. But there were certainly no more children, because he would have adopted them, just as he had done with me. My pop was no saint. He had married Sophie and then made himself scarce, leaving behind twin daughters. Who knows what he got up to in Saigon or Bangkok? He fathered me via a fifteen-year-old called Hli, whom he never married. And crucially for Eileen McHugh's story, he married the woman we call called Mary to facilitate a journey to the US when she was already pregnant by him. He was a man who achieved much success, but who also cultured enemies. It was some of those enemies who broke into the house in Chiang Mai in 1978. The war was over. Whatever business he was still doing was covered by the new rules of the practice, which meant there were no rules and the older ways of doing things no longer applied. Don Reynolds had never really appreciated that, and there were already new actors, new markets and different ways of doing things. Those new methods, that night, involved baseball bats. They did not come to my room. They did not visit my mom next door. We heard the noise, but we were too afraid to go out until well after the shots were fired and everything went quiet. The lights on the porch were on, so we could see everything immediately. There were four bodies lying between the furniture. All were shot. There was blood, a lot of blood. Mary had been in that front room and the door was ajar. Pop was slumped on the threshold. He held his left hand to his face. He was bleeding. He was trying to stand, but his left leg was at a ridiculous angle. He had a gun in his right hand. I remember his dropping it when I pulled at his arm to help him stand. I can still hear his screams. The attackers had clearly thought that baseball bats coupled with surprise would be enough to do the job and do it quietly, at least quietly enough not to wake the neighbours. But in the dark, they had started their attack on the only person in the bed that night and they had laid in big time with their beating. What they did not know was that their intended target, my pop, Don, as he was to them, was at the back of the house in bed with my mom. They had clearly staked out the place for a while and noticed that, most nights, Don slept at the front with Mary. But he did not do that every night, my mom saw to that. This was one of the other nights. He had heard the commotion and waited, too long as things turned out, to be sure exactly where the noise was coming from, and indeed that it was coming from with our house. My pop took his gun from the bedside table, ran through the house and started shooting. He was taking blows, but, as he had been trained, he emptied the magazine in quick fire. He shot all four of them and then finished them off with a second clip. He had a cut on his head which would later scar, and he would lose his left eye, but the broken leg was just a hairline fracture and healed quickly. Mary, who had been asleep in the front room, however, had taken the combined blows of all four men. She was unconscious and in a real mess. She had been beaten around the head and one of dad's bullets had gone through an attacker and was lodged somewhere inside her. Now the occasional gunshot in Chiang Mai is hardly likely to raise alarm, but several in succession might just be a gunfight, which were not uncommon in those days, but would always attract attention. The place was crowded with police just minutes later. And, by the time they had made a call or two, they had decided they clearly knew my dad and knew him well. It took a few weeks. There was travel, hospital, more travel, more hospital. We finished in a military hospital in the south of the country. Mom and I had no idea what was happening. We were just taken along. Pop was mending, his facial stitches removed, but still in pain. Mary McHugh was in a coma. She never did regain consciousness. She had a brain haemorrhage and the bullet had penetrated her spine. She had no movement but was alive. She was also on a British passport alongside a tourist visa that was years out of date. Mom and I became refugees. We were processed, if that be the right word, and we joined a group of people who spoke similar languages to our own. We arrived in the US, lived in a camp for a few weeks and then were picked up by my pop, whom I still called Don, and the rest is history. Don and Mary had a more complicated journey. Cover was needed, because of that passport. A pre-dated marriage certificate was obtained. Mary McHugh was now Mary Reynolds and that forged paper allowed her to travel as the wife of a serving US military officer, so the Thai authorities needed no further arrangements for an immigrant on an over-stayed tourist visa. Mom and I were refugees. Things would work out. But Mary's status could have caused problems for everyone concerned. Married to Don, she was his problem and he had already cleared the solutions. It was crucial that she should exit Thailand with paperwork completed. Any trail would then lead somewhere cold. It was only when I sifted through Marion McHugh's box of personal effects that I realised the extent of the cover when I held what seemed to be a letter that had originated in Indonesia, sent from Medan. It was in its own packet and had been opened. Uncharacteristically, the letter was typed. No other document from Eileen in the box had even a hint of being near a typewriter and she had not tried to communicate with her mother for at least two years prior to that date, if the evidence within the box was at all comprehensive. But then this was something of its era, something a person of my age might not even recognise. It was a telegram. And that is why it was typed, and that is also why it had been opened and, presumably, read. One must assume that if letters had arrived, then Marion would have saved them, otherwise why should she have kept this one, which did not even have Eileen's handwriting on the envelope? There were no other letters from Eileen to her parents after she left home that tumultuous afternoon in June. Dear Mom Just a note stop Now left Thailand stop Came here on a boat that gave us a free passage stop Finding solace in Buddhism and meditation Stop Used the word us because we got married Stop Nice guy |
said Samuel, suddenly digging down to the center of the world. His voice was then heard echoing through the ground, as if by magical means. "I will activate the Ritual of Destruction, and summon the all-powerful Flawless Predator to defeat you!" "Nooooo- wait...who?" asked Contra with a dull look. Suddenly, the ground began trembling beneath him, until dark thunder clouds appeared out of thin air directly above the city. A large white colored portal then opened up to his left side, to which an enormous dark red carpet was rolled out. Hundreds of news reporters, cheering fans, and paparazzi then appeared out of thin air to surround the 100 | said Samuel, suddenly digging down to the center of the world. His voice was then heard echoing through the ground, as if by magical means. "I will activate the Ritual of Destruction, and summon the all-powerful Flawless Predator to defeat you!" "Nooooo- wait...who?" asked Contra with a dull look. Suddenly, the ground began trembling beneath him, until dark thunder clouds appeared out of thin air directly above the city. A large white colored portal then opened up to his left side, to which an enormous dark red carpet was rolled out. Hundreds of news reporters, cheering fans, and paparazzi then appeared out of thin air to surround the 100 feet long by 20 feet wide red carpet, along with a white colored stretch limo that drove through the shining portal. As he began using his clearly not magical x-ray vision to see through the hundreds of cheering people, he watched as the limo came to a stop halfway down the red carpet, and then witnessed an extraordinarily sexy right foot step out from the partially opened rear door. The first thing that Contra noticed was that the person's leg seemed flawless...absolutely flawless! "What...it can't be...no way!" Contra stammered, backing away with absolute fear. Of all things, an impossibly flawless man stepped out from the limo, and immediately proceeded to sway his flawless golden hair through the air for dramatic effect. "Greetings humans!" said the man, smiling with his perfect teeth. He used his right hand to wave through the air towards the cheering fans, who all fainted as soon as they saw his flawless body up close. The absolutely flawless man wore nothing but a long loincloth to cover his waist, which only served to bare even more of his flawless body for all to see. "I know you're all very desperate to hear me say my perfect name, so I will! My flawless name is Flawless Predator!" "No way!" said Contra, feeling the speed of his beating heart steadily increasing. "He's too beautiful!" The strength of the man's beauty was so great, that it made the cheering people next to him seem incredibly ugly. To fix this disturbing situation, Contra used his summoning magic to pull a large open sewage pipe from thin air, and positioned it above the flawless man. He then activated the pipes magical powers, and released a river of toxic sludge from its tip. As the toxic sludge slammed into the ground, the surrounding people were quickly melted away by the staining force of its brown liquid alone, until only Flawless was seen standing next to the outline of his melted car. Not only was his white loincloth not stained by the disgusting magical sludge, but his silver colored eyes seemed even more beautiful than they ever did. "Who did this!?" asked Flawless, looking around in confusion. Before the flawless man turned his flawless gaze on Contra, Samuel conveniently teleported back to the surface directly in front of him. "It is I, Samuel Graves!" the emo villain declared himself. "You stupid man! How dare you attempt to defile my body!" said Flawless, using his best effort to make his flawless face look angry. "Yeah! This guy's a real asshole!" Contra added from afar. Just as it looked like Samuel was about to make his response, Flawless snapped his beautiful fingers, and erased the powerful emo villain from existence. "You there," said Flawless, turning his attention to Contra. "Are you the one who used the Ritual of Destruction?" "Yes. My team will be going up against some extremely powerful enemies soon...so I summoned you to help us fight against them." "Then through the use of my miracle magic, I will assist you." "Thanks," said Contra with a happy smile. "Let's head home!" "Alright, but let me lure this little girl into the back of my van with some candy first," said Flawless, reaching his right hand out the opened back door of the van. A little girl materialized out of thin air, and walked towards the black colored van without a hint of worry. "Hey little girl, want some candy from a totally flawless stranger?" "Hell yes!" answered the small girl with an enthusiastic look. She stepped inside the van filled with dark tinted windows, and the door was promptly closed behind her. Moments later...After aimlessly driving around Hood City for several hours, Flawless Predator finally decided to move in for the kill. "It's gotten so late outside," he said with a worried look. "Little girl, why don't I bring you back home to your parents?" "Heck yeah!" the girl answered with a happy smile. After taking her home to her parents, he bid farewell to the small girl, and used his miracle magic to teleport to Contra's diamond-ice cream castle. Chapter 9 Final Fanboys *As soon as the raging emo fanboys got word of the death of their supreme leader, they launched an immediate attack on Contra's old underground lava fortress. Unfortunately, since it was 60,000 miles beneath the planet, they had no idea how to break through the laws of physics in order to reach it. * Currently, Contra was busy going over some annoying paperwork inside his bedroom. He wore his casual black business suit, paired with his new favorite pair of black colored yellow shoes. "I should go on vacation ..." said Contra, growing annoyed with the single sheet of paper. "I'm too rich to be doing any work!" Due to his drunken ramblings, he dashed outside his room door, and began skating across the vast ocean using his train shoes. These train shoes are a thousand miles long, gets 2 feet to the gallon, and were black in color to match the scorched sands below. Since it was past midnight, he knew full well that the fanboys would be attempting to launch another missile strike. They must be stopped at all costs, for if the nuke strikes the surface of the great Oil Desert, the planet's atmosphere will be burned away in an instant. "Those emo fanboys ..." said Contra, skating furiously across the oily desert. "Just to hide the fact that they were wrong about their comic book hero, they are planning to destroy the entire galaxy!?" "Contra!" Max yelled out suddenly behind him. "They're here!" True to his sidekick's words, several dozen fanboy demons were seen rushing along the left and right sides of Contra's train shoes, and were each over 200 feet tall. Not surprising, since they were about to launch their final attack, they wore their legendary and heavily branded Advertising Armor, which is said to each contain the power to summon an exploding multiverse, and anything else they can think of at the time. "Dammit! We're surrounded!" Contra pointed out. "Cindy! Take the wheel!" He quickly got up from his seat so she could take over the shoe controls, and teleported to the center of the speeding trains to see the rushing group of emo fanboys for himself. As much as he looked, however, the only people he saw were a bunch of gigantic faggots wearing skin-tight latex armor. In response to such a disgusting display, he challenged their views of the world using a sophisticated question. "Fanboys!" Contra shouted out through the air. "Answer me this: Why are you all so fucking brainless!?" They turned their disgusting faces to see him in response, and began squealing like dying pigs while saying their responses. "We have brains! We are all different! It is you who are stupid to not worship the ones we worship!" "My God!" said Contra, holding on to the top of his head. "It's even worse than I thought!" Since they clearly believed they were right and he was wrong, he decided to use his legendary technique, Diplomatic Dialogue Sequence to be a bit more understanding. "Okay, tell me something...what does it mean when the same heroes you worship so vigilantly have the same magical abilities as we do...but they aren't labeled as magic?" "Wrong!" the group of fanboys squealed into the air. "The ones we worship doesn't use magic, they have special powers that can be scientifically explained!" "Oh yeah!?" said Contra, stomping his feet into the air particles between the trains. "Then explain how I'm standing like this!" "That's easy!" said the nearest fanboy, rushing closer towards Contra as he continued to speak. This one wore a skin-tight blue suit, and had a flowing red cape attached to his shoulders. "The scientific explanation is that you are above our ability to understand! And just because we don't know something, that doesn't make it impossible!" "Fucking fanboy!" Contra shouted out with fury. "Why can't you learn to think for yourself? Understand that no matter how far into the future we are, some things are just fucking impossible!" "Never!" said the fanboy, rushing away to rejoin his gigantic faggot friends. "If everyone thought the way you did, then there would be no technological progression! We need to have impossible goals set so we can at least meet the expectations halfway!" "What the hell!?" asked the confused Contra. "You're wrong! It's not about setting impossible goals! It's about understanding the things we can, and can't do...only then will we have an idea what we can accomplish! You just tried pulling shit out of your ass in an attempt to make my previous question invalid!" "Whatever! I'm still right and you're wrong...wahahaha!" said the fanboy, laughing like the disgusting pig it was. "Argh! There's no reasoning with them!" said Contra, backing away with worry. He never planned on killing them all so soon, as he had hoped to enlighten them of their failures as living beings first. "Contra!" said Cindy, shouting from the front of the train. "My legs are getting tired!" "Max! Do it!" Contra instructed with a wave of his right hand. Just as the approaching squadron of fanboy spaceships was nearly upon them, Max activated his sword's Big Black Buster Breaker attack, and tore a hole through space to summon an exploding sun. The coldness of the intense flames ignited |
"No time for fun today-ah, you know what I mean? But maybe we have more time tomorrow, eh, Luiggi?" "I don't-ah-know," the shorter man grumbled. Rachel took a deep breath, then screamed at the top of her lungs, praying for anyone to hear her. Her throat burned and strained as the shrill sound reverberated through the room. The two men only laughed. Giuseppi was hard at work sharpening several different-sized blades that glimmered and flashed in the bright overhead lights. Luiggi stood to the side, arranging a set of extension cords that led to some kind of power tool hanging by the table side. They set up a smaller side table, | "No time for fun today-ah, you know what I mean? But maybe we have more time tomorrow, eh, Luiggi?" "I don't-ah-know," the shorter man grumbled. Rachel took a deep breath, then screamed at the top of her lungs, praying for anyone to hear her. Her throat burned and strained as the shrill sound reverberated through the room. The two men only laughed. Giuseppi was hard at work sharpening several different-sized blades that glimmered and flashed in the bright overhead lights. Luiggi stood to the side, arranging a set of extension cords that led to some kind of power tool hanging by the table side. They set up a smaller side table, placing three shining scalpels of varying lengths on top of a clean white cloth. Rachel had seen enough horror movies to know what was going to happen to her. She was going to die a slow and horrible death if she couldn't find a way to escape. Futile as it was, she again pulled hard against her shackles. Luiggi and Giuseppi paid little attention as they continued to prepare the room. When Rachel screamed again, both men only laughed louder. "Buena sera, belle mia," Luiggi said turning toward her, his voice almost holding a polite note, but his bulging eyes betrayed his intentions. Rachel thrashed at the chains that bound her to the wall, screaming again for her life as the two men approached. Then she saw Giuseppi's fist...BAM! A right hook to her left temple and everything went dark. *** Valentine and Stanic jumped back into the bullet riddled Cadillac. Valentine spoke from behind the wheel. "Before we pay a visit to the Stelino compound we'll just need to make a quick stop to pick up the explosives. I have an associate called Smith who sells powerful specialty items. Luckily, he lives not far from here. I met him while working undercover." Valentine drove down as many small back streets as possible, trying to keep out of sight from the police, until they reached a vast costal area of open farm land. He pulled off the main road and onto a small dirt driveway, then came to a stop in front of an old dilapidated house. "I had better go in alone," Valentine said, counting out several hundred dollar bills from the cash in his pocket. "Smith spooks...easily." Valentine got out of the car and made his way to the front door, giving it a gentle knock. The door opened and he disappeared inside. Ten minutes later he emerged from the home holding a dark plastic bag in his arms. He scanned the area for police cruisers as he walked back to the car. "I think six sticks of dynamite should do the trick, mate, and I recommend you not drop them," Valentine warned, handing over the bag. "There's a sixty second fuse attached and a lighter in the bag as well." Then he walked around, slid into the vehicle and drove back onto the highway, heading north toward the Stelino compound. *** Rachel began to regain consciousness as the two men were chaining her to the table. The room spun like a top and the bright lights blinded her. Pain from the powerful blow to her temple throbbed in her head. As she heard the locks snap on the ankle clamps, she realized this would be her last chance. She had to do something before they could clamp her wrists as well. Rachel snapped her eyes open, ready to make a move the second she could catch her captors off guard, when a deafening explosion shook the room. KA-BOOM! BABOOM-BOOM! The ground and walls trembled from a series of blasts and dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. Both men stopped what they were doing, mouths hanging open as they looked at each other in utter shock. Rachel sprang to a sitting position, snatched a scalpel from the side table before the two men could blink and with one quick motion drove the razor-sharp instrument straight into the shorter man's left eye socket. His other eye opened wide, as if not comprehending what had happened...and a droplet of blood trickled down his face like a lonely, cardinal-red tear. Luiggi grabbed onto his partner, but Giuseppi's weight made them stagger backward across the room. "Oh, Giuseppi! No, Giuseppi! Oh, no. Nooooooo!" Luiggi cried as he stood there like a father holding his dying child in his arms, Giuseppi's eye still spewing blood, his face now braided by a mask of thick, wet crimson. Luiggi's attention shifted from the dying man to the woman on the table. He laid Giuseppi to the side, straightened, and clenched his hands into fists as he glared at Rachel. Trapped with her ankles still chained to the table, Rachel felt as if she were in a horror movie, living out her final death scene, frame by agonizing frame, in high-definition slow motion, watching as Luiggi, eyes cold and bulging in search of immediate vengeance, raised his bloodied fists high above his head...and charged Rachel grabbed the second scalpel from the side table, slashing it through the air just as Luiggi wrapped his hands around her throat. He stopped cold...mouth open, eyes bulging, His head rolled back on his shoulders, exposing the large gash she'd made just under his left ear and chin. Blood rolled down like spilled red juice into his hands, soaking his apron as he swayed back and forth. She watched as the man somehow reached down and tore the scalpel from her bloody fingers Rachel scrambled to the far side of the table, as far from the lurid sight as she could get, not believing it medically possible that he was still standing, let alone lifting a scalpel. She watched in frozen horror as he lifted the knife in both hands to a full extension over his head, arching his back like a cobra before it strikes. A strangled sort of cry escaped from Rachel's throat as Luiggi stood directly in front of her, his blood showering down like rain as he tried to stabilize his wavering balance. Then he lunged forward with a quick jerk of his arms, bringing the knife slashing downward with all of his body weight behind it. *** The Stelino compound was located in an older industrial area on the outskirts of Santa Cruz County. The streets were empty, making it look like a ghost town. Stanic studied the huge structure inside the compound walls. It looked like it was of another time and place, reminding him of an ancient fortress, or battlement—old-world architecture mixed with state-of-the-art security to create a facade that seemed almost impenetrable. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to penetrate its walls. Except him, of course. Not for the first time that day, Stanic questioned what the hell he was doing. None of this had anything to do with him. In fact, he couldn't be altogether sure Valentine wasn't just a little crazy. What was a Brit doing working as an FBI agent anyway? He'd heard of guys flipping out and going rogue while under deep cover before and wondered if Valentine hadn't lost perspective at some point, mixing his casual demeanor with guns and dynamite. Maybe it didn't only happen in the movies. Those men chasing him were real. Their guns were real. The dull ache in his shoulder told him it was all clearly real. One moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time had changed his life. Being at the wrong place at the wrong time seemed have been a specialty of his throughout his life, the one exception being the day he'd met Rachel. Definitely a case of right place, right time. But he wasn't altogether certain he hadn't managed to screw that up as well. He forced thoughts of her out of his head as Valentine led him to a wall on the south side of the compound, then motioned for Stanic to scale it alongside him. Stanic cupped his hands together and held them out to give Valentine a boost. At the top, Valentine reached down with his good hand and helped pull Stanic up. Giving each other a nod, they jumped to the soft soil below and landed with a whispering tha-thud. Their new position was shrouded by an old storage shed and some low-hanging elm tree branches. Stanic's instructions were simple. Make his way to the northern side of the compound, set off the dynamite then get back into position to cover Valentine coming out of the building. If he was lucky enough to come out of the building—hopefully with the logbook in hand" Let's move out," Valentine said, his voice low and steady. Stanic pulled the dynamite from the bag and turned to watch Valentine's approach. He moved into position on the right side of the building, then darted toward the rear entrance. As Valentine slipped through a back door and into the main building, Stanic could tell by the way he moved he was every bit the FBI Special Forces operative he claimed to be. A blood-curdling scream rose up from somewhere inside building. "Rachel." Stanic whispered the name. He didn't know how he knew it was her, but he just did. He raced along the building's perimeter, making it to the northern side of the structure, where he noticed an open window about a foot above his head. "That was my...Rachel," he repeated as his throat constricted around his vocal cords and the weight of the world crushed down on his heart. Rachel's screams again rose up from the building and the nauseating vision of Valentine's severed fingers flashed into his mind. He shook it off. Focus. He had to focus. He could tell her agonizing cries were coming from a small culvert at the base of the structure's exterior...and he'd noticed a dark stairwell leading into what looked like an old cellar or basement. He knew in his heart Rachel was down there...and he had to reach her before it was too late. Stanic rolled his thumb across the top of the lighter, lit the dynamite, then stayed to watch the fuse burn, crackle and sizzle, sending warning sparks off in all directions. He let the fuse continue to burn down low, then stepped up next to the building, tossed the bomb inside the window above his head...and dove into the stairwell for cover. BABOOM-BOOM-BABOOM! Shrapnel flew as an orange mushroom cloud of smoke and fire blasted out from the window and high into the air. Dirt, dust and debris radiated in every direction. Large pieces of the building mixed with shards of broken glass and chunks of metal rained down on top of Stanic as he lay at the bottom of the stairwell. Smoke and dust burned his throat and eyes as he fought for air...#CHAPTER EIGHT Like a big jungle cat maneuvering through thick foliage, Valentine raced to the building |
Also her, Inspector.» it said the Great Head. The Professor realized to have I set only the pajamas and immediately runs within to dress himself/herself/themselves and to settle himself/herself/themselves. Before approaching himself/herself/themselves from Calm Sleep, it slightly knocked to the door of Mrs. Lepitpat to verify that same good. «Who is? » he/she asked her/it Mrs. that he still felt all upset for the abrupt awakening. «Providences, are me! Is everything all right? » «Oddio Professor! » it said her/it Mrs. opening the door. «I feel upside-down me all. What fear I have had. What has happened? » «The acchiappasognis are again disappeared. The situation worsens! » it limited him to say the Professor Topi. «The | Also her, Inspector.» it said the Great Head. The Professor realized to have I set only the pajamas and immediately runs within to dress himself/herself/themselves and to settle himself/herself/themselves. Before approaching himself/herself/themselves from Calm Sleep, it slightly knocked to the door of Mrs. Lepitpat to verify that same good. «Who is? » he/she asked her/it Mrs. that he still felt all upset for the abrupt awakening. «Providences, are me! Is everything all right? » «Oddio Professor! » it said her/it Mrs. opening the door. «I feel upside-down me all. What fear I have had. What has happened? » «The acchiappasognis are again disappeared. The situation worsens! » it limited him to say the Professor Topi. «The inspector and I are going from the Great Head to discuss on the to make himself/herself/themselves.» «Aspects, I come. also» «And Lulù? » «He/she sleeps deeply. You don't worry him, among some I will return to check if you/he/she wakes up.» In the room of the meetings everybody was gathered already. Over the Great Head and his/her child there were also the old Essays of the tribe. Their faces were dark and in the room it burdened a dark atmosphere. The Great Head lifted the hand and did her/it rotate in air. The murmur immediately stopped and all looked with attention toward of him. «Brothers, how much has happened to the first lights of the dawn it throws me in the deepest discouragement.» it said Calm Sleep with serious voice. «The situation is very more worrisome than we thought and we have perhaps underestimated these strange phenomenons. Tonight we will pick up there around the fire and we will pray in special way because the Spirits of the nature protect us. Now sees the gravity of the situation, I believe the moment has come to smoke the Sacred Pipe to wake up again the spiritual powers of the universe.» The Great Head got up and went toward a suspended reliquary to the wall. It opened her with care, it threw out a small pipe of it and it returned to take a seat. The inspector Magrette looked at the Professor setting him some molts questions: you/he/she realized that the moment was solemn, all the Wise man attentively followed every gesture that completed Calm Sleep but it was not him clear the importance of that object. The Professor widened the eyes and made a gesture with his hand, to make to intend him that later the meaning of that ceremony would have explained him. But the inspector, impatient, it slowly slipped toward of him. «Professor, wants to explain me what is happening? » he/she asked in a low voice. «Inspector, this is a solemn moment! Could not you/he/she wait for the end of the ceremony? » he/she asked irritated. «No, tells me now.» «This pipe serves to wake up again the Spirits of the nature and to ask their protection. Its use gets further the evil, it assures the victory and it provokes the defeat of the enemies. You/he/she is very rarely used, in the moments of great joy, to thank, or in the moments of great pain, as in this case, to ask help. Is it satisfied now? » The inspector nodded and returned, lemme lemme, to his/her place. In the meantime the Great Head had loaded the pipe with the tobacco and it was almost about to turn on her/it, when, to the sudden one, it opened the door. All the bystanders turned him to see who dared to disturb that solemn ceremony. Some second as soon as and Lulù entered, dressed and combed of all point, with to the succession, naturally, Pin. «Good morning uncle Mice, hi Great Head.» he/she happily greeted. The inspector Magrette strabuzzò the eyes for the surprise. Was not possible! That boy had the gift to sprout when less you/he/she was opportune. Dams again the eyes: he/she didn't want to see how the Great Head would have reacted. «Lulù, does thing do us here? » he/she asked the Professor, gotten back him by the surprise. «I have to go from Small Flower, it waits me.» «Great Head, wants to forgive mine.» Calm sleep lifted the hand and the Professor it immediately kept silent. «Good morning Lulù.» it said with kind voice. «You would like to make me the honor to participate in our ceremony? » To those words the inspector opened the eyes of release. Could not be what had just felt: a boy sat to the great table, no, was never happened! The Professor looked at Calm Sleep some surprised by that strange application and you/he/she was almost about to answer when the man prevented him/it. «Professor would be a great privilege to have his/her nephew to this table, if you/he/she allows him/it.» «I allow him/it.» it said the Professor Topi some confused. «Other would miss us, but he/she sees. it is only to boy.» «Note; it is a pure of heart and this the spirits they will appreciate him/it.» «Yes, but he doesn't smoke.» it still objected the Professor. «It doesn't have to smoke, but only to pretend.» Lulù was in silence and it bewared on one side to the other without understanding what they wanted from him. Because it had to be in that dark room, with those people all series, instead of going out to play with the other boys? «Then Lulù, rests some with us? » he/she asked his/her uncle to gratify Calm Sleep. «Also Pin has to be here? » «If you want, you/he/she can stay.» «It is all right, but I remain only a few; I have to go to fish and they wait me.» it said Lulù, a little convinced. The ceremony took back and the Great Head turned on the Sacred Pipe, said two thrown of it and it passed nearby her to the companion. The pipe kept on turning around the table up to when it came in the hands of Lulù. «For dream that I smoke! » it told the boy tall voice. Again the cold went down in the room and again the reaction of the Great Head surprised everybody. «You don't have to smoke, but only to pretend.» Took Lulù the pipe between the hands and the approached reluctant to the mouth. "That horrible malodorous thing!" he/she thought some schifato. It pretended to smoke however, dopodiché passed" the object" to the companion that sat nearby him. The pipe started over making the turn of the table up to when he/she returned in the hands of the Great Head. To this point you/he/she was extinguished and put aside. «Brothers, » it began to speak Calm Sleep. «It is necessary to examine.» «I can go? » he/she asked Lulù, that already began to become impatient to the thought that his/her new friends were waiting for him/it to go to fish. «Certain, we are you thankful to have remained with us, but now, if you want, you can go.» Lulù if it didn't do him/it repeat twice, it got up and, followed by Pin, raced by Small Flower of the Morning. In the great room the reunion was as soon as to the beginning and the Great Head he/she took again the word. «Brothers, as I was saying, it is necessary to examine to fund the situation to the light of the new developments, unfortunately negative. What has happened to the dawns of the morning is of a gravity to a little puzzling dir.» The inspector Magrette looked again toward the Professor Topi, not succeeding in understanding what there pits of different from the thefts of the preceding nights. To that point the Professor Topi felt him in duty to clarify that point and takings the word. «Forgiven me, Great Head, if I interrupt you, but I would like to examine the facts so that to find together a solution. You are right to define the situation very worrisome; the nighttime thefts were in fact of well different entity. The thing does him serious and we are not able in any way to allow that these thefts continue to happen.» To that point the inspector lost the patience. Before the Sacred Pipe, then the boy and the Great Head with his/her sibylline words and, as if everything this was not enough, now also put on us the Professor! What did he/she want us to talk to clarity? Besides was not able more than to be closed to the dark of it, in a room afflicted of I smoke to speak at random! He was a man of action. You/he/she would certainly have been more profit to go to make some sopralluoghis and to try to discover the possible traces of the possible thief to put an end to that complicated matter. It got up standing and taken the word. «My dear Professor, comes therefore to the. All these beautiful words don't bring us to the solution of the problem, therefore, if it doesn't have anything to add, I propose to interrupt the session. It is more urgent to develop the investigations on the field, rather than to discuss on the to make himself/herself/themselves.» Oh! You/he/she had finally said what he/she thought. He felt better now, even if suddenly tired. «Inspector, has some patience, the investigations we will do her among a few minutes. To individualize a guilty needs to understand the motive that pushes him/it to act. And we am really doing this.» «Then I am not aware of it. Does he/she want me therefore to explain what there is of different from the other times? » «Certain, you/he/she is done soon. The preceding thefts happened late at night while this has happened to the first lights of the dawn.» «Professor, she perhaps thinks that I am a fool. Didn't want us a granché to understand that the time was different, considering that also I have wakened up by the moans of his/her/their children.» «Uffa, Inspector, but she is really a large head! The answer is evident, enough only to think about thing they serve the acchiappasognis! » sbottò the Professor. To that point her Mrs. Lepitpat, that you/he/she had remained in to fireside (because, he/she is known, the women cannot participate in the reunions of the Wise hand) regardless of the ceremonial, it got up and it went next to the table. «Inspector Magrette, marvels me of her. A police officer of the special team U.S.T.I. that doesn't examine the facts! The answer could give her/it for you one any of the children of the tribe.» The inspector was ashamed of his/her slowness, but he didn't succeed really to understand the difference between the thefts of the preceding nights and that of the morning. «If a few had thought on the legend of the acchiapasognis you/he/she would have understood alone the difference.» it continued her/it Mrs. Lepitpat. «Someone has stolen the acchiappassognis of his/her/their children allowing to go out out their nightmares, and until there were here everybody. Now this mysterious thief wants to appropriate of all the dreams, beautiful and ugly, leaving his/her children without their white shades |
Sprinkling water on someone's head is certainly not baptism. When Philip baptized the Ethiopian eunuch, it is written that "they both went down into the water and...came up out of the water" (Acts 8:38, 39). At Jesus' baptism too, we read similar words – that He came up out of the water, after being baptized (Mark 1:10). In the New Testament, baptism was always done by immersion. Since baptism is a burial, it is obvious that only immersion can typify that accurately. For, after all, we don't bury people by sprinkling sand on their heads, but by putting them under the ground completely | Sprinkling water on someone's head is certainly not baptism. When Philip baptized the Ethiopian eunuch, it is written that "they both went down into the water and...came up out of the water" (Acts 8:38, 39). At Jesus' baptism too, we read similar words – that He came up out of the water, after being baptized (Mark 1:10). In the New Testament, baptism was always done by immersion. Since baptism is a burial, it is obvious that only immersion can typify that accurately. For, after all, we don't bury people by sprinkling sand on their heads, but by putting them under the ground completely! This also makes it clear that only those in whom the old man is dead qualify for baptism – those who do not want to sin any more. For after all, only dead people can be buried! It's a crime to bury a man who is not dead! ##Baptism in the Three-fold Name Jesus commanded us to baptize "in the Name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit" (Matthew 28:19). The Name is singular because God is One. But Jesus revealed that although God is One, He exists in Three Persons, Who are distinct from each other. It wasn't the Father who died for our sins, nor was it the Holy Spirit. It was the Son. When Jesus ascended up to heaven, He sat on the right hand of the Father, not the right hand of the Holy Spirit. Likewise, the One He sent to His disciples to be their Helper was the Holy Spirit, not the Father. All this may sound elementary. But it is essential that we don't confuse the three Persons in the Godhead and their unique ministries in our redemption. In the Acts of the Apostles, we read again and again that the apostles baptized people in the Name of Jesus Christ (Acts 2:38 etc.). How does this fit in with Jesus' command in Matthew 28:19? When two apparently contradictory statements are found in the Scriptures, we'll find on a closer study that both statements are true. In order to make plain that the Father, Son and Holy Spirit are not a heathen trinity, the apostles identified the Son as Jesus Christ. So they baptized people in the name of "the Father, the Son the Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit." This was called baptism in the Name of Jesus Christ. ##The Obedience of Faith Baptism should be the first step of obedience in the life of a disciple, leading on to a lifetime of obedience – and this obedience must be the obedience of faith and not the obedience of reason. If Jesus had leaned upon His own reason, He would never have gone to John the Baptist for baptism. For His reason would have given Him many arguments against being baptized – especially since He had never sinned. John himself could not understand why Jesus needed to be baptized. But Jesus laid aside the arguments of reason and simply obeyed the voice of the Holy Spirit (Matthew 3:15). "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding," says the Word (Proverbs 3:5). Reason is the Number One enemy of faith – because human reason cannot grasp spiritual truths. When we get baptized, the last part of our body to go under the water is the upper part of our head. That is symbolic! The authority of our reason is the part of us that is most difficult to put to death! The children of Adam live by what their reason tells them. In baptism, we testify that we have died to that way of life (of leaning on our own reason) and now live by faith in every word that proceeds from the mouth of God (Matthew 4:4; Romans 1:17). Baptism is slighted by some Christians as a trivial matter. Naaman initially despised Elisha's command to go and dip himself seven times in the River Jordan to be healed of his leprosy. But it was when he obeyed that simple command that he was healed (2 Kings 5:10–14). It is in little things that God tests our obedience. Obedience to God must never be delayed. If your old man has indeed died, then he must be buried straight-away. It's a crime not to bury a man who is dead! "Why do you delay then? Arise and be baptized" (Acts 22:16). #Chapter Six #Baptism in the Holy Spirit There are two needs that we all have. The first relates to the past – the forgiveness of our sins. The second relates to the future – enablement to live a life that pleases God. Our first need is taken care of by the death of Christ. To meet the second, God gives us the power of His Holy Spirit. ##Power for Life and for Service We could never have met that first need by ourselves. God had to meet it. It's likewise with the second. We cannot live a life that pleases God or that fulfils all His will, in our own strength. Some are wise enough to acknowledge this right at the beginning of their Christian life and so they seek for God's power straight-away. Others discover it the hard way – by trying and failing repeatedly for many years and then turning to God for His power. Unfortunately there are still others who after falling and failing repeatedly, finally resign themselves to a life of defeat, believing that it is impossible to live victoriously in this life. This also applies to our serving the Lord and being a witness for Him. Most believers realise, immediately after their conversion, that they should be witnesses for the Lord. But they often find themselves tongue-tied and powerless. Some accept this as an unfortunate trait of their personality, and give up all hope of ever becoming powerful witnesses for Christ. Others realise that God has promised them the power of the Holy Spirit. And so they seek God for this power and receive it. And they are filled with boldness and endued with supernatural gifts to be fiery, unashamed and effective witnesses for Christ. It is one thing to be born of the Spirit. That's how we become children of God. But it's quite another thing to be baptized (immersed) in the Holy Spirit. That's how we become empowered to be what God wants us to be and to do what God wants us to do. ##Our New-Covenant Birthright Under the old covenant, the Holy Spirit came only upon certain people, to enable them to fulfil a specific task for God. Under the new covenant, however, the Holy Spirit can be received by all. He has come to show us the glory of Jesus and to transform us into His likeness. John the Baptist pointed to two ministries that Jesus would fulfil – one was to take away sins and the other was to baptize people in the Holy Spirit (John 1:29, 33). We need to experience both of these. The first promise in the New Testament is:" He will save His people from their sins" (Matthew 1:21). The second promise in the New Testament is:" He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit" (Matthew 3:11). It's significant that the New Testament opens with these two promises. This was the beginning of a new era in God's dealings with man – the new covenant. This is then our double birthright as children of God – to be saved from our sins and to be baptized in the Holy Spirit. And God certainly wants to give us our full birthright – not just half of it. The first five books of the New Testament each begin with the promise of the baptism in the Holy Spirit (Matthew 3:11; Mark 1:8; Luke 3:16; John 1:33; Acts 1:5). Yet so many Christians have neglected to claim this for themselves. ##Rivers of Living Water The Holy Spirit is pictured in the New Testament as a river flowing from the throne of God and falling to earth (Revelation 22:1; Acts 2:33). To be baptised in the Holy Spirit is to be immersed under this waterfall. Jesus said that all those who thirsted could come to Him and receive the Holy Spirit so that rivers of living water could flow out from their innermost being (John 7:37). The experience of the average believer, however, is more akin to the hand-pump – a life of struggling and pumping up a few drops of blessing from a dry heart. Yet it need not be like that. If our dryness would only drive us to the Lord, things could be different. To have rivers of blessing flowing out from us to all who come in touch with us is the will of God for our lives. The first step towards this is to acknowledge our need. Many believers are caught up in foolish arguments about words. But it is power that we need, not correct terminology. What is the use having our terminology right, if we are as dry as a bone? It's far better to be honest and to come to God, confessing that rivers of blessing are not flowing out through us. Having taken that first step, we can then trust God to grant us what we ask for. All we need in order to be baptized in the Holy Spirit are thirst (an intense desire, born out of a great longing to glorify God) and faith (the absolute confidence that God will give us what He has promised). Let us ask then, with thirst and with faith, for this power, and God will not deny us our request. ##The Enduement of Power The first apostles had forsaken everything to follow Jesus. But they still had to wait until they were baptized in the Holy Spirit before they could go out and fulfil their God-ordained ministry. Jesus Himself needed to be anointed with the Holy Spirit and power before He could begin His public ministry (Acts 10:38). If even He needed this anointing, how much more we need it. Jesus told His apostles to wait in Jerusalem until they were 'clothed with power' (Luke 24:49). And just before He ascended up to heaven, He told them again that when the Holy Spirit came upon them they would 'receive power' (Acts 1:8). On the day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit was poured out on them. And those cowardly men were immediately transformed into bold, fiery witnesses for the Lord (Acts 2:1–4). What they received was exactly what Jesus had told them that they would receive – power. What we need in order to live the Christian life is not just a doctrine but the power of God in our life. The baptism in the Holy Spirit gives us power for godliness as |
CH3- (CH2) 16 -COOH A typical triglyceride molecule looks like: Each of the 3 hydroxyl groups (OH) in the glycerine can react with an organic acid and it is normal for there to be 3 different fatty acids attached to a glycerine molecule, shown as R1, R2 and R3 in formula above. Triglycerides with high molecular weight fatty acids which are saturated like stearic acid C18, tend to set solid at room temperature, and these are mostly animal fats like butter fat and animal body fat, but palm oil or coconut oil are almost the same composition and contain palmitic acid (C16 chain) as well as small amounts of C 14 and C18 | CH3- (CH2) 16 -COOH A typical triglyceride molecule looks like: Each of the 3 hydroxyl groups (OH) in the glycerine can react with an organic acid and it is normal for there to be 3 different fatty acids attached to a glycerine molecule, shown as R1, R2 and R3 in formula above. Triglycerides with high molecular weight fatty acids which are saturated like stearic acid C18, tend to set solid at room temperature, and these are mostly animal fats like butter fat and animal body fat, but palm oil or coconut oil are almost the same composition and contain palmitic acid (C16 chain) as well as small amounts of C 14 and C18 fatty acids. Saturated fatty acids have no double bonds in the chain, such as stearic acid, palmitic acid. Unsaturated fatty acids have 1 or two double bonds in the molecule for example: Oleic acid: C18 chain with 1 double bond Linoleic acid: C18 chain with 2 double bonds Linolenic acid: C18 chain with 3 double bonds Triglycerides with unsaturated fatty acids (C18 and one double bond) such as oleic acid tend to be liquids at room temperature and these are almost always from vegetable oils such as olive oil or canola oil. Triglycerides with poly unsaturated fatty like linoleic or linolenic acid are also liquid and come from linseed oil, safflower oil or sunflower oil and many other plant seed oils. Triglycerides from animals such as butter fat from milk or fat within meat are usually saturated containing such as stearic and those which come from plants can also contain stearic and palmitic acids. In particular palm oil and coconut oil are primarily triglycerides of stearic and palmitic acids, saturated and very similar to animal fats. The triglyceride molecule can be broken by a process called saponification which uses concentrated sodium hydroxide at high temperature. This produces glycerine and the sodium salt of the fatty acids which is called soap. Soap was the first surfactant as due to its polar nature with the hydrophilic (water loving) sodium at one end and the hydrophobic (oil loving) C18 hydrocarbon chain at the other end. Remember Palmolive soap; what do you think was the source of oil to make this? Palm oil and olive oil. To test such fats and oils a gas chromatograph is used to determine the percentage of the mix of fatty acids in the triglyceride. But first the fatty acids have to be separated from the glycerol by the use of sodium hydroxide. The fatty acids in that state are not volatile enough to be injected into the gas chromatograph but if they are reacted with methanol with a boron trifluoride catalyst, the methyl esters of the fatty acids are produced and these are volatile enough to be tested in a gas chromatograph. An interesting fact is that esters of short chain molecules are sweet and fruity smelling chemicals and most of the sweet odours of fruit are from esters like ethyl acetate, methyl butyrate. **Polyunsaturated foods**. In the 1950s and 60s it was discovered that vegetable oils containing triglycerides based on the mono and poly unsaturated fatty acids were thought to be good for preventing the increase of cholesterol in human blood, which appeared to be linked to heart disease, while triglycerides based on the saturated fatty acids appeared to contribute to the increase in blood cholesterol. The Commonwealth Scientific Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO) developed a method of treating stockfeed so that ruminant animals (dairy and beef cattle) could be made to produce polyunsaturated triglycerides in their body fat instead of the usual saturated triglycerides. It was planned that from these animals fed this special stockfeed, meat and dairy products could be produced which would be good for the health of people consuming these. In cattle fed normal polyunsaturated triglycerides, the rumen (the first stomach) of the animal hydrogenates the triglycerides, they turn into saturated triglycerides and the supposed benefit is lost. The CSIRO method involved protecting the unsaturated triglycerides so that they would pass unchanged through the rumen and the animal would then digest them and the animal fat would then become unsaturated. This was achieved by taking sunflower seeds which contains mostly polyunsaturated triglycerides and milling them with additional protein into a paste. This was then treated with formaldehyde which crosslinks the protein and makes it into a form which is not digested in the rumen. My job was to test the stockfeed and check that it contained the required amount of unsaturated triglycerides. In addition the body fat of the selected animals was check by taking a small sample from each animal and testing it by gas chromatography as described above. It took some time for the animals' unsaturated level to change from saturated to unsaturated but eventually it was achieved. The beef cattle were slaughtered for their meat, the dairy cattle were milked in the usual way and it was shown that indeed the fats in the meat and dairy products had changed from saturated to unsaturated. All seemed to be going well and commercial outlets were developed for the unsaturated meat and dairy products, but problems started to appear. The unsaturated meat and dairy products seemed to develop off odours (rancidity) and that was eventually shown to be due to oxidation of the unsaturated fats by oxygen in the air. In the end that problem could not be overcome and the whole project was discontinued. Chapter 10 Fluorine based chemicals Key words fluorspar, hydrogen fluoride, hydrofluoric acid, fluorocarbon, hydrofluorocarbon, refrigeration, refrigerant, heat pump, Montreal Protocol, ozone layer, ammonia Fluorocarbons (CFS's) are a very useful group of chemicals. Hydrogen fluoride (HF) is made by reacting fluorspar, (calcium fluoride, Ca F2) with super concentrated sulphuric acid at 350°C in a rotating steel kiln heated by gas. Diagram of a rotary kiln. This one is actually a cement kiln, but a rotary kiln for making HF is just the same. Fluorspar and sulphuric acid is fed into the top of the kiln, HF distils out from the top, and calcium sulphate falls out the bottom. Rotary kilns have many uses for example lime and cement manufacture. The hydrogen fluoride distils as a gas out of the mixture and is condensed into a liquid under pressure. What remains is calcium sulphate or chemical gypsum. This had a few uses as a replacement for natural gypsum in glass and cement manufacture and in remediation of sodic clay soils. The reaction is CaF2 + H2SO4 → 2HF + CaSO4 Calcium fluoride plus sulphuric acid gives hydrogen fluoride and calcium sulphate. Note that this is a good example of a balanced chemical reaction with the number of atoms of each type being the same on the right hand and left hand of the arrow in the reaction. A group of fluorocarbons are made by reacting carbon tetrachloride, C Cl4, with anhydrous hydrogen fluoride in the presence of a catalyst, and then they are separated by distillation. The chlorine atoms knocked off the carbon tetrachloride molecule are combined with the hydrogen from the hydrogen fluoride to make hydrochloric acid, another useful by-product industrial chemical. The proportion of the different reactions products could be changed by varying the reaction conditions. If the reaction was done at lower temperatures then a higher proportion of the higher boiling point products such as F11 and F12 would be produced. For example 4CCl4 + 10 HF → CCl3 F + CCl2F2 + CClF3 + CF4 + 10HCl The fluorine atom replaces 1, 2. 3 or 4 of the chlorine atoms of the carbon tetrachloride molecule, CCl4 to give a mixture of 4 gases: 1. Fluorocarbon 11 or F11 which is fluoro trichloro methane. CCl3F, a liquid at normal atmospheric pressure with a boiling point of 23.8°C 2. Fluorocarbon 12 or F12 which is difluoro dichloro methane. CCl2F2, a gas at normal atmospheric pressure with a boiling point -29.8°C 3. Fluorocarbon 13 or F13 which is trifluoro chloro methane. CClF3, a gas at normal atmospheric pressure with a boiling point of -81.4°C 4. Fluorocarbon 14 or F14 which is tetra fluoro methane. CF4, a gas at normal atmospheric pressure with a boiling point of -182°oC Note that the more Fluorine in these molecules the lower is the boiling point and also the higher the pressure of the liquefied gas. There were many manufacturers and the products were given a variety of names, for example Freon 11, Forane 11, Genetron 11, F11, R11, P11, CFC11 etc. CFCs 11 and 12 were the most useful of the group, and were used extensively as refrigerant gases and as aerosol propellants. They readily change from liquid to gas as in aerosol propellants or from gas to liquid and back when used as refrigerant gases. The other useful properties are that they are very stable and have little or no toxicity. In fact F11 continued to be used until recently used as a propellant in asthma spray aerosol products. Another group called hydro fluorocarbons based on the chloroform molecule, CH Cl3. There were mostly used as refrigerant gases and the most important one was R22, difluoro chloro methane. It had a very useful range of properties for refrigeration and there were and are many other types available, all with various useful properties. Hydrochloric acid made as a by-product of fluorocarbon manufacture is an important industrial chemical. It is also deliberately produced by combining chlorine and hydrogen. Salt is electrolysed by passing a current through salt water, and the products are hydrogen chlorine gas and sodium hydroxide, another important industrial chemical. 2NaCl + 2H2O + ∆ → Cl2 + H2 + 2NaOH The chlorine so produced is reacted with hydrogen gas to make hydrogen chloride which when dissolved in water is hydrochloric acid. H2 + Cl2 → 2HCl One of the primary uses of hydrochloric acid is to pickle steel prior to other processes such as painting or galvanising. Pickling means to dissolve the surface layer of iron oxides which are produced when steel is processed by hot rolling. When the iron oxide is removed from the surface it leaves a clean pure steel surface which then forms a surface alloy with zinc when the steel articles are dipped into molten zinc in the process called galvanising. See a more detailed description later. The company I worked for had more hydrochloric acid than it could sell and other uses were developed. One of these was to react it with limestone, (CaCO3) to make a solution of calcium chloride. CaCO3 + HCl → Ca Cl2 + CO2 + H20 In those days calcium chloride was used to accelerate the curing of concrete during winter months. It had an unfortunate side effect in that if the concrete was not perfectly made and was slightly porous the extra chloride ions existing in the concrete could accelerate corrosion of the steel reinforcements, and after several years, the use of calcium chloride was banned for use in concrete. Other uses were found which depended on the hygroscopic properties of the calcium chloride solution. Hygroscopic means that the liquid does not dry by evaporation, but actually absorbs more atmospheric moisture. This was used to good effect when mixed with sodium chlorate to be used as a defoliant on cotton crops to remove the leaves on commercial plantations of cotton just before harvest. If sodium chlorate was used as a solution in water to be sprayed onto the cotton |
He had to stop, back up, and try again a couple of times. He knocked some bark off a few trees along the way. A gate across the trail forced him to stop. The gate was made of welded iron bars and barbed wire. A sign read, "All trespassers will be considered a hostile invading force. There are more of us than you, and we have lots of bullets. WE WILL SHOOT YOU." "Friendly," Andrew said. "I think we need backup," Dan said. "Where is your courage?" Tonya said from the back seat. "Let's at least scout around while we still have light." "But then we | He had to stop, back up, and try again a couple of times. He knocked some bark off a few trees along the way. A gate across the trail forced him to stop. The gate was made of welded iron bars and barbed wire. A sign read, "All trespassers will be considered a hostile invading force. There are more of us than you, and we have lots of bullets. WE WILL SHOOT YOU." "Friendly," Andrew said. "I think we need backup," Dan said. "Where is your courage?" Tonya said from the back seat. "Let's at least scout around while we still have light." "But then we'll have to drive home in the dark," Andrew said. "Your powers of observation are remarkable, young man." Everybody got out of the limousine as the blue sedan pulled up behind them. Blake and the other two BPI agents joined the group. The forest around them was foreboding. The crowns of trees created a continuous canopy which blocked much of the fading sunlight. Bushes and weeds made travelling in a straight line impossible. Undulating hills and valleys limited visibility in all directions. "I'm starting to think Dan was right," Andrew said. "Maybe we should come back in the morning with a combat team." "And proper clothing for a hike," Charley added. "And Kevlar vests in case that sign isn't a joke." Tonya looked back and forth between them. "I just want to get this done," she said. "We've been driving around for two days. It's enough." Blake stepped forward. "Your enthusiasm is commendable, but the apprentices are right. We're not prepared for a violent confrontation. At a minimum, we should look at some satellite photos before going in." Dan and the other two BPI agents nodded in agreement. Tonya gritted her teeth. "Fine, but we're coming back at dawn prepared to deal with any contingency. I don't care if there is a whole army of crazy survivalists in there. We're going in." #Chapter Seventeen The phone in Andrew's hotel room rang. He answered the call. "Hello?" "Williams is here," Tonya said. "We're having our meeting." "Be right there." Andrew left his hotel room, walked down the hall, and knocked on the next door. Charley opened the door and let him in. The room was crowded. In addition to Tonya, Dan, Blake, and his two guards, Agent Williams had come with several more BPI agents. Men in blue were packed into the room until there was hardly space for Andrew. Williams was wearing a white shirt and blue slacks without his normal business jacket. A big gun in a holster on his hip struck Andrew as overtly threatening. The head of the Atlanta office was squinting and scowling as usual. Satellite photos were spread out on the hotel bed. Andrew leaned over, but it was hard to tell what he was looking at. A big, grassy clearing formed a perfectly square hole in the middle of dense forest. He saw no buildings, and a chain-link fence marked the border. He looked closer and saw subtle lines in the clearing. It appeared something large and angular was buried beneath the grass. "It turns out John Crawford is an interesting man," Williams reported to the entire group. "I wish he had come to our attention earlier. For the last seven years, he and a number of other survivalists have been living in a secret encampment in the woods. It's a cult of sorts, well-armed and extremely paranoid." "How many?" Tonya said. "Unknown. Children might be involved." "I don't see any encampment," Andrew said as he glanced at the satellite photos again. "There is nothing but dirt." "It's underground," Williams said. "Buried buses and shipping containers were used to create rooms and connecting tunnels. The facility is air-tight and secure. The cult is preparing for the end of the world. Crawford is a millionaire and paid for everything." "Why?" "We found his old posts on the internet. He's convinced there will be a devastating war between sorcerers and normal people." "That would explain his interest in sorcery," Tonya said. "Yes," Williams said. "It's safe to assume we'll encounter armed resistance when we enter the camp, but we can't walk away. We know he has _Journal 1909_, and he might possess other dangerous artifacts. He's been collecting for a while. We have no choice but to enter forcefully, subdue any opposition, and search the place thoroughly. My plan is to send four squads in full combat gear for the initial assault. When the area is secure, the sorcerers can come in and help with the search." Andrew and Charley exchanged worried glances. "I'd also like to have a portable seam on hand," Tonya said, "just in case." Williams looked at her. "In case of what?" "Unexpected difficulties. Guns can't solve every problem." He gave her a dubious look. "Without a seam," she said, "your most powerful asset in this operation will be nearly impotent. That's me. Considering how messy this investigation has become, it makes sense to over-prepare." Williams made a sour face. "I suppose so. I'll call headquarters and make the arrangements. I want the assault to commence tomorrow at first light. That means our wake-up call is at 4 AM. Good night." Andrew groaned. * * * Blake left the hotel room. He kept a straight face, but it was hard not to smile. His grand plan was coming to fruition exactly as he had hoped. Even the great and mighty Tonya was playing her unwitting part in the scheme. One day, she would look back and realize how foolish and trusting she had been, but of course, the best magic tricks always seemed obvious in retrospect. Two oversized BPI agents followed Blake down the hallway. The Bureau's habit of assigning intimidating guards to Blake amused him. Highly intelligent, educated men would've done a much better job of watching him, but the federal government was too stupid to understand that fact. The official solution to every problem was big guns and big muscles. He looked forward to teaching the BPI the shortcomings of that approach. After walking to the far end of the hotel, Blake used his keycard to enter his room. It contained two beds, a desk, a dresser, and a television. The accommodations were hardly adequate for a man of his stature, but the room was better than a prison cell. He had wasted five years of his life surrounded by blank concrete walls. He would never go back no matter what the cost. One of the guards entered the hotel room with Blake, and the other went to the room next door. Blake ducked into the small, windowless bathroom and closed the door. It was the one place where he could have privacy for a few minutes. He took a cell phone out of a secret pocket in his pants. It wasn't his normal phone which the BPI monitored. Only a handful of people knew this phone existed. Acquiring it had been quite a trick. Blake sent a text message which said, "Green light. 7 AM tomorrow. Be very careful. Many federal agents will be in vicinity." After a couple of minutes, the response arrived. "Roger. All set on our end." "I will create a distraction." "We'll be watching and ready." Blake put away his secret phone. He used the toilet, flushed it, and left the bathroom. * * * Andrew had never worn body armor before, and he didn't like it. The heavy Kevlar vest hung from his shoulders like lead weights. Flaps bounced against his hips and groin whenever he walked. He felt ridiculous. He looked at Charley and had one more reason for not liking body armor. It hid her beautiful body from view. She might as well have been a boy. "This is quite a thing," he said. She nodded. "I don't remember seeing armed assaults in the Theosophical University course catalog." "It was in the fine print, along with investigating mass murders." Tonya and Blake also looked like soldiers. All the sorcerers wore green camouflage armor over green fatigues. Radio headsets allowed them to stay in touch with the BPI during the operation. The sorcerers weren't armed though, and Andrew wished he had a gun. If somebody shot at him, he wanted to shoot back. The sound of a distant gunshot brought the point home. The BPI agents had begun their assault a few minutes ago. The sorcerers were waiting in the woods for the signal to advance. Andrew needed to pee, but he knew it was just nerves. He had gone behind a bush a few minutes ago. He looked at the peaceful green forest in an attempt to calm himself. A slight breeze rustled the leaves. Birds twittered high in the branches, and he heard a clicking noise closer to the ground. It was dead of winter in Chicago and spring-like in Georgia, but for the first time, he wished he were there instead. Andrew sensed a flicker of energy nearby. He tried to see the source, but trees blocked his view. "The portable seam has arrived," he murmured. Tonya nodded. "I felt it. It probably came in an armored truck. Driving a truck up that goat path must've been a pain in the ass." "Are we going to get the seam?" "Not until we need it. Just stay put." Andrew sighed uneasily. His radio earpiece crackled. "Sorcerers," Agent Williams said through the radio, "move forward cautiously. We have suppressed the cult. You may begin your investigation, but keep your eyes open." Andrew, Charley, Tonya, and Blake pushed through the brush. Andrew was wearing clunky combat boots which weighed down his legs but helped his footing on the rocky terrain. They eventually came to the fence surrounding the survivalists' compound. Andrew peered through the wires at a bare hilltop. Sparse grass and weeds covered an area the size of two football fields. Some pipes sticking out probably provided ventilation for the secret underground facility. There were no obvious entrances. BPI agents wearing black armor and helmets were patrolling the ground. They held assault rifles, and other weapons hung from utility belts. To Andrew, the approach seemed very heavy-handed, but the BPI didn't believe in half-measures. He spotted a body lying among the weeds. It was a young man in a green hunting outfit. Blood was leaking from a head wound and soaking the dirt. He had a light sniper rifle in his right hand. Agent Williams ran over to meet the sorcerers at the fence. "What's the situation?" Tonya said. "We killed three," he said. "I assume |
"The plant or the old lady?" I asked. "We could come back every day and pray, and she'll get so tired of our worshipfulness, she'll just break down and give us the damn bush," Seth said. "Are you prepared to convert and drive an hour up here every day?" "If that's what it takes," Seth said. Then after about a half an hour, we decided to scour the area for a replacement azalea. Since it would've been fruitless to find a replacement in a garden center, we drove through old neighborhoods with homes at least fifty years old. We found a few viable alternatives, | "The plant or the old lady?" I asked. "We could come back every day and pray, and she'll get so tired of our worshipfulness, she'll just break down and give us the damn bush," Seth said. "Are you prepared to convert and drive an hour up here every day?" "If that's what it takes," Seth said. Then after about a half an hour, we decided to scour the area for a replacement azalea. Since it would've been fruitless to find a replacement in a garden center, we drove through old neighborhoods with homes at least fifty years old. We found a few viable alternatives, but the color leaf was wrong or the shape was wrong or the size was just wrong. And then of course we didn't know if the homeowner would agree to allow us to rip open a garden. After all, it could've been someone's grave as well—or the grave of some dead pet turtle. So we had lunch. My mom had packed us each a hearty sandwich of turkey and cheese on pita, and it was at Tyler State Park that we discovered a replica for our beloved azalea. Seth paid the two landscapers in the park one hundred dollars each for us to pose as landscapers and thereby effectively digging up the azalea in a remote section of the park. We placed the azalea in the back of the minivan and zipped back to Uncle Reggie's. This time the lady was in her front yard bidding her final guest goodbye. "If you boys don't stop pestering me," she said, "I'm gonna have to call the cops." "Just take a look at what we have for you," Seth said out the window. The lady walked toward the street where her driveway began. I opened the hatch and dirt trickled out. I pulled on the blanket, and I heard it rip. My hands and arms had turned a different ethnicity from digging, but I was proud of how much of the root ball we were able to extract. "We can swap," Seth said. "This one's a dead ringer." She inspected the leaves. "And it'll be dead soon if you don't water it! Where did you boys get this? Where did you boys _steal_ this fine azalea from?" "We paid someone two hundred dollars to take the bush," Seth said. "What was his name?" she asked. "What?" "What was his name? she asked, enunciating each syllable. "Diego," Seth replied. "Diego? What? Where was the property? What road? What town?" Seth stuttered, not able to lie fast enough. I stepped in and apologized. I promised I wouldn't bother her again. I promised to replant the bush ASAP. It would be a shame to kill one of God's green living wonders. She said she was leaving soon for a trip to visit her son in South Carolina, and she didn't want us moseying around her yard while she was gone, which was rather stupid for her to tell us, but maybe it was rather stupid for us to even consider swapping without her knowing. After all, she knew all about azaleas, as she was the founding member of the Southeastern Pennsylvania Chapter of the Azalea Society of America. She introduced us to Mrs. Simmons, who had driven up from Bethesda, Maryland, to help her start the chapter. I reached out to shake, but my hands were filthy, and I rubbed them on my tan shorts. As we drove off, Seth fuming at "the old bitty," she called out to make sure we placed that "beauty of an azalea back in the earth where it belonged." So I drove back to Tyler State Park and parked by the concession stand. I filled my red thermos full of water and watered the azalea, soaking the plant and the blanket. Meanwhile, Seth had the idea of swapping the bushes at midnight. "That old bag wouldn't know we did anything. The two are so alike." "What?" I replied. "Are you that stupid? She's the authority on azaleas. She'll know we switched the bushes?" "Even if she does," he said, "how could she find us? And if she could, do you think she'd really press charges against someone who just switched bushes? The cops would laugh at her." I picked up the shovel and told him to get back inside the van. I was going to re-plant the bush. But then a cop car appeared in the parking lot, and I decided that we'd better split. What would he make of two young men watering an unearthed azalea in the parking lot in an out-of-state minivan? So after dinner at the diner and two brown ales, we drove back to Uncle Reggie's. But first we stopped at Home Depot to buy mulch. Earlier in the day Seth was smart enough to steal some mulch from around the azalea bush. Part of me thought that some of Mom-mom and Pop-pop lingered in the front pocket of Seth's jeans. So there we were, at midnight, carrying the substitute azalea. We made sure we hurried. I tripped on the curb and lost my balance. The shrub fell on my ankle. Some of the mulch tumbled on top of me. I then smelled the mint and sneezed—a sneeze that could've tripped security alarms. Oh, those allergies. I ripped the wild mint from the bush and told Seth that it was impossible to stop the growth of wild mint. I dug into the ball of the bush and ripped out a large root with numerous tumors. "That old lady will sure catch of whiff of that," I said. "We'll just have to rip it all out," he said. "Then we'll make herbal tea." "You don't understand," I said, peddling my feet back and forth, my back aching. I told Seth to drop the damn plant. I needed to rest and think. Seth rushed back to the van to fetch the shovels while I sat beside the azalea. Why was I doing this? I was no thief. I was just a serious scholar trying to keep a seriously depressed mother from stepping into the dark side. Why did I resent my mother so much? The azalea wasn't the cause of Mom's weariness. I didn't know the cause of her unhappiness. Divorcing Dad didn't make her happy. It didn't make any of us happy. Perhaps the divorce reshaped the puzzle pieces—and we were all doomed to remain disconnected. Of course when Dad died, the puzzle would always remain incomplete. I grimaced. It was a trite analogy. I then pictured the painting that hung in my grandparents' house, that now hangs in my own house, like so many artifacts from that era past, of the boy with the cowboy hat riding the red tricycle in a huge backyard, eternally waving his kerchief at us. The mischievous grin seemed to mock us all. "It's so good to be young," he seems to saying. All I knew was that I couldn't swap the poor lady's azalea. After all, the lady loved the azalea. Perhaps she was doing us a favor. I was thinking this as Seth passed me with the shovel and rake. That's when the alarms sounded and the lights around the house flashed and then the water sprinklers gushed. We screamed. Seth tore after the van while I frantically pulled the azalea across the driveway, leaving a trail of dirt and mulch. Before anyone showed up, we were able to load the azalea into the van. The inside of the van smelled like a flooded nursery. "What a rush!" Seth said. "That's all you have to say?" "So what do we do now?" "We drive home and dump the damn thing in that hole you made in the backyard." "Do we tell her it's not the right one?" I just nodded my head and wiped my nose on my jacket. Seth laughed. "Oh, you lying sack of shit." And that's what we did. We got home at one in the morning. I switched on the back porch light, and we planted the azalea by the concrete planter that came from Mom-mom's backyard. Begonias used to grow there in hearty compost. Around the planter, I would play fickle Zeus with my magnifying glass, burning bodies of red ants, then zapping the bodies of black ants, and then scorching the grass around the killing fields of Troy. Mom-mom would kiss me on the head, would tell me to be careful with playing God, and would pour me a nectar of sparkling lemonade. What would she tell me now? Was I playing God? The outer lip of the planter was now cracked. Seth had been using it for an ashtray. Because smoking was never allowed in my house, all the men my mom dated after her divorce also used it as an ashtray. Me, I don't smoke. I'm just a two-pack-a-day gum chewer, a leftover, my mother claims, from my oral fixation stage. It seems I bit my mom hard on the nipple while nursing and my mom's sudden pain and recoil traumatized me. Seth stopped to smoke a butt. He ran the garden hose into the hole and kept the roots wet while I piled on soil. Except for weeds tolerant of Weed-B-Gon, nothing grew in my mom's postage-stamp backyard. I don't know how many times I told her that one bag of one dollar topsoil won't grow anything. I knew enough to keep the top of the ball exposed by at least two inches. Then we mulched the azalea. Mom never heard us. At least she never came down. "Do you feel bad lying to your own mother?" "I don't know," I admitted, collapsing in the rusty chaise lounge. Seth smoked another cigarette. I fumbled for another stick of spearmint. "My dad and your Ma," he said. "They haven't been getting along too well." "I kind of thought so," I said. "But how would I know?" "If anything happens, do you think we'd still hang out?" "Do we hang out now?" I asked. "You should see your mom more, you know." "I know," I said. "How come you don't come around?" Seth probably smoked another cigarette while I thought of his question. I pictured my mother in the upstairs bathroom, listening. That's what I would do. As a boy I would lay down, my ear inches away from the kitchen corner or tucked under the lip of the locked door, and eavesdrop; I |
What in Queen Victoria's name are they up to?" Lieutenant Young said nervously, "Sir, wouldn't you advise sounding general quarters?" "By all means", said Stockton. "No sense wandering into that herd of elephants, until we learn if they're friendly or not. But keep the gunports closed for now. And fire up the boilers and give us some steam." The Bosun's Mate piped general quarters, and instantly the ship was a beehive of activity as the three 120-pound Browning rifled cannons on the port side were loaded. Black smoke began billowing from the stack. "Down mainsail! Ahead full!" shouted Stockton. "Mr. Young, | What in Queen Victoria's name are they up to?" Lieutenant Young said nervously, "Sir, wouldn't you advise sounding general quarters?" "By all means", said Stockton. "No sense wandering into that herd of elephants, until we learn if they're friendly or not. But keep the gunports closed for now. And fire up the boilers and give us some steam." The Bosun's Mate piped general quarters, and instantly the ship was a beehive of activity as the three 120-pound Browning rifled cannons on the port side were loaded. Black smoke began billowing from the stack. "Down mainsail! Ahead full!" shouted Stockton. "Mr. Young, keep your distance from them. Try to beat around them. Remember, we are on a 'diplomatic' mission." The British ships were tacking upwind, and making slow progress. The winds were light, and Stockton estimated the ponderous ships of the line were making three knots at best. One of the frigates in the lead suddenly jibed and headed straight for the Princeton. Stockton looked through the spyglass again, and his jaw dropped. "I don't believe it. These are the veterans of Trafalgar...Look – There's HMS Defiance, and the Royal Sovereign, and the Agamemnon, and the Britannia, and the Prince of Wales ..." About that time, Wilford Woodruff came forward. "What's happening?" he inquired, then he turned and gazed at the British flotilla. "Oh my ..." he said. "Mr. Woodruff, I suggest you get below and stay there", said Stockton. "I have no time or space to share with diplomats just now." Wilford obediently headed back down to the gun deck. Lieutenant Young had relinquished the wheel to the Second Mate, Mr. Robeson. "Sir, what are your orders?" he said nervously to his captain. "We'll be hard put to work around them now", said Stockton. "We can outrun them, but only by turning back. Neither choice is very appealing to me. Damn...We still don't know their intentions yet, neither." The British frigate had closed to within about two miles of the Princeton. Browning watched as a string of signal flags snaked up her rigging. Stockton looked through the spyglass and said," It's the frigate Warspite, 36 guns. She's signaling us to heave to and prepare to be boarded. I'll see her in Halifax first! Signal her, 'U.S. Navy Sloop Princeton. We are on a diplomatic mission'." The signalman complied, and a minute later the Warspite repeated her first signal. She was still tacking for position, and slowly closing the distance between the two ships. "Apparently they don't take us seriously", said Stockton. "Signal her, 'Do not approach, or we will fire'. That should give them a good laugh." Another string of flags went up the Warspite's rigging. "'U.S. and Britain at war. Prepare to be boarded"', said Stockton as he collapsed the spyglass. "Well, that corks it. No more diplomatic niceties. Fire a round across her bow, Mr. Young." Lieutenant Young had already gone to work with Ericsson's distance-finder. He checked his firing tables. "Two thousand yards...Fifteen degrees elevation. Bearing, zero-five-two degrees. I'll need to lead 'er a bit." He set the handle on the gun-deck telegraph to "15", and waited until the chief gunner signaled back "ready" from below. Then he watched the compass until the ship's heading reached 142 degrees, and closed the knife switch. An instant later port cannon number one roared, and the crew watched as a solid shot arced gracefully across the water, splashing down mere feet from the Warspite's bow. "Good shooting, Mr. Young", said Stockton. Still the frigate slowly bore down on them. "They don't know what they're up against", Browning said, shaking his head sadly. "We have twice the speed, and our guns have thrice the range of theirs. We can easily outrun them upwind, downwind, or no wind at all." Commodore Stockton reluctantly replied, "Mr. Young, you may fire at will." Lieutenant Young set to work with enthusiasm. "Port battery, prepare to fire! Twelve degrees elevation, solid shot! Helmsman, come about to one-one-seven degrees!" He took another quick glance through the distance-finder, then he closed the switch. BOOM BOOM BOOM the port battery thundered, and the Princeton rolled to starboard under the recoil. Three black specks flew across the gap between the two vessels and homed in on the Warspite. A few moments later, the crew of the Princeton watched in amazement as the Warspite's mainmast fell with a wrenching crash. At almost the same instant, the Warspite's port side erupted in smoke as she fired a futile broadside with her 36-pound smoothbore cannons. All seventeen rounds fell harmlessly about 500 yards short of the Princeton. "Hard to starboard! Up mainsail! Bring the starboard battery to bear!" cried Stockton. "Load shells!" The starboard gunners bent to their task, ramming charges and explosive shells into the three guns. Smoke belched from the chimney as the steam engine rumbled beneath them, and the ship heeled to starboard in a graceful pirouette, turning away from the Warspite. Sailors scurried up the ratlines to furl the mainsail. Less than a minute later, the starboard battery was aimed squarely at the hapless Warspite. "Fire!" cried Stockton, and Lieutenant Young closed the switch again. BOOM BOOM BOOM. The first explosive round splintered the Warspite's foremast. The second round destroyed the ship's wheel and deckhouse. The third landed amidships, where it plunged deep into the hold. An instant later, there was a tremendous explosion as the Warspite's powder magazine detonated, breaking the ship's back. Browning and Young gazed in awe at the flaming wreck. "Just six rounds ..." Jonathan whispered. The Warspite slowly folded in two, and the bow and stern slipped beneath the waves. The entire engagement had taken less than five minutes. In the mean time, the van of the British fleet was slowly bearing down on the Princeton. The lead ship of the line was HMS Defiance, now about two thousand yards away. "Taking on a 36-gun frigate is one thing", Stockton said anxiously. "The old Constitution used to have 'em for breakfast. A 74-gun ship of the line is an entirely different matter." A string of signal flags went up the Defiance's rigging. Stockton gazed at them through the spyglass for a minute, then he shook his head sadly. "'England expects that every man will do his duty.' Lord Nelson's rallying cry at Trafalgar. A futile gesture...You may commence fire, Mr. Young, and send this reply: 'I have not yet begun to fight.' John Paul Jones was one of my boyhood heroes." BOOM BOOM BOOM the three port guns bellowed again, and the rounds made a tearing sound as they arced across the water toward the Defiance. The British ship responded with a full broadside – nearly forty cannon, and a tremendous hail of 42-pound solid shot rose into the air and then fell with a series of splashes, about a half mile short of the Princeton. One of the Princeton's rounds overshot the Defiance. The second one gouged her 12-inch thick oaken flank, and the third struck the main deck. Still she ploughed slowly ahead. "This is futile", said Stockton. "We could peck away at her all day like this. At this range, we don't have the smashing power we need, and if we close, we risk dueling it out, seventy-four guns to six. Mr. Young, commence raking her masts and rigging with explosive shells." "Aye, sir", said Young. "Helmsman, come about!" While the Princeton was occupied with the Defiance, another frigate on the far side of the British line, to the northwest of them, had changed course and headed in their direction. Lieutenant Young pointed and said, "Sir, I think that frigate plans to cut through the line and engage us." BOOM BOOM BOOM the starboard battery roared, and a few moments later there was a grinding crash as the Defiance's foremast and bowsprit slowly toppled into the water. The ship lost headway and veered to starboard as the tangle of sails and rigging slowed her down. Just a few cable lengths behind the Defiance was the Royal Sovereign. As the Defiance lost headway, the crew of the Royal Sovereign scrambled frantically, dropping sail and tacking to port to avoid colliding with her. At the same time the frigate Ramillies was attempting to cross the line between the two ships. As the gap closed, there was a slow, grinding crunch as the Royal Sovereign ploughed directly into the port side of the Ramillies. This threw the whole British line into confusion, and ships began veering in all directions to avoid collision. "Hell, why don't we just let them fight it out?" Stockton said with glee. Suddenly there was a muffled boom from below deck, and a huge cloud of steam billowed up through the main deck hatch. The Princeton slowed and then stopped dead in the water. An instant later the escape valve just forward of the smokestack erupted with an ear-splitting roar, blowing a plume of steam half as high as the mainmast. Stockton shouted into the engine-room speaking tube, "Engine room, report!" but he couldn't hear anyone over the din from below. "Mr. Browning, get below and find out what's going on. I have a feeling Mr. Ericsson's fancy steam machinery just failed us", he growled. Jonathan leaped down the gangway to the lower deck and found himself in the middle of a Turkish bath. Through the haze of steam, he could see two men sprawled on the deck unconscious. Steam was billowing with a deafening roar directly out of the top of one of the engine's two cylinders. "What happened?" Browning shouted to the Chief Engineer. "We lost a cylinder head!" the Engineer shouted back to him, pointing up. Embedded in the decking above them was a dinner-plate sized iron disk. "We were just cracking on full steam when she blew!" He turned a steam valve and the din abruptly ceased. The ship's surgeon had just arrived and started working to revive the two crewmen. "They're a bit scalded, but they'll recover", he said hopefully. "Can you repair it?" Browning shouted to the Engineer. "Sure thing, but it'll take at least an hour!" was the reply. "The engine's too hot to even touch just now!" "I'll go tell the Commodore", Browning said mostly to himself, as he climbed the gangway. Stockton was not pleased. |
Andrew shook his head. He wasn't about to be responsible for crashing something that expensive, no matter how fun it might be. She shrugged and they climbed in. He thought she had driven fast before. She drove her car much faster than she had driven his and unlike his, her motor purred as the car sped along. For a moment, Andrew regretted declining to drive. It would be fun to be in control of something so powerful, but he doubted he would be able to control it half as well as she did. Sirens blared, interrupting his joy in the car. Andrew looked behind and sure enough, the red and blue lights were flashing. Johari pulled off to | Andrew shook his head. He wasn't about to be responsible for crashing something that expensive, no matter how fun it might be. She shrugged and they climbed in. He thought she had driven fast before. She drove her car much faster than she had driven his and unlike his, her motor purred as the car sped along. For a moment, Andrew regretted declining to drive. It would be fun to be in control of something so powerful, but he doubted he would be able to control it half as well as she did. Sirens blared, interrupting his joy in the car. Andrew looked behind and sure enough, the red and blue lights were flashing. Johari pulled off to the side of the road. The officer approached the car with excessive caution. He had his gun out and was standing back from the car. They didn't mess around with people who went more than double the speed limit. "Step out of the car, hands where I can see them," he shouted. Johari rolled down her window instead of climbing out, she looked into his eyes. "Go back to your car, erase any video or notes you may have on me and forget you saw me." The officer's eyes went blank and he turned and walked back to his car, gun hanging at his side. Johari slipped the car into gear and pulled away at a normal speed until she was beyond the range of radar. Andrew shook his head. No wonder she wasn't afraid of speeding. If it had been him driving that speed, he would have been arrested. "Does that happen often," he asked Johari? She shook her head. "No, I usually spot them long before they see me. I was a little distracted today and he was well hidden." Andrew supposed that somewhere in there he should be more concerned about the speeding and getting pulled over, but he felt comfortable that Johari had it under control. They were silent as the car picked up speed again and before Andrew knew it, they were pulling up in front of the restaurant. He wondered, as they drove up to the front drive under the canopy by the entrance, what a middle class, high school senior was doing in a place like this. They would recognize what he was at the door and send him on his way. Andrew was certain that Johari could get in anywhere, but then again, she didn't look like a poor student, she looked as though she belonged here. As they climbed out, a valet stepped up and handed Johari a ticket. The man was either a professional or else he saw a lot of cars like hers, because he didn't seem excited about the car. As he pulled away to park the car in the lot, Andrew leaned over and asked Johari which one she thought it was. She grinned. "He's a professional. His heart started to beat faster as soon as he saw the car pulling up. Andrew shook his head. "Maybe it wasn't the car. He might have just seen you." He grinned at her. "That is enough to make my heart beat faster." Johari smiled at Andrew as he offered her his arm. She took the arm and walked with him through the front door. Inside, there was a young man standing behind a hosting booth just beyond the coat room. Andrew was just wearing the dinner jacket which he didn't feel belonged in the coat room. Johari wasn't affected much by the temperature and hadn't even worn a jacket, so they both walked to the booth and the young man with a polite smile on his face. The smile was directed more at Johari than at Andrew, but Andrew couldn't blame him? He preferred to look at her too. "Good evening, sir, madam. Could I please have the name on your reservation?" Johari smiled at him. "We don't have a reservation. My name is Joan Endress, I would like one of your private rooms please." The host looked surprised. "I apologize madam. We are quite busy this evening and I'm afraid we don't even have room to seat you in our main dining area without a reservation, let alone in one of our private rooms. I don't think anyone but the owner could get what you are asking for tonight, and even for them, we would be hard pressed. I am most sorry, but you will need to make a reservation and come another night." Johari sighed. "I am the owner." The man smiled and shook his head. "I'm sorry, but ..." Johari held up her hand to stop him. "Why don't you just call Paul, tell him my name and let him deal with it." The host looked a little confused as if there might be something going on here that he didn't understand. Then he shrugged as though he knew that there was no other way in which he could get rid of us. He picked up a phone from the booth and keyed in a three digit number. A moment later, a voice picked up on the other end. "Hey, Paul? Yeah, I have two guests here who are asking for a private room without a reservation. They insisted that I call you." He listened for a moment, then nodded and hung up the phone. Johari didn't look pleased. "Paul asked me to again pass on how sorry we are, but also asks that you make a reservation for another night." Johari shook her head. "You didn't listen." She said, now a little frustrated. "You were supposed to give him my name." Andrew was beginning to feel a uncomfortable. "It's okay, we can go somewhere else tonight," he murmured to her. Johari shook her head. "No, it's quite alright. If junior here had just done as he was told, we would already be sitting down." Junior, of course, could hear every word, and he looked a little upset at the nickname. "Miss Endress, is it?" He didn't wait for a reply. "It really doesn't matter who you think you are, there is no room tonight." He took his time enunciating the last part as if he thought that maybe she didn't get it because she were a little slow. She just rolled her eyes at me. "Good help is so hard to find these days." She stepped closer to the booth and looked right up into the man's eyes. She spoke softly, but Andrew felt the force of her words from behind her. "Call Paul back, now, and tell him my name or you will be finding yourself new employment, I can promise you that." Andrew felt the force, but for some reason, she didn't seem to be compelling him. The man raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay. What if I just call Paul down here and let him talk to you directly." Johari nodded. "Yes, that is fine." The host picked the phone back up and redialed the three digit number. "Hi Paul. Sorry to bug you again, but the two guests I called about a moment ago are still here." He paused. "Yes I know, I told them, but they insist upon seeing you in person." Another pause. "Okay, thank you Paul." He set the phone back down. "Paul will be right down to see you." He smiled as he said this as if he knew something that they didn't. A moment later, Andrew saw what it was that he had been smiling about. A tall lanky man that must have been Paul came out of the kitchen, followed by two massive gentlemen in matching black suits. It looked like he was going to get thrown out after all. Paul's eyes fell upon Johari and even from where we were standing, Andrew saw them widen. He whirled on the two men following him and ushered them back the way they had come with his hands. They turned and disappeared back into the kitchen while Paul hurried over to the booth. "Mike, why don't you go help Michele to clear out the blue room and reset it for two." Poor Mike, the friendly host, looked confused. "But Paul, I thought ..." " Mike. Michele. Blue room. Now!" The last word cracked off of Paul's tongue like a whip and Mike's eyes widened, but he nodded and hurried off to find Michele, whoever that might be. His eyes stared back one more time as he left. "I am so sincerely sorry about that Miss Endress." Johari smiled. "No real problem, it's not that big of a deal. It would have been nice, however, if young Mike had just mentioned my name right away like I asked." "You are most correct. I shall speak to him and of course to all our hosts about it. This will not happen again." Paul eyed Andrew with more than idle curiosity a few different times while they stood there and finally he asked. "Who is your friend, if it is not too presumptuous of me to ask?" Johari smiled. "Paul, I would like you to meet my partner, Andrew Marks." Paul's eyes widened yet again. Andrew wanted to laugh at the ridiculous expression, but contained himself. "Mr. Marks, my humblest apologies for the wait sir." Andrew wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that, but Paul recognized his name and so Andrew thought that he was should try to play along. "It's not a problem Paul. Mike didn't understand. I appreciate you acting so swiftly to remedy the misunderstanding." Andrew glanced at Johari after a moment to see if he did alright. She was smiling, so it must have been close enough. Not even two minutes later, Mike returned. He nodded politely this time. Somewhere, he must have picked up the idea that these two guests were important people. Andrew was getting the same impression himself. He knew why Johari was important, but why was he? Paul pulled two menus from behind the booth. "If you would please follow me this way." He led Andrew and Johari across the main dining area in the direction that Mike had just returned from. On the far side of the dining area was a hallway with several different doorways in it. The doorways were covered by thick curtains. Paul led them to one labeled The Blue Room. Paul pulled the curtain aside and ushered his two guests into the room. The name didn't fit the room at all. As far as Andrew could see, there wasn't a speck of anything blue anywhere in the room. The base color theme seemed to be gold and red. It was like |
"I don't see how this makes any difference in the quality of their lives," Harry grumbled. He was standing near the side entrance as a steady stream of late arrivals filtered into the room. Mavis had just come from the kitchen to join him. At a nearby table, three men in their late twenties were laughing a bit too loudly, but nobody seemed to care. One of the men, a gaunt, goofy-looking fellow with bad teeth, winked at Mavis. The gesture seemed more childish than brazen and further dampened Harry's holiday cheer. "The alternative," Mavis said, "is we don't have a party, and they all go without Christmas | "I don't see how this makes any difference in the quality of their lives," Harry grumbled. He was standing near the side entrance as a steady stream of late arrivals filtered into the room. Mavis had just come from the kitchen to join him. At a nearby table, three men in their late twenties were laughing a bit too loudly, but nobody seemed to care. One of the men, a gaunt, goofy-looking fellow with bad teeth, winked at Mavis. The gesture seemed more childish than brazen and further dampened Harry's holiday cheer. "The alternative," Mavis said, "is we don't have a party, and they all go without Christmas dinner." "They can't help it," Mavis added, nodding pleasantly to the fellow with the bad teeth. A staticky Jingle Bells burst over the loudspeaker but no one was singing. They were waiting for the main course. You could see it in the grim set of an old woman's jaw, the impatient squabbling of a dowdy, middle-aged couple. Frig the music! Bring on the goddamn turkey! The kitchen doors flew open and a column of staff emerged with platters of steaming mash potatoes, green beans and winter squash. The meal was officially underway. "Got to man my battle station." Mavis disappeared back into the kitchen. A teenage girl - she couldn't have been any older than Harry - stank of body odor. Not the usual, day-old variety but the rancid, nose searing stench - a month's accumulation of sloth and grunge. "Merry Christmas! How's your meal?" Harry felt no connection whatsoever with the foul-smelling girl. She might as well have been a humanoid from some far-flung solar system impersonating the real thing. No sympathy or compassion. All Harry wanted was to finish out the shift, go home and forget about Brandenburg's poor unfortunates. "Another busload's pulling in," hollered one of the VFW workers. "Get a headcount and let cookie know how many extra meals." "Another busload," Harry thought. Brandenburg was a relatively small community; how many indigents could there possibly be? With hot food on the table now, the guests were mollified. Not that anyone was singing, but the mood had lightened. "Drivers are needed to deliver meals to the subsidized housing on Woodward Ave." Mavis had her coat on and was fishing in her pocket for the car keys. "This was such a joy! I'm going to do it every year." Mavis stretched, rising up on her toes and kissed Harry lightly on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Harry!" Around two o'clock, coffee and dessert were served and the meal was officially over. Harry went into the men's room to pee. The three men Harry noticed earlier were smoking cigarettes outside the door as Harry brushed by and entered the bathroom. "Ain't that the Chink waiting tables?" It was the voice of the gaunt, goofy-looking fellow. Harry positioned himself in front of a urinal and unzipped his fly. "A room full of horny white guys and look who the foxy bitch sucks face with." Again, it was the infantile winker running off at the mouth. He lowered his voice and, to Harry's great relief, the running commentary became unintelligible. After a minute there was a raucous outburst of indecent hoots. Harry waited until the threesome had gone back to their seats before sneaking out the back door. ***** In May Harry was accepted to Boston University. His senior prom was scheduled at the Biltmore in downtown Providence. The Paul Borelli big band would set up in the main ballroom. He didn't have a date yet. Tuesday afternoon when Harry arrived at Shop Rite, another woman was working the middle register. "Mavis never showed," the woman reported flatly. "No call. No nothing." An hour later, three policemen entered the store and requested, Molly Pruitt, the store manager. They spoke informally near the recycling bins; one officer penciled notes on a loose-leaf pad. Toward six o'clock fragments of second-hand information began to circulate. Mavis was at the hospital. A bad car accident. Head injuries. Broken teeth. The husband was dead. Harry hurried to the manager's office. "There's been some talk - "The manager looked up. Her face was pale, expressionless. "Not now," she said tersely and waved Harry out of the room. Harry cornered Nellie Higgins at customer service and asked about the accident. Nellie looked even worse than Molly Pruitt. "There wasn't any accident. Mavis' husband came home drunk and beat the crap out of her. Busted up her face something awful, according to the cops. She's still at the hospital. Be released home in a day or so, poor woman." Harry felt his brain convulse, crushed like an animal's paw in a steel-trap. "The husband?" "Cleaned out their joint bank account and flew the coop. Cops figure he headed south...got relatives and friends down there." Nellie leaned over the counter. "We're taking up a collection...to get Mavis a nice fruit basket and a card." "Fruit basket," Harry repeated hollowly and groped his way to the men's room where he sat on a toilet with the door closed and lowered his head between his legs. Some ugly bitch who can't neither hear nor talk. A deaf mute. Harry remembered Travis' drawling commentary. How he laughed like a treacherous fool, a Judas Iscariot, with Mavis, no more than twenty feet away, drying the last of the dishes. In the morning, Harry bunked school and headed over to the hospital. Mavis was sitting in the solarium with a hospital-issue robe thrown over her shoulders. Both eyes were smudged black, the sooty discoloration fanning to the delicate lashes, bleeding down the cheekbone like spilled ink. "Travis hits real hard." Harry gripped the back of a hardwood chair and held on like a drowning man. The two front teeth were gone, snapped off at the gum line, leaving a gap five-eighths of an inch across and half an inch deep. "Why did he do it?" Mavis folded her hands demurely in her lap. "For the fun of it." "What's wrong with your eye?" She patted the side of her face gingerly. "He broke my cheekbone. The eye won't focus." Mavis opened her mouth and pointed. "My medical insurance has a deductible on dental...five hundred dollar. And I'm already in hock up to my ears." A nurse pushing a wheelchair ahead of her entered the solarium. "Need another X-ray of that cheek." Mavis transferred to the wheelchair and sat legs askew like a rag doll, slumped at an angle. "It was sweet of you to come." The nurse pushed off, leaving Harry standing in an empty, sun-drenched room. A week later, Harry heard, through word of mouth, that Mavis was back at Fox Run. Travis Calhoun had been sighted at a cabin his uncle owned in Murfreesboro on the west fork of the Stones River. But when the police arrived he was long gone, driven deep into the rural brush by enlightened self-interest. Harry went to visit Mavis one night after work. "How're you feeling?" The raccoon mask had faded to a sickly yellow tinged with olive. "Much better. The double vision's gone." Both eyes seemed to be cooperating quite nicely. "I had a similar problem with one of my eyes when I was a baby," Harry said. "Any word on your husband?" Mavis smiled. "Called from a truck stop in Georgia. Apologized half a million times for what he did. Cried like a baby." "Yes, that seems about right." Mavis went into the bedroom and returned with the blue-handled revolver. She tipped the muzzle forward and cracked the barrel to reveal a fat, 357 slug in each chamber. "I told him, if he ever showed his face around here, I'd blow his pecker and both testicles off with the defective Smith and Wesson." Harry ran a finger over her closed lips, inserting it gently into her mouth, navigating the crevice. "After your husband bashed your exquisite teeth in," Harry said, "I asked myself what the immortals would do - Gandhi, Krishnamurti, Hermann Hesse, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Tolstoy...the whole, cosmic crew. All the enlightened masters and morally superior beings. I pictured them munching pork lo mein and chugalugging Budweisers till their spiritually-unencumbered brains were fried; listening to whiny hillbilly music and your husband's sarcastic tirades." Harry laid an envelope on the kitchen table. He opened it and a collection of bills - twenties and fifties spilled across the surface of the table. "Five hundred bucks to cover the deductible on your dental insurance." He nudged the bills toward her. "To get your mouth fixed." Mavis collapsed tiredly into the chair and stared at the scattering of money. "This isn't right." "Trust me," Harry shot back. "Where're the broken teeth?" On the counter next to the sugar jar, was a piece of Kleenex, bunched together and tied with a string. She brought the impromptu pouch to the table and carefully unwrapped the tissue. Harry flipped the teeth over several times until they lay front-side up. Identical in every respect, the pale enamel on one was obliterated by a wine-colored stain. "Which is which?" Mavis shrugged. He took the blotchy tooth to the sink, rinsed the blood away and placed it alongside its mate. "Twin souls!" After awhile, he rewrapped the teeth in fresh tissue and secured it with the string. "Bring this to the dentist on the first visit." "Yes, I'll certainly do that," Mavis said. "Would you like some coffee?" Harry shook his head. She put the kettle on to boil. While the water was heating, Harry moved into the living room. On the coffee table was a clothbound collection of spiritual verses. A page toward the rear was dog-eared and a short verse underlined: Since we've seen each other, a game goes on. Secretly I move, and you respond. You're winning, you think it's funny...In the kitchen the kettle sent up an insistent, wheezy drone. Mavis brought the warm drinks into the living room. As they talked, Harry hardly noticed the fading raccoon mask or the intermittent, sibilant hiss as her tongue stumbled and faltered through the breach. back to Table of Contents The Reluctant Bigamist When Karla Pilsudski stopped by her brother's place, she found Mickey, crouched behind the living room sofa peeking through the curtains. Around his thick neck hung a chain of armor-piercing, machine gun shells. The week after his Army discharge, he bored the quarter-inch holes in the soft, brass casings, later threading |
Then I went to Thailand, as it was a stopover on the way back to England. I was there two months. At first I stayed in Khao San Road in Bangkok, which is where all the travellers stay. There are hostels every other house, with wok cooking on the street with an open fire. It was there I got my inspiration for Thai cooking. Later, when I was at Guildford, I bought Thai cookery books and cooked Thai food every night. I still do, now and again, over twenty-four years later. I bussed up to the North and the jungle, and went on a three-day trek where our group encountered a wild elephant, and also a | Then I went to Thailand, as it was a stopover on the way back to England. I was there two months. At first I stayed in Khao San Road in Bangkok, which is where all the travellers stay. There are hostels every other house, with wok cooking on the street with an open fire. It was there I got my inspiration for Thai cooking. Later, when I was at Guildford, I bought Thai cookery books and cooked Thai food every night. I still do, now and again, over twenty-four years later. I bussed up to the North and the jungle, and went on a three-day trek where our group encountered a wild elephant, and also a tiger path. One night we were introduced to an opium doctor who invited us to smoke some, for just a few baht (Thai currency). I had five pipes, and it had no effect at all. I stayed on the Burmese border and there were soldiers with rifles patrolling the other side of the river. The bridge crossing was a customs point, and my hostellier told me how he used to smuggle diamonds into Burma in his motorbike. I decided to hire a motorbike and go to the Golden Triangle, which is where Thailand, Burma and Laos meet at a river. My mother had told us children never to ride a motorbike, and you will see the wisdom of following your parents' advice. I had never ridden one before and the man told me to use the foot pedal back brake, and never the front handlebar brake, otherwise the front wheel would lock. I started down the gravel road and at about 30 mph I came to a bend. I realised I was going too fast and pulled the front brake in extremis. The wheel locked and the bike fell over. I was wearing shorts and the road was tarmac gravel. In the time that it took for the bike to fall, I got onto the upside and surfed on the bike till it halted. I have never heard of anyone doing this and I believe God's hand was with me. Imagine the mess it could have made to my leg. There were no hospitals. I carried on and reached the Triangle, passing paddy fields. When I parked there was a very steep ravine in front of the bike and I thought, Shall I turn round first so the bike is facing away from the slope? One should always obey leadings or promptings in one's spirit. They are from God. But I didn't take any notice. After looking at the river, I got back on the bike and let off the clutch. In a car, if you do it too quickly, it lurches forward. The bike did the same. The next thing I knew I was halfway down the hill. Still holding onto the bike, I somersaulted in the air and we both landed at the base of a tree. Unharmed. I dragged the bike back up and it was only slightly damaged. God's miracle. Two bikers had been watching and were relieved to see me come back up. They were German and Dutch and we made friends. We biked together for the next three days. I think they genuinely wanted to take care of me. Just as in Hawaii when I had my best time when all had been stolen, so I had my best time after that incident because again I was forced to talk to people. But having accidents is definitely not recommended. Then I went down to the islands for a month, first to Khao Phang Nan. I stayed in a beach hut for £1 a night, and the food each day cost about the same. All along the 'traveller' routes were small shops selling the great literary Classics, where you could trade in ones you had read and buy more. I had a hammock and read them in the sun, listening to ecstasy music from Sydney nightclubs on my Walkman while smoking grass. The sea was crystal clear, with coconuts and deep soft white sand with coral. I wore Thai clothes. I decided to go to a cafe where I had a magic mushroom omelette. These aren't the small magic mushrooms like in the West, but huge. I was soon hanging out with a group of hippies and getting along really well. They were far-out and I was told they used to fast for forty days up in their huts. After eating the mushrooms, I went to the loo and the black specs on the wall turned into snakes and started biting me. My good trip just went bad. I came out and thought all the hippies were laughing at me. I was paranoid. This is when I thought they could see the dark secret in my heart of my homosexual abuse in Hawaii. When the dogs started barking, I thought they could see it as well, and even thought people in England could see the secret. I went to the beach to seek some solace. Hallucinating, I suddenly thought, I am going to see God. I then saw my brother Henry sitting on a cloud, waving and smiling at me. He was the person I was closest to, and it brought peace to my heart. Every month there was a full moon beach party. On the night, we assembled in the appointed place and a truck came and picked us up. We were then driven to a hidden location deep in the jungle, to a shell of a house that had been turned into a party place. There was acid house music all night, and drugs. I recall swinging in a hammock in the early hours. It was very surreal. In the morning, we walked back along the beach in silence. This hippie trail is directly traceable back to its beginnings in the sixties in Goa, South India, by the Beatles, especially John Lennon and his fellow musicians. Next, I took the boat to another island, called Ko-Nang-Yuan. This is the only triangular island in the world where three hills meet in the middle, making a beach that is covered at high tide. It was truly paradisiacal. There was a restaurant where I discovered Tom-kha, the best food I have ever eaten. I introduced Tom-kha to Bridget in Bristol and we both enjoy eating it regularly. I went snorkelling, and the coral was stunning; incredibly incandescent and beautiful colours a few inches below me. When I looked up, just dull grey rocks above the water. Only people who have seen coral will know what I mean. Suddenly, I felt a dark presence. I looked to my left and there was a Barracuda shark a few yards away. I quickly got out of the water and was okay. I met a French guy there who became a good friend. I later visited him in Paris and he then visited me in Guildford. I smoked opiated grass, and had a hut above the beach swinging in the wind in the hot sun, still with my headphones and English Classics. My view was the open blue sea. I thought I had arrived. One day I decided to walk around the island through thick jungle. Atop the first hill I saw a bird of prey and a perfect circle about half a mile in diameter in the ocean. Very spiritual. Further in the jungle, I came across a natural clearing and a very old tree with a trunk just like the face of an old man. I took a photo of it, but strangely it didn't come out. I continued until I reached a massive cliff face in the jungle. Here I had no choice: I had to go back. Good job, as it would have taken me too long to get round the island in one day. I doubt whether anyone has attempted it. One day in Haadrin, Ko-Phang-Yang, I boarded a jeep taxi, and an English woman sat next to me. I invited her for a coffee and, amazingly, she pulled out a letter from her ex, who was my old flat mate Max in Sydney. He had already told me about her and their split. In Bangkok, I went to the mall where at a cafe a Thai man started talking. He said his daughter was going to London the next day, and did I know where she could stay? I said yes, so he said, 'She's having a party today. Would you accompany me and tell her?' We got into a taxi and I became a bit disconcerted as we drove miles into the suburbs. When we arrived, there were no decorations, and when I walked into the house there was only one man. He offered me a coffee, but I thought he might put drugs in it so I asked for a can of coke. It was sealed, so I drank it. He then asked if I wanted to play Poker. I had played a lot, so I said yes. We played for chips, but he won them all. He then told me all the cards were marked and told me he was a croupier in a casino in Macau, China, and if I went there he would deal me good cards and we would split the profit. I said okay, just to get out. He took me on his motorbike, which I didn't like as there was no escape. Thank God he took me to the main road and a taxi came by. He then asked me for money. Thai money is all low denomination notes, so I opened my wallet and gave him a bunch. I was very relieved when I got back to my hostel. A cautionary tale indeed. I think I found (or did I lose?) myself there. I wore ethnic clothes, grew my hair, was listening to house music on my headphones, and I'm sorry to say I smoked a lot of cannabis. I enjoyed the excellent food and just relaxed. This was far removed from my forthcoming time at Guildford Law School and being a London solicitor. When I got back to London my friends said I had changed. My mother told me I had lost my way. Whichever way, I enjoyed life, and wasn't interested in just making money. I bought a VW Beetle car for Law School and sprayed it blue and green. England was a culture shock. Surely the poor (for Thailand was poor) know how to live better than the rich. Jesus said, 'Don't seek material riches, but rather those of heaven.' He also said that if' you do God's will, He will provide'. There's nothing wrong with working. In fact, it is a must. It is just a matter of your motivation and priority. Bridget rightly observed that in Thailand I neither lost nor found myself, but God found me. I was never interested in making money. In fact, I never thought about my future at all. In Thailand, especially on the beaches, I believe I gained an identity. I carved out a happy life- on £1 per day excellent food, and the same for my hut. I want to talk about 'living levels'. |
Cam looked to the floor, breathing slowly, before looking back up at her. 'It's really me' he spoke quietly. 'I know it's been a very long time.' 'What happened to you?' 'I....' Cam shook his head. 'I can't explain, it's too much ...' They sat in the garden at the back of the house, the ground before them dipped down to a stream some distance away, there were trees scattered in sparse groups about the place, and beyond that was open land. 'It's nice here' Cam mumbled, though it was not the landscape that he saw, there were other things he felt here. | Cam looked to the floor, breathing slowly, before looking back up at her. 'It's really me' he spoke quietly. 'I know it's been a very long time.' 'What happened to you?' 'I....' Cam shook his head. 'I can't explain, it's too much ...' They sat in the garden at the back of the house, the ground before them dipped down to a stream some distance away, there were trees scattered in sparse groups about the place, and beyond that was open land. 'It's nice here' Cam mumbled, though it was not the landscape that he saw, there were other things he felt here. It was still here, he could tell this much, and the breeze felt cool, the air fresh, and as he breathed deeply inwards, he smelt the faintest scene of salt. He turned to his left, turning away from Lucy and narrowing his eyes as he stared away. 'Is the ocean close by?' he asked. 'Its ...' Lucy began, 'just over there.' Cam looked back at her, seeing her pointing in the direction he had been looking. He looked away again, back towards this way. He saw blue there on the horizon but could not tell if it was sea or sky. 'I thought you might have been dead' Cam began, still looking away. 'Gods it feels like so long ago' he mumbled. 'That manor.... I hardly remember it.' 'It's been about five years' Lucy spoke quietly, hugging herself and staring down at her lap. 'I um....' 'I learned later on that you were alive' Cam told her. 'I wanted to see you but ...' 'Why didn't you come back?' Lucy asked him. 'Why didn't you try to find me? I thought you were dead.' 'Oh Lucy ...' Cam turned to face her now at last, a sad smile upon his face. 'Oh' he said again. 'I couldn't even begin to tell you how much I have suffered throughout my life, since my childhood, before the incident at that manor, after I lost you ...' He raised his hands before his face now, staring at the metallic surfaces, each arm mismatched from the other. He brought his hands to his face then, touching his skin. 'I can't feel' he mumbled, 'I can't touch again.' 'What happened to you?' Lucy asked, her voice a little timid. 'I lost my arm in an incident' Cam mumbled, 'and then something else happened. I was given these arms by different groups, different people. That is why they are different from each other.' Lucy's eyes dropped then, staring at his metallic arms. 'I've never seen anything like it before' she whispered. 'Lucy' Cam began seriously. 'There is.... ah.... there's so much I want to tell you, so much but...I don't think you will understand.... how can I truly convey to you what I want to you?' He bowed his head. 'You believe in magic' he said to her, 'don't you?' 'Yes.' Lucy mumbled. 'You showed me, your skin ...' she raised her head to him. 'Your skin glowed. I saw that, you have magic, you are magic.' 'I am stronger than I could possibly show you that I am.... not that I would want to, I would probably frighten you...scare you away.' He paused. 'I would not want such a thing.' 'I'm not frightened of you' Lucy told him. 'You aren't?' Cam raised his hand to his head, covering his eye briefly before lowering his hand, he felt like he was seeing through a veil. 'I'm glad' he said, 'I wouldn't want to frightened you.' Lucy watched him closely, waiting for him to speak. 'You believe in magic' Cam repeated, 'you have seen it with your own eyes.' He paused then, the skin around his eyes twitching as he stared down at his lap, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands together. 'Do you believe' Cam began, wondering how to start, how to put into words what he wanted to say. 'Do you believe in other worlds?' 'Other worlds?' Lucy echoed. 'You mean like a heaven or an afterlife?' 'No' Cam shook his head, 'not a heaven, just other worlds.' Lucy did not answer, she watched him with a level expression. 'There are so many worlds out there, more than you could possibly imagine.' Cam paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, blinking slowly. 'Have you read about such things in books' Cam began, 'other worlds I mean?' 'Um...yes. I've not read as many books as you I'm sure' Lucy said, 'but I don't have time to read nowadays, my mother used to read....' She trailed off then, silent for a moment, before closing her mouth, just smiling back at Cam. Cam narrowed his eyes, squinting at her. 'Are you smiling?' 'Your eyesight is really that bad?' Lucy asked with concern. 'What happened to you Cam, what happened?' Her tone cut him deeply, and Cam had to grit his teeth, holding his breath for a moment as he fought to control himself. 'I um ...' his voice broke, 'I ...' he drew a slow breath. 'I can't see at all through one of my eyes, I am completely blind in one eye.' He turned away for a moment, before facing Lucy again. 'I travelled to other worlds' he told her, 'and saw things you couldn't possibly imagine, things that have not been invented yet, things of the future, methods of transport, communication, the very buildings and roads themselves were different' Cam breathed. 'That is where is met ghouls, creatures that eat human flesh. They sound like monsters...but turned out to be far more human than I realised they could be.' He fell silent for a moment, blinking again. 'After that world, I went to another where I was...where I.... learned to release my powers to their fullest. Oh Lucy' he breathed. 'I did incredible things, I.... killed people...tore whole buildings apart.' He gritted his teeth then, choking back a sob as his body jerked suddenly, an action Cam hardly realised but that Lucy did, though she said nothing. 'I didn't think I would survive the ordeal' Cam continued in a mumble, 'but I did...with a little help from my friends.' He smirked at himself. 'If you could call them that, those strange black figures. It doesn't matter.' He quickly changed the subject before Lucy could question him. 'The last world I came to, was the one that.... mmm' he frowned to himself. 'This is where I learned to control the magic that had been released from my body. This world is where I met Beloved, whom I initially believed to be the devil herself, but...I have learnt so much because of what I have experienced in my time. She helped me, Beloved...that strange creature.' Cam let out a sigh, bowing his head. 'I didn't get to say goodbye to her.' He turned to Lucy at last again with a sad smile. 'I wanted to see you' he told her, 'I wanted to see you again, I thought of you often.' 'Cam' Lucy began seriously. 'I...need to tell you something, but this might not be easy because...I don't know what you expected of me because...you were gone for so long.' 'What are you saying?' Cam asked nervously. 'You've been gone for what must be five years' Lucy told him. 'I'm married now.' Cam felt like he had been stabbed in the chest, unable to breath for the longest time. He turned away silently, bowing his head, his black hair falling over his eyes. Cam sat upon the low wall within the wide streets of the town. The fence behind dividing the street in two, on the other side of the fence just behind Cam grew a tree, its shade shielding Cam from the sunlight. He raised his head then, seeing a figure moving close by him, heading towards the home that Lucy lived in. The man as he watched, approached the house. Cam saw the door open, saw Lucy's orange hair as she stepped out. The two figures moved close together, before heading inside together. The door closed after them. 'Does it hurt?' the masked figure asked Cam, sitting beside him. 'Did you know about this?' Cam replied. 'It doesn't matter if we knew' the figure said in response, 'one way or the other. It doesn't make any difference.' 'Doesn't make any difference?' Cam gritted his teeth. 'I didn't want it to be true.' 'What would you want us to do?' the masked figure replied. 'Stop her finding love, keep people away from her, make her alone?' Cam turned away. 'You were gone for a very long time' the figure replied. 'She continued to live her normal life after a while, but she never forgot about you, but at the same time...she didn't want to stop living.' Cam didn't answer, he just sat quietly on the low wall, anyone passing by would have seen that he was sitting alone, the masked figure completely invisible to all but him. 'I ...' Cam began, 'I don't know what to do.' 'Why don't you go and visit your brother?' the masked figure suggested. 'Luke ...' he bowed his head. 'Would he want to see me?' Cam buried his head in his hands. 'My mind is so messed up' his moaned. 'I can't think straight. I don't know what to do.' 'Perhaps you just need some time alone' the masked figure suggested. 'You're not going to do anything to me are you?' Cam asked the figure with suspicion. 'No' the figure replied. 'We aren't going to mess with you anymore. You are on your own from here' he told him, 'though we will help you if you need.' He paused. 'There is an empty house on the edge of this town' he told him then. 'It's yours.' A little bird fluttered down from the tree above them then, landing on Cam's knee. It was vivid red in colour. 'Follow the bird' the masked figure told him, rising and turning to walk away. 'It will take you to |
Mac had been able to rig a very close-range sensor array. It would give her only a few minutes' warning if there was debris in their path. She focused on watching for any signs of trouble. Daemon was supposed to be trying to locate landmarks to verify where they were in relation to the jump point. Instead, he had left the Bridge; his sister needed him and he'd gone to her. "You can breathe easy; by my calculations we are now out of range of the defense platforms. All we have to do now is find the jump point and we are out of here," Mac told everyone. "Mac, could you come to Medical for | Mac had been able to rig a very close-range sensor array. It would give her only a few minutes' warning if there was debris in their path. She focused on watching for any signs of trouble. Daemon was supposed to be trying to locate landmarks to verify where they were in relation to the jump point. Instead, he had left the Bridge; his sister needed him and he'd gone to her. "You can breathe easy; by my calculations we are now out of range of the defense platforms. All we have to do now is find the jump point and we are out of here," Mac told everyone. "Mac, could you come to Medical for a few minutes?" Nelson requested over the intercom. "Sure, I'll be right there," Mac sounded happier than he had since they'd landed, which annoyed Nelson. Mystique could feel the depression and sorrow as she walked up to the hatch to Medical. She stopped to think for a few seconds before cycling the hatch open. Inside, Angelica was sitting with Daemon, who was cradling her head to his chest. She could hear Angelica's sobs and realized just how badly the destruction of Exile had hurt her. Mystique understood her pain and even felt some herself, but not to the level Angelica was feeling it. Nelson was pacing the room, trying to find something to do to occupy himself while he waited for Mac to arrive. He looked up expectantly when the hatch cycled open, ready to confront Mac for what he'd done. When Mystique stepped in he turned away; she didn't deserve his anger. Nelson felt a hand grab his shoulder, which practically threw him through the hatch. Nelson brought his fists up, ready to fight but when he saw his attacker he froze. Mystique had her finger to her lips, making the symbol for him to be quiet and then she pointed down the corridor. Mystique stepped into the corridor with him and herded him down toward Engineering. Mystique stopped him about fifteen feet down the corridor to talk. "What are you thinking, having Mac come to Medical? Isn't Angelica in enough pain without having to watch her brother dismember him in front of her?" Mystique demanded in exasperation. "What? What are you talking about? I was just going to ask him what the hell he was thinking shooting missiles at the town." "And what? You thought Daemon was going to just sit there when the man that hurt his sister was standing right next to him? If Daemon stops comforting Angelica and starts killing, we're all in trouble." Mystique pressed her face to his, making sure he understood. "Now go find Mac and keep him away from those two," Mystique told him as she pushed him down the corridor. Mystique walked back to Medical and stood guard at the hatch. She was frustrated at not being able to confront Mac herself but now was not the time. Angelica needed to be given the time to grieve and come to terms with her pain. She didn't need anyone adding to them and Mystique was going to do her best to make sure nobody did. Mystique waited for close to twenty minutes before Nelson returned. He was cradling his arm and looked like he'd been in a fight. Mystique just stood and watched him shuffle toward her. When he got close she hit the button to cycle the hatch open and moved aside. Nelson thanked her as he stepped inside and Mystique stepped in after him. Angelica and Daemon looked up as they entered. Angelica was the first to stand up, she could sense the pain Nelson was feeling and knew he was injured. "What happened?" Angelica asked as Daemon stood up behind her. "Mac and I had a disagreement, and I fell," Nelson replied not realizing he was a terrible liar. "That's it!" Daemon stated as he stepped past Angelica, headed for the hatch. Mystique stood her ground in front of the hatch and when Daemon reached her, she put her hand on his chest. "_No_, you are going to stay right here and take care of your sister." Daemon stopped. He didn't want to hurt Mystique but he really wanted to hurt Mac and she was stopping him. Mystique removed her hand from his chest and pointed at Angelica. "She needs you here and calm. She doesn't need to feel the horror of you killing Mac. You know better than I do that she will feel every second of his death through the link you two have. Now get control of yourself. I will take care of Mac." "No, No more killing, please," Nelson pleaded. "There has been enough killing." "Just one more. Exile was my home; those were people I grow up with. Some of them may have deserved to die, but not all of them. There were some decent people that were just trying to survive. Mac is going to pay for those deaths and it's my right to collect." Mystique was so passionate about her claim to revenge that even Daemon ceded to her. "All right, he's yours to deal with," Daemon told her as he turned to Angelica. "Sorry." Angelica gave him a small smile and a nod, knowing how badly he wanted to kill Mac but he wasn't going to for her. Nelson opened his mouth to protest but Angelica put her finger to his lips and shook her head slightly. He got the message and closed his mouth. Angelica may not be a killer, but Daemon and Mystique were, and to them what Mac had done demanded blood. Nelson would only get hurt if he tried to interfere. Angelica guided him to his chair and helped him sit down. She took his hands and focused on healing him. It felt good to heal another human being. Angelica felt better knowing she was using her ability to help someone in need. She was able to stop thinking about all the dead and focus on the living. Angelica lost track of what she was doing and allowed her mind to drift. Nelson felt warmth spreading through his hands and up his arms. It was a relaxing warmth that seemed to melt away all the aches and pains that had developed over the last few years. Daemon watched as a soft glow grew stronger around first his sister and then Nelson. The glow never grew as intense as it had when she healed Stacey but it lasted almost a full five minutes before Angelica finally let go of Nelson's hands. Angelica was tired and wanted Daemon to take her to her cabin. He cycled the hatch open and asked her if she wanted him to carry her. She refused with a glare which also told Daemon she was feeling better. Daemon followed her into the corridor. He would see her to her cabin and then head to Engineering. Nelson felt better than he had in years. He hadn't realized how many small aches he'd developed and gotten used to until now. He removed the bandage from his hand, knowing that Angelica had healed it while she'd been healing everything else. He stepped to the sink to wash his hands and as he looked in the mirror he almost fell over in shock. The man in the mirror was twenty years younger. Nelson couldn't believe what he was seeing until he'd examined his hands and his reflection a dozen times. Finally he sat down in his chair in shock at what Angelica had done to him. *** Mystique made her way to Engineering and found the hatch secured. The hatch to Engineering was one of the few that had real security locks. Mystique was going to need the pass code to get it open. She stood in front of the hatch, trying to figure a way to get it open when Mac's voice came over the speaker above the door. "I figured one of you would come calling after I destroyed your home town," Mac sneered. "Why don't you let me in, or are you afraid of a little girl?" Mystique taunted him. "You want in, you have to strip," Mac replied expecting her to refuse. Mystique didn't hesitate. She started unbuckling her belt and dropped her pants to the floor, next came her shirt. To Mac's surprise in less than a minute Mystique was standing in her underwear in front of the hatch waiting for him to open it. Mac figured if she wanted in that bad, who was he to stop her? "The hatch will be open for ten seconds, that's it. Once you're in here, you're mine." Mac definitely didn't sound rational but Mystique didn't care. She braced herself and when the hatch slid open she scooped up her cloths and threw them inside, diving in behind them. Faust had taught her that most people shoot for center mass so she dove in low, hoping the clothing would distract him long enough for her to get her bearings. Mac was standing at his control panel with a three-barreled shotgun, expecting to catch Mystique in his crosshairs as she came through the hatch. The clothing did its job: Mac reacted to the sudden movement and fired. Mystique had palmed one of her throwing spikes and sent it flying in the direction the shot had come from. It clattered off the control panel harmlessly but it made Mac dive for cover, depriving him of his second shot. Mystique was up and running before Mac could recover. The deck plating in this section of Engineering had only minimal non-skid. Mystique didn't care how much skin the non-skid was going to scrap off her thigh as she slid in under Mac. She was too focused on grabbing the barrel of the shotgun and keeping Mac from blowing her head off. Mac was amazed at how fast she was, one second she was running at him, the next she was sliding in for home. He lowered the barrel, expecting to cut her in half as she slid into range but before he could she was already between his legs. Mystique kicked Mac's right ankle to stop herself as she grabbed the barrel and pushed up. Mac fired the second barrel, sending buckshot ricocheting across the room from where it hit just a foot above Mystique's head. The heat from the shot caused the barrel to instantly heat up and burn Mystique's hands where she held it. The kick to his ankle was annoying but didn't really have much effect, Mystique hadn't been able to put any power behind it. It did let Mac know he was vulnerable to another kick, though, and to a part of his anatomy that was much more sensitive. Mac twisted at the waist so Mystique wouldn't be able to kick up and hit his groin, which was what she wanted. Instead of kicking up, she pulled her leg back and kicked out, driving the heel of her foot into the side of Mac's knee |
I held my breath, hoping the answer would be low enough for us to afford. "It's about $500 a month, depending on taxes and your credit, of course." My heart stopped; he couldn't be serious. A smile broke out across Henry's face. "We can do that," he whispered. "We can do that." I nodded and squeezed his hand. "What do you think?" He gazed into my eyes, and together we turned to face James. "We'll take it." It took a few weeks for all the paperwork to go through, but soon we were moving into our new house. I convinced Henry to | I held my breath, hoping the answer would be low enough for us to afford. "It's about $500 a month, depending on taxes and your credit, of course." My heart stopped; he couldn't be serious. A smile broke out across Henry's face. "We can do that," he whispered. "We can do that." I nodded and squeezed his hand. "What do you think?" He gazed into my eyes, and together we turned to face James. "We'll take it." It took a few weeks for all the paperwork to go through, but soon we were moving into our new house. I convinced Henry to take down the hideous wall paper in the living room, and, though he grumbled, he agreed the final result was worth it. We did a few other minor touchups, but the house had been pretty move-in ready. Raquel, Greg, and a few other friends from church showed up to help us move. The men did most of the heavy lifting, while Raquel and I began unpacking. She rattled on about her upcoming wedding as I put away clothes in the dresser. "Did you hear me?" she asked. "I'm sorry, what?" I turned to face her. "I said, I think I'm pregnant." My heart froze. I knew Raquel well enough to know she probably still wasn't ready to be a mom, but I couldn't believe she would have another abortion and tell me about it, knowing how terrible my experience was. "What are you going to do?" My voice came out barely more than a whisper, and I realized I had twisted the shirt I was holding into a knot. "I don't know," she sighed, "I'm not sure I'm ready to be a mom yet, and besides I would never fit in my dress." My jaw dropped at her. Was that all she could care about? "But," – she continued, seeing my face – "though I didn't have the bad experience you did, I'm not sure I want to have another abortion either. It certainly wasn't the best thing I ever went through, and it can't be good on your body. I don't even know why I'm telling you; I guess I just needed to say it out loud. I haven't told Greg yet." I pursed my lips, trying to think of the right words. Raquel was my friend, and I loved her, but I could no longer condone an abortion, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to be around her if she had another one. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," she said. "Maybe I'm wrong anyway. It's only been a few days." "If you're not wrong," I said, "please don't have an abortion. Give the baby up for adoption if you guys can't raise him or her, but please don't kill the baby. Henry would probably even want to raise the baby, if you can't." Her eyes grew wide at the serious tone in my voice. "Okay, I'll think about it." A tense silence fell on us as we went back to our tasks. I could think of nothing else the rest of the evening, and as I lay in bed with Henry that night struggling to focus on our devotional, he touched my arm. "Hey, what's the matter? You've been acting weird all day." I sighed. "I'm not sure if I should say anything; it isn't about me, really." He picked up my hand and caressed the top. "I'm your husband. You can tell me anything, and I promise to keep your secret." His brown eyes seemed so sincere that I decided I could trust him, at least with part of it. "Raquel thinks she might be pregnant, and she isn't sure she's ready." His finger stopped its circling pattern on my hand. "I see. Are you jealous because she might beat us, or is there something else?" His voice sounded slightly off, and I glanced up at him. A hardness burned back in his eyes. I had never seen this side of him. "Are you okay?" He stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath. "Do you remember the night you met my parents?" "How could I forget?" I scoffed. "Do you remember what my brother said?" I thought back to the night a few months ago, and the image replayed in my head. Suddenly, I remembered I had wanted to ask him what that was about, but I'd gotten so busy that I'd forgotten. Then my mind jumped to the wedding and Anthony telling me about their sister. I had no idea if I was right, but suddenly I was sure the conversation had had something to do with her. "What happened to Camilla?" I asked. Henry's head snapped my direction. His eyes widened and filled with questions. "Anthony mentioned her at the wedding. He didn't know I didn't know." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I should have told you a long time ago, but I guess I was ashamed." "Of your sister dying?" I asked. He shook his head. "Of the way she died." He took a deep breath. "Five years ago, my sister – who was a lot like my mom if you get my meaning – had too much to drink at a college party and ended up getting pregnant. I don't know if she wanted an abortion, but my mom convinced her to have one. For a while everything seemed okay, but then one night I went to surprise her with a pizza and . . ." his voice faltered as tears fell from his face. I squeezed his hand and waited. He wiped the tears and continued, "I got to her room and found her in bed. An empty bottle of pills lay on her nightstand. I called the ambulance, and they rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late." He ran a hand over his face, "When I went back to the dorm room to help pack up her stuff, I found the note she had written under her bed. She took the pills because she was so depressed from the abortion. We never even knew." My heart fell as I thought about my own past. I could never tell Henry the full truth now. He would hate me forever. "My mother refused to believe she was depressed over the abortion; she even accused me of forging it, and that's when I knew I had to get out of there. I moved out the very next day. In fact, I hadn't seen my mother face to face until she showed up for the wedding." "Oh Henry, I'm so sorry. And I don't want Raquel to make the same mistake, but what can we do?" "We can pray," he said, and he grabbed both of my hands. Together we prayed for Raquel, for God's will and his wisdom, for the life of the unborn child that might be growing in her belly at the very moment, and for healing for Henry. Though our subject was heavy, both of us felt lighter after giving the worry over to God. "Now, what do you say we work on making our own baby," he said, and I curled into him. #The Secret that Won't go Away" So, any word yet?" Henry asked, looking up from his plate as we ate dinner one night. I pushed the green beans around on my plate. "It was negative again." He touched my hand. "Hey, it's okay. It's only been six months. I'm sure we'll get pregnant soon." I nodded, but the old doubt resurfaced. Peter and I had gotten pregnant the first time we didn't use protection, so why wasn't I getting pregnant with Henry? Now, when I was finally ready for a baby. Even worse, I couldn't understand why Raquel was pregnant and I wasn't. She had had an abortion too and thought about a second, but thankfully Greg had convinced her to choose life. They had married, but it had been a rushed wedding before she began putting on weight. Henry and I had done it the right way, and I was remorseful of my procedure. So why was she pregnant and not me? Henry switched the subject then, and began discussing his day. I nodded in all the right places, but my mind was a million miles away. As I lay in bed that night, I tried reading a book, but the words blurred together as my vision filled with tears. Henry was being so supportive, but what if he wanted a divorce since we couldn't have kids? Here we had bought this huge house for kids, and we couldn't have any to fill it. I folded the book on my lap and closed my eyes. "Lord," I whispered, "I know you probably don't listen to prayers from people like me, but please help us to have kids, for Henry's sake. I promise this time I won't squander the life you give." I had prayed the same prayer nightly for the last few months, but every month the answer had been the same: a negative pregnancy test. As more tears fell down my cheek, I put the book away. There was no way I'd be able to read tonight. I clicked off the light on the bedside, thankful that Henry was still watching news in the other room, and darkness descended. The creak of the bed woke me some time later. I rolled over, expecting it to be Henry coming to bed, but a toddler in blue train pajamas bounced on Henry's side of the bed. "Mama!" Pure joy lit up his face, and he toddled across the bed to me. My throat swelled as I blinked back the tears threatening to flow again. "Baby," I reached out to him. The baby jumped into my arms, and I squeezed the boy tightly. The fresh clean scent of soap radiated from him. He put both of his chubby little hands on my face and peered into my eyes. "Mama, I miss you." The tears broke the dam, spilling down my cheeks. "Oh, baby, I miss you too." He laid his little head on my chest, but it was the three words that broke my heart the most. I |
Lucky then stepped backwards and turned towards Kandie and me. "Doc," he said. "Just as the last time we met. Thank you for your support, and for allowing Trios to be blessed by coming out to make a difference today." Lucky didn't say anything more. I couldn't put my finger on it—but it appeared to me that he was stacking his chips, and putting together the ultimate plan for battle. He reached for Kandie's hand, and when she placed it before him—he bent his head forward, gave it a kiss, and then strutted away. Rob and I looked at each other. Together we shook our heads as to say, "Representing | Lucky then stepped backwards and turned towards Kandie and me. "Doc," he said. "Just as the last time we met. Thank you for your support, and for allowing Trios to be blessed by coming out to make a difference today." Lucky didn't say anything more. I couldn't put my finger on it—but it appeared to me that he was stacking his chips, and putting together the ultimate plan for battle. He reached for Kandie's hand, and when she placed it before him—he bent his head forward, gave it a kiss, and then strutted away. Rob and I looked at each other. Together we shook our heads as to say, "Representing this group is going to become more than we had bargained." ##Serena The cab ride home provided me with time to think. I was still hurting, but there was nothing I could do to change the situation. I would be a foolish woman to chase after a man who was chasing after another woman. If Robert wanted to be with me—he knew how to contact me. I had made up my mind not to ever again allow any man to have me strung out and feeling as if I needed his attention to validate my life. If being with Terrence and facing all the drama taught me anything—I understood that love is more than words that tickle the heart. It is the desire to put someone else's feelings and needs before your own. I suppose that is what I respected about Tiffany. She knew what it meant to let go of love even when it hurt her to do so. It was now Robert's turn to make the decision, and neither Tiffany nor I could do it for him. By the time I arrived home, Raven was ready to be picked up from the bus stop and Terrence from the day-care. I had taken the day off just to be with Robert. We knew it was going to be awkward being together and supporting Lucky—while knowing the feelings Lucky had for me. But Robert and I agreed that we couldn't live in the shadows of our relationship just because it would be uncomfortable for Lucky. We had shared too many special moments together to allow Lucky to destroy the small beginning we had established. When we were with each other—it felt right. We connected. We were friends. However, had I been fully warned that Tiffany would suddenly come into our relationship—I would have thought twice before agreeing to go to the hospital. The more I walked down the block to meet Raven—the more I began to think about Tiffany. I couldn't fully understand my motives. However, it was something in the look in her eyes when she saw Robert that kept me curious. As much as it was a surprise for all of us—there was a look of concern when she saw us walk in the room together. It appeared to me that she could see what he and I had shared over the past couple of months. Call it insane, but she seemed to be happy that he learned to move forward without her. I couldn't put my finger on it—but the look in her eyes allowed me to get a sneak peek into her character. It all seemed so strange. It was very strange. Raven was full of energy when I arrived at the bus stop. She greeted me with a smile that felt like sunshine. Just to see my daughter somehow gave peace to a chaotic day. "Mommy! Mommy! Can I do this?" she shouted with excitement as she ran to me with a green sheet of paper in her hand. "I want to do this Mommy," she demanded. "What is it Raven?" I asked and eager to know what had her smiling and grinning from ear to ear. I grabbed the letter out of her hand, and she stood there attentive as I read it. "Dear Parents, On May 3rd we will be hosting our annual king and queen talent pageant. We are encouraging any student who would like to participate to get permission from their parents. Any student that would like to get involved will need a signed permission slip from their parent, along with a brief detail of their expected talents. In addition, we are asking any parent who would like to assist in this year's preparation for the pageant to please call Ms. Booker, the PTA captain. Ms. Booker can be reached through our school voice mail system. Thank you for your support of this year pageant. Sincerely, Ms. Andrews, School Principal." Raven's eyes were glued tight to me as I read the letter. My baby was growing up right before my eyes. "Can I Mommy? Can I?" "Of course you can sweetie. Let's talk about it when we get home." Although Raven was now ten years old and growing fast every day—she still enjoyed holding my hand whenever we walked together. Through the years, Raven had become a piece of tranquility for me. Whenever I would find myself in a slump and ready to throw in the towel because loneliness would have me questioning my worth—I would think of her and the thought of her strength would build me. "Raven," I said as she and I swung our hands forward as we walked. "You know how much Mommy loves you—right." She looked at me with curious eyes and almost as if she knew I had gone through something for the day. "Yes Mommy. I know," she responded and smiled. It was what I needed. Later that evening as I stood in the kitchen washing dishes from dinner, Raven kept an eye on Terrence in the living room. I had hoped that Robert would have called, but he didn't. When eight-thirty arrived and I didn't hear from Robert, I gave up on the idea. The tears began to form—but I could not allow the pain to take root in me. "You can handle this Serena," I chanted for confidence. "This too will pass." There was no way I was going to allow my children to see me—unnerved and unsure. Then there was a knock on the door. The banging was so loud that it startled the kids and me. Raven hopped from the floor and ran to the kitchen. Terrence paddled behind her and repeated every word she spoke. "Mommy, somebody is at the door," she shouted. "I know Raven. I heard it." I grabbed my composure. While taking a deep breath, I pulled my hands out of the sink full with water and wiped them dry with a paper towel. "It's Robert," I thought. Suddenly a smile as big as the moon sprung on my face. "I'm his choice," I whispered. This was an awkward moment for me. Robert had never met the children before, and for him to come this time of evening told me that—he cared. Without even asking who is at the door—I confidently opened it. "Robert," I said knowing it was him. However, much to my surprise there stood two men I had never seen. "Good evening, Ma'am." The man standing in the front spoke. He had dark skin with a neatly groomed beard. His voice was stern and strong. "Yes," I said while pushing Raven behind me. Her eyes were as wide as an owl and curious to know who was at the door. "How can I help you?" I asked. "Are you Serena Johnson?" The man standing in the rear asked. I refused to answer. With ease, I began to close the door. There was no way I was going to tell them who I was. If they didn't know—then I wouldn't be the person to say. However, just as I was about to fully shut the door, the man standing in the front pulled out a sheriff badge. "I'm sorry Miss. We didn't mean to startle you. I'm with the sheriff department, and this is attorney Russell Carlson. Are you Ms. Johnson?" "How can I help you?" I asked again, and still not telling them my name. My father had always taught me to be on the lookout for anything strange. I had seen on the news far too many times people disguising themselves to do home invasions, or some other terrible act. I wasn't going to take the chance. The sheriff saw the resistance in my eyes. I wasn't budging, and neither was he. If I was going to say who I am—then they would have to do more explaining. "Raven," I demanded. "Take your brother and go to your room." "But Mommy." "Raven, do what I said," I said again in a more stern voice. Once she left the room with her brother, I stepped outside the door, and locked it from within. If anything were going to happen—then my children would be safe. Throughout the years I had taught Raven plans for keeping she and her brother safe just in case big Terrence tried to come back to harm us. There was never a need to follow through with any of the plans, but I had hoped when I stepped out of the door, that Raven was now watching the clock. If ten minutes passed and I didn't knock on the door—she would be ready to call for help. "I'm Serena Johnson," I answered. "Ms. Johnson, again my name is Russell Carlson. I represent Mr. Terrence Anderson. He asked that this be hand delivered to you, and that I watch for you to sign for it." "Excuse me?" I said and not fully understanding it all. "You represent who?" My eyes squinted. My nerves bubbled. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I took one step backwards, and leaned against the door. Truthfully, I was afraid. "It's okay Ms. Johnson." The sheriff assured me. Russell Carlson then pulled out of a small briefcase he had sitting on the floor a yellow envelope, along with a note for me to sign. Hesitantly, I took the envelope from his hands and signed for it. Once I signed—they both turned and walked away. "Have a good day, Ma'am," the sheriff said as he turned to walk away. I had to catch my breath. My worse feared had returned. Three times, I knocked on the door. It was the signal that everything was okay. "Is everything alright, Mommy?" Raven asked as I walked to take a seat on the sofa and in a daze. "Mommy," she said once more. "Are you going to be okay?" "Yes baby," I answered and stretched my arms out to hug her. "Raven, go in and get your little brother's pajamas on him for me. I'll be in there in a few minutes to tuck you in and kiss both of you good night." I opened the envelope as soon as Raven |
I began studying and praying on my own and was focused on my walk with God. It was an exciting time in my life. Within a year or two, I had become increasingly aware of differences between my Bible study group and my church community. Because I was still fairly young and couldn't drive, I continued to attend my family's UCC congregation. But where was the passion? I would go to Bible study on Wednesdays where we shared our lives with each other, studied God's Word, and prayed together; then I would go to church on Sunday and fall asleep. As soon as I could drive, I began to church shop. It wasn't long | I began studying and praying on my own and was focused on my walk with God. It was an exciting time in my life. Within a year or two, I had become increasingly aware of differences between my Bible study group and my church community. Because I was still fairly young and couldn't drive, I continued to attend my family's UCC congregation. But where was the passion? I would go to Bible study on Wednesdays where we shared our lives with each other, studied God's Word, and prayed together; then I would go to church on Sunday and fall asleep. As soon as I could drive, I began to church shop. It wasn't long before I found a better fit for my Sunday mornings at an Evangelical Free Church in my hometown. They had modern worship (I'll still take a guitar over an organ), cute girls who went to my high school, and engaging youth programming. Like the Pentecostal group I had spent some time with, this community seemed to have something that my family's church lacked. We were passionate about Jesus and grounded in God's Word; I couldn't ask for a better place to grow in my faith. Throughout high school I became more involved in my new church and more separated from the UCC. I spent most of my money at a local Christian bookstore, devouring any spiritual wisdom I could get my hands on. I also became interested in Christian music and wore explicitly religious clothing at times. At school, I was known for my strong faith and had no problems sharing it with others. Rooted in Romans and the Gospel of John, the gospel message was simple; we are all sinners who have fallen short and are in need of redemption, without which we can only expect just punishment. But because of the work of the cross, there is no need to experience this punishment. Simply accept Jesus as Lord and Savior, and you can be assured of Heaven when you die. Meanwhile, it's time to live your life for Jesus and tell others about the salvation he offers. A few of my Christian friends and I started a Fellowship of Christian Athletes group that met once a week and attended other student-led Bible studies in the mornings. I also personally shared the gospel with many of my close friends, sometimes inviting them to get a meal and walking them through a Christian tract or bringing them to youth group. In fact, it became increasingly difficult for me to hang out with my non-Christian friends without feeling that I should be sharing Jesus with them. I tried to use opportunities at parties and my relationships to reach out and help people find God. In general, I did a good job of not being pushy, but I also didn't miss many opportunities to evangelize. Nothing was more important than getting people, especially those I knew and loved, "saved." There were certainly ups and downs in high school, but my faith was strong. I would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, feeling as if the love of God was rushing through my veins. "God loves me! ", I thought. "What else could matter?" As I started to look toward college, I realized that I wanted to be in a spiritual atmosphere where I was fully accepted, a place where I didn't feel like an outsider because of my faith. Although I had some opportunities that made more financial sense, I decided to go to a small, private Evangelical Christian college. The choice wasn't difficult. My walk with the Lord and developing into the person He wanted me to be was what I was most interested in. I entered college excited to be surrounded by like-minded friends. COMPLEXITIES My college experience was amazing. Going from a public high school to an explicitly Christian college was a fantastic change, and I instantly felt very at home. Instead of being part of a small minority and being consciously different than my peers, I came to a place where we all shared the same set of assumptions and outlook on life and faith. We were Christ followers and were here to see where he would lead. In my first two years of college, I was never more sure of my faith. With everyone around me believing the same things, and brilliant professors who were also professing Christians, how could there be any doubt? I think it's around the 20 year mark when everyone is most confident that their viewpoint is correct. You get the feeling that if someone were only to look at the evidence objectively, there is no way they could disagree with you. Whether it be religious, political, moral, or any other type of belief, it's at this time when we seem to know just enough to be sure. The complex debates behind "accepted theories," about, say, Republican economic policy, the system of Capitalism, the morality (or immorality) of abortion, or the nature of your own Scriptures, are unseen. There may be some gray, but it is only on the fringes of a mostly black-and-white picture. This is where I was at. I entered into debates with old high school friends through e-mail, trying to show them the logical conclusion of all the lines of evidence. The historical evidence pointed to Jesus, the philosophical evidence pointed to God, and if you prayed about it and looked at it objectively, God would show you the truth. I began putting Christian tracts in mailboxes at night and would leave them around stores I shopped in. Spreading the gospel was the only thing that really mattered, and I had no doubt that this was what God wanted me to do. It was at this time that I decided to switch my major to biblical and theological studies. I felt I had a good mind and a passion for defending the faith intellectually. Authors and apologists like C.S. Lewis and Greg Boyd were my heroes and I wanted to get on a road that would make me like them: a logical defender of the faith. Most of my junior and senior years were spent in the classroom or the library. I ended up with a double major (education was my other discipline) and was passionate about both. I took classes in Systematic Theology, Apologetics, the History of Israel, the Gospels, Paul, and any other elective I could sneak in to my schedule. I couldn't get enough. I loved the arguments, I loved the new knowledge, I loved learning about Scripture. If I was walking down the hall, I was probably reviewing a teleological argument for the existence of God. My morning showers might be spent trying to understand what Paul meant by "justification." My head was swimming in the ocean of theology, and I went where the tide took me. Although I was conscious that I tended to live in my head more than others, and even that it was affecting some relationships, it was a world that I loved and it didn't bother me that my thoughts were sometimes elsewhere. It came with the territory of becoming a future theologian, and it was territory that I was willing to live in. But although I enjoyed the arguments, the historical reasoning, and the systematizing of a divine text, there were times when my certainty turned to confusion, and the gray would creep into my black and white. There were times when my mind wouldn't stop running and when doubts would enter in. Over the course of my final two years of college, I would enter periods of doubt and inner turmoil every six months or so - periods during which it was hard to think of much else. I remember one particular mini-crisis about the apparent difference in perspective regarding "faith and works" between Paul and James. Because Paul was so central to my faith, especially the idea that we are saved by grace and by no effort of our own (as it is to almost every Protestant - this concept in a very real sense _is_ the gospel), this was a big deal. Of course we could all agree that "faith without works is dead," but some parts of James seemed to flat-out contradict Paul, particularly when James stated that "a person is justified by works and not by faith alone" (James 2:24). Wait, Paul says we are justified by faith alone, right? After reading several perspectives on this issue, I couldn't come to a conclusion on the matter. It bugged me. But I was still young; clearly the professional theologians knew better than I did. I believed that the fog would clear with more study and could push the issue to the back of my head for a later date. Another mini-crisis for me was the composite nature of Scripture. As just one example, in my History of Israel class I was introduced to the evidence that there were two separate introductions of David in 1 Samuel. One seems to have been spliced into the larger story and is an awkward fit (in the inserted story, Saul doesn't know who David is even though he had already been introduced to him in the larger narrative). And the manuscript evidence seems to support this as well, because we have versions that do not contain the added material. I remember this contrasting wildly with my view of the inspiration of Scripture. If God was the ultimate author, or even if there were just one human author for any given book, why would something like this be in the Bible? But again, there were smarter people out there - my professor being one of them - that I trusted had the answers. I could safely table the issue and be confident in my faith. During this time, I kept on accumulating biblical knowledge. I was at an Evangelical school, but was not sheltered from "liberal ideas." In fact many of my professors seemed to accept theories that I thought were incompatible with Evangelical faith. I learned about the varying theories about the development of the Pentateuch, the composite nature of Scripture, the haziness surrounding the formation of the canon, the questions of authorship, the archaeological evidence suggesting that some biblical events did not happen as depicted, the competing scriptural views of the conquest and settlement of the Promised Land, the differences in the accounts of the life of Christ (especially the Gospel of John), and other tensions in the New Testament (e.g. Paul's account of his conversion versus the account provided in Acts, different attitudes toward Mosaic law, etc.). All of these ideas were fresh, and I was okay that I hadn't integrated them into my theological views. Even if I didn't personally have them nailed down, I felt the answers were out there. I was generally more concerned with if I was a Calvinist or not. Intra-Christian debates were more pressing to me, as everyone around me |
She was about to go out and try to distract the cloud from the slaves, but from across the battlefield, Sarzen shot her a hard look, a warning that clearly said, _Stay where you are._ Deciding to trust Sarzen, Helnia didn't leave the shack. But she could not help but watch with anxiety as the cloud began to drift toward the slaves, but the slaves had already stopped and were glaring up at the cloud. A few were trembling in fear, but the slaves looked surprisingly firm and resolute; perhaps it was due to their strength in numbers or something. Then, before the cloud could attack them, the slaves raised their hands and tapped | She was about to go out and try to distract the cloud from the slaves, but from across the battlefield, Sarzen shot her a hard look, a warning that clearly said, _Stay where you are._ Deciding to trust Sarzen, Helnia didn't leave the shack. But she could not help but watch with anxiety as the cloud began to drift toward the slaves, but the slaves had already stopped and were glaring up at the cloud. A few were trembling in fear, but the slaves looked surprisingly firm and resolute; perhaps it was due to their strength in numbers or something. Then, before the cloud could attack them, the slaves raised their hands and tapped their beads. All at once, their necklaces glowed brightly, a powerful and beautiful sight in itself, illuminating the firm expressions on each face. And then, as one, the slaves jerked their arms forward in a movement that Helnia recognized instantly: It was the action of a mage unleashing a wind spell. All of a sudden, a huge burst of wind roared from the crowd of slaves. It was huge and loud, sounding like a tornado concentrated into a small area, and it went straight toward the cloud. The cloud tried to avoid it, but it was too slow, and the wind struck the cloud head on. The cloud rumbled, but this time its rumble sounded like a creature moaning in pain. The purple eyes that Helnia had seen inside it before flashed in anger, but it was a pointless gesture, for the wind from the slave mages was tearing through its dark form like a knife through butter. The roaring of the wind blocked out every other sound in the area; in fact, Helnia could barely even hear herself think. Her hair whipped about her face, even though she was not in the path of the wind attack, and she gripped the door frame as hard as she could. Her shack shook all around her, threatening to collapse, while other nearby shacks also shook under the pressure of the wind. One of them even outright collapsed, but Helnia was too busy staring at the huge attack on the dark cloud to care. The dark cloud had clearly given up trying to fight back by now and was instead focused on maintaining its cloud form. But it was no use; the combined wind spells cast by the slave mages was too much for it. The wind tore through its cloudy form without mercy, dissipating the nimbus without mercy. Finally, after several seconds of powerful winds battering against its body, the dark cloud completely dissipated, allowing the first rays of the morning sun to fall across the town. *** Chapter Twenty-Five **T** he slave mages ceased their wind spell as soon as the last of the cloud vanished. As a result, the powerful winds abruptly ended, causing the wind in the air to return to normal. Sarzen—who had embedded his sword into the earth to keep himself from flying away—tore his sword out of the earth and looked around briefly. He expected the dark cloud to reappear or maybe for more Draymens to attack, but he did not see any other threats in the area. It looked like they had finally won, a thought that made Sarzen sigh in relief. Then he heard someone shout, "Sarzen!" and he looked up to see Helnia running toward him. She wasn't the only one coming over to him; Rothel, the Slayer, and the other Warrior Priests and mages who had aided in the freeing of the slaves were also coming over to him. All of them looked relieved at their victory, as did the slaves, who had lowered their hands and looked tired, probably because it had been a while since any of them used magic. "Is everyone okay?" said Sarzen, looking around at his friends as they approached. "Is anyone hurt or dead?" "Sehn was killed, as was Pral," said Rothel, his voice bitter at their lost. "Aside from them, however, I don't think we lost anyone else." Sarzen rubbed his forehead. "We will have to bury their bodies later. For now, I think we can safely say that we won." "Yes, but how?" said Helnia, scratching the top of her head. She looked back over at the slaves in confusion. "Where did the slaves get all of those necklaces from? And how did they all know how to cast wind spells?" Sarzen was about to answer, but then he heard two small feet running toward him and looked over in the direction of the slaves in time to see Pula—the girl who had been the personal servant of one of the slavers—running toward him. She skidded to a halt several feet away from him and the others, a look of worry and hesitation on her face. "Invisible Man, are you okay?" said Pula. She sounded out of breath; she had probably been frightened by the slaves' wind attack on the dark cloud, Sarzen realized. "Yes, I am," said Sarzen, nodding. "And it was all thanks to your help. Had you not done what I told you to do, we'd all be dead right now." "What did this girl do?" said Helnia. "And who is she? I've never seen her before." "Her name is Pula," said Sarzen. "She was the personal servant of one of the slave masters. I managed to convince her to help me." "How did she help, though?" said Rothel. He looked at Pula skeptically. "She's such a small, skinny thing. Is she secretly a powerful mage in disguise or something?" Pula blushed, while Sarzen said, "No, but she is the main reason we were able to distribute those necklaces among the slaves so quickly. She also helped in convincing a good majority of the slaves to help us in defeating the Draymens." "I still don't understand how," said Helnia. "Do you remember how most of the slaves in this slave town are captured mages?" said Sarzen. "And what do all mages have to carry in order to use their magic? Raugus necklaces. When I went to the vault where possessions stolen from slaves are kept, I found tons of necklaces, all of which were full of Raugus energy because the Draymens had not used them." "I see," said Rothel. "You and Pula took the necklaces and then gave them back to the slaves in exchange for their aid in defeating the Draymens." "Just like we planned," said Sarzen, "although I will admit that the huge dark cloud was unexpected. Still, we managed to beat it, and it looks like that was the last weapon these Draymens slavers had. So I think we can safely say that the slaves of Reck are free." Helnia shook her head. "What a brilliant plan, brother. I didn't think you could think up something like that." Sarzen shrugged. "What can I say? I'm smarter than I look. All of those years spent in training as a Warrior Priest weren't for nothing, you know." "It was a brilliant move, I agree," said the Slayer. "But we shouldn't celebrate just yet, I think." "Why not?" said Sarzen. His belly growled and he rubbed it. "I'm hungry and in the mood for food. Why not throw a celebration?" "Because the Draymens are going to know about this sooner or later, probably sooner," said the Slayer. "The slave towns are all connected, due to the fact that the Draymens are always trading slaves between each other. It's a big part of why the Draymens have been so effective; they keep in contact with each other all the time, which helps to spread news among the horde." "So you think the Draymens will know about this?" said Sarzen. "Of course they will," said the Slayer. "And once they do, they will be furious. I expect them to push up the dates of their attack on Ars, assuming they haven't already attacked the city, and will probably also increase the numbers and ferocity of their attacks on unsuspecting travelers in the plains of Yores." "Why?" said Sarzen. "Was Reck an important slave town to them or something?" "Probably not, but this is the first time humans have freed a slave town," said the Slayer. "And inside Draymens territory, too. This has _never_ happened before. Even I haven't ever succeeded in freeing a whole town full of slaves, though I've freed individuals before." "Does that mean we are going to be enemy number one on their list?" said Rothel. The Slayer nodded. "Most likely. They may very well just drop everything to kill all of you. The Draymens are hardly a forgiving sort; they hold grudges. I should know, given how every Draymens in the Cursed Lands dreams of killing me." "Great," said Helnia, shaking her head. "As if our quest wasn't hard enough already, now we're definitely going to find it impossible to get to Ferro's Pass." "So what?" said Sarzen. "As long as the Dragon Gods are on our side, it doesn't matter what the Draymens do or what they want. They will never be able to defeat us." "I hope you're right," said the Slayer, "because if you aren't, then don't be surprised when you find yourself fighting for your lives." Before Sarzen could respond to that, two slaves walked up to them. One of them was a young woman, with dirty brown hair and several scars and scratches on her face, while the other was an elderly man who wore a necklace around his neck. "Helnia!" said the woman. She ran up to Helnia and actually hugged her. "I thought you were going to get killed, you silly girl! I don't know how you managed to survive against that thing." "Thanks for the concern, Aroda," said Helnia as Aroda let go of her. "But the real praise should go to the slaves. They're the ones who saved the day, not us." "But we could not have done it without your aid, travelers," said the elderly man, his smile revealing his crooked teeth. "Had you not retrieved our necklaces, we would never have gained our freedom from the Draymens. For that, we must thank you." "You are welcome, elder," said Sarzen. "But I must apologize, because I don't know your name." " |
Behind Tom, Lydia dropped the barrel of her gun and sighted on the kid's back. Tom stared at her dumbly for a second and then followed suit. The seconds played out as the blood continued to slowly leak from the kids face. His tongue darted out and tasted it where it ran from his nose. He tried to push it away from his lips where it ran and dripped down onto his chin. "Last chance, Bitch," he said. He brought the barrel of his gun down towards her. At the same time Bob took another step sideways. The kid's eyes darted to Bob. The gun dipped and swiveled towards him. "I told you ..." he began. | Behind Tom, Lydia dropped the barrel of her gun and sighted on the kid's back. Tom stared at her dumbly for a second and then followed suit. The seconds played out as the blood continued to slowly leak from the kids face. His tongue darted out and tasted it where it ran from his nose. He tried to push it away from his lips where it ran and dripped down onto his chin. "Last chance, Bitch," he said. He brought the barrel of his gun down towards her. At the same time Bob took another step sideways. The kid's eyes darted to Bob. The gun dipped and swiveled towards him. "I told you ..." he began. All four guns spoke at once and the kid seemed to do a quick tap dance before the gun fell from his hand without firing. He tried to suck in a breath but collapsed onto the dirty asphalt instead. Before anyone could react, the silence was split by a scream from across the river. A young boy stood silhouetted by the rising sun on the opposite side of the river facing them. Something shifted from his side. "I'll kill you...I'll kill you...You killed my brother," the boy screamed in a high falsetto. His arms came up quickly. "Hit the ground," Candace yelled as the kid opened fire with the deer rifle he had in his hands. Everyone hit the dirt except Lydia whose face registered astonishment as she turned slowly to the river to face the kid. Candace yelled again as she raised herself to both cut and bruised elbows and began to fire back across the river. The kid managed three shots before Candace hit him. He slowly toppled over and splashed into the river. Lydia stood. Her mouth open wide, staring across the river to where the kid had been. Candace raised her eyes to where Lydia stood, and they caught on the ragged, gaping hole blown through the back of her t-shirt. She continued to stand. Seeming to still be looking out over the river. Her mouth working. "Lydia," Candace whispered. Lydia slowly turned, her mouth still working but silent. A small neat hole wept blood down the front of her shirt. Her chest hitched and her eyes fluttered. Tom lunged to his feet, his eyes dazed, and ran to her, catching her as she slumped forward. Her eyes flickered once more as he eased her to the ground. A small tight smile came to her mouth. "Killed me," she wheezed. Her eyes closed, and her chest stopped its struggle for breath. ~ The silence seemed to go on forever as Mike and Janet waited. Sudden gunfire erupted in the distance again. Janet moaned and Mike pulled her closer to him. "Ssss alright," Mike told her. "Alright." He didn't believe it anymore than he had the last time he'd said it. The burst of gunfire came and went just that quickly, and then silence fell hard on the still morning air. Janet held herself rigidly. Mike could feel her tremble against him. He patted her head. A stupid, useless, meaningless thing to do, he told himself, but he continued nonetheless, patting her head and stroking her hair. Useless, but if nothing else, it seemed to help calm him. He drew a deep breath, and the radio squawked. "Mike?" Bob asked. Mike took a deep breath and swallowed hard before he trusted his voice to answer. Jan let go of her breath in a deep whoosh and drew in a long, deep shuddering breath. Mike stroked her hair once more. "Yeah," Mike answered quietly. "It's bad," Bobs voice broke as he spoke. "It's bad, Mike. It's bad." In his head Mike could already hear the words he didn't want to hear. He had heard everyone's voice except Candace's. It only stood to reason...Still, he didn't want to hear it. "It'll be okay," Jan told him. She pulled him tight. Her own hands trying to pull his head against her breast. "Mike...It'll be okay." "It's Lydia," Bob said. His voice choked with emotion. "Candace?" Mike asked. He hated himself for asking. He hated the weakness in his voice. How could it be Lydia, he asked himself. I just heard her voice. How could it be? "I'm here, Babe," Candace said through the crackle of static. Behind her voice they could hear what sounded like sobbing. The sobbing came across clearly as she stopped talking. "We're on our way back...We're coming back...It's over," Candace said. She held on to the button for a split second longer, the smooth silence spitting quietly, then the radio in Mike's hand went back to solid static once more. ~" Be careful, Honey. Be careful." Mike's voice came through the radio in her hand. She nodded, and then keyed the button, "I will. We're coming back." She looked around her. Tom sat cradling Lydia in his arms. Bright, thick blood covered the ground under her chest and the side of Tom's pant leg. The three other bodies lay close by. Bob stood, ashen faced, his gun still held tightly in one hand. The pickup truck idled noisily about a hundred yards away from where Candace stood. The doors hung open. The Suburban and the State truck rumbled from behind her. Maybe, she thought, five minutes had passed since they had spotted the truck and stopped behind them. The kids had come out shooting. Just like in the movies, Candace thought. Exactly that. Hell! They had acted like it was a movie. Five minutes and four people dead. She shook her head slowly. Tom looked up from the ground and met Candace's eyes. "Let's get her in the truck, okay, Tom," She said softly. Tom's head slowly nodded. "What...what about these...these others?" Bob asked. "Fuck them," Tom rasped. "Fuck them! They can rot right there. They're not going in the truck!" He looked at Candace defiantly. "Okay," Candace agreed. "Okay...Bob?" She waited until Bob's eyes left Lydia's body. "Help Tom with Lydia?" Bob nodded and started towards Tom" No," Tom said quietly. "Don't need help." He swiped a blood covered hand across his eyes, leaving a bright smear of scarlet across his forehead as he did. "I'll do it. I'll take care of her." His voice shook at the last, but he got to his feet, carefully holding Lydia in his arms, and headed for the pickup truck. "Bob," Candace said, motioning to the bodies. Bob looked at her questioningly. "In the river. We can't just leave them here." Bob nodded, and together they bent to pick up the first body. A few minutes later Candace let the last body slip from her hands and plunge over the cliffs and into the river far below. She turned her palms upright and stared at them for a second. "Candace," Bob said. She nodded, and followed Bob to the truck. Tom sat behind the wheel, Lydia slumped on the passenger seat, her head resting against Tom's shoulder. "You okay to drive?" she asked. Tom nodded. His eyes met her own. They were red, and tears perched on the bottom lids waiting to spill down his cheeks. He cleared his throat, started to speak and then cleared his throat once more. "I'm going to drive out of the city. There's a small little place out by Huntingtonville. My parents were raised there. There's a cemetery there ..." He trailed off, and Candace saw the tears that had been perched on his lower lid begin to course their way down his cheeks. He started to speak again, shook his head and gave up momentarily. Candace turned her eyes up to the clear blue morning sky and waited. Tom's voice came to her quietly a few minutes later as she watched the empty sky. "There's a shed...In the Cemetery...I thought." His voice choked up again. "Yeah. Yeah," Candace said softly. "You go. We'll stop and get Jan and Mike. They'll want to be there." Tom nodded. His hand fell to the shift lever on the steering column. His eyes, tear-filled and overflowing, swept up to her once more. "You'll be okay to get there?" Candace asked. Tom nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. He turned his eyes back to the road. Candace nodded. "We'll meet you there." She stepped away from the truck and watched as Tom pulled slowly away. Mike ~ March 15th It's been a very long day in more ways than one. We are five now. Lydia is gone. It's crazy, but true. Tom is in bad shape, sitting by the fire reading Lydia's diary. We buried her today in Huntingtonville, a little place outside of the city. There's a cemetery there right by the river. Tom's parents are buried there. Now Lydia is too. It took a lot of work; the ground is still frozen a few feet down. It could've been worse. If everything wasn't melting, we would've had a much harder time digging the hole. Tom couldn't bring himself to do it. Bob and I did it. To make the explanation short, we were ambushed. I shouldn't say we. I wasn't even there. Neither was Jan. We were left behind to watch the cave. It started in the night; these kids came and stole one of our trucks. We didn't know they were kids of course. It turned into mess. Three kids are dead. Young kids. What a waste. We don't even know why they did it, why they chose to shoot at the others. None of it. Everyone is messed up, me included. Jan too, because we weren't there. But it's over. This part's over, but really it's not over at all. I don't know what's next. None of us do. The day has already lasted fifteen hours so far. The sun doesn't seem to be moving at all. We don't know what to make of it. Everyone just wants to get past this day, for it to be over. Lydia ~ March 15th Lydia is gone. They took her. I can't believe it, it's like a nightmare. I can't deal with it. I won't forget it. Tom. ~Huntingtonville~ The moon rode high in the sky. Frost gleamed from the freshly turned dirt that lay scattered across the gravel of the road that lead into the cemetery. Silence held, and then a scraping came from the ground, muffled |
That's just like Grand Moff Tarkin, played by Peter Cushing, being warned about the content in this book. **OFFICER**: We've analyzed their attack, sir, and there is a danger. Should I have your ship standing by? **TARKIN**: Evacuate? In our moment of triumph? I think you overestimate their chances! That's like the leaders of the atheist community where no one has been able to take down their argument on why God doesn't exist. That's why the Death Star is like a God Slayer. If the Sun in our solar system is God and the Sun is a Star, that's why a Death Star would be an invention designed | That's just like Grand Moff Tarkin, played by Peter Cushing, being warned about the content in this book. **OFFICER**: We've analyzed their attack, sir, and there is a danger. Should I have your ship standing by? **TARKIN**: Evacuate? In our moment of triumph? I think you overestimate their chances! That's like the leaders of the atheist community where no one has been able to take down their argument on why God doesn't exist. That's why the Death Star is like a God Slayer. If the Sun in our solar system is God and the Sun is a Star, that's why a Death Star would be an invention designed to "kill God." It's to kill the existence of God. That's exactly what the atheist community plans to do. They're intent on getting rid of God from society once and for all. Just look. They're frothing at the mouth like hungry dogs waiting for that final death blow. They want it. They can hardly wait. That's where you have me in my tiny little X-Wing flitting around dodging laser turrets and trying to keep ahead of Darth Vader closing in on me from behind. DARTH VADER: I have you now! Then out of nowhere the Han Solo in the Millennium Falcon take out Darth Vader and his wingmen. The Millennium Falcon is one variation of a God symbol taking out Darth Vader as another God symbol. Now, I'm going to translate this very slowly. It's going to be very long. Usually, when I do geometry proofs in Cryptology, I'll skip steps because I already know what the symbols are. However, since this is the first time for a lot of you to ever look at words as algebra equations, I'm going to do it the long way. In this case, I break down the word "Millennium." Then I break down the world "Falcon." Then I'll take Line 1, which was the original statement, and put it on the end to show how I got Line 23 through the conversions done in Lines 2 through 22. 1) Millennium Falcon = 5/29 F-AL/C-On 2) Millennium = 1,000 Years 3) 1,000 = M in Roman Numerals 4) M = 13th Letter 5) 13th Letter = 13th State 6) 13th State = Rhode Island 7) Rhode Island = 5/29 8) 5/29 = Peter Ware Higgs 9) Peter Ware Higgs = Higgs Boson 10) Higgs Boson = God Particle 11) God Particle = God 12) F = 6th Letter 13) 6th Letter = 6th Sign 14) 6th Sign = Virgo 15) Virgo = Virgin 16) AL = Aluminum 17) C = 3rd Letter 18) 3rd Letter = 3rd Sign 19) 3rd Sign = Gemini 20) Gemini = Sign of Communication 21) Sign of Communication = Communication 22) On = Activated 23) 5/29 F-AL/C-On = God Virgin AL Communication Activated So when you look at the word "Millennium Falcon" as an abbreviation, it means the God Virgin AL Communication Activated. In this volume, I point out where AL surfaces repeatedly throughout the "Star Wars" movie. If 5/29 is actor Sebastian Shaw as Darth Vader, Schmi Skywalker provided the Virgin birth as Darth Vader's mother, and this volume set has been activated to communicate this information. So that would be a mathematical "Millennium Falcon." In virtual space or the way that Earth as a Super Computer would read the word "Millennium Falcon, it is what it would imagine that line or operation to look like in a physical plane. If you know the story of the Millennium Falcon, they had to come up with a new design, which they referred to as a the Pork Burger. If you didn't know this already, the Millennium Falcon is modeled after a hamburger. The olive is the cockpit. The sound of the Millennium Falcon is based off of a McDonnell Douglas DC-9. It was introduced on 12/8 of 1965. The reason why I know that date is because it's my mom's birthday. Actor Sebastian Shaw is born 5/29 when Wisconsin became a state. The first approved Virgin Mother Apparition was approved on 12/8 of 2010 with the Shrine of Our Lady of Good Help. Governor Scott Walker), born 11/2 when North Dakota and South Dakota became states, defeated incumbent Tom Barrett) born 12/8 of 1953. Governor Scott Walker's Lieutenant Governor is [Redacted] Kleefisch. In this volume, I talk about how the name Redacted] is significant because the Queen of Alderaan was played by [[Redacted] Jackson Mendoza. So when you take Sebastian Shaw as Darth Vader born 5/29 aligning with the state of Wisconsin, the McDonnell Douglas DC-9 released on 12/8 of 1965 aligning with the Virgin Mary Apparition of 12/8 of 2010 as well as incumbent Tom Barrett born 12/8 of 1953, and [Redacted] Kleefisch aligning with [Redacted] Jackson Mendoza, that's bundled packets of information with number tags. The reason why I know it's correct is because I'm born 5/29, my mom is born 12/8, and I have friend named [Redacted] born 10/31 when Nevada became a state. Some skeptics will say that I'm just pulling random numbers. On top of that, you can't really verify that I'm born 5/29, that my mom is born 12/8, or that I have a friend named [Redacted]. You're just taking my word for it in print, which is true. However, once again, that's why I'll point out that this volume set is referred to as the "Sunflower Diaries." They're called diaries because this is more of a personal account of what I've witnessed while studying cryptology over the last 8 years. So it softens the guidelines on whether what is written is taken as fact or just as a personal account based on the view of the author. It's up to the readership to determine how much of my content is true and how much is it is make believe. However, I would also suggest people read Volume 3. I have a section in there about "make up" symbolizing how people make things up or lie. The more you lie, the more "make up" have on. The people who tell the truth don't need much make-up. They have a natural beauty. Truth is beauty. Beauty is truth. I try to show that I have a very keen understanding of knowledge because I watch how the planet dispenses information. ##Chapter 5.8 Ewok and How to Play Dodge Bawl Another metaphor from "Star Wars" that can be used to explain the situation would be C-3PO able to communicate to the Ewoks in "Star Wars: Episode 6 - Return of the Jedi." You're an Ewok. And of course, a lot of readers would wonder why they're being compared to short, furry little creatures. It's regarding the theme of intellectual age. Notice there's something called stunted growth. If you could translate Intelligence and Wisdom into a physical height and age, really young people symbolize inexperienced people while elderly folk represent those who are experienced. Physical age doesn't matter. Imagine a 40 year old who has never played Chess before competing against a 10 year old who is good at the game. The Intellectual age of the 40 year old would translate to a 5 year old or younger while the 10 year old as an experienced player would resemble that of a 30 year old. I'm assuming that most people who read my volume set on Cryptology don't know much about the field or only know it to a limited degree. That limitation would be stunted growth to the height of a furry Ewok if a professional Cryptologist symbolized the average height of a human being. So when I'm explaining Cryptology to you using analogies and metaphors you can understand, that's just like C-3PO who could speak 6 million different languages able to speak the language of the Ewoks. Just like C-3PO, I'm telling you that there's a war going on between the Scientific Community (Galactic Empire) and religious believers (Rebel Alliance). The Initials for Rebel Alliance are RA. The Egyptian Sun God was Ra. If the Sun is alive, it would be like God. Right now, the scientific community just like the Galactic Empire is about to deal the final blow proving that there is no God. The Shield Generator is what protects the Death Star. Until that Shield Generator is deactivated, the Rebel Alliance Fleet can't deal any damage to Death Star. The Death Star symbolizes the right arm of the scientific community that is wielding the finely honed axe, which symbolizes all the evidence that the scientific community has collected as their evidence proving why God doesn't exist. So far, the religious community hasn't been able to find any chink in the armor. Before I continue, let me explain why I'm temporarily helping the religious community make a case. It's not that I have a grudge against the atheist community. It's because the major problem with thinking that there is no God or no one above them is that they start to think they're at the top of the food chain. They start to think they're God. Not everyone is a good person. If we live in a world where there are bad people that aren't worried about any God figure existing that can put a stop to them or deal with them, that's how you start to see abusive behavior. They start treating others and those that they see inferior to them, which consists of animals and eve other people, badly Religious people will say that with all the gun violence and copycat killers, people need God or religion. Then scientific people or nonbelievers may not like the idea of religion, but I think the reasonable ones will concede that violence is escalating. Something needs to be done. It shouldn't have to require kids bringing bulletproof vests to school or people afraid to go to the local mall because there could be a shootout. I'm trying to show that there's a half-way solution that is a compromise for both the religious and scientific communities. By using Cryptology to prove that Earth is alive and like God, the religious community won't get verbally abused or branded as ignorant. The scientific community wins because they don't have to believe in God and can hash out their own interpretation of a living planet that can have traits like that of a God or a living organism that is ancient, wise, and old. It's where the religious and scientific communities can find some common ground and use that to cut down on gun violence and crime where innocent victims and good people are getting exploited and abused. So anyway, the story is that the scientific community is pretty much about to win and prove there is no God. That concept is the Death Star. Notice that in "Return of the Jedi |
The ministers looked at one another in bewilderment and dismay and said, "We must preach. These young men can never deal with a vast crowd like this." The ministers put up four pulpits at the four corners of the marketplace, and a preacher ascended each pulpit. They had not been preaching long when a very solemn awe fell upon the entire crowd. Soon in one section of the marketplace there was a loud cry, and a man fell to the ground under such overwhelming conviction of sin that he could not stand on his feet. He was carried out to the town hall that had not yet been completed. Soon a cry arose in another part of the marketplace, | The ministers looked at one another in bewilderment and dismay and said, "We must preach. These young men can never deal with a vast crowd like this." The ministers put up four pulpits at the four corners of the marketplace, and a preacher ascended each pulpit. They had not been preaching long when a very solemn awe fell upon the entire crowd. Soon in one section of the marketplace there was a loud cry, and a man fell to the ground under such overwhelming conviction of sin that he could not stand on his feet. He was carried out to the town hall that had not yet been completed. Soon a cry arose in another part of the marketplace, and another man fell under the power of conviction of sin, and he, too, was taken to the town hall. Then another, and another, and another person fell in different parts of the marketplace, until conviction became so general that the meeting broke up and the ministers adjourned to the town hall to deal individually with afflicted souls. The Presbyterian minister who tells the incident says that he was in the town hall all night dealing with souls overwhelmed with deep conviction of sin. This minister says that when the morning dawned, he started for his home, but as he went up the street he found people standing on their doorsteps waiting for him to pass, because there were people under conviction of sin in their homes, and they wanted to invite him in to deal with them. He went into one home after another, and there were so many people to deal with that the sun had set before he reached his own home. The whole town of Coleraine was so transformed and so impressed that in completing the town hall, they put in an inscribed tablet dedicating the hall to the memory of the revival, and for every year of the forty-three years up to that time they were commemorating the coming of the revival to Coleraine. I think they have kept up the commemoration annually to this present day, making sixty-three years in all. I think it was at the close of the week of prayer in January 1901 that Miss Strong, superintendent of women of the Bible Institute of Chicago, came to me and said, "Why not keep up these prayer meetings at least once a week after the week of prayer is over, and pray for a worldwide revival?" This suggestion was approved by the faculty, and we appointed a prayer meeting every Saturday night from 9-10 p.m. (after the popular Bible class was over) at which people could gather to pray for just one thing – a worldwide revival. Three or four hundred people gathered every Saturday night for that purpose, and God gave us great liberty and great expectation in prayer. Soon we began to hear of the working of God in Japan and other lands, and yet the work was not as general as we wanted to see. People would come to me and to my colleague who was most intimately associated with me in the conduct of the meetings, and ask, "Has the revival come?" We replied, "No, not as far as we know." "When is it coming?" "We do not know." "How long are you going to keep praying?" "Until it comes." After we had been praying for some months, two men from faraway Australia appeared in our lecture room. After they had been attending the lectures for some time, they asked for a private conversation with me. They told me that in leaving Australia, they had been commissioned to go to England, to Keswick and other places, and to gatherings in America, and select someone to invite to Australia to conduct an evangelistic campaign. They said further that they had both agreed upon me. They asked if I would go. I replied, "I do not see how I can leave Chicago. I have the Bible Institute to look after, and also the Chicago Avenue Church (the Moody Church), and I do not see how I can possibly get away from Chicago." "Well," they said, "you are coming to Australia." Some months passed by, and I was in a Bible conference in St. Louis. I received a letter from Australia asking me to cable my acceptance of their invitation, and that they would at once cable me the money to come. I laid the matter before the conference and asked them to pray over it, and then I withdrew from the conference in order to be alone in prayer. God made it clear that I should go, and so I cabled them. When Mr. Alexander and I reached Australia, we found that there was a group of about ten or twelve men who had been praying for years for a great revival in Australia. They had joined together to pray for "the big revival," as they called it in their prayers, and to pray for the revival no matter how long it took. The group was led by John McNeil (author of The Spirit-Filled Life), but he had died before we reached Australia. A second member of the group, Allan Webb, died the first week of our meetings in Melbourne. He had come to Melbourne to assist in the meetings, and he died on his knees in prayer. A third member of the group, even before we had been invited to Australia, had been given a vision of great crowds flocking to Exposition Hall, and of people hanging on to the loaded street cars wherever they could. When that vision was fulfilled, he came a long distance to Melbourne just to see with his own eyes what God had revealed to him before. We also found that a lady in Melbourne had read a book on prayer and had been very deeply impressed by one short sentence in the book: "Pray through." She had gone to work and had organized prayer meetings all over the city before we reached the place. Indeed, when we reached Melbourne, we found that there were 1,700 neighborhood prayer meetings being held every week in Melbourne. We remained in that city four weeks. During the first two weeks, the meetings were held by many different pastors and evangelists in some forty or fifty different centers throughout the city, though meetings for the whole city were held at one o'clock, two o'clock, and three o'clock each day in the town hall. The last two weeks, the meetings were all concentrated in Exposition Hall, which seated about eight thousand people. At the very first meeting in Exposition Hall, the crowd was so large that they swept by the police before them and packed the building far beyond its proper capacity, and there were large crowds still who could not get in. During those four weeks, 8,642 people made a definite profession of having accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as their Savior. When we went back to Melbourne some months later and held a meeting of the converts, six thousand of them were present at that meeting, most of whom had already joined the church, and almost all those who had not united with the church yet promised to do so at once. The report of what God had done in Melbourne spread not only all over Australia, but to India, England, Scotland, and Ireland, and resulted in a wonderful work of God in the leading cities of England, Scotland, and Ireland. The whole worldwide work was the outcome of the prayer meetings held in Chicago and of the prayers of the little group of men in Australia. The great Welsh revival in 1904, of the beginning of which I was an eyewitness, came in a similar way. Mr. Alexander and I had been invited to Cardiff, Wales, for a month's mission. The announcement that we were going there was made about a year before we went, and prayer began to go up all over England, Scotland, and Wales that God would send a revival not only to Cardiff, but to all Wales. When we reached Cardiff, we learned that a prayer meeting had been held for almost a year from six to seven every morning in Penarth, a suburb of Cardiff. The people had been praying for a great revival. For the first two weeks or so of our time there, things dragged. Large crowds came and there was great enthusiasm in the singing, but we could not get the people to do personal work. Then we appointed a day of fasting and prayer, and the day was observed in other parts of Wales as well as in Cardiff. In one place, Seth Joshua, who was afterward so greatly used in the revival, was the leading figure and had charge of the meeting. He wrote me a most glowing and cheering account of what God had done in that place on that day. I think it was on that very day that he was kneeling beside Evan Roberts, and as he prayed, the power of God fell upon Evan Roberts. The power of God came down in Cardiff in such a wonderful way that when Mr. Alexander and I were compelled to leave at the end of the month in order to keep an engagement in Liverpool, the meetings went right on without us – and they went on for a whole year. There were meetings every night for a whole year, and multitudes were converted! From Cardiff, the revival spread up and down the valleys of Wales. Soon after we had reached Liverpool, the next city that we visited, I received a letter from the minister who was secretary of our mission in Cardiff. He wrote that his assistant had gone out the preceding Sunday night up one of the valleys of Wales, and as he preached, the power of God fell on him – and one hundred people were converted while he was preaching. The revival spread over the entire country under Evan Roberts and others, and it is said that over one hundred thousand souls were converted in twelve months! Oh, that is what we need more than anything else today, in our own land and in all lands – a real, mighty outpouring of the Spirit of God! The most fundamental trouble with most of our present-day so-called revivals is that they are man-made and not God-sent. They are worked up (I had almost said faked up) by man's cunningly devised machinery – not prayed down. Oh, for an old-time revival, a revival that is really and not spuriously of the Pentecostal pattern – for that revival was born of a fourteen-day prayer meeting. Let us not merely talk of it, but let us cry out for it. Let us cry out to God, cry out long and loud if need be, and then it will surely come. Prayer Will Bring Blessing and Victory to Foreign Missions Now turn to Matthew 9:36-38: Seeing the people, He felt compassion |
one question once you have taught the art and value on how to be fair with people, what to do when these values are exploited? that is when people find a way for others to do their job and provide for them, as a gesture of good will. Because this is the state status-quo on something that preaches peaces when they do moqueries and inflation. Sin. UNIVERSITY MATURE WRITING ~ pass psy possible pseudo. People, possible? Pesticide, noble. Gas guarantor of their high. Her, hear. And if like we think of humans' life on earth, earth to be a purgatory, This life was in fact death, and after, an afterlife already. And/or before | one question once you have taught the art and value on how to be fair with people, what to do when these values are exploited? that is when people find a way for others to do their job and provide for them, as a gesture of good will. Because this is the state status-quo on something that preaches peaces when they do moqueries and inflation. Sin. UNIVERSITY MATURE WRITING ~ pass psy possible pseudo. People, possible? Pesticide, noble. Gas guarantor of their high. Her, hear. And if like we think of humans' life on earth, earth to be a purgatory, This life was in fact death, and after, an afterlife already. And/or before or after, alter. Alterned. Eternidad. earth. Equality is not equality, in a world of mocks viol feeling, void sense, sentiments and vault values, all intended to exploitation and ultimately trafficking. Sin. 100% with you, worth reminding. one question once you have taught the art and value on how to be fair with people, what to do when these values are exploited? that is when people find a way for others to do their job and provide for them, as a gesture of good will. Because this is the state status-quo on something that preaches peaces when they do moqueries and inflation. Sin. UNIVERSITY MATURE WRITING ~ pass psy possible pseudo. People, possible? Pesticide, noble. Gas guarantor of their high. Her, hear. And if like we think of humans' life on earth, earth to be a purgatory, This life was in fact death, and after, an afterlife already. And/or before or after, alter. Alterned. Eternidad. earth. Plant. After the lobotomization, the capitalists psychologists will have you for the mercy killing of your retirement beg. Tired again. Brought out of what unauthentic guy characterized as a system of fake news (noise of populist capitalizing captive- advertising entertainment), which is a veil and a reinforcement process-procedural stinking stunt, to bolster embolies that regime of 'no news'. 'no news, good news' like the forming collaboration bureaus would trickle down to their domestic-city. In waiting for the leaders, the ones that does not need to be there as they have puppets and puppies- withdrawal into the wilderness where no animals survive but where air and water are not so charged chemically. Bad to fund ecocide? IQ tests for bankers, the same one that will allow prospective students to borrow money to graduate. or no. no graduate? not even the entry. no entry? no news, no search, no quest, no research, no fund-ations, society. no union, no nations, just bankers, and bunkers. Found, action. My idea it is a song performed by her for the ice and its terrain, pour purl pure that should not, nets note, not ever has been attacked by the rest of the humanity, melting????? / the curse will infilter everything we eat, are and hoped. Until to see to be is just a curse -and, end in bait, bait but buttress built in-assured. The o core, the curse, anchored encore. RAIN RA_IN RAM- I should not be working with these agencies that employed people that do not have to respect professional standards. They yet again unfortunately are not my bosses (mind this way they would have found manners to exploit me to death before sacking me), that would mean i have paid holiday, sick and medical protection, social welfare, retirement scheme etc, they just take 15% of what you agree to pay or of what I earn. I spent so many hours building profiles that I stayed. I' ll try to do it independently from now. they have nothing to do with me. it is a contractor, marketing that bring service provider and customers website. Debase professional standards, take all the internet advertisement slot, included the one of my specific specialization or my unique post code, making impossible for the independents to advertise themselves successfully and make me paid every day in full ripping me of as I have to give a dividend for them. Yes they work, they intervene whenever it is awkward, and profit from making their websites difficult to use, or to make it impossible to delete information. Or setting weird protocol to claim the money they took first, as far as if one is not accomplishing aware and intentioned, they cannot claim it. On top of sending money without the right amount, without calculating what they took off it, and without the appropriate date or name of the clients. Just enormously tenant. They thing they are the proprietor that can and will fuck everybody whilst they are the one in a grey area of the laws. Genius gregariously. After having killed the gypsy. What you said the canonical sentence in english, simple sentences, clear and short. S+ V + Complement. people say that, but the reality english have been made this way, not before but still as a part of the strategies, the propaganda constructing english as a simpleton language, like this not complexity! everything is so well said'dust and done by the same rip-off of straight-affordability. in a word the statu-quo so emblematical of the die hard and born again, that will understand their needs for a brothel. When one thumbs an agenda, it is just a few leaves. To one year of the almighty none we can do. It is good that we write on this book, that will not but pursue you. Tick, tac. Just a few for the seasons to go for ever lost in meaning but for the bearer of eternity. That is the time, that is the space that formed through the air we inhaled and refer and redone, and maldone and rejected. Misdone, alone. Misdone alone. I am not so sure we can afford to do these videos, rodeos with the western cultures destructor, a garment and regiments so filled with chlorine and the mediations and the medications that made us unable to comprehend that nature won't commune, won't embrace us any longer but for the dust of our bodies guilty of killing her. Would it be possible to reactivate my account? I did not know about old email addresses. I try to contact politicians. SPAM or not spam, in the impossibility to contact politicians, journalists, civil servants...you know ignorance is bliss, even if they are not, now they will be able to pretend they are disconnected! And pick the campaign they want, while leave the sordid and putrefied, putre-facted pay them off and away. you are doing a MA, it is aca. you don't translate in emptyness. people worked and thought about that, if you want to translate well or know what you are doing at least, well you ll need them. for you, for them, and also for integrity, justification, ethics and innovation, does it mean we have to eat them all? i mean no, hoping to stay critical, avant-gardist, and hopefully less censored and culture or cultivated repellent rather than normal. for you, for them, and also for integrity, justification, ethics and innovation. it is just too bad the universities are not any longer. it is just too bad the universities are not any longer affordable, i.e. democratic, i.e. universal. are not any longer. didn't they referendum on it? How China censorship forbids all videos (while next could be Russia), and blogs from western cultures: not an exaggeration Chinese people cannot access any YouTube, google (to name but a few), these sites are just entirely and exhaustively banned and since last year internet users could be imprisoned if they try to access them (by buying software able to jump the firewall). SAME AS FOR THE SUBJECT ABOVE, HORRENDOUS BUT NOWHERE CLEARLY IN THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA, SOMETIMES IN FACT INSISTING AND REPEATING THE OPPOSITE (like the BBC and to my knowledge all others major media institutions very own practice, so much for the 4th power, estate, and 4th branch of the government), THUS MAKING BELIEVE TO THE HUGE MAJORITY OF THE POPULATION THAT IN FACT THOSE GROUPS HAVE PEACEFUL INTENTS AND WELL-FOUNDED DOCTRINES, WHILE ANY DEBUTANTS AT IT, IF SERIOUSLY RESEARCHING, WOULD KNOW IT IS ONLY DECEPTIVE. Cannot hyperlink because was on the radio, but worthy item by the BBC to which I will refer here because while censorship of all informal (all blogs and videos) and artistic western sources is taking place and that the main media does not talk directly about it, many blogs and alternative posts have been made about it (perhaps mainly by people having lived in China- in the past since now blogging for west (only possible with the help of software bypassing the Great Firewall of China) from china will be regarded as a criminal offence. However, the BBC (updated and ground-breaking- it happens) is the only one that I know that talked about how internet choices and activities made by their citizens are stored by the government and how it affects (positively or negatively) their welfare states, perspectives of jobs, of becoming civil servants, or benefiting from states services (in some part of China people cannot afford for their ID and multiple certificate applications), if state thinks that the citizens ticked the 'wrong' or the 'right' options. Though, God knows the relief brought to some people on the perspective to be taken by China, as a worker, and as one that does not have – until proven guilty- to say they' d bend to allah. Mm Same I am nervous- and lost, and god i am tired, though the continuous sun recharges the batteries i am worrying for the birds, they are so dangerously lean for the month of jolly July There is a golden rule in aca and it is to search, question, and assess, frame etc the question itself. it is that an essay, it is: to work with and on (for?) a question. wish I remembered that at times. that is great professional criticism! independent party and all. this is practice at its best. Unconditionally wonder wunderful. Wound. To bring animals in like one succeedingly bring purity. Just like children have for themselves /against affected effect. Also o to burn that energy eaten by the sanctification of human kind. The green-house, our green house like the veg we would gobble down. The bastard betray goblet. And the gods that have finished to care for the species that do not listen, and that destroy their peers, kids and brothers. If it is for the sake of your daily sonatas, ss sir, saint ain't, satanas sanitation stories, forget about what, how and why you have prayed. Predating your chit chat with what allowed you to display...On a mountain, or near anywhere where oneself is to meet, one will ask god, and they might |
For days over the summer they talked about what life could be like if they had an eye on the exit. That perhaps he could work as a songwriter to get that rush, but, as for her, she was done with it. It had all been a miscalculation. Her heart wasn't it, and it was time for them to take the vows they had made a bit more seriously or to abandon them forever. Their conversations were never heated; they seemed to be grounded more in trying to convince the other of a middle path rather than outright ultimatums. He was torn. He absolutely loved her. But he had already made the decision at some point to end things | For days over the summer they talked about what life could be like if they had an eye on the exit. That perhaps he could work as a songwriter to get that rush, but, as for her, she was done with it. It had all been a miscalculation. Her heart wasn't it, and it was time for them to take the vows they had made a bit more seriously or to abandon them forever. Their conversations were never heated; they seemed to be grounded more in trying to convince the other of a middle path rather than outright ultimatums. He was torn. He absolutely loved her. But he had already made the decision at some point to end things with her, partly because their dynamic had lost its dynamism, and partly because it had all seemed like some irresponsible, adolescent agreement they had made in agreeing to marry in the first place. The overriding thing was that there was no way he was going to retire after all the work he had put in, especially as he was not yet even 28. She had to be having a nervous breakdown he thought. A relationship is like an invisible ecosystem. All the variations of elements and life inherent to the relationship form and shape its existence. Sometimes these are features which evolve over time, other times there is something of a romantic big bang that occurs, setting in place not only a context but also a chain of seismic events that are part and parcel of the creation process. But, when elements of the system begin to fall away, to degrade and cease to exist, the fragility of the system comes to the fore. The extinction of certain traits, behaviours and feelings can sometimes be almost inconsequential; out of the demise of one element a new element can rise. But when too many of the traits of a relationship disappear, especially over a short period of time, the ecology suffers, withering into something unsustainable. In short, too many losses cannot be compensated for. And disguising that, trying to reframe the ecosystem as being something it's not when it's already pretending to be something it isn't is futile. That August he organised for them to visit a therapist together to talk through their issues in a neutral environment. He figured he owed her the appearance at least of wanting to salvage things or at least addressing them for closure. Athena explained that situation to the therapist and then was asked to put forward her best and worst case scenarios. Alekz let her speak without interruption, and smiled and laughed along with her at all the right times. "My best case scenario would be that in ten years' time we're still married, still great friends and there are no hard feelings about how things changed." He smiled benignly as she spoke: it was clear that on some level he absolutely adored her. "My worst case scenario is that we don't reach an agreement and we continue in this way where we don't get to spend any time together, don't get to nurture our relationship and that everything just seems pointless, like it was all a huge mistake." She held it together, and the therapist, content that she had been clear enough on her desires asked Alekz to verbalise his scenarios. "I have to say that I love and admire Athena. She has always been more impetuous than I've ever been. And when we agreed to get married it was because we never got the chance to spend any time together. It was like a form of comfort that I don't think either of us thought through too much. It just seemed like it would be a great thing for two friends and lovers to do. And I think we can both acknowledge that were pros and cons to the situation. But, I also feel like it was like a blood brothers gesture that we made. We treated it too flippantly and the reasons we had for doing it were less about spending the rest of our lives together than they were about making a statement to each other. We found ourselves spending the smallest amount of time possible together because we had other things that we prioritised. And now the alternative is suddenly spending all of our time together at the expense of everything else. And for me, I just don't think either scenario, nor even a middle ground one is going to work. In my best case scenario I wouldn't become a dad at such a young age and I wouldn't be expected to walk away from this career, for anybody. I'd be free to make the decision of my own accord as Athena has done for herself. And in the worst case scenario, I won't be able to get an annulment or a divorce, because I feel like this is madness. You can't trap someone into a scenario, especially in a marriage that is just one on paper, something that we both know we hadn't really thought through at the beginning." "But I view our marriage as something serious Alekz. Don't you?" Alekz chuckled a little. But regained his composure. "I don't think the idea of throwing everything else in for any marriage is a serious proposition. I think you're a bit burnt out, which is natural given the life we lead. But ongoing it's clear that the things you want are not the things I want. I don't want to have a family and settle down. Not now. And I don't even know if I want that for the future. I think we have the option now of being really smart and realising, we are both young, we both want the best for each other, and part of that is about realising that our futures aren't together. Neither of us is going to be able to compromise to that level, and we shouldn't have to. We've spent years married and only days together in that whole time. Trying to make it something it's not is a recipe for failure." "I don't want to be painted as some crazy person who is having a breakdown. That's not what is happening here. I'm trying to find a way forward together. Not to be the demented lady." "Nobody is saying that Athena," the therapist said. "But how do you respond to the things Alekz has said? Doesn't it occur to you that what is happening _is_ quite radical, both on your part and on his?" "Yes of course I see that. But when we married we knew it was unconventional. We haven't suddenly stopped being unconventional. I'm just saying that for us to go forward we have to make sacrifices. The work we do is not forever, and I don't think he can see that. He seems to think it's going to sustain us as people for the rest of our lives. I think there's an entirely different quality of life that is available to us if we choose to pursue it. And that's what I want us to do. We don't need the money, we don't need the adulation. We're in a position to do anything. And I can't understand why he can't see that, and be excited by that prospect." "Thena, that's what you want. And your perspective on it. I see it as being like a death. Asking me to give up everything because we should make our marriage work would be more than a grand gesture on my part. I think we have to be realistic. We made a bad decision in getting married the way we did, and we can't fix that. But we can recognise it and move on with the rest of our lives. Chalk it up to experience." "I can't believe you are being so flippant about it. It's like an inconvenience to you." "In a way it is. I can't see us making a real marriage work. We're just two really good friends who want different kinds of lives. I don't see that as being a foundation for a life together. I say we get a divorce and face up to the reality of what we are and what we want while we can." "What is it that you want?" Athena asked. "To continue following my dreams. To continue being an artist. And not to be made to feel guilty for it. And beyond that, for you to be able to have the kind of life that you want as well. I just don't see them as being things that will ever really work together." They sat in silence for a few moments. "You're right. We're not going to be able to make this work. I mean, I don't think it is at all unfair of me to ask you to do what I'm prepared to do for you. Probably sometime in the future you'll have a different perspective on it, but right now I'm gonna accept the fact that you think I am crazy and that we don't have a future together. When it all sinks in you might think of it all differently, but you're right, maybe we should get a divorce. That way you can be free to continue living the shittiness that we have been living, and I can move on to something more fulfilling, you know...the kind of life where you get to maintain your friendships and see your family. Where you're not at the beck and call of a record label or an advertising agency or a bunch of screaming teenagers who throw themselves at you but wouldn't know what to do with themselves if you ever tried it on with them. I guess we need to get our lawyers to talk to each other and get it organised. I'm going to do what I have to do with this album and then I'm out." "Athena," Alekz said, calmly. "No, I'm just a bit angry right now. And it's just because I have to get my head around things. But I will call you in a couple of days. I'm going to go and stay in LA, and you have the number, so don't worry. All amicable. All fine. I just need to digest things. So how does the divorce thing work?" "I don't know. I've never divorced anyone before." "Well, at least we'll always be each other's firsts," she said smiling acidulously, thanking the therapist and touching Alekz on the shoulder before leaving the office. He and the therapist exchanged glances. "Before I tell you about how you can pay for the session and say my goodbyes I just want to say you _do_ come across as incredibly flippant, despite your reasons. You may want to take that on board if you ever find yourself in another meaningful relationship. That is, if you |
"Living room up front here," Jewel said. Kitchen and dining is the back half of this big room. Bathroom off the kitchen, bedroom through there. Simple and small, but nice." "First at the bathroom," Tommy said. "Hope you left the lid up." "If I didn't, try lifting it and see what happens," Jewel said. "Good idea." He didn't need to lift the lid, and by the time he was finished, Jewel was in the bedroom and pulling down some ghost clothes and packing them in a small satchel similar to the one Tommy had left in the front room. "Figured I might as | "Living room up front here," Jewel said. Kitchen and dining is the back half of this big room. Bathroom off the kitchen, bedroom through there. Simple and small, but nice." "First at the bathroom," Tommy said. "Hope you left the lid up." "If I didn't, try lifting it and see what happens," Jewel said. "Good idea." He didn't need to lift the lid, and by the time he was finished, Jewel was in the bedroom and pulling down some ghost clothes and packing them in a small satchel similar to the one Tommy had left in the front room. "Figured I might as well get this done in case someone shows up." Tommy nodded. "Good thinking." Then, as if he wasn't standing there watching, she started to unbutton her shirt. When she had it off and was nude from the belt up, she tossed him the shirt. "Might want to pack that." "Can I do that in a minute," he said. "I'm enjoying the show." "Not much to look at," she said, spreading her arms and giving him a full view of her breasts. Both were wonderful. Pert, and firm, with hard brown nipples. "Fantastic to look at," he said. She then worked at getting out of the pants she had had on all day and yesterday. "I'm going to take these," she said, wadding them into a ball and putting them into her bag. "I figure at some point we'll either figure out a way to wash clothes, or just get new ones all the time." Tommy only nodded because now she was standing there only in her white underwear. She worked for a few more minutes like that, stuffing ghost clothes into her bag, then finally slipped off her underwear, tossed them into the back of the open closet with other dirty clothes, and picked up the bag. She went to hand it to him. "You want to put this in the living room with yours?" "I'd much rather watch you do it," he said, moving to one side so she could go past him and out in to the living room. She smiled, clearly knowing damn well what kind of impact she was having on him, as she went past him out into the living room and dropped her bag, then headed for the bathroom. "What are the odds we can get some ghost hot water running?" she asked. "I honestly have no idea," he said. He followed her into the bathroom and she went to the tub with a shower over it and turned the handle. He wanted more than anything to just reach forward and touch her, and he was pretty sure she wanted him to do that as well, since how she was acting. But he honestly felt almost paralyzed like a young high school boy. So he just watched the fantastic show of the most beautiful woman he had ever known get ready to take a shower. The handle actually didn't turn in Jewel's hand, but water started flowing, so she must have turned a ghost handle. She waited a moment and then made the motion to turn the other handle and smiled. "We have perfect shower water. "Get out of those clothes and come and scrub my back." He didn't remember shedding his clothes. But somehow he did, never taking his gaze off of the vision of nakedness under the water. And in record time he was stepping under the warm shower and washing the back of a dream come true. "I'm starting to think old K.J. was wrong," Tommy said as Jewel sighed and leaned forward, clearly enjoying his touch. "Why is that?" Jewel asked. "Because I know I'm dead and I'm pretty sure this is heaven." She laughed. "Keep that gentle touch up much longer and I'll show you the pearly gates." "Promises, promises," he said. She pushed back against his hard penis with her butt. "That's a promise," she said. There was not a thing he could say to that, so he just kept washing. #20 SHE AWOKE THE next morning to the wonderful smell of eggs and pancakes. Tommy was gone from the big bed and the morning light filtered around the edges of her bedroom curtains. She stretched, pushing away the blankets, feeling more relaxed and at ease with the world than she had felt in a very long time. Having a real man make love to her was so much better than Mr. Buzzy. She had almost forgotten. After the shower, they had managed to get dried off and to her bed. He had been gentle and passionate both, just as she always hoped a man would be. And the sex had been even more intense than anything she had ever remembered. K.J. had made a comment that the sex was good, and wow had he been right. Tommy appeared in the bedroom door. He was dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt that had a Berkeley logo on it. He smiled when he saw her awake and naked, stretched out on top of the bed. "Breakfast in five minutes, Doc, so hurry up and get dressed." She laughed and sat up. "I'd suggest another round in the sack, but I just realized I'm famished. How did you manage to cook something." "Seems everything has a ghost element to it," he said, smiling. "Pans, gas burners, eggs, milk, you name it. Now hurry up. I have a hunch ghost eggs can burn just as easily as anything else." He vanished and she rolled out of bed and slipped on the clean clothes she had left out of her bag for this morning. Then she slipped on her running shoes and headed for the bathroom. Five minutes later exactly she had her hair combed and pulled back and her face washed and was being served a plate of eggs and pancakes at her little dining room table. "This really is a nice place you had here," Tommy said as he took another plate, dished up his breakfast, turned off the gas burner, and came over to sit across from her. "Thanks," she said. "I liked it the best of anything here. Every day I looked forward to coming here and just reading and being alone." "You going to miss it?" "Honestly, no," she said, digging into the fantastic-tasting eggs, salted just perfectly. "I'm ready to do some real work and I think this new job is just what I needed." "Too bad we had to die to get it," Tommy said. "Regretting that part of it?" she asked, digging into the pancakes after smothering them in butter and maple syrup. "I keep thinking I should, but I sure don't," he said, shaking his head and continuing to eat. "I think that's because for us this feels just like real life, only we have super powers." "Super powers?" she asked. She couldn't completely grasp what he was saying. "Never read comic books?" he asked. "Never did," she said. "I was one of the serious types and just never got started on them." "Well," he said, "we are invisible, that's a super power. And we can walk through walls, which is a super power." "We can read minds and control people," she said. "Another super power," he said, nodding. "And from what K.J. said and did, we might have more if we can figure them out." "So I died and become a comic book heroine," she said. "Not the afterlife I had expected, I can say for certain." "That happens in comics," Tommy said, laughing. "I could name some characters if you want." "Thanks," she said, finishing up her pancakes. "Maybe later." "As foreplay?" he asked, grinning. "Agent," she said, standing and moving over to kiss him. "You make me hot all by yourself." She kissed him long and hard, then moved over and put her plate in the sink and ran some ghost water over it. He put his plate on top of hers. "I wonder if these ghost plates will be here forever now?" she asked, staring at them in the sink. "Or do they merge back with their real plates at some point or just vanish?" "We've got a lot to learn about this new state we are in," Tommy said. "We do," Jewel said. She started to turn away, then turned back and keeping the water running, she spent the next minute washing the plates and frying pan while Tommy used the restroom. She put them away where they all belonged as Tommy came out and headed for the front door. "Ready to go on an adventure?" he asked as he slipped on his heavy coat, picked up his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. She looked around the cabin she had enjoyed for a time, then nodded. "I am if it's with you," she said, pulling on her ski parka and then pulling on her gloves. She then picked up her bag. Tommy stepped through the big wooden door and outside. With one last look at the cabin where she had actually lived, she stepped through the door and out into the cold, fresh, morning air to really start the journey into a new world. ##Part II #What Happens In Vegas #21 AFTER THEY GOT back to Jay's Minimart, a middle-aged couple driving a big brown motor home pulled in for gas and some snacks. They were pulling a big new Jeep. Both vehicles had Texas plates on them. Tommy was surprised. You didn't see many big motor homes way up here in winding, mountain roads, let alone ones from Texas. They were a very, very long ways from home, that was for sure. Tommy, with Jewel at his side, was just inside the minimart, trying to stay out of Jay's way, yet stay warm. The day would maybe get up to near fifty and sunny by four in the afternoon, but at nine in the morning it was still just above freezing. After their experience yesterday at the wreck scene, neither of them had much interest in getting that cold again. Jay was a skinny little guy, about the size of a small high school kid who hadn't gotten his growth yet. But he was |
"Sorry, but you have the wrong number." "I apologize, but I'm glad." She cocked her head to the side. "Glad? Okay," she drawled out. He chuckled. "Yes, glad. Otherwise, I wouldn't have heard your lovely voice." Totally embarrassed, she flushed. She had no idea what to say. "May's come in with a bang," he continued. "It's beautiful outside. I hope you aren't stuck inside all day." The only light in the room escaped between the drawn drapes. Hiding from the world wasn't working. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't working. "I hope you get out to enjoy this | "Sorry, but you have the wrong number." "I apologize, but I'm glad." She cocked her head to the side. "Glad? Okay," she drawled out. He chuckled. "Yes, glad. Otherwise, I wouldn't have heard your lovely voice." Totally embarrassed, she flushed. She had no idea what to say. "May's come in with a bang," he continued. "It's beautiful outside. I hope you aren't stuck inside all day." The only light in the room escaped between the drawn drapes. Hiding from the world wasn't working. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't working. "I hope you get out to enjoy this beautiful day also." "I will. Good-bye." She hung up then opened the curtains. Sun rays poured into the room, blinding her right after she'd seen how correct the man was about the day's beauty. He'd actually complimented her voice like she was a radio personality or something. She wondered what the woman kissing her husband sounded like. She grinned as the sound of chickens clucking came to her mind. Leslie strolled along the boardwalk toward the Statue of Liberty. Happily married twenty-one years then bam. When had things gone wrong? Why hadn't she seen the signs? They argued from time to time, but nothing out of the ordinary. Leaning against the railing, she prayed for composure. She'd never felt insecure before, but was making up for lost time in the insecurity department now. Why wasn't she enough for him? He'd always been enough for her. Her eyes burned and throat tightened. Settled on one of the benches, she watched ferries of tourists enjoying the bay. She loved John with all of her heart, but was old enough to know that love wasn't enough. She deserved—no—demanded that along with the love came trust, respect and commitment. A couple nodded as they passed. The man was older and had the woman on his arm like a trophy. John was ten years her senior. She could remember the times he'd paraded her around. She'd thought their relationship was deeper than the superficial, but he obviously wanted to throw the old trophy in the closet for a brand new shiny one. Past sick of feeling sorry for herself, she gave herself sixty seconds to wallow in self-pity then she had to quit. She looked at her watch. Sixty seconds passed. She didn't feel better, but she did head back to the hotel. She'd left Dallas in a hurry and needed to go shopping for more clothes. No matter how much she wanted to crawl into a hole, she had to keep living life. She wouldn't fall apart. She'd make it through this rough patch. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ He downloaded the new images from the digital camera onto the laptop. Soon they'd be together again. He pushed away from the hotel room desk, then went to the closet and took out his briefcase. He sorted through the binders inside until he found Helen's obituary. He lightly brushed his index finger over his wife's picture. He knew she'd find a way to come back to him. They could kill her body, but the spirit lives forever. He returned to the computer with the obituary in his hand, then viewed the pictures he'd taken of Leslie as she walked along the boardwalk. She looked so sad, defeated. "I'm sorry I've caused you this pain, but you don't remember. As long as John was in the picture, you'd never remember. I'll make it up to you. I promise." He gently stroked the image of Leslie looking over the bay. "You've only improved with age, my sweet." ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ After Leslie unpacked her shopping bags, she went into the bathroom to wash her hands and face. She smiled at her reflection. John loved her long hair, so while out, she'd had hers cropped short. It looked good if she did say so herself. She fingered the tiny curls that framed her face. The stylist had asked to dye her hair, but she'd earned her few gray hairs and wasn't about to hide them. She couldn't be twenty again, and if that's what John wanted, well he'd better look elsewhere. Finished refreshing herself, she flicked on the television. Every channel seemed to play something to remind her how alone she was. It was Saturday. The day she and John had always celebrated as their day. No matter how busy either of them was, they'd spend Saturdays together. She needed a distraction, anything to take her mind off John. She took the novels out she'd bought while she was out. None of them held her attention. She sat a murder mystery on the nightstand and noticed the message indicator light was on. Her heart floated above the clouds. Even though she'd e-mailed John telling him not to contact her and refused to answer the million messages he'd overfilled her voice box with, she got a kick out of him looking for her. It made her feel wanted. With recognition of the voice on the machine came a heavy heart. It wasn't John. He wasn't looking for her. "Hey, Martin, I checked in last night. I'm in 1707. Call me as soon as you return. It's important." Ego bruised, the confidence she'd rebuilt slipped away. It wasn't like it was hard for John to find her. The hotel room was in his name also. He obviously didn't want to find her. She wiped away her tears. When she'd left Dallas, she hadn't intended on this being a chase. This wasn't a game. She was running away from the pain. But now she was hurt that he hadn't cared enough to come after her and proclaim his undying love. She laughed at herself for sounding so romance novel, but those were her true feelings. Had she been so wrong? After over twenty years, had she meant so little to him? Now that their children were grown, he didn't need or want her any longer? She stared at the phone a long while. John wouldn't be calling. The least she could do was call the guy who'd left the message and tell him he'd had the wrong room. He'd said it was important. She picked up the phone and dialed to connect to 1707. "Hello," he said. "Hello. You don't know me, but you accidentally left a message on my room phone for Martin to call. I just wanted to let you know, so you wouldn't be waiting for him." "Umm, but I do know you. You're the one with the lovely voice. Now I see your heart is just as lovely. Thank you. I'm in your debt." She flushed at the man's flirting. And Lord help her, she didn't mind. At least someone wanted her, even if only to hear her speak. She brushed the imaginary wrinkles out of her sundress. "It was nothing. I hope you haven't been stuck in your room all day, waiting on his call." "Oh no, my sweet, I took a short walk earlier." _Sweet, he called me his sweet._ She laughed internally. No one had flirted with her this way in years. If he knew she were a grandmother, he'd be singing a different tune. "Well, I don't want to keep you. Have a good evening." "I will if you join me. How about dinner?" Her mouth dropped wide open. She was tempted to say yes. John didn't want her, but here was a man who wanted her sight unseen. "I'm flattered, but I'll have to pass." "Oh, you're married, aren't you? I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you." He chuckled nervously. "I don't usually ask strangers out on dates. There was just something about your voice. I'm sorry." She bit on her bottom lip. He sounded nice and was obviously from out of town. He probably didn't know anyone besides the illusive Martin and was lonely. "Actually, I'm recently separated. Very recently." "I'm sorry to hear that. This must be a difficult time for you." "I've been better." She tangled the phone cord between her fingers. "I have a novel calling my name. It was nice speaking with you again. I hope you catch your friend. Good-bye." She hung up. It was true. She was separated from John. She'd been married more years than she'd been single. She didn't know if she even knew how to be single. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Robert paced about John's office. "Who else knew your itinerary?" John leaned back in his executive chair. "I'm tired of snooping on my employees. Maybe you're wrong about an insider. I want to find Leslie. It's Saturday. We always spend Saturday together." "You can't go to her until we know what happened. Everyone's suspect until we figure out what's going on." "Fine. We'll do one more, then you're helping me find Leslie." He called the security desk, again, for them to unlock the door and drawers. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Leslie found a seat in the hotel lounge. An outgoing person by nature, she thought being surrounded by people having a good time would help break her out of her depression, eliminate some of the loneliness or at least take her mind off John. But she just didn't have the will to mingle. She watched the couples, wondering what else she didn't have in her and why her husband turned to another woman. She knew she wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world, but she could hold her own. They had the same interests, she stayed in shape and they both enjoyed sex. She leaned her elbows on the table then lowered her head into her palms. Why did he want this woman? What was wrong with her? Someone clearing his throat caught her attention. She lifted her head and saw a handsome young man standing before her. She didn't feel like being bothered. She wanted to finish feeling sorry for herself. She offered a polite smile. "May I have this seat?" he asked. Her smile turned into a genuine smile. "Well, hello there, Mr. May I Speak To Martin Harris. Fancy meeting you here." He returned the smile as he pulled out a chair and sat beside her. "Hello, Ms. Loveliest Voice Anyone Will Ever Hear." If she weren't already smiling, she would've plastered a big ol' goofy grin on her face. Fear trickled through her. She brushed her hands over the risen hairs on her arms and the fearful feelings away as insecurity. She hated this new insecure person she |
But this is not all. Secondly, though John came first to the sepulchre, he did not venture to go in till Peter set him the example. Peter did not pause to "stoop down" and "look in," but boldly entered at once. He was not troubled for fear of seeing a spirit, which was probably the feeling that withheld John from entering, as it was the feeling which on a former occasion caused the disciples to cry out (Matthew 14:26). Peter was impatient to satisfy himself of the truth of the women's report, and to meet once more his crucified Master. All other considerations were with him absorbed in this one. This | But this is not all. Secondly, though John came first to the sepulchre, he did not venture to go in till Peter set him the example. Peter did not pause to "stoop down" and "look in," but boldly entered at once. He was not troubled for fear of seeing a spirit, which was probably the feeling that withheld John from entering, as it was the feeling which on a former occasion caused the disciples to cry out (Matthew 14:26). Peter was impatient to satisfy himself of the truth of the women's report, and to meet once more his crucified Master. All other considerations were with him absorbed in this one. This is precisely the conduct we should have expected from a man who seldom or never is offered to our notice in the course of the New Testament--even though it is very often that our attention is directed to him--without some indication being given of his possessing a fearless, spirited, and impetuous character. Slight as this trait is, it marks the same individual who ventured to commit himself to the deep and "walk upon the water," whilst the other disciples remained in the boat; who "drew his sword and smote the high priest's servant," whilst they were confounded and dismayed; who "girt his fisher's coat about him and cast himself into the sea" to greet his Master when he appeared again, whilst his companions came in a little ship, dragging the net with fishes; who was ever most obnoxious to the civil power, so that when any of the disciples are cast into prison there are we sure to find Peter. (See Acts 5:18-29; 12:3.) Again, I say I cannot imagine that scheming persons, however wary they might have been, however much upon their guard, could possibly have given their fictitious narrative this singular air of truth, by the introduction of circumstances so unimportant, yet so consistent and harmonious. ###34 The Gospel of John contains no account whatever or the Ascension of Jesus. Indeed, the narrative terminates before it comes to that point. Yet there are passages in it from which we may incidentally gather that the ascension was considered by him as a well known fact--passages which perfectly coincide with the direct description of that event contained in Acts 1:3-13. Thus John 3:13: "And no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven." Again, 6:62: "What and if ye shall see the Son of man ascend up where he was before?" Again, 20:17: "Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God." Had the Gospel of John been the only portion of the New Testament which had descended to our times, and all record of the Ascension had perished, these casual allusions to it might have been lost upon us. But when coupled with such record, a record quite independent of the Gospel of John, they convey to us, far more strongly than any account he might have given of it in detail could have done, the testimony of that Apostle to the truth of this last marvellous act of the marvellous life of our blessed Lord; and of which he was himself a spectator. Related to this are the passing references to the Cross in the records of the early part of our Lord's ministry. There are expressions which at the time Jesus used them were not understood by his disciples. We see this with Peter objecting to the idea of his Lord's death on one of these occasions, and our Lord's rebuke of him (Matthew 16:22). But these expressions, which fixed themselves in the memory of the followers of Jesus who heard them without understanding them at the time, but who kept them in their minds, are found ultimately to coincide with the great event then in the future: the crucifixion. The same writers later left these words of Jesus on record. Such expressions are found in Matthew 16:24: "Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his Cross, and follow me." Also in Luke 14:27: "And whosoever doth not bear his Cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple." ###35 There is a difference in the quarter from which opposition to the Gospel of Christ proceeded, as related in the Gospels and in Acts. Indeed, these two portions of the New Testament might be read many times over without the feature I allude to happening to present itself. Throughout the Gospels, the hostility to Jesus' words manifested itself almost exclusively from the Pharisees. Jesus clearly considers them as a sect systematically adverse to his teaching: "Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!...Ye are the children of them which killed the prophets....Fill ye up then the measure of your fathers" (Matthew 23:29-32). And before Jesus came up to the last Passover, "the chief priests and Pharisees," we read, "gave commandment, that, if any man knew where he were, he should show it, that they might take him" (John 11:57). Then when Judas proposed to betray Him, "he received a band of men and officers from the chief priests and Pharisees" (John 18:3). On the other hand, throughout Acts the like hostility is discovered to proceed from the Sadducees. Thus, "And as they" (Peter and John) "spake unto the people, the priests, and the captain of the temple, and the Sadducees, came upon them" (Acts 4:1). Again, on another occasion, "The high priest rose up, and all that were with him, which is the sect of the Sadducees, and were filled with indignation; and laid their hands on the Apostles, and put them in the common prison" (Acts 5:17). In a still more remarkable case, when Paul was maltreated before Ananias and there was danger perhaps to his life, he, "perceiving," we read, "that the one part were Sadducees, and the other Pharisees, cried out in the council, Men and brethren, I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee" (Acts 23:6), evidently considering the Pharisees now to be the friendly faction, and soliciting their support against the Sadducees, whom he equally regarded as a hostile one. Nor was he disappointed in his appeal. Why this extraordinary change in the relations of these parties respectively to the Christians? No doubt because the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead. Before Christ's own resurrection--during the period comprised in the Gospels--the disciples scarcely knew what it meant. "And they kept that saying with themselves, questioning one with another what the rising from the dead should mean" (Mark 9:10). This had now become a leading doctrine with them. Anybody may satisfy himself that this was the case by reading the several speeches of Peter, which are given in the early chapters of Acts. In each and all of these speeches the resurrection is a prominent feature--on providing a successor for Judas (Acts 1:22); at the feast of Pentecost (2:32); at the Beautiful Gate (3:12); the next day, before the priests (4:10); again, before the council (5:31); once more, on the conversion of Cornelius (10:40). The coincidence here lies in the Pharisees and Sadducees acting on this occasion consistently with their respective tenets: "For the Sadducees say that there is no resurrection, neither angel, nor spirit: but the Pharisees confess both" (Acts 23:8). The undesignedness of the coincidence consists in its being left to the readers of the Gospels and Acts to discover for themselves that there was this change of the persecuting sect after the Lord's resurrection, their attention not being drawn to it by any direct details in the documents themselves. It may be added that we have here in all probability the real clue to Gamaliel's judgment (Acts 5:38): "And now I say unto you, Refrain from these men, and let them alone." The Apostles had been cast into prison by "the high priest and all they that were with him, which is the sect of the Sadducees" (5:17). Gamaliel was not only in the council, and not only a doctor of the law held in good reputation among all the people, but "a Pharisee" (5:34). He stood up and advised their release, secretly very well satisfied to see the doctrine of the Resurrection triumph, and his adversaries put to shame. ###36 Acts 4:36: "And Joses, who by the Apostles was surnamed Barnabas, a Levite, and of the country of Cyprus, having land, sold it, and brought the money, and laid it at the Apostles' feet." I have often thought that there is a harmony pervading everything connected with Barnabas, enough in itself to stamp the Acts of the Apostles as an account of perfect trustworthiness. In the verse which I have placed at the head of this section we see that Barnabas was a native of Cyprus: a circumstance upon which a good deal of what I have to say respecting him will be found to turn. 1. First, then, we find him coming forward on behalf of Paul whose conversion was rumoured among the disciples at Jerusalem. Barnabas has the air of a man who could vouch for Paul's sincerity by previous personal knowledge of him. How it was that he was better acquainted with Paul than the rest, the author of Acts does not inform us. Cyprus, however, the country of Barnabas, was usually annexed to Cilicia, and formed an integral part of that province, of which Tarsus, the country of Paul, was the chief city. It may seem fanciful, however, to suppose that at Tarsus, which was famous for its schools and the facilities it afforded for education, the two Christian teachers might have laid the foundation of their friendship in the years of their boyhood. Yet I cannot think this improbable. That Paul collected his Greek learning (of which he had no inconsiderable share) in his native place before he was removed to the feet of Gamaliel, is very credible. It is also possible that Barnabas should have been |
A microsecond later Keith followed suit, but at these speeds that meant that his position was lost, and the Russian began to move away to the right. In this situation it was very difficult for Ivan to see exactly where Keith was; he knew the RAF pilot was nearly within gun range, and there was a great risk that he might be able to get a quick shot off. So the Russian again reversed his turn back to the left. This brought him directly in front of Keith. The Lightning F2 had two cannons mounted in front of the windscreen, and two below the nose. All four cannon ports spat flame as Keith opened up at extreme range. A half | A microsecond later Keith followed suit, but at these speeds that meant that his position was lost, and the Russian began to move away to the right. In this situation it was very difficult for Ivan to see exactly where Keith was; he knew the RAF pilot was nearly within gun range, and there was a great risk that he might be able to get a quick shot off. So the Russian again reversed his turn back to the left. This brought him directly in front of Keith. The Lightning F2 had two cannons mounted in front of the windscreen, and two below the nose. All four cannon ports spat flame as Keith opened up at extreme range. A half second burst sent less than a dozen shells out towards the Russian; but that was enough. Two explosions hit the MiG in the right wing, one either side of the red star, and one in the rear fuselage. The unfortunate Ivan was automatically ejected before he knew what was happening. The MiGs had automatic ejecting systems; as soon as the system detected a dangerous situation the pilot is ejected from the aircraft. If he had had any choice he would not have ejected where he was. As the canopy flew off, his seat rocket pack began to ignite. There was a Lightning fighter gaining on his position, and the trajectory of the ejection seat was right in front of the speeding jet. Keith saw what was likely to happen when the MiG's canopy flew off, so took evading action by rolling to the right. The last the RAF pilot saw of Ivan was what looked like a wave as his unrestrained right arm flailed about in the rocket smoke. Ben Henderson was fighting to keep the two seat Lightning straight and level as they headed north towards Sweden. The hole in the port wing was causing severe turbulence. There was smoke pouring out of the fuselage hole; engulfing the rear of the aircraft. Les Carter was keeping a very close eye on the situation, any sign of fire, and the crew would have to eject over the Baltic. Ben looked out to their left. They were now flying at 9,000 ft, and he could just make out the shape of Bornholm Island. 'We must have drifted to the east.' He said to Steele as he put in a little left rudder. Les kept close station, all he was looking at was the rear of the two seat fighter. Three minutes later Steele saw the land mass of Sweden appear on the horizon. 'Ben, you have flames coming from the centre fuselage, get out now.' Called Les Carter. 'Roger. Thank you. Out.' Ben wondered if Steele would be able to get out ok. Ben looked to his left to see an empty cockpit where Steele once was. Steele had pulled the face blind down to initiate the eject sequence. His seat rockets fired as advertised, and the seat slid up the rails and clear of the aircraft. The Lightning is not known for its legroom. The normal seated position is with knees just below the instrument panel. If you don't push your bottom into the back of the seat when ejecting, you will suffer for it. Ben Henderson forgot this essential procedure. In order to prevent spinal damage it is imperative that the coccyx is pressed into the back of the seat. There was also was a small gap beneath his legs just above the knees. When the seat went off it came up so fast that it smashed both of Ben's femur bones. Then the instrument panel took quarter of an inch off his kneecaps, then went down and skimmed the same off the front of his shins. Leg restraints pulled his feet back to save them, but Ben was not conscious when he hit the airstream. Seat separation and parachute deployment are automatic in the Lightning's Martin Baker ejection seats, so Ben would have survived the decent to the cold salty Baltic. Would have, but for the compression strain put on his lower spine and the impact of his legs being broken and smashed by the explosive ignition of the rocket powered ejection seat. The shock of the spinal compression and severe bone damage meant that Ben Henderson died before fully leaving the stricken aircraft. Steve Steele hung from his parachute. He had no idea of Ben's predicament. The yellow survival pack box dangled below him, this had been stowed underneath the seat, and had dropped into position as Steele separated from it. This hit the sea first. Steele pulled it towards him as his Mae West automatically inflated. He then pulled the lead to inflate the one-man life raft, which almost exploded into life. Les Carter watched this and reported back, 'Taurus Two to Taurus One. Taurus Three is down. We have two in the water. One is waving like a loon, the other looks in a bad way, he has not moved yet.' 'Taurus One, ok, I will see if we can get him out of there. Stand by with co-ordinates.' 'Roger, but I will have to get some fuel soon.' 'The tanker is on its way. If necessary we can land at Aalborg.' The relevant information was relayed back to Hermes. The captain then consulted with Viper Operations in London. He spoke to Rear-Admiral Gold, 'We are too far away to fish them out. You will have to find another element closer to the survivors.' 'Yes, I agree.' The Admiral confirmed, We shall find a ship or something. Now let's get this straight. So far we have one spy ship sunk and six Russian aircraft shot down, plus one of ours. Casualties are probably into double figures, but the main target, the C-133, is still plodding along it's merry little way?' 'That is correct as I see it, sir' 'Right. I will now contact the rescue services to see about getting these men out of the drink. Whilst they are about it they may be able to rescue the whole bloody mission.' It was found that the Dutch had a Grumman Albatross amphibious flying boat being operated by some strange French unit flying out of Simnshamn in southern Sweden. When this unit was alerted they immediately set off in search of the downed RAF pilots. Les Carter was able to guide them to the spot just south of Trelieborg. They alighted on the sea alongside Steele, and then they went looking for Ben, whose emergency signal beacon had automatically become activated by contact with seawater. They had some difficulty finding him at first; he was only a head bobbing about with his Mae West life preserver keeping him afloat. Steele was first to spot the white flashing light on Ben's shoulder. All the safety equipment had worked perfectly, but too late. 'Look at see water.' Exclaimed one of the Frenchmen on board. The sea around Ben was reddish with pink tops. This is always a bad sign. As they dragged him into the flying boat's hull it was obvious from the amount of blood and the way his legs bent in an awkward and unsettling way that something serious was amiss. 'We must take the body to the medical authorities in Copenhagen, and you also need to be looked over.' The French captain flying the aircraft said to Steele. So they took off and turned right to head to Copenhagen. * oOo - In the American formation two Delta Darts peeled off and positioned themselves behind the big transport plane still being flown by Lee Felton at 500 feet above the Baltic. From quarter of a mile away each fighter launched two missiles. Four thin white smoke trails streaked towards the four-engined aircraft as the Delta Darts climbed out of the way. One missile missed. One hit the port outer engine. Another missile hit the wing between the starboard engines and the other missile hit the resulting fireball. As the port outer engine began to disintegrate the starboard wing folded up. Felton felt a bang as the engine exploded, then a massive shadow came across the cockpit window as the right wing rose up. At the same time the horizon tilted crazily to the left, then the starboard wing sliced the tail off the fuselage. The whole mess then crashed into white foam as the hapless Felton tried to regain control. The time was 0812. * oOo - Chapter Nine 0835 British Embassy, Copenhagen 'It isn't easy,' Sir John Rimmer swivelled his chair round to face Steve Steele, 'I am going against The War Office by telling you this.' He pulled on his pipe again, but no smoke came out, so he lit one of his lighters and relit the tobacco. Sir John smoked Pure Latekia, and he knew the smell was not to everyone's liking. 'You may smoke if you wish.' He waved the stem at Steele as a sort of invitation. 'No thanks, Sir. They wouldn't let me smoke with the aqualung on, so I didn't bother starting.' Steel had been able to change out of his wet flying suit into some dry clothes, but did not get chance to have a medical - he had been whisked away to the British Embassy for this high level meeting. 'Jolly good. Good man.' More smoke than ever spewed from the pipe, Steele was glad this was a big, draughty office. 'The Americans seem to have misplaced one of their aircraft.' This was not news to Steele, he was in on the mission. 'Yes, sir. But did they lose it, or throw it away?' 'Good point. Well, they actually shot the damnned thing down themselves. Bit of a cock-up there, I'm afraid.' 'Really, sir. I can't see that being too much of a problem, they have so many aircraft they are always losing one or two here and there. Did anyone get out?' 'No, but that's not the problem. You see they didn't lose this one like they tend to lose them.' Another drag on the pipe to prevent extinction of the fire. 'This one they shot down themselves.' Steele's neck jerked stiffly as he turned full gaze at Sir John, his eyebrows raised, the dark brown eyes wide and serious now. After leaving the area he and Ben had to get fuel in a hurry, so didn't know the final result. 'That's good,' he said in sarcasm, 'Were there any casualties on the ground?' 'No. thank goodness it was over water.' Sir John got up and looked out of the window. 'Unfortunately it was in Soviet airspace.' 'Oh, I see. That would be difficult to explain away.' 'This is where it gets sticky.' 'You mean there's more?' Steele knew about the MiGs shot down, but nothing else. Sir John turned, placed his pipe on the ashtray and leaned forwards with his knuckles on the desk. 'Oh, yes. There is quite a lot more. The War Office have called in 'Viper', they don't know where to turn next.' The pipe was retrieved, poked at, then relit. 'You see, the aircraft was not just a training |
Alcohol Use and Self-Derogation were positively correlated at the first time point. However adolescent alcohol helped them as young adults to feel better about themselves but increased dissatisfaction levels regarding peer relationships and the environment. Self-reported life satisfaction and mortality were investigated in a prospective study (1976-1995) of 22,461 healthy Finnish adults (Koivumaa-Honkanen, Honkanen, Viinamäki, Heikkilä, Kaprio & Koskenvuo, 2000). Life satisfaction was scored as a three-category variable yielding the satisfied group (21%), intermediate group (65%), and dissatisfied group (14%). The age-adjusted hazard ratios of all-cause, disease, or injury mortality among dissatisfied versus satisfied men were 2.11, 1.83, and | Alcohol Use and Self-Derogation were positively correlated at the first time point. However adolescent alcohol helped them as young adults to feel better about themselves but increased dissatisfaction levels regarding peer relationships and the environment. Self-reported life satisfaction and mortality were investigated in a prospective study (1976-1995) of 22,461 healthy Finnish adults (Koivumaa-Honkanen, Honkanen, Viinamäki, Heikkilä, Kaprio & Koskenvuo, 2000). Life satisfaction was scored as a three-category variable yielding the satisfied group (21%), intermediate group (65%), and dissatisfied group (14%). The age-adjusted hazard ratios of all-cause, disease, or injury mortality among dissatisfied versus satisfied men were 2.11, 1.83, and 3.01 respectively. Dissatisfaction was associated with increased disease mortality, particularly in men with heavy alcohol use (hazard ratio = 3.76). In a related study, Koivumaa-Honkanen, Kaprio, Honkanen, Viinamäki and Koskenvuo (2004) investigated the relationship between life satisfaction and depressive symptoms in healthy adults both cross-sectionally and longitudinally with a nationwide sample of healthy adults (N=9679) aged 18-45. Longitudinally, a strongly increased risk of moderate or severe depression in 1990 was observed among those who had been dissatisfied compared with those satisfied in 1975 (OR=6.7) and in 1981 (OR=10.4). Strine et al. (2008) examined associations between life satisfaction and health-related quality of life, chronic illness, and adverse health behaviors among adults. They used the 2005 Behavioral Risk Factor Surveillance System database in which 5.6% of US adults (about 12 million) reported that they were dissatisfied or very dissatisfied with their lives. A strong and consistent relationship existed between life dissatisfaction, negative affect and excessive consumption including smoking, heavy drinking. As the level of life satisfaction decreased, the prevalence of fair or poor general health, disability, and infrequent social support increased as did physical distress, mental distress, activity limitation, depressive symptoms, anxiety symptoms, sleep insufficiency, and pain. The association of alcohol use and alcohol-related problems in several domains of life satisfaction was studied in a sample of 353 students (Murphy, McDevitt-Murphy & Barnett, 2005). Alcohol-related problems were associated with decreased life satisfaction among both men and women. In a cross-cultural analysis of 17,246 students from 21 countries, Grant, Wardle and Steptoe (2009) studied the relationship between life satisfaction and seven health behaviors Grant et al. found that life dissatisfaction was positively associated with smoking, lack of physical exercise, failure to use sun protection, not eating fruit, and fat intake, but, after adjusting for age, gender, and data clustering, it was unrelated to alcohol consumption or fibre intake. Zullig, Valois, Huebner, Oeltmann and Drane (2001) explored the relationship between perceived global life satisfaction and selected substance use behaviors among 5032 public high school students in the 1997 South Carolina Youth Risk Behavior Survey. Cigarette smoking, chewing tobacco, marijuana, cocaine, regular alcohol use, binge drinking, injection drug, and steroid use were significantly associated with reduced life satisfaction. In addition, age of first alcohol drink, first marijuana use, first cocaine use, and first cigarette smoked were all significantly associated with reduced life satisfaction. Kuntsche and Gmel (2004) found that binge drinkers had lower life satisfaction, more depression, and were more often offenders of bullying and hitting. Solitary binge drinkers were found to be the most socially inhibited, prone to depressive symptoms, and victims of bullying in comparison to social binge drinkers who were socially accepted but more likely to be actual offenders of violence (Kuntsche & Gmel, 2004). Brassai, Piko and Steger (2015) explored the role of meaning in physical activity and healthy eating among 456 East-European adolescents. The presence of meaning, search for meaning, subjective well-being and health values at Time 1 were used to predict levels of healthy eating and physical activity 13 months later. All four variables predicted engagement in healthy eating and physical activity; presence of, and search for, meaning were the most robust predictors of healthy eating among boys and physical activity among girls. Conclusions on Homeostasis and Well-Being In adopting a lifespan perspective, the GTW is founded upon the strikingly powerful associations that have been evidenced between attachment style, life satisfaction and health-seeking behaviours, particularly those concerning consumption. Hazard ratios for discontented vs. contented samples typically range from 3.0 to 10.0. It is apparent that dissatisfied, distressed, and discontented people eat and drink to excess, assuaging not only their hunger and thirst, but their considerable discontents. Those experiencing dissatisfaction over protracted periods of their lives are in prolonged disequilibrium. Although set-points may move up and down with adaptation to diverse scenarios and circumstances of living, either the balance point of equilibrium is set at a higher level or people are working harder to reach their balance point. When a thermostat is set at a higher temperature, more energy must be burned to reach homeostasis. When psychological homeostasis has a higher set-point, more energy must be consumed in striving for equilibrium. The implications of these principles for the development of overweight and obesity are illustrated in Figure 6. #Three: Evidence Obesity is a consequence of a homeostatic imbalance in the psychological sphere. I focus in this chapter on six feedback loops that form an insidious and vicious 'Circle of Discontent' (Figure 7). The theory assumes that, for most people, much of the time, these six pathways are in equilibrium. When so, it is a Circle of Content. However, if, for whatever reason, high levels of dissatisfaction, negative affect, consumption, or increased body weight should arise, then the interactivity through the feedback loops forms a vicious circle, a disturbance to the stability of the system that controls weight gain. Once activated, the system drifts away from equilibrium towards what in effect becomes a dysfunctional state of non-control. This follows from the fact that the activation of any one of the four processes within the circle will activate its neighbours. The feedback loops will run up activity levels throughout the system that will go into overdrive, similar to a badly performing motorcar with the accelerator pedal stuck all the way to the floor. Six pathways link the four processes together in a single system, the 'Circle of Discontent'. The first five of these links have been the subject of extensive research. In the following sections, I discuss each of the six pathways in turn, in light of representative studies. Pathway 1 Reciprocal causal relationships between obesity and body dissatisfaction. "The problem is as inescapable as our image in a mirror" (Kumanyika, 2007). Many investigators have found an association between overweight or obesity and body dissatisfaction. Presnell et al. (2004) examined risk factors for body dissatisfaction using prospective data from 531 adolescent boys and girls. Elevations in body mass, negative affect, and perceived pressure to be thin from peers, but not thin-ideal internalization, social support deficits, or perceived pressure to be thin from family, dating partners, or media, predicted increases in body dissatisfaction. Gender was found to moderate the effect of body mass on body dissatisfaction and also negative affect. McLaren et al. (2003) studied the relationship between past body size and current body dissatisfaction among 933 middle-aged women from a prospective birth cohort study. Women who were dissatisfied at mid-life were found to have been heavier at age 7 and showed a more rapid increase in body mass index with age. Neumark-Sztainer, Paxton, Shannan, Haines and Story (2006) investigated body dissatisfaction in a prospective study with 440 early adolescent girls and 366 boys and 946 mid-adolescent girls and 764 boys. Participants were followed up 5 years later (Time 2). Prospective risk factors included BMI, socioeconomic status, ethnicity, parent dieting environment, peer environment, and psychological factors. Predictors of Time 2 body dissatisfaction were Time 1 body dissatisfaction, BMI, socioeconomic status, being African American, friend dieting and teasing, self-esteem, and depression. However, the profile of predictors differed across the samples. A construct that could be a valuable element in designing interventions is self-compassion with three components: (a) self-kindness—being kind and understanding toward oneself in instances of pain or failure rather than being harshly self-critical, (b) common humanity—perceiving one's experiences as part of the larger human experience rather than seeing them as separating and isolating, and (c) mindfulness—holding painful thoughts and feelings in balanced awareness rather than over-identifying with them (Neff, 2003, p.85). In a sample of undergraduates, Duarte (2015) found BMI to be highly positively associated with body image dissatisfaction (r= .58), in line with pathway 1. A novel finding was that self-compassion buffered the association between negative body image evaluations and young women's quality of life. An investigation by Cruz-Sáez et al. (2015) of emotional distress and body image concerns in 712 Basque Country, Spanish normal-weight and overweight adolescent girls reported evidence that is fully consistent with the CODT. Cruz-Sáez et al. (2015) found 12.3% of normal-weight girls and 22.5% of overweight girls with extreme weight-control behaviours (EWCBs), i.e., self-induced vomiting, taking laxatives, diuretics, diet pills, and fasting. In normal-weight adolescents, engagement in EWCBs was associated with high levels of somatic symptoms, a drive for thinness and control over eating. In overweight girls, high levels of emotional distress, body dissatisfaction and depression were associated with EWCBs. The Cruz-Sáez et al. (2015) findings are completely consistent with the CODT. Highly significant positive relations were found between BMI, emotional distress, body image concerns and EWCBs, as predicted. EWCBs represent an adolescent's striving to restore a more ideal state of homeostasis, to break the Circle of Discontent by restoring and normalising equilibrium between their body weight, body satisfaction, affect and consumption. In Cruz-Sáez et al.'s study, EWCBs occurred with greater frequency in overweight than in normal-weight adolescents. The overweight adolescent females reported a greater drive for thinness, more body dissatisfaction and more negative self-beliefs. In normal-weight females emotional distress, negative self-belief, control over eating, and drive for thinness predicted engagement in EWCB. In overweight girls, GHQ-28 total score, depression, and body dissatisfaction predicted EWCB. These results led the authors to conclude:" _emotional distress, excessive importance placed on physical appearance to define oneself, low self-esteem and the negative cognitions associated with the body and eating, play an important role in the development of weight-control behaviours that put adolescent girls' health at risk, even those considered normal-weight" _ (Cruz-Sáez et al., 2015). Further analyses were presented by Cruz-Sáez et al. (2013). Vocks et al. (2007) invited participants with eating disorders (ED) to look at their own bodies in the mirror for 40 minutes and compared their responses to 'normal controls' (NC). The group with ED showed higher negative emotional and cognitive responses to body exposure compared to NC. During the reflected body |
"Loraine, I've been extremely busy preparing for this workshop so I haven't had time for chit chat, the session is starting in fifteen minutes, so what do you want," he asked. "I know the timing may not be good and I'd rather tell you in person, but this just happened like now. Barrett I'm moving out, I've been seeing someone else over the past two months and we have decided we want to be together, that's all I have to say. I hope you aren't mad," she said. "You hope I'm not mad? You've been carrying on for you say about two | "Loraine, I've been extremely busy preparing for this workshop so I haven't had time for chit chat, the session is starting in fifteen minutes, so what do you want," he asked. "I know the timing may not be good and I'd rather tell you in person, but this just happened like now. Barrett I'm moving out, I've been seeing someone else over the past two months and we have decided we want to be together, that's all I have to say. I hope you aren't mad," she said. "You hope I'm not mad? You've been carrying on for you say about two months, but now with 10 minutes before I start my workshop and being out of town you say you're moving out. Well, don't let the door hit your ass when leaving, goodbye bitch!" Barrett then hung up before Loraine could respond. She immediately called back, but Barrett refused to answer. She left a voice mail but he erased it. Time to begin the training he thought as he walked back to the meeting room. "What was I thinking just a few days ago," he muttered to himself, "about calling Loriane and telling her to get the hell out and now she's taken care of it. For the immediate future in case she calls again I must continue to appear pissed off about her leaving, but this is great news." Barrett was elated and was literally jumping for joy as he entered the training room. He was smiling at everyone and shaking hands, being much more gregarious than what was usual for him. After allowing for individual introductions from the participants where each person gave their name and their position at the college Barrett gave a brief bio of his background. Introductions were followed by an open discussion on how the employees felt about strategic planning in general, then more specifically how they felt about their own college's plan. Most had little of anything to say, while the few talkers had quite a bit to share. One man explained that one of the problems was there was no feedback from the administration at the end of the planning cycle. A report was written, distributed, but that was it, no feedback about what was accomplished and no action plans to remedy the problems. It seems as they were all left to interpret it individually as to what the report might mean for them rather than the institution. Another person said there was no one assigned to help staff with drafting their objectives. Barrett listened intently to each person. Two more people said that they thought the whole thing was a bunch of crap and they hated being asked to do it. Barrett began his presentation with two main points, he was asked to appear as a strategic planning expert to share a model, a template for developing and putting into place the strategic plan for the college which he was prepared to do. His second point was that without a total support and backing from the administration and a total buy in from all college employees the whole day might be a waste of time for everyone in the room, but since he was being paid to give a presentation he was ready to begin.Some people looked at each other with puzzled looks, like WTF? Who is this guy? What's he saying? Barrett opened his PowerPoint and began his presentation. "One of the first task to undertake is to look at community college best practices, what are other schools doing that have met with success? This takes time and many things I present may not apply here, while others will. You at least get to see what's working somewhere else and you get to think about the possibility for your school." "Next we want to review the data. What's going on nationally and at the state and local levels? What does the economic picture look like? In what fields are most of the jobs?" Barrett continued on this path citing extrapolating the data and coming up with implications for what their institutions needed to do in developing college goals and specific departmental measurable goals. When they returned from lunch Barrett talked about objectives, how to write an objective that can be measured such as using numbers and percentages in the statement. He challenged the participants to work to develop reasonable objectives. He gave them a homework assignment to bring in five measurable objectives for their respective areas to share in tomorrow's class. By the time the session ended and Barrett arrived back in his room he was exhausted. The next morning he was up early, showered, and hurried down to grab breakfast before heading back to the college and day two of his workshop. Being his last day he felt he needed to hit a home run for the college for if participants didn't leave being excited about his presentation the college would be no better off than two days ago. He knew paradigm shifts can and do work, but work best when the senior administrators are in attendance and none of them were present, so he realistically felt he was wasting his time, but he would still get paid for it. The session began and Barrett went around the room soliciting measurable objectives from the homework assignment. It was obvious many had put some thought into the objectives they wrote while for others it was crystal clear they spent maybe five minutes writing theirs, which reinforced Barrett's earlier opinion that without the leadership in attendance and with so much negative energy in the room his success here was limited. The second session concluded and several attendants came up to Barrett afterward and thanked him for helping them and they hoped his system would be embraced, but by that time all he wanted to do was get the hell out, get back to the hotel, have a few drinks, dinner, meet with the college president the next morning and fly out to an empty apartment. The next morning Barrett's first thought when he got out of bed was what it would be like to go home to an empty apartment, all empty. Of course he didn't have a clue as to how it would feel but he knew minimally he wouldn't have to put up with her senseless drivel, she constant petty shit, asking stupid questions, providing stupid answers to his intelligent questions, not being able to help around the apartment, no none of that shit would he miss. So it should be a good welcome home. The meeting between Barrett and the college president was held at 9:00a.m. in the president's office. The meeting was to be a debriefing as the president wanted feedback from Barrett as to how his employees received the workshop. Barrett was very up front from the beginning when he told the president he thought there would have been a stronger buy in had he, the president and the other senior administrators been in attendance. The president said simply he had "other things to do" or he would have attended and as far as the senior administrators if they had attended who would have filled in for them? Barrett didn't think that was much of an excuse but he said nothing. The final question Barrett asked was did the president think the college was ready for the new strategic planning model or not? The president told Barrett he planned to convene a meeting of all the attendees which were mostly instructors, department heads, and division chairs and garner their opinions before proceeding. He thanked Barrett for his willingness to come and make his presentation and he would be in touch if he needed him further. With that Barrett exited the meeting and walked back to the hotel to pack and check out for an early afternoon flight home. For the second time he thought about returning to an empty apartment, empty without Loriane. Before his trip he had hoped somehow he'd figure out how to rid himself of her, now she beat him to the punch. Maybe he really cared for her and took her for granted and didn't do all the little things he needed to do to make her happy and contented with him so she decided to up and leave and now he was going to be alone when he opened the door to that apartment. And to think she found someone else to meet the needs of what he failed to provide made him feel grossly inadequate, son of a bitch he thought, now did this happen? He was also second guessing his abilities as a strategic planning presenter after leaving that pathetic group he made a presentation to. At no point did he feel they "got it" and he was able to win them over, which he had always done with past groups. He severely questioned his ability to continue to do this work. What was he good at? Maybe he just needed to be satisfied with his regular job at the local community college where most everyone accepted the strategic plan he had put in place. The flight home held the possibility of being the flight from hell, he had to take it to get home, he hated flying and he now had nothing to come home to. He was realizing maybe he liked or perhaps even loved old Loriane and wondered somehow if he could win her back. Maybe he could send her some flowers or something, no, that was a stupid ass thought. He had no idea. He was totally confused about everything in his life. He needed to get home and regroup. Ariana was among the first passengers to retrieve her one suitcase from baggage claim. She wheeled the bag over to a bench and sat down to call Edith and let her know she had arrived. After exchanging a few pleasantries Edith offered to pick her up, but Ariana declined opting for a cab. After the conversation she took the escalator to the main level and walked outside to find an available cab. After two failed attempts she managed to flag one down. After giving her bag to the driver she hopped in and fastened her seatbelt, always in cabs, and waited for the driver to return to his seat. After giving the driver the Edith's address she looked at the passing scenery while she thought about the visit and tried to convince herself it could be a worthwhile trip. The cab pulled up in front of Edith's house within 45 minutes of departing from the airport. Ariana paid the driver including a nice tip and proceeded up the walk to the front porch. She ran the bell once before the door was opened and there was her old roomie, Edith. After a few hugs they moved into the living room and sat down. Edith took Ariana's bag and put it in the guest room. After returning Edith offered Ariana something to drink, but Ariana declined. Edith mentioned several places she was planning to take Ariana, among them the local art museum, a theater which she had purchased tickets for a matinee on the second day, and an Italian restaurant |
"I'm going to beat down every agent between us and the door then you and I will tear out of here in that Camaro you bought." She smiled, remembering. Matt had bought that car and driven up to her place in it, just assuming he'd have better luck asking her out. The fact that he no longer behaved like that was what made the past two years so much easier. Matt spoke, reminding Alyssa that she was not in a good place for reminiscences. "Um...that's kind of...well, normally I would say it's pretty unbelievable. But right now I believe you could do it. The 'beating down agents' part is | "I'm going to beat down every agent between us and the door then you and I will tear out of here in that Camaro you bought." She smiled, remembering. Matt had bought that car and driven up to her place in it, just assuming he'd have better luck asking her out. The fact that he no longer behaved like that was what made the past two years so much easier. Matt spoke, reminding Alyssa that she was not in a good place for reminiscences. "Um...that's kind of...well, normally I would say it's pretty unbelievable. But right now I believe you could do it. The 'beating down agents' part is assault, though, which kind of goes against my idea of not being an accessory." "Assault, maybe, but not murder. I never committed murder." He took a moment to respond but when he did she knew she'd won. "I'm not much good in a fight." "You don't have to be; I am. Poke your head out the bathroom door and watch," she whispered. "Get some clothes out of your laundry hamper, then follow about twenty seconds behind me." He stammered out a protest, but she was already out the bathroom door. #CHAPTER EIGHT As he dressed in dirty clothes from the laundry pile, Matt thought about Alyssa. There she went, the woman of his dreams: the rich girl whose family had paid the tuition for Weathering Preparatory Academy without even noticing, when he'd had to scrape and beg for every scholarship he could find, the athlete who could have gone to the Olympics, when he treasured his three minutes of actual varsity playing time on the high school basketball team, the professor of political science whose father halfway ran the country, when he struggled every day to get government sources to talk to him. The woman who had everything. And an assassin? He had good reason to believe it wasn't true. He prayed that it wasn't true. He realized twenty seconds had probably passed while he tried to come to terms with his situation. He peeked out the bathroom door to see Alyssa massaging her knuckles and an unconscious federal agent at her feet. He tiptoed up to her and looked down at the agent. She knelt beside the man and took his gun out of his shoulder holster. "Lyss? You said you were only going to beat them ..." " Promise," she whispered then smiled at him. His heart fluttered. "Wait here," she said, shoving the stolen Sig Sauer pistol down the waistband of her fatigues. Matt prayed again for her as he watched her walk away. He'd been watching her walk away most of his life. He remembered one college night in her private apartment – even during freshman year, when the school made everyone live on campus, the daughter of H. Franklin Chambers had a private apartment. He and Alyssa consumed two bottles of wine, each of which cost more than his one suit, and he'd asked her if she would go to some upcoming dance with him. It had been about the tenth invitation since they were high school sophomores. "Look, Matt," she had said. "I don't want that in my life. You don't see me dating other boys, do you? I have a j...well, it just works better for me not to have anyone too close. I like my privacy." Once again, he jumped when he realized that he was supposed to be following her. He tiptoed down the stairs to the first floor of his house to find a fight in progress. His first reaction was amazement that it could take place so silently. His second was to redouble his earlier praying for Alyssa's safety. Two Secret Service agents were on the floor, one completely unconscious, the other groaning thickly and holding his broken nose. But a third had Alyssa in a headlock, choking her and fumbling for his radio. The man was standing with his legs apart slightly, bracing himself to hold her. Matt considered the situation, and figured he could run up behind the man and manage to kick him right between the legs, even from that angle. It wasn't manly, but it would have to do since he had no illusions about his ability to win a fair fight. Before he could make up his mind, the agent went flying through the plate glass window. Matt couldn't even tell how it happened. Alyssa moved so fast she was a blur, but the agent screamed and the glass shattered. She shouted as she threw him, then added, "That'll bring the outside guys for sure, but he didn't leave me much choice. Come on!" She was already running for the garage door by the time he had processed what happened. Belatedly, he ran after her. Barging through the door, he pounded the button for the automatic garage door opener even as she was climbing into the driver's seat. He grabbed the spare and ran around to the passenger side. Even as he got there, he saw a federal agent running toward the opening door. He climbed in and handed her the keys. Alyssa gunned the engine and stomped on the gas, throwing the manual transmission into reverse. Tires squealed and the vehicle jerked backwards. Even over the roar of the engine and tires, Matt heard the report of the agent's pistol as he fired it. He almost wet himself at the thought that a genuine, honest-to-God gun had just been fired in his direction. But then they were on the street. Alyssa slammed the car into gear and jammed the accelerator to the floor. They left a trail of rubber. Looking over his shoulder, Matt could see the agent talking into a radio. When he looked forward again, he caught a glimpse of the speedometer. "Um, Lyss...this speed is illegal even on the beltway." "So is beating up four Secret Service agents and almost running over a fifth. If I slow down, we go to prison." "Um ..." she was right. He was a criminal now. "Great. Thanks for putting me in this position." She didn't reply. She just drove like a madwoman. ♦" Are you going to start explaining now?" They ditched Matt's car near the Treasury building, where the Secret Service was certain to find it. Matt thought that seemed crazy, but Alyssa said giving them the car right away would mean they'd use resources and manpower to study it – manpower that couldn't be used to chase them. Matt figured she was the expert about this stuff, so he went along. They bounced from cab to cab until they found an all-night coffee shop not far from K Street that catered to lobbyists and other insiders working late hours. Alyssa never told anyone about her life. No one. There was no one she could trust that much. But now, Matt could possibly be that someone. Besides, she would need him to tell her the name of a source. For a journalist that would be a big sacrifice. It would be a big act of trust, so she would need to earn it with trust of her own. "All right Matt. Where do you want me to start?" "Oh, I don't know, how about starting with how the girl I've known since I could walk turns out to be a master criminal?" "Do you remember when my mother died?" Matt's first instinct was to reach across the table and touch her hand to comfort her, but he stopped halfway. Alyssa saw it and wondered whether it might have actually been pleasant. "It was forever ago. It's not like I still hurt over it. But she said something to me then that changed my life." ♦ Alyssa remembered the incident from when she was twelve. Chambers Estate was a huge home, and the 12-year-old girl had to run a long way to answer the door. The butler took Sundays off because so few people called then. She wondered who it could be. Not Matt; he would just come in. Two policemen stood at the door. Their uniforms were brown and tan. To their right stood Reverend Barr, in his black pants and tweed jacket. His thinning hair blew slightly in the spring breeze. He stood ramrod straight and formal. When she saw him, Alyssa backed up a step and put her hands up at her sides, as if surrendering. "I haven't seen him all day! We didn't do anything!" The three men looked awkwardly at each other and shifted from foot to foot. "Is your father home, young lady?" asked one of the policemen. She shook her head, her black tresses flopping back and forth. "I don't know what Matt did, but I didn't have anything to do with it! You can't tell my father about something I never did anyway and besides, Matt would never break the law!" One officer squatted down, to bring himself to her level. "We're not here about Matt, Miss. Reverend Barr is here because ..." he cut off in midsentence, and then finished, "Is your father home?" Alyssa angled her head slightly to the side and peered at him. He was acting awfully strange. "No, Father's at a political meeting with the Vice President. I don't really know what they're talking about." The policeman squatting in front of her looked up at his standing colleague. "I guess that explains why his cell phone's off. Should we go find them?" The standing officer replied, "You want to be the one to interrupt the Vice President of the United States for this? Besides, we don't even know where they're meeting. I didn't even know he was in town." "Someone on the force has got to know," the squatting officer replied. "You don't bring the Vice President someplace without a little on-the-ground security." The standing one replied, "Yeah, but I don't think there's time." The squatting one – Alyssa had come to think of him as The Nice One – turned back to face Alyssa. "I...I should be telling your dad, honey. Oh sweet Lord, how I wish he was here ..." She felt sorry for him. He was a grown up, and he looked like he was about to cry. "What's wrong Mister?" "Your name's Alyssa, right? It's your mother, Alyssa. She's ..." The ride to the hospital was a long blur of The Nice One trying to get her to stop crying while she wiped her eyes over a loud, annoying siren wail that the little girl wished would just be quiet. It |
And men will see in our faces the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Our value to God and to man is in exact proportion to the extent in which we reveal the glory of God to others. What is prayer? It is a sign of spiritual life. I should as soon expect life in a dead man as spiritual life in a prayerless soul. Our spirituality and our fruitfulness are always in proportion to the reality of our prayers. If we have at all wandered away from home in the matter of prayer, let us today resolve, I will arise and go to my father and will say unto him, Father (Luke 15:18). | And men will see in our faces the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Our value to God and to man is in exact proportion to the extent in which we reveal the glory of God to others. What is prayer? It is a sign of spiritual life. I should as soon expect life in a dead man as spiritual life in a prayerless soul. Our spirituality and our fruitfulness are always in proportion to the reality of our prayers. If we have at all wandered away from home in the matter of prayer, let us today resolve, I will arise and go to my father and will say unto him, Father (Luke 15:18). At this point I laid down my pen, and on the page of the first paper I picked up were these words: "The secret of failure is that we see men rather than God. Romanism trembled when Martin Luther saw God. The Great Awakening sprang into being when Jonathan Edwards saw God. The world became the parish of one man when John Wesley saw God. Multitudes were saved when Whitfield saw God. Thousands of orphans were fed when George Müller saw God. And He is the same yesterday, today, and forever." Isn't it time that we got a new vision of God in all His glory? Who can say what will happen when the church sees God? But let us not wait for others. Let us, each one for himself, with unveiled face and unsullied heart, get this vision of the glory of the Lord. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God (Matt. 5:8). No missionary whom it has been my joy to meet ever impressed me quite as much as Dr. Wilbur Chapman. He wrote to a friend: I have learned some great lessons concerning prayer. At one of our missions in England, the audiences were exceedingly small. But I received a note saying that an American missionary...was going to pray God's blessing down upon our work. He was known as 'Praying Hyde.' Almost instantly the tide turned. The hall became packed, and at my first invitation, fifty men accepted Christ as their Savior. As we were leaving, I said, 'Mr. Hyde, I want you to pray for me.' He came to my room, turned the key in the door, dropped on his knees, and waited five minutes without a single syllable coming from his lips. I could hear my own heart thumping and his beating. I felt the hot tears running down my face. I knew I was with God. Then, with upturned face, down which the tears were streaming, he said, 'O God.' Then for five minutes at least, he was still again; and then, when he knew that he was talking with God...there came up from the depth of his heart such petitions for men as I had never heard before. I rose from my knees to know what real prayer was. We believe that prayer is mighty, and we believe it as we never did before. Dr. Chapman used to say, "It was a season of prayer with John Hyde that made me realize what real prayer was. I owe to him more than I owe to any man for showing me what a prayer life is and what a real consecrated life is. Jesus Christ became a new Ideal to me, and I had a glimpse of His prayer life; and I had a longing which has remained to this day to be a real praying man." And God the Holy Spirit can teach us. Oh, ye who sigh and languish And mourn your lack of power, Hear ye this gentle whisper:" Could ye not watch one hour?" For fruitfulness and blessing There is no royal road; The power for holy service Is intercourse with God. John Hyde CHAPTER 6 HOW SHALL I PRAY? How shall I pray? Could there be a more important question for a Christian to ask? How shall I approach the King of Glory? When we read Christ's promises regarding prayer, we are apt to think that He puts far too great a power into our hands, unless, indeed, we hastily conclude that it is impossible for Him to act as He promises. He says, ask anything, whatsoever, what ye will, and it shall be done. But then He puts in a qualifying phrase. He says that we are to ask in His name. That is the condition, and the only one, although, as we shall remind ourselves later, it is sometimes couched in different words. If, therefore, we ask and do not receive, it can only be that we are not fulfilling this condition. If, then, we are true disciples of His, if we are sincere, we shall take pains (infinite pains, if need be) to discover just what it means to ask in His name; and we shall not rest content until we have fulfilled that condition. Let us read the promise again to be quite sure about it. And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If ye ask any thing in my name, I will do it (John 14:13-14). This was something quite new, for our Lord said so. Until now ye have asked nothing in my name; ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be fulfilled (John 16:24). Five times over our Lord repeats this simple condition, in my name (John 14:13-14; 15:16; 16:23-24, 26). Evidently, something very important is implied here. It is more than a condition; it is also a promise, an encouragement, for our Lord's biddings are always His enablings. What, then, does it mean to ask in His name? We must know this at all costs, for it is the secret of all power in prayer. And it is possible to make a wrong use of those words. Our Lord said, For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ, and shall deceive many (Matt. 24:5). He might well have said, "And many shall think they are praying to the Father in my name, while deceiving themselves." Does it mean just adding the words, "and all this we ask in the name of Jesus Christ," at the end of our prayers? Many people apparently think that it does. But have you never heard nor offered prayers full of self-will and selfishness, which ended up in that way, "for Christ's sake. Amen"? God could not answer the prayers James refers to in his epistle because those who offered them added, "we ask these things in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." Those Christians were asking amiss (James 4:3). A wrong prayer cannot be made right by the addition of some mystic phrase. And a right prayer does not fail if some such words are omitted. No, it is more than a question of words. Our Lord is thinking about faith and facts more than about some formula. The chief object of prayer is to glorify the Lord Jesus. We are to ask in Christ's name that the Father may be glorified in the Son (John 14:13). Listen. We are not to seek wealth or health, prosperity or success, ease or comfort, spirituality or fruitfulness in service simply for our own enjoyment, advancement, or popularity, but only for Christ's sake for His glory. Let us take three steps to a right understanding of those important words, in my name. (1) There is a sense in which some things are done only "for Christ's sake" because of His atoning death. Those who do not believe in the atoning death of Christ cannot pray in His name. They may use the words, but without effect. For we are justified in his blood (Rom. 5:9), and we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins (Eph. 1:7; Col. 1:14). In these days, when Unitarianism under its guileful name of Modernism has invaded all sects, it is most important to remember the place and work of the shed blood of Christ, or "prayer" becomes a delusion and a snare. Let us illustrate this point by an experience which happened quite early in Mr. Moody's ministry. The wife of an infidel judge, a man of great intellectual gifts, begged Mr. Moody to speak to her husband. Moody, however, hesitated at arguing with such a man and told him so quite frankly. "But," he added, "if ever you are converted, will you promise to let me know?" The judge laughed cynically and replied, "Oh, yes, I'll let you know quick enough if I am ever converted." Moody went his way, relying upon prayer. That judge was converted – and within a year. He kept his promise and told Moody just how it came about. I began to grow very uneasy and miserable one night when my wife was at a prayer meeting. I went to bed before she came home. I could not sleep all that night. Getting up early the next morning, I told my wife I should not need any breakfast and went off to my office. Telling the clerks they could take a holiday, I shut myself up in my private room. But I became more and more wretched. Finally, I fell on my knees and asked God to forgive me my sins, but I would not say 'for Jesus' sake,' for I was Unitarian, and I did not believe in the atonement. In an agony of mind I kept praying, 'O God, forgive me my sins,' but no answer came. At last, in desperation, I cried, 'O God, for Christ's sake forgive my sins.' Then I found peace at once. That judge had no access to the presence of God until he sought it in the name of Jesus Christ. When he came in Christ's name, he was at once heard and forgiven. Yes, to pray in the name of the Lord Jesus is to ask for things, which the blood of Christ has secured – "purchased" – for us. We have boldness to enter into the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus (Heb. 10:19). There is entrance by no other way. But this is not all that those words, in my name, mean. (2) The most familiar illustration of coming in the name of Christ is that of drawing money from a bank by means of a check. I can draw from my bank account only up to the amount of my deposit there. In my own name, I |
I'd use this place; use it to rest, build up my strength. Then I'd get out and go on with my life. Maybe I'd go back to school—finally get some kind of degree. Denial...Oh, God what sweet bliss! The area we met for group was a small area of the rec room, with a partition separating the two. There were a cluster of blue, plastic chairs—the same ones used in school all situated in a half-assed circle. The dread in my gut had took on avalanche strength; bringing with it, imminent death. I didn't need to be here. I couldn't be here right now. Natalie turns to me and I | I'd use this place; use it to rest, build up my strength. Then I'd get out and go on with my life. Maybe I'd go back to school—finally get some kind of degree. Denial...Oh, God what sweet bliss! The area we met for group was a small area of the rec room, with a partition separating the two. There were a cluster of blue, plastic chairs—the same ones used in school all situated in a half-assed circle. The dread in my gut had took on avalanche strength; bringing with it, imminent death. I didn't need to be here. I couldn't be here right now. Natalie turns to me and I can see her lips moving, but for the sake of me, I cannot hear a word she is saying. All I can hear is this high pitched ringing that is going to slice right through my ear drums. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. Sometimes this worked. I feel hands on my shoulders; gripping them firmly. I slowly open my eyes to see a man staring at me, his face stitched with concern. I love him immediately for that. "Miss Meyer? Aida? Can you hear me? My name is Doctor Meadows" My hearing slowly returns and I realize that he is the first person to pronounce my name right in so long I could not remember. His voice is soft, soothing; if harp strings could talk. Once I am fully aware again; the embarrassment replaces the panic. I can feel the eyes of the other group members upon me as well as the nurses and orderlies. My flesh burns scarlet beneath their curious stares and I lower my eyes, hoping that if I could make myself unable to see them, perhaps they would not see me either. The kind doctor gently leads me toward one of the chairs. I let him do it, enjoying the feel of his palm against my own. Despite his indoor profession; his hands are rough and calloused. I imagine him as a carpenter, like Jesus, building tables he would never be good enough to sit at—or so he thought. Once everyone is seated there is silence and I can tell the good doc is waiting for one of us to start. I am a church-mouse. I am a bird shit stained tomb stone in some long forgotten cemetery. "Dr. Meadows, how come you wasn't here last week" "I told you, Fredericka. My mother is very ill. I had to fly out" "What's Ireland like, Doc? Did you see any Leprechauns?" I start to chuckle, but when I see that Marnie is serious, I quickly reign it back in. The doctor is unperturbed; he does not even bat an eye at her childlike inquiry and answers with a grin. "No, Marlena, I was not able to see any this go 'round. I will go back next spring for my brother's wedding and try to find one for you" "Your brother's gettin' married, Doc?" "Aye" "Ya'll gonna get drunk and fight?" "Aye" "How come you ain't married, doc?" I expect him to turn stoic, clear his throat or shift uncomfortably, but he doesn't. He answers without skipping a beat. "I am married; to you all" "You will marry me, doc? When I get out of here?" "Oh, Marlena, you are too fine for me. I cannot compete. Another would steal you away; a stronger man, a richer man than I" "How about you, Aida, how are you adjusting?" "Fine" I can see him nodding from my lowered eyes. I knew I was transparent, but I couldn't help it. I'd always worn my heart on my sleeve. But, the funny thing was that by all appearances there was nothing particularly appealing about him. He was too skinny—gawky almost with a big, hawkish nose and greenish-brown eyes that seemed too close together. The doctor had the face of a farmer or a factory man; tough, haggard, weary from years and years of back breaking labor. Yet he was clean shaven with jet black hair slicked back from his forehead and dressed in a brown vest suit---none of which suited my fancy. "What about you Susanna? How did it go with the visit with your children?" Susie scoffs, her round face twisting into a hateful grimace. "Bastard didn't let 'em come" A murmur of voices, but Dr. Meadows shushes them sternly. "Why not?" Susie shrugs, slinking down in her chair. I could tell she didn't want to talk about this any more than I wanted to talk about my own shit. Whose idea had it been anyway? Get a bunch of women together to talk and share their most intimate feelings. Bullshit. I just wanted out of here. I just wanted another cigarette. "No, not a shrug. Tell me" "His bitch of a mother! Ricky's locked up, another DUI so Rita is taking care of the kids. She says that the church members told her that it was best the children not come here. It would 'traumatize' them"' The women all lower their eyes, respectfully sharing in their fellow crazies sorrow. I sit, amazed, at their unified show of loyalty. Who would've thought? The good doctor sighs, sadly shaking his head. "I will talk to Rita. Try to...talk some sense into her" "She won't listen" Susie mutters, her chocolate eyes faraway. A stab of something. Oh God, what was it? No. No, not...sympathy. I did not want to feel. I did not want to form any attachments. I do not care. I do not care! "She will" Susie adamantly shakes her head, her broad shoulders slumping. I hated to see her like this; especially considering how genuine and kind she seemed. It was as though a different person had stepped into her body—some spirit who in so doing had completely decimated her former care-free self. I knew what was happening to her. It also happened to me. But, to see it on another face—to see it playing out—was really quite different. Quite different indeed. "I want you to listen to me carefully, Susanna. Do not, under any circumstances let this set you back. You have progressed so much since you first arrived here. You have been completely sober—minus the cigarettes and occasional weed smoking—for almost two years now. Worst case scenario; Rita doesn't bring them. But" —he raises his big hands defensively in the air to temporarily hold off Susie's argument—" Even if she doesn't it's fine because once you are released from Spring Grove I will send over my reports to Judge Roberts as well as your P.O. They will see all your progress here and...don't quote me on this, but I think full custody is definitely back on the table; especially considering Jess and Robbie aren't even living with him" Susie makes no reply, but I can see that she is thoughtfully considering his words. The furrow of despair had left her brow and a look of mild hopefulness had replaced it. This doctor knew Susie Q's entire family by name. He remembered them; made it a point to remember them. He cared. No. No, none of them cared. They were flat. Robots in white, unfeeling; words just as rehearsed as their thoughts and movements. But he did seem...sincere. Fool! Idiot! Slut! If he was a total douche would you be romanticizing him right now? I don't know. Depends on how horny I was at the time. I internally laugh at my own joke, but the sudden flurry of eyes upon me alert me that the chuckle had not been inside at all. "You think little kids gettin' mo-lested is funny, white bread? What the hell wrong witchoo? Sittin' there, all zoned out, then you jus start laughin' outta nowhere. And they say we crazy, shoot, ya'll must got me fucked up" My skin burns again and little insects begin to hatch out of it. The roaches crawl across my skin, their bristly leg hairs tickling my flesh. I didn't even realize anyone had been speaking. I had been lost in my own thoughts—again. I start to apologize, but I realize that right now nothing I said would really matter. I decide to keep quiet. I wouldn't make a peep. I look at Fredericka and make the motion as if to zip my lips closed. I then flick away the key. She stares at me, cocking her head like a confused puppy. Then I lower my eyes, humiliated, and try my best to completely disappear. When I finally do have the courage to look up; I see the kid who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He was standing in the door-way at the very back of the room; staring at me with the strangest little smile on his face. "Help me, God, help me" The pain in his gut is like nothing he has ever experienced. It comes hard and fast like a punch but with a sharp, sting that seemed to slice him right in half. His knees buckle beneath him and he falls to his knees, holding his hands over his stomach. It felt strange and he looks down to see what he can only assume are his bowels. The realization sends him reeling backwards on to the pavement. The stars look on as indifferent spectators above him. But, then something steps in front of the black tarp. It's the kid; leering over him, his innocent face twisted into a maniacal grin. Then Josh notices the axe in his hands. He holds it like a baseball bat; taking practice swings just over top of him. The swish of the blade offers a cool breeze against his burning face and Josh uses what little strength he had left to try and get away. Holding his belly; Jimmy laughs, throwing his head back. Every part of him tingled. The Source of the Universe surged within his veins. He was a vessel of God—a Seraphim—forged out of fire--sent to do God's work. He was Samael—dispenser of the Lord's poison. And he would make this mother fucker drink. "Do you know why God cast Lucifer out of heaven?" "Wha—what?" "A lot of people think it's because he had pride in his heart—that he wanted to be God. That might be true, but here's another thought. God ordered Lucifer to bow down and worship man, but Lucifer refused saying that man was nothing but dirt and he—he was forged in fire" The kid leans down on his haunches, tenderly brushing a lock of brown hair |
I can take just about anyone, but those people are crazy," Ertajj said. "Hey, kids," Theolus called from the wagon, "Quit your jaw flapping and get over here!" Goods and tools were parceled, then stowed and strapped into packs and bags. After a small lunch of jerky and nuts, the expedition loaded into the wagon. The old horse could hardly get the full wagon moving again, but once it did, it never faltered. "Alright, kids," Theolus said after four lengths. "This is where we get lost." "Is he joking?" Dahzi whispered. There was nothing but thick jungle on either side of | I can take just about anyone, but those people are crazy," Ertajj said. "Hey, kids," Theolus called from the wagon, "Quit your jaw flapping and get over here!" Goods and tools were parceled, then stowed and strapped into packs and bags. After a small lunch of jerky and nuts, the expedition loaded into the wagon. The old horse could hardly get the full wagon moving again, but once it did, it never faltered. "Alright, kids," Theolus said after four lengths. "This is where we get lost." "Is he joking?" Dahzi whispered. There was nothing but thick jungle on either side of the road. "I hope," Ertajj answered. "Either way, this should be fun." The guide let the old horse free and gave it a smack, which sent it back in the other direction. Without wasting a second, Theolus started into the thick. He set a pace that was hard for Slate and his friends to keep, what with so much weight on their backs, but Theolus didn't care to hear their complaints. The Ojikef provided distraction from the toil: it was wild with color and life. Beyond the small trees and flower bushes along the road, taller trees with broader palms began to appear. Orange and purple vines twisted and wove themselves through the trees and water trickled everywhere, in small and steady drips and cascading falls. It was beside one of these larger waterfalls where Theolus stopped for the first time, after almost two hours of continuous hiking. "This would be the beginning, then," he announced. "The beginning of what?" panted Slate. "The trail to the jungle," said Theolus. "What jungle?" asked Dahzi. "A different jungle?" "How many jungles you think there are around here? The Ojikef Jungle. I hope you boys didn't think that we had made the Ojikef yet," laughed Theolus. "Because we've got two more hours until we hit the campsite, and that's just inside the first stand of mille trees. Drink up now if you're thirsty; this water is clean. We won't stop again." Ertajj groaned and threw a handful of leaves and dirt at Slate, who was too tired to retaliate. By the time Theolus located the campsite, the others were so exhausted that they fell asleep before dinner was ready or their tents were raised. Slate awoke to the soothing sounds of a rain shower. He opened his eyes to see the rainclouds hanging lower than the jungle canopy itself, rolling like an upside-down sea through the treetops. He imagined little ships sailing across the upside-down sea, and what wonders the tree-top worlds might hold for the passengers. The gray dissipated as morning broke and new chirps and howls changed guard with the night's. The rest of the expedition rose as Theolus prepared a stark breakfast, but before anyone had much of a chance to eat it, he began shouting orders to return to travel. Without so much as a cup of glint between them, the group was up with their packs on and moving again. The heavy rain over the prior weeks had left the spongy floor of the jungle muddy, a slippery kind of mud that acted like a vacuum sucking at the travelers' feet with every step. "How much longer should this take?" Ertajj asked. Theolus answered, "If you mean the whole journey through to Chreopoint, well, that depends. If it rains any more, it could be a while. A long while. If the rain holds off, we should be able to reach the Ojikef River in four days, and then, if all that goes well, we could make Chreopoint about three days after that. But don't think about days, it's useless." The jungle grew darker as denser growth allowed less sunlight to penetrate. Slate sensed something scary but familiar in the darkness, a mechanism inside that he had perhaps never had to use outside the jungle, a phantom anxiety. It occurred to him how the dark thoughts spurred long ago by the mysteries of the deep jungle must have had a powerful hand in shaping humankind's fearful nature. Slate assumed at first that it may have only been that paranoia, but over the course of the second day, it began to seem as if Theolus was growing displeased that the travelers were keeping up so well. He would drive harder at any sign of one of the young men faltering, and answered even the smallest complaint with venomous condescension. Though Slate had neither the energy nor clarity of mind to bring accusations out in the open, it was telling that Pilotte had taken to walking in the guide's blind spot. At dinner on the third night, Slate thought he would confront Theolus outright, rather than let the anxiety brew. "Theolus, I understand that you are familiar with the jungle and have made this trip many times," he said. "But I have to ask, why do we have to drive so hard? We haven't encountered anything so far that would necessitate moving so frantically." "Ever seen a walecat, kid?" asked Theolus as he sank his knife into the chest of Pilotte's latest kill. "Yes," Slate said. Theolus muttered something under his breath as he pulled his knife down the animal's belly. "Well, sorry you boys are having a tough time of things," he said. "I really am. But if we were to encounter some Nions, you'd be thanking me. Things could get much worse. Be happy we're moving this fast." "I don't see how moving quickly helps us avoid ..." began Ertajj. "It's about averages, okay?" Theolus said angrily, his knife dripping with entrails. "Think: fewer days in the jungle, less opportunity for the Nions to cut off your scalp. Less chance of rain, less chance we get sick and die. How hard is that to understand?" "Don't get so upset, Theo. I was just asking a question," Ertajj scoffed. Theolus sneered. "It's Theolus, boy. I don't need any of your questions. Ask another and I'll take your goldquartz and leave you to your own devices," he said. "Believe me, it would be much, much easier!" He sat back down to his butchering as if nothing had happened. On the fourth day, the jungle was loud and hot, and the trail sank and rose continually, with never a stretch of level path running longer than ten steps. Slate sweat and worried over how he had gotten his new friends involved in such an awful ordeal, and whatever it was in the dark growth that seemed to be stalking him. The team had just passed into the territory of some screaming tree tandos when Slate noticed Pilotte's tongue lolling from his mouth. Slate stopped to offer the wulf some of his canteen, when a crackling noise of quick movement came from atop a hillslope on the right side of the trail. The young men cast wide eyes at Theolus, who responded without words that they needed to hide. Under Theolus' mute instruction, the boys dashed under the cover of a glossy palm bush. The whip-fast old guide bounded off an exposed root onto a low tree branch. He pressed his back against the tree's trunk and waited. As Slate watched from hiding, seven men appeared over the crest of the hill and began to descend onto the trail. They crouched low as they moved, their shoulder blades rolling with the coiled power of walecats' and their legs sturdy and thick as dalcrags'. Once the seven had coalesced on the trail, only feet from the palm bush that barely concealed the four young men, the Nions began to move toward the tree where Theolus was hiding. They encircled it and stopped, all in perfect unison, then silently turned their heads up at the guide. "Run! Run, boys!" Theolus shouted, breaking the silence. Dahzi screamed and scrambled out from under the palm bush. The seven-headed tribesman spotted him and the other hidden trespassers, and fractured. Two Nions descended on Dahzi, who fell to his knees, put his hands to his ears, and howled. Slate threw his pickaxe in the direction of Dahzi's assailants, only for it to miss and disappear into a mass of thick growth. Juke was next to break from cover, jumping onto the back of one of the men moving for Dahzi. He was thrown from the Nion's back through the air, and landed against a rock with a crack so loud that it echoed. At this, one of the Nions shouted something unintelligible, which stopped short the other six. They began moving together toward Juke, who was unconscious. Theolus took the opportunity to slide down his tree and crawl over to where Slate and Ertajj were gathered. Since the appearance of the Nions, Pilotte had seemed not defensive but ultra-aware, his ears pressed forward, his tail tall and still. Something about their presence caused the wulf to act differently than Slate had ever seen him act before. After the jungle inhabitants had observed Juke, one of them came toward the trembling trespassers, asking in perfect Protersian, "Why are you with this boy? How long have you been with him?" Theolus began to respond, but was silenced with a high-pitched yelp and steely glare from the native. "I ask one of the young ones, in the bush," the Nion said. Ertajj spoke, answering, "His name is Juke, and he is my good friend. I have known him since I was seven." "We are all passing through the jungle together," Slate added. "Theolus, too. He's our guide." At this, the Nions reformed their circle around Juke and resumed discussion. After a few minutes, during which Dahzi managed to regain control of himself and Theolus seemed like he might have run off at any second, the seven tribesmen formed a straight line. The man in the middle stepped forward to speak. "What is your business in the Ojikef?" he demanded. "Have you not heard the rumors that we kill those who attempt passage?" Theolus attempted a sincere smile and plead with the men, "Your legend is well known, certainly, and we have much cause to fear. We mean no disrespect. We wish only to make it to Chreopoint. We only have so much time, and ocean travel is currently not possible. Please, if you let us continue on our way, we will never speak of our meeting." The Nion announced, "We will care for this dark boy here, who bears the marks of the Banowa, and you, too, if you are his friends. Come. Follow |
I don't need names." The old man repeated his advice but Duarte was not about to let it go. After raising the potential payoff which might be available, he knew he was on the right track. The twinkle in the octogenarian's eyes preceded flat refusal. "It does not matter how much you have to offer. What is the price of life? We are talking your life and mine?" Duarte still refused to be shaken off. "Okay, we never had this conversation. Can you tell me if there is anyone who would give me the same answer as you have?" The passage of more than two minutes didn't surprise Duarte; he knew | I don't need names." The old man repeated his advice but Duarte was not about to let it go. After raising the potential payoff which might be available, he knew he was on the right track. The twinkle in the octogenarian's eyes preceded flat refusal. "It does not matter how much you have to offer. What is the price of life? We are talking your life and mine?" Duarte still refused to be shaken off. "Okay, we never had this conversation. Can you tell me if there is anyone who would give me the same answer as you have?" The passage of more than two minutes didn't surprise Duarte; he knew that patience was required to break down the traditional stoicism. He also traded on the fact that the old man knew he could be trusted. "If I give you a name, you swear that you will say we have not spoken about this?" An enthusiastic nod, and an embrace that he remembered well, was enough to produce a whisper. "The How Ling spice warehouse." Maxi Duarte was extremely grateful but didn't offer an insulting transaction fee to his informer. He recalled that the warehouse was a front for a small time gambling activity which he hadn't interfered with. The owner was known to him and vice-versa. They hadn't exchanged information before but the owner knew through his friends that Duarte had turned a blind eye for tips from them. The meeting was set up in a restaurant; Duarte always responded well to culinary pressure. Over the multi-course authentic meal he broached the question. The reaction was precisely the same. "Forget it." Duarte leaned over the table and reminded his host that there was a new chief inspector in the precinct now and she didn't have such open-mindedness to overlook breaches to the letter of the law. "I'm retired as you may have heard. I can operate without having to consult the police bible now. I simply want to know how I could get any particular weapon from Orient. Everybody knows it happens. Nobody needs to know that I know. I still have influence with Chief Inspector Butragueno, and the Chinese community as a whole would benefit from my recommendations to her." This was perceived as a veiled threat that if he refused, it could cause a lot of grief from other Londonis Chinese big hitters. The warehouse owner was processing the relative probability of reprisal from these big players and those involved in distant arms trafficking. "Please think about it, I'm in Londonis for a couple of days. I'll return to see you before I leave." The inscrutable warehouse owner wrote the name of an import/export company on a napkin, showed it to Maxi Duarte and then dropped it into his glass of mineral water and pulped it with deft use of his chopsticks. It had read 'Ex-Army Stores, Harbour front, Tobruk'. The meeting ended with a polite but grudging handshake from the Chinese man, and a promise from the ex-policeman that he would enable the warehouse to be considered as squeaky clean. * The lone recruit Pierze had drafted in to compare the spirograph trace to Comet 2005NB5C had worked non-stop for only four days before he declared an acceptable match. When questioned by other cosmologists they wanted to hear what 'acceptable' meant. "The constant wandering of this comet is not exclusively restricted to the impact predicted by the messenger. It may have had or maybe will have other encounters between 1908 and 2045. You are running checks on all possibilities. I would be interested to hear of any with a higher correlation coefficient. Comet 2005NB5C stands at 0.83 over the 137 years my calculations have taken into account. We may also be required to compare assumptions we have made independent of each other. I leave you with mine." It wasn't just Pierze who got the distinct impression that these people, largely brought in by Tourisheva were determined to exclude findings other than their own. They were viewed by everyone outside their clique as a self-preservation society. Pierze released his man's findings to the media and revealed that he was on his way back to Madrid to brief President Sanchez and recommend setting up a joint venture with Orient to investigate technical means of averting this threat, and the merits of a manned mission to Mars space. This effectively caused an exodus from Moscow. The media followed events rather than non-events; Moscow was left to contemplate its own navel. Mohammed and Zara bade their farewell to Stepanov and Boris Krasnic, wondering if they would ever meet again. Tourisheva was left guarding the object and an army of non-productive boffins on whom the journalists had conferred the title 'Son of SETI'. * Zara was keen to find out more about Patrick Kipketer. Apart from him being Kenyan, an Olympic gold medallist, and being gifted in the use of think-phones, he needed to know about the man. In particular, he was curious about his personality and emotional profile. The career of a world class athlete was only as long as world records and medals kept on churning out. This young man would be looking for another life challenge soon. That was why Moya had been asked to set up the meeting. * Manuel's people had information on two of the three suspected moles. The most senior, Alessa Gomez frequented two particular tapas bars regularly after work. She alternated between Paco's and Orihuela. She seemed to keep the meetings with her two subordinates completely separate. There appeared to be information passed on, as she talked and they made notes. One of them never ate or drank in the bar, and he simply wrote what he had to, and then went to his apartment. The other spent much longer with Gomez and sometimes passed her a computer memory stick. The detectives had got napkins and glasses left by these two and had delivered them as requested to Pierze's forensic lab for tests. When Gomez had finished these sessions she almost always met with another man at what may have been his expensive apartment. A really grainy photograph of them greeting each other upon arrival was e-mailed to Manuel. The man had his back to the camera. They also had addresses for all three, which were at variance with those residences in their personnel dossiers, given to his shadows by Manuel. There was more than enough strange behaviour to warrant further investigation. Manuel asked his people to stick with the task in the hope they would witness a break in this routine behaviour. Duarte also passed information to Manuel about the address in Tobruk, and said, "I should let Pierze know we have switched tasks and ask him how he wants to proceed. I'm not the man for bartering in the Kasbah; he may want specialist people for this. From what you have learned so far he'll surely want to follow these false addresses up even if there are no DNA hits." Manuel agreed and said he was going to return to Madrid so all three of them could review the situation when Pierze landed. * The information Moya had gathered on Patrick Kipketer impressed Zara. He decided to run it past Naomi Boniface before he made direct contact with the athlete. Boniface tried to pick out pointers from Moya's summary which were to be used in the interview with Kipketer. His responses would assist in building a preliminary emotional profile. Zara then delegated Moya to contact Kipketer's agent to arrange a follow-up meeting, specifically to make an offer to sponsor him for wearing their DCI logo on his warm-up track suits. "This is the last request I'll make of you regarding the young man, I'll take it from there." * Sanchez returned to his office despite medical advice to the contrary. One of his first decisions was to invite Din Chow Zen to visit him to discuss the relevance of the Tunguska event on the proposed Martian evaluation for future colonisation. He wanted Pierze to be in attendance. The Orient leader took much criticism from within his government for accepting the offer. Pierze was brought up to date by Duarte and Manuel prior to the two leaders sending for him. The meeting began with a review of what was known from Messenger and what was still under investigation. The desire on the part of Orient to get started on the Mars project could now be viewed in two ways. Messenger had tried to articulate through visuals and equations what the fate of Earth was likely to be, but not that of either Phobos or Mars. The impact of Comet 2005NB5C with the moon could completely destabilise or fragment it. Alternatively it could indirectly affect Mars itself by secondary impact or influence of its orbit. Pierze gave his input on these points. "I've gathered suggestions from all of the knowledgeable people in the Tunguska investigation, and while there is still dispute over the methodology of the process they are all agreed on the following theory. Messenger is a warning to humanity, not to Mars or Phobos, as we believe there is no sentient life there. The only other idea they will entertain is that the creators of Messenger could have some outpost there, and they wouldn't need to warn themselves. This has led to the following prognosis – If the comet is the threat and cannot be neutralised, we need to know if Mars is humanity's only escape route. If the comet isn't the threat then we may have more time to determine the fate of Mars, either by direct impact or from the detritus of the 'predicted' impacts, namely an asteroid or another comet on Phobos, then any damaged asteroid or comet on the Earth. It is very complicated. The overall conclusion they have arrived at is that it's prudent to bring forward the Mars reconnaissance to the earliest possible date. It will answer the question of whether there is any sign of Messenger's creators in that region of space. If there is, we must obviously examine it. If not, then we should responsibly prepare to take all steps possible to create a Noah's Ark of some kind to give the species two chances of survival. Parallel to the Mars project we need to examine ways of surviving an extinction event of this magnitude over a period of years. It will have to cater for such criteria as toxic atmosphere, perpetual blocking of the sun's rays, phenomenal seismic activity, high radiation levels, and rapid onset of an ice age to mention just a few. It is considered prudent to go as far underground as we can. This is how some burrowing mammals survived when the dinosaurs failed. However, access to uncontaminated food and water will be a major priority for technologists. The sciences which have attracted ethical objections could be critical, for instance cloning of edible plant species, and designer stem cell research to maximise our metabolism. It goes without saying that in both the underground Earth habitat and the pioneering Martian colony, the survivors will have to be selected. These projects will accommodate a very low percentage of the population." The two leaders were expecting this analysis; they needed to have it confirmed. It was agreed that they would |
Tenet stepped forward and stuck his hand out. "Tenet Lorne." Hans looked at the hand and Tenet could hear the entire store hush and wait to see what happened. After a tense moment, he shook Tenet's hand, and the gossip mill began to turn behind Tenet as people whispered their shared surprise. "I heard we had a new resident. How much therm tape you be needing?" Tenet took out the gold and put it on the counter. "As much as that will buy." Hans quirked an eyebrow, then looked to Wren who gave a small nod. He scooped up the gold and put it in his cash machine. He leaned to the side and | Tenet stepped forward and stuck his hand out. "Tenet Lorne." Hans looked at the hand and Tenet could hear the entire store hush and wait to see what happened. After a tense moment, he shook Tenet's hand, and the gossip mill began to turn behind Tenet as people whispered their shared surprise. "I heard we had a new resident. How much therm tape you be needing?" Tenet took out the gold and put it on the counter. "As much as that will buy." Hans quirked an eyebrow, then looked to Wren who gave a small nod. He scooped up the gold and put it in his cash machine. He leaned to the side and called past Tenet. "Runner!" In a second, a young man trotted up. "Get ready to fill an order in Nortaberg," Hans told the boy. "Yes, sir," the boy said, then disappeared in the room behind the counter. "That all?" Hans asked Wren. "That will do it." "Thank you," Tenet said. Hans nodded. "I expect we'll be seeing you in here more often." "I expect so," Tenet said. Wren turned and strode back down the aisle to the door. Tenet quickly followed, doing his best to ignore the eyes of the townspeople that never left him. They walked around the back of the building to a stable, and just as Hans said, there were mules and carts inside. A sign said they were for rent, and Tenet wondered about payment. "He owes me for more than the cost of a few mule trips," Wren said. He didn't elaborate, and Tenet didn't press. Wren hitched up the mules, explaining the steps to Tenet as he went. When the cart was secure, he clicked his tongue and the mules started walking. "Keep to the side and watch your feet," he instructed. They made the trip to Tenet's house and got the refrigerator loaded. It was heavy and awkward to get out the squat door, but between them they managed. Wren accepted a drink of water, then thanked Tenet for the refrigerator. "I'll return with the oats and the therm tape in the morning," he said firmly, leaving no room for debate. Tenet assumed he'd accompany Wren home and help him wrestle the refrigerator into it's new house. Apparently, Wren was not ready to have Tenet go to his house. He tried not to feel hurt by this knowledge, but Wren could see it in his eyes. It couldn't happen, though. Not yet. Maybe not ever. As nice as Tenet was, Wren's marital harmony was far more important. His wife would pitch a fit if the stranger from the cursed house crossed her threshold, and the townspeople would overwhelmingly back her up. He gave a nod and took off, hoping Tenet could figure out for himself why he couldn't be invited over. Tenet watched the mule cart until he couldn't see it anymore. It was nice to spend a day talking to someone, and he was sad to hear the silence once again. He could feel a good funk taking over, as Fratz would say, and shook himself out of it. He was now definitely getting therm tape, and that meant he had a lot of work to do to convert the holding tank from the toilet to the bathtub. He planned. He plotted. He looked at the problem from every angle. And finally, he just dug in and got to work. By the time Wren delivered the oats and therm tape the next morning, Tenet had a blistered thumb from missing with the hammer in the tight space of the bathroom, a knot on his head from the pipe flexing back with a thwack, and he didn't look like he had slept at all. However, he had the conversion complete, and Wren was impressed. Using the few supplies he had in the house, Tenet designed a trough to go from the holding tank above the toilet, along the wall, and above the tub. He demonstrated for Wren, and while a little sloshed over, almost all of the water trickled into the tub where it was supposed to go. "The tank doesn't hold a lot at once, about enough for seven or so flushes," Tenet said. It appeared to be a standard collection tank for a toilet. "That sounds about right." "So that's about a half a tub, at best, from what I can figure." When Wren agreed, Tenet explained the rest of the plan. "Now, if I put all this therm tape into the tank, and crank up the output to max from the solar collector, I should be able to get the water damn near boiling. I'll pump the bulk in cold, then heat it up with the boiling water and if I'm right, my wife will have a hot tub by the time she gets back from hunting." He grinned in triumph. Wren had to admit, the man was creative. The idea just might work, too. "I'll bring in the oats then and let you get back to work." The therm tape took forever to heat up for the first time, having to heat water from near freezing. It was full dark by the time Tenet judged the water in the holding tank to be hot. He pulled the chain and watched the steamy stream trickle down the pipe into the tub. While it that ran, he pumped the cold up from the well, and within five minutes had a remarkably warm bath. He gave a hoot and a holler and dove in for the first warm bath in his new home. He sighed and soaked his sore muscles. When the water cooled, he discovered a flaw in his plan. He couldn't reach the warm water pull without getting up and making his wet way over to the chain. If he extended the chain and looped it over to the tub, anyone taking a bath could easily add more warm water without dripping all over the floor. He made a mental note to worry about that part of the plan tomorrow. For tonight, that was good enough. He stood and pulled the plug, then wrapped himself in a spare blanket they'd been using for a towel. Tenet checked the tank. One concern of Wren's that was legitimate was the fact that he didn't want all that heat on an empty tank. There was still plenty in holding, but Tenet knew he'd have to consider how to keep the tank full even if they were in a dry period. He added that to the list of things to do in the morning, his muscles warm and heavy, his body really ready for sleep for the first time in over a week. He didn't even bother getting dressed before he flopped into the bed. Scarab was cold. She was bone weary beyond anything she'd felt in a long, long time. The weather and conditions conspired against her the entire hunting trip and what should have been a week turned into nearly two. The hunting was better than she imagined, though. She had already sold four cat pelts, three beautiful red fox furs, a handful of beaver, and several rabbits, along with the pelts and meat from two deer. And then, then there was the bear. He had been huge and terrifying and she still shook a little with the memory. She wasn't sure if she'd ever tell Tenet about that one. She had unloaded the entire kill to a grateful farmer outside Nortaberg who actually had a taste for the gamy meat and great plans for the fur as soon as he saw it. She brought home with her the meat and pelt of one deer, though she knew Tenet didn't overly care for venison. They'd salt it for trade in the lean winter months if they got desperate. She also trailed two cows behind the horse. They weren't long for the earth. They were retired milk cows set for the slaughter. Because of this, she'd managed to convince the rancher they were cheaper than the meat itself would have been, since it would be tedious, messy, and time consuming to slaughter and butcher them. Tenet liked beef, and she'd long gotten over the irony of her wanting to please him with a cow as her father had done for her mother. It was a different situation entirely. It was late. A soft glow from the fireplace shone through the windows, but no lamps were lit. Tenet would be in bed. Scarab wanted to be there with him so badly it was tempting to stake the animals and just hope for the best through the night. But she couldn't do that. She sighed heavily as she dismounted. "Come on, Darla," she said to the horse. She had taken to talking to the animal. She never would have in the past, but Tenet's incessant chatter got to her and the first night on the hunt she was shocked how much she missed it. By the second night, she was pissed. It took three nights more of her denials and self admonishments before she gave in and admitted it wasn't the talking, but the man she really missed. If the hunting wasn't so good, she would have dropped what she was doing and ridden home to him right then. She took out her flashlight and shone it over the newly constructed small stable for Darla. It was too dark for her to get a really good look, but it had supports, walls, and a larger roof. Overall, not bad. She'd have to tease Tenet about his craft classes later. She gave Darla some of the hay from the bales she had stacked before they left, gave her a half-assed brush down, then tied the cows' ropes to the beam of the stable and decided to call it good enough. They'd just be steaks tomorrow anyway. And the glow from the house looked so damn inviting. She slipped inside as quietly as possible. Tenet hadn't locked the door. She should be angry and wake him up to lecture him about it immediately, but something inside knew he only left it open in case she got home, and that thought made her smile. She took her heavy pack off and set it on the floor, then made her way to the kitchen. Even in the muted firelight, she couldn't help but notice the refrigerator was missing. She grabbed some jerky and some water, and looked around to see what else was different. She munched the jerky as she toured the room. It looked lived-in now, but she couldn't see anything else missing. Fratz was clearly gone. She couldn't hear his snores filling the house and didn't trip on his enormous boots he always left in the middle of the floor. Her frown deepened. They had a deal. Sighing |
"Evan? Evan, you still there buddy?" Walton called out. He huffed, mouthing a silent curse as he unmuted the call. "Uh, yeah, Walton, I'm going to have to get back to you tomorrow. I um...one of my tires is making a weird noise and I need to go take care of it. I'll call you back." "Ok, buddy. You all ri–?" Evan pressed 'End,' cutting off his boss's response. Blowing out a hard breath he dropped his head onto the steering wheel and flicked off the blinker, closing both eyes. For a few moments, he just sat there. His head throbbed. | "Evan? Evan, you still there buddy?" Walton called out. He huffed, mouthing a silent curse as he unmuted the call. "Uh, yeah, Walton, I'm going to have to get back to you tomorrow. I um...one of my tires is making a weird noise and I need to go take care of it. I'll call you back." "Ok, buddy. You all ri–?" Evan pressed 'End,' cutting off his boss's response. Blowing out a hard breath he dropped his head onto the steering wheel and flicked off the blinker, closing both eyes. For a few moments, he just sat there. His head throbbed. His back felt like a cluster of knots. _Tuesday_. He'd felt like a hormonal pubescent that afternoon. Nervous and self-conscious, forcing down the grilled cheese she'd been nice enough to make for him. He'd never really been a fan, but his hunger, gratitude and desire for the company had outweighed all else. Just an hour. A shared meal, some mild conversation. Slightly awkward, but...nice. More than nice, if he were being honest. More like just what he'd needed. Even the foolish delight he'd taken in her amusement with his stupid jokes had been a welcomed distraction. It had been a long time since he'd just talked – just _been_ – with anyone. He and Celia had been in town for just over a year, and most of their 'friends' were also business associates. Hardly confidants or people he could trust with a real conversation. With the true picture of his life. When Evan and wife did go out together, it was generally for the sake of some grandiose event where they were expected to be on the entire evening, and hardly exchanged a word that didn't have to do with business. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he and CeCe had shared a quiet day alone, talked about their day, their thoughts. Just enjoyed each other's company. He hadn't fully realized how desperate he was for the companionship, for the attention, for the connection until that day. Sitting, talking, and joking around with another person – a person over the age of nine – was a welcomed change, and his sitter's intelligent sense of humor made for good company. For an hour, a solitary hour, he'd had a reprieve. A break from the onerous monotony of his life. That was all he'd needed, all he'd really wanted. So a few impure thoughts had trickled in. A stray glance here, a carnal image there. His mind wandered to the day on the lawn. The kids horseplaying around in the grass...a warm body pressed against him, smiling, sweet laughter...Evan abruptly lifted his head. "What is wrong with you?" he muttered to himself. He blew out a cleansing breath. Putting the car in drive, he checked the mirrors then slowly pulled back onto the busy highway. What was he thinking? He wasn't _that_ _guy_. He wasn't Walton Fallon, fantasizing about his 18 year old babysitter like some deviant. He was a married man! A respectable man. A family man! A lonely man...a man sinking, fast. Though he doubted that his next fortune cookie would advise reveling in the company of a young girl as the answer. Turning off at the next exit, Evan turned toward his office building, his mind and body reverting to their numb state. If Fallon needed the tapes today, he'd have to get it some other way. "And so goes another long day at the office," Evan muttered, turning into the lot. He pulled his Lexus into a space at the back of the towering structure. Choosing the shadiest spot he could find, hanging his head against the steering wheel, he wept, silently. ###Chapter 7 Saturday Josie replaced the CD inside the sleeve. A waste. "Should have just stuck to Janis." _What happened to_ good _music? And what was it with electronic echoing and sexy whispers in songs these days? _ Two ok songs does not a band nor an album make. A lesson learned, another twenty-five bucks down the drain and twenty minutes of her life she wanted back. She sat up in her bed and shook out her hair. Reaching for a rubber band she tied it into a ponytail. _Serves me right._ She should have just bitten the bullet, dragged her achy tired body out of bed, and gone with the family to the park. She'd just been so exhausted, with everything that had gone on over the past few days – and with her not sleeping well, to boot. Luckily, Celia had been understanding about her decision. She wasn't sure, but Josie suspected it had something to do with the guilt the older woman felt about involving her sitter in the whole bake sale fiasco. And that's exactly what it all had measured up to in the end. After all of the upheaval and discord, the event wound up being a bust. Canceled, or more accurately, fallen apart just as quickly as it came together. She didn't get the entire story from Celia, but apparently, there had been some last-minute disagreements at the last planning meeting. One such disagreement had become so heated, it had ended in a near fight between two of the moms. Thoroughly fed up by then, Mrs. Sharp had walked out, quitting her post, and telling the members in attendance they could hold the event without her and her kids' involvement. Today's picnic had been set up that morning as both a fill-in for the unrealized bake sale _and_ a reconciliatory olive branch gesture for all the parents involved. Though exhausted and exasperated Celia had chosen to go, if for no other reason then to get the kids out and about instead of letting them tear around the house, gorging on leftover sugar. They had wrapped up a good bit of the cookies, cakes and other confections and hauled them off to the picnic. The others, she and Mrs. S agreed, would be tossed away while the children were gone. Josie would certainly get to that soon enough. The last thing she needed was the kids hopped up on the 'white stuff' with spring break on the horizon. Rising from her bed, Josie walked into the bathroom, tying the messy ponytail at the back of her head into a tight bun as she gazed sidelong into the mirror. Her head throbbed, but her shoulders and neck felt too warm to leave her hair hanging across her back. She pulled open the medicine cabinet. Popping an aspirin into her mouth, she gazed down at her wrist. Just after 12:30 pm. Plenty of time to trash the sweets before the brood was due back at five. Maybe she'd pack up a few of the wheat-free walnut cookies she'd baked and bring them back to her room as a treat...The front door opened and closed with what seemed like added force and Josie flinched, a cup of water still in hand and on its way to her mouth. Who could that be? It was too early for Mrs. S and the kids to be back already, wasn't it? Unless something had gone wrong. Ben and Seth together could be a handful, she knew. But had that been the front or side door she'd heard, becaus– Hard footsteps tromped up the stairs hastily heading toward the second floor. Josie swallowed hard, suddenly feeling little security with just the door closed, yet happy, all the same, for the barrier. Listening intently, she heard a thump from what sounded like the Sharps' bedroom. She pressed her ear to the door. She could hear a deep voice but couldn't make out what it said. She swallowed hard. It could only be Mr. Sharp. The perceptibly masculine tone behind the muttering...the sound of a tie aggressively pulled from a crisp collar, a jacket being whisked off and tossed, the clunk of leather hitting a wall...And then, silence. Her heart skipped a beat. What the heck was happening? Hadn't he gone to the picnic? Though Celia left on her own with Ben, Delia, and Seth, Josie had assumed that Evan would be meeting them there. It _was_ Saturday, after all. Did the man never stop working? Josie held her breath, practically molding her ear into the bathroom door. He now stood in the hallway. She squeezed the knob, anticipating a rough knock at the door at any second. In a rush, her mind began going over what she might have forgotten. Could she have misplaced something of his perhaps? Left something out or knocked something over? Perhaps one of the kids' toys had been left on the lawn? Or he'd accidentally flattened a tire running over Seth's bike? They were _her_ charges. Was she about to be chewed out for their carelessness? _Thump! Thump! Thump_! It sounded like something being thwacked against the wall. A shoe? No. Something fleshy, like a body part. A fist, perhaps? Crap, he really _was_ mad. But, this was silly. Why be scared? She'd done nothing wrong...right? Thump! Josie gulped, her heart now racing. Mr. Sharp wasn't the scream and yell type as far as she could tell, but he had been under stress lately. This she knew. A person could only take so much before the strain bubbled to the surface and caused him to...lash out at his babysitter? She _was_ a convenient target, grilled cheese lunch or not. Josie's thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she heard a long exhale, followed by a few inaudible words. Then, seconds later, what sounded like a sniffle. And then another. She inched her sock-clad feet forward, carefully pressing her entire body against the door. The silence ended as Evan cleared his throat, sniffling a few more times before heading back down the stairs. She breathed a sigh of relief. Waiting a few heartbeats before opening the door, Josie peeked out into the hall. Finding it clear, she tiptoed back to her room, closed the door all but a crack (just as she'd left it) and sat down on the bed. She closed her eyes, shaking her head with a smile. What a wimp she was. It was almost comical. He'd probably come home after a rough day to have lunch, or relax a bit and stubbed his to or something. All the while she'd been in the bathroom anticipating the worst. Josie thought she heard the soft sound of a radio or TV in the background, but couldn't tell which. She settled back onto her bed and picked up her CD player off of the nightstand. Whatever was going on, Mr. S probably just wanted some privacy, and she'd try to ensure that was what |
However, my father and grandfather on my mom's side were my best friends for they never betrayed me. None of us boys could stand mom. She never hugged us and she rarely ever told us she loved us. I remember one night as a young boy, I went with mom to the store. She asked me in the store parking lot, "how much do you love me"? I said, "my love for you is as vast as the stars in the heavens mom". My skin crawled as I said that for I was lying through my teeth, but it pleased her to hear that poetic type description about my love for my mother | However, my father and grandfather on my mom's side were my best friends for they never betrayed me. None of us boys could stand mom. She never hugged us and she rarely ever told us she loved us. I remember one night as a young boy, I went with mom to the store. She asked me in the store parking lot, "how much do you love me"? I said, "my love for you is as vast as the stars in the heavens mom". My skin crawled as I said that for I was lying through my teeth, but it pleased her to hear that poetic type description about my love for my mother coming from her 7 year old son. I still pulled my pants down to my ankles to use the bathroom at the urinal. That is until one day I was with my parents at Cherokee Lanes on Park, a bowling alley that is no longer there. These particular lanes had a cool layout. There were the regular lanes that most people would use. There was, however, a different set of lanes in the back that you had to use this corridor to get to. People liked to use those lanes when their was betting involved. They were avid bowlers and that was the place they bowled. This boy told me one night at the lanes that I was old enough to pull my zipper down to use the bathroom. I tried it out and found that it was so much easier. We started the new school year at a newly built school. Over the summer I turned 8. I was in second grade and Miss Bobbitt was my teacher. School was going ok but the highlight was going with our grandpa every weekend to the lake. It was an escape from our abusive life with mom. We literally hated that woman. I know that hate is a strong word, but we really did. Come to think of it, those weekends with our grandpa in the mountains were the best times of our childhood. Mom was drinking all the time and the abuse was about as frequent. The abuse was taking its toll. My brother was always getting into trouble and was grounded for something all the time, but I, on the other hand, became very timid and shy. I couldn't look a girl in the eyes. I became a nerd so to speak. I felt compelled to excel in school. Nobody ever had to tell me to study; I did that on my own. Our mom got an Australian Shepherd dog. His name was Bo. He followed mom everywhere. He was fun to play with but he became mean when it came to his steak bones. He wouldn't let anyone near him when he had one of those bones. I didn't care for Bo that much. My favorite dog was Shanook. He was an Alaskan Malamute. He was huge. My brother and I would ride him like a horse when we were little. He was very old and ran away to die a year before. He had been with us since we lived on Cocheese. I still think about Shanook to this day and remember how gentle he was. Here is the reason I brought that dog, Bo, into the story. At this time mom trusted me enough to give me a key to the house. In the mornings before getting on the bus, we locked Bo up in the hall bathroom and jammed my little brother's toy box up against the door so he couldn't get out. There was one day in particular I had a feeling. I had a feeling he was going to get out. I triple checked the door. I even stuffed so many toys in the toy box that the lid wouldn't close. It was so heavy I could barely move it. I remember thinking, that's not going to be enough. I remember feeling uneasy all day at school. When the bus dropped us off that afternoon, I saw mom's truck in the driveway. I remember thinking why is mom home? I quickly ran up to the house and ran in. What I saw was unbelievable. Bo had gotten out of the bathroom and ransacked the house. It was then I realized I had the gift that mom had the gift of premonition. Her expensive leather saddle with laced silver was in the closet behind the master bedroom door but was not closed that morning. That saddle I later found out was worth 1,200.00 dollars. That was a lot of money in the 70's let alone now. She was livid, yelling at the top of her lungs. I tried to tell her that I closed him up, that I double and triple checked the door, and that I loaded the toy box down with extra toys. She wasn't hearing any of it. She only knew that her favorite saddle was destroyed and somebody had to pay, and it wasn't going to be that dog! She told Lee and me to lean over the chewed up saddle, which by this time was sitting at the foot of the bed next to the window. She took the leather saddle strap that was laced with silver and began to use it like a whip. She swung at us with all her strength. We screamed with horrific pain but she wanted the screams of pain to be louder with each swing. She would take running swings when she got tired. She swung till she just didn't have the strength to swing any more. When she finally stopped, she told us to go to bed without supper. We stumbled down the hall crying uncontrollably. We got our pajamas on and lay down in the bed very softly. It was still daylight outside and would be for hours. She had made us go to bed around 4:00pm. She had hit every where but the butt. I remember praying out loud for GOD to smite her for what she was doing to us. That was by no means the only time I prayed those words. The abuse was taking its toll. It had been bad for some time, but that incident concerning the saddle was the straw that broke the camels back. I started checking locks multiple times. That branched off into flipping the light switch multiple times to make sure the power to the light switch was completely turned off. It rapidly got worse. I would be walking down a sidewalk and would step over a crack, but then I had to make sure that I did not step over the next crack with the same foot. If I did, I would step twice, skipping kind of, on the other foot to even it out. I would also always be looking at the ground and never straight forward. I was bright enough to realize that this is not normal behavior. I realized that this behavior was called OCD, (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). No one else was acting this way so I knew it wasn't normal. I started in reverse order that the problems escalated into to fix the problem. At first, the way I broke myself of the cracks in the sidewalk problem was actually quite simple. I would take that old rhyme and twist it to the extreme. Step on a crack and break your mothers back. I forced myself to step on a crack, hoping to break my mother's back. In time, no matter how hard it was, I would force myself not to pay attention to the cracks in the sidewalk. In time I forced myself to look straight forward and not at the ground. It would take me years to force myself to change my habit, but I proved to myself that it could be done and eventually the rest followed suit. The next Sunday, after the incident with the dog destroying the saddle, my grandmother, my mom's mom, came over to have breakfast with us. Dad was gone on a business trip. Mom told me to put Bo in the bathroom and to make sure I secured the toy box against the door this time. I remember to this day where everyone was sitting, and that was 33 years ago. Mom's back was facing the hall that led directly to the hall bathroom, grandma was sitting across from her, Lee was at the head of the table, and I was sitting at the end, to mom's right with my back to the dining room window. We were eating and we heard a loud bang. It was coming from the bathroom. We heard it again. I said that's Bo. We heard it several more times. Finally he pushed the door open. I looked straight at my mom and said, "See, we did close him up. He can get out"! I can't begin to tell you how astonished and appalled I was to hear those words come out of her mouth! Saying them like it was no big deal. "Oh well...it's in the past"! We suffered horribly over nothing! She never would apologize for anything! I looked straight at grandma and she looked away but not before saying, "what are you looking at me for"? The family knew she was abusing us but they just sat back and did nothing. They felt it wasn't their place. I never felt the same about my grandmother after that day. In my opinion that was the same as abusing us themselves. When dad got home from his trip, he already knew about Bo getting out and the saddle that was destroyed. Both Lee and I tried to tell him about the beatings we were getting from mom. He passed it off as though we were exaggerating. He loved mom madly and couldn't believe or comprehend that she was capable of such an atrocity. It wouldn't be long, however, before he would find out the truth. Mom got two more horses that year. Now that was a little much if you ask me, but she had to have them. One was Jigger boy and the last one, a quarter horse, was JC. I didn't quite understand why she had to have all those horses. We weren't going to shows and/or races anymore. She was now keeping them at a friend's barn, some guy from work, deep in Shelby County. I think she just had to make an impression to people. That summer at the park, we would spend most of the summer climbing the big oak tree in front of the pavilion. We would have a contest that summer to see who could get the highest by the end of that summer. One day towards the end of summer, I got bored and decided to climb to the very top of that tree and be crowned the king. I got to the highest spot anyone had gone. I remember looking out over the park before I took that last step. There was a park commissioner playing tennis with my brother on the tennis court and the other, which was a female, was playing Chinese checkers with two boys in the pavilion. I took that last step to earn my crown. I heard a snap under me and thought |
Therefore, Adam lived without sin for just over six hours. Mark Musa gives this chronology (316): Creation of Adam: 5198 B.C. Adam's death and descent to Limbo: 4268 B.C. Christ's descent into Hell: A.D. 34 CHAPTER 27: "Canto 27: Gemini — Heaven's Wrath at the Sinful Church; The Primum Mobile" • What happens after Adam has answered Dante's questions? Dante's exam took place in the eighth sphere — the sphere of the fixed stars. Previously he had visited the seven spheres of the planets (including the Sun, which Dante called a planet). In the Ptolemaic universe, the fixed stars move as a | Therefore, Adam lived without sin for just over six hours. Mark Musa gives this chronology (316): Creation of Adam: 5198 B.C. Adam's death and descent to Limbo: 4268 B.C. Christ's descent into Hell: A.D. 34 CHAPTER 27: "Canto 27: Gemini — Heaven's Wrath at the Sinful Church; The Primum Mobile" • What happens after Adam has answered Dante's questions? Dante's exam took place in the eighth sphere — the sphere of the fixed stars. Previously he had visited the seven spheres of the planets (including the Sun, which Dante called a planet). In the Ptolemaic universe, the fixed stars move as a group. They do not move in relation to each other. In contrast, the planets such as the Moon are not fixed. They move around in the night sky. After Adam has answered Dante's questions, song again is heard:" Glory be to the Father, to the Son, And Holy Ghost!" all Paradise began, So that the melody inebriate made me." (Longfellow 27.1-3) Dante then says something interesting that Joseph Gallagher believes is "a compact definition of Heaven" (186):" O joy! O gladness inexpressible! O perfect life of love and peacefulness! O riches without hankering secure!" (Longfellow 27.7-9) • How does Saint Peter criticize his successors? Red is the color of anger, while white is the color of holiness, and Saint Paul turns from white to red as he criticizes the bad Popes who have succeeded him. Saint Peter especially criticized Pope Boniface VIII:" He who usurps upon the earth my place, My place, my place, which vacant has become Before the presence of the Son of God, Has of my cemetery made a sewer Of blood and stench, whereby the Perverse One, Who fell from here, below there is appeased!" (Longfellow 27.22-27) Saint Peter's criticisms of Pope Boniface VIII are harsh: • Although Boniface VIII is the Pope, Christ regards the papacy as being vacant because of Boniface VIII's corruption. • Boniface VIII has turned the papacy "into a sewer" (Musa 27.25). Saint Peter also points out two things: • Saint Peter and his good successors did not covet gold. • Saint Peter and his good successors did not engage in hurtful politics. Saint Peter does, however, say that reform is coming. • What is the ninth sphere? All the saints leave, rising upward, and Dante looks down toward the Earth. What he sees is not impressive; he calls the Earth "this puny threshing-ground of ours" (Musa 27.85). The next sphere that Dante will visit is the ninth. This sphere is the Primum Mobile, or the Prime Mover. We can regard it as the created universe's outermost sphere. Aristotle spoke about the Prime Mover. It is that which gives motion to the other spheres. He also called it the Unmoved Mover — the first uncaused cause. What is beyond the ninth sphere is not located in space or time. • How does Beatrice criticize greed? We see lots of criticism in this canto. Saint Peter criticizes bad Popes — bad shepherds of the sheep. Beatrice criticizes bad people — greedy sheep:" O Greed, so quick to plunge the human race into your depths that no man has the strength to keep his head above your raging waters! The blossom of man's will is always good, but then the drenchings of incessant rain turn sound plums into weak and rotten ones. Only in little children can we find true innocence and faith, and both are gone before their cheeks show the first signs of hair." (Musa 27.121-126) Why do the sheep go astray? Because they lack good shepherds. Beatrice says," My words should not surprise you when you think there is no one on earth to govern you and so the human family goes astray." (Musa 27.139-141) People on Earth need good rulers. This should not surprise us. CHAPTER 28: "Canto 28: Primum Mobile — The Hierarchy of Angels" • What is the Mystic Empyrean? The Mystic Empyrean lies beyond the Primum Mobile. Actually, "lies beyond" is misleading, as the Mystic Empyrean does not exist in space and time. However, because we are human beings who exist in space and time we have to use language metaphorically when we speak of the Mystic Empyrean. The Mystic Empyrean is the goal of Dante's journey. It is the place where God dwells. Of course, here again "place" is a word that is used metaphorically. Here again, Dante looks at the places he has been, and now he looks ahead to where he is going. He sees a point of brilliant light. Nine rings of fire surround it. The closer a ring of fire is to the point of brilliant light, the faster it moves. Beatrice helps explain what Dante is now seeing: My Lady, who in my anxiety Beheld me much perplexed, said: "From that point Dependent is the heaven and nature all." (Longfellow 28.40-42) The nine whirling rings of fire are the nine orders of angels, and this leads to a discussion of the nine orders of angels. The point of brilliant light turns out to be God, Whom Dante is seeing from a distance. What Dante sees seems to him to be the reverse of what we see in nature. We see the Earth as the center, and the spheres around the Earth become more and more divine the farther they are from Earth. Here, however, the point of brilliant light is divine, and the rings of fire whirling around are holier the closer they are to the point of brilliant light. Of course, what Dante is seeing now is ultimate reality, and not the inside-out version of reality that we get on Earth. • What is ultimate reality? Of course, ultimate reality has God at the center — not the Earth. Circling around God are the orders of angels. All of the angels sing "Hosanna" to God. ("Hosanna" is a cry of praise that is directed toward God.) • Briefly describe the orders of angels. Each order of angel is associated with a heavenly sphere: 9. Primum Mobile The order of Angels is Seraphim. 8. Fixed Stars The order of Angels is Cherubim. 7. Saturn The order of Angels is Thrones. The trait associated with this sphere is Contemplation. 6. Jupiter The order of Angels is Dominions. The trait associated with this sphere is Justice. 5. Mars The order of Angels is Virtues. The trait associated with this sphere is Courage. 4. Sun The order of Angels is Powers. The trait associated with this sphere is Wisdom. 3. Venus The order of Angels is Principalities. The trait associated with this sphere is Love. 2. Mercury The order of Angels is Archangels. The trait associated with this sphere is Hope. 1. Moon The order of Angels is Angels. The trait associated with this sphere is Faith. When Beatrice names the orders of the angels, she does so in threes: The Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones The Dominations, Virtues, and Powers The Principalities, Archangels, and Angels Threes play an important part in _The Divine Comedy_ because of the Trinity. H Of course, we can put all the angels in three groups: 1) The good angels in Paradise. 2) The bad angels who rebelled with Lucifer. 3) The neutral angels who did not take a stand and who are now in the Vestibule of Hell, rejected by both Paradise and the Inferno. • Why did Pope Gregory the Great laugh when he reached the Empyrean? Pope Saint Gregory the Great (590-604) had a different way of listing the orders of angels, but he was mistaken. When he reached Paradise, he realized that he had been mistaken — and he laughed! The person who listed the angels correctly was Dionysius the Areopagite, who converted to Christianity because of the preaching of Saint Paul. We read, And Dionysius with so great desire To contemplate these Orders set himself, He named them and distinguished them as I do. But Gregory afterwards dissented from him; Wherefore, as soon as he unclosed his eyes Within this heaven, he at himself did smile. (Longfellow 28.130-135) Joseph Gallagher writes, "Dante too must have been smiling as he wrote this, because in _The Banquet_ he followed Gregory's arrangement" (189). CHAPTER 29: "Canto 29: Primum Mobile — The Creation and Fall of Angels" • In Paradise, souls are very helpful. In Paradise, souls are very helpful. Beatrice knows that Dante has some unanswered questions about angels: Then she began: "I say, and I ask not What thou dost wish to hear, for I have seen it Where centres every When and every 'Ubi."' (Longfellow 29.10-12) The place of "every _where_ and every _when_ "(Musa 29.12), of course, is God. The point of brilliant light that Dante can see from the Primum Mobile is God. In Canto 28, Beatrice talked about the nine orders of the angels. In Canto 29, she talks about other topics concerning the angels. • Were the Angels created before the Heavenly Spheres and the Earth? By creating the angels, God created reflections of Himself. When God created the angels, He also created the Heavenly Spheres and the Earth. Each order of angels is associated with a Heavenly Sphere. Beatrice says," Matter and Form unmingled and conjoined Came into being that had no defect, E'en as three arrows from a three-stringed bow." (Longfellow 29.22-24) The angels are "[p] ure form," Earth is "pure matter," and the Heavenly Spheres are "form and matter mixed" (Musa 29.22). Saint Jerome (circa 340-420) had thought that angels were created long before the Heavenly Spheres; however, he was mistaken. The angels were created at the same time as the Heavenly Spheres and the Earth. From what we read here, we know that the angels were created in the Mystic Empyrean. • How quickly did some of the angels fall from heaven? Some of the angels rebelled against God very quickly — quicker than you could count to 20 after the creation of the universe. Beatrice says," Nor could one reach, in counting, unto twenty So swiftly, as a portion of these angels Disturbed the subject of your elements." (Longfellow 29.49-51) • Why did some of the angels fall from heaven? The presumption of Lucifer, whom Dante saw at the bottom of the Inferno, was responsible for the Fall of the Angels, according to Beatrice:" The occasion of the fall was the accursed Presumption of that One, whom thou hast seen By all the burden of the world constrained." (Longfellow 29.55-57) Interestingly, |
Immobilize above and below injury. 8. Re-check distal circulation, pulse, and neurological status. Note: A traction splint can be used with no traction applied and used as a rigid splint. SPLINTING TRACTION SPLINT Rationale: The use of traction on a mid-shaft fracture of the femur helps in relieving spasms or tension to the muscles, stabilizes the fractured bone ends, and prevents additional damage to the surrounding arteries, veins and tissues. Relief of tension and spasms also assists in alleviating pain. Indications: Mid-shaft fracture to the femur. Contraindications: 1. Fractures to the head of the femur. 2. Fractures to the lower third of the femur. 3. Associated fractures to the pelvis, patella, tibia, fibula. | Immobilize above and below injury. 8. Re-check distal circulation, pulse, and neurological status. Note: A traction splint can be used with no traction applied and used as a rigid splint. SPLINTING TRACTION SPLINT Rationale: The use of traction on a mid-shaft fracture of the femur helps in relieving spasms or tension to the muscles, stabilizes the fractured bone ends, and prevents additional damage to the surrounding arteries, veins and tissues. Relief of tension and spasms also assists in alleviating pain. Indications: Mid-shaft fracture to the femur. Contraindications: 1. Fractures to the head of the femur. 2. Fractures to the lower third of the femur. 3. Associated fractures to the pelvis, patella, tibia, fibula. 4. Partial amputation of the extremity. 5. Critical patients should not have the device applied on scene. Procedure: 1. Manually stabilize injured extremity. 2. Remove clothing to expose injury. 3. Remove shoe and sock. 4. Check distal circulation and neurological status 5. Adjust splint to proper length beside uninjured leg. 6. Apply the splint according to manufacturer's instructions. 7. Pull traction on the injured extremity. 8. Secure extremity to splint. 9. Recheck distal circulatory status, pulse, movement, and sensation. SPECIAL CONSIDERATION: Application of a traction splint to an open fracture of the femur with protruding bone ends may lead to further damage and infection. 153 Compartment Syndrome Occurs when bleeding in a closed space exerts pressure in surrounding non-elastic membranes. This pressure is transmitted to blood vessels and nerves, compressing them to the point of circulatory impairment and neurological compromise. This condition is usually found in either the forearm or the lower leg resulting from crushing injuries or fractures, but can manifest itself in the hand, forearm and foot. NOTE: Compartment syndrome is addressed here as a complication of extremity trauma. Signs & Symptoms • Pain that is out of proportion to the injury or physical findings. Pain is usually described as: Deep, excruciating, burning and unrelenting. Pain is usually difficult to localize and difficult to control with the normal analgesic regimen. • Pain increased with passive stretching of the muscle group involved or with active flexion of involved muscles. • Hyperesthesia or paresthesias of nerves that cross through the affected area. • Tenderness, tenseness, or sensation of tightness of the compartment. CAUTION: Some of the 'classic signs' of compartment syndrome (delayed capillary refill, lack of sensation distal to the injury site, paralysis, pallor and puselessness) occur late in the course of the syndrome and are not reliable for early diagnosis. If compartment syndrome is suspected immediate evacuation is required. Treatment: Treat causative factor. Immobilize extremity. Closely monitor extremity and transport ASAP. Fasciotomy NOTE: Fasciotomy should only be performed under direct supervision of a physician. CAUTION: Elevation of a limb above heart level, wrapping with ace wraps or compression dressings or application of cold packs are NOT an acceptable treatments for compartment syndrome. These procedures may actually exacerbate the situation. SPECIALTY AREAS Heel Spur Syndrome (heel spur, heel bursitis, plantar fasciitis) Introduction: The term "heel spur syndrome" refers to any to heel pain with or without a spur that typically develops from excessive repetitive strain on the plantar fascia. The plantar fascia is loaded when weight is applied (standing), causing pain along the plantar fascia, particularly where the fascia connects to the heel tubercle. This condition is often a tolerable nuisance but it may be painful enough to make ambulation difficult. Chronic conditions may last for years if not properly treated. Symptoms Insidious onset of heel pain, most severe in the morning or when standing up; may acutely follow an injury; pain can be bilateral. 153 Signs * Using Basis Tools: Point tenderness over medial tubercle of the calcaneus at the level of the plantar fascial attachment, which may radiate distally causing pain and swelling in the arch; more common in pronated foot type but heel pain can present in a high-arch foot type; distant symptoms due to compensatory gait changes; tight Achilles tendon. X-rays: Spur presents 60% of the time; fracture, bone cyst or arthritic changes may be noted to explain symptoms. Differential Diagnosis * Bursitis - palpate tenderness (inflamed bursa) directly below the calcaneal tubercle. * Nerve entrapment - point tenderness over nerve; pain radiating into heel; positive Tinel's sign*. Tarsal tunnel syndrome - compression of the posterior tibial nerve; positive Tinel's sign*. * Referred pain from low back - L-4 L-5 extends to the heel as part of the area of distribution for this nerve root level; EMG/nerve conduction studies are helpful for diagnosis of nerve related heel pain. * Stress fracture - diagnose on x-ray; not common in calcaneous * Foreign body - usually an entrance portal visible * Arthritis (Reiter's, psoriatic, ankylosing spondylitis, rheumatoid) - See Symptom: Joint Pain section. *Tinel's sign is pain radiating distally along the course of a nerve. Treatment 1. Conservative: Ice (not heat) massage, Achilles stretching, heel pad (foreign body, bursitis, arthritides). a. Ice massage: Use ice directly on heel and arch but limit to 8-10 minutes 4-6 x day; use Dixie cup technique or frozen plastic water bottle or gel pack if available. b. Dixie cup technique when freezer available: Fill cup with water and freeze. Keep several ice cups on hand. Tear cup down to expose ice and use as an applicator to heel area. c. Achilles tendon stretching: Any limitation in ankle dorsiflexion increases force on plantar fascia. 2. Rest strap: Tape the foot to support the arch 3. Remove any splinter, glass or metal when the operational tempo permits. 4. Anti-inflammatories: Motrin 800 mg po tid with food; arthritides may need steroid injection. Cortisone injection for acute pain: Injection mixture: 1/2 cc long acting steroid i.e., Celestone, dexamethasone acetate, and 1cc Marcaine 0.5% plain. (See video on CD-ROM) 5. Consider a Marcaine block to the posterior tibial nerve if previous training and experience. 6. Rest is mandatory to allow healing. Alternative: * Arch supports, injection (2cc of Marcaine 0.5% mixed with 1/2cc of dexamethasone acetate or other long acting steroid could prove helpful for short mission if pain significant). * Place soft, supportive material under boot insole arch area. (Ex. eye patch, 4x4 gauze cut to fit) 153 Ingrown Toenail An ingrown nail occurs when the nail border or corner presses on the surrounding soft tissue. This condition is painful and often results in an infection once the skin is broken, with the offending nail corner acting like a foreign body introducing pathogens. An ingrown nail may result from improper trimming of nails, injury, tight shoes, genetic predisposition and fungal nail infections. Symptoms Toe pain, especially in shoes; history of recurrent ingrown nails and infections, and previous procedures to remove the nail. Signs: Most commonly involves great toe; soft tissue penetration and secondary infection, with purulence, tenderness, erythema and edema; excessive granulation tissue in more chronic cases; malodorous wound when gram-negative bacteria involved. Differential Diagnosis * Subungual exostosis - spur on the distal phalanx which pushes upward causing the nail to incurvate. * Fungal nail infection, subungual hematoma, foreign body reaction (granuloma) Treatment Partial nail avulsion 1. Perform digital block using Xylocaine 1% or Marcaine 0.5% plain (no epinephrine for digits) 2. Use elevator to free nail from bed along border. Also free nail from overlying soft tissue. 3. Use an English nail anvil or nail clipper to remove the offending nail border. Scissors will also work. 4. Use curette to remove infected necrotic tissue or excessive granulation tissue (proud flesh) from the nail groove. 5. Dress with Betadine gauze and Kling. Coban or Elastoplast helps hold dressing in place. 6. Elevate foot and apply warm soaks or compresses tid. 153 7. Antibiotics for 7 days: Dicloxacillin 500mg po qid or Keflex 500mg po qid for broader coverage. Erythromycin 500mg po qid for penicillin allergic. ONLY if INFECTED 8. Pain control: Motrin 800mg po tid prn pain. Narcotics are not usually necessary. Alternative: Remove nail corner with clipper, antibiotics. Plantar Warts Introduction: Warts are caused by human papillomavirus viruses and can be found anywhere on the skin when the virus is introduced through a crack in the skin of a susceptible individual. A wart has tiny dots in the center which are small vascular elements. These dots are often black (dried blood) due to irritation, when located on the plantar aspect of the foot. Warts are often ignored until they become painful. Symptoms Pain, especially if wart is on prominent plantar area; may have tried over-the-counter preparations, other family or team members may have warts as well. Signs Lesions tender to palpation and squeezing especially if located on weight-bearing area; callus may form over the wart, increasing pain. Differential Diagnosis: Corn, callus, pyogenic granuloma, other lesions. Corns and Callus. A wart may bleed (pinpoint) with debridement but callus will not. Pyogenic granuloma bleeds easily. Treatment 1. Debride overlying callus with #15 or 10 blade to allow medicine to reach wart. 2. Apply aperture pad to keep topical preparation isolated over the wart. 1/8" felt padding with sticky back works well. Precut felt pads are available, but if material is in sheets, cut and size to fit. 3. Apply 60% salicylic acid paste (or monochloroacetic acid) to wart. Tape to cover and hold in place for 3 days. 4. Repeat treatment in one week. 5. Curettage reduces the chance of plantar scarring since the procedure does not involve penetration below the dermis when done correctly. 6. A surgical excision of a wart using two semi-elliptical incisions is a consideration for a wart in a non-weight bearing area. Surgical excision should never be performed on weight bearing areas because of the risk of scarring and subsequent pain with ambulation. Alternative: Liquid nitrogen (LN2), trichloroacetic acid, many over-the-counter preparations. 153 ###Bunion Introduction: A bunion is an enlargement at the 1st metatarsal head of the great toe, which deviates laterally. Often there is no bump, but rather an angulation of the first metatarsal (hallux abductor valgus) that makes the head of this bone more prominent. Pain is a result of cartilage erosion, bursitis and neuritis in the effected joints. Symptoms: Pain near first metatarsal head, history of a progressive deformity over time. Signs: Bump, erythema and tenderness medially (tibial aspect) over the first metatarsal head; joint stiffness in more chronic cases, especially with excessive pronation (flat feet). Differential Diagnosis - rigid toe due to traumatic osteoarthritis (hallux rigidus or limitus). Toe joint displacement/swelling (metatarsalgia, sesamoiditis). Local toe irritation (shoe irritation in absence of deformity) Treatment 1. Change to a wider shoe or soft sneaker if operationally permissible. 2. Use bunion pads. Over-the-counter bunion pads come in all shapes and sizes. A doughnut hole cut in felt or several layers of moleskin will work as a substitute for a bunion pad. 3. NSAIDs for pain relief. Ice massage if acute presentation. 4. Arch supports and orthotics in severely pronated feet. |
In a patellar fracture, patients will have tenderness over the patella. In a patellar tendon rupture, there will be a gap distally in the tendon below the patella. Suprapatellar Gap often seen in a quadriceps tendon rupture EM Cases Digest \- Vol. 1: MSK & Trauma 136 Q: What are the typical x-ray findings in quadriceps tendon injuries? A: Usually patients have normal x-rays. With a quadriceps tendon rupture, you may see Patella Baja (patella rides lower than usual). In a patellar tendon rupture, you may see Patella Alta (patella rides higher than usual). Q: What is the ED management of patients with a suspected quadriceps tendon rupture? A | In a patellar fracture, patients will have tenderness over the patella. In a patellar tendon rupture, there will be a gap distally in the tendon below the patella. Suprapatellar Gap often seen in a quadriceps tendon rupture EM Cases Digest \- Vol. 1: MSK & Trauma 136 Q: What are the typical x-ray findings in quadriceps tendon injuries? A: Usually patients have normal x-rays. With a quadriceps tendon rupture, you may see Patella Baja (patella rides lower than usual). In a patellar tendon rupture, you may see Patella Alta (patella rides higher than usual). Q: What is the ED management of patients with a suspected quadriceps tendon rupture? A: These patients can be weight bearing with a knee immobilizer (e.g. "Zimmer splint"), and should have orthopedics follow-up within a few days, for surgical consideration. The triad of 1) acute knee pain, 2) inability to actively extend the knee and 3) a suprapatellar gap suggest the diagnosis of quadriceps tendon rupture. Clinical Pitfall: Quadraceps mechanism injury is one of the only injuries that requires a knee immobilizer. Meniscal tears, ACL, MCL and PCL injruries are often inappropriately immobilized in a Zimmer splint. Patella Baja & Alta EM Cases Digest \- Vol. 1: MSK & Trauma 137 Case 4: GASTROCNEMIUS TEAR A 55-year-old man comes in to the ED after playing tennis where she lunged for a shot. She reports hearing a pop and felt like a baseball bat struck her in the calf. She comes in limping, but able to bear weight, complaining of calf pain radiating to the knee. Her calf is slightly swollen and tender down to the ankle. The calf pain is worse with range of motion of the ankle. Patients with calf pain and Gastrocnemius Tears are often misdiagnosed as having a Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT). In fact, one small study showed that gastrocnemius tears were misattributed to DVT in 29% of patients. This confusion occurs because sometimes patients who suffer a gastrocnemius tear report a prodrome of calf tightness several days before the injury, suggesting a potential chronic predisposition. With a good history and physical, and point of care ultrasound, if you're skilled at it, needless work-ups for DVT can be avoided. Q: What is the mechanism of injury in a gastrocneumius tear? A: This injury typically occurs in sports that require jumping, or from running up a hill, when a forceful pushoff with the foot causes the gastrocnemius to attempt a forceful contraction against an already lengthened state. The gastrocnemius tear injury is also known as "Tennis Leg" or the "Weekend Warrior" because it usually occurs in people who are only intermittently active in sport. Q: How can a gastrocneumius tear be differentiated from a DVT? A: If there is swelling as a result of a gastrocnemius tear, it is usually isolated to the medial aspect of the leg, rather than the entire calf as is often seen with a DVT. You may be able to palpate a divot between the junction of the gastrocnemius muscle and tendon in the setting of a complete tear. You may see early bruising with a gastrocneumius tear. EM Cases Digest \- Vol. 1: MSK & Trauma 138 Q: What are the key physical exam findings in a gastrocnemius tear? A: Patients will have tenderness along the entire medial gastrocnemius muscle, with maximal tenderness at the medial musculotendinous junction. You may be able to see a visible defect in the medial aspect of the gastrocnemius or palpate a gap in the muscle. Perform a Calf Raise Test: The patient stands and plantarflexes one ankle so that they stand up on their tiptoes with one leg. In an Achilles tendon rupture, patients will not be able to perform this test. In a gastrocnemius tear, this test will reproduce the pain, but patients can partially complete the test. Q: What is the role of imaging for a gastrocnemius tear? A: X-rays have no value. A non-urgent ultrasound, while it has not been studied in any large RCTs, can be considered as an outpatient (or a point of care ultrasound, if you have the necessary skills). It is important in your request for an ultrasound to ask the radiologist to look for a gastrocnemius tear in particular. Q: What is the ED management for patients with a gastrocnemius tear? A: Conservative management with "RICE" (Rest, Ice Compression & Elevation) and early weight bearing as tolerated is the treatment of choice. Early physiotherapy is important, as well as explaining to the sportsperson that it may take 3-4 months before they are back to full participation. Consider an ankle stirrup or brace in a position of maximal tolerable dorsiflexion for patients who are experiencing severe pain with minimal ankle ROM, as studies have shown an increased rate of healing with ankle bracing. EM Cases Digest \- Vol. 1: MSK & Trauma 139 EM Cases Cross-Link: For more commonly missed orthopedic injuries on EM Cases see Episode 1: Occult Fractures and Dislocations and Episode 52: Part One of Commonly Missed Uncommon Orthopedic Injuries KEY REFERENCES: Heest, TJ & Lafferty, PM. Injuries to the ankle syndesmosis. 2014. J Bone Joint Surg Am, 96 (7): 603-13. http: //www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/24695928 Lin, CF, Gross, ML, & Weinhold, P. Ankle syndesmosis injuries: Anatomy, biomechanics, mechanism of injury, and clinical guidelines for diagnosis and intervention. 2006. J Orthop Sports Phys Ther, 36 (6): 372-84. http: //www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16776487 Yilmaz, C, Orgenc, Y, Ergenc, R, & Erkan, N. 2008. Rupture of the medial gastrocnemius muscle during namaz praying: An unusual cause of tennis leg. Comput Med Imaging Graph, 32 (8): 728-31. http: //www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18963800 Comments? Click here to leave a comment or to listen to this podcast Listen to the podcasts WITH Dave MacKinnon and Mike Brzozowski \- Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Objectives Develop an approach to the management of the unstable trauma patient Identify trauma patients presenting with occult shock Understand the principles of damage control resuscitation and how they guide care of trauma patients Development an approach to appropriate imaging investigations in the trauma patient Understand the common pitfalls in managing patients' blunt and penetrating injuries Understand how best to work-up and manage a trauma patient prior to transfer to a trauma centre 140 EM Cases digest \- Vol. 1: Msk & Trauma CHAPTER 8: TRAUMA BAY PEARLS AND PITFALLS EM Cases Digest \- Vol. 1: MSK & Trauma 141 Case 1: General Considerations in the Trauma Patient A 27-year-old man, previously healthy, loses control on his motorcycle on the highway and crashes into the barrier. According to EMS, the motorcycle had major damage, he was wearing a helmet and full motorcycle gear, he was not ambulatory at the scene and there was a brief loss of consciousness as reported by bystanders. EMS found him to have a BP 85/55, a HR 125, oxygen saturation of 99% and a GCS of 14. He complained of abdominal, shoulder and neck pain, and denied alcohol or drug use. He was given a normal saline bolus by EMS and 100 micrograms of Fentanyl IV. In the ED his initial vitals had now normalized and were: BP 110/70, HR 90, RR 24, oxygen sat 99% . A second large-bore peripheral IV was placed and his helmet was carefully removed with in-line C-spine immobilization. His primary survey revealed diffuse abdominal tenderness. His initial FAST exam was positive and his chest x-ray (CXR) and anterior-posterior (AP) pelvis x-rays were normal. Q: What are the airway considerations in the trauma patient? A: While this patient does not require airway intervention, as you go through your ABCs it is important to always anticipate a difficult airway in the context of trauma due to the possibility of facial fractures and facial bleeding, as well as the fact that the patient will likely be in C-spine precautions. Q: Does this patient have sufficient vascular access? A: Two large-bore (16 Gauge) antecubital peripheral IVs are sufficient in most trauma cases. In severely injured patients our experts recommend a femoral cordis for central line access. Although there are some studies showing higher risks of thrombus formation and infection in the femoral site compared with other central line locations, they will likely be changed rapidly in the ICU and they avoid the difficulties associated with subclavian (i.e. iatrogenic pneumothorax) and intra-jugular access (i.e. in the way of the intubation and patient is in C-spine EM Cases Digest \- Vol. 1: MSK & Trauma 142 precautions). In patients with difficult IV access, consider using intra-osseous (IO) line. Any medicine, including blood products that can be given IV, can be given through an IO line. Q: What is the initial choice for fluid administration? A: Studies have found no difference in mortality in the choice of initial fluid for trauma resuscitation when given up to 1-2L. Normal saline, Ringer's lactate and colloids appear to have similar efficacy. There is no role for the routine use of vasopressors in trauma, except in neurogenic shock when other causes of shock have been excluded. Q: What aspects of this case put this patient at a high risk of deteriorating in the ED? A: This patient's positive FAST exam is certainly concerning for a serious intra-abdominal injury. The general teaching regarding the approach to a positive FAST in the setting of trauma would say that if the patient is stable, then they go to the CT scanner to localize the injury and if they are unstable, go directly to the OR. While the patient's vitals appear stable in the ED, one observational study showed that a single hypotensive episode in a polytrauma patient, including a pre-hospital BP, predicts a poor outcome. Thus, it is important not to ignore pre-hospital vitals in trauma patients. Case Continued: As part of our trauma bloodwork (including CBC, electrolytes, liver enzymes, a group and screen and a cross and type), a venous blood gas is ordered, which reveals: pH 7.28 pCO2 38 Bicarbonate 14 Base Deficit 8 EM Cases Digest \- Vol. 1: MSK & Trauma 143 Q: How does the blood gas aid in the management of this trauma patient? A: This blood gas is consistent with a metabolic acidosis. In trauma, this is caused by significant hemorrhage, which leads to tissue hypoperfusion. As a result, lactate production is increased and bicarbonate is consumed, causing metabolic acidosis. The degree of acidosis is quantified by the base deficit. Studies have shown that the greater the base deficit, the higher the risk of mortality in trauma patients. One particular study attempted to identify a constellation of factors that predicted the need for operative intervention in trauma patients. The so-called crump factor was the combination of: Systolic BP <105 mmHg Positive FAST and Base deficit> 6. These patients had a greater need for operative intervention in |
They exchanged quick glances which told me they were alone. Any vestige of confidence they had previously displayed disappeared. I fought back a giggle. It wouldn't do to let them know I had them figured out already. "Uhh, thirty. In tha advance party," he added quickly. "There's more comin' tomorra." "Yeah, ta kill ya dead with yer fancy coat!" Tiny Mite blurted. He was eyeing my red trench-coat hungrily. "If you knew who I had to kill to get this coat you might not want it so bad." "Oh yeah? Who?" Fatty Tub O'Lard jeered. "The Black Regent." I paused to let that sink | They exchanged quick glances which told me they were alone. Any vestige of confidence they had previously displayed disappeared. I fought back a giggle. It wouldn't do to let them know I had them figured out already. "Uhh, thirty. In tha advance party," he added quickly. "There's more comin' tomorra." "Yeah, ta kill ya dead with yer fancy coat!" Tiny Mite blurted. He was eyeing my red trench-coat hungrily. "If you knew who I had to kill to get this coat you might not want it so bad." "Oh yeah? Who?" Fatty Tub O'Lard jeered. "The Black Regent." I paused to let that sink into their feeble brains. "No shit ya say? The Regent hisself?" They didn't believe me. "Well it just so happens we're on our way to join him now. If he's dead then how the hell are we goin' to fulfill our quest?" "The Black Regent is dead. Her body is rotting back in Old Chicago," I stated. "The person you're headed to join up with is an impostor. Don't worry; I plan on killing him too." My sense of humor had failed. These two bumpkins were going to join the Regency and that wasn't funny. It was time to teach them a lesson. By the time they had a chance to realize what I was doing I had Shorty on the ground with my foot crushing his windpipe and Fatty against their old car with my trusty Whisperer prepared to blow his tongue through his brain pan. I had surprised them so completely they never thought to bring their rifles into play. "So you're just passing through, right?" I asked smiling. "And you're not coming back any time soon? Good." I took my foot from the prone man's throat and took two quick steps back from his obese compatriot. I used the barrel of my gun to indicate that I wanted them to stand next to each other. I was busy deciding how to humiliate them further when someone walked up behind me and placed their hand on my shoulder. "We'll take it from here," a voice that definitely didn't belong to any member of my party said. Shit. Once again I had been caught with my pants down. I was beginning to wonder how I had managed to survive so long in this post-apocalyptic world when my self-preservation skills were so sloppy. "Do I need to drop my weapon and put my hands up?" I didn't move a muscle. There was no use provoking the unseen visitor. "Only if you want to," the voice replied amicably. I turned slowly and nearly wept in relief. Easy, Crake, Sgt. Suzie and Shoestring were all there with several dozen new faces. It was apparent they weren't prisoners, Easy's shit-eating grin being the biggest clue. "These're tha Freed Men, Chapel. They're friends o' ours," Easy explained. "They been runnin' this lil burg since tha collapse o' society." "Then I guess you all know who I am. Who the hell are you?" I put my Whisperer back in its holster in preparation of shaking hands and all that asinine courteous stuff. "This is their leader, an' these are his men," Easy indicated each in turn. Leader left me hanging. He made no indication he even saw my extended hand. The guy was a little weird. I waited for something to be said but nothing was forthcoming. I scanned the faces of the Freed Men and determined them to be honest, hard-working men who wouldn't take shit from any upstart asshole like me. I liked them instantly. Besides, if Shoestring wasn't complaining, neither was I. "Okay, boss, what now?" I ventured forward with after an uncomfortable pause. "We'll take these two and dispense justice," Leader said to me as he turned to his Men. "Take them into custody and show them justice!" A dozen of his scariest looking troops came forward and dragged the two unlucky bastards off behind a row of shops as we all watched expectantly. Less than a minute later two shots rang out and the men returned. I made a mental note to steer clear of the wrong end of their justice system. They led us back to their lair, a few men dropping out of the column to return to their duties as sentries. There was a complete lack of conversation though everybody fell into step with military precision. It was eerie. I started to ask Easy more about our new acquaintances but decided against it. It just felt too weird. I began to hope there wasn't a mass suicide pact brewing. Free or not, these guys were odd. They all wore their hair in a crew cut and they all wore a scowl like it was a badge of honor. Their rifles were clean enough to eat off of and their clothes, though mismatched and threadbare, were tidy looking and even appeared to have been pressed recently. Nobody wore facial hair or jewelry of any kind. Everything on their personage had a practical, logical function. I wondered if they were eunuchs since there were no women amongst them and they all looked extremely unhappy. I could feel the word 'outsider' emblazoned on my forehead. I'd never been a religious man but I wondered if I might be praying to the almighty for mercy before this was all over. Fimbriated" I just want to know that I'm going to wake up with my balls still attached," I was explaining to Easy. "These guys are Grade A nut-jobs! What if they decide I'm the Antichrist or something?" "Listen, Chapel. Tha Freed Men are a lil unusual but they're not gonna hack yer balls off in tha middle of tha night." "How do you know that? I mean, they've reverted back to the Stone Age! Men fight and the women do everything else," I was getting slightly hysterical. "It's like a bad school film! How do they reproduce when the boys and girls aren't even allowed near each other?!" "Ahh, I see where this's leadin'. Yer upset that Suzie an' Shoestring ain't allowed ta see ya while yer here." He chuckled a little in between wheezes. "These guys're strange, I'll give ya that. But they're allies. W'out them we canna win 'gainst tha Regent! I canna stress tha' enough! We'll all be fightin' fer our lives soon an' we need all tha help we c'n get!" "You're sexy when you're angry," I purred. "Where are you from anyway? That accent of yours is difficult to place." "Boston," he muttered and stalked off. I knew I'd have to apologize for being an asshole but that had to wait. Right now I needed to find out how my daughter was doing. I hadn't seen Shoestring...or Suzie...for two days. I didn't want them to be indoctrinated with some rabble-scrabble religious mumbo-jumbo while we were (not) enjoying the hospitality of the Freed Men. I was also still worried that I'd get castrated instead of fed during our stay. I've never been able to trust anybody who puts their entire trust in a two thousand year old book that's been mistranslated over and over again. I shook my head as I stalked down the hallways of the old apartment building. The men trained, fought and otherwise protected the community from outsiders. None of them used names and they never spoke except when necessary to communicate. Their leader was unanimously respected. His commands were followed unquestioningly. I guess 'justice' waited for those who failed in their duties. Leader had patiently explained to me that they would earn names when the rest of the world lived in freedom again. Fucking wackos. The women lived separately. Let me rephrase that. The women _existed_ separately. Their home was the apartment building next door. They were not permitted to cross the threshold of the men's building. Food and clean laundry were left on the doorstep. The woman whose duty it was to deliver whichever items were due rang the buzzer and went back to her own residence. During the two days we had been here I hadn't so much as heard a single word cross her lips. I had gone so far as to say hello to her during a breakfast drop off but she turned her head and jogged away. I knew there were children next door because I had heard their giggles from the roof but I have no idea how they managed to be conceived under such strict limitations. Leader wouldn't talk to me anymore. My incessant grilling of him must have crossed some line of tolerance. Now he just ignored me whenever we ran across each other. I emerged into the warm afternoon air. The weather was so unpredictable that there was no telling which season this was. I had lost track of the date years ago and hadn't bothered to try to figure out what day it was since then. It wasn't important. Every day under the banner of the Black Regency was the same as any other. Today could be Christmas or fucking New Year's as far as I knew. It would be hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk at eight in the morning and snowing at noon. Before the Regent took over scientists were screaming 'global warming' and saying that emissions from spray cheese or something was the culprit. History buffs countered by saying that global warming had been a rallying cry for the liberal left-wing since the 1990's and that it still hadn't been proven. I wasn't a scientist. I didn't care. I just wanted to live in a free country. It was hard not to rant and rave. The world was already so fucked up and now these zealots were going to be part of the solution?! What a joke! If they were in control of things we'd all be neutered at birth. There had to be some way to defeat the Regency without them. The thought of overwhelming odds against victory only caused me to feel more trapped and lost. If we were going to topple the Regent only to install some crackpot in his place, could we consider our win a victory for freedom? We wouldn't be free. We would be the slaves of God. I decided then that I would do whatever was necessary to be sure that democracy reigned supreme, even if it meant killing every one of the Freed Men by myself. ☺ I took a deep breath before I knocked. I wasn't even sure the women would answer the door. They might burn me at the stake for what I was about to attempt. After I knocked I turned back toward the street to see if I was being watched. No obvious spying was going on but |
Beth has amazed all her friends for her excellent management in living so well on so moderate a fortune. Several ladies who have twice her fortune are not able to always be so refined and so constant at all places of pleasure and expense. She has everything that is in fashion, and she goes anywhere there is any amusement or entertainment. She buys a new car every few years. Beth considers herself religious. She talks passionately against heretics and false teachers, and usually attends church. She once commended a sermon that was against the pride and vanity of dress, and thought it was a good sermon for Laurie, whom she takes to act a great deal finer than she needs to. | Beth has amazed all her friends for her excellent management in living so well on so moderate a fortune. Several ladies who have twice her fortune are not able to always be so refined and so constant at all places of pleasure and expense. She has everything that is in fashion, and she goes anywhere there is any amusement or entertainment. She buys a new car every few years. Beth considers herself religious. She talks passionately against heretics and false teachers, and usually attends church. She once commended a sermon that was against the pride and vanity of dress, and thought it was a good sermon for Laurie, whom she takes to act a great deal finer than she needs to. If anyone asks Beth to give something to a charity, if she likes the person who asks, or if she happens to be in the right mood, she will toss him five or ten dollars, and she will tell him that if he knew how large her credit card bill was this month, he would think that was a great deal for her to give. A few months after this, she hears a sermon upon the necessity of charity; she thinks the man preaches well, that it is a very proper subject, that people need to be reminded of it, but she applies nothing to herself, because she remembers that she gave ten dollars some time ago, when she could so hardly spare it. As for poor people themselves, she will not give directly to any of them. She is very positive they are all cheats and liars and will say anything to get money, and therefore she thinks it must be a sin to encourage them in their evil ways. You would think Beth had the most tender conscience in the world if you were to see how careful she is and how fearful she is to give anyone any help if she thinks they might not really need or deserve it. She buys many novels and romance books, and she has seen most of the latest movies. She says that she can better relate to others and understand them if she is entertained by such things. Beth spends much time reading romance novels, going shopping, exercising, and keeping up with the latest gossip. She does not have a lot of time left over, and she does not often have time for morning devotions. Beth would be a fine example of piety if she was half as careful of her soul as she is of her body. She tries to eat in a healthy manner, and she buys the latest health supplements and skincare products. She will take great pains to do what she thinks will make her look better, even if such things take up a decent portion of her time and money. If you visit Beth on a Sunday, you will always find her cheerful, and she will gladly discuss the latest news and gossip. She can readily discuss with you the latest music and movies and the most popular television shows. She will even discuss the latest sports results. Beth thinks they are atheists who do not go to church on Sunday, but after church she has no problem doing her yard work, going to sporting events or other entertainment, or going to restaurants. She believes that she pleases God by going to church in the morning, and she believes that is really all God means by keeping the Lord's Day holy and separate. If you want to know who is rude and ill-natured, who got into trouble, who spends too much, and who is in debt, she will gladly tell you what she has heard. If you want to know which couple is fighting and who is now in love, if you want to know how late Tina stayed out one night, what she bought that she did not need, and how she talks too much, Beth will hospitably share her knowledge of such things. If you want to know how mean Craig is to his wife, what ill-natured things he says to her when nobody hears him, and how they are considering getting divorced, you must visit Beth on Sunday. However, Beth is so convinced that God is pleased with her church attendance, that she has no difficulty refusing to help a poor widow simply because she did not attend church that morning. This is how Beth lives, and if she lives ten more years, she will have spent about fifteen hundred and sixty Sundays in this way. She will have worn thousands of different articles of clothing. In addition to her sleep each night, she will have spent much of her last thirty years of life going out with friends, watching movies, attending concerts and sporting events, going on vacations, reading fiction books, exercising to try to look good, and participating in other activities and forms of recreation. This is how she spends most of her time when she is awake, except for an hour and a half most Sunday mornings at church. With great care and management, over her adult life she will have spent about three-and-a-half million dollars on herself, giving only ten or twenty dollars occasionally to charities that she considers deserving of her money. I will not say that it is impossible for Beth to be saved, but I will say that she has no basis from Scripture to think she is on the way to heaven, for her whole life is in direct opposition to all those qualities and practices which the Gospel has shown are the results of salvation. If you were to hear her say that she had lived all her life like Anna the prophetess, who departed not from the temple, serving night and day with fastings and prayers (Luke 2:37), you would look upon her as exaggerating much; yet this would be no greater an exaggeration than for her to say that she had been striving to enter in at the narrow gate (Luke 13:24) or making the Gospel the rule of her life. She might as well say that she lived with our Savior when He was upon earth as that she has lived in imitation of Him or sincerely tried in any way to live in such a way as is required of all those who are His disciples. She might as truly say that she has washed the saints' feet every day as that she has lived in Christian humility and poverty of spirit. She might just as reasonably think that she has taught at a school for orphans as that she has lived in works of charity. She has as much reason to think that she has been a soldier in the army as that she has lived in self-denial and devotion to God. It might as fairly be said that she lived by the labor of her hands as that she had given all diligence to make her calling and election sure (2 Peter 1:10). It is to be well observed here that the poor pointless way of life, the lack of true Christianity, and the folly and vanity of Beth's whole life, is all owing to the attitude she had of how to spend her money. It is this that has formed her spirit, that has given life to every idle notion, that has supported every trifling passion, and that has kept her from all thoughts of a prudent, useful, and devout life. When her parents died, Beth had no thought about her $120,000 a year other than she had enough money to do what she would with, to spend upon herself, and to purchase the pleasures and gratifications of all her desires. It is this way she began, this false judgment and indiscreet use of her fortune, that has filled her whole life with the same indiscretion and kept her from thinking of what is right, wise, and pious in everything else. She delighted in plays and romances, in scandal and backbiting. She was easily flattered and easily offended. She was devoted to pleasures and entertainment, and she pursued whatever she thought might keep her looking young and desired whatever fashions she thought looked good on her, with no regard to glorifying God or what might benefit her soul. Whether it was her attitude toward clothing, entertainment, fun, self-indulgence, or anything else, these were all based upon her frame of mind in how she thought she was entitled to use her money. She could have been humble, serious, devout, a lover of good books, an admirer of prayer and time alone with God, careful of her time, modest in her attire, diligent in good works, full of charity and the love of God, but the misguided use of her fortune forced all these contrary qualities upon her. It was no wonder that she would turn her time, her mind, her health, and her strength to the same uses that she turned her fortune. It is because she was wrong in so great a part of life that you can see nothing wise, reasonable, or pious in any other part of it. I hope not many of you are like Beth, but we all can benefit from her bad example and perhaps see something of our own lifestyle and attitude in her way of life. For as Beth seems to be ruined by the poor use of her fortune, so the lowness of most people's virtue, the imperfections of their piety, and the disorders of their passions, are generally due to their unwise and unChristian use and enjoyment of lawful and innocent things. More people are kept from a true sense and taste of real Christianity by a regular love of the world and self-indulgence than by outright drunkenness. More people live without regard to the great duties of piety out of too great a concern for worldly goods than through direct negligence. One person would perhaps be devout if he were not so focused on his career. Another person is blind to all the motives of piety because she is indulging an idle, slothful lifestyle. These people could be cured from their worldly passions if they would be sincere in living holy lives. If this woman were less concerned about her outward appearance, or this man less concerned about sports, they might find it not so difficult to set their hearts and minds fully on Jesus. These downfalls seem only little when they are compared to great sins, and though they are little in that respect, yet they are great, as they are impediments and hindrances to a pious spirit. The truths of Christianity can be seen only by those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, by those who are willing to count the cost and follow Jesus. Even so, whatever takes our mind off God, whatever causes us to love the things of the world, these render our soul incapable of seeing, apprehending, and cherishing the doctrines of holiness. If we sincerely desire to make real progress in Christianity, we must not only abhor flagrant and well-known sins, but we must regulate the innocent and |
Did he do this to Nicky too? The crunchy sound Vivian heard toward her left confirmed it. Nicky was chewing broccoli too. Vivian chewed fast. She could feel spittle try to escape her mouth, but the tape held it back. And now she could feel it hanging in corners between the tape and her lips. Tears slithered down her cheeks. She tried her best to finish the dreadful meal. And she did, hoping Nicky wouldn't choke on hers. Vivian wished she could rewind time to before she was awoken by the sobs of her six year old daughter in the moving van. She wished she could start the day all over. But Ricky was still out there. And as long as | Did he do this to Nicky too? The crunchy sound Vivian heard toward her left confirmed it. Nicky was chewing broccoli too. Vivian chewed fast. She could feel spittle try to escape her mouth, but the tape held it back. And now she could feel it hanging in corners between the tape and her lips. Tears slithered down her cheeks. She tried her best to finish the dreadful meal. And she did, hoping Nicky wouldn't choke on hers. Vivian wished she could rewind time to before she was awoken by the sobs of her six year old daughter in the moving van. She wished she could start the day all over. But Ricky was still out there. And as long as Ricky was still out there, there was hope. She knew he was able to get all the details on a criminal simply by paying the cathedral a visit. This was why no criminal had ever eluded her husband for more than a couple of days. I need you, Sweetheart. Now, more than ever. She thought she had found the little confidence she needed to get through this—that her husband was probably only minutes away from rescuing his queen and his princess. Don't worry, Nicky. Daddy will save us. But her confidence was soon extinguished when she felt the van take a sharp turn off the smooth road unto a rough one. The movement of the car was now rocky and she could hear the sound of gravels popping underneath them like popcorn. Where was he taking them? She could hear Nicky crying again. Oh, God where are you? How could you let this happen to us? To Nicky. She's only a child. A little while after, the car stopped and everywhere fell silent. Dead silent. The door on the driver's side opened and closed with a muffled thump. Vivian could hear their captor's sluggish footsteps on the gravel outside the van. He was coming for them. ~ THE lady and the little girl had cried for hours. Cutter could hear them from the driver's seat, and now he was tired. But they were at their destination already. Welcome to your new home...At least till I cut you up. Cutter reached for the rag and bottle of chloroform that lay next to him on the passenger's seat before he stepped out of the huge dark blue van. He walked beside the van and slid the door that ran along its side till it reached its limit. The sliding door growled, and the woman and child winced at the sound as if it brought them pain. He stared at the mother and daughter. Hopeless. Near useless, but not quite. See, he didn't take them to get some miserable ransom. Neither had he kidnapped them to kill them—though in time he would do just that. No, he had other reasons for doing what he was doing. He approached the mother first, knowing full well that if he stunned the little girl first he might get a little more resistance from the mother than was necessary. But he won't have much trouble suppressing the girl's protests. He knocked the mother out. Then the daughter. In a back and forth journey, he took the woman, then the little girl into his house, a decrepit structure in the middle of nowhere. But Cutter liked it that way. He didn't need any neighbors coming to borrow sugar at five in the morning. No. He was content being on his own. There was no better way to live than to be on your own. But he wasn't on his own anymore, was he? He had guests now; the woman and the little girl. They were his guests now. Okay, maybe he couldn't do with any neighbors, but guests were okay. Especially those that would contribute immensely to his cause. Please, make yourselves at home. No. These weren't the types of guests that could "make themselves at home." These were the type you keep under lock and key. And he would do just that. Cutter's home was always dark. And now, in the night, it was darker than ever. Cutter loved it that way. He knew his house well enough to get around it with a minuscule amount of light. It wasn't like there was any furniture to maneuver in the dark. The only furniture in this room (the parlor) was a wooden table he had constructed himself which was lying against the wall just by the door. His most prized piece of furniture was a metallic cross he had also constructed on his own. It was big enough to crucify a man. This was Golgotha. Cutter loved the dark for one thing; it will keep the pitiful look on his guest's faces hidden. It will keep their deplorable and wretched look in the shadows. He had placed the mother and child on the concrete floor in a corner of what was supposed to be the living room. He let them loose, but not entirely. Their hands were let free. The ropes he used to tie their legs together was removed and replaced with a chain attached to just one leg, just to keep them from being too comfortable in his abode. To remind them they were guests, not residents. The lady squirmed and moaned. She was waking up. Cutter only stood, watching with a blank expression. Upon realizing her hands were free, it didn't take the mother a second to lift the bag off her head and do likewise for her little girl. After wiping her daughter's tears, hugging her, and sobbing, the woman finally spotted him staring at them in total revulsion though she wouldn't be able to see his face entirely, it was too dark. His face was only lit around the corners by the little light the moon sent into the house. Cutter's silhouette form stood towering and ominous in the dark living room space. His long arms suited his towering figure. But that will be all that anyone would be able to make out this cold and dark night. "Why have you done this to us?" Vivian asked with a shaky voice and a shaky body. She still had her arms wrapped around her little girl who was still out. The chloroform lasted longer with the little girl; her system wasn't as developed as her mother's, obviously. Cutter didn't answer. He only looked on. "Answer me!" She vented her frustration. Still, no answer came from Cutter. Vivian began to cry again. "WHO ARE YOU!?" Vivian screamed at the top her lungs. She breathed heavily. Saliva dribbled down her lower lip. She didn't bother to clean it. She just held tight little Nicky who let out a moan now. "Call me Cutter." He turned away from the mother and daughter. Cutter went into his room and lay on his perfectly made bed. He hadn't built this piece of furniture though. He would let the girls in the living room comfort themselves for tonight. He would let them fool themselves into thinking that everything was fine. Then in the morning he would tape their mouths again. The mother was definitely going to run her mouth at him all day for doing what he was doing. He couldn't have that. No. Not in his house. This game was just beginning. And what an interesting game it was turning out to be. Cutter could already see how it would end. With the detective in a pool of blood. He shuddered. Not from the bilious image of the detective in a pool of blood, but from the excitement of knowing he would be the one to put the detective in that pool of blood. He glanced at the phone on the nightstand. Maybe it was time to give the detective a call. 5 IT was like coming out of a wormhole. Ricky's eyes seemed to blink at a rate of ten blinks per second. He woke up to find himself back at St. Sebastian Cathedral. Father David Mathews was right by his side saying something. Ricky sat up and checked his limbs. He stretched out his arms and twirled them just to make sure he was in control of them. He was. He was back. Back to the real world. Then he realized that he was back to the world were his wife and daughter had been killed. Back to the world where he would never get to see his Vivian again. Back to the world where he would never see his little angel, Nicky, again. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back in his vision, or dream, whatever it was. If he had a choice, he would choose to live in the world where Vivian and Nicky were kidnapped rather than in a world where they were dead. He knew that operating in his visions, with his special skill, he would be able to discover their whereabouts and apprehend their captor. They could live like the perfect, loving family they always were again. But he didn't have any skills that could raise the dead. And in this world, that was the skill he needed to see his wife and daughter again. "Are you alright, Ricky?" Father David spoke with a voice fitting for a wise man. His hand was on Ricky's back, supporting him. "I've never seen you like this." Father David peered into Ricky's eyes. Only God knew what the Father was seeing in his eyes. But the man had a way of just knowing some things. Father David helped Ricky to his feet, and supporting him with an arm around his back, he lead Ricky to the closest pew and made him sit. Ricky breathed in short uneven pulls now. He looked like the devil himself had been haunting him all day. The beads of sweat pushing themselves from the pores of his face told the story of a man who had been racing all day, at least whose heart had been. He couldn't have been racing, anyway. Father David must have found him lying on his back, breathing heavily, maybe even unconscious. Ricky knew the one question that would be tugging at Father David's brain; what had he seen? Ricky was only at the altar whenever he needed to see a malefactor. "Vivian...Nicky," Ricky's words were barely audible. "Yes, I know. It's...all over the news." Father David tapped Ricky's back and relaxed his head. They remained on that pew for another twenty minutes before Father David thought Ricky was ready for a change of location. They moved to his office which was a floor just above them. Father David had offered Ricky a seat but Ricky said he preferred to stand. Ricky paced along the floor before Father David, who now sat in his leather chair which seemed to swallow him in. Father David clasped his hands, and placing his chin on his knuckles, his head trained Ricky, who was still pacing. His white hair contrasted the black leather seat behind him. Ricky stopped at the window, overlooking the light street activities stirring below. He turned to face Father David's probing |
Both women turned around and looked at the smoldering ruin that moments ago had been the front section of Vancouver airport's international terminal building. ***" What a disaster!" Firebird said, looking at the half-collapsed building. "Do you think he's ...?" Sasha shook her head. "I don't think Roger's dead, no. I tossed him into a concrete wall earlier, and that barely seemed to have shaken him. Perhaps his armor is dented and scratched, but I am certain it's not over yet." "Nobody was in the other terminal. We still have to find the hostages," Firebird said. "They are not anywhere at the airport, | Both women turned around and looked at the smoldering ruin that moments ago had been the front section of Vancouver airport's international terminal building. ***" What a disaster!" Firebird said, looking at the half-collapsed building. "Do you think he's ...?" Sasha shook her head. "I don't think Roger's dead, no. I tossed him into a concrete wall earlier, and that barely seemed to have shaken him. Perhaps his armor is dented and scratched, but I am certain it's not over yet." "Nobody was in the other terminal. We still have to find the hostages," Firebird said. "They are not anywhere at the airport," Sasha said. "What makes you think so?" "Other than I couldn't find a trace of them there when I checked out the building? A hunch. And I tried dabbling in that 'thinking like a criminal' thing a bit more. Would you try to barricade yourself into a building that has more doors than there are holes in a colander? A location you'd need an entire army to defend? That, and Roger told me he kept only a few of the hostages. Why would he release most of them unless he planned to move the rest to somewhere else?" While Firebird was still pondering Sasha's words, a dark shadow rose over the airfield behind the terminal building with a rattling noise. Firebird turned to Sasha, raising an eyebrow, while she pointed at the fast ascending aircraft. "People can buy attack helicopters in your country? I thought we were the one with the lax gun controls!" Sasha gazed at the Russian-made Mil Mi-24 gunship and shook her head. "I don't think he bought that one in a home hardware store." "You're recovered enough to fly?" Sasha nodded. "Yeah, let's go. I think he will lead us to wherever he took the hostages." ***" Where's the Canadian Air Force? No mounted police on flying horses?" Firebird teased, as the two women tailgated the helicopter with just enough distance to make them unlikely to be spotted from the aircraft. "In contrast to some popular stereotypes about Canada, we have got an air force, all right. But I guess this guy is flying at a too low altitude for the radar to pick him up. They haven't noticed him yet." "Where do you think he's heading to?" "From the direction I'd say it looks like as if he's going to downtown." "Wonderful," Firebird said with a sigh. "So the hostages could be anywhere in the city?" Sasha pointed at the SkyTrain tracks below them, connecting the airport to downtown with an automated rapid transport railway. "No, actually I think I know how he got them out of the airport with no one noticing. And I have an idea where he is holding them now." "Public transportation? Well, where does the line end?" Firebird asked. "Near Canada Place." "What I don't get is...why did he even wait in the airport, when the hostages were long gone?" "It was a distraction, I guess. Half of VPD was busy setting up a perimeter around the airport, but they had no idea that he removed the hostages from the building before they even arrived. So, a large portion of the police force is nowhere near where they could pose any danger to his real operation. That and because he was waiting for me, I guess. Roger knew that I wouldn't stand aside while he is holding my parents hostage. I would actually think he made sure that my parents would end up being among his hostages. He wants to kill me, Heather." "Charming guy? And you were married to him?" Sasha rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me." *** The Mi-24 circled around downtown Vancouver's skyscrapers as if they were slalom gates. The need to stay out of sight in combination with the chopper's camouflage painting made it difficult for Sasha and Firebird to follow the zig-zagging aircraft in the urban canyons, but its noise at least indicated the general direction where to look for the helicopter. That and they had a good idea where it was ultimately headed for, anyway. In a wide arc the helicopter circled around the Shangri-La tower - Vancouver's tallest building at more than 200 meters - and vanished out of sight for Sasha and Firebird once more, like it had done at least half a dozen times. But this time, when the two women passed the building, the helicopter was nowhere to be seen. They stopped in mid-air to look around for it. Sasha frowned. "Where did he go this time?" she asked, only to earn a shrug from Firebird. Then both women's eyes went wide as they picked up the helicopter's noise again. From behind them. "Blast it, they must have spotted us and circled around the building," Firebird spat, as the helicopter raced straight towards them like an angry bird of prey. Sasha's gaze focused on the huge helicopter and zoomed in into the nasty 30mm machine gun mounted under its cockpit. She drew on her magic and conjured two force barriers around Firebird and herself in the same instant as the pilot fired the gun, and the 30mm Gatling cannon spat out high-caliber bullets at the two floating women at a rate of 4,000 shots per minute. Sasha and Firebird were shaken through as the bullets assaulted the energy shields, deflecting left and right in tiny explosions of sparks and fire. Both women flinched as a salvo of stray bullets struck into the Shangri-La tower behind them, obliterating the glass windows and the rooms behind them. Realizing they had to keep the fire away from any civilians in the densely populated city, the two women launched themselves away from the building, gaining altitude fast. Another spray of bullets struck their shields from behind as they soared towards the harbor area, where the Burrard Inlet fjord separated downtown Vancouver from the North Shore communities, creating the natural deep-water harbor that was arguably the most important reason for Vancouver's very existence. "What's the maximum range of your shield?" Firebird screamed over the continuous onslaught of bullets and the staccato of the helicopter's Gatling cannon behind them. "Five meters, no more," Sasha said. "You have got to stay close to me. If you get too far away, I won't be able to keep your shield up." "We can hardly coordinate any sort of counter-attack if we're glued together like that." "We might not have to. He wants to kill me a lot more desperately than you," Sasha said, after a short moment of pondering. "Let's go sharp to the right on three, and then you break off. Just make sure to get away quick, ok?" "You're sure you can handle the helicopter alone?" "Forever? No. For a while? Yes." Firebird nodded and Sasha counted down from three, all the while the 30mm gun fired more shots at them. When the countdown reached zero, both women went into a sharp turn to the right in unison, making the stream of bullets slice through thin air. Before the pilot had any chance to compensate for the girls' sudden change of direction, Sasha ascended upwards in a sharp angle, while Firebird broke off in a diving loop. The pilot would have to decide to follow only one of the women now. The helicopter swung upwards and sped after Sasha. *** Sasha glanced over her shoulder. Thanks to her unsuspected maneuver, the attack helicopter had lost a bit of distance on her, but it would be hard to completely shake the aircraft, at least if she wanted to retain any hope of finding it again later. Another salvo of 30 mm bullets struck against her energy shield, and Sasha realized that her protective shield would be exhausted long before the gunner would run out of ammunition. And a glance at the helicopter's wings told Sasha that it had another, even more fearsome weapon it had not even used yet. As if the pilot had read her mind, Sasha witnessed two white streaks of smoke appearing from under the helicopter's wings and extending fast towards her. Sasha went into a sharp left turn, just in time to evade the first of the two anti-tank missiles the helicopter pilot had fired at her. But the second one struck her dead on. The missile exploded on Sasha's energy shield with a tremendous fiery explosion that knocked Sasha through the air like a tennis ball. Her protective shield flickered, for the blast had sucked most of Sasha's remaining magic energy out of her. Dazed from the close-by explosion, Sasha tried to regain some control over her flight path as she spiraled down towards Canada Place. Cold sweat appeared on Sasha's forehead as she noticed from the corner of her eyes that two more missiles were launched at her from the helicopter. Probing her magic reserves for more power, Sasha abruptly changed her direction and propelled herself upwards and to the side to escape a deadly hit by the missiles. A lump formed in her throat as she managed to get off harm's way in the last second to save her own life, but the missiles passing her mere inches away instead slammed into Canada Place below, obliterating one of its world-famous sails and setting two more on fire. Sasha and Firebird would have to put an end to this, before innocents would get hurt or even killed. Turning around in mid-air, Sasha let her body float downwards while facing the helicopter. Watching the aircraft coming closer, she drew on her magic power and conjured a mighty lightning. With a snarl, she launched a billion volts from her hand at the hovering gunship. The blue streak of electricity struck the helicopter right at the cockpit with a thundering crack. And Sasha cursed as the helicopter continued on his path as if nothing at all had happened. But she had been afraid that the military aircraft would be well protected against lightning strikes. Most aircraft were. An instant later, a large ball of fire smacked into the gunship from above and exploded in a huge globe of flames, engulfing the entire aircraft. Sasha turned her head and spotted Firebird coming out of the sun and soaring right towards the helicopter. But the helicopter's armor shrugged it off just like it had shrugged off Sasha's lightning and delivered the response in the form of two more anti-tank missiles fired at Sasha. This time the white-haired woman had anticipated the attack and positioned herself between the helicopter and the ocean, to make sure the missiles could not cause any damage if she evaded them. Sasha accelerated vertically and watched the two missiles passing underneath her at a safe distance and hitting the water below, |
And timing! Brent's gaze pinned Sophie. He watched her black-fringed eyes widen in shock as they moved over him. He'd removed his tie and jacket but was still wearing the same black slacks. His forearms were bare where he'd rolled his white shirtsleeves up to his elbows. There was no doubt in her pretty eyes that she recognized him. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. "You!" she gasped, her accusing tone slicing through him like a sharp knife. As her thorny exclamation echoed through the stairwell, Brent swore, tilting his head to see who'd entered the landing above them. He relaxed when he recognized Tom's silhouette in the threshold. | And timing! Brent's gaze pinned Sophie. He watched her black-fringed eyes widen in shock as they moved over him. He'd removed his tie and jacket but was still wearing the same black slacks. His forearms were bare where he'd rolled his white shirtsleeves up to his elbows. There was no doubt in her pretty eyes that she recognized him. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. "You!" she gasped, her accusing tone slicing through him like a sharp knife. As her thorny exclamation echoed through the stairwell, Brent swore, tilting his head to see who'd entered the landing above them. He relaxed when he recognized Tom's silhouette in the threshold. "Please help me!" Sophie cried up at Tom, apparently not recognizing him. "He's with me, princess." Brent pulled her away from the wall. "We'll be right up," he called to Tom. "You won't get away with this!" "I already have." Brent should have been prepared for what happened next. And he would have been, if he'd been more focused on the matter at hand and not her soft curves. The second Tom closed the door she made her move, once again catching him unaware. She pushed and pulled against him until she broke free. His eyes grew round when he lost his balance. He watched helplessly as Sophie turned and dashed up the stairs as fast as she could. He was getting tired of this. "Damn it!" His curse didn't so much as slow her down. Brent recovered, and stormed up the steps like a mad bull. Sophie glanced back at him once and let out a cry. Brent was gaining on her. She stumbled and lost a shoe, but that didn't stop her from swinging back around and reaching for the door knob. He watched as she struggled with the heavy door, until she was finally able to open it, before stumbling into the hallway. He reached for the door before it closed, entering the hallway in time to see Sophie sprint unladylike toward her apartment. Brent knew he had to stop her. If she managed to get inside and lock him out, no telling what damage she could do before he got to her. Her groan of frustration echoed in the narrow corridor as she fumbled with the doorknob, nearly falling inside her apartment and slamming the door in Brent's face. Before she could turn the lock, he shoved it open with such force that she stumbled backwards. She cried out, running further into the apartment before coming to a halt. The look in her wild eyes revealed she knew there was nowhere for her to go. "Going somewhere, princess? You forgot your glass slipper." He held up her dainty heel by the broken strap. "Stay away from me!" The glass swan she snatched off the nearest table was probably expensive, but she tossed it at him without a care. Her aim was wild, missing Brent by a mile and hitting a picture on the wall. Both went crashing loudly to the floor. He grinned at the disbelief in her lovely eyes, and slowly walked toward her. She darted away from the table, grabbing a lamp on the away by. "Security will be here any minute!" she gasped in a desperate tone. "Really?" Brent knew she was lying. "You didn't have time to make a call, and I happen to know the apartments at this end of the corridor are empty." He continued to pursue her, ducking when she threw the lamp. "I'm not going to hurt you." It was the truth. But if she forced him to subdue her she might get a little roughed up in the process. "I don't believe you." Brent was just inches away. His gaze ran over her. She was breathing heavy; her full breasts were satiny smooth over the top of her gown. He unwillingly recalled what they'd felt like against his chest. How quickly his body had responded to her. Something in his expression must have frightened her, because alarm washed over her face. She reached down and removed her other shoe, threw it at him, then turned and headed for the direction of the kitchen. Brent was right behind her, entering the kitchen just as she opened up a drawer. She whipped around to face him with a knife in her trembling hands. The little fool! What did she think she was going to do with that? His gaze narrowed on the blade. Before he could warn her to put it down she seemed to have second thoughts. She dropped it in exchange for a small, wooden hammer. Without hesitation, she threw it at him. He quickly raised his hand and caught it in midair, grinning at the look of disbelief spreading across her lovely face. "Why are you doing this? What do you want?" Not giving Brent time to reply, she twisted around as though to flee. Only there was no escape for her, unless she decided to go over the countertop, which Brent highly doubted. He moved up behind her, trapping her against the counter with his body. "You're good and stuck, princess." He was close enough for his breath to stir the fine hairs at the back of her neck. Close enough to breathe in her silky warmth. Her delicate shiver awakened something deep inside Brent. Like any red-blooded male, he was attracted to beautiful women. In spite of a hard lesson learned from his last involvement, to be precise, Connie Simmons. A relationship that had turned sour, while making him cautious and skeptical of any woman's intentions. Sophie had already proved more resourceful than he'd anticipated. He wasn't about to let his guard down anytime soon. No matter how enticing she was. His body had other ideas though, betraying him by their close proximity. Only he fought it down. "You might as well give up." He twisted her around in his arms, at the same time reaching for the knotted scarf in his pocket. He'd crammed it in there just in case, thankful now for his last minute thought. "No!" she screamed, struggling wildly when her eyes lit on the scarf. "Help!" She strained away as Brent's hand moved closer to her, and opened her mouth to let out what he sensed would be another ear-piercing scream. He moved quickly, and stuffed the knot into her mouth before tying the loose ends at the back of her head. All the while she struggled furiously against him, but he had no trouble using his greater strength to keep her right where he wanted her. The panicked expression on her frightened face almost caused Brent to hesitate, almost. For the first time, he began to question what he was doing and the reasons why. Was terrifying her this way worth it? The senator might not think so if he could see Sophie's frightened face right then. Yet Brent knew he couldn't afford to soften. "Sorry, but I gave you fair warning," he grated in an unsympathetic voice that said it was her own damn fault. She continued to struggle wildly, trying to break free. Brent grabbed her arms and forced them behind her, locking her wrists together at the small of her back. His gaze remained on her pale face, moving over her delicate features in a leisurely sweep before sliding down the graceful column of her throat and below. Part of him knew his look was calculated to intimidate her, make her wonder what he would do next. He took a few seconds to appreciate the beauty of her skin, how soft and flawless, before letting her muffled sounds of protest snag his attention. She shuddered against him, whimpering behind the gag in her mouth. Brent's gaze slid back up to study her face, noticing her pupils were dilated with fear. Everything his mother had taught him about treating a woman came rushing to the surface, almost crippling him from carrying out his scheme. As much as it bothered him, he was glad she was smart enough to be afraid. He needed her frightened if his plan was going to work. It might help keep her manageable and God knew he needed all the help he could get. A sudden movement at the doorway drew his attention and he stiffened before realizing it was Tom. "I'm sorry she got away from me earlier, Brent, but she caught me by surprise." Brent flashed him a scathing look for using his name, when they'd already agreed on an alias. Tom paused in the open doorway, his face turning red when his mistake caught up to him. "Sorry," he said lamely. "Don't sweat it," Brent muttered, reaching inside his pocket for a second piece of cloth. He jerked Sophie away from the counter, tying her hands together with a bad feeling in his gut. So far nothing was going to plan. ###Chapter 4 As it began to dawn on Sophie that she was being abducted, she strained against Brent's hold in earnest, dragging her feet in an effort to stall for time. Maybe with a little luck someone had heard the commotion and phoned security. However, she soon realized he was much stronger. Without half-trying he curled his hand around her upper arm like a steel shackle, forcing her to walk ahead of him. As they moved closer to the door she realized she had to do something. She couldn't just go with them without a fight. As they reached the threshold, desperation forced her into letting her body go limp. Maybe pretending to faint would work to her advantage, but unfortunately her plan was short-lived. She heard Brent release a tisk of annoyance before scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of unwanted potatoes. At least he hadn't let her hit the floor, but his undignified solution to the problem was no less welcome. The gag only muffled her groan of protest over the unladylike position. Frustrated her fainting spell hadn't worked, she began to squirm vigorously, gaining nothing but a grunt of irritation and a hard slap that wounded her pride more than her posterior. She had no idea where they were going. From her vantage point all she could see was the back of his neatly pressed slacks and the royal blue carpet embellished with little gold crowns. They hadn't gone very far when they paused before a door, long enough for Brent's partner in crime to unlock and open it for them to pass through. The short distance told Sophie they'd entered the vacant apartment next to hers, making her recognize they were the new tenants. They'd obviously thought of everything. The tenants who lived in the building were extremely wealthy, valuing their privacy. Unless they had a good reason, security would think twice before knocking on a tenant's door to question |
"We'll stop here tonight," he says wearily. "I think we're pretty close to San Jose, which is where the airport is. I don't think people normally come back here, so we should be able to wait here for a few days." We're all super tired, but we know at least two people have to keep watch, one for enemies, and one for Drew. Seth and I take the first watch. As the sun goes down, I lean over Drew, watching for any changes in his breathing or heartbeat. After a little while, Mackenna whispers, "Aubrey, I can't fall asleep." "Keep trying. You | "We'll stop here tonight," he says wearily. "I think we're pretty close to San Jose, which is where the airport is. I don't think people normally come back here, so we should be able to wait here for a few days." We're all super tired, but we know at least two people have to keep watch, one for enemies, and one for Drew. Seth and I take the first watch. As the sun goes down, I lean over Drew, watching for any changes in his breathing or heartbeat. After a little while, Mackenna whispers, "Aubrey, I can't fall asleep." "Keep trying. You need rest." "I didn't use as much magic as Rowan or Min. I'm recovered now." "Okay, why can't you sleep?" I ask. "How did they find us?" she whispers. "Last night and again today. Do they know why we're here, or was it just a lucky guess? Is there a traitor? And are they down here doing the same thing we are? And what if they succeed? What if they find the Princess first?" "I don't know. I just don't know. I don't think anyone would betray us, but...." " We need to be careful." We sit in silence for a few minutes until her breathing grows heavy and I know she's asleep. At first, my thoughts are buzzing too. Is someone in the School a traitor? Is someone in the car a traitor? How can we protect ourselves? How can we find the Daughter of the Wilderness before they do? But after a while, my thoughts shut off and watching Drew takes on a meditative quality. I'm so out of it that I almost don't notice when Drew's breathing changes, becoming faster and more ragged. I do notice when his eyes open, though. "Drew! You're awake. How do you feel?" I whisper. "Awful," he mutters and I notice his eyes are glassy, and his cheeks are flushed with fever. "I'm sorry, I wish we could give you painkillers or something, but I don't know if it would help anyway." "That's...fine. What happened anyway?" "The man scratched you. You have four deep cuts on your chest now. Do they hurt?" He nods, then lightly touches one and winces. He shivers violently. "I'm freezing." I touch his forehead. He's burning with fever. Suddenly his eyes fix on something behind me, but there's nothing there. His eyes are wide with pain. He whimpers. And then starts convulsing. "Min. Min!" I scream. "Seth! Mackenna! Rowan! Please, anyone." Rowan stirs. Her sightless eyes blink sleepily at me. "What's the matter?" she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. "There's something wrong with Drew." I start shaking Min. "Wake up!" Like Rowan, Min is sleepy when he wakes up. I grab his shoulders and shake him a few times. His eyes close, then open, and finally focus on me. Min awkwardly pulls himself into the trunk with me and Drew. He examines the situation, his head cocked sideways like an inquisitive puppy. "We need medicine. Painkillers and fever reducers. Maybe even antibiotics. Or he won't make it. But I don't know if he's stable enough that we can move him, even in the car. Especially with Seth driving, no offense." "I'll go get the medicine," I volunteer before I even know what I'm doing. "Isn't there a town nearby?" "You can't go alone," Rowan says. "It's too dangerous, you'll be killed." "I'll go with her," Min and Mackenna say at almost the same time. I hadn't even realized Mackenna was awake. "All three of you should go. Seth and I can watch Drew. But hurry," she says. "We don't have much time." #CHAPTER 29 Min starts pawing through the back until we all have several knives of various sizes. He passes them to Mackenna and me, and I hold them gingerly. I'm not really sure where to put my knives. In movies, people have leg sheathes and belt holders and knives in their boots. I don't have any of those, so I put one in my pocket and one in my backpack, which seems a little unsophisticated. But it will work, I guess. It's not like I really know how to fight with one anyway. The three of us get out of the car. I send one desperate look back at Rowan before remembering she can't see it. I hope Drew's okay. And I suddenly don't want to do this anymore. The woods are dark, and I'm afraid. Min takes out a flashlight and shines the beam at the rainforest surrounding the parking lot. There's a narrow path between us and the main road, with trees on all sides. There's a hooting sound next to me, startlingly shrill in the silence. I jump and whip around, but there's nothing there. My heart pounds so fast it's almost painful. There's a sudden sharp pain in my thigh. I jump, then realize my claws have involuntarily slid out and are digging into my own leg. Instead of pulling my claws back in, I lift them away from my leg and leave them at the ready. We hear rustling. Min changes into a wolf and snarls at whatever's in there. The rustling stops, but Min remains a wolf. Mackenna takes the flashlight and uses some of her own energy to make it glow even brighter. The beam illuminates some of the shadows, but the ones that are left get even deeper. There's more movement farther away, from an animal that sounds bigger. Min sniffs the air and whines. Then he changes back into human. "There's something big out there. It doesn't smell like a normal animal. I think Tempeste must have sent it after us." Mackenna makes a ball of fire in one hand and holds a knife in the other. My sharp cat teeth slide out, like vampire teeth in my too-small mouth. Min grabs his knives, but I know if it really comes down to a fight, he will use mostly teeth and claws. We wait on the path for a few moments, tense and still. "Since we're not being attacked, I think we should keep walking," Mackenna says finally. We start walking again, as quietly as we can. Before long, we're on the main road. It's silent, except for the crunch of our feet on the gravel and the sounds of a hundred insects and other tiny animals rustling in the trees. We can see the lights of a small town in the distance. Suddenly we hear the noise in the woods again. Coming closer. Fast. My breath jumps into my throat. I have time to take a half-step backward. A huge black shape bursts out of the forest and slams into me. We both go down. I scratch and try to get my knife out. But the animal's strength is far superior to mine. Soon my back is pressed into the asphalt with the creature on top of me. The animal's slavering jaws snap only inches from my face. It's too heavy. My lungs don't have the room to expand. I gasp weakly. Min runs into the animal from the side, bowling it over and knocking it off me. Mackenna grabs me and pulls me out of the way. A faint glow appears far down the road. Even from this distance, I can tell it's headlights. Getting closer every second. "Min, get out of the road!" I scream. Immediately, he leaps off the creature and darts to the side. The animal follows him, snapping at him furiously. Once they're off the road, Min snarls and engages it again. The car thunders past, just missing them. I try to look at the animal in the erratic glow of the flashlight. I catch a glimpse of a bulldog-like face, muscles tensing under close cropped fur, claws glinting in the moonlight. And an impression of size, at least fifty pounds more than Min, taller and broader and much more muscular. Is it a real animal? A natural animal? I remember Julianna talking about familiar animals from myths. Dragons, elves, all sorts of things. Is this one of those? Or is it something created by Tempeste, designed to track us down? Suddenly, Min tumbles away, whimpering. The fur on his shoulder is turning red with blood. Mackenna takes up the fight, trying to lob balls of fire at it in the darkness. I kneel next to Min, who has changed back to human. "Is your shoulder okay?" I ask. "Yeah. I think it's not as bad as it looks." He pulls up his shirt sleeve, revealing a circle of puncture wounds, seeping blood. He pulls his shirt back down, wincing. "You should lie down or something," I say. "No really, I'm fine." He gets shakily to his feet. Mackenna has lost the dog in the forest. "Where is it, where is it?" she cries. "There." I don't now exactly how I know, but I am positive. Mackenna sends a ball of fire winging toward the spot in the darkness I've pointed out. There's a howl and the animal leaps out. I jump onto its back, holding on with my claws. The dog flips over, pressing me into the ground. The hard gravel digs into my back. For the second time that night, I can't breathe. But this time nobody is coming to my rescue. I'm going to pass out. I'm getting tunnel vision. The world seems to be spinning around me. The ground feels like it's vibrating. Wait, the ground really is vibrating. There's a car coming, I can see its headlights through my dimming vision. The car comes closer, it doesn't see us, why doesn't it see us? My heart flutters in my chest, I haven't gotten a breath in over a minute. The car is too fast, too close. "Get off her!" Mackenna screams from the side. She shoves the dog off and yanks me out from under the wheels of the car. We tumble off the side of the road and down a small slope. The dog starts to follow, but Min lunges at it, pushing it back into the road. Min leaps off just in time. The car collides with the creature with a sickening crunch. We hear the car door open, a few words that I'm guessing are |
"The first night I met you I had taken a shift for a sick worker. I have worked the early Friday night shift every week ever since hoping I would see you." "You did that for me?" My mouth drops open. "I love people, I love what I do. I do actually work the bar quite regularly but yes that early shift on a Friday night has been for just you." "But ..." I am speechless. "I...um ..." I look at him watching me. His gaze is steady. The guy keeps pulling out all the stops that one day – like today – I will have to stop doubting and start | "The first night I met you I had taken a shift for a sick worker. I have worked the early Friday night shift every week ever since hoping I would see you." "You did that for me?" My mouth drops open. "I love people, I love what I do. I do actually work the bar quite regularly but yes that early shift on a Friday night has been for just you." "But ..." I am speechless. "I...um ..." I look at him watching me. His gaze is steady. The guy keeps pulling out all the stops that one day – like today – I will have to stop doubting and start believing. Its just one thing after another! How am I not meant to believe he actually likes me? "It's okay Tara." He grabs my hand. "I like you okay. I want to really get to know you. Be your friend all of it. I have from the moment I met you." "You really mean that don't you?" I ask looking into his eyes. "You keep saying it so you really must mean it." He nods. "Yes." We eat the rest of the meal in silence and as I stuff the last mouthful into my mouth a big yawn takes over me. Jaydan laughs. "I am so used to being awake until the early hours of the morning that I forget not everyone is like me." He gestures to Jin who immediately comes to the table. "Check please Jin." "Yes sir." He says and is gone. "I'm sorry." I murmur stifling another yawn. "I really must be a big Grandma. What is the time anyways?" "Just after 1.30am." Jaydan looks at his phone. "Oh yeah." I shrug. "I'm a Grandma." "I can take you home if you want me to." I freeze. No I don't want you too but does that sound too keen? I don't know how to answer without sounding nutty. "Or not works to?" He adds grinning at me, sometimes I hate the fact that he can read me. "If it's any consolation I'm not ready for the night to end either." "You're not?" I gasp, genuinely surprised. "Why do you find it so hard to believe that I like you Tara?" Jaydan asks again just as Jin arrives back with the check. "Mr Jaydan never brought a lady friend here before Miss Tara." Jin adds boldly, obviously overhearing the conversation. These waiters must hear some interesting conversation. "Really?" I gasp again, looking at Jaydan incredulously. "Thanks for that Jin." Jaydan smiles at Jin, who gets the hint, backing off instantly. "Yes really." Jaydan adds when I raise an eyebrow of question. He immediately places money on the check tray with a very large tip. Well that's still a little intimidating..."I have for six months remember?" "But ..." " I know." He says putting a hand on my lips. "I can have any girl. Why would I want you? Blah blah blah. Well face facts little lady. I don't want just any girl, I want you and only you. One day you will believe me." My mouth drops open as his eyes become intense and smouldery. He looks from my eyes to my lips and I desperately want him to kiss me again. I watch him watch me, both of us staring at the other, neither willing to make the first move. "You have the most beautiful eyes." I breathe, when I can't take the staring competition anymore. "I could get lost in them forever." "I was just thinking the same thing." Jaydan smiles. "See great minds think alike." He pats my hand and I poke my tongue out at him. "Such pretty green eyes and have you ever noticed the golden ring? I never really saw the colour well in the club, but wow! And FYI keep poking that tongue out at me and I may have to bite it off." "Jaydan if you keep talking to me like that I think I may swoon." I murmur out loud. "Not the tongue thing, just everything else by the way. I don't have some kinky obsession with tongues." "Well that's a shame." He goads me. "Could have been an interesting adventure." My mouth drops open. I am speechless. He chuckles and looks away, breaking the spell. "Come on pretty lady," He gets up and reaches for my hand. "I have the perfect spot we can hang out if you wanna?" "Yes!" I say a little too enthusiastically wondering whether or not it's possible to fall in love with someone that you barely know. Wait. What? Love? Where the hell did that come from? "We have to go for a drive but?" He adds. "And?" I ask, not seeing the problem. "Just checking your comfortable getting in a car with me." "Of course!" I exclaim. "Unless you're a mad man behind the wheel." I goad, grinning at him. "In which case I would rather take the bus." "Not when I have precious cargo little lady." He winks as we walk out of the restaurant. "Aww Mr Baker." I smile at him shyly. "Making this girl swoon just a little more there." "I aim to please." He winks at me again and opens the door. The cooler night air hits me with a smack and I shudder. "This time you are cold!" He exclaims hugging me sideways. I don't complain, just having him touch me is like a dream come true. "I'm okay." I say wrapping my arm around him back. He snuggles in closer and I giggle to myself at how cute and open he is. A guy who is open with his affections is rare these days and I snagged me one who says he likes me warts and all! Chapter 11" Here we are." He says several moments later stopping in front of a Mercedes something. I don't know much about cars I just remember the badges – most of the time. But it's sleek and black with big rims – I know what they are because most pretty cars have them – on it and it looks mean. Like any little cars that tried to challenge it would be swallowed whole or something. "Where we going?" I ask when he pulls out a set of keys and the door unlocks. I go to open the passenger side but he stops me. "Uh uh." He says kissing my hand to take the sting away of stopping me. "A gentlemen never lets a lady open her own door." "Jaydan!" I exclaim. "If you keep doing these things I'm going have to kidnap you and take you home with me!" "Would you please?" He says deadpan. My mouth goldfishes for the millionth time tonight. He laughs. "Get in beautiful one, before I kiss you here now, against the car." "Um ..." Yes please! I don't know which I want more. My impulses decide for me. I yank him forward, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him onto me without thinking about the consequences. I crush my mouth against his and kiss him with everything I have. At first he is surprised and just stands there a lot like a stunned mullet before I slide my hands down his face and neck to his upper arms. He groans in response and then attacks me back with a ferociousness I have yet to see from him. He pins me against the car and groans again. "Tara ..." He murmurs and I think I murmur "Mm hmm" in there somewhere back. We kiss forever, hands all over each other before he suddenly breaks away from me taking a step back, almost tripping over the gutter in the process. "This is not what I wanted." He says, trying to suck in air. "I wanted to treat you right. Do things right." "You have been. You are." I puff through my own jagged breathing. "For six months you have been. Tonight you are." I add, when he starts to shake his head. "Mauling you on the sidewalk at 2 in the morning is not treating you like a lady." He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself. "Does it count that I like kissing you too?" I ask hopefully, trying to get him to smile. He looks very pissed off and I get scared that he is going to want to call it a night. "A little." He does smile at me and I do a mental happy dance. "But you deserve better. I'm sorry Tara." "Jaydan stop." I say walking up to him and cupping his head in my hands. I gently peck his lips. "Whatever your thinking just stop. Let's just go for a drive okay? We can forget this little moment happened if you like and still pretend it's like a first date where we haven't even kissed?" He eyes me suspiciously, the wheels in his head turning. "Okay." He relents and I grin at him ear to ear. "Good." I say clapping happily, not caring at all if I look stupid. I climb into the car as lady like as I can in my dress, which I smooth back down again. "Where we going anyways?" I ask as he shuts the door. Jaydan walks around to the driver's side and hops in. "It's a surprise my excited little chicken." He laughs at my put on pout. I think every female in the universe learns to do this at a very young age. By the time we are teenagers we have perfected the art perfectly. "I don't like surprises." I say, patting my eyelashes. I don't know where this side of me has come from but I like her. She's playful and fun and full of energy. I had forgotten I was tired until now and I'm still zappy. "Can't you tell me?" "No." "Why not?" "Because it won't be a surprise then will it?" "But ..." " No." "But ..." " Tara!" Jaydan exclaims laughing. "Hush. It's only a ten minute drive and it will be worth it okay?" I pout more. "Aww baby." He laughs looking at me sideways as he pulls onto the street. "You're cute when you're cranky." "I |
3. Doubts: Many people develop doubts over what they aim and pursue. It is a typical human nature. Doubts about any utility and endeavor clouds the energy of the enterprise and many people leave it mid-way. Once we decide it, we have to keep our mind away from doubts. Logical skepticism is always welcome but what we need not doubt is the utility of any enterprise we initiate. The simple reason is; any effort has in-built utility, even if it does not lead to the desired success. Most people are benefitted by failures than by success. Believe it. 4. Carelessness: When you start an enterprise, you shall do it with full throttle but later, some energy withers away | 3. Doubts: Many people develop doubts over what they aim and pursue. It is a typical human nature. Doubts about any utility and endeavor clouds the energy of the enterprise and many people leave it mid-way. Once we decide it, we have to keep our mind away from doubts. Logical skepticism is always welcome but what we need not doubt is the utility of any enterprise we initiate. The simple reason is; any effort has in-built utility, even if it does not lead to the desired success. Most people are benefitted by failures than by success. Believe it. 4. Carelessness: When you start an enterprise, you shall do it with full throttle but later, some energy withers away as elements of focus and care towards the goal shift away. This is the major cause of failure. People start and end up with an effort; still the end result is not success. A baby grows to be a man or a woman after years of careful and focused upbringing. Only parents and gardeners know what it takes to grow things! 5. Lethargy: The body-mind mechanism of every human would want an easy and comfortable option. Your subconscious mind shall urge to take things easy and would also devise ways to bypass the long route and create short cuts. Those, who rise above the call of their subconscious mind and keep listening to their higher consciousness to remain alert and committed, win and enjoy success. 6. Senses: Our five senses are designed for instant gratification and as success of an enterprise needs to keep them tamed and restrained, they shall occasionally rebel and egg you to indulge them. They shall urge you to drift away from the long term goals of life's attainment and instead listen to instant self-gratification. Winning over them is toughest for all of us. In contemporary culture, where everywhere people are into indulgence, restraint is a virtue not lauded and preserved. Be warned! 7. Misguidance: Success is not the rule; it is rather an exception. There are only handfuls, who succeed. It is therefore only natural that within the culture and society we live, there shall be elements, which shall prompt us to mislead and make us drift from our goals. It shall always be easy for us to get tempted, fall in the trap and fall apart. 8. Indecisiveness: Often, success may not come in full measure. Or, one can feel that he or she did not get the desired success. There can always be indecision towards the end result or it can come mid-way of an enterprise. Never allow it to hamper your vision. Things take time and may not always come the way we visualize. Let time pass and settle things. 9. Rootedness: They say, genius is in practice and perseverance. One has to keep rooted to his or her goals and beliefs. Being at it is only one task. Staying there with perseverance is the last wisdom. Often, lack of energy to stay put and keep being at it, unsettle the chances of success. As the task of attaining personal sanity in the contemporary world of highly entropic probabilities is a tough enterprise, let us be firm and focused on our goals. In the next chapter, we begin to list out steps for our journey towards a model of personal sanity. ** CHAPTER 6 There is this specific need to mention and reiterate that nothing external to us has any meaning, utility and worth for us; we can attain something for which we have mechanism and processes already innately ingrained in our body-mind system. Therefore, when we say, there is a possibility of sanity at personal levels, it is because we have the mechanism and process within us to launch it and successfully preserve it. And why do we say this? Science has proved it beyond reasonable doubts that our mind mechanism, with all its trillions of neural plexuses, is neutral. It is not preloaded and preoccupied with any inclination for anything good or bad. Brain states are least bothered about how we program neural networks. Universe does not have a ready and deterministic agenda for anything good or bad. It is for we humans as what we feed into our brains, what good or bad we condition our brain states to and which way we shape our behavior and actions for whichever goals. As the brain states and neural plexuses are neutral, we humans at personal levels have the potential to attain mastery of the artistry of shaping and conditioning our own lofty and specific goals for life-living behaviors and actions. This is some basic framework, which works in favor of possibility of sanity. Therefore, the primary question at this stage of our deliberations is – * Who or what constitutes the 'I' or Self, which executes this 'un-shaping' and 'shaping' enterprise of consciousness that leads an individual towards road to sanity? We have already discussed in details about how even our consciousness, the 'I' or self is not the protagonist, Karta or subject but just a media. Therefore, for all practical purposes, even the 'Higher Consciousness', which we can say does the 'un-shaping' and 'shaping' exercise of our mind consciousness layers is a media. However, this higher consciousness Media is an evolved, objective, holistic and detached one, which has the discipline and dexterity of controlling and managing all communication that the body-mind media expresses in terms of behavior and actions. The average self or normal mind consciousness must first rise to the evolved state of 'Higher Consciousness Media' and there is a process to it. Evolution of 'I' or self to higher consciousness primarily has cognitive aspect and therefore, external initiatives do not weigh in, rather it is predominantly an internal enterprise. Evolution to higher consciousness is primarily about how we accept reality in a novel and holistic way, which makes the enterprise purely cognitive, intangible and perceptional. It is all about internalizing Reality in holistic way. In the eBook titled, 'Optimality Of I Potentiality: Consciousness, Cognition, Causality And Criticality Of Communication' by this author, we have deliberated in all possible details about this issue of attainment of Higher Consciousness. That is why we are not repeating it here to avoid this eBook being unnecessarily bulky. Like all the eBooks of this author, it is also available for unrestricted download. Therefore, we shall proceed to our next level deliberation here, humbly inviting you to kindly refer to the aforesaid eBook if you wish to have details about higher consciousness media of body and mind. When we talk about how to construct a personal model of sanity, we shall divide the whole enterprise into two distinct stages – 1. Acceptance – Of Holism Of Reality 2. Cognitive Change – Internalization Of Novel Consciousness. Essentially, first stage works as 'Un-Shaping' of old and existing consciousness and then the second stage belongs to 'Shaping' the new and emergent consciousness for finality of the possibility of sanity in personal life-living and one's own personal cognitive world. As we have deliberated on the problem of insanity of life-living and human world in every possible detail, we do not need to go into much detailing of ideas, when we talk of the issue of personal sanity. Why? Because, as we have already mentioned, problem and solution are not two mutually exclusive things, rather they are just two sides of the same coin. We have already understood that solution of a problem is just an alternative arrangement and positioning of the same elements, which create a problem or trouble. As we have understood the elements of potentials and probabilities of insanity in detail in earlier chapters, we shall have ease in understanding the elements of solutions as they are the same. What we are doing in the next paragraphs as deliberation of solution is talking about the alternative arrangement, situationing and positioning of the same elements, which we have already known and understood in our detailed talks about the problem of insanity. So, here we go...Stage 1 Acceptance One: It probably has to be accepted that we must not still remain lingering with the primary question of life and living, even when we are in 21st century. The question, Who Am I or to say what is 'self', needs finality of answer as without this, there probably cannot be any movement towards personal sanity. The singular answer to this question cannot be ever arrived at and accepted, this we all know. We have already discussed as why there cannot be a singular reality and that is why no possibility of any singular answer of questions that is at the core of our life-living. However, what we all need to accept that there probably is a possibility of an easy and singular acceptance of something, which is broadly tangible or tangibility-driven and therefore secularly and singularly objective for we all to accept. There shall always be dualism about origins and purpose of universe and all lives around us, including humans. But we all can and should ideally accept that now in 21st century, there is little confusion or disagreement about the mechanism and processes of human body and mind. It does not matter whether God created humans or humans created God! It is also irrelevant whether evolution designed us or not. What matters is that we have a certain and common design of body and mind and that does not anyway change irrespective of who created or designed us. The 'design' and 'creation' is well there. Let the debate as who created the design remain be endless. It does not matter. What actually matters is what we do next, after the design is there. This is something, modern contemporary scientific wisdom can and does tell us with little dualism and confusion. True that we haven't yet understood fully the entire mechanisms and processes of human body and brain but yes, we know for sure that we have moved in right direction to know quite a lot about how our body and mind works and the journey of understanding more is heading in right direction. Like, may be scientists shall find some new particle or new element that shall make understanding of matter better in future but it is for sure that it shall not change the current reality about what we so far have understood about different particles and constitution of matter. At this stage of contemporary knowledge, we sure shall get better but miniscule chances that we shall find something that shall reverse or dump our current wisdom about reality and body-mind mechanism. This acceptance of the secularly and objectively singular knowledge and reality of 'I', self or subjective sense of 'me' is indispensable for any headway towards personal sanity. We surely cannot reach out to the very process of arriving at personal sanity if we do not accept the mechanism and process of our body and brain. This contemporary knowledge of 'I-Mechanism' itself displays and defines as how sanity can be a possibility only at personal level. If ever, collective and societal sanity is to happen, it shall be possible only through the route of aggregation and summation of personal sanities of individuals constituting a society and other collectivities. As we have |
I.e., the culture's members don't just believe similar things about how the world works, they also believe in their beliefs, holding them as their common perceptual and behavioral code. What happens when a culture's belief system is threatened, either from within or by outside pressure? We met Bruce E. Wexler, professor of psychiatry at Yale Medical School, and his book, _Brain and Culture: Neurobiology, Ideology, and Social Change_ a couple posts back. He's the guy who talked about...the importance of a close fit between internal neuropsychological structures created to conform with an individual's sensory and interpersonal environment at the time of development, and the environment in | I.e., the culture's members don't just believe similar things about how the world works, they also believe in their beliefs, holding them as their common perceptual and behavioral code. What happens when a culture's belief system is threatened, either from within or by outside pressure? We met Bruce E. Wexler, professor of psychiatry at Yale Medical School, and his book, _Brain and Culture: Neurobiology, Ideology, and Social Change_ a couple posts back. He's the guy who talked about...the importance of a close fit between internal neuropsychological structures created to conform with an individual's sensory and interpersonal environment at the time of development, and the environment in which the adult individual later finds him or herself. Wexler uses his brain-based cultural approach to explain _inter_ cultural conflict this way: This book argues that differences in belief systems can themselves occasion intercultural violence, since concordance between internal structure and external reality is a fundamental human neurobiological imperative. I.e., a culture resists change because its shared brain wiring is guarding its neurological peace of mind. Wexler's analysis also applies to _intra_ cultural conflict. And, as he further points out, ultimately the battle over culture is about whose brain wiring gets to make the rules. This argument thus provides a rational basis for the apparent fact that people fight not because of differences in religion and other beliefs; they fight to control the opportunity to create external structures that fit with their internal structures, and to prevent others from filling their environment with structures and stimulation that conflict with their internal structures. All of which explains why "Sit Down You're Rockin' the Boat"--i.e., resistance to cultural change--is _always_ an implied cultural norm. Challenges to a culture's belief system are _always_ perceived as a case of, The devil will drag you under by the sharp lapels of your checkered coat, So sit down, sit down, sit down you're rockin' the boat! From _Guys and Dolls_ ###The Culture of Law (7): _Cultural Evolution_ Our _Future of Law_ series earlier this year looked at internal and external trends creating pressure for change in the legal profession. But really...the law has been around for millennia; changes move through it glacially. Can't we just let things work themselves out in due time? Sure, of course. Culture is formed in the brain; it evolves there as well. Cultural evolution brings change slowly, eventually, and inevitably. There's just one problem: evolution of any kind doesn't work from a blueprint and doesn't sweat the small stuff, so you never know where it's going. The evolved architecture of the brain is haphazard and disjointed, and incorporates multiple systems, each of which has a mind of its own (so to speak). Evolution doesn't design things and it doesn't build systems--it _settles_ on systems that, historically, conveyed a survival benefit (and if a better way comes along, it will adopt that). There is no overarching grand planner engineering the systems so that they work harmoniously together. The brain is more like a big, old house with piecemeal renovations done on every floor, and less like new construction. The Organized Mind, by Daniel J. Levitin, Ph.D., Professor of Psychology and Behavioral Neuroscience, McGill University As a result, cultural evolution's adaptive walk might take us places contrary to our own best interests: Cultural evolution can yield significant change in behavior in the absence of biological evolution...Such changes need not be biologically adaptive; as a result, fads, fashions, or random variation, attitudes and behaviors may spread through a population that either have no effect on survival or that actually reduce the fitness of the members of a population. From _Evolution of Mind, Brain, and Culture, _ introduction by Gary Hatfield, Dept of Philosophy, University of Pennsylvania (Hmmm, did someone just say "billable hour"? Just couldn't resist....) If we'd prefer something other than an unpredictable evolutionary walk to potential self-destruction, we need to get proactive. Again from Dr. Levitin: A key to understanding the organized mind is to recognize that on its own, it doesn't organize things the way you might want it to. It comes preconfigured, and although it has enormous flexibility, it is built on a system that evolved over hundreds of thousands of years to deal with different kinds and different amounts of information that we have today. It's helpful to understand that our modes of thinking and decision-making evolved over the tens of thousands of years that humans lived as hunter-gatherers. Our genes haven't fully caught up with the demands of modern civilization, but fortunately human knowledge has--we now better understand how to overcome evolutionary limitations. This is the story of how humans have coped with information and organization from the beginning of civilization. It's also the story of how the most successful members of society \--from successful artists, athletes, and warriors, to business executives and highly credentialed professionals--have learned to maximize their creativity, and efficiency, by organizing their lives so that they spend less time on the mundane, and more time on the inspiring, comforting, and rewarding things of life. Let's see...The most successful members of society, [including] highly credentialed professionals [such as lawyers], maximizing creativity and efficiency, spending less time on the mundane, and more time on the inspiring, comforting, and rewarding things of life.... That's the rationale for making the effort to overcome the limitations of evolutionary cultural change. Anybody up for it? ###The Culture of Law (8): _Bleak House and Epigenetics_ We looked last time at the slow pace and uncertain outcome of evolutionary cultural change. Just how slow is slow? How about no fundamental cultural change in the past 160 years? I'd say that's pretty slow. Law professor Benjamin H. Barton opens his recent new book _Glass Half Full: The Decline and Rebirth of the Legal Profession_ with these observations: Charles Dickens wrote _Bleak House_ as a serial in the 1850s and published it as a single volume in 1853. It is a blistering assessment of the English Chancery system and remains one of the most trenchant critiques of the common law system. Given the bewildering series of technological and societal changes over the last 160 years, there is something remarkable about Dickens's portrait of lawyers in Bleak House: it is utterly familiar to a modern reader. _Bleak House_ portrays a legal profession little changed from then to now. Dickens describes lawyers meeting in person with clients, or drafting papers, or investigating their cases. English lawyers in 1850 practiced an individualized and bespoke professional service that consisted of paying a lawyer for his time, sometimes in court, sometimes in consultation, sometimes in drafting documents or conducting research. If we want change faster than cultural evolution can give it to us, we might try analogizing to another scientific concept: epigenetics. David Perlmutter, neurologist and author of bestsellers _Brain Maker_ and _Grain Brain, _ describes epigenetics this way: Even though genes encoded by DNA are essentially static (barring the occurrence of mutation), the expression of those genes can be highly dynamic in response to environmental influences. This field of study, called epigenetics, is now one of the hottest areas of research. There are likely many windows during one's lifetime when we are sensitive to environmental impacts. Epigenetics, defined more technically, is the study of sections of your DNA (called "marks" or "markers") that essentially tell your genes when and how strongly to express themselves. [O] ur day-to-day lifestyle choices have a big effect on our biology and even the activity of our genes. Now that we have evidence to suggest that food, stress, exercise, sleep...affect which of our genes are activated and which remain suppressed, we can take some degree of control in all of these realms. Epigenetics explains why your kids aren't like you. They have your DNA, but the choices they make in their contemporary cultural context alternately activate or shut down certain aspects of their genetic coding. No paternity test needed; they're your kids alright, they've just been practicing epigenetics. By analogy, law students and lawyers who are "sensitive to environmental impacts"--either because their brains are still developing while they're in law school or because they're committed to cultural change--have the ability to turn off their _Bleak House_ cultural coding and embrace something new. And get this: radical cultural shift doesn't have to be driven only by technology, which was behind much of the change we looked at in the Future of Law series earlier this year. Instead, cultural change can be driven by "day-to-day lifestyle choices" involving things like "food, stress, exercise, sleep." Think about that for a minute: lawyers committed to self-care could turn the whole institution and enterprise of law into a place of brand new vibrancy, creativity, and wellbeing. That's not pie-in-the-sky, that's epigenetics. In the next couple installments, we'll look at a topic where lawyers routinely choose historical cultural DNA over epigenetic change: their paychecks. ###The Culture of Law (9): _Show Me The Money_ If you saw _Jerry Maguire_, you remember the "show me the money" scene. Jerry has a moral epiphany, writes a middle-of-the-night manifesto, and hits the send button. He's greeted at the office with a rousing ovation...as one colleague asks another, "How long do you give him?" His manifesto broke with the cultural status quo; he has to go. He gets fired of course, and now he's dialing for dollars. He takes only one client with him, at the cost of everything he just gained from his awakening. It's funny, and if you've been there, painful. I had my own Show Me The Money Moment my first day back in the office after taking the bar exam. My wife and I had escaped for 3½ weeks in the Scottish highlands and islands. The silent remoteness and stark natural beauty were disorienting at first, but in time we settled into it and returned home resolute about creating a more enriching lifestyle. We flew back on a Saturday. On Monday morning I biked into work early, stopping to take photos of the downtown skyline and the Cathedral Basilica in the red light of the rising sun. At the office, the corporate department was in the middle of a merger on a fast track. I worked until 11:00 that night; I was the first to leave. Welcome back. Epiphanies are nice, but duty calls. There are clients to serve and paychecks to earn. Culture wins again. There were more epiphanies and more show me the money moments over the |
Before we left, Max had offered to carry it when he saw me glance at it longingly. I declined when I saw he was already carrying a backpack of water bottles and the gas cans. Carter, of course, carried nothing but his book and the knife strapped to his leg, which I was fairly sure he had forgotten about. "So...Why do you think this all happened?" Taya asked completely out of the blue, directing the question toward Carter. "Huh? You asking me?" She nodded at him. "Well there are lots of theories really. Some people believe God is punishing us, some believe they are aliens taking over our planet | Before we left, Max had offered to carry it when he saw me glance at it longingly. I declined when I saw he was already carrying a backpack of water bottles and the gas cans. Carter, of course, carried nothing but his book and the knife strapped to his leg, which I was fairly sure he had forgotten about. "So...Why do you think this all happened?" Taya asked completely out of the blue, directing the question toward Carter. "Huh? You asking me?" She nodded at him. "Well there are lots of theories really. Some people believe God is punishing us, some believe they are aliens taking over our planet, some ..." " What do you believe?" Taya interrupted. "Honestly, I am not concerned about the how or why. I just want them gone." We all nodded silently at that. Trying to understand why this was happening, or how, was just too much to fathom. All our minds could really think about was survival. Even if we did figure out why this was all happening, what could four small-town teenagers really do about it? Any scenario had ominous outcomes for us. We had to try four different cars before we found one with any gas left. "Damn! That was a lot worse than I thought it would be." Carter wiped his face with his sleeve after vomiting. He had nearly puked all over Taya's sneakers, but she jumped out the way with a squeal. "That house is really creeping me out," Max said, as he screwed the top onto one of the gas cans. "Which one? That blue one?" Carter questioned, pointing to a small one story house. "Yeah, I could have sworn I saw someone peeking through the blinds," Max said. "What?" Taya's mouth fell open in shock, and she ducked behind Carter. He looked at her a bit confused, and turned back toward the house. I thought her reaction was a little dramatic, but she was young and had been through so much. "Should we go check it out?" Max asked. "Don't look at me. I don't want anything to do with this." I put my hands up in the air like I was surrendering, and took a step back. I saw Max smirk at me as he set the gas cans by my feet. "Okay, then, you ladies stay here. We will go check it out." Max tried to sound gallant, but I could tell he was half sincere and half trying to be a smartass. "Here we go," Taya said under her breath while she flopped into the empty driver's seat of a nearby car. I watched her as she bit at her nails and wished I had brought my radio; it had been a while since I tried to hear if the transmission was playing and I was desperate to try. ~ ###Chapter 6" Are there keys in that car, Taya?" "How should I know?" "Will you look please?" She rolled her eyes, and looked about the front seat. "Nope, no keys. What the heck do you want keys for?" she asked, keeping her eyes on Carter as he approached the house. "Nothing, forget it." I was starting to get tired and dug into the pack Max left on the street for a bottle of water. I chugged the warm water as I watched Carter and Max disappear into the front yard of the house. We were in a typical rural neighborhood, but this house stood out like a sore thumb amongst the rest, even during a demon apocalypse. The entire property was lined with a four foot high brick wall and appeared to still be currently worked on, and the more I started to look, the more I realized that the cars were positioned in such a manner as to look like barricades. They were all placed closely together, and I guessed that was to prevent a demon hound from getting around them easily. This house was a fortress of some sort. At the thought of the hounds I sniffed at the air, just to be sure there weren't any nearby, even though if there were, we would have known already. Their overpowering stench was hard to miss. "What do you think is taking them so long?" Taya asked, a tone of impatience coating her voice. I noticed that she had given up biting her nails and reverted to pacing. "You sure seem worked up. What's the matter? They know what they're doing, even if it doesn't seem like it." I tried to make light of the situation and I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince Taya or myself. That was always Max's tactic and it seemed to work for him most of the time. "I just have a bad feeling. Don't you? It's too quiet. I can't stand this waiting, I am going to go check on them." "What? No, Taya, wait. Shit!" I knew I was going to have to go after her and I really didn't want to. She had already made it to the yard before I had even started to move. I could see her black pony tail moving around behind the brick wall. "Are you insane? You can't just go stomping around like that," I said as I ran up near the entrance to the yard just a few feet from where Taya stood. "Ssshh!" She snapped around and pointed along the side of the house. I jogged the few feet to her side and tried to see where she was pointing. "I don't see anything." "Right there." She shook her first finger toward what she was pointing at. Along the back wall of the house, I could barely make out what looked like a sliver of a door. "It looks like an open door. They must have gone inside." Taya scurried ahead before I could protest, and held the door open wider for me to see. A triumphant smile grew on her face as I approached. "See...I told you, Abby." I bit my tongue when I wanted to snap at her and pulled out my knife before entering the room ahead of her. There was no way I was going to let her lead the way if there was some sort of demon waiting inside to kill us. I could at least fight it off and maybe even kill it, I had already killed more than one, but Taya wouldn't stand a chance. The room we entered was a standard laundry room, but the fresh scent of detergent alarmed me. A folded stack of towels was on top of the dryer. "Someone is here," Taya said, sniffing the towels and sighing deeply. "Do you hear that?" "Hear what?" "Voices. I think I hear voices. That sounds like Carter." I rushed out of the laundry room and into a hallway. I turned to the left toward what I thought were the sounds of Carter. Taya trailed behind me clinging to a towel. When I reached the living room I was in complete shock. Carter and Max were seated on a gaudy flowery orange couch and standing in front of them was a very pissed off looking old man, holding a rifle. I guessed he was in his late sixties, but his face was layered in wrinkles giving it a permanent scowl. The sight of me seemed to have caught him off guard for a moment, but when he saw Taya come barreling in behind me with one of his towels in tow, his face became red. "I thought you boys said you were alone?" His voice was deep and scruffy, like he'd spent too many years smoking. "You little thieves were trying to pull a fast one on me, weren't ya?" "We aren't thieves!" Taya blurted. "Oh really? What is that you got in your hand then, kid? Is that towel yours? I suppose you were trying to sneak up behind me?" He said eyeing my knife. "No." I slid the knife back into my pant leg. "Listen, we were just worried about them when they didn't come back, so we went looking for them that's all." I tried to inch my way closer to the couch and Taya followed, still clinging to her stolen towel. "No, you kids listen! You think you can sneak in here and steal from an old man! Isn't the world in a bad enough state?" "I didn't mean to steal it." Taya stepped closer to him, offering the towel. "It just smelled so good and clean. It just...just reminded me of my mom. That's all." I saw his face start to soften a bit, and I knew this was our chance. I tried to telepathically tell Taya to keep it up; we needed this man to feel sorry for us. I knew it was hard for her to speak of her mother, but if that's what would get us out of this mess then that is what had to be done. "She used the same detergent," Taya said, sounding much like a little child. He looked down at the towel and then at her. "You can keep it." Taya's face instantly lit up and she hugged it like it was a teddy bear. "Ah hell," he said, lowering his rifle and I saw Max and Carter start to relax. They each released a deep breath, and I tried to curse out of each of them for being so stupid, hoping that they could read lips. "What are you kids doing?" "We are trying to get to New Mexico. We heard a transmission that there is a safe zone there," Taya blurted out like she was telling someone she knew well. I thought that I was going to have to yell at her, too. We couldn't go around telling every crazy person we found what we were doing. We didn't even know this man. "That transmission cut out weeks ago kid, what are you going there for?" "There are still people there," Carter quickly corrected him. "They just don't have the power to run the transmissions anymore. They're still there." "You're grasping at straws kid," the old man said, as he settled down in an arm chair. "Go ahead sit down you two, I ain't gonna bite ya." Taya and I sat on the couch with Carter and Max. Fear was starting to trickle through me, causing the |
The same word may be a verb or a noun. Phrases begin with a small letter and nouns with a capital letter. Verbs are often divided into two parts, and the last part is always at the end of a sentence, no matter how long. There are three genders in German: masculine, feminine, and neuter. The adjective, which stands before the noun, must be in the same gender as the following noun. The articles before a noun are: der, die, das, dessen, dem, den. Whether the article is singular or plural depends on the noun it precedes; just as the case of the article depends on case of the noun. There | The same word may be a verb or a noun. Phrases begin with a small letter and nouns with a capital letter. Verbs are often divided into two parts, and the last part is always at the end of a sentence, no matter how long. There are three genders in German: masculine, feminine, and neuter. The adjective, which stands before the noun, must be in the same gender as the following noun. The articles before a noun are: der, die, das, dessen, dem, den. Whether the article is singular or plural depends on the noun it precedes; just as the case of the article depends on case of the noun. There are four cases: nominative, genitive, dative, and accusative. Building Bridges I Can - Ich Kann I Do - Ich Mache I Go - Ich Gehe I Need - Ich Brauche I Want - Ich möchte I See - Ich Sehe I Like - Ich Mag I Say - Ich Sage I Talk - Ich Rede Sprichst (speak) du (you) Deutsch (German) Do you speak German? Können (can) Sie (you) mir (me) helfen (help), bitte (please) Can you help me, please For the German language; grammar, pronunciation, accent, conjugation, reading, and sentence structure are recommended but not required for non-Shakespearean speakers. For the German language it's also recommended to learn how to pronounce the "ch" (refer back to the directions section). German Reading & Pronunciation Ai, ay – ie Au – ow Ää - ay Äu, eu – oy B – p C – ts (before e, i, ä, ö, ts) Ch – kh Ch – k (before s) D – t (end of word or between vowel and constant) G – g G – at end k (weg, vek) J – y Ö – vr Öö –ooh S – z Sch – sh ß -ess (like double "S") Tsch – ch Tz – ts Üü – uyuh V – f W – v Y – ew Z – ts #The Norwegian Language One of the Scandinavian languages, Norwegian is the official language of Norway. Modern Norwegian is derived from the Old Norse language, which at one point was actually the most spoken language throughout Europe. Old Norse was spoken by Vikings who settled in the Scandinavian peninsula. As a result, the Old Norse language is evident in not only Norwegian, but also Swedish and Danish. Since then, the language has evolved drastically. For example, western and eastern versions of Old Norse have emerged. The eastern version is found mostly in Denmark, and the western version is predominantly found in Norway, Greenland, and Iceland. Over time, the two versions of Old Norse took separate paths, as the Western version evolved into Modern Norwegian. Spoken in: Norway I \- Jeg Me \- Meg My \- Min Mine \- Mine His \- Hans Him \- Ham Her \- Henne Hers \- Hennes He \- Han She \- Hun Us \- Oss Our \- Vår With you \- Med deg With You (Plural) - Med dere With her \- Med henne With him \- Med ham With Them \- Med Dem Without me \- Uten meg Without \- Uten Without you \- Uten Deg These are the three hundred fifty most common words in this language. The words in each section of these pages aren't placed in any particular order. This isn't a dictionary either. Therefore, you will notice the words were purposely not placed in alphabetical order. The purpose of this program is to memorize the list of words, and you will establish the basis to become fluent in this language. Refer to the Directions to learn more. What \- Hva | Something \- Noe If - Om, hvis | Sometimes - Av og til Similar - Liknende | Somewhere - Ett eller annet sted Where - Hvor | Yes - Ja Were \- Var | No – Nei When \- Når | Less \- Mindre Only \- Bare | Instead \- Istedenfor Was \- Var | Including \- Inkludert Other \- Andre | While \- Mens Since \- Siden | Someone \- Noen Same as \- Samme som | Again \- Igjen With \- Med | Away \- Borte Already \- Allerede | But \- Men Together \- Sammen | Don't \- Ikke Then \- Da | Both \- Begge Than \- Enn | Because \- Fordi More \- Mer | Still, Yet \- Fortsatt Very \- Veldig | Time \- Ganger Much, a lot \- Mye, masse | Time \- Tiden From \- Fra | Time \- Tid And \- Og | Also, Too \- Også Before \- Før | Around \- Rundt After \- Etter | Never \- Aldri Afterwards \- Etterpå | Of Course \- Selvfølgelig Small \- Liten | Name \- Navn Big - Stor | Last name - Etternavn Hot - Varm | What is your name - Hva heter du Cold - Kald | How old are you - Hvor gammel er du Up - Opp | Welcome - Velkommen Down \- Ned | Years \- År Person \- Person | Sky \- Himmel People \- Folk | Night \- Natt Fast \- Fort | Light \- Lys Slow \- Langsom | Darkness \- Mørke Day \- Dag | Morning \- Morgen Tomorrow \- I morgen | House \- Hus Today \- I dag | Car \- Bil Yesterday \- Igår | Left \- Venstre Good \- God | Right \- Høyre Bad \- Dårlig | Place \- Sted Hello \- Hei | Straight \- Rett Goodbye \- Ha det | Parents \- Foreldre How are you \- Hvordan har du det | Book \- Bok Nice to meet you \- Hyggelig å treffe deg | Problem \- Problem Good Night \- God Natt | Behind \- Bak Good Afternoon \- God ettermiddag | In-Front \- Foran To Talk \- Å Snakke | To Drive \- Å Kjøre To Walk \- Å Gå | To Pay \- Å Betale To Run \- Å Løpe | To Buy \- Å Kjøpe To Sleep \- Å Sove | To Practice \- Å Å øve To Begin \- Å Begynne | To Prepare \- Å Forberede To Finish \- Å Avslutte | To Meet \- Å Møtes To Drink \- Å Drikke | To Fly \- Å fly To Smoke \- Å Røyke | To Visit \- Å Besøke To Prefer \- Å Foretrekke | To Swim \- Å Svømme To Loose \- Å Miste | To Show \- Å Vise To Forget \- Å Glemme | To Know \- Å Vite To Hold \- Å Holde | To Think \- Å Tro, å anta To Follow \- Å Følge | To Believe \- Å Tro To Continue \- Å Fortsette | To Love \- Å Elske To Want \- Å Ville ha | To Like \- Å like To Stay \- Å Bli | To Use \- Å Bruke To Keep \- Å Beholde | To Try \- Å Prøve To Play \- Å Leke | To Understand \- Å Forstå To Get \- Å Få | To Have \- Å Ha To Help \- Å Hjelpe | To Happen \- Å hende To Go \- Å Dra | To Recognize \- Å Anerkjenne To Give \- Å Gi | To Hear \- Å Høre To Receive \- Å Motta | To Listen \- Å Lytte To Bring \- Å Bringe | To Press \- Å Trykke To Work \- Å Arbeide | To Promise \- Å Love To Hope \- Å Håpe | To Choose \- Å Velge Building Bridges I Can \- Jeg kan I Do \- Jeg Gjør I Go \- Jeg Drar I Need \- Jeg Trenger I Want \- Jeg Vil ha I See \- Jeg Ser I Like \- Jeg Liker I Say \- Jeg Sier I Talk \- Jeg Snakker Rules: The infinitive mark "to" is å in Norwegian. All of the infinitives above need å before them. Phrases: Snakker ("speak") du ("you") norsk ("Norwegian")? / "Do you speak Norwegian?" Jeg ("I") snakker ("speak") ikke ("don't") engelsk ("English"). / "I don't speak English." Hva ("what") sa ("say") du ("you")? / "What did you say?" Reading Æ or æ are a ligature between the two vowels "a" and "e." For example, "archæology" is pronounced "archeology." Ø or ø is pronounced as "ir" or "ur" (like "sir"). Å or å is an "A" with a ring above it, difficult to pronounce in English (like "talk" or "walk" in British English). ##European Languages ##Section III: Turkish Languages - Turkish #The Turkish Language The Turkish language originated in the Ottoman Empire. To this day, Turkish is primarily spoken in the countries that were once under Ottoman rule, like Romania, Yugoslavia, and Bulgaria, although there are a number of Turkish speakers in Germany. Turkish is spoken in over thirty-five countries. Turkish is also the official language of Turkey, as the vast majority of its citizens speak the language as a native tongue. Unique about Turkish is that is has no specific gender connotations, as the same form of a word is used for both male and female. Spoken in: Turkey, Cyprus I - Ben Me - Ben My - Benim Mine - Benim His - Onun Him - Ona Her - Onun Hers - Onun He - O She - O Us - Biz Our - Bizim With you - Seninle With You (Plural) - Seninle With her - Onunla With him - Onunla With Them - Onlarla Without - Siz, siz Without you - Sensiz These are the three hundred fifty most common words in this language. The words in each section of these pages aren't placed in any particular order. This isn't a dictionary either. Therefore, you will notice the words were purposely not placed in alphabetical order. The purpose of this program is to memorize the list of words, and you will establish the basis to become fluent in this language. Refer to the Directions to learn more. What - Ne | Something - Birşey If - Eger | Sometimes - Bazen Similar - Ayni | Somewhere - Baziyerde Where - Nerede | Yes - Evet Were - Onlar burdaydilar | No - Hayir When - Ne zaman | Less - Daha azı. Only - Sadece | Instead - Onun yerinde Was - Burdaydim | Including - Dail Other - Diğeri | While - Bu arada Since - Den beri | Someone - Biri Same - Ayni | Again - Tekrar With - Ile | Away - Uzakda Already - Cokdan | But - Fakat Together - Birlikde | Don't - Yapma Then - Sonra | Both - Ikiside Than - Den, dan | Because - Cunku More - Daha | Still, Yet - Hala Very - Çok |
What are your thoughts?" "I don't feed trolls." I said smiling. The woman hurried up and typed that statement out. She was stirring a large pot of drama. I chuckled at my own comment. "In all seriousness, he is kind of right. I mean I can't strum a guitar, bang a drum, or sing. However, who is to say what music really is. Obviously people like what I create, or we wouldn't be having this interview right now." The woman didn't type a single word I said. She kept to my first comment instead of writing down my explanation. She was trying to cause confrontation between me and this bug. | What are your thoughts?" "I don't feed trolls." I said smiling. The woman hurried up and typed that statement out. She was stirring a large pot of drama. I chuckled at my own comment. "In all seriousness, he is kind of right. I mean I can't strum a guitar, bang a drum, or sing. However, who is to say what music really is. Obviously people like what I create, or we wouldn't be having this interview right now." The woman didn't type a single word I said. She kept to my first comment instead of writing down my explanation. She was trying to cause confrontation between me and this bug. I wasn't the hugest fan of jealousy. The pilot of the plane got on the intercom and announced that we were landing in five minutes. The woman turned her iPad off and slipped it in her small carry-on satchel. She turned to me and flashed a fake smile. She said thank you while gritting her teeth. I returned a fake gesture of my own, and made sure my smile was so wide, my missing tooth would show. "Oh!" She yelped. She searched through her carry-on and pulled out a small business card and a pen. She handed my both of the items. "Can I have your autograph?" She asked nicely. "Yes, of course. To you?" "No." She said quickly. "It's for my son. He likes your music, for some reason. His name is Matthew." "For some reason?" I questioned her middle sentence. "No offense, but I'm not a fan of this whole electronic scene. It all sounds the same to me." She said. Her words sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I shrugged my shoulders and scribbled 'To Matthew' on the card. "Every genre sound the same." Scott spoke up. He startled me and I stopped writing the autograph. I sat back and watch the argument that I was hoping would ensue. "No it doesn't." The woman fired back. "This electronic music just sounds like regurgitated shit played over and over again." I was offended. I guess this is where looks can be deceiving. This woman looked like a nice, proper individual, and now she was exposed as a narrow-minded, loud-mouthed parasite. I should've told her to screw off after the Travis Holster question. "Rap music has fast tempos, country has that acoustic sound, rock has an electric guitar, R & B has a piano, but every song sounds different in every genre in their own unique way. The same applies for electronic music." Scott replied humbly. He sounded like some ancient philosopher. It was one of the smartest things I have ever heard him say. I remember Scott from our first trip to L.A. His diet consisted of weed, champagne, women, and cheeseburgers. He was obnoxious and at one point, I'd call him insane. Now here he is, calm and collected. I wondered if the old Scott burned down alongside Jimmy Norton in Cleveland. The plane touched down and people felt a slight jerk. The woman rolled her eyes after Scott's theory. She just stared at us with her mouth wide open, the common look for someone that has just been defeated in a verbal discussion. "And." I continued Scott's single-handed victory. "It actually takes a lot of time and effort to make electronic music." I added to defeat her, 'regurgitated shit', phrase. "Then why do you release songs so quickly then?" She lashed out. The plane stopped and the fight stewardesses were helping people get their luggage. The plane exit opened and people were free to leave. "Because I have nothing better to do on my free time other than make music and do interviews with stupid bitches." I said. I threw the card on her lap. I started down the aisle with Scott right behind me. Without any luggage, it was easy to maneuver in the busy aisle-way. I wish I would of stuck around to see Mrs. Washington's reaction to the autograph. It read, Dear Matthew: Your mother is a dumbass. Love, (my signature). Scott and I walked down the corridor attached to the plane. It was always a good feeling to me when we would land somewhere new, and still, Los Angeles felt new to me. It reminded me of how excited all of us were when we first arrived. Just before we got on an escalator, someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around to see two teenagers looking nervously at me. They asked if I was willing to take a photo with them, and I agreed to do so. A random man snapped the photo, then he walked up to me and asked me for an autograph. Next thing I know, more people kept coming over to me until I had a large crowd standing around me. I did pictures after pictures, and wrote autographs after autographs and the crowd was still getting larger. My hand started to cramp up and my eyes hurt from all the flashing bulbs. Scott tore through the crowd and grabbed my jacket, guiding me through the mass of fans. Luckily, none of them followed me, but I kind of wanted them to. Standing at the bottom of the escalator was Mark. It was surprisingly nice to see him. He was my little symbol of fame and happiness. Mark was the best damn Swedish limo driver ever. He held a sign that said, 'Professor X' in big red letters. Standing behind Mark were a couple of journalists and bloggers. Some of them held pads of paper and pens, some had voice recorders, and others had cameras mounted on their shoulders. Standing amongst them was Scott's girlfriend, Elizabeth. I wondered who she came for, me or Scott. We stepped off the escalator and I was instantly bombarded. They were like vultures on a dead carcass. "Mr. X, are you happy to be back in L.A?" One asked. "Professor X, why did you cancel your shows?" "Any thoughts on your debut album's success?" "Did you hear about Travis Holster's comment?" I knew that if I stuck around, I would have been eaten alive. Bystanders formed a big circle around the bustling media. They were taking pictures of me and cheering. Since I wasn't used to this exploitation yet, I wasn't annoyed like some celebrities would be. I politely waved to the crowd without answering the paparazzi. I looked back for Scott. He had Elizabeth by the hand and the other hand was placed on my back, pushing me through the crowd and out the doors. The paparazzi came after us, waiting for any sudden movement that could be used as an embarrassing moment. Mark hurried around us and opened our limo door. All of us jumped in and as soon as Mark shut the door, the media dispersed like nothing had happened. "To imagine I used to be one of those ants." Scott jokingly said while watching the media walk around in circles, waiting for their next victim. Elizabeth smiled awkwardly. I moved over by the electronic blind that separated Mark from the rest of us. I tapped on it and he rolled it down. "How are you doing Mark?" I asked my chauffer. He chuckled a little and looked back at me. "I'm doing well, sir, a pleasure to see you again." Mark answered me in a gentleman-like fashion. Scott shouted for Mark to drop Elizabeth off at her home. After that, Mark took us back to our suite. He told me he was ordered by Sonny to pick me up in morning. I told him that was fine and he drove off. Scott and I entered our home, and it felt great. The whole place must have been cleaned top to bottom because it looked like the first day we had ever moved in. We threw ourselves on the wrap-around couch and tried to sleep away the jet lag. After a long moment of silence, my spine began to tingle. Being back in this room made me think about the studio and the live shows. The lifestyle that everyone envied or praised was my addiction. All I could feel was the rush of the screaming fans, the sights of the magical lights, and the sweet sounds of my music blaring through extremely expensive speakers. It gave me such a high, that I blanked out the lows that were still in my mind. Emilio's death, Dr. Moody's betrayal, Kimi's confusing ways, all of it was just a clouded memory for me when I stepped foot on that stage. "I can't sleep." I said out loud. Scott groaned. "I'm so hyped up to get back at it again man." I continued. Scott sat up and rubbed his eyes. I looked at him and smiled. "You look like you're excited." He chuckled. Since I was keeping Scott awake, he suggested that we sit in the hot tub for the first time. I had forgotten all about it, but it sounded really nice right now. I grabbed two glass goblets and two bottles of liquor and dipped in the hot tub. The soothing warm water calmed me down. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry." I said to Scott. I bumped my glass next to his and we both took a gulp of our drinks. "There is no need to apologize. Life can get awfully hazy sometimes." Scott answered me. He seemed so cool and relaxed. Scott was never the most book-smart person, but he was such a mental enlightener. He was wise beyond his years and always had the right thing to say. Maybe God took Emilio away just to show me that Scott was my true best friend. "You're my true best friend." I accidently said my thoughts out loud. Scott raised an eyebrow at me and I took a drink. "That's either the booze talking or you meant one of your best friends?" Scott inclined. I had a bib on and Scott was force-feeding me my own words. I stayed quiet and acted like I was taking a drink. "Well, what did you mean?" Scott turned his shoulders to me as if he was intrigued. I could've easily explained myself, but I knew how close Scott was with Emilio. Even though I was in fret of his reaction, I stood by what I felt. "When we moved in together, I thought of you as my best friend, rather than Emilio." I explained. Scott shook his head and grabbed his goblet. "That's odd. Just last week I was just your imaginary friend." Scott said with bad intentions. The statement stung. "Maybe I thought you were an imaginary friend because we were so close?" I tried to stump him. I tried to make it sound like I really meant it. Strangely enough, I did mean it. Scott ignored me, |
He laughed uproariously for a moment. 'But what was my grandfather doing and how was he connected to Millie, and these keys', I said, holding them up. 'And who are you?' I added. 'Just call me Cogwhistle; it does me. If you please'. He said this with an almost imperial incline of the old scone. 'Nutters, your oldster, and Millie and me, we woz part of a covert, secret unit, called Operation Bonksproket which woz connected to Operation Double-cross. Cogwhistle looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued. 'We wos trying to win the war. We wos working on ways to infiltrate the enemy like, and dreaming up many a hair-brained scheme. | He laughed uproariously for a moment. 'But what was my grandfather doing and how was he connected to Millie, and these keys', I said, holding them up. 'And who are you?' I added. 'Just call me Cogwhistle; it does me. If you please'. He said this with an almost imperial incline of the old scone. 'Nutters, your oldster, and Millie and me, we woz part of a covert, secret unit, called Operation Bonksproket which woz connected to Operation Double-cross. Cogwhistle looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued. 'We wos trying to win the war. We wos working on ways to infiltrate the enemy like, and dreaming up many a hair-brained scheme.' 'I am feeling most confused'. I admitted, as I sat shivering in the dark, in a green plastic tent, in a thicket in Hyde Park, hearing these strange tales. 'Blimy! Something else just whacked me in the noggin,' Cogwhistle said, as he thumped his forehead. Millie, she was your grandad's main squeeze'. 'What! What, do you mean?' I fairly shrieked. 'Keep ya pants on matie. He got hitched up with er when he was dropped into France, in the early part of the war'. 'You mean my grandmother was his second wife?' 'Something like it', he said, scratching his oily head. 'So Millie is French?' 'That's what I said didn't I? He half growled, then, looked deeply apologetic. 'It is the first time that I am hearing about all this, so you must excuse me', I added. I was feeling most discombobulated, I can tell you. 'Lookie here young gent, the strife is long over, and we won. Now we're living in the pink. But you got to realise that, you can't go blabber-mouthing anything about that there downstairs neighbourhood to anyone'. Cogwhistle froze for a moment and then, scampered on his hands and knees, to take a gander outside the tent. He returned and continued, but his eye balls, had not yet retracted fully back to normal; he looked like he had a couple of snooker balls for peepers. 'The thing is small fry (I was almost twice as tall as him), your pop's is gone, and Mille, these days, is using her smarts to find missing treasures of the realm...and, she has her fingers in other strange doings.' The bit about, 'missing treasures of the realm', sounded so stately, that I thought I must need my ears cleaning. However, Cogwhistle repeated the phrase and then said, 'we got to take these keys to Mille, cos it might help her clear your grandad's name'. At this very point, I could feel a migraine coming on. There was a low buzz in my head, a stiffness of the neck, a blurring of the vision, and I was beginning to see flashing lights. However, I ploughed on. 'So what exactly is my grandfather, Phineas, accused of?' 'I hope you're not winding me up boy? Your gramps was responsible for some loot worth over three billion pounds. It was sent from Australia on a ship in 1942, and put into a vault for safe keeping. These keys', he pointed to the keys in my pocket, were held by only five bodies. One woz me', he held up his key, 'your pops, Clemy, Millie, and Rupert Bloodworth.' My head was zinging at this point, but two thoughts crashed together. 'Why wasn't my Great Uncle Crispin involved in this business, and who, was Rupert Bloodworth?' 'Crispy wasn't involved cos he was an intelligence fella, who woz sent out to Singapore. It's funny ya know, the allies easily outnumbered the Japs, but our fellas didn't know squat about fighting in jungles. Crispy, he was nabbed as a prisoner of war and landed in Changi Prison. Then after, he and a load of other geezers were sent on a train out to Thailand. They couldn't even get a kip or take forty winks on that jaunt, cos there was not enough room to swing a cat. Phiny, did tell me that, Crispy had to leg it, for 200 miles through the jungle, with the wet stuff falling 24/7 and only a handful of rice to peck at'. I was feeling seriously disorientated. 'I knew nothing about any of this', I moaned, half from the pain in my head, and half from the pain in my heart. I didn't know that Uncle Crispy had been through so much. He certainly had never told me any of this. And my brain, stuck in the world of today, could hardly conceive of such a thing as war. 'Now getting to old Rupert Bloodworth, he was some plant from Whitehall. A real snooty geezer, he was....is. He also went out to Frogland during the war, banished like, after some geezer fingered him as trying to kidnap The Regals and send em to the enemy. They never found anything on him, though, and so, Whitehall sent him to us, after. To keep an eye on him, like. I still sees him about now and then. Though, these days he is right matey.' I got up and said, 'I'm expected at home, could we continue this conversation at some other time?' Cogwhistle's face and body became immobile, like he wasn't sure what to do. Then, he scampered outside, and held the flap open for me, whilst he scanned the environment. I bid Cogwhistle goodbye and I scurried home, as my head was full and ready to explode. It felt like the world was pressing in upon me, and I still had to get past Mrs Pollard. Sure enough, old Polly was in battle mode, insisting that I eat my dinner and feed Esmeralda before I escaped to my room. I pretended to eat a few spoonful's of stew and then, grabbed the cat biscuits and went outside (from the laundry) to call Esmeralda. The sound of cars in the distance, mumbled an indistinct message, but she did not come. Then I remembered that she was probably somewhere underground. I did not worry, as she was probably having a wonderful time, with London's rat population. \------------------------ - It took me a few days to recover from my migraine. They are such beastly things; like having a squeezing vice on your head. However, by Tuesday, I was much better, but then, I had to work full-throttle to catch up with the school work that, I had missed. I almost managed another migraine, when I found out that my tutor, Mr Osbourne, wanted me to read the Metamorphoses, by the Roman poet, Ovid, which comprises about fifteen books. It is a great epic; something between myth and history, which tells us how everything changes....except, his poetry of course. Not even the devouring ages can destroy that! A wee bit conceited, I thought. \-------------------------------------------------------- If you peeped in the window, of my uncle's Bayswater house, late on the following Friday night, you would have seen me, lounging in The Fainting Room, on a rose-pink, chaise lounge, reading a book that, my dad had sent me, called, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Dad said that, I needed to read this book, as the next one to be published in the series, would be very important, indeed. Luckily, the book was first-class. I was just up to that part, when Harry finds out that he is famous, when I became aware of a scratching noise, outside the window. I got up and padded over to the window, and peered out. A few flakes of snow were swirling about in the yellow light of the street lamp, and it looked cold. I retreated and went back near the fireplace, where a cheerful little flame was burning in the grate. I was just popping a pink marshmallow into my mouth, from a box that Mrs Pollard had received from one of her secret admirers, when I saw a face rise up in front of me, from the window. I was about to scream, like an alarmed hamster, until, I realised that; it was just Cogwhisitle, beckoning me from a branch of the Slippery Elm Tree, in the front garden. Racing back over to the window, I was just in time to see Cogwhistle, slip down the elm and fall into a heap on the ground, and land in a pile of slushy leaves. Hurtling outside like a freight train with an urgent delivery, I helped Cogwhistle out of the leaf pile and into The Fainting Room, where he sat perched upon the pink velvet, chaise lounge. This was a sight which played strangely with the old brain cells. 'Sorry to drop in on you unannounced like, but I set it up with Mille that, we'll drop on her tomorrow, early bright'. Cogwhistle said, as lay down and made himself comfortable with a small patchwork rug; pulling it up to his chin. But first, I had a few things I wanted to ask. 'So, where does Millie live then and why is it that, Uncle Crispy has never mentioned her? 'Lookie my young sir, this is not really my yarn to spill.....but I will.' He yawned widely, took a deep breath, and tucked the rug more tightly around him. 'Mostly, things woz going along tickety boo, until old Phiny went and disappeared himself in Africa back in 1989. Phiny, ya see, woz the oldest twin by a small bite, so he scored the ancestral pile, when his oldies dropped off the perch, back in the 1950s. But Phiny, he woz not interested in being lord of the manor, like. He and Crispy had long had the notion that, they would bring the wild plants and animals back to old Blighty and that's what Crispy was doing on the lands of Blackstock Hall, while Phiny was off looking at old bits of bones, around the globe. But then, Phiny goes and drops off the map, and Mille, who had nipped back to Frogland after the war, turned up again. And it turned out that, she was Phiny's legal wife, not Clemy, like we all believed. And so, the family shed fell into Millie's lap. And let me tell you: Crispy wasn't right pleased. He felt he got shafted.' I did |
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The vast majority of the food had to be removed. They emptied two of the store rooms, consolidating the remaining food stuffs into a single room. It was after nightfall before Pulchra returned to help Aleckasia back to her room. "More than half the food is gone?" Aleckasia asked after Pulchra explained the situation to her. "A good deal more than half," Pulchra said struggling to keep them both upright as they approached Aleckasia's room. "That will complicate things for us in our conditions," Aleckasia sighed. "Don't worry," Pulchra said and reached out to open the door. "I will take care of you." "I will soon no | The vast majority of the food had to be removed. They emptied two of the store rooms, consolidating the remaining food stuffs into a single room. It was after nightfall before Pulchra returned to help Aleckasia back to her room. "More than half the food is gone?" Aleckasia asked after Pulchra explained the situation to her. "A good deal more than half," Pulchra said struggling to keep them both upright as they approached Aleckasia's room. "That will complicate things for us in our conditions," Aleckasia sighed. "Don't worry," Pulchra said and reached out to open the door. "I will take care of you." "I will soon no longer need your nursing," Aleckasia said with more than a hint of irritation. Then her tone softened. "But it is not only myself I worry about. You should have noticed by now that daemons have large appetites, even before they are born." Pulchra dropped her stepdaughter on the bed causing her to grunt. She stammered, "How did you know that I am carrying a child?" "The signs are quite obvious if you know what to look for," Aleckasia straightened herself on the bed. "And as I said, as my half sibling grows, so will your appetite." "Well we aren't in danger of going hungry yet," Pulchra said. "Akaru will return soon and even if he doesn't, I can buy us more food at the market in Angustia." Pulchra turned to leave the room, but after a second's hesitation she turned back and whispered, "I'm scared." Aleckasia made no response. Her eyes were closed. Pulchra assumed the daemon had fallen asleep and again turned to go when Aleckasia whispered back, "What are scared of?" "I am afraid of what this child will be," Pulchra answered in a wavering voice. "If that frightens you, then you should not have lain with my father." "I am not afraid of it being a daemon," Pulchra sighed. "I hold no prejudice against your race. I want my child to share in his father's nature, but that is what scares me. Tobart explained to me that only the children of two greater daemons with similar natures will inherit their parents' nature." "That is true," Aleckasia said softly. "Then what will this child be?" Pulchra asked as a tear slowly made its way down her cheek. She remembered Celisha and Carmina's story of their tortured childhood, and also the look on Tobart's face when he mentioned the injustices lesser daemons faced. "I don't know," Aleckasia answered, still without opening her eyes. "No offspring of the union of a human and a daemon has ever survived." More tears fell down Pulchra's face. She wanted to shout something at her stepdaughter, but instead she hurried out of the room. If she had opened her mouth she would not have been able to control her tears. In the garden she sat among the flowers and regained her composure. Surely Aleckasia was not an expert in these matters, surely there must be hope for her child. Pulchra spent another day working with Celisha and Carmina to replaster the store room, though in the night more rats had infested a number of the remaining containers of food. These also had to be removed, though not before Aleckasia demanded to eat the offending rodents. "You can't eat them," Pulchra stated. "They are what spoiled our food in the first place." "Their filth and the pestilence on their hides have spoiled the food," Aleckasia retorted. "Not their flesh. That is still edible." "I am not going to allow you to eat rat meat," Pulchra put her hands on her hips. "There is still other dried meat that was untouched. You can have some of that." After the plaster dried, no further pests appeared but a great deal of damage had already been done; and as Aleckasia had warned, Pulchra's appetite greatly increased. It was not long before the store room became quite sparse. Aleckasia was obviously concerned. One afternoon she rose from her chair in the garden. "What do you think you're doing?" Pulchra said stepping in front of her. "I am going hunting," Aleckasia stated and staggered around Pulchra. "The meat is gone and I am not eating anymore of your horrid eggs." "You can barely walk, you can't go off by yourself," Pulchra insisted and grabbed Aleckasia's arm. The daemon wrenched herself free, but lost her balance and fell to the ground clutching her wounded chest. Pulchra knelt next to her and called, "Celisha, Carmina come help me!" "I am hungry," Aleckasia snarled at Pulchra. The fierce look in her golden eyes made Pulchra shiver, but she said nothing more as she was helped back to her bed. "Celisha, I suppose we cannot wait any longer," Pulchra said once they had settled Aleckasia. "You will come with me to buy food in the town. Get a veil to cover your feathers and make sure you wear a dress long enough to cover your feet. Carmina, you will stay with Aleckasia. Make sure she stays in bed." "Yes, mistress," Carmina said. "Won't you need more help to carry the food though?" "If we have to we can borrow a cart and I don't want to leave her alone." So that afternoon Pulchra and Celisha, with a veil carefully covering her feathered head, entered the town of Pulchra's birth and made their way to her father's house. Pulchra noted that few of the townspeople offered a greeting and some even scowled at her as she passed. Hardly the warm welcome of her last visit. Presently they arrived at her parents' house and Pulchra knocked on the door. "Pulchra?" her father asked as he came to the door. "Father, it is good to see you again," Pulchra said stepping forward, but her father did not embrace her or step aside to let her in. "Pulchra, there have been some rather unsavory things said about you lately," the magistrate said in a somber tone. "I don't want to believe them, but they must be addressed before I can welcome you." "What kind of things?" Pulchra asked. "Recently there have been a number of bandits sighted in the valley when we have never had any such problems before," the magistrate said. Pulchra knew that if this was true it was because Akaru and the daemons who usually protected the valley were at war in the south, but how could she say that? The magistrate continued, "People claim that your husband is somehow involved." "How can you say that?" Pulchra gasped. "He has never presented himself but he sends fine gifts of gold and jewels," the magistrate said. "And you tell us tales of a marvelous mansion where no nobleman is known to live. Who could your husband be but a bandit?" Pulchra was horrified. How could her father say such things about her sweet Akaru who had done so much for their town? She fought to remain calm as she spoke, "Father, I assure you my husband Akaru is the finest of gentlemen. He is away on important business but upon his return I shall insist that he present himself to you and you may judge him for yourself. In the meantime, I am in need of food from the market." "The fact that your husband cannot account for himself nor can he supply food for his wife does little to alleviate my fears," the magistrate said as Pulchra turned to go. "I'm afraid I cannot welcome you into either my home or my town until this matter is settled." "Then I shall leave as soon as my shopping is done," Pulchra snarled and stepped away from the house. "I'm afraid you will not find a merchant who will sell to you," the magistrate called after her. "I have coins," Pulchra called back. "They will sell to me." "Not after I have instructed them not to." Pulchra felt a sense of fury and desperation. Her stomach growled and she entreated, "Father, I beg you for the sake of your grandchild which I bear, allow me to buy what I need to feed my household." The magistrate blinked in shock, but then his expression turned stony again. "Leave town immediately," he said and disappeared behind the closing door. Pulchra put her hand on Celisha's shoulder to brace herself as she blinked back tears. Celisha looked at her mistress sympathetically, but she said nothing. What was there to say? They walked to the market and visited several merchants, but as her father had warned, none would sell them anything. They turned for home feeling dejected. Just outside of town, an old sheepherder Pulchra recognized was driving his flock home. He gestured to Pulchra and said to her, "My lady, I can tell by your expression the reception you have been given. Please know that not all of us are so easily swayed by vicious rumors. To prove this, please accept this ewe from my flock." "Oh, sheepherder, thank you," Pulchra cried. "You have restored my faith in my own people and saved me from a most desperate situation." Pulchra and Celisha took the sheep and returned home. That very evening the ewe was slaughtered. The ewe did not last long and the food stores continued to dwindle as both Pulchra and Aleckasia craved more and more to eat. Celisha and Carmina began spending afternoons foraging in the forest for nuts, berries, and insects to feed themselves but this did little to slow the rate at which the household's food was consumed. "Soon I will be able to hunt again and feed us," Aleckasia said munching on the last of the mutton. "You are much improved but you are a long way from being healthy," Pulchra said. She felt helpless. "We have had no word from any other daemons and at this point I see no other choice. We will have to leave the house and go to where we can find food." "I can think of only two places you could be referring to," Aleckasia sighed. "One is the southern border where we could reunite with father. However, I still cannot fly and a journey on land would take weeks. The other possibility is your father's town, but given what you told me of your last visit I don't see how going there will help our situation." "But there is food there and |
"I am told they use a process called-" " Hey, old man, come on, we're short on time or whatever. Let's get started," Kenneth said, poking Unquill in the wrist with one finger. Savannah furrowed her eyebrows. She licked her fingers clean, then said, "What am I doing here?" "Ah yes, let me explain," Unquill said. Then, he said to Kenneth, "Please do not interrupt me, significant citizen. I will accord her the same courtesy I have accorded you. Now then, to answer your question ..." ###FOUR AFTER UNQUILL FINISHED explaining, an explanation during which Kenneth | "I am told they use a process called-" " Hey, old man, come on, we're short on time or whatever. Let's get started," Kenneth said, poking Unquill in the wrist with one finger. Savannah furrowed her eyebrows. She licked her fingers clean, then said, "What am I doing here?" "Ah yes, let me explain," Unquill said. Then, he said to Kenneth, "Please do not interrupt me, significant citizen. I will accord her the same courtesy I have accorded you. Now then, to answer your question ..." ###FOUR AFTER UNQUILL FINISHED explaining, an explanation during which Kenneth interrupted anyway, Savannah sat on the edge of the bed she'd slept in, her eyes wide. No one spoke. Kenneth leaned against a wall, fatigue coming over him. He didn't know why he felt tired after he had just finished sleeping. Savannah said, "The 73rd century? You haven't gone, I don't know, crazy or something? This isn't a dream, right? If it is, it's not a very good one. I'm very sore, and I don't want to be here with this smelly head." Kenneth waved a hand in the air, dismissively.. "It's not my fault if your sense of smell doesn't appreciate me. I can't do anything about that." Savannah put her hands on her hips. She said, "Well of course I can't appreciate anyone who smells as much as you do. Smelly head." "Now, now, please don't argue," Unquill said. "You two have to work together on this. One of you alone won't suffice. Both your minds are needed for this task." Savannah turned away from Kenneth. "How hard can it be to find one man when you can see through all of space and time? I'll do it myself." Kenneth turned from Savannah and said, "If you apologize for calling me smelly, I'll work with you, Savannah. Not before." "Why should I apologize for something that's true?" Unquill wrung his hands together. "But, but, but, this isn't the way married couples behave. At least, not in-" Savannah suddenly whirled to face Unquill. "Married? Are you kidding? You really are crazy! This really is a dream!" Her face clouded and her words tumbled forth in a staccato burst of annoyance mixed with anger. "I'm a kid. I mean, he and I are kids. Married? There's no way. Absolutely not. Forget it. I mean, it's out of the question-totally out of the question! Never in a million years!" "Then I shall take you both to the year 1,000,001 and you can be married." "I'm thirteen years old! Thirteen-year-olds don't get married! And what makes you think I'd want to even be with old Smelly Belly here, anyway?" She paused long enough to cast a baleful stare at Kenneth. Kenneth rolled his eyes. He snorted derisively. "Uh-uh. You gotta be kidding me. No way in hell am I marrying her." He paused, letting his annoyance at the situation subside. Then he suddenly spoke again, his voice tinged with resignation. "Look, I can't say I like the idea much either. I don't want to be around her any more than I need to. Even I know there's not much of a choice. But we might as we look for this dude or whatever. We've got nothing better to do." He paused again before changing the subject. Anything to stop talking about marriage. "Hey, you don't have video games here, do you?" "Ah, no, I'm afraid we don't." Savannah fumed, "And I bet you don't have horses either. You know, the ones you can ride?" "Horses? I, um-" " Never mind," Kenneth said. Then, turning to Savannah, he spoke in a softer, more conciliatory tone. "Look, can you stop insulting me? We don't like each other. I get that. That won't change. At least for now let's do this as fast as we can so we can back to our old lives. Okay?" Savannah didn't answer. She turned to Unquill. "Can you take us back if we finish the job before the time expires?" "Not I-but the Temporal Constabulary can. The answer to your question is yes. You can be returned to your own time whenever it is convenient to do so. All that is required is to make a request with the agency, which they will grant. Then, everything takes care of itself." "Hmph, fine. Whatever," Savannah said. "Let's just do it then. I'm tired of arguing. Where do we begin?" "With sleep," Unquill touched each of them at the nape of the neck. Kenneth felt his consciousness suddenly deserting him. "I'm afraid that I can't let you stay awake too long on the first day. The strain of-" ###DAY TWO ###ONE IN ANOTHER ROOM, not far from where Kenneth and Savannah had slept, a cavernous door opened up before them. A large, black pillar dominated the room from its position in the center. Energy pulsated through the pillar as it thrummed out a rhythm. Cords as wide as Kenneth's bed ran along the floor, all leading to the ebony obelisk. The resultant effect made the room look like it had several unmarked speed bumps designed into it. Four work stations, each containing a metal seat, a keyboard and screen, encircled the imposing black structure. Kenneth noted that even after the passage of so many years, the basic design of the keyboard hadn't changed. It even retained the INS key that he'd ripped out with a pair of pliers from his personal laptop. Kenneth, Savannah and Unquill stood before a large computer screen. Unquill explained that the screen, larger than the chalkboards at school, represented access points to the planet's central computer. The computer, the only one in the world, had access points at every Temporal Constabulary station throughout the planet. There were over one hundred thousand of those, Unquill said. The physical hard drive wasn't located in any one place. Instead, each component connected with one another so that the system as a whole only worked when their version of the internet-as Kenneth understood it-functioned properly. Since there hadn't been a malfunction in one hundred eighty-four years, Unquill felt confident about using it for their purpose. Images came and went so fast that Kenneth could not keep up with them all. He tried focusing on several in particular, only to have them disappear out of sight before he could discover what they were. He finally was able to discern a metal object that resembled a rickshaw, a woman sleeping on a couch, and a fluttering red bird. No matter how long he stared at the images, he couldn't see any pattern that might lead to Hinjo. After several moments, he said, "What is all this?" Unquill did not take his eyes off the screen. "I am searching for Hinjo, just as I have searched many times before. I entered his name into the search field, just as you saw. The computer brings up all the relevant results that might lead to his location. I have spent a total of three hundred fourteen hours in front of this screen, watching all the results. I have not yet seen anything that would provide a clue about him." Kenneth sighed. "And you entered the same keyword into the field every time?" "Why yes," Unquill said. "Naturally. Since the computer is constantly acquiring new data, one must repeat a search to account for new results." "Why don't you try something like religion?" Savannah said. She looked at the floor, unable to keep her eyes upon the screen. Unquill beamed. "Ahh, yes, I had not considered that. A different keyword. Yes, it's possible. I will try it." A few moments passed. Kenneth frowned. He saw the images clearer this time: the metal rickshaw, the woman, the bird. He said, "Try another search. Look up, oh, I don't know, barn owl." "I don't see what that has to do with Hinjo, but I will try it." Unquill said, resetting the search and entering the keywords. With the third search, Kenneth saw the same procession of results. They came in the exact same order every time. "Unquill, I think your computer has a problem." Unquill didn't say anything at first. He kept staring at the screen. At last he said, "I think you may be right. Oh dear, this is rather a bother." "I don't understand what's going on," Savannah huffed. "It's just a lot of random stuff up there, right?" Unquill paused for a moment, considering how best to reply. He shifted from one foot to the other. Having opted not to sit down in the chair, Unquill now gave Kenneth the impression of someone made uncomfortable by a person half his size. "These images are anything but random. Terrible truncations, I think-well, the computer is returning the same search results for every query I enter." "What does that mean?" Savannah asked. Unquill massaged his right wrist with his left hand. He replied, "We can't rely on the computer. Or, at the very least, we'll have to fix the computer before we can get any information about Hinjo Junta." Savannah said, "Can't we just hire a private eye?" Kenneth had to keep himself from laughing. "Eh? I don't see how a private ocular attachment could assist in this situation." Savannah sighed. "I guess not." Kenneth spoke up. "How long does it take to repair the computer?" "Oh dear, oh dear, I really can't say for certain. I can't even say for certain where the problem is. It could be anywhere." Unquill paused, lost in thought. Suddenly, he brightened. "Indeed, it might not even be the computer that's giving us the same information over and over to us. It might be one of the access points. Oh, I hadn't thought of that. Yes, that's possible. I'll check." Kenneth and Savannah looked at each other for a moment. Over one hundred thousand of them. Unquill was going to check them. Savannah took a step back. ###TWO KENNETH HAD NEVER considered patience a virtue. Even during gym class, |
Turning he faced Crandle and explained, 'I'm making enquiries into art theft at an establishment called Thornton Galleries. A phone call, made from here, asked about a reward for the recovery of a stolen painting. Did you make that call?' Needing time to think and taken by surprise Crandle answered by asking a question, 'are you sure it came from here?' 'I'm sure sir. Do you know a man called Bob Fry? He was mentioned in the call.' 'Did the caller leave a name?' 'I think we will both find this process a little easier and faster if you let me ask the questions and you give the answers. Can you | Turning he faced Crandle and explained, 'I'm making enquiries into art theft at an establishment called Thornton Galleries. A phone call, made from here, asked about a reward for the recovery of a stolen painting. Did you make that call?' Needing time to think and taken by surprise Crandle answered by asking a question, 'are you sure it came from here?' 'I'm sure sir. Do you know a man called Bob Fry? He was mentioned in the call.' 'Did the caller leave a name?' 'I think we will both find this process a little easier and faster if you let me ask the questions and you give the answers. Can you explain how a call could have been made from here to the gallery and do you know a man called Fry, Bob Fry?' Not wishing to directly lie, Crandle replied, 'I know a man called Fry through a friend who asked for my help.' Sighing and realising he couldn't avoid either misleading the policeman or telling the truth, he opted for the truth. 'I rang the gallery to follow up a meeting that we had where we were asked about a lost painting. This Bob Fry offered a reward but I thought it could be some sort of scam, so I checked it out.' 'The caller left the name of Dave?' 'It was an off the cuff thing, I didn't want to leave a name, my friends name is Dave, it just jumped into my head.' He looked at Susan hoping that she would wait for a better explanation and not join in with the questioning. 'Tell me more about your friend and Bob Fry.' 'Dave found a clock on the beach, Fry is working for the owners and offered a reward, I helped in the exchange of the timepiece for money. Fry asked us if we knew anything about a painting called the Mistress and offered more cash if we could find it. That's all I know really, but I thought if Fry is offering money the gallery would know about it.' 'Where's Dave got to now? What's his surname?' 'He's on holiday with the reward money; I think he will be back next week. Is any of this any help? I'm just a bloke that provided support for the exchange.' 'Do you know where the painting is?' 'It's not here Sergeant,' said Susan, 'I've looked around the house for bedding and other things, there's definitely no art work.' 'There's a copy at the gallery, I found that out on the phone.' Sighing DS Bradford, nodded, 'yes I know that. Where is the original?' 'I'm sorry but I can't help you with that,' Crandle declared. Basically that's true, he thought, I can't help without becoming hopelessly embroiled in the enquiry and I have to avoid that. The questions continued until Eric Bradford was satisfied that he could achieve little else, he had a long journey home and he suggested to the Crandle's that he would return when Dave Sampson came home from holiday. When they were alone Susan turned to her husband, 'I hope you have saved a better explanation for me because we all know, including the Sergeant, that you are being evasive. Where have you been for the day? You said you were in trouble what kind is it?' Controlling his nervousness Crandle realised just how much depended on the next few minutes. His mind had been focused on dealing with returning the painting to the extent where his already shaky relationship with Susan had become endangered. 'Sue, I had such high hopes for our day out together, I'm sorry but I have acted like a fool and become involved in something that I can only call shady dealing.' He had never lied to her and although they lived apart he always thought that they would get back together. He wanted to live with his wife and daughter again in the very near future. 'I don't want to make things worse by telling you all about it. I'd sooner clear it up and put it behind me rather than involve you and maybe Ashley.' 'Jim, if we can't work things out together when the chips are down and we need help then we're never going to make it back to being one family. This isn't like the army, you're not in a foreign country where I haven't the expertise to help, the problems here in Dorset. We either do this together or I go home for good.' Seeing the seriousness etched on her face, he knew there could be no doubting that Sue would leave, he had to explain how a simple adventure had turned into a potential nightmare. 'Would you give me a couple of days to sort it out?' 'That's not going to work. I want to know how we are going to get out of this mess,' she pointed at the envelope with the money, 'and I want to know what the mess is.' 'If you're like me you will not know a lot about the law of salvage, but it's fairly obscure and the locals seem to believe it's finders keepers when you recover something from the beach...... Jim carried on describing the events leading on to his involvement with the Mistress painting and where Bob Fry fitted in. Occasionally he had to stop to answer Susan's anxious questions. Half an hour later, they sat together drinking tea, the story complete. Susan summarised the problems before them. 'The Collector, Bob Fry and the Gallery want the original back, you have it and its stored in an hotel in Sidmouth, we have the money from one interested party in the envelope, Bob Fry is offering much more and the police are involved in tracing the stolen art. Your solution is to exchange the painting for the reward and then you can wash your hands of the affair.' 'I only need forty eight hours and it will all be over,' he said more confidently than he felt. 'But it is stolen art, worth a lot of money!' 'I will only be returning events back to status quo, the thieves will have the painting back and the police will be able to pursue them, we will not be involved.' 'Jim, think about what you are saying, you will become some sort of accomplice when you don't return the painting to the rightful owners.' 'It's too complicated for that. The police will never catch the thieves. I'm prepared to help them when the exchange has taken place. I don't really know who the Collector is, he maybe the thief or someone who has paid for the Mistress and wants it back.' 'You know it's very shady, who ever these people are they are not going to all this trouble when they could have told the authorities who had the painting. The burglary proved they are criminals, and as Bob Fry said to you, they are not to be trusted. I don't like it.' 'What would you do then?' The telephone rang. Startled by its sudden intrusion, Crandle jumped up and snatched it from the sideboard. 'Hello.' 'Crandle?' the caller didn't wait for a reply. 'This is Bob Fry, have you time to talk now or shall I call back tomorrow?' He looked apologetically at Sue, 'I've time to talk, carry on.' 'I can be in Sidmouth tomorrow afternoon if that fits in with your plans. The painting will have to be inspected, can you organise a hotel room? If all is okay the payment will be made to you there and then. I have a slight complication in that the Collector has insisted that he is allowed to view the painting and take delivery himself. I have proposed that after we have concluded the business the Mistress is left in the room for him to take away in his own time.' 'It's a bit complicated isn't it? I can make all the arrangements but.....' 'I know but that's the deal, take it or leave it.' 'You know I have little choice. You drive down in the morning. I'll give you a call on the mobile and let you know the time and venue. Okay?' Replacing the hand set, he looked at Sue, the disappointment showing on his face. 'Events are moving faster than we would want. I can still call a halt to it, but only have overnight to think of a solution that will allow me to escape any dangerous fall out.' 'You're a Crandle, you will do what you want anyway; your family always have. I'll give you your forty eight hours but I expect you to come out of this without being in trouble with the police or having the local mafia on your case. We will be stopping in a hotel tomorrow night and Ashley will still want her day out.' 'Sue I can't do this without your help.' 'Yes you can, it's just another game, like being in the Marines and you will love it. Conflict, fighting, deviousness; what is it you always say, by sea by boat, winning is all.' 'I need to ask a favour.' Chapter Twelve The Mistress looked mockingly at him seeming to know that he wanted to continue the relationship but acknowledging that it must end. He felt sad, crestfallen, his yearning for her tantalizing company had led him into troubled waters, now he would have to deal with the sordid side of her affairs and pass her on to the rich man's club. Bob had sat in a chair facing the original masterpiece for over an hour. Not wanting to take it down but realising that if he didn't return the original work to the Fraternity via Adam Grange then his subterfuge would be discovered with serious repercussions. 'I've worked hard to have you here, but things have to change,' he said out loud, his voice echoing in the empty dining room. 'The two copies have served their purpose; they've enabled us to be together for a short while, now at least one of them will be destroyed.' He thought of the copy hung in Thornton Gallery, the one that would survive as part of his business proposal and the other that Crandle had recovered from the sea shore on the fateful day the container had broken open. That's the one that will have to go, the better of the two, but the one that will come under intense scrutiny. I have to replace Crandle's copy with the original before Adam Grange starts to probe its authenticity. 'I'm sorry it came to this,' he lifted the painting down and placed it in the prepared packaging on the dining room table, 'take |
Thinking, reading, writing, speaking, singing are all restorative for the PEOPLE ON THE PATH OF SELF IMPROVEMENT, and being the first to save oneself before The Saviour Saves! The only incontinence attitude based on The Doom before DEATH would be "Shutting Up" if it is only an awkward silence under the oppression that were not related to any dreams like American Dream. Even the most bigot Anti-American militant who could not controlled by the allies in Anatolia-The New Mesopotamians-is to follow the holy motto: "Impossible is nothing!" The Trap called Life, in its purest form, attempts not to torture us only but likes to see us deaf and dumb. So as | Thinking, reading, writing, speaking, singing are all restorative for the PEOPLE ON THE PATH OF SELF IMPROVEMENT, and being the first to save oneself before The Saviour Saves! The only incontinence attitude based on The Doom before DEATH would be "Shutting Up" if it is only an awkward silence under the oppression that were not related to any dreams like American Dream. Even the most bigot Anti-American militant who could not controlled by the allies in Anatolia-The New Mesopotamians-is to follow the holy motto: "Impossible is nothing!" The Trap called Life, in its purest form, attempts not to torture us only but likes to see us deaf and dumb. So as The New Mesopotamians' saying goes, "Who choose silence before the EVIL is DEVIL without tongue!" THE PROPHET AND THREE MAIN CONCEPTS: THE HOLY SPIRIT, MALE MESSIAH-THE SAVIOUR, AND THE FEMALE AL-LAT (H) In every line-AYAT-of SURAT-UL NEJM the Holy Quran descended to the Prophet simultaneously experiences rejection of ancient Arabic Goddesses whose idol characters and having been females-all of them-were open threat to his rights in teaching "ONE AND ONLY GOD" and a complete and spontaneous loyalty to Angels' certain aspects that made Prophet crying in revolt: "Male to Judeo-Christians and Female to Muslims!" That could not be accepted. Necm Suresi, Lat, Uzza, Menat, Şira Yıldızı'nın Rabbi, Ezoterik...http: //www.spiritualizm.com/kitap/kitap...izli9.html \- ÖnbellekNecm Suresi. 62 ayetten oluşan sure, adım ayetin başındaki "yıldız" anlamına gelen "en-Necm "kelimesinden almıştır: Battığı zaman yıldıza andolsun ki,...Thus he implicitly brings into bouquet of the Mankind's prehistoric goddess namely Mom-the Nature as a new standard of religious values so far from being content with that he is prepared to support it no matter what he risks. Up to this point and he has at least remained silent and has abandoned himself to the form of despair in which Nature-the MOM was to be accepted even though it is considered unjust to be embraced. To remain silent is to give the impression that the Prophet has got a great desire to have a valuable opinion about The Nature ..." Allah'ım, bana eşyayı olduğu gibi göster" (göründüğü gibi değil...http: //www.tumgazeteler.com/? a=2334974 \- Önbellek Peygamber Efendimizin en sık dile getirdiği duanın "Allah'ım bana eşyayı (şeyleri) olduğu gibi göster" olduğunu belirtmiş, bir de Mevlana'nın ünlü eseri...CHAPTER THREE: THE HEART OF THE EXPLORING RELIGION NATURE-THE MOM OR THE LIVING NETWORK OF KADER/FATE OR EVEN THE DAUGHTER OF GOD: WHAT COMES OF IT? Awareness of the New Mesopotamians, no matter how confused it may be to live the paradox of being very pious believers and swear the FATE/ KADER the prostitute, develops no act of blasphemy from the point of the Muslim subjects-still the greatest majority in Anatolia-of Ottoman Empire and Soviet type/Semi Military state viz. Turkish Republic: only the chronic benumbing perception that there is something in man with which he can identify himself as the little Messiah, even if only for a moment, and makes all good believers of the canonical laws induced Religions (Judeo-Christianity and Islam) to long for the MESIAH's coming back to rule the world in peace.. What is very interesting is that up till now this identification was never really observed. Before the rebel writer-CAMUS qualifies the CREATION as absurd and Hawking justifies the CREATOR useless while the UNIVERSE could create itself with its NATURAL or Physical Laws, the New Mesopotamians wouldn't like to accept all the demands made upon him by the CREATOR as a docile lamp might do it. HEART OF THE CHAPTER THREE: NATURE THE MOMSEEMINGLY THE NEW MESOPOTAMIANS ACCEPT KADER AS THE CREATOR NAMELY NATURE-THE MOM! Very often they even try to understand the orders i.e. KADER/the FATE through fortune tellers' tales, the signs of Horoscope commentators, and by means of interpreting some ominous or auspicious events without reacting against them, which were far more reductive to mend humane faults than to exploit the keys presented by the fate. He accepted them patiently sometimes, though they may have protested before the public opinion with the most indecent words, swearing, and cursing the FATE/KADER the whore but in that frequently they remained silent while they were more concerned with their own immediate interests than as yet aware of his own rights to despise THE CREATOR for Her faults, or to find Her Creation absurd or simple as CAMUS and Hawking do! But with loss of patience a reaction begins which can extend to swearing that they overtly, boldly, clearly are to appreciate the Fate/Nature the MOM-implicitly The Creator-as blind, indecent, betraying as an ordinary prostitute! The very moment the New Mesopotamian subjects of the Creator refuses to obey the humiliating operations of their Fate, they simultaneously rejects the condition of blasphemy. Instead they embrace GOD-The Saviour more heartily. The act of praying piously carries them far beyond the point they had reached by simply swearing Nature-the Mom/The Creator. The New Mesopotamians never exceeds the bounds that they fixed for their opposition to a Dirty Fate/KADER the prostitute, and they demands to be treated as an equal in the world of believers who would use four weapons TO MAKE SELF DEVELOPMENT: -Perception of the mankind's godly power (MEVLA) to their own self rescuing what was at first the man's obstinate resistance now becomes the whole humanity, who is identified with and summed up in the resistance even against The Creator. -If the weak part of their personal MESSIAH-MEVLA that they want to be respected as a quality of GOD couldn't proceed they give their ritual waiting for MESIAH-The Christ. -If it becomes for them the supreme good to believe in the Messiah and blackening the Fate as being in the interjection "You female wheel/FELEK of God how humbug you are" they wouldn't use the heavy words in swearing Fate/KADER. -Having up to now been willing to compromise, the New Mesopotamians adopts gradually an attitude insisting for many centuries "If the wheel of GOD does disturb us we swear and curse it whether it carries even a bit of the wit of GOD or not"' -With New Mesopotamians, the new conscious has been born, and over their religious virtue-the newest in the World-they understood that Nature the MOM/The Creator has got the highest cleverness, wit, conscious and conscience. But can we see that the knowledge about the Creator gained by New Mesopotamians is including at the same time "Holy Soul", or this is rather obscure? The believers of Monotheistic Religions want to pray one and only God who is only living all over the universe, and only owner of it which should be in need of saved by the MESSIAH who ought to be accepted as the peace representative of THE GOD. This definition is too much convenient to qualify the Holy Father/Holy Soul, and shared by both Judeo-Christians and Muslims because of the GREAT TRAP we used to call as THE LIFE could not be anything related to absolute SALVATION! According to The New Mesopotamians THE FATE is a female-Godly-power who could make so much witty and dirty things on purpose. Apparently in their sub-consciousness The New Mesopotamians identify Nature-The Mom completely with the female godly servant of God if not His daughter about whose evils-besides those of the devils-they have-by means of intuition-become aware and by whom they want to be personally well treated and not be tired with nuisance which CAMUS would callABSURDITY! At the first stages of the life of an adult person The New Mesopotamians would like to reach absolute peace! It should never be a welcomed death of course nor suicide as CAMUS was probably underestimated to be tending. Mental abilities of Nature-The MOM, according to the saints of the New Mesopotamians, well suffice occasionally to represent a transition from the smiling face to gloomy cheeks, from what is desired to what is abominable arbitrarily! Through the intermediary phases of happiness what is generally considered undesirable The New Mesopotamians call for their own-individual-Messiah to help them! In historical lines of his YUNUS EMRE-The Poet and Saint says: Using the reason and tongue of mountains Let me call you: my Messiah-MEVLA, whence The birds twitting in early down! ekşi sözlük - kutsal bilgi kaynağı - çağırayım mevlam seni http: //www.eksisozluk.com/show.asp? t=çağırayım% 20mevlam% 20seni dağlar ile, taşlar ile çağırayım mevlam seni seherlerde kuşlar ile çağırayım mevlam seni sular dibinde mahi ile sahralarda ahu ile abdal olup "ya hu" ile...END OF THE CHAPTER THREE NUMBER ONE EPISODE The transition from the belief of New Mesopotamian to the logical conclusions is to manifest, as we ought to understand, the owner of Holy Spirit is the owner-not the creator-of the breath by means of which He had got Virgin Mary pregnant with the Messiah who could be the one and only chance to be rescued from the Nature-the MOM who would be the most clever when she would help us or destroy our little worlds of which we should be learn the master i.e. MEVLA/the individual size Messiah. So is the transition from "How nice the life is" to "This is full of tricks and traps so I ought to know how I should call the Messiah within my soul for the time being and long for the coming back of the Messiah" and even more so, perhaps, the duty of the SELF DEVELOPMENT of the individual in a henceforth ability of swearing the Fate/KADER the whore representing perfidious components of the Creator's Wheel/FELEK from the Satan to accidents. If we remember the Freudian rule-saying there is no accidence in the Universe-the Satan shall be the unique source of evil and the greatest enemy and virtuous farm hand of the Creator! As The Creator and even Her Creation have got wit, cleverness, all type of virtues of our brains prove CAMUS' concept of "Absurdity" yes prove "Absurd", contrary to his opinion, and show us that Her pseudo absurd actually perfidious nuisance could spring from everything that is most strictly individualistic in man or social in human society. If SELF DEVELOPMENT is to be possible at the rate of crying aloud the American proverb which prove us that "impossible is nothing" then the mankind shouldn't accept to be loser! Coming Next: SOME HISTORICAL ASPECTS OF THE STATES OF the N.Ms END OF THE CHAPTER THREE As you shall see in the last State Story written for the sake of showing the readers the New Mesopotamians activities as being Pro-West Turkish and Kurdish Muslims and the sufferings they have been inflicted by Anti-European Movements within the boundaries of Ottoman Empire and Turkish Republic. The path of the New Mesopotamians is to make the persons PM who seem as the friends of the USA and Europe! In every general election polls would happen in a special political victory of theirs because they are the greatest majority of Anatolian Voters. They used to win always in their political struggles against non liberal and aggressive atheist groups, and as a consequence of their act of the lovers of American type liberalism, they have demonstrated by doing so that they were willing |
We turn left when we exit the room and I follow Mallory as she guides me to the end of the long hallway. As we stop in front of the last door my nerves jerk in my legs. Mallory takes a deep breath. "This is it...the Depot." She reaches out to hold my hand and squeezes it gently. "Are you nervous?" My voice is just above a whisper. "Always a little. Are you?" "Extremely." We both laugh. Mallory opens the door and I step carefully over the threshold. I am not sure what to expect, but Mallory seems confidant and relaxed while she tugs me next to her as we approach a | We turn left when we exit the room and I follow Mallory as she guides me to the end of the long hallway. As we stop in front of the last door my nerves jerk in my legs. Mallory takes a deep breath. "This is it...the Depot." She reaches out to hold my hand and squeezes it gently. "Are you nervous?" My voice is just above a whisper. "Always a little. Are you?" "Extremely." We both laugh. Mallory opens the door and I step carefully over the threshold. I am not sure what to expect, but Mallory seems confidant and relaxed while she tugs me next to her as we approach a long wall, flanked by the only two doors in the small room. There are hundreds of slashes on the white wall, and as we get closer, I see that some are occupied by the same shiny black glass that Mallory and I both hold. They stick out slightly from their docking places in no particular pattern and it reminds me of a rock climbing wall. "Your card goes in one of the slots - it doesn't matter which one. And a door will open for you to enter. Inside is pretty dark and the first few moments are uncomfortable, but before you know it, you're with your Assignment. When you come back, you'll exit through the same door and remove your card from the wall. It won't look the same, it will be grey." Mallory carefully runs her slender fingers over a few of the glass cards that protrude from the wall. I struggle to imprint every word she just said into my memory but I'm afraid I'll forget something important. "Are you ready?" I take a deep breath. "Yes, I think so." "I'll go first, so you can see what I do...okay?" I nod and watch as she slides her glass card into one of the available slots. The door to our right slowly opens and Mallory walks confidently toward it. With her hand on the knob, she looks over her shoulder at me a final time and smiles before closing the door. That's it? I stare at the wall, looking for the slot I want to use, and as I reach up to slide my glass card into the spot I've picked, the door behind me flies open. Niles stands in the doorway, looking frazzled. "Niles?" "Piper! I'm glad I made it before you left!" He takes a deep breath before entering and walks quickly to me. I return his hug and when he steps back he takes another breath before talking. "I'm really sorry I'm late. I had a New Arrival to accompany to Orientation. I wasn't expecting your fist case to come so soon." "Niles, it's okay. Mallory showed me what to do." I smile big at him, hoping my face is full of confidence. "That was very kind of her." He nods approvingly. "I will have to thank her." "She just left on an assignment. She went first so I could see what to do." I nod at the door she passed through just moments before. "Well, when she returns then." He gestures to the wall. "Which one will you pick?" "Oh, I was thinking this one." I raise the glass key up to the wall and slide it into an empty space. Niles grins as he watches and the door to our left opens with a soft whoosh sound. "What?" I send a curious glance his way. "That's the portal I used for my first case." "How do you remember which portals you used?" I'm surprised. "Piper, I've had many, many cases. More assignments than there are portals. I guess I had my favorites." He smiles until a funny look spreads across his face. "Do you miss it?" I ask quietly. "Sometimes, but my job now is equally as fulfilling." He nods at the door, "Okay, it's your turn. I'll be here when you come back." I walk slowly toward the door and Mallory was right, its pitch black on the other side. I glance at Niles and he is nodding with a smile plastered to his wrinkled face, using his hands to 'shoo' me forward. "Go ahead. You'll be fine," he says. I stop at the threshold and give him a final smirk. With my hand on the knob, I hear his voice reassuring me once more. "Good luck, Piper, I know you will do great." #CHAPTER 8 I stand absolutely still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. With the door closed behind me, I see nothing but blackness. It's eerily quiet other than my own thoughts and I'm on the verge of panicking when I feel a pinching sensation start at my feet and quickly travel up my legs. What the heck is that?! I dance on my toes, thinking something is crawling on me in the dark. The pinching moves over my hips and around my stomach. I gingerly touch my midsection with only my fingertips but there is nothing there, other than my clothing. The pinching works its way up my chest and a strangled sound escapes my mouth as it passes over my throat. By the time it reaches the top of my head, I'm in full-on panic mode. _I want out, let me out of here! _ I scream hysterically into the darkness and suddenly the pinching stops. Oh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! I feel...light. Suspended, maybe? I try moving but I have no sensation in my limbs. _This is strange. Is this what being paralyzed feels like? _ I can't see anything and it's still very dark and quiet. No, wait...I _do_ hear something. _Snoring? Is that someone snoring? _ Great. My first Assignment is asleep - which means I'm stuck in the darkness for who knows how long. If I had fingers, I'd be twiddling them. If I had toes, I'd be tapping my foot impatiently. But seeming that it's really just my awareness that is present, I have to wait. _How irritating._ The time moves slowly but eventually the snoring stops. A peek of light floods around me before it's gone almost instantly. _Come on, wake up._ Brightness encompasses me once more and a few seconds pass by before it is gone again. Wake up, sleepy-head. This time, the glow of light stays put and I see through my Assignment clearly. I struggle to process what's right in front of me...is it, yes...it's a pillow...inside a burgundy-colored case, and beyond that is a starkly furnished bedroom. I sense my Assignment stretch and I look up at the dingy popcorn ceiling as the body I'm inhabiting rolls over. The room is small, not much bigger than a walk-in closet. I'm antsy for my Assignment to start the day...I really want to know what her name is so I can stop calling her my _'Assignment'_. The room comes into better focus as she sits up and stretches again. I wait patiently, eager for the trip to the bathroom where I'll see her face for the first time. The room tilts as she gazes to the left where there is a small table beside the bed with dark water rings stained into the wood. I scowl. Ever heard of a coaster? A cell phone sits next to a metal bedside lamp, its red light blinking furiously. It must need to be charged. We walk across the room which takes about one second...it's a seriously small space. A door stands open and beyond it I see a toilet. _Yay! Where's the mirror?! _ As we get closer I see how badly the toilet needs to be cleaned. _Eww. That's just nasty._ I don't get a glimpse in the mirror right away and if I had my lips, I'd pout. Then something strange and unexpected happens. Instead of my Assignment sitting down on the toilet, she stands - to _pee_. And that's when I realize a mistake was made. _I'm in a man?! Oh no, someone is in deep trouble back at the Station._ I wish my arms were still around so I could cross them stubbornly at my chest in disdain. _You've GOT to be kidding me._ _How is this going to work? _ Somewhere, my foot is tapping with irritation. I wasn't expecting this and I surely wasn't prepared for my first case to be a guy. For _any_ of my cases to be guys, actually. Eventually the toilet flushes...after what seems like an hour of urinating. _I mean seriously, how much can a male bladder hold?! _ As the mirror comes into view I want to close my eyes because I'm afraid of what I'm about to see. But since I can't close what I don't have, I'm forced to stare at the mirror when his head lifts up. The sleepy face of the most beautiful boy I've ever seen greets me. _This could be bad, really bad._ The last time I thought anyone was this cute, I learned the hard way that cute doesn't mean nice. I play my Trainer's voice through my head...trying to remember all the scenarios that were placed before me to prepare me for this moment. I'm completely blank. He runs his hand along his chiseled jaw, which is full of dark morning stubble. I don't know what to think but I'm sure if I had my mouth, I'd be gawking. His lips are full and luscious from sleep and his hooded eyelids blink at his reflection slowly. I notice, as well as feel the sadness from his expression. The bloodshot white of his eyes clash against the blue of his irises and I think he's either very tired, or hung-over..._maybe both? _ I watch, unable to blink – even if I had the ability to do so, as he runs his hand through the soft, dark curls of his jet-black hair and they bounce gently down onto his forehead. He can't be younger than me, so I assume he must be nineteen...the cap for my Assignment age limit. As he brushes his teeth, too quickly, I think...I get glimpses of his chest and biceps. He's not overly large, but is in obviously great shape. I guess he's about six feet tall. My sordid past all but fades away as I visually absorb this man from head to toe. I guess my teenage hormones aren't forever broken after-all. No longer upset with the mix-up, I think to myself |
I'd forgotten my home screen. "It's just a picture," I said. "You can customise the screen how you want." I felt my face flushing and turned back to the screen. "Pervert," Ivy said under her breath, but more than loud enough to hear. I decided it was best to push forward with the lesson. "One thing that computers do is let you learn things by connecting you to databases around the world. They're like electronic libraries." "How many books are in these libraries?" Ivy asked, peering at the screen. "Tens of millions I'd guess." Her expression said she thought I was pulling her leg. | I'd forgotten my home screen. "It's just a picture," I said. "You can customise the screen how you want." I felt my face flushing and turned back to the screen. "Pervert," Ivy said under her breath, but more than loud enough to hear. I decided it was best to push forward with the lesson. "One thing that computers do is let you learn things by connecting you to databases around the world. They're like electronic libraries." "How many books are in these libraries?" Ivy asked, peering at the screen. "Tens of millions I'd guess." Her expression said she thought I was pulling her leg. "It's true," I said. "You can put in a question, or a topic, and the computer will help find the answer for you." I opened the web browser. Ivy still gave me a suspicious frown. "Tell me something you want to know about, and I'll show you how to do a search." "Does the computer have maps, as well as books, in its libraries?" "Yes, you can see pictures of the world too." "The entire world?" "Yeah." "Show me," Ivy said. I opened Google Earth and showed her how to navigate with the mouse. Then I found Gran's house, which was in one of the rare fuzzy sections of map you sometimes see. I let her try, and after watching her explore for an hour, I asked if she wanted me to show her something else. Ivy shook her head without looking away from the screen; I stretched out on my bed for a well-deserved nap and left her to it. When I woke, just before dinner, Ivy was gone. *** I rarely dreamed or at least rarely remembered my dreams before moving to Glastonbury Manor. I'd been having dreams every night since. They were vivid and real-seeming, but fuzzy at the same time. Now that I've told you, I realise that doesn't make any sense. My dreams were like that though—real while they were happening—and distantly unclear when I woke. That night I dreamt of the forest; a dark shadow-filled nightmare involving me endlessly running, pursued by unseen monsters. Each time they came close to catching me, I woke. Each time I woke, Gran's cat purred, and I'd pet it until I fell back asleep. It was strangely comforting having the cat sleeping beside me. I had always considered myself a dog person, but I'd never had _any_ pets, so that had largely been conjecture. Gran told me that the cat didn't have a name when I'd asked, and I thought maybe I should give it one. I fell back asleep before I could come up with a suitable name. Chapter 6 – Ivy's Lesson I woke earlier than usual, discovering the cat had abandoned me. The wind and raindrops blowing through the window screens had dragged me from sleep. Barely awake, I stumbled across the room to shut the windows. As I moved to the second one, I stopped, hands poised, ready to pull down the heavy wooden frame. Someone was out back in the rain. It was dim outside, from the hour and the weather, but I recognised Ms. Mopat right away. What I couldn't figure out was what she was doing. She appeared to be cleaning litter from the yard. Gran's housekeeper moved briskly around the edge of the property. Every so often, she'd stoop to pick something up and put it in a large bag. Then she'd move on. Who did yard work at six in the morning— _in the rain? _ I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't. Then I watched her work for almost an hour. She patrolled the entire perimeter of my grandmother's yard before heading back towards the house. A bag full of (I assumed leaves and sticks) bulged at her side. In the city, it might have been full of litter. At Gran's, given the lack of any neighbours...where could litter come from? Ms. Mopat came to an abrupt halt, when she'd almost reached the house—and looked up at me. The air was muggy, but I felt a shiver run down my spine. She looked straight at me, even though my light wasn't on, there must have been fifty windows on the back of Gran's house, and I'd made no noise or movement. Then, after a brief pause, she continued on her way. Weird. *** Rain fell for the next few days. Each morning I learned more fencing from Mr. Ryan, and each afternoon Gran scheduled more Ivy-time for me. For a girl impressed by the electric lights, she quickly mastered modern technology. Even typing with one finger, she moved around the web with relative ease, and after the second day, Ivy informed me that she wanted to learn all the internet had to offer before I taught her more. That sounded good to me, and I made Ivy her own user account (with no administrative privileges) letting her surf to her heart's content. I mostly napped through a week of afternoons as neither of us was inclined to talk. Five days into that routine, Ivy began our first real conversation. "Is Mr. Ryan teaching you to dance?" she asked. I was stretched out on my bed, eyes closed, and almost blissfully asleep. "What?" I asked groggily. "I watched the two of you for a few minutes this morning," Ivy said. "You danced in strange clothing, with metal wands in your hands." Was she making fun of me, or once again showing her vast ignorance? With Ivy—I often couldn't tell. "I was holding a _sword_," I said, "and we were _fencing_." "Fencing?" "Sword fighting." Ivy laughed. "What's so funny?" I asked, sitting up. "I've seen sword fighting," she said. "_That_ wasn't sword fighting. You'd be dead in a few heartbeats, prancing and poking with that willow switch of a blade." I found it hard to believe that the thing Ivy _did_ know about was fighting (with a sword or otherwise). "You don't know what you're talking about," I said. I was proud of myself for not saying several other things. "Why don't you practice your web searching and learn about fencing for yourself?" "I'm impressed," Ivy said as she turned back to the computer. "Why?" "Because, you made a suggestion that _wasn't_ stupid." I closed my eyes again and held in my reply. ***" Boy, wake up," Ivy said. It felt like I'd only had five minutes of napping. "What?" "I was right. I woke you to give you an opportunity to apologise." Ivy sounded happy. "Right about what?" I wasn't entirely awake yet. "This fencing isn't _real_ sword fighting. It's just a game loosely based upon it. Worthless, as far as I can tell. You may apologise now." "It's not a game it's a _sport! _ "I said. "People can't go around jabbing each other with real swords." "Explain the difference between a game and a sport," Ivy said. Well...more demanded. I tried to come up with an answer and failed. The sport/game line was blurry. Ivy's triumphant smile told me she took my silence as a victory. "You shouldn't waste your time with foolish games," she said. "Mr. Ryan is a great sword master. You'd be wiser to beg him to teach you useful skills." "What do you know?" I asked. Mr. Ryan _was_ an amazing fencer, but how did this idiot know that? "I've observed him." "A while ago you didn't even know what fencing was. Now you can spot an expert?" "I wasn't referring to your _dance lessons_," Ivy said. "I watched Mr. Ryan in the gymnasium last night after dinner. Rest assured, boy, I know a master when I see one." "What was he doing?" I asked, more curious than annoyed. Ivy looked at me as though I was the stupidest creature to have walked the earth. "Practising sword forms." She said it slowly to emphasise my stupidity. "_Real sword forms_. Not prancing about. Are you listening, boy?" I wasn't. I was imagining what other cool stuff I might talk Mr. Ryan into teaching me. *** I went down to the gymnasium after dinner, to see if Mr. Ryan was actually there. Ivy already waited in the hallway by the door. Her smirk said she'd known I would come and waited to be proven correct. Ivy didn't speak; instead, she held a finger to her lips and silently opened the door a few inches. I was a good head taller than Ivy, and we both looked through the gap together. Mr. Ryan moved around the gym with one of the wooden swords from the rack. I'd dabbled in a few martial arts in my fourteen years, and I recognised a kata when I saw one. Mr. Ryan moved from parries, to lunges, to slashing strikes as countless invisible opponents fell to his blade. For an older (and chubby) guy he was remarkably fast and graceful. Finally, he leapt an improbable distance and struck down his last enemy with a powerful overhand blow. Then he drew himself up and stood still, sword at the ready. It had been as awesome as any ninja-filled movie I'd ever seen. "Are you going to skulk out in the hallway all night?" Mr. Ryan asked. He was out of breath, and he didn't turn to look in our direction as he spoke. I pushed the door open. We were already busted. "We didn't mean to disturb you," Ivy said politely. Mr. Ryan and Gran warranted good manners. "Yeah, sorry about that," I added. Mr. Ryan relaxed out of his stance. "I'm not so out of practice that a little watching is enough to throw off my concentration," he said. "Did you guys want something?" Did I ever! "What martial art was that?" I asked. Despite the Japanese-style practice sword, it hadn't looked like kendo or aikido. "It's a blend of a lot of different things," Mr. Ryan said. "And some I made up myself." "How many martial arts have you studied?" "Most of them. I started with karate and judo when I was younger than you. By the time I was a teenager, I'd added others |
LISA: Why not? MARCUS: Well, I guess it's because...you know, I could sit here and bitch about the gym teacher I had in junior high, I could hunt down the sadistic prick and really make him pay for being such a mean, scheming asshole all throughout my puberty, I could do that, but ultimately...ultimately I think it's better to forgive and let it go. Almost sounds kind of like some retro-sixties bullshit, I know, but it's what I believe. Forgive them. Forgive all the petty assholes of the world, forgive the bullies, the plastic people, the fruitcakes, the pre-packaged teen boy bands, | LISA: Why not? MARCUS: Well, I guess it's because...you know, I could sit here and bitch about the gym teacher I had in junior high, I could hunt down the sadistic prick and really make him pay for being such a mean, scheming asshole all throughout my puberty, I could do that, but ultimately...ultimately I think it's better to forgive and let it go. Almost sounds kind of like some retro-sixties bullshit, I know, but it's what I believe. Forgive them. Forgive all the petty assholes of the world, forgive the bullies, the plastic people, the fruitcakes, the pre-packaged teen boy bands, the telemarketers, the born-again Christians and the Scientologists. Forgive the bullies that have beaten you up. Forgive the psychotic ex-girlfriend who's still obsessing and stalking you despite the fact it's been five years and there's a restraining order. Forgive the relatives that keep forgetting what it is you do for a living. Forgive the woman that refuses to wear a bra and yet gives you shit about looking at her chest. Forgive the men in charge everywhere that feel free to look you right in your face and lie their ass off. Forgive the slick guy in the suit who's pretending he's never bought a woman a drink before just so he can get into her pants. Forgive all the bullshit and let it go. Let all the anger and rage go. You have to do that in order to get to the good stuff. That's what I believe, I believe...ultimately I believe in love. Not love in the Jesus-freak kind of way, but love in the sense of all the great things that can sometimes happen between people. I believe in love. And what I think is that you can either kill all the people in the world that deserve it, or you can love all the people that deserve it. But you can't do both. You can only do one. And I choose love. That's what I believe. _ (Short pause. LISA finishes her drink. Looks away.) _ LISA: Huh. Well. MARCUS: Yeah. Yeah. _ (LISA stands, prepares to leave.) _ LISA: Thanks for the drink and for...everything. MARCUS: No. Thank you. LISA: Okay. Good-bye. MARCUS: Good-bye. _ (LISA walks away.) _ MARCUS: Lisa? LISA: Yes? MARCUS: Take care of yourself, all right? _ (She looks at him a full moment.) _ LISA: I'll try. MARCUS: Okay. Good. _ (LISA exits. MARCUS finishes his drink.) _ _THE END_ ALL THE RAGE NOTES: First produced in 2001 at Manhattan Theatre Source by The Defiant Ones as part of the evening CLOSE ENCOUNTERS, directed by the author and featuring Ato Essandoh and Carrie Keranen. Subsequently produced by All You Can Eat Theatre Company, Common Factor, The Barrow Group, and many, many others. ALL THE RAGE was inspired by a real life incident wherein I once bought a drink for a beautiful woman in a bar and discovered, during the conversation, that she was actually emotionally disturbed and on the verge of a breakdown. I wrote this piece specifically for my buddy Ato for CLOSE ENCOUNTERS. Ato is number one on the list of great ones that I'm fortunate enough to have worked with and he's also one of my very best friends. We didn't have an actress for the part, and neither of us liked to audition actors. Another actress in the show recommended her roommate Carrie for the part. Ato said that he'd seen her in a show earlier that summer and she was brilliant. So we cast her without even meeting her, just called her up and offered her the part. We later discovered that Ato had been mistaken, the actress he thought she was actually turned out to be someone else. Neither of us had set eyes on Carrie until she showed up but she was also brilliant. She rolled in and immediately killed it on the first read-through. She is a phenomenal actress and a good friend to this day. In the show, Carrie (as Lisa) built it up beautifully, unrolled it bit by bit until she was full throttle by the time the anger starts and, by the end, was at an emotional point where, when Marcus lays it out for her in the end, one hoped, she was actually going to try and change. It was an incredibly complex and nuanced performance. And Ato also nailed with his, he let the audience in so that they understood that the experience may have also changed him, too, that perhaps he'd never personally considered what he (Marcus) stood for until the very moment that he was asked by Lisa. Both actors were perfect. This play has been done numerous times since, in New York and across the country. I have to note that, far too often in the later productions that I saw, a director would cast a balding geeky guy as Marcus. So that the play becomes a joke about THIS dweeb trying to buy this beautiful woman a drink, and that she is simply torturing him for that. That particular approach has never seemed to work. It gets a couple laughs, but the emotional reality gets lost. It becomes too absurd and, in the end, fails the piece. It got so bad that I actually changed the stage directions to underline the fact that Marcus is a charming and very handsome man who could believably buy a pretty girl a drink and score. When Marcus says, "forgive the slick guy in the suit who's pretending he's never bought a woman a drink before just to get into her pants," he's finally being honest about his intentions and who he is. And that's important. That's his epiphany. Likewise, Lisa is well and truly damaged and, while we don't know exactly what happened to her and why, it's necessary to make her rage REAL. It's not a joke. She's not one-note crazy, she's emotionally damaged, and that's a very important distinction. When Marcus tells her that you can either kill all the people who deserve it or love all the people who deserve it, but you can't do both...that's her epiphany, and we are left with the impression that she's going to think long and hard about that choice after this. That was my intent when I wrote this piece. It's why it's one of my favorites. You can either honor that or not. It's in your hands from this point onward. ##2 #Burn Marks (1m, 1f) CHARACTERS: * * * ALEX – A man in his 30s. * * * MELISSA – A woman in her 30s. * * * SETTING: A bar. * * * TIME: Present. _ (MELISSA sits at a table in a bar, nursing her drink. ALEX walks in.) _ ALEX: Hi. Are you Melissa? MELISSA: Are you Alex? ALEX: I am. MELISSA: I'm Melissa. Nice to meet you. _ (They shake hands and ALEX sits down with her.) _ MELISSA: Would you like a drink? ALEX: No thank you, I don't drink. MELISSA: Not at all? ALEX: Not at all. MELISSA: Oh. I do. ALEX: That's okay. MELISSA: I'm not an alcoholic or anything, but I definitely drink. Were you an alcoholic, or...ALEX: No. I just don't drink. MELISSA: Wendi never told me that you didn't drink. ALEX: That's all right, I'm not rabid about it. MELISSA: Oh. _ (MELISSA takes a big drink.) _ ALEX: So. So you know Todd, right? MELISSA: Only indirectly. Since he's been dating Wendi. ALEX: Todd and I are good friends. MELISSA: I've known Wendi for a long time. _ (Long pause.) _ So. I guess that they thought we would...hit it off. Or something. ALEX: Yeah. Yeah. I guess. (_Another long pause.) _ So. Todd tells me that you're an editor, an assistant editor at Parcells. MELISSA: Yes. Yes. In Young Adult books. Yes. ALEX: Hey. That must be fun. MELISSA: No. Not really. No. I hate my job. ALEX: Oh. I'm sorry. MELISSA: Me too. _ (Pause.) _ But you're a doctor, Wendi said you're a doctor. ALEX: Yes, I am. MELISSA: Wow. That's something. So do you do surgery and all that...ALEX: No, I'm not a surgeon, I don't do any cutting. I specialize in internal medicine. MELISSA: That must be pretty fascinating. ALEX: It's not, really. It should be, but it's not. MELISSA: Oh. ALEX: I work nine to five, I see patients with generally the same problems and complaints and prescribe the same medications, over and over again. Day after day. It's actually kind of dull. MELISSA: Oh. Wow. I'm sorry. ALEX: Me too. Me too. _ (Pause.) _ MELISSA: This blind date really isn't working out, is it? ALEX: No, I'm afraid not. I'm sorry. MELISSA: Me too. You seem like a really nice man— ALEX: And you, you seem really wonderful. MELISSA: It's just, it's not the right time for me to see other people. ALEX: Me too. Let's call it a night, shall we? MELISSA: Yes. I'm so glad we understand each other. _ (They each stand up and reach for their coats.) _ MELISSA: I mean, I knew I wasn't ready, I only agreed to get Wendi off my back. ALEX: Me too. With Todd, I mean. He's always hounding me, trying to get me out of the house. MELISSA: She's always trying to get me to meet people. ALEX: And I love the guy and all that, but sometimes— MELISSA: Sometimes you just want to scream at them, scream— ALEX: Leave me alone! MELISSA: Leave me alone and stop bothering me! ALEX: Exactly. I mean, blind dates? Who goes on blind dates anymore? MELISSA: No one! ALEX: No real people go on blind dates, do they? As if dating ITSELF isn't hard enough, talking to someone you've already MET— MELISSA: To go through it with a complete stranger? ALEX: No way! Exercise in futility. MELISSA: Exactly. Exactly. Yes. _ (Brief pause.) _ ALEX: Well. It was nice to meet you. MELISSA: It was nice to meet you, too. _ (Short pause.) _ ALEX: A blind date. I can't believe I went on a blind date! MELISSA: |
"Okay," Zac said, unsure. So much for the DSA being immune to politics. "So what can I do for you?" "I need two things," she answered. "You won't like either one, but you're going to do them." "Is this about the team? Has something happened?" It had been eight hours since the team went silent—the moment they crossed into Bellbrook. Eight hours of waiting with no word as to whether or not the team was still alive. As to whether or not a threat even existed. They had no intel of any kind. Zac hated that feeling more than anything. "Still no word," | "Okay," Zac said, unsure. So much for the DSA being immune to politics. "So what can I do for you?" "I need two things," she answered. "You won't like either one, but you're going to do them." "Is this about the team? Has something happened?" It had been eight hours since the team went silent—the moment they crossed into Bellbrook. Eight hours of waiting with no word as to whether or not the team was still alive. As to whether or not a threat even existed. They had no intel of any kind. Zac hated that feeling more than anything. "Still no word," Metcalf reconfirmed. "Not what this is about though. I need some files secured. My eyes only." Zac's brow furrowed. "Command-level clearance allows you to lock any directory you—" " Not secure enough." Metcalf lowered her voice. "Can you make it happen?" "Sure, but I don't know why—" " Second request," she said, her voice quiet and her hand on the door to make sure it stayed closed. "I need you to track Sullivan. Full digital footprint, on and off our system. Call logs. Everything." "Susan—" " Director." She took a breath. "Zac, I need you to do this." "He's deputy director. He just got here and you're treating him—" " Zac. He's been digging through my files. Through directories he has no right to—" " Have you talked to him?" She offered no response, and his head fell to his chest. "Right. Above my pay grade." Her look softened. "I'm not condemning the man. I just don't trust him yet." "Well, spying on him should help build that bridge." "A precaution, nothing more." Zac nodded. "Like securing the files." Metcalf pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to him. "These are the directories." He read the file paths and immediately handed the note back. Metcalf tore the scrap three times over before allowing it to find its new home in the trash can tucked next to her desk. "Thank you." She opened the door and he shuffled for the hall. Zac found no words. There was no understanding Metcalf's actions or desires. Only his loyalty to the work mattered—what should matter to them all. Still, her decision irked him. Combined with the arrival of a new field agent without any advance warning, it felt as if he had been dismissed as a common grunt instead of a critical component in the department. The idea, the very thought, burned in his veins, threatening to explode. "Director, I really think—" " I'll be in Operations soon." The door shut in his face, drowning out his unspoken request. He stared deep into the metal slab for a long moment while he waited for it to open again. "Right," Zac grumbled in surrender. "I guess I'll head there now." #Chapter Nineteen" I'm not condemning the man. I just don't trust him yet." Metcalf's conversation with Zac came through the earpiece with crystal-clear clarity. Even over the pulsing traffic rushing out of the DC area, Sullivan picked up every nuance, every inflection of the director's voice as if she were seated across from him in the town car. His driver shot him curious looks, to which he replied by raising the glass divider. This wasn't to be shared, hence the small speaker resting in his left ear. This was for him alone. "Bellbrook ..." The name settled on his lips as the echo of Metcalf's door resounded in his ear. He removed the earpiece and sank deeper into his seat, a smile on his lips. There was a reason behind the rapid movement of personnel at the warehouse, one purposely hidden from him. Now he knew why and he also knew what he could do with the information. Outside, the city slept with its eyes wide open. Pedestrians wandered the streets, the decent temperatures quickly diminishing with the fading sunlight. Cars blitzed from block to block, caught in an endless loop of traffic. All were oblivious to the truth around them, to the work being done behind closed doors. Work which controlled every aspect of their pathetically insignificant lives—a level of control now within Sullivan's grasp. His phone rang, stirring him from his pleasant rumination. "Yes?" "You sound pleased with yourself, Greg," the voice said, deep and hoarse. It fit Donald Stallworth, Assistant Director of the National Security Agency, perfectly. "I am, Donald. Long night?" Stallworth huffed. "I didn't call for conversation. She took the bait?" Rummaging through her files was meant to be loud. It was meant to be seen and acted upon. Metcalf's fear, her suspicious attitude toward his clumsy attempt to view sensitive documents, surprised him though. He'd always assumed she was smarter than that, at least enough to realize a ploy when one was dangled before her, instead of jumping in whole hog. "She did." "This is dangerous, Greg. There are easier ways to get the information when her guard is down." Sullivan shook his head to no one. "The woman's guard doesn't come down. But raise her suspicions? Make her paranoid enough and she will make a mistake. In fact, I believe she already has. Tell me, Donald, does the Council have any current operations in Bellbrook?" "Bellbrook?" Typing fingers answered him. Deep breaths boomed in the speaker. "Ohio? Not a one. Why? Has something—?" "I'm looking into it now," Sullivan said. "Greg, if they find out what you've been doing—" " What we've been doing, you mean," Sullivan interrupted. "Don't you trust me anymore, Donald?" "She came too close to our operation in Buffalo." "She found nothing and the damage was mitigated," Sullivan lied. Riley's recruitment had been unforeseen. Did they know more than they were letting on? He decided not to share that question with the figure on the other end of the line. Not yet. "This is a dangerous game we're playing. If the Trust should learn of this betrayal? You need to be aware of the risks." "I am. And I am handling it as I see fit. That is why they put me at the DSA in the first place, is it not?" Stallworth had made the motion to the Council. None had complained. None had found fault. Frankly, the position didn't deserve the argument. Metcalf ran the DSA and anyone else was second fiddle, barely worth their notice. That was his hope in the appointment. He was the wolf in the fold—waiting for the sheep to slip from their pen. Waiting to pounce. "The Wellspring?" "Buffalo was a misstep, one that will not be repeated. The Wellspring will be ours. All in good time." Sullivan hung up the phone before Stallworth could comment further. His hand rustled along his beard. He let out a thin breath. The leather of the plush interior cushioned him like a body pillow. An operation in Bellbrook without proper authorization? One hidden from not only him but the Council? Metcalf played her own dangerous game, and it was going to catch up with her faster than she could possibly imagine. Sullivan scrolled through the contacts listed in his phone and selected the appropriate number. It rang loudly twice before a voice greeted him. "Yes, dear. I need to speak with General Adams about a situation developing in Ohio. Tell him it's a trusted friend." #Chapter Twenty Water pooled in Ruth's hands, the rain increasing with each passing breath. Filled, she splashed the cool, clear liquid over her face. Her hands held firm to her cheeks, then ran up through short-cut locks. Closing her eyes helped. The effect, however, diminished with each attempt. Her body fought against her wishes, struggling to betray her with each step. Her head pounded and her muscles ached. The cut on her arm pulsed, deep red caked under her thin jacket. It had been a long day, the flight and drive here not expected when she'd crawled into the office from another late night. Another perfect night, but one she denied occurred in the presence of the others. She was field leader now, promoted due to the loss of Grissom. This was their first mission under her command and she was fading fast. Heat billowed from her chest. Her eyes wavered, unable to focus on anything or anyone. Aspirin did little to curb the effects. Her third dose in two hours caused her stomach to begin to cramp up. The three round pills joined her breakfast along the far side of their SUV. Ruth watched the contents of her stomach flow to the nearby sewer grate, and she found herself wishing she could join them in the dark. She was tired and exhausted; the thought of making decisions was nauseating, though it was a better solution than relying on others. Especially Lincoln. He fought every choice, every order given. His attitude threatened to fray the team, something she refused to let happen. She owed it to Grissom to keep them in line, to continue the tradition he'd set forth during his tenure. She owed him so much more, but it was all she had to offer the man who had given her a second chance. Ruth opened her eyes. The moon was tucked behind the clouds. Streetlights provided the only illumination along the dark Bellbrook streets. The forest loomed in the distance, menacing from afar. What secrets it held needed to be known. They had to find the source of the signal. That was the job, no matter the illness she felt. No matter her fear. No matter how much she disliked the idea of spending another minute with Ben Riley. "This might not be the smart play," he said, rounding the car. Ruth shot up at his approach. She quickly wiped away the drool on her bottom lip. "It isn't," she said. A deep breath filled her and agony swelled in her chest. Then she turned to face the recruit. His smile unnerved her, his naiveté at their situation. Who the hell is this guy and what was Metcalf thinking bringing him on the team? "Okay," Ben held the word out as Morgan joined them. "So let's not drive into the ominous forest to find a mystery signal that is making people go whack-a-doo before pulling a Houdini?" Lincoln glanced at her from the storefront window, constantly keeping the pacing form of Howard Clevinger in sight. His dark eyes were heavy as he judged her reaction to Ben's stupidly efficient summation of their situation. It |
I ran away as fast as I could. I told you before; folks fear what they don't understand." "They wouldn't do that here. These are good people here. If you can make it rain, you have to do it! This town is dying!" "I know. Let's go talk to the sheriff." We found the sheriff still engaged in conversation with his brother. "Sheriff Johnson, can we talk to you?" I asked. I hesitated for a moment knowing how outrageous what I was about to say would sound, especially to the sheriff. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I know this is going to sound | I ran away as fast as I could. I told you before; folks fear what they don't understand." "They wouldn't do that here. These are good people here. If you can make it rain, you have to do it! This town is dying!" "I know. Let's go talk to the sheriff." We found the sheriff still engaged in conversation with his brother. "Sheriff Johnson, can we talk to you?" I asked. I hesitated for a moment knowing how outrageous what I was about to say would sound, especially to the sheriff. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but, well...here it goes. Luke can make it rain." The Sheriff and Reverend just stared at me like I had lost my mind, puzzled at my comment. Finally, Sheriff Johnson spoke. "What do you mean, he can make it rain?" "He's done it before," I assured them. "You mean like those traveling rainmakers claim they can?" Sheriff Johnson asked. "Yes, but Luke says he really can and I believe him." "You believe he can make it rain?" Sheriff Johnson said in shock. "You, Lizzy?" Reverend Johnson looked at Luke suspiciously. "Now, son, you know no one can just will it to rain. That power is God's and His alone. I don't know why you told Lizzy you could make it rain, maybe you were just trying to impress her, but you shouldn't go around telling lies like that, especially knowing how desperate all these folks are around here for rain." "Sir, I'm not lying." "No one can make it rain," Reverend Johnson insisted becoming a little agitated. "If Luke says he can then he can!" I insisted. I was beginning to wonder why we brought this to them in the first place. Luke could have just done it without their knowledge. I still wonder why he wanted to talk to the Sheriff first. "Brother, what would it hurt to let him try? You're not asking for money, are you, Luke?" Sheriff Johnson asked. "No, sir, of course not!" "Then, I don't see any harm in letting him perform his little rain dance. It might be amusing." "These folks are so desperate for rain; they're willing to believe anything." Reverend Johnson said. "I don't wish for them to get their hopes up just to have them shattered when this boy doesn't produce rain. It may devastate them." "Oh, I think they can handle it." Sheriff Johnson said. "They're stronger than you give them credit for. But to ease your mind, we'll just tell them it's a show." "It's your call," Reverend Johnson said with a shrug of his shoulders. Sheriff Johnson climbed into a nearby wagon and stood up in the back. "ATTENTION EVERYONE!" he yelled above the crowd. Everyone turned and looked towards the sheriff. "We have a special event planned for this evening. Luke here is going to show us a rainmaking ceremony. Now, don't none of you be foolish enough to think it will actually rain. This is only for fun. If anyone is interested in watching, meet us down by the river." The sheriff jumped down off the wagon. "The show's all yours," he said to Luke. Luke led all who were interested to the river. On the way, he grabbed little Johnny Smith and his drums. There were nearly thirty people gathered around Luke to watch the show. "First of all, I need a huge fire built right here," Luke said as he drug his foot in the sand creating a rather large circle. Several people left to gather enough wood to fill the sizeable circle Luke had created. After several minutes, the fire was burning, its flames licking ten feet into the sky. He then turned to Johnny Smith with his drums. "I won't you and...you," Luke pointed to another small boy in the crowd. "...to beat on these drums with a constant beat...boom...boom...boom." The two boys did as they were instructed. "Good...just like that. Don't let the beat stop for anything. If you get tired, then have someone else take your place, but whatever you do, don't stop the drums. And you folks keep the fire going. I'm going up yonder on that ridge. I may be up there for quite awhile. You must keep the fire burning. Does everyone understand?" Everyone nodded their heads that they understood, with a few rolling their eyes. Luke headed for the ridge and I followed. I looked up into the sky on the way and couldn't find a single cloud. Once we reached the base of the ridge, Luke turned to me. "I have to go up there by myself." "I can't go?" "No, it's best if you stay down here." "Fine, I'll help keep the fire burning and beat on those drums until you come back." "Don't fret too much about that. The fire and the drums are just for show. They really have nothing to do with making it rain." "Then why have them go through all that trouble?" "If they believe the fire and the beating of the drums have something to do with making it rain, it helps keep some of the accusations off of me because they're participants in the rain making. Plus, the more people who actually believe the rain is coming, the easier it will come. Faith can move mountains." "You really believe you can do this, don't you?" "I can. Don't you have faith in me?" "I'm trying. I know if anyone could do this, it would be you." "I'll show you, Lizzy Cooper. I'll bring you some rain." I watched him walk up the steep ridge and out of sight. The drums in the background were steadily beating...boom...boom...boom. I once again glanced up into the clear sky. I found myself wanting to believe...for Luke's sake...but I couldn't. My faith had died with Pa. Thirty minutes passed and then an hour. The crowd was getting bored quickly and some left. I half heartedly tried to keep people interested in tending the fire and beating the drums, but my lack of enthusiasm was as transparent as my faith it would rain. We had already gone through five drummers and the fire was only half the size it had originally been. I looked up periodically to see if Luke was returning from his seemingly futile attempt at rainmaking. Another thirty minutes went by. The fire was only a few feet high, the crowd had dwindled down to only a few spectators, and I had lost the last of my drummers to his parent's calls that they were leaving to go home. The sun was quickly setting to the west and twilight was falling, but no rain. Sheriff Johnson came by. "Looks like the shows over. It would have been fantastic if your boyfriend was the real deal, but it was good of him to try." He smiled, patted me on my shoulder, and walked away. A feeling of disappointment began to loom over me. I wanted to believe Luke could actually make it rain, but reality was setting in fast. It was almost dark and not a single drop of rain. I decided to make my way up the ridge and let Luke know I was proud of his efforts, but it was time to go home. I climbed the ridge and found Luke standing in a small clearing with his back towards me. His hands were outstretched towards the heavens while his whole body gently swayed back and forth, from exhaustion I presumed. I quietly approached from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. He rapidly swung around in surprise that he was not alone. I took a few steps back in shock at what I saw. The whole of Luke's eyes were completely white with no trace of the green of his irises or the black of his pupils. He quickly closed his eyes for a few seconds and when he opened them, they were back to normal. "I asked you not to come up here!" Luke said. "I'm sorry," I said still a little scared and confused at what I saw. "What was wrong with your eyes?" "What do you mean?" "They were all white and scary looking!" "I didn't realize they did that. I fall into a trance when I call for rain. You startled me out of it." I walked up to Luke and placed my hands on his shoulders and gave him an, "I'm sorry it didn't work out" look. "It's getting dark and we have to get going, but you made a good effort. I'm proud of you for that." Luke smiled a chessy cat smile and looked over my shoulder. "Why the big smile?" I asked. "If you still don't believe I can make it rain, then look over yonder, Lizzy...here comes the rain!" Just then a strong, cool breeze blew against my back. I quickly spun around and was astonished at seeing huge black clouds rolling towards us. Lightening raced through the bellowing clouds as distant thunder echoed across the valley. An electrical charge could be felt in the air while the chilly wind picked up, blowing my hair back and sending a chill down my spine. I turned around and gave Luke a look of surprise and then one of pride. I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him. "You did it! You actually did it! I'm so sorry I ever doubted you. I should have known. I should have trusted you." "It's okay, Lizzy, but we best get down from here and start heading home before the storm hits." The wind began blowing harder, the sky quickly turning dark. Everyone at the dance was trying to gather their belongings before the rain started, running to put them in their wagons. The scene looked chaotic except for the fact everyone had smiles on their faces and they were laughing. They were so thrilled to see rain clouds, they didn't much care about get wet. It was a welcoming sight, so long overdue. However, as Luke and I were making our way though the crowds, I couldn't help but see fear and apprehension on some of the town folk's faces when Luke passed by. When we arrived at |
"What the—" he shouted. "What was . . . That is . . . eugghhh . . . what was . . ." His eyes darted around the ill-lit corridor, finally noticing Trinta watching with a wry grin. He wasn't sure, but it seemed her short pixie hair had grown much longer, now shoulder-length. Maybe just the lights, he assumed. Or lack thereof . . . Or my head . . ." Uh . . . what . . . happened?" he asked, trying to ignore the gut-churning scent from her finger that still made his left eye twitch. "Stored us," she said. "Make block of boxes. Fall | "What the—" he shouted. "What was . . . That is . . . eugghhh . . . what was . . ." His eyes darted around the ill-lit corridor, finally noticing Trinta watching with a wry grin. He wasn't sure, but it seemed her short pixie hair had grown much longer, now shoulder-length. Maybe just the lights, he assumed. Or lack thereof . . . Or my head . . ." Uh . . . what . . . happened?" he asked, trying to ignore the gut-churning scent from her finger that still made his left eye twitch. "Stored us," she said. "Make block of boxes. Fall of pillows." "'Fall of pillows'?" She mimed the Havok flying as her right hand and then sent it falling into her left hand, which covered it up. She then flipped the left hand repeatedly as the right hand of the Havok fell with less and less force. "Oh," Quentin said, "it sorta cushioned our blow." "Yer. What said." "So we're in a bunch of boxes now? Like one of those Russian nesting dolls." She shook her head, confused. "Of course. Why would you get me talking about a Russian wooden doll thingy? You don't even know what Russia is. Hell, there is no Russia any more. Not really." Trinta folded her arms and stared blankly at the babbling fool. "I'll stop talking now," he said. As she walked off down the corridor, Quentin followed in silence. He didn't stop thinking though. And all he kept thinking was he wished that god-awful smell would leave his head. Seriously. In the cargo hold, Trinta rummaged through the mostly mangled tools in the little red toolbox she found cratered under an enormous slate of glaciated marble. Thankfully, not all of the tools were destroyed. Fortunately, the photon torch survived. With an exuberant whistle, she tossed it up in the air with one hand and caught it with the other as she headed towards the gaping space where the cargo bay doors used to be. "I think I know what you're up to," Quentin said. Trinta patted his head like a dog and hopped down to the container's hard floor. As she hit the ground, the underlights of the ship bathed the box with orange illumination. Strolling up to a container wall, she placed her hand on it and felt the coldness. Skipping up behind her, Quentin watched as she aimed the photon torch and a dashed square of light appeared on the wall. Trinta turned the knob on the torch and the dashed grid grew to a 5-foot by 5-foot square. Hitting the red button on the torch instantly caused the grid marks to glow fiery red then to blue ice as the smoke from the heat turned into wisps of frozen vapor. The gridded area crackled, then stopped. "Guess that didn't work," Quentin clucked. Just then, the square-cut section of wall creaked and fell back towards them, both of them just barely leaping out of the way. "Only sixteen go now," she said. "Only sixteen more to go now," he said, correcting her English. Trinta seethed at him with such hate that he zipped his lip up good and tight. He shouldn't have corrected her. He wasn't even sure why he tried. He should have been grateful she knew any English at all. "Sorry," he murmured. Trinta kept slicing through wall after wall, each falling down with a huge clang. Reaching the end and kicking out the last sliced slab of metal, they waited a moment to hear it clang . . . but it never did. They poked their heads out and saw they were miles from the planet's surface. They couldn't see an end to anything from where they were. From every view, the storage boxes went off into infinity. Already dozens of large containers sat on top of their boxes as the "skyscrapers" continued onwards and upwards. After minutes of silence, Quentin finally said: "So . . ." He really hoped they weren't going to jump. He really, really hoped they weren't going to jump. "We aren't going to jump, are we? Are we? Please say we're not going to jump." Trinta sauntered back into the cargo bay as he kept gazing at the unending rows of storage containers outside. Every few seconds, small tremors signaled more boxes being built right on top of them. He tried to wrap his head around it, but just couldn't fathom how a whole planet could be this way. Moments later, Trinta re-emerged from the ship holding what looked like a little kid's four-wheeler that was chopped in two. Half her size, it had two fat wheels connected by a chunky cylindrical bit of piping and wires. Above the front wheel were two handles sticking straight up. It was a frict-bike. "I don't remember seeing that on the ship," he said. "Mine," Trinta spat back out at him. "Yeah, and I still don't know how you got on my ship either." Trinta set the frict-bike down and wrapped her legs underneath its center casing. Her long, lithe body leaned forward and she grabbed the handles. Cocking her head back, she motioned for Quentin to . . . to . . ." You want me to get on your back?" he asked. "Yer. Now. No more the talking." Quentin was torn. He'd been wanting to get closer to Trinta ever since he saw her. But he worried she was going to make him do something extremely dangerous. Especially considering what she wrapped herself around seemed pretty darn death-friendly. However, he also didn't want to stick around the box waiting for her to maybe come back. In the end, the idea of putting his arms around a cool, attractive woman – even if it was an unromantic situation – beat out all worries of jumping onto something that seemed so unsafe it bordered on automatically fatal. Awkwardly, he stepped up and put his arms and legs around her. "You sure I'm not too heavy?" he asked. "Only hold on," she commanded, flicking a switch on the right handle. The frict-bike hummed to life. "Where are we going?" "Shopping." And with that, the frict-bike shot out of the hole in the box. Surprisingly, it didn't do what Quentin thought it would do at all. Futilely, he tried not to scream. #CHAPTER EIGHT ##MILE HIGH CITY Approximately 341.7 days ago . . . It took Quentin three cars to get to Denver. The first, the XXZ that met its tragic cow-avoiding fate. The second, the Mini Cooper that performed as a welcome replacement until it ran out of gas outside of Fort Morgan, (a smelly town his dad always snidely referred to as "Fart Morgan"). And finally, a huge black SUV he grabbed just before the Mini ran completely empty. Driving such a gas-guzzler made him feel slightly guilty. For a second. Then he remembered, I'm the only real polluter around, so the Earth can deal. This was made even more apparent by the highway littered with empty cars. On the drive from North Platte, he passed handfuls of cars and trucks and semis left for dead on the silent roads. But as he neared the Mile High City, it was a whole 'nother world. The interstate overflowed with crashed vehicles. Weaving in and out of these abandoned automobiles, Quentin cringed as he passed the burnt out carcass of a Volvo pinned against the rail walls by an eighteen-wheeler. Nudging his massive SUV between a crashed Jeep and a station wagon jamming his path, the SUV's front bumper cracked with a gruesome crunch. "It's okay!" he shouted out the window. "I've got great coverage!" Spying the exit for downtown, Quentin swerved off the interstate as the dusk bathed the town in a beautiful sunset solely for him. He didn't care though. He wasn't into sunsets at the moment. He only wanted to find the guy who left the message on his phone. He didn't know how. He didn't fully know why. But he knew this guy would have the key to what happened. The mystery guy had to. But that could wait until tomorrow. The journey here had taken enough out of him and tonight all he wanted was a luxury Denver experience. And he was going to get it. The Grand Royale was the biggest, most exquisite hotel Quentin McFury had ever seen. And walking through the front doors, he instantly knew what opalescence was. He may not have known it by that word though, for this is how he put it with a really poor British accent:" Well, I do say, this does look to be indubitably brilliant! Scones for all you charming lads and lassies!" Quentin jumped on a baggage cart and skateboarded it up the ramp. Pushing with his mighty right leg, the unwieldy cart zipped towards the elevator. Gritting his teeth unsure if the cart would make it between the open doors, the cart did . . . just barely. However, having no brakes, it had nowhere to stop and smashed into the mirrored elevator wall, shattering into a million glittery, shardy stars. "Crapity crap crap crap!!!" Quentin rapidly rolled into a ball before the splintered glass did any real damage to him and his precious face. His quick thinking, however, didn't protect him from banging into the cart's metallic crossbars and receiving a giant lump on his head. "Urgn . . . head hurt," he grunted. "Not smart, man . . . not smart at all. Urgn . . ." Shaking off the blow, he scooted off the luggage cart and stood up, scanning the elevator's buttons. With authority, he hit the button marked "Presidential Suite". "Guess I'm basically the President now, so why the hell not? I deserve it." But the elevator wouldn't budge. He tapped the button again. And again. Nothing. "Maybe the panel's busted." He pushed the number 17 button to test his "busted panel theory" and shrugged as the elevator doors shut, crackling over the broken glass. Instantly, the elevator swept up through the hotel. When it reached the seventeenth floor, the doors opened with a ding and the tinkling of falling shards of glass that sounded like jingly wind chimes. Of course, this wasn't the floor he really wanted. "It's the Presidential Suite or nothing!" he shouted. But as he went to push the "Lobby" button, he stopped. Down the hall, he heard . . . music? And . . . clinking glasses? "Someone |
Once I was on the far side of the corner, I took a few shuffling side steps with my body still pressed against the rock, taking occasional glances down at the narrow trail. As the trail widened again to a path that was several feet wide, I rotated my body to face the trail and began to move faster. Emily was already thirty or forty feet ahead of me and striding quickly upward on the widening trail. Under other circumstances I would have cheered our good fortune in having cheated death, but the chasm which ran alongside the trail was now wide enough to drop a house in, and where the bottom of the chasm was visible I'd estimate | Once I was on the far side of the corner, I took a few shuffling side steps with my body still pressed against the rock, taking occasional glances down at the narrow trail. As the trail widened again to a path that was several feet wide, I rotated my body to face the trail and began to move faster. Emily was already thirty or forty feet ahead of me and striding quickly upward on the widening trail. Under other circumstances I would have cheered our good fortune in having cheated death, but the chasm which ran alongside the trail was now wide enough to drop a house in, and where the bottom of the chasm was visible I'd estimate its depth at a hundred feet. I hustled up the trail, keeping my feet and shoulder as close to the wall as possible, moving as fast as I could manage while still watching where I put each footstep, and it occurred to me that they'd picked the perfect place to confront us on the beach. We'd gone uphill to escape, and we'd taken a trail alongside a chasm deep enough that if someone went into it they'd be unlikely to ever be found, or if a body were found, it would be assumed that they had fallen in. If Peck was strategic enough to have planned this exact spot to stage his attack on me, then I'd grossly underestimated his cleverness and I wouldn't do that again. I wondered if he was clever enough to station people at the top of the hill along the highway that led into Oceanside. If he'd thought ahead that far, we were probably finished. Still, we weren't going down without a fight. After all, Emily had gone to the trouble to get her silver gun. Might as well use it at least once. I was only a few paces behind Emily when the trail forked, offering a choice to cut left uphill on rocky soil into pine and fir trees, or stay right and follow the footpath along the edge of the chasm which now looked both bottomless and wide enough to swallow a gas station. No coming back from a fall like that. I told Emily "Go left! Go left!" and I watched her scramble up the slope toward the trees, losing traction in her smooth-soled leather pumps and then getting down on her hands and knees to grab at pine seedlings to aid her ascent toward the tree line. When her shoes slipped repeatedly on the dirt, Emily kicked off her pumps like a hillbilly at a summer picnic and went up the slope with athletic grace, stabilizing her purse with her right hand to keep it from swinging. By the time she disappeared into the trees, she was moving quite fast. I was moving at a dead run, too, digging into the soft soil with the toes of my running shoes and pumping my arms like pistons as I climbed to the tree line and beyond. We paused twenty yards past the first of the fir trees and maybe fifty yards down a steep bit of hillside from the highway, and I wondered again whether more of Peck's boys were up there on the pavement waiting for us. The men below must have cell phones. If they got lucky and found cell service on the beach, they could have called ahead and posted more killers above us on Highway 131. I imagined shooters standing by the side of an anonymous sedan with lit cigarettes dangling from their lips as they checked the loads in their pistols and waited for us to be chased up the hill. Then again, cell service along that part of the coast was so erratic that cell phones were usually worthless. Perhaps there was no one above us on the highway after all. It wouldn't be long before I found out. Emily was on the uphill side of a Douglas Fir that had a trunk about three feet thick. Her chest was heaving, her hair was mussed and wild, her sweater ripped at the left shoulder from where she'd snagged the cashmere on something. I watched her tip her head down as she put her hand into her purse and pulled out the pearl-handled pistol. Then she dropped the purse to the ground, raked the hair out of her eyes with the fingers on her free hand and let the air out of her lungs in a single big exhalation. I heard the click as her thumb flipped off the safety on her pistol. Then she looked over at me and she nodded once, slowly and deliberately. "Stay here," I hissed. "I'm going to try to slow them down." She nodded again. I worked my way back down the slope far enough that I could see the narrow trail that Emily and I had climbed. The landslide danger was obvious. The soil was loose and broken, with chunks of black basalt embedded in the crumbling dirt. I picked up a rock about the size of an apple and carried it to a better vantage point of the hairpin turn in the trail. I was about seventy-five yards away from the hairpin, too far away for me to be accurate with the short-barreled pistol I carried, but all I had to do was to get them to turn around and head back down the trail. Rocks seemed like a good choice for a weapon. Peck's bad boys had moved up the trail quickly. I heard swearing, first quietly and then louder as number one rounded the hairpin turn and began to appreciate the narrowness of the path and the depth of the chasm off to the right. He was wearing a grey windbreaker with white fabric at the neckline, bleached blue jeans with a cut in the fabric across one knee, and brown leather loafers with white rubber soles. He looked like he'd planned for a day on a yacht. Number two put a tentative leg around the corner and then began the delicate process of shifting his hips around the sharp edge of the hairpin turn. He wore a blue cotton jacket with the collar turned up, tan slacks, and black loafers. Not really beach attire, but maybe they hadn't been given much notice before Peck told them to come down to the beach to chase after us. I threw the rock at the one in front. I actually aimed the rock at a place about ten feet ahead of him, head-high, with the plan that the rock would bounce off the wall, scatter debris in his face, and then hit him. That was my intent, anyway. The motion of my throw must have caught his peripheral vision, because I saw him turn his face in my direction. Then he jerked his arms up to protect his head and pressed his body against the wall. The rock that I'd thrown hit the wall a few feet over his head, spraying him with dirt before it fell soundlessly into the chasm. He shook off the dirt and gravel, pulled a pistol out of a holster at the base of his back, pointed it in my direction, and pulled the trigger. The bowl-shaped cliffside amplified the sound of the gunfire to gut-punching levels. I bent over and then stayed low, and I began throwing rocks downhill as hard and as fast as I could. The two men on the narrow trail tried to reduce their sizes as targets by squatting down, and then they opened fire in my direction, clicking off one round every few seconds, conserving their ammo in a very disciplined way, not panicking, but I kept throwing anyway, squatting down between throws, and after six or seven throws I finally hit one of them with a rock. There was a cry of acute pain followed by a scream that gathered volume before becoming shrill and then stopping suddenly. I stood straight up so that I could see what had happened, and it was apparent that the second man, the one in the boarding school attire, had fallen into the chasm. The one who'd been in front was on his hands and knees, peering down into the void after his fallen comrade. A third man, much bigger than the first two but with such a large belly that it was impossible for him to go around the hairpin turn, leaned his head around the corner every few seconds to see what was happening. He had a pistol in his right hand, aimed the gun up the hill in my direction, and squinted along the gunsights at me. As I did not want my head blown off by a lucky shot, I squatted on my haunches once more and considered whether to shoot at the one remaining on the trail, throw more rocks, or just rejoin Emily in the trees and then make a run for my house. I heard a soft grunting sound followed by a whistling noise. I lifted my head in time to see part of the cliffside near the hairpin turn explode as a rock smashed against it. The fat man edged out of sight. I looked over my shoulder and saw Emily pick up a fist-sized rock and throw it with the kind of precise body mechanics that come from years of practice. I watched the trajectory of the rock as it bounced once off the trail and then struck the shin of the man wearing the grey windbreaker. He cried out, brought his pistol around, and fired wildly in my direction. Emily threw a second rock that caught him in the cheek, and he stepped back with a jerking motion as if he'd touched an electric plate. He let go of his gun and then his hand came up towards his face. Emily threw a third rock that caught him squarely in the face, snapping his head back before his body did a swooning pirouette to the right. His attempt to regain his balance was both heartbreaking and sickening to watch as he tottered, fell to his knees, and clawed at the edge of the cliff on his way into the chasm. The fat man peered around the corner, saw that both of his companions were gone, and he began firing one round after another at Emily and me. I think that he'd decided to empty his pistol at us because there was nothing else he could do. Emily turned her back to me, picked her pistol up off the ground, and ran for the trees again. I followed close behind, ignoring the sound of gunfire as I chased her up the hill. We stopped running once we were back in the shade of the Douglas Firs. Emily's chest heaved as she gulped for air. She held the silver pistol in the two-handed shooting stance, forming a triangle between her torso, her arms, and the gun. "Are you okay?" I asked. She nodded without saying anything. "We're going to have to go up top to get to the highway. We can run back to the house from there. Okay?" She didn't say anything. I walked over to where she stood. "Emily, |
Because I didn't love him! Because I rejected him. That's what this was about - revenge! He wanted revenge. Well to hell with him! To hell with him!! By the time she arrived home, she'd seen Drew for what he really was - a selfish, vindictive little prick who was jealous of her success, envious that she'd entered the fast lane while he was only spinning his wheels, eating her dust. Well, he could keep spinning them for all she cared. She'd tried to help, and he'd turned her down. Let his folly reflect on him! At her apartment, she opened the door, stormed in | Because I didn't love him! Because I rejected him. That's what this was about - revenge! He wanted revenge. Well to hell with him! To hell with him!! By the time she arrived home, she'd seen Drew for what he really was - a selfish, vindictive little prick who was jealous of her success, envious that she'd entered the fast lane while he was only spinning his wheels, eating her dust. Well, he could keep spinning them for all she cared. She'd tried to help, and he'd turned her down. Let his folly reflect on him! At her apartment, she opened the door, stormed in and wrestled off her coat. "Tough day?" asked Krista, who was working at her laptop. Claire clomped over to the sofa and plunked herself down. "I can't talk about it," she huffed. "Okay." Krista remained silent as Claire fumed. "Do you know what that prick did?" "Which prick would that be?" "Drew!" hissed Claire. "Oh." "It's not what you think." "What do I think?" "That it's something like that." "Like what?" "Like ..." " Like when the two of you broke up." "We were never together!" "Right." "We weren't!" "I know." "Anyway, I can't talk about it," mumbled Claire mellowing somewhat. "Of course." "It's confidential." "I understand." "I mean, I signed a contract." "Totally get it." Claire's breathing became faster and shallower. Krista stopped typing and turned to face her roommate. "I can't tell you anything," Claire insisted. "I could be fired. I could be sued." Krista waited patiently. "He's trying to ruin my career," huffed Claire. "What did he do?" asked Krista. "He showed me something...grotesque...and suggested my company was responsible." "Is it?" "Of course not!" snapped Claire. Krista waited. "Why would he say that?" sniffed Claire. "Why would he show me that thing?" "What thing?" "A fetus," Claire said, shaking her head, her voice breaking up. "It was like in some horror movie. And the goat in Honduras!" "What goat?" wondered Krista. Claire explained what she'd seen in Honduras, told Krista about the fetus Drew had shown her, then explained how Evan had insisted that she have no more contact with Drew. Krista listened patiently. "Did Evan see the goat too?" "He saw it." "And what did he say?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" "He just suggested we leave the farmers alone." "Did you tell Drew about the goat?" asked Krista. "No," replied Claire. "So, just to make sure I get it, Drew showed you a deformed human fetus?" "Yes." "And he said that something your company did caused it to be that way?" "That's what he said." "And before that, you also saw a deformed baby goat in Honduras, right by the fields where your company grows produce?" Claire started to shake. Tears formed silently in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "And the specific deformities of the human fetus were very similar to the deformities of the goat?" continued Krista. Claire's trembling intensified and tears fell from her cheeks, wetting her blouse. "Then the PR guy at your company forbids you from seeing Drew?" Krista stood up and fetched a box of tissues from the kitchen table, placing them beside Claire. She sat on the arm of the chair in which Claire sat sobbing and stroked Claire's back gently. "Whatever happens," advised Krista, "don't do anything right now." "What if Drew calls me?" "Don't answer." "And if he emails?" "Ignore it." "Just cut him off?" "I know how hard you worked to get this job," remarked Krista. "And I know how tough it is out there. I might be unemployed soon too." Claire looked up in surprise. "Don't worry about that now," insisted Krista. "I'll be alright. But you've got to play this smart." "What if Drew's right?" whispered Claire. "Then you'll have to make some decisions," advised Krista. "But for God's sake, don't react until you get the facts." Chapter 14 Drew paced uneasily around the library, fingers on both hands crossed, waiting for word from Scarlett. After several marathon study sessions, she'd written the exam on the Wednesday before reading week and it was the department's policy to publish the results on Friday. Everything depended on her grade. If it was too low, she'd have no realistic chance of passing the course, since the department required students to earn a grade of at least 50% on the non-weighted average of the two exams. His phone pinged and he read Scarlet's text message, which was one word long: 48% . It took every bit of self-discipline he could muster not to do backflips down the hallway. It was far better than he'd expected. Immediately, he called Scarlett, only to find she was beside herself with grief. He'd gone over to console her and ended up making her dinner in her own apartment while she cried hysterically. Her confidence at rock bottom, she confided in him that this most recent attempt at a degree was in fact her third and that the other two had ended in disaster. He knelt beside her, stroking her back as she sobbed. As if confessing a crime, she told him that for almost a decade, she'd earned her living as an exotic dancer in another city, that she'd come to Toronto hoping to make a clean break and that if she didn't make it this time - at 28 years old - she had no idea what she'd do. Drew listened patiently, finally understanding how it had been so easy for Scarlett to offer up her sexuality as payment for his services. When she'd at last cried herself out, she thanked him profusely for his help, apologized, then went to the washroom to freshen up. Returning, she insisted that in spite of her current mood, he deserved a little "bonus" for his incredibly hard work. Drew was torn. Under the circumstances, it felt cheap. Yet he realized that as their relationship had developed, he'd been surprisingly undemanding of her. Sure they'd had sex on several occasions, but he'd also given incredibly generously of his time. So, they undressed, and when it was over and they lay naked in bed, Drew told her he'd be happy to help her any time during reading week. He advised her to get a good sleep, take the weekend off, then hit the books early on Monday. She agreed and said she'd call on Sunday to set up their next session. Drew left, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. Yes, she'd failed the exam, but whether or not she knew it - or even cared - she'd gained a much better grasp of the material and she really did have a fighting chance on the final. If she could pull off 52%, she'd have her credit. But when Sunday came, she didn't call. Drew dialed her number, but she didn't pick up. He texted her, but she didn't respond for two days. Wondering what was going on, he sent an email, which also went unreturned. When reading week had passed and he still hadn't heard from her, he went to her apartment, followed another resident into the lobby and took the elevator up to her floor. Approaching her door he heard the radio and smelled the familiar aroma of her cooking. He knocked on the door. Listening carefully, he heard the clinking of cutlery and the sound of distant footsteps. Air moved through the aging plumbing as the kitchen faucet went on and off. He knocked again, louder, but there was still no response. A lump formed in his throat. It was a familiar feeling, one he'd felt each time a woman he'd gotten involved with had decided she was done with him. He cursed himself the way he did when it became clear Claire "needed her space." He thought about calling her through the door, but something held him back. Instead, he swallowed, turned and left. It was a Sunday night and he had class early the next morning. It was time to get some sleep. After a restless night, he awoke and checked his email, hoping to find something from Scarlett. Instead, there was a letter from the secretary of the dean of science, asking him to attend an urgent meeting the following day. He replied that he was free and enquired what it was about. Later that day, the secretary replied that she wasn't certain, but stressed the urgency. The next day, Drew left his house for the meeting. He'd never met directly with the dean before and he hoped it was good news. Maybe a lead on a scholarship he could apply for, or perhaps an introduction to a professor at another university whose research interests were closer to his than anyone in the faculty. The secretary looked up as he entered and she motioned toward the leather sofa in the anteroom. He took a seat and waited, flipping through a copy of the journal Nature which had been on the end table. Through the door he could hear the dean's voice talking to an unknown person on the phone. He heard the receiver go down, sensed approaching footsteps, then the handle turned and the door opened. The dean stared coldly down at Drew, who put the magazine back on the end table and stood up, watching the tall, elderly academic as he crossed the room and sat down behind his big oak desk. The dean pulled out a folder. As Drew sat down at a chair facing the desk, he was beset with an uneasy feeling. Though the dean was known to be a perennially serious man, his uncommonly brusque demeanor suggested all was not well. "I assume you're familiar with a student named Scarlett Brenner?" "I've tutored her in chemistry," Drew answered. "She's filed a sexual harassment complaint against you." Drew's heart stopped. He felt dizzy and his peripheral vision started to blacken. "She's filed an affidavit," the dean continued, "alleging that |
Bruno yelled. "You hear me? I don't care how, but you fix it!" Bruno hung up, and Guy turned to Cynthia. "Bruno wants us to fix it," he said. 8 Judge Davis Back in the CG & P lab, Eleanor slapped a temporary restraining order on the table in front of Brian. "Well, they got a restraining order," she complained. "As of eight a.m. this morning, we are legally enjoined from performing any more experiments upon Desmond Sharpe, esquire. Well. We can wait it out, of course, but now I have to go to court to fight her attempt to get an injunction forcing us | Bruno yelled. "You hear me? I don't care how, but you fix it!" Bruno hung up, and Guy turned to Cynthia. "Bruno wants us to fix it," he said. 8 Judge Davis Back in the CG & P lab, Eleanor slapped a temporary restraining order on the table in front of Brian. "Well, they got a restraining order," she complained. "As of eight a.m. this morning, we are legally enjoined from performing any more experiments upon Desmond Sharpe, esquire. Well. We can wait it out, of course, but now I have to go to court to fight her attempt to get an injunction forcing us to release him us: waste of time!" "What shall I do in the meantime?" Brian asked. "Oh, the last of those glucose tests," Eleanor replied, "Or the tidal volume readings." "That won't take very long," Brian said. "I was hoping for new samples." Gathering her things for court, Eleanor nodded toward the book on radiation she'd given him. "I'm sure you'll think of something," she said, and left. At the Los Angeles County Court, Judge Laverna Davis lowered Cynthia's Petition for Injunction and surveyed her courtroom. On one side sat Cynthia Carroll, Guy Mitchell and lawyers from Magna Pictures; on the other Courtland and Eleanor Warner, and lawyers representing Consolidated Gas and Power. Behind them in the observer's area sat the almost salivating press corps, including Remy and her crew. "Is this true?" Judge Davis asked Courtland. "Are you holding him against his will? Courtland stood. "Yes, your Honor," he said. "We are." Judge Davis was astounded. "Why...why is this woman even standing in front of me?" she asked rhetorically. To Cynthia, she said, "Have you brought criminal charges?" "We filed this morning, your Honor," Cynthia said, glaring at Courtland. "Well, Mr. Warner?" Judge Davis said. "Would you care to explain your client's actions?" "Certainly, your Honor," Courtland replied. "We are holding Desmond Sharpe against his will because his will is immaterial. Desmond Sharpe has no rights. Desmond Sharpe is not a human being." The press corps gasped, and Judge Davis barked "Quiet!" Cynthia now stood. "Your Honor, this is absurd," she said. "Of course he's a human being. I have here his papers of U.S. citizenship, issued in 1984 ..." " Using whose birth certificate, Ms. Carroll?" Courtland asked. "Mr. Warner, you will address your remarks to me," Judge Davis said, an edge to her voice. "I apologize, your Honor," Courtland said. "But we stand by our assertion: Desmond Sharpe is not a human being. He is a vampire." "Your Honor, this is ridiculous!" Cynthia cried. "I am inclined to agree with you, Ms. Carroll," Judge Davis said. "Mr. Warner, only my stubborn refusal to believe that the entire CG & P organization has lost its collective mind is keeping me from citing you for contempt of court." "I understand, your Honor," Courtland said. "I was just as skeptical when I first learned the facts of the case. But with the court's permission, I'd like to call as witness Dr. Eleanor Warner." At a nod from Judge Warner, Eleanor rose, and walked to the witness' chair. Meanwhile, in the CG & P lab, Brian idly leafed through the book on radiation. A passage caught his eye, and he read with more interest...and then with intense interest. He skipped back a few pages, read avidly, then spun to face the large chart of the periodic table on the wall. "Oh, my," he said. In the courtroom, Eleanor sat in the witness' chair. Courtland stood before her. "Eleanor," he said. "You understand you are under oath, and any false statements expose you to the charge of perjury?" "Of course," Eleanor replied. "You are currently employed by Consolidated Gas and Power?" "Yes." "And you obtained your doctorate in biotechnology from Cal Tech, after which you did research on plant-derived ethanols at the H. West Institute for Alternative Fuel Development?" "Yes." "And you now lead the research into the physiology of the creature known as Desmond Sharpe?" "Yes." In the lab, Brian held his cell phone to his ear. Eleanor's voice played, saying, _You've reached Dr. Eleanor Warner, please leave a message..._ Exasperated, he hung up, and then, squaring his shoulders as if reaching a momentous decision, left the lab. "In your expert opinion," Courtland said to Eleanor, "is CG & P justified in holding this creature against his will?" "Definitely," Eleanor replied. "By his own admission, Desmond Sharpe is a bipedal, sanguinivorous humanoid, or, if you will, a vampire. He therefore, under the law, has no more rights than a lab rat." "But, Doctor, what evidence do you have of this?" "Mr. Sharpe was apprehended using technology that exploited his vampiric physiology," Eleanor said. "Were he not what he is, we could not have captured him. Experiments with various foodstuffs have shown that Mr. Sharpe is incapable of eating normally. And, of course, Mr. Sharpe heals inhumanly fast, as I believe the world recently saw." "And you can back all this up with hard data?" "Yes...although to do so in open court would endanger valuable trade secrets," Eleanor concluded. Courtland thanked her, and retired. Cynthia, eyes glinting, came forward. "Dr. Warner, tell me: have you ever personally witnessed Mr. Sharpe kill anyone?" she asked. "No," Eleanor replied. "Ever see him assault anyone?" "No." "Ever see him drink blood? Other than that you forced on him, that is." "No." "So you really have no evidence that he's a "vampire" at all, do you?" Cynthia asked. For all you know he's just a guy with unusual physiology, right?" Courtland interrupted. "Your Honor, we will be more than happy to supply Ms. Carroll with all the evidence she requires," he said. "And just when will that be, Counselor? When you feel like it? Your Honor, I demand that they release him at once!" "Your Honor, we cannot proceed until you issue a gag order protecting CG & P trade secrets!" Courtland countered. "A man is in immediate danger!" Cynthia cried. "He's not a man!" Courtland cried back. "Which you have not proved!" Cynthia snarled. "Well, we will!" Courtland snarled back. "May I say something?" Eleanor asked. "Oh, Dr. Warner," said Judge Davis. "Yes, you may." "Regardless of whatever else he may be," Eleanor said, "Desmond Sharpe is a killer. In order to live he must kill, and his favorite victim is human. He has not been fed in six days. If you free him, your Honor, I assure you, someone will die tonight." At CG & P, Brian hesitated outside the door to the antechamber of Desmond's cell, then unlocked the door and stepped inside. "Right," Judge Davis said. "I want to see this individual for myself." Desmond looked up, surprised to see Brian alone. "You're breathing!" Brian said. In the courtroom, Eleanor and Courtland exchanged a glance, then raised their eyebrows at Judge Davis as if to say, "you asked for it." Later, in the hallway outside Desmond's cell, Courtland handed Judge Davis a clipboard on which was fastened a CG & P waiver. "Please sign," he said, "Indicating you have been warned as to the true nature of the individual and the risks inherent in this visit and of your agreement to hold CG & P and all its affiliates harmless in the event you are injured, maimed or killed." Eyeballing him hard, Judge Davis signed the waiver. Eleanor unlocked the door, stepped through...and stopped short, gasping. Brian and Desmond were face-to-face through the glass. "Brian, what are you doing here?" Eleanor cried. "Eleanor, I found something, in ..." " Are you all right?!" "Yes, I'm fine. I --" " Do you recall any lost time?" "No, I'm fine, but I --" " Dr. Warner?" Judge Davis asked from the hall. "Later, Brian!" Eleanor snapped. "This way, your Honor," she said to Judge Davis. Unlocking the inner door, she allowed Judge Davis to step through. "Oh, God," Desmond said. "Mr. Sharpe?" Judge Davis said. "You bitch!" Desmond spat at Eleanor. "Are you all right?" Judge Davis said to Desmond, taking a step toward him. "Stay away from me!" Desmond said desperately to Judge Davis...but she stepped even closer. "I'm here to help you, Mr. Sharpe," she said. "No!" Desmond said, almost strangling on it, and turned his back on the approaching woman. Meaning well, Judge Davis reached out and touched his shoulder. "Mr. Sharpe?" Desmond's hand clamped onto Judge Davis' wrist. He turned, his eyes suddenly strange, inhuman. Judge Davis gasped and tried to pull away, but he pulled her closer. "Ah, Laverna," he said. "You've come to me at last." His blank eyes gazed into hers, and she stopped struggling, her brow smoothing out, her expression softening. Desmond twined his hands in her hair" Morris hasn't ever really satisfied you, has he?" he murmured to her. "Oh, I know, you love him, you would never betray him, but he doesn't know, does he? Not like I do. He doesn't know how easy it is to give a woman pleasure when she wants it, when she's already half way there ..." He slipped his knee between her legs, and her head fell back. "When all it takes is a gentle nudge," he said, and as Judge Davis moaned, he sank his fangs |
((cut to close up of OPOP7 lunging at shot close up))" I get NZ reinforcements MANG . THEYWAANT me to do DAT so much, IGOTDOOOOPPPP . "((closer to camera than before, camera shaking at his anger))" I have to GETOWTOFDISPARRTNA "hambrgrhlpr: ((cut to facing hambrgrhlpr shadowing looming over him)) "WHATTTT???? "OPOP7: ((voice)) "IGOTTAGET . IHAVD ." ((cut to OPOP7 dancing in place, and running up the frame to left and flipping over like Fred Astaire))" I need to get OWT ." ((cut to Blorg | ((cut to close up of OPOP7 lunging at shot close up))" I get NZ reinforcements MANG . THEYWAANT me to do DAT so much, IGOTDOOOOPPPP . "((closer to camera than before, camera shaking at his anger))" I have to GETOWTOFDISPARRTNA "hambrgrhlpr: ((cut to facing hambrgrhlpr shadowing looming over him)) "WHATTTT???? "OPOP7: ((voice)) "IGOTTAGET . IHAVD ." ((cut to OPOP7 dancing in place, and running up the frame to left and flipping over like Fred Astaire))" I need to get OWT ." ((cut to Blorg, close up, watching intently, blinking twice))" I have to get over the RCRC . The RAYDIO . The FONE ." ((cut to OPOP7 running in place, twisting around dancing))" IGOTTA . "((freezes in place))" MYMISHHOON ." ((his whole body jumps towards shot without changing stance))" MYWAYIZZ ." ((runs with back to shot to the very back closest towards the nearest wall, then races back towards the shot))" IGOTTAKEEPGZN! ." ((continues motion and begins to run at the shot))" IWUZTOLDNVR2222STOPDAT7 ." ((eyes right into shot and camera))" I'm GONNAWINNN . "((face instantly moves up to just show smile))" MANENEFFFFFSTDESTIINENEEEEE ." ((level with shot, shows entire face))" MMMMERIICA ." ((extreme close up))" GODWAANTNTZZZZITIT . "((close up, just eyes))" MERICABLDWL ." ((face shakes and so does shoke))" GITITITDONEEE ." ((moves out of shot quickly, as he stares off to left stoically))" NDTHOOOOSREBZ ." ((twitching in anger))" REBLLZ ." ((looms at shot, face first))" I'm never EVR gonna give up REBLLZ . They say that like I'm FUKINGBAD . "((he pauses)) BAD: "WHODAFUKSAYZYORBAD?" ((OPOP7 wheels around, back to shot instantly)) ((cut to large group of BAD who had pursued Blorg and Captain Langenwalter, have found their way into the building from the opposing fire exit.)) BAD: "WHEEEEBADMOHTHRFUKRRRR ." ((cut to close up, of BAD speaking, one yellow eye, left eye eyepatch, blue ears, and yellow skin, wearing a blue track suit with yellow stripes humanoid holding a bat)) "URNOTBAD ." ((cut to OPOP7 facing left of shot, Green Man and hambrgrhlpr standing behind him, facing towards left of shot)) "UDZNTEVNNOWATBADIZ "OPOP7: "OOOOOHYEAOHHHHYEEEEAH ." ((cut to the BAD facing shot, looking very cocky and prone to violence))" DUDE . I've been all over this SHITKBRA ." ((cut to OPOP7 close up at shot face looming from right to left))" I'm in a man. AFUKINGMAN ." ((cut to Blorg up close, brow furrowed))" He IZNT the GRD "((cut to OPOP7 dancing around in the shot, the other two behind him)) "- and IGOTINHRRRRCUZOFDISSHITDISSHITRITEHRR ." ((points to the left of the shot, the shot pans left to a poster of the U.D.o.A. building, the antennae in the shot with the words BLYKEMEME at the bottom))" FUKINANTTTEEENAEEEE ." ((cut to lead BAD, standing holding bat along with a crowd of BAD behind him, all have eyepatches over left eye))" FUKINBABYTEEEETH pointin' that shit at HZBDY - "((cut to one BAD wearing a yellow and green ski mask, close up with a blue and yellow headband, glaring to right of shot, eyepatch over left eye)) "- like a FUKKIN weapon." ((cut to OPOP7 close up, facing shot))" ISAYGTEDTHEFUK ." ((dances in place))" These FUKZ tell me' l2spl' ." ((charges at shot, looming))" WTFDODEYEVNNOECE?" ((extreme close up))" HUH?" ((face twisting into shot))" DAYEVNACNY?" ((pulls back to stand erect in shot, head cocking))" FUKKINGCALLME' niggeeeer '." ((closer up))" THAT ." ((charges into shot after pausing a half of a second))" WAT ." ((charges forward again, closer, face and shoulders in shot))" THATWORD ." ((turns around and walks away from shot))" This FUKKINGSHIT ." ((turns back around to face the shot, rigid and single movements))" They say that mean black." ((cut to a BAD girl, green eyes and blue face and yellow skin, looking right of shot with two teeth missing, teeth bared))" ITMEENDOOPDA ." ((cut to 14 year old girl, BAD, looking at shot, brown eyes and yellow skin, blue hair, looks completely confused and upset, squinting past shot to left)) ((cut to close up of OPOP7))" ANDDATWENITHTME ." ((cut to random 17 year old male BAD looking at shot, yellow eyes and skin, red hair, giggling, whispering' ngrr'))" THEYSAYEYENIGGR ." ((cut to a 78 year old male BAD, shaking head at the right of shot, white hair, yellow skin and bluish yellow green eyes, shaking head and shrugging))" THATEYEMMMMNIGGAR . THATMEENEYESTEALLLLACC ." ((he mouths the words "sowt ")) ((cut to OPOP7 rushing the shot, staring into their souls)) "EYEMMMMTHEFUKINAMEERIICAAAANGVTBITCH . EYEDZNTTTTNIGGR4444NIGGAAAAR ." ((cut to BAD, man in track suit in front of other BAD's leading shaking head holding bat, eyes of other BAD behind him looking at him))" THEN ." ((cut to a BAD donkey, wearing a white shirt with a black tie and black suit jacket, blue hair and yellow teeth, looking at teeth mouth wide open))" THNTHEYSAYCSABADD ." ((cut to a BAD with glasses, very mean frumpy expression, annoyed girl very shot, eyepatch under glasses and reddish green hair and blue skin))" WAT ." ((cut to OPOP7 camera trembling at him, as his words resonate))" EYEMTHASOUHTH ." ((shot stops shaking, as he looms out then back in))" BAKIN1812TAFUKIINBRTZHAD2222GTFUKD ." ((pops back, head cocked back slightly))" IWUZMD ." ((cut to Captain Langenwalter, nervously staring out to left of shot))" EYEMFUKKKKINDZNBAD . "((cut to hambrgrhlpr looking to left of shot, blinking twice))" TOGTETHAT ." ((cut to Green Man, arms folded, staring right and not moved))" EYEMMMMASOLOOOOBIMDA . EYEFUKUMUUP ." ((cut to OPOP7 standing in shot, doing a complete flip))" I'm KINGBADDAD . ICANTFUKITUP ." ((faces to side, walks backwards quickly from right to left))" EYEMMMMBADTHEBAD ." ((lunges at camera in one motion, staring))" DZNTFUK . "((cut to OPOP7 P.O.V. looking at the crowd of BAD all looking very intimidating and prone to rioting and violence))" ANDWTFTHATWHAATDDDDWHEEGOTHUR ." ((zooms in to a man who looks like a Frog, yellow skin wearing a blue and white tshirt with a red heart symbol on his arm))" FROGZ ." ((slides to right, shows man wearing a blue hat with yellow hair, green skin and yellow mustache))" CANZ . And - "((the shot hangs on a man with black hair, a black eyepatch over his left eye, with a flag on his chest that looks like the Union Jack from England, except it begins to change quickly, to look like happy face)) "UFGT ." ((makes very unhappy face, glaring at the shot, hair turning blue yellow, skin becoming blue and yellow, as he suddenly appears as a woman only for a second))" UNIGGR ." ((cut to close up of OPOP7 looking right into the shot, bellowing))" UFUKINGFAGGOTTTT . FUKINGBRITINMUHSHIT ." ((cut previous, to OPOP7 P.O.V. to show that the man changes into a black haired woman, wearing glasses, whose Union Jack tshirt briefly becomes an American flag tshirt, then changes back))" UNYUNJACK?!!!! UNYUNFLG???? SAMED?" ((cut to Captain Langenwalter, frightened))" NUDEEL?!!!! "((cut to OPOP7 close up, shaking the shot with anger))" WW2???????????? "((shot shaking even more)) "WW11KLL???????????? EYEDZNTBLEEVUUUUFUGGATATZIZNMUHCUHNTRY . TRANZATLANTCCKIVNNDAVRRRDDRRZZZZZANDSPICCCCKZINMYHSHIT?!!!! "((cut to lead BAD smiling holding bat as the other BAD stare forward into the shot)) "EYELLLLKIKTHEEEEFGTINTOUUUU ." ((OPOP7 lunges at the shot)) ((cut to the BAD who spoke, and the crowd, a shadow looming over them and begins to kick one and five teeter over like dominoes. OPOP7 steps into shot and SPNKIKZZZZ five large men from Canada apart and they fly out of the shot in every direction)) OPOP7 "UNYTED!!!! "((cut to a large cluster of BAD charging at shot)) ((cut to OPOP7 leaping in single frame strides eluding a man with a gun shooting, over the shoulder BAD shooting as OPOP7 leaps and bounds with ease, cartwheeling once to right of shot and leaping after)) ((cut to OPOP7 leaping into shot facing a BAD, his back to shot, as OPOP7 rips the face off the BAD, who turns to the shot, rubber band shot close up, just a skull screaming)) BAD: "AHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHH "OPOP7: "YYYYEEEEAAAAHHHHBLT "((leans into shot as BAD collapses, shuddering and looming over his off camera body)) "1812 BEEEEITITCCCCH "((as BAD en masse begin to encircle him from behind, all armed, he turns and BAKHNDZ all of them all into the air)) "FGZZZZZZZZZ " |
I look again and notice a woman a very beautiful woman, one like I've never seen before. "She came to watch". The announcer asks us both to come by him and ask us both to say a little word. I go first. "My opponent better hope he's got some luck on his side". I say. "Funny I was going to say the same about you". He says with a little chuckle. "Let's get this going before I die of old age". The announcer calls for us both to get into fighting position and calls for the match to start. The second the match starts Roca charges like a bull. | I look again and notice a woman a very beautiful woman, one like I've never seen before. "She came to watch". The announcer asks us both to come by him and ask us both to say a little word. I go first. "My opponent better hope he's got some luck on his side". I say. "Funny I was going to say the same about you". He says with a little chuckle. "Let's get this going before I die of old age". The announcer calls for us both to get into fighting position and calls for the match to start. The second the match starts Roca charges like a bull. He throws his right fist like a train that can't be stopped but I throw up my two fist block the punch. Roca throws his left fist and I jump up and block it with my right knee and swing my left foot across his face. Any normal opponent it would've sent flying but not Roca he takes it like it was almost nothing. It just knocks him a few feet back, and he comes at me once again. I can't fend off all his blows though, I block about three of his twenty hits. He knocks me up in the air with an uppercut to the jaw, I do a back flip and my feet grind against the ground. Roca's hot on my tail, I throw up my right foot and it hits Roca in the chin. I hit with both my fist as many times as possible. Roca grabs both my fist and extends his legs, both his feet connect with my face. I fall to my right knee clenching my face. Roca barely misses me as I jump back firing energy blasts to keep him back. When my vision returns blurry but still there, he throws out his right arm. I grab his arm with my hand and throw him over my shoulder. I put energy into my hand and punch at him on the ground. Roca rolls backwards kicks up his one foot and sends a pillar of earth into my fist. The explosion of energy and dirt goes into my face, I try to feel out Roca but I'm too distracted. A sword departs from a sheathe, my ears pick it up just in time and pull my blade out and block his strike. "Give it up Shinruga". Roca says. "Yeah, right". His blade is coming closer to my face but I swing my foot and sweep his left leg. Roca kicks his left leg I block with my left arm. He charges up some energy in his left hand. I spring backwards as Roca fires his blast of energy. When I touch ground I extend my hand out and send a wave of earth at Roca, and in the other charge up energy. Roca jumps up and evades the earth wave and throwing multiple blast of energy at me. With the energy in hand I throw it up in front of his blast, the explosion puts me on my back and knocks the wind out of me. Before I have any time to rest Roca's already got some energy in his hands. He fires it at me I shoot some energy towards the sky. Before the blast can hit me I bring my arm down and lightning strikes it. I get up with energy charged in both hands. "You've lasted a lot longer than I thought you would". Roca says. "You can take a hit, running low on energy yet"? "Got plenty in me don't worry about that Roca". "Ready to go again"? He asks. I nod my head wondering how much longer I will last. He is right I am running low but I'll keep going till I fall over and can't get up. We run at each other hands charged and ready to kill. We both punch at each other, the energies collide and explode. I and Roca are sent backwards grinding against the ground. I make fire from the sparks and send it in Roca's direction. I wait till I think the fire get's in his line of sight to where he can't see me. Then I jump at Roca to punch him, his vision just catches me and he jumps up with energy in hand. I push off the ground with energy and tackle Roca before he can fire off his blast. I use energy to create a stand and fire off a blast. Roca summons a giant flaming snake, the blast goes through it and is heading in Roca's direction. He rolls backwards getting missed by just inches. I dash at him once again kicking at his head but he just crouches a little and my attack misses. Roca uppercuts my chin, which about knocks me out cold. When I land I see two blast of energy coming my way. I quickly grab the ground below me and toss two rocks, and destroy the blast. "Implosion box". I yell out to stop Roca from firing his third blast. Clenching my fist as fast as I can, ensuring that Roca can't find a way out. Before it collapses on him Roca summons two snakes to guard him from the explosion but he's not all the way shielded. When the smoke clears I can see him. On the ground and barely able to get up I poise ready for battle. "Come on Roca". I holler at him. He can barely get up, and his energy level has definitely dropped. "Come on now get up and fight". I yell at him again. He gets himself straight up now and gets into fighting position. We're about ready to go another round when a blast of energy hits the ring. Roca looks up into the ring and his eyes go wide. I scan to where Roca is looking at, it's somewhere at top of the ring. I see a girl being held by a man, it takes me a second but I finally realize who it is. Its Sounni are old friend, Roca turns to look at me and says. "They have her Shinruga". He puts his hand to his ear and pauses for a minute. Then his face goes grim. "What did they say"? I ask. "If I don't finish this soon and don't kill you, they'll slit her throat". "Charge at me and lock fist". I tell him. He does when he gets up close to me, I explain to him we will fake my death. I back off, Roca makes a blast of enormous size. I jump to the wall of the arena, Roca fires off his blast. As it's coming at me I push the ring in as it's made of earth. I shield myself with energy and let the blast push me into the arena stadium. When the explosion goes off I disappear into the crowd. I can see the confusion coming from the crowd and the Roko gang people holding Sounni, are confused as well. I manage to get behind the one holding her and stab him in the head. The other members about to attack, when a blast of energy knocks him to the side. I look down and see Roca with his hand out and he nods, I nod back. Sounni's faints and is about to fall but I catch her. She looks up at me and says thank you. I nod and run back to the ring. "Thank you Shinruga". Roca says. "She's my friend too you know, nice work". "Your idea". Roca says. "After this tournament I'm quitting the Roko gang". "Good, you ready"? I ask. "I had to use quite a bit of energy to make that explosion".He explains. I nod my head and let out a blast of energy to make our power equal. He charges at me and punches with a force equal to boulder hitting the ground dropped from fifty feet. It takes both my hand to stop it, I slide backwards grinding against the ground. He comes at me once again I wait till the opportune moment and flip him over my shoulder. I raise my foot and try to kick him in the chest. He rolls away and turns firing off a blast. I charge up my hand and punch down and destroy the blast. I run at him throwing hits left and right. Clearly my martial arts skills are better, I charge up a blast of energy and hit him directly. Roca gets knocked down but gets back up even faster. Then sends a massive wave of earth at me. I catch and it sends me sliding back, Roca sends another one triple in size. I use some energy to destroy it. At the same time I throw out my hands and use the sparks from the friction and create lightning. I send it in Roca's direction, it destroys his earth attack. Roca tries to make a field of energy but he's too late. The explosion lets out to much smoke I can't see where Roca is. I'm on guard waiting for him to come out. I close my eyes to focus where he is, there he comes to my right and I block his attack. Knee him to the stomach, and roundhouse him to the face. I kick him but it turns to a snake, I blast its head off. "Where are you"? I ask frantically searching out for his energy. He comes out from behind me and block his first attack and some others but not all. I'm sent backwards and poise for battle again. I can see parts of Roca's body sparking, indicating where he was hit by my attack. "Try this Shinruga". Roca yells in anger. He starts charging up a blast that starts eating the ground. "It's converting what it disintegrates into energy". I get ready for his attack. When he fires the blast I clench my fist and increase the lightning around his leg. It makes him fall to one knee and the enormous blast misses me by inches. I'm about to charge up an attack but Roca's attack curves and is heading in my direction. I run drawing my sword and when I get close enough to Roca I put the blade as close to his face as possible. At the same time I put a sheet of earth behind me, and Roca stops his blast right behind it. "It's over Roca I win". I say. "How do you figure, that blast will break through your earth defense". "If you do that I will move forward and you'll be dead". "Give up now". We pause for a moment and he considers what I say. I think about any other scenario that could happen. "Drop the blast". I say. He looks away for a moment and then drops it, the explosion is huge. My eyes go |
You can change the order in which the images will appear in your Page or Post by clicking and dragging each image to reorder them. You can also update the image Title, Caption, Alt Text and Description for each image. To remove one of your selected images, click the small '-' that appears in the top right corner of the image when you hover your cursor over the tick. Clicking the Return to library button will take you back to the previous screen that allows you to select or deselect your images. When you're editing your Post/Page, if you wish to insert an image that you uploaded earlier (as opposed to uploading a new image), click | You can change the order in which the images will appear in your Page or Post by clicking and dragging each image to reorder them. You can also update the image Title, Caption, Alt Text and Description for each image. To remove one of your selected images, click the small '-' that appears in the top right corner of the image when you hover your cursor over the tick. Clicking the Return to library button will take you back to the previous screen that allows you to select or deselect your images. When you're editing your Post/Page, if you wish to insert an image that you uploaded earlier (as opposed to uploading a new image), click the Add Media button again (). Once the pop-up window displays, click the Media Library tab at the top of the pop-up window rather than dragging a new file into the upload window. All your previously uploaded images will be displayed, with the most recent ones shown first. Select the image (s) that you'd like to insert into your Page or Post and then simply click the Insert into post button (or if you're editing a Page, this button will say Insert into page). As mentioned earlier, you can also click the Edit Selection link at the bottom of the window if you'd like to change the order the images are inserted. ##Edit or Delete an Image There are various options available for adjusting the layout of inserted images. After clicking on an image that has already been inserted into your Page or Post, a small toolbar will appear over the image. By selecting one of the alignment buttons () you can change the alignment of the inserted image. Clicking the _Edit_ button () allows you to edit the image properties. Clicking the Remove button () will remove the image from your content. It will only remove the image from your Page or Post, it will not delete the image from your Media Library. When you click on an image in your Page or Post, as well as the alignment, edit and delete icons mentioned above, the image also displays 'resizing handles'. These are the small squares you see around the edge of the image. To resize your image, simply click and drag one of the corner resize handles. As with any image editing software though, if you try to enlarge a small image, it will tend to get quite pixelated. It's always best to insert a large image and then resize down. After clicking the _Edit_ button () the following pop-up window will appear. The Image Details pop-up window allows you to edit the various image and link properties: * Caption – Displayed underneath the image as a short description. How this displays will be dependent on the WordPress theme in use at the time. You can also include basic HTML in your captions * Alternative Text – Displayed when the browser can't render the image. It's also used by screen readers for visually impaired users so it's important to fill out this field with a description of the image. To a small degree, it also plays a part in your website Search Engine Optimisation (SEO). Since search engines can't 'read' images they rely on the Alt Text * Align – Allows you to select how you would like the image aligned. They can be either Left, Centered or Right aligned. Setting alignment to None will remove the other alignment settings. How this affects your image within your content will depend on the current theme in use * Size – Select a specific size from the dropdown list or select 'Custom Size' and then enter the Width and Height (in pixels) in the input fields that appear * Link To – Select where you would like to link your image to from the dropdown list. You have the choice of linking to the image attachment page by selecting Attachment Page, or you can link to the full size image by selecting Media File. You can also link to any URL by selecting Custom URL. When you do this, a new field will appear that allows you to enter in the custom URL. You can also choose not to link to anything by selecting None * Image Title Attribute – Displayed as a tooltip when the mouse cursor hovers over the image in the browser * Image CSS Class – By default, WordPress will assign several CSS Classes to your image. If, for some reason, there's other CSS Classes that you'd like to assign to your image then you can add them into this input field * Link Rel – Describes the relationship from the current document to the specified link. More information on the rel HTML attribute can be found on Wikipedia * Link CSS Class – If there is a specific CSS Class that needs to be set on the HTML link then you can add it into this input field Clicking the Edit Original button allows you to perform some simple manipulation with your uploaded image. You're able to rotate and flip your image as well as scale and crop it to different sizes. If you'd like to replace the image entirely, click the Replace button and you'll be shown your Media Library where you can select a new image. Once you have updated the image properties, click the _Update_ button to save your changes. Alternatively, click the small 'x' in the top-right of the pop-up window to close the pop-up without saving any changes. ##Setting a Featured Image Some themes allow you to specify a Featured Image for your Page and Post. A Featured Image, often called a Post/Page Thumbnail, is usually some sort of image that is representative for that particular Page or Post. How these images are displayed is dependent entirely on the Theme that is currently in use. If your Theme allows you to set a Featured Image, the following Featured Image panel will be displayed when you're editing your Page or Post. If Featured Images can't be set then this panel won't be displayed. Setting your featured image is very similar to adding an image into your Page or Post. After clicking the Set featured image link a pop-up window will display that looks similar to the one that displays when you add an image to your Page/Post. You can upload a new image to use as your Featured Image or you can simply choose from one of your previously uploaded images. By default, you'll be shown a list of the previously uploaded images. If you'd like to upload a new image, click on the Upload Files link at the top of the pop-up window. After clicking the image you'd like to use as your featured image you can then update the Title, Caption, Alt Text and Description. To set the image as your Featured Image, click the Set featured image button. Your chosen image will then appear in the Featured Image panel. ##Insert an Image Gallery WordPress has its own simple built-in Image Gallery that allows you to add multiple images to a page in one easy step. To insert an image gallery into your Page/Post, click the Add Media button (). A pop-up window will display that looks the same as the one that displays when you add an image to your Page/Post. You can upload new images to use in your gallery or you can simply choose from your previously uploaded images. By default, you'll be shown a list of your previously uploaded images. If you'd like to upload a new image, click on the Upload Files link at the top of the pop-up window. Click the Create Gallery link in the left-hand navigation then select the images that you'd like to insert into your gallery. After selecting your images, click the Create a new gallery button at the bottom of the pop-up window. The window will change so that only the selected images are shown. All the images that appear will be used within your Image Gallery. To reorder the images simply click on an image and drag it to its new position. If you'd like to add captions to your images, click the 'Caption this image.. _'._ text below each image and then type in your caption. Alternatively, click each image and then update the Title, Caption, Alt Text and Description on the right-hand side of the pop-up window. You can also include basic HTML, such as links, in your captions. If you decide you no longer want a certain image to appear in your gallery, click the small '-' that appears in the top right corner of the image when you hover your cursor over the 'x'. Since the built-in gallery is quite simple, there aren't that many options to choose from when setting it up. * Link to – This sets what happens when the thumbnail image is clicked. Selecting Media File will open the full size image directly in your browser window. Selecting Attachment Page will open the image within one of your WordPress formatted pages * Columns – Specifies the number of columns to use when displaying your thumbnail images. Ultimately, this will be dependent on your Theme and how wide your page is. If you find the gallery isn't displaying properly after changing this number you may need to change it to another number * Random Order – Click this checkbox to display your images in a random order * Size – Selects the size of the image to use in your gallery ##Edit or Delete an Image Gallery Editing or Deleting an Image Gallery is much like editing or deleting an image. After clicking on an Image Gallery that has been inserted into your Page or Post, two icons will appear on top of the gallery. Clicking the _Edit_ button () allows you to edit the image gallery properties. Clicking the Remove button () will delete the image gallery from your content. It will only remove the image gallery from your Page or Post, it will not delete any images from your Media Library. After clicking the _Edit_ icon you will be shown the same pop-up window and options as when your image gallery was inserted into your Page/Post. ##Insert an Audio or Video Playlist Inserting an audio or video playlist is almost identical to inserting an image gallery. Click the Add Media button (). A pop-up window will display that looks the same as the one that displays when you add an image to your Page/Post. You can upload new media files to use in your playlist or you can simply choose from your previously uploaded files. By default, you'll be shown a list of your previously uploaded files. If you'd like to upload a new media file, click on the Upload Files link at the top of the pop-up window. To create an audio playlist, click the Create Audio Playlist link in the left-hand navigation. The pop-up window will display a list of your audio files. Alternatively, to create a video playlist, click the Create Video Playlist link in the left-hand navigation. The pop-up window will display a list of your video files. After selecting your media files, click |
Jack gave the podium back to Blanch. "Let me say, somewhat reluctantly, it took a lot of backing off, but now I agree with everything Jack said. Let the male alone, and he will be the best provider, defender and take-charge man a women could want. I know about, Jack. I love him. "I mentioned that it took a great deal of backing off to find this out. The world has so conditioned men to be like women. We see this in clothing, workplaces, and housing decor. "Jack tells a story about going to an all men's meeting at Fred's house. The men were cooking bacon and eggs, and one man | Jack gave the podium back to Blanch. "Let me say, somewhat reluctantly, it took a lot of backing off, but now I agree with everything Jack said. Let the male alone, and he will be the best provider, defender and take-charge man a women could want. I know about, Jack. I love him. "I mentioned that it took a great deal of backing off to find this out. The world has so conditioned men to be like women. We see this in clothing, workplaces, and housing decor. "Jack tells a story about going to an all men's meeting at Fred's house. The men were cooking bacon and eggs, and one man reached into the frying pan that had the excess bacon to grab a piece of the already cooked and dried bacon. He then ate the bacon strip in the middle of the kitchen!" Rod thought, what else? It's natural. Only if there is a female near-by, would I do it differently. "I was aghast \--the first time I heard this story. I interrupted him. 'You mean without a plate?' 'Of course.' He continued that the other men of the group also fished bacon slices out of the same pan and ate it." See, I told ya, Rod delighted. "One of the men said, 'I'll bet you wouldn't do that at home, where somebody will slap your hand?" "'Yeah, but we're all men, so it's okay."' "Jack goes on to tell me that they then turned into the Dining room, which had been set the night before. Gracie, Fred's wife, had used the best silver, provided china and two glasses at each place setting. "All gleamed perfection . . . the Dining table, covered with a tablecloth and a centerpiece of fresh flowers. The men proceed into the Dining room, sat at the settings and behaved just like women at a tea. Isn't that a hoot. "You have heard the expression, 'Boys will be boys.' Well, I say, 'Viva la difference!' Women, listen to me, men want to be in- charge. Let them! "I thought Jack had made a terrible mistake buying our house, but now I find that he made a good decision. At first, no. Later, I love it, and him for making that decision." Well, goody for you, Rod thought. "I think of our marriage as a dance, and he is my partner, leading me across the dance floor of life. If we both lead, we go nowhere. "If I let him lead, we make a beautiful couple. Wouldn't you agree? Even if Jack has two left feet, which he doesn't, if I let him lead, we would still be a better off couple than if I led. "Jack, do you have something further?" She nodded toward him. "No, I just wanted to close with a test they can discuss at their tables. Here's the test." He walks to the microphone. "A husband driving home from a party pulls off and parks at North Lake thinking of something romantic. "His wife looks out her window, and reads to herself a sign that says, 'No Parking.' What she says next, and how she says it could make for a fantastic or an awful night. "I can't wait to see your thoughts on submission, love, and the pictures you will draw." Anne thought about what Blanch just said. She also noticed the rain streaking on the windows, and wondered what next? CAROLLE said: "I certainly need to back off a bunch. I know you think Rod is in charge, but not really. I know what he wants to do, but I am always there, ready to do it my way." Maryann turned in her seat. Emotions under control, she questioned the speaker: "I don't agree that all men and women behave that way. I'm not chatty. Edward is quiet, but I'm not chatty or manipulative." Anne added: "Me too. I'm not chatty, either." KB commented: "If I had pulled off the road next to North Lake, and Anne said something about the sign . . . it would have been curtains! It would have ended in a big argument and a terrible evening" " I wouldn't have said anything," Anne lied. Rose jumped in to quell the disturbance brewing: "You know, it would have been a silent drive home. But I would not have let it end there. "I've learned by attending these retreats, and I would apologize to Mike for what I said and was thinking. We are not perfect, but we do forgive each other, and like Paul says in Acts, 'But none of these things move me' (Acts 20:24)." The test produced much talk among the tables. The wives explaining that they weren't talkative or manipulative. The men thought with only one side of their brain. The men delighted that someone had said what they knew about being different. No one spoke softly or suggested that the man relocated the car. Rob spoke up: "Rose, why did Mike turn home?" "Were not perfect. He wouldn't know what else to do." Carolle added: "What if he parked somewhere else. He could have seen the sign." Rose stated flatly: "Mike would have parked in that spot. He doesn't see much." "I've got it," Maryann shouted out above all the commotion. "If you all agree, in Ephesians, Paul says 'Wives be submissive to your husbands as unto the Lord.' Then he follows that with 'Husbands love your wives,' and so . . . I think we should make a picture of both the wife and husband kneeling to each other." Edward replied first: "Fantastic! Jolly good!" Carolle added her support: "Yes!" A big smile let everyone know she agreed with the picture proposed by Maryann. Mike asked: "You all agree?" "Yes." Eventually, they showed the picture to the group. Rod pointed out the window, now streaked with big rain drops falling: "It's raining. I'm getting hungry, are we going to be trapped here?" Lunch announced by the Head Rosita required everyone to run through the rain. "A warm lunch would heat your hungered tummies," he said, holding his hands over his head about 12 inches apart. Carolle tried to put the rain into perspective: "It will quit soon – besides its warm outside." Anne looked at the rain. Anne didn't know what to do. Rod stated what all were thinking: "Aren't they going to do something else?" \--8--AFTER LUNCH, SATURDAY, THE TABLE Folks said their good-byes and disappeared with their mates. They stopped at the door briefly, and then went out into the rain. A little rain weighed against remaining in the Dining Room and staying all cooped up with their leaders and table mates. Besides, they ran through the rain to lunch when the rain came down in big drops. "I've never seen that before. They couldn't wait to be with their spouses," Rose commented. "They really flew out of here," Mike said calmly. "They must have a whole bunch to share that they didn't say to us. That is the way it is for table leaders. Isn't it?" "We have both been table leaders before . . . they sure were eager." "What do they have to say to each other? Maybe we did something wrong. "Maybe, we didn't dig deeper. Maybe the discussion about the test that Jack gave us caught us by surprise. As table leaders we should not be surprised, and acted like non-Christians. We should have been ready. "We did get caught by the test, but remember this is God's thing. We perform like His instruments," Mike reminded Rose. ANNE MOVED KB to the line outdoors after lunch. The Head Rosita indicated that they were to discuss the rollos, but Anne was turning over in her mind what Jack just said about the difference between men and women. Maybe Kenny acted like all men, she thought. Anne remembered, that the Head Rosita had held his hands over his head several feet apart, and announced, "Freetime." No rollos were planned until later, and now each person could be with their spouse and discuss the talks so far," he explained. The rain had changed from big, constant drops to small, infrequent drops. The sun peaked through, and the rain became a welcome soft summer rain rather than a downpour that everyone ran through to the Dining Room, after the Jack and Blanch's rollo. KENNY FOLLOWED Anne down the concrete walk to a secluded spot. He thought aloud about breakfast: "I couldn't believe the spread they provided: bacon, ham, eggs, pancakes, and I didn't have to ask about coffee. Those cooks have something I don't have." Anne kissed him and said: "Is this a great retreat or what? I have never been on one of these. Last night my luggage was on my bed with a hand written note from my table leader., Rose. Maryann got one too, different from mine. "We compared. We both had an angel on our notes and they were signed by Rose, so we realized we would be together for something. "A woman waved at me, so I said, 'Hello.' I know we weren't suppose to talk, She didn't; I was ready, but it's a ridiculous rule. I don't know why they make a big deal about it. Did you guys follow it?" "I don't know anyone that spoke until breakfast." ROD HELD Carolle by the waist as they walked in the soft rain: "I really missed you last night, all warm and cuddly." "I missed you, too. Did I do okay speaking about my relationship with Jesus?" "Fine." "Well that is exactly how I feel. There is something indescribable. It is hard to say to someone, 'You really must let Jesus into your heart."' "Yeah." "It can be insulting to share. One must be so careful that you don't imply that they could do better." "Yeah." "So, I did okay?" "Yeah." EDWARD GRABBED Maryann's hand. He looked both ways. They walked in the rain to a spot where He thought they could be alone for a while. Edward sat down |
I had to hand it to Silas. What he was planning to write in his article must have been dynamite in order for Wade and Steve to go stark raving mad and run around the town with their guns drawn. At least that's what I was assuming it was. It could have been me who made them crazy. "Drop your weapon!" Amos shouted at Wade. While still on my belly, I turned my head to see Wade standing with his arm outstretched, his gun aimed directly at Amos. The seconds ticked away, and I was sure that someone was going to die. Wade's face changed slightly, and I knew that he was going to fire his | I had to hand it to Silas. What he was planning to write in his article must have been dynamite in order for Wade and Steve to go stark raving mad and run around the town with their guns drawn. At least that's what I was assuming it was. It could have been me who made them crazy. "Drop your weapon!" Amos shouted at Wade. While still on my belly, I turned my head to see Wade standing with his arm outstretched, his gun aimed directly at Amos. The seconds ticked away, and I was sure that someone was going to die. Wade's face changed slightly, and I knew that he was going to fire his gun. But before he could, a giraffe ran right into him, throwing him up into the air. I sat up and watched Wade hit the bandstand. Luckily, the musicians ducked for cover, but a tuba and a trombone took a direct hit. Another giraffe ran by, almost running me over. "Watch out, alien thing!" Amos yelled. But I wasn't the one who needed to watch out. "Amos! Watch out!" It was Boone. He leaped into the air and tackled Amos to the ground, just as a shot was fired. I spun around to see Wade's partner Steve with his gun pointed at Amos. Luckily, the shot missed Amos, but it took down the cotton candy machine. Amos pushed Boone aside and jumped up and shot Steve in his shooting arm. Boone ran to Steve and subdued him on the ground. "I don't need your help, asshole," Amos said, handcuffing Steve and securing his gun. "I saved your life, asshole," Boone snapped. "I was doing just fine without you." And then another shot ran out from the bandstand, and this one got Amos right through his cowboy hat. "Amos!" Boone yelled. Miraculously, the bullet missed his head and only got his hat. Amos was fine. Wade was standing in the middle of the bandstand, ready to shoot again. "Sonofabitch," Boone growled and ran right for him. I stood up and put my hands on my alien head, watching with dread as Boone leaped through the air and tackled Wade in much the same way he had tackled Amos. It was lunacy. But it worked. Wade went down with a terrible noise, as his body hit the tuba again. He was sure having a bad day. I would have thought he would have just laid there, but he fought against Boone. This time, Amos came to the rescue and subdued Wade, handcuffing him. I ran to Amos and Boone. Since Amos was on the ground, I hugged Boone. "What's going on?" Boone asked. I stepped back and tried to get my alien head off. Unfortunately, my alien hands couldn't do the job. "It's me!" I yelled from inside the head, but of course, he couldn't hear me. I could hear everyone, but nobody could hear me. I wondered if the real Andromedans had the same problem. "Oh, our dear Andromedan lord," a man said, bowing in front of me. He was backed by a group of about thirty guys, all with torn clothes and bruises. It had been a free-for-all. The intergalactic war turned out to be much more localized with the warring sides merely science fiction fans. "I'm not an alien!" I yelled. I fumbled with my head, again, and finally it popped off, fell to the ground, and rolled down the street, where it got kicked by the last giraffe to pass through the town on its way to freedom. "Sonofabitch," Boone said. "I'm not an alien," I repeated. "I'm a Californian." There was generalized shock. I would have thought the giraffe stampede and the gunfight would have been the cause, but it was really a woman in an alien costume. Go figure. The crowd disbursed. Their disappointment was palpable. The Plaza that was hundreds of years old was more or less destroyed. Whatever good giraffe karma Rocco was hoping to make had run away into the wild. I hoped they could hire a giraffe tracker to find them all, but I was doubtful. Wade and Steve were handcuffed, and a paramedic was treating Steve's wound. My head was a sweaty mess, and Adele came out of the diner to give me some water, but I couldn't hold the glass with my alien hands. "I've never seen anything like that before in my life," Adele said, raising the glass to my mouth for me. "And I lived in a circus for two years." Amos and Boone stood side by side, but they were looking at the ground. "Go ahead," Boone said. "Kiss her. Hug her. She's yours. Go ahead." "I saw her hug you. She's yours. You go and kiss her," Amos said. "No you." "No you." "It's like they're arguing about who's going to pick up a pizza," I said. "Maybe one of the giraffes got them in the head," Adele suggested. "Are you rejecting her?" Amos asked Boone. "How dare you! She's a wonderful woman!" "I'm not rejecting her. But I'm not going to get in the way if she's yours." "Bullshit. You're rejecting her." "I'm not. Believe me. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but there's a lot more fury when a man gets between another man and his lady love," Boone said, jarring me. Amos put Boone into a headlock and they fell to the ground, rolling around as they wrestled. "You shut up!" Boone yelled. "No, you shut up!" "No you!" "No you!" "I'm not sure what I'm looking at," I told Adele. "Family can be a difficult thing," she said. "What?" I asked, surprised. "Boone and Amos are related?" "Didn't you know? They're brothers. Fraternal twins. Boone's ninety minutes older." Of course. Now it seemed perfectly clear. I had thought Boone looked familiar, and it was because he looked like Amos. Twins. Boone had been Mr. Secretive, and he had never told me his last name. Boone Goodnight. And Boone had been right. It was complicated. "This is like the Bible," I said to Adele, as we watched Amos and Boone continue to roll around the ground, wrestling. "Cain and Abel," she agreed. But which one was Cain and which one was Abel? There had to be a lot of bad blood between them to make brothers hate each other so much, but Boone did save Amos's life, so maybe the bad blood was only surface deep. Maybe all of the rancor was based on a simple misunderstanding. "Can't we all just be friends?" I called to the two men. "They'll work it out," Adele said. "They've only been fighting for a few years." "Years?" Adele shrugged. "Goodnight men are stubborn. They also have large penises. At least that's what I hear." While Boone and Amos continued to wrestle, Adele walked back to Goodnight UFOs with me to get my clothes. I apologized to Norton for losing his alien head, and Faye apologized to me for losing my sneakers. I bought a pair of Martian flip-flops and picked up my purse and went back to the Plaza. When I returned, Boone and Amos had finally calmed down. Amos had put Wade and Steve in the back of his SUV, and now he was standing with Boone, studiously ignoring him. "Don't worry. They'll be behind bars for a long time," Amos told me, touching his bloody lip. "Bastards almost killed me. They'll get justice for Jimmy." "They didn't kill Jimmy," I said. "What?" Boone asked. He looked at me through one eye because his other eye was swollen and bruised. "They didn't kill Jimmy. I know who did that now," I said. "You do?" Amos asked. "Who?" "This might sound strange, but I want to tell you in front of Silas," I said. "He was almost killed three times. I think he deserves to hear the whole story." Amos surprised me by agreeing to move our discussion to Silas's hospital room. I also asked him to invite a large group of people to come, too. Along with Amos, Boone, Silas, and me, I asked that Faye and her husband Norton, Adele, Nora, Mabel, Rocco, Klee, Jack, Gloria, Wendy, Jimmy's parents, and Wade and Steve come hear about what really happened. Silas was delighted to have the company in his hospital room, and even more delighted to see Wade and Steve handcuffed. "I knew I would get you guys," Silas told them with glee. "You murderers." "Almost murderers," I corrected. "They tried to kill me and Amos, but otherwise they're innocent." "Right. Innocent," Silas said, sarcastically. "Go ahead, Trouble," Amos said. "Tell us what you brought us here to say." All of a sudden, I got nervous. I had never spoken in front of so many people before. But I knew I was right about the killer, and I couldn't wait to tell the world. I stood next to Silas's bed and faced everyone. "Let me start by saying that I'm not crazy, and I never wore a BDSM sling and rode a giraffe." I shot Rocco the stink-eye so bad that he had to look away. "It started when Jimmy came into the Gazette office, thrilled that he had made progress to the story about New Sun Petroleum," I began. Jimmy's mother wiped at her eyes. "He was a good young man," I added. "Talented and enthusiastic. Silas wanted to celebrate, so he passed around cigars. I don't like cigar smoke, so I left. A little while later, Jimmy came out into the courtyard, and we all know what happened. "There was no shortage of suspects right off the bat," I continued. "Anyone could have poisoned the cigar at any time. But why kill Jimmy? What was the motive? It quickly became clear that only one cigar had been poisoned, and it had been meant for Silas. Poor Jimmy was collateral damage. Now, the mystery became more mysterious. I mean, everyone wanted Silas dead, right? No offense |
After a moment, he utters two words so soft they could crumble into whispers at their weight. "The war." The word is ice, sitting heavy in the air like a glacier, ready to break and crumble all in its path. I take a minute to repeat it, finding no friendlier welcome with my own rendition "_War_?" "There was a war, a very terrible war, you see...and it was destroyed." "My home had a war?" I ask, unable to hide the skepticism in my voice. "No. _Earth_." It hits me like a violent punch to the gut. Whatever he's doing, whatever game he | After a moment, he utters two words so soft they could crumble into whispers at their weight. "The war." The word is ice, sitting heavy in the air like a glacier, ready to break and crumble all in its path. I take a minute to repeat it, finding no friendlier welcome with my own rendition "_War_?" "There was a war, a very terrible war, you see...and it was destroyed." "My home had a war?" I ask, unable to hide the skepticism in my voice. "No. _Earth_." It hits me like a violent punch to the gut. Whatever he's doing, whatever game he's playing—it's real. I suppress the heat of panic rising to my cheeks and focus on the carpet, quickly calculating the situation. He's older than me but not ancient, and could probably catch me if I tried to run for it. But if he's planning on taking me somewhere, there will be no other time to escape. It's now or never. "I can see you're trying to decide if I'm insane," he interrupts my thoughts with his smooth, velvety voice. I suppress a gulp. "Aren't you?" "It would seem that way, wouldn't it? But I assure you, Fallon, I'm in my right mind." My eyes flicker to the door behind him. It could lead anywhere. Another bedroom, a closet. A back porch. "I need to use the bathroom." "By all means," he waves me on, "if you feel you must feign a full bladder for a moment of solitude ..." " It's not for solitude." "I know," he responds automatically, "but with no windows, there's no escape. So solitude is the best you have." So he knows. If he knows and isn't trying to restrain me yet, maybe he won't. Maybe the best thing is to be direct and above that, more confident than I feel. When I speak, I use conviction as if my words are not up for debate. "Earth didn't have a war." "Give it a moment." "But you're lying." "Why are you fighting this?" he furrows his brows at me, as if I'd offended some crucial opinion of his. "I'm trying to help you." "I don't believe you," I stand up, my legs still wobbly from the fresh weight. "Whose house are we in?" "It's not a matter of believing if its fact," Clarence shakes his head, "and unfortunately, the people who lived here didn't survive. Some places remained more or less in-tact than others. I found you here." My eyes drop from his to the floor. Clusters of fringe point in opposing directions, muddied by overuse, and the bottom cushion in the maroon chair sits lower and slightly discolored from the arm rests and back panel. A light coat of dust blankets the gray television but on the wooden stand supporting it, away from both Clarence and I, a circle of condensation remains. A chill runs through me as I look back to him. "But why would I ..." " Clearly you were searching for food and water." "And my clothes?" "You must've rummaged through some old closets and found them. There's no other way." I glance over his green button-up and khakis. "And yours?" He hesitates for only a second. "Try to remember, Fallon. Think about it. Think about the famine. The rioting. When your government collapsed ..." " You said Earth." He smirks at the correction, "Indeed I did. Some held hope America would bring about the change the world needed ..." his voice trails off as he looks to the billowing red sheers, lost in his own thoughts. When I realize he's not going to elaborate, I do a quick sweep of the room. There's the door behind him, which could lead anywhere. The glass panels to my right are closer to him and the hallway disappearing beyond the couch would only lead further into the house, not out of it. But then there's the door to my left, at the end of a narrow entry way, just beyond the kitchen. I hadn't noticed it before, Clarence having led me into this room for our chat. He's seated still, gazing off and I'm already on my feet. I could do it. If I sprinted, flew through the door—granted it's unlocked—I could run as fast as possible, finding someone, _anyone_ who'd help. I could make the best attempt. I could escape. "Fallon," Clarence says, his sights still set on the sliding glass panels, "it'd be best not to." I freeze, dread returning. Is it too late? If I make for a run for the door now, will I reach it in time? Instead of fleeing immediately, I shift a step, careful to keep the sound of my shoes from betraying me. "You said you were here to help me." Clarence breaks his gaze and looks at me. With surprising sincerity he admits, "I _am_." Another step and his eyes drop to my feet. "Then understand I'm fine on my own." Another two steps. "Always have been." "Fallon ..." he's requesting now, in a desperate way I almost feel sorry for. "_Please_ don't make this difficult." Another step. The door is right behind me. I'm closer to it then Clarence, who hasn't budged an inch. He sits deflated, as if he has no intention of running after me. Will he when he must? Or is that someone else's job? A new thought fills me with terror as I work out the possibility that maybe Clarence isn't alone in all this. The idea that someone could be waiting on the other side of the door fills me with newfound terror. But it doesn't matter at this point. "Thank you for the water." "And what do you think is out there?" he flies to a stand, his hand outstretched, mocking the door like some clichéd routine. "Salvation? Escape?" He walks closer as I back up, gripping the handle in a closed fist. "Think really hard, Fallon. _Think_ about it. What happened before you awoke?" "I ..." my mouth drops and just as I'm about to tell him it doesn't matter, I see it. _Hear_ it. Fire. Crackling as it cooks the night, the trees, the houses and the bodies. Children screaming, running from black clouds, desperately clutching bits of food, clothes, pieces of once- somethings. "You see it, don't you?" he steps closer. "You remember now?" Another step. Grey skies linger as ashes lie strewn about school graveyards. Nomads crossing deserts in the former cities, garbage overflowing like water from a mountainous fountain. "Fallon," Clarence approaches slowly, extending his hand as he nearly closes the gap between us, "come with me...let me help you. Let me take you home." He moves for the final step but I swing around, jetting out the door. A gravel driveway leads to the same type of road ahead, the only interruption in an otherwise grassy field. There are no houses, nothing other than the road, which disappears into the distance both ways. Everything's out in the open, especially me, my heart racing as I quickly try to recalculate. I jet to the side of the house, passing an open garage and round the outside walls, keeping low, searching for a hiding place. But there's nothing. "Fallon?" he steps through the front door. Pressed against the wall, I slide down, inching my way toward the back. My pulse speeds, my breath coming in and out in rapid beats. "I'd rather not do it this way ..." his voice travels. Behind the house, off in the distance, lies a thicket of trees following the road in both directions. It's a good fifty yards away but offers a canopy of coverage. If I sprinted, I might be able to—" You won't make it," he calls from above, standing atop the roof. "But...might we hurry this up? I do have other appointments." My stomach drops. I'm running before I'm able to ponder, darting to the front of the house and into the open garage. An old Cadillac greets me, the walls lined with boxes and Christmas decorations, tools and lawn chairs. There's a door in the back and I race to it, pulling it slightly ajar. It leads into the house, across from the kitchen and dining room. Backing up, I head for a blockade of boxes and shrink to the ground behind them, waiting. Footsteps enter. They stop just as quickly. "Really, Fallon. Why are we playing this game?" A heavy sigh escapes. "I'm only here to help you." He moves on the other side of the car, toward the open door. I creep in the opposite direction, behind the shield of boxes, back toward the outside light. "The sooner you trust me," Clarence closes the door, still in the garage, "the sooner this will all be over." He's rounding the front of the Cadillac and I'm nearly to its back bumper. I just need to slide out and make for the tree line and then...... I'll figure something out. "Fallon ..." Clarence tries again but I'm already slipping past the wall and out of the garage. Once outside, I book it. Running as fast as possible, I take off for the trees behind the house. My heart's racing, threatening to explode, my long legs not moving fast enough. I don't look back. There's only ahead. Only the camouflage that'll keep me hidden. I'm halfway there when his voice sounds next to me. "The sooner you understand I'm here to _help_ you, the sooner I can take you home." He must be running next to me, but I don't stop. Keep going. Just keep going ..." Fallon ..." he tries once more, his hand outstretched as he glides along next to me easily. Almost to the trees...But suddenly, he's there, in front of me by a yard, cutting off the tree line as an available exit. I dig my heels into the grass with a sudden halt. Which way? Which way? I'm ready to collapse but the fear of death keeps me moving. |
I'll have to challenge him for the right to be alpha" Luke says and Ryan's outraged "are you crazy Luke!? He would tear you apart" Ryan shouts "we have no other choice hopefully the fact Jason's there dad will see sense and step down." Luke says sadly and a tint of fear coats his voice. "Is he like me?" I ask not sure how to phrase the question. "A descendent, no. only your family is not the pack" Ryan explains "then ill challenge him" I proclaim and the other two look at me like I've gone crazy. "you said it yourself I'm stronger and | I'll have to challenge him for the right to be alpha" Luke says and Ryan's outraged "are you crazy Luke!? He would tear you apart" Ryan shouts "we have no other choice hopefully the fact Jason's there dad will see sense and step down." Luke says sadly and a tint of fear coats his voice. "Is he like me?" I ask not sure how to phrase the question. "A descendent, no. only your family is not the pack" Ryan explains "then ill challenge him" I proclaim and the other two look at me like I've gone crazy. "you said it yourself I'm stronger and faster than any other lycan" I argue before they start but they argue anyway "that may be but you don't have a clue how to fight, especially not as a lycan, you've only been a lycan once for not even five minutes" Ryan protests "if he fights like he does as a human as a lycan there won't be a problem" Lucy says behind me and turning around I find her stood with Sarah her clothes torn and stretched but wearable. "I've seen other lycans fight and none where as fast as you were as a human." "He's right you two, he's the one that has to fight Leon. He has to prove he's more than just a name." Sarah adds and the pair are left speechless. "I'm not afraid. This is what I was meant for." I say softer the tension lifting. "I would have been alpha after my father if I wasn't taken so it's only right I fight for it myself" I add and the pair nod reluctantly. "You do realise that once you demand it there is no going back and it's a fight to the very end?" Luke asks sadly "so I'd have to......" I ask and he nods glumly "and you are okay with that?" I ask and he shakes his head "I'm not okay with it, he's still my father but the power of being alpha went to his head. He's not the man he was." he says sadly before rising and walking away. I start to follow but Ryan shakes his head and I sit back down. "Leave him go Jason. He has lost a lot" Ryan says sadly "he could have stayed. Been alpha after his father you know?" "Then why didn't he?" "Because he wanted to find you, this whole journey was his idea. He wanted to hunt you down. He wanted to find his cousin." He says quietly almost afraid of being heard. Sarah and Lucy sit there listening intently "then is his dad my uncle?" I ask "yes by law, he's married to your mothers sister" he explains and a smile crosses my lips "I have an aunt?" I ask and he smiles "yes Jason you have an aunt and uncle" he says and then the realisation hits me "and I'm about to widow her" I say solemnly "no you will be saving her. My father is a horrid man, violent and abusive. The pack is falling apart with him in charge. Only by you killing him will you save the pack" Luke says reappearing his eyes firm but the skin around them remains red and wet. "I'm ready to fight him but I don't know if I'm ready to be an alpha. I know nothing about your world" I say nerves hitting me hard. "You are an alpha Jason. I've seen it from the first moment I saw you, you refused to back down to me on the first day we met, you were willing to risk everything for us by going into the town alone and you showed a wealth of compassion is sparing Lucy. Courage, compassion and self-sacrifice. Three things an alpha must be, three things you are." Luke says proudly and looking around me I see the feelings echoed on the face of everyone else there. "We will be at your side Jason. All of us" Lucy adds and I look at her shocked "don't you look at me like that I'm never leaving your side" she snaps "nor am I" ads Sarah "I'm not going anywhere. We are all in this together till the end" Ryan adds and the show of support makes my eyes fill with water. "then let's go back home, all of us" I declare and with our heats full of pride and friendship rather than fear we head back home, them to the home they know and was ripped from them and me to my new home. As we pass through the next field what must be the packs home comes into view. A large but crumbling down what must have been a manor house. The once beautiful garden once tended to by staff is now and weed paradise, the walls are covered in climbing plants, the bricks underneath hidden. The closer we get the worse it looks and I wonder if it has always been like that or is it only now. "It looks terrible doesn't it Jason? It wasn't always like that. Once it was beautiful with so many people there the work was always done and it looked beautiful." Ryan says nostalgically and the sight of the building seems to hurt him more than anything else. "I know it might be tempting but no one change or we will be in more trouble than we are already in" Ryan commands and there's a silent agreement "oh look here comes the welcoming committee" Luke laughs and in the distance I can see them three people walking towards us and within a few minutes we are face to face. The first is a man in his early thirty's, his bald head a stark contrast to his long light brown beard. Slightly overweight but moves with the grace of a dancer. The second is a cold and sharp women every part of her anatomy slim and extruded, her eyes colder than ice and harder than stone and finally in front is a man who stands with the posture of a queen with light wispy grey hair and dressed in peculiar black and white suit. "Don't take this the wrong way when say I'm glad to see you but you aren't welcome here" the suited man says sounding genuinely pleased "good to see you too old friend. We will be welcome. Have you met my new companion?" he asks and the trio's eyes fall on me. "And you are?" the man asks the warmth done from his tone "Jason. Jason Umbrian" I reply simply and their jaws drop to the ground. "It can't be! You found him?" the old man cheers almost leaping off the floor "we kind of found each other." Ryan chuckles and everything seems to be going smoothly till the chubby man sniffs and his eyes fall straight onto Lucy. "You brought a werewolf with you!?" he roars outraged stomping towards her but freezes as a growl escapes my throat "you think I'm afraid of you boy?! Come here and we can see if you are an Umbrian" he growls back and I can only take a step before Ryan places a restraining hand on my shoulder. "That werewolf is a companion of ours and will be treated with the respect she deserves. He request an alpha to alpha meeting" Ryan says confidently "you are aware that by doing so you are declaring yourself a separate pack, you forfeit all affiliation with us" the suit asks and Ryan nods "I do" he says reluctantly. That's it all our eggs have been thrown into one basket. "and who is your pack's alpha?" he ask looking at each of us one by one "I am" I declare and the man smiles almost expecting it "well then if you would follow me and I'll take you to the alpha" he says turning around and the trio walk ahead of us the fat one grumbling under his breath. At the house it's not long till a crowd has gathered. Whispering and murmuring as we walk together. Many growl deeply at Lucy and make threats but she stands tall and smiles back. heading inside we find it in a better state the hallways are clean and airy an look freshly painted, pieces of wooden furniture and framed pictures cover the hall way before he have to head up the stairs in a single file line and final come to our stop. He suited man opens the door and straight away must regret it as he's hit by a wave of abuse "didn't I tell you I didn't want to be disturbed! You stupid excuse for a lycan! A gruff voice shouts and you can hear him take a vulgar glug from a bottle before throwing across the room. The bottle must have been intended for the suit but I move faster than anyone can stop me and get in the way catching the bottle mid-flight and I see the thrower. Long oily shabby hair covers his forehead and a beard covers the rest the hair dampened by spilled liquor. He clothes are filthy and he stinks of sweat booze and things I don't want to think about. If the man sent to greet us was fat he is obese his stomach poking out his top and his trousers under great strain. A strong odour of the worst cheese wafts from his bare feet. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he shout jumping to his feet outraged at my intervention. "I'm Jason Umbrian. I asked for this meeting" I say simply repulsed by the man "Lies! The Umbrian's are gone!" he shouts outraged squaring up to me and I don't back down. This mans as intimidating as my little sister (yes I still think of Lauren and David as my brother and sister) "no dad they aren't" Luke says stepping into the doorway and the colour drains from his face. "You aren't welcome here anymore" Leon hisses and Luke doesn't move or respond "so what do want Jason? Why did you call this meeting and bring all those I sent away back?" the man's spews spit covering my face as he slurs "I'm here to take back my parents pack. I'm here to challenge you" I say my eyes burning and my blood burning. "And if I refuse?" he says and it's the chubby man that speaks "you can't refuse, an alpha is obliged to defend his right to lead. To deny his challenge is to be disgraced by your pack and banished" he says his voice |
"I'm Driscal, Rumsfeld," he announced as he held out his gloved right-hand to Ed. "I'm here to find your kid and the other kid, and deal with the bad guys. I've been ordered to stick with you like glue while I do that." "I WASN'T EXPECTING A ZOMBIE," said Ed silently to Driscal and his rogue jant colony using the secret telepathic jant language, as he shook Driscal's hand. "NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT." "And you look many decades younger than I expected, Chief," said Driscal. "Not that there's anything wrong with that." Interesting, thought Ed. | "I'm Driscal, Rumsfeld," he announced as he held out his gloved right-hand to Ed. "I'm here to find your kid and the other kid, and deal with the bad guys. I've been ordered to stick with you like glue while I do that." "I WASN'T EXPECTING A ZOMBIE," said Ed silently to Driscal and his rogue jant colony using the secret telepathic jant language, as he shook Driscal's hand. "NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT." "And you look many decades younger than I expected, Chief," said Driscal. "Not that there's anything wrong with that." Interesting, thought Ed. Driscal apparently already knew about his longevity. Through his jants, of course. The little buggers couldn't keep a secret. They used their amazing telepathy to spread information among jant colonies all over the planet! Even rogue colonies such as Driscal's apparently knew who he really was! "Did Hastings just give you the lay of the land?" "Hell yeah, did she ever!" Driscal answered. "She basically told me to piss off and get lost, which is exactly what I plan on doing once you and me take a quick look at the crime scene. Her and me didn't get along too good since even before I died. This is her turf and she's none too happy to see me in it." "So you know each other then?" asked Ed. "Pretty much," said Driscal. "She's my ex-fucking-wife. And the cute Stone-Coat you have with you is your ex-wife, Chief. Only now I'm an ant-controlled zombie and your ex is a damned rock creature! Ain't life a hoot?" Ed immediately categorized Driscal as having a high functioning human brain for a zombie, though he was obviously also perhaps somewhat of an asshole. The man clearly retained most of his human cognitive abilities, including a crude personality and sense of humor. Swell. "I have requested to directly work with the police, Discal, and I've been told that you're the man that I am to work with." "Yeah, that's me," said Driscal, "though me and my little rogue jant friends would much rather work alone. Hooking up with you ain't our idea, Chief. I'm here to get the job done. Like my ex I'd be telling you fuck-off and leave me alone to do my job, if you didn't have so much political juice." "Swell," said Ed. His first impression of Driscal was actually generally very positive. Driscal was a tough no-nonsense individual. That's what was needed to get back the girls. Ed introduced Driscal to the others. "I can't take this whole crowd into the crime scene," said Driscal. "It's just you and me, Rumsfeld, or my ex will kick my ass." "Talking Stone and I are coming," said Mary." "Whatever," said Driscal, who clearly wasn't pleased but wasn't about to deny access to Stone-Coats. "I'll sit in the cab with Mouse's parents," said Ann. Ed, Mary, and Talking Stone followed Driscal deeper into the alley crime scene, while a dozen local Brooklyn cops eyed them all with obvious suspicion. The detective and his entourage first viewed the wrecked cab. "Damn! No obvious evidence of explosives but the thing is all torn apart!" the detective remarked. "Something sliced through the steel of the cab like it was butter! Those look like Stone-Coat claw marks to me!" "Perhaps deceptively so," said Talking Stone. "The power required as indicated by the damage done suggests a huge Stone-Coat but the modest claw mark sizes suggest a Stone-Coat closer to my size, which should be far too small to inflict such damage or to do so and escape so quickly. It is an apparent incongruity in the evidence." "Good!" said Driscal. "Gotta love a mystery." "Yes, that specific data set is indeed apparently incongruent!" said a deep voice from high above them. The party all looked up at the Ice Giant that stood next to the wrecked cab and stared down at them with dinner-plate sized, red glowing eyes. "I reached that same conclusion immediately after discovering the scene." Good, thought Ed; this giant had excellent English skills. Even here in the City many Ice Giants simply did their work without bothering to communicate much with the human inhabitants. "You were first on the scene?" asked Driscal, as he craned his gaze upwards at the towering Ice Giant. It had to be over eighty feet tall. "Yes, and I estimate that I arrived only two minutes after the start of the attack," said the giant. "Based on what, Great One?" asked Mary respectfully. "I initially detected an unusual electromagnetic disturbance, accompanied by several seconds of what had to be the distant sounds of the cab and Stone Runner being ripped apart. When I arrived two minutes later there was only empty silence and this scene of recent destruction. I quickly identified the extremely disassembled status of Stone Runner and immediately began standard re-assembly protocols. As I am sure you are aware, small Stone-Coat pieces need to begin repair very soon if the complete individual is to be recovered." Between the massive spread legs of the towering Ice Giant was a yard-high black matted mound of twisted gray-tinged Nano-tubing that covered a six-foot square area. Thousands of Nano tubes linked the mound to each diamond encrusted leg of the Ice Giant. Within the mound the remains of Stone Runner were being arduously re-assembled, largely molecule by molecule. The fact that a lot of power was involved was suggested by the constant spattering sound made by falling snowflakes striking the dark mound and instantly being vaporized into steam. Deep within the great giant a well shielded collection of radioactive material provided considerable power for the reassembly. "So you were only a couple of blocks away when it happened but there was nothing to be seen but the torn up cab and Stone-Coat by the time you got here?" asked Driscal. "And except for the destruction you see I sensed nothing conspicuously out of the ordinary here," said the giant. "Did you record what you sensed?" asked Driscal. "Something that appears ordinary might still provide useful information." "Of course," said the giant. "You will find the video to be of particular interest." "I have already received those files, Detective," said Mary. "All Stone-Coats in the City have received and analyzed them and discovered interesting but perplexing clues. The files have also been provided to the City police. I can preview them to you later if you wish." "Infrared images included?" asked Driscal. "I'll want to see those." "Obviously," said Mary. "Yes, you will find the infrared images to be the most interesting," said the towering Ice Giant, "for they show another seeming incongruity." "You can review that evidence as we travel to our first CUNY campus," said Mary. She turned to loudly address everyone. "Logically it will be me, Ed, and Driscal pursuing our clues in his unmarked NYPD Humvee, with all others returning to the relative protection of the Rumsfeld Eagle Street apartment. Is that agreed?" It made sense to Ed. If Ann was a target she would be as safe within Fred as nearly anywhere else, especially with Talking Stone and her UN security guards. "OK," he said. Driscal wasn't especially pleased to be told by a Stone-Coat where he would be going in his own Humvee, but he was supposed to be following Rumsfeld's lead, if his ideas were reasonable. "CUNY campus? What the hell?" Ed quickly explained the Omega clue to him and showed him an image of the ransom note as everyone piled into their respective vehicles. "We still have most of the day to pursue the Omega clue," said Mary. "We should be able to visit several key Omega campuses." "Bossy woman, isn't she?" Ed said to Driscal, while giving a little nod towards Mary, as they climbed into the Humvee. The Mary was already climbing into the back seat with her folded wheelchair, where she began adjusting the zone climate controls to keep herself comfortably frozen. The jant climate controls in the space behind her would have to work harder to keep the colony warm. "Ain't they all?" Driscal responded. Sticking with Rumsfeld would be bad enough, but it looked like he would also be stuck with a pushy know-it-all Stone-Coat with human female tendencies. No doubt about it, this case would be pure hell. He was already looking forward to looking back at it. As Driscal pulled away in the Humvee he noted that his ex-wife Haskins had taken the trouble to climb out of her warm and comfy squad car to enthusiastically wave bye-bye to him with her middle finger. Well ain't that sweet, he thought, as he waved back to her in kind. She still cares! **** CHAPTER 3 ###Dumbing Down" So exactly where are we going and why?" Driscal demanded, as the Humvee smoothly rolled into Manhattan Avenue traffic under computer control in response to the destination that Mary had provided it silently. No wonder the NYPD cams had been hacked, she thought; had taken her only a few seconds to hack the Humvee! "Logic dictates that it will increase our probability of early success if we begin our search of Omega by visiting the largest groups first," said Mary. "One of the largest groupings of concerns is that which worries about the dumbing down of society. The Brooklyn College campus is the center of study for such concerns." "The study of dumb!" said Ed. "That sounds like a nifty academic pursuit!" "All Omega concerns are deathly serious," Mary pointed out. "Brooklyn College in Flatbush?" protested Driscal. "That's half an hour away from the crime-scene here in northern Brooklyn! That's completely dumb in itself. Somebody near the scene had to see something of the kidnapping: this is a city of twelve million people, fifty thousand Stone-Coats, and twenty thousand jant colonies, nearly half of them rogue and many controlling zombies. We should stay in the Greenpoint neighborhood and sweat some answers out of the locals." "The Feds, NYPD cops, and the Tribe are already doing all the standard things such as that," said Ed. "We are directly pursuing the only actual clue that we have." "Ha!" said Driscal. "A clue deliberately given to you. It could be designed to mislead the investigation, or did n't |
Also, my friend Erika from Stenton had called. We usually always talk for at least a half hour or so to catch up on everything. I had called her and she called me back or she had called me and my mom gave me the phone and I said something like, "Hi how are you, I'm doing OK, bye," and I hung up. Erika thought I was mad at her and didn't want to talk to her. Later on, I explained that I had done that because I was sick. She joked that if that happens again, her feelings will not get hurt. I thought I was someone special. I decided I wanted to | Also, my friend Erika from Stenton had called. We usually always talk for at least a half hour or so to catch up on everything. I had called her and she called me back or she had called me and my mom gave me the phone and I said something like, "Hi how are you, I'm doing OK, bye," and I hung up. Erika thought I was mad at her and didn't want to talk to her. Later on, I explained that I had done that because I was sick. She joked that if that happens again, her feelings will not get hurt. I thought I was someone special. I decided I wanted to go to China. I thought I was meant to go to all these foreign countries, and everyone was watching everything I did. I was very sick. I actually did sign up to go to China. I signed up online to go as a missionary. I'm scared of planes, I don't speak foreign languages, and I never have been to a foreign country outside of Canada- yet I signed up. This was psychotic mania. Weeks later, we received a t-shirt and request for my dental records for me to go. I had to write a note saying thank you but I have bipolar disorder and I was manic when I signed up. I also signed up to go study at the Texas Culinary School. I think it was because I was cooking so much by myself and with Christine that I thought I was a top chef. I thought I was meant to go to the school and be a chef. I had a lot of confidence. I got emails from them as well for weeks. These were delusions of grandeur- thinking I was someone that I was not. I believed I could be a famous chef and a missionary – clearly which I could not have been. But at the time I believed it to be true. During the manic episode, my sister said that I put her and Brian's laundry in my dresser drawer and she didn't find it until a year later. At one point, which I don't remember completely, I was walking back and forth by my drive way holding my purse. Kim, our neighbor, who lived across the street and who would help me when I was sick, saw me and called my mom and got me to go back inside. If she did not see me, I could have started wandering down the street. I still do not know why I was doing that. It's a good thing Kim was home to get me to go back inside. I also kept changing my room around and brought my clothes upstairs then downstairs, constantly. I kept rearranging everything over and over and trying on all my clothes. I kept dividing them by color, by size, and then into summer, spring, fall, or winter. I would also get rid of clothes that I identified with not feeling right. When manic, I would look at clothes that I had worn when I wasn't feeling well and would get rid of them. I would save the ones I identified with as me wearing when healthy, even if the clothes were years old and didn't even fit. I just wanted to keep them in my room. I did not want to lose that part of me that could be healthy. I wanted to believe that one day I would be healthy forever. In September, while I was manic we went to Dr. Kadam. He said that was good that I went back on Zyprexa. I didn't need to be hospitalized because I was getting better each day at home. We saw Gail soon after. She was concerned that I was sick. I was very quiet during the appointment. She tried to help me make plans for the next couple months, and encouraged me to work at Benson School, and that I would be healthy enough and was capable of it. I took her advice and believed I would do great at working. I think I started getting better by October. Christine and I stopped talking. We had met at a bookstore while I was manic and I wanted to leave, and she said call me when you get home and I never did. Also, she saw me in a clothing store and she said I had no idea what she was saying and my eyes were all bloodshot. She had messaged me on a social website, "Ummmm? ", because we hadn't hung out in weeks, and we used to hang out every day. I explained how I was sick and she said she didn't want to sugarcoat anything for me, and is my friend regardless of my mental state. She said she was busy with school. I was busy too. We hung out once more. I helped her with a project. Then we lost contact. I was lucky that Victoria, my clinic director, who chooses your clinic III placement, had a miscommunication with the school I was supposed to go to. Clinic III was practice to diagnosing speech disorders through many different tests. There was no way I would have been able to do that. No way. I would have been pacing around the halls of the school. Because I still had wanted to graduate December of 2008, I had written a letter to Stenton requesting that I be able to do Clinic III in some way. Linda and Victoria said I could complete Clinic III at Stenton. I wanted to redo my college senior pictures because I thought I looked ugly in the original ones. We scheduled to do it sometime in October. I got the new pictures taken and was satisfied with how they came out. I drove back to Stenton a couple times to get credit for Clinic III. I got to evaluate some people in the clinic, including my mom and Amy who volunteered to take language tests. Linda let me evaluate at a school, who did language evaluations, down the road from Stenton. When we went to Stenton, my roommate, Amy, from the previous year went with us out to eat at the mall near Stenton. I took a lot of nice pictures at Stenton and I made a wellness photo book. I took pictures of Stenton, the beach, and even some healthy food, to put in the wellness book. The book came out beautiful and I often look at it during times I am sick. It took about two months to get completely better after the episode. Because I had charged everything I bought on the shopping sprees, I was in a lot of debt - thousands. I also had to pick up the pieces and get my life back in order. I wanted to be healthy, to exercise, to be independent, and to feel better again. I wrote a lot in my journal. l looked at the wellness book. I went to the beach a lot and took pictures. I even wrote, "dream, believe, achieve" in the sand and took pictures of it. I loved walking by the ocean. It was so comforting and it cleared my mind. I would go down to the ocean and beach a lot while I was getting better. It really helped me to do that. I volunteered at an animal center. It was therapeutic for me and also a help to the shelter and the animals. I volunteered in the section with the cats. The cats were so adorable I wished I could have taken them all home. We got to take two out at a time. Volunteering lifted my spirits and I felt good about it. I also was still driving and could drive there by myself. I started thinking about doing something else as a career. I wasn't sure if I still wanted to be a speech pathologist. I didn't think I would be good at it. I was thinking about how it was stressful for me and I would never feel good enough at it. I looked into other careers such as educational technologist but really didn't make any definite decisions. I decided to start with substitute teaching and go from there. I felt comfortable choosing work as a substitute teacher in a special education school because I would not be the only teacher there- there were a couple other aides and you took an aide's place. By the end of October, Carol from the Benson School called me to go in to substitute teach. I was very nervous on how to drive there and if I would get lost. My sister found an easy way for me to get there using the back roads. I practiced driving there a couple times, as my mom and sister wrote down the directions for me. It wasn't too far- about twenty to thirty minutes away, depending on the traffic. On the first day of work, I was up and ready to go. When I got to the school, I brought the necessary work papers I needed to complete, and was placed in Maria's class where there were about four other aides. The first couple days I observed a lot. I observed the way the teachers worked with the kids and especially the speech therapists. Everyone treated me well .I loved being an aide, but I was always anxious that one day if I got my master's in this field, I would have to be a speech therapist and I had zero confidence in myself doing that. For a while, I considered being an aide long-term. Of course, I did not tell anyone at the job about having bipolar disorder, especially after Travis would not take me back at Pizza-N-Games after I got sick back in 2006. Even Gail said no one has to know about bipolar disorder because it's personal. When I first was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I told many people that I had it. As I got older, I learned to tell people only when it was necessary. When I did disclose I was bipolar to people, I found that they often knew someone in their family or friends who had bipolar disorder or something similar to it. I never felt alone or singled out when I disclosed about having bipolar disorder. I had some ups and downs in the fall 2008, but there were mostly good days. I was getting a steady paycheck. I was driving independently to work. I felt more confident in a healthy way. I was even thinking about dating which I hadn't done since before I had gotten sick. I contacted a dating service and met a man in his 30s for dinner on a date. He was nice. However, I still wasn't ready to date. There was a lot more of myself I had to get together first. I became preoccupied about the way I looked. I would focus on my hair, face, and clothes. I always thought I didn't look right. I would take pictures of myself often and have my mom take pictures of me. I would always look at them in disgust. I tried to make logic out of why I did that and the closest idea that came to me was that I have a self-image disorder |
Ready for action Valdrek lunged forwards to perfectly execute his task with such vigor he was also able to bite a section of cheek from the unsuspecting second demon he now tackled. Agonized the first demon instantly released its tightened grip on Carmilla as acknowledgement of the precision cuts Valdrek had mercilessly inflicted upon him. Gratefully the second of the demons was now also no longer a direct threat to Carmilla after being hit with such thrust it clumsily tumbled off the bed to awkwardly land upside down. Valdrek the attacker continued on with his relentless foray to save Carmilla. Now with both demons forced onto the back foot the vengeful vampires combined their rage with no sense of mercy as they gouged, bit | Ready for action Valdrek lunged forwards to perfectly execute his task with such vigor he was also able to bite a section of cheek from the unsuspecting second demon he now tackled. Agonized the first demon instantly released its tightened grip on Carmilla as acknowledgement of the precision cuts Valdrek had mercilessly inflicted upon him. Gratefully the second of the demons was now also no longer a direct threat to Carmilla after being hit with such thrust it clumsily tumbled off the bed to awkwardly land upside down. Valdrek the attacker continued on with his relentless foray to save Carmilla. Now with both demons forced onto the back foot the vengeful vampires combined their rage with no sense of mercy as they gouged, bit and cut their way to overcome the startled green demons. Overwhelmed, the two demons suffered greatly at the combined attack of two revenge driven vampires, hell bent on ending their wretched opponent's despicable existence. Continuous thrashings at the neck of the second demon would see him soon succumb to Valdrek's rage as Carmilla now dug her razor sharp fingernails into her chosen opponents face. Soon there would be enough loosened flesh for an incensed Carmilla to rip the face completely off the first demon! Four of the marauding demon intruders were now history. With an unknown total remaining there was no time for letting up in the quest to rid the ancient castle of these new invasive inhabitants. Unsure of the terms of the next battle a worried Valdrek also pondered the whereabouts of the other remaining resident vampires? Ragner, Adolpha and Enrica. Recovered from her exhausting ordeal Carmilla hastily followed her glorious master higher up to the castles defensive guard towers where it was believed the final confrontation would occur. The dimly lit winding stone stairwell spiraled up to the highest parts of the castle where the answers to Valdrek's vexing questions would almost certainly be answered. Upon reaching the top of the lookout tower with Carmilla close behind he cautiously approached a stone arched doorway. He soon witnessed the arrival of the missing Ragner who was noticeably injured and distraught. A cautiously unsettled Valdrek suddenly realized the unnerving presence of a green festering welted hand around his barely conscious comrade's neck. Unsure whether to proceed and render assistance to his fallen comrade Valdrek intently watched on as next came the emotionally disturbing sight of a large wooden stake protruding out of the weary Ragner's chest! With all of his resolve now diminished Ragner's blood soaked body slowly slumped to ground. Subsequently erupting into a ball of flames inspired by the fires of hell. Confirming to the helplessly looking on Valdrek and Carmilla they had again lost another valued member of ever diminishing vampire's lair! With only four remaining from the already previously disease weakened nest. This was indeed a perilously desperate situation seeking immediate resolution without any further casualties to the vampire's depleted ranks. Valdrek sternly ordered Carmilla to retreat back down the stairs for an assault under the cover of the night sky. Showing the upmost faith in her skills it was proclaimed she was to strike when it felt most appropriate. Unperturbed, Valdrek had fought demons with the feisty Carmilla in the past and knew she could hold her own against one adversary in a one on one skirmish. However this was now escalating into a bloodied war of attrition! Flying through the flames of a defeated Ragner, Valdrek burst out on the high guard's platform. Only to discover, again a number of exposed green demons attempting to unleash their hideous desires onto the two remaining female vampires, Adolpha and Enrica. The distraught recipients of this uninvited lust were currently **FOUR** overpowered by two demons with each now viciously ripping away at the last of all remaining clothing. Fuelled by unrepentant retribution Valdrek silently cursed these intruders, seemingly unwilling to retreat back to the gates of hell from where they had so hastily arrived. He could only hope Carmilla would be quick to rejoin this savage fight of survival for the lair. Conceptualizing all that lay in front of him it now dawned on a solemn Valdrek the true underlying purpose of the unexpected attack of the lair. Cleverly, these scheming demons had adopted a diabolical strategy of either eliminating the vampires by close combat or by mischievously cross breeding. The demons were confident that self preservation would undoubtedly see some of the raped vampires maintaining a silent vigil of the result of their forced situation. Undoubtedly these silent victims would surely plan to kill the crossbred offspring immediately after birth. However to alleviate this maligned scenario the ever crafty demons would also seek to return and then abduct any impregnated individuals. Of course there was no ultimate guarantee's any the births would actually take? However to finally eliminate their dire enemy the vampires it was strategically worth attempting to manipulate all future outcomes! For Adolpha and Enrica with every unnerving second of the rampaging demons forcing themselves upon them came the dangerous and horrifying thought of unacceptable crossbreeding. Sadly if Valdrek ever became aware of such a disturbing occurrence he would be forced to ruthlessly execute any impregnated vampiress. Thus denying the offending demon spawn any chance of a beginning to life. Be it distorted or pure to either species no such maligned births could ever be condoned as "normal" There could be no consideration given to taking a risk when it came to this transcending scenario! Death would be instantaneous for any recipient of cross contaminations, with no exceptions! It was imperative Vampire blood must always remain pure for guaranteed survival of the species. The true significance of this perilous situation now began to conflict Valdrek's lamented emotions as the realization of the possibility of having to kill one of his own sadly dawned on him. He now prepared to take flight and combat the demons that disturbingly may have already by this stage succeeded in their objective. For the green skinned demons all outcomes added up to a win win situation, because if they could not breed the vampires out of existence the resulting sacrificial elimination of the forcefully impregnated vampires would fortuitously mean there was one less of their kind to inhabit the night! Unbeknownst to Valdrek, on this god forsaken evening demon intruders all over Europe had begun an unprecedented major offensive. The end result being demon rape attacks taking place all throughout the lairs of the continent. Valdrek prepared to lunge to the closest demon on top of Enrica. His spirits were now suddenly lifted as he noticed an approaching Carmilla appear from the other end of the platform. Once their multi pronged attack was initiated, together they would disperse the remaining last four green attackers then providing Enrica and Adolpha were able to assist it would finally be an even fight of four against four to a certain death! Ready for the fight Valdrek possessed extreme faith in the female vampires of his lair. Time after time they had previously demonstrated a dogged ability to overcome all obstacles to triumph in life or death struggles against quite often physically superior adversaries. Arriving closer to the area of attack Valdrek identified the screams of Enrica and Adolpha. However these were not weakened shallow screams of terror but in fact unsuppressed rage! Elevated sounds of her sisters under siege spurred on the fighting spirit within Carmilla by taking her high to air as she sought to increase the velocity of her first strike. Confident of her deadly aim Carmilla increased her speed so much so that when she vigorously impacted the four demons with such force. One hapless green intruder was instantly thrown over the guard's wall to a certain death below. Quickly back to his feet another of these green foes was destined to experience Carmilla's unrelenting vengeance! Meanwhile Valdrek would combat two more of these evil green beings! In a determined demonstration of unresolved anguish over fallen comrades Carmilla swiftly repositioned herself on the platform walkway. She would permanently quash all the mischievous intentions of this repulsive individual intending to corrupt her breed's bloodlines. Without fear or hesitation the full rage of sweeping fists of fury from Carmilla soon began to take their toll as now a recuperated Adolpha also joined in. Then, side by side they would inflict a series of vicious wounds so traumatic that the defeated green demon spent its last dying moments pleading for mercy that was destined never to be! Looking to the other battle-taking place the victorious Vampiresses observed the skilled demon slayer Valdrek had already eliminated one of the intruders and was currently involved in a fight to the death with the last living green skinned demons. This was a particularly spiteful confrontation involving numerous physical exchanges of arms, legs and teeth. All aimed at gaining the advantage! Valdrek was well aware his surprisingly strong opponent would have been the nominated leader of the demon pack. To permanently rid him of the premises would take a considerable effort on his part. Once again they collided with both combatants aggressively displaying an arsenal of physical attributes in an attempt to unnerve each other. The vibrantly bright red lizard eyes of the green skinned demon highlighted the vigor in which this personal battle of wits was being played out. Inspired by deadly resentment the two sworn enemies violently clashed with Valdrek seeking to bite deeply into the neck of the demon to initiate the death process. Staunchly defiant the green demon was equally determined to eliminate his skillful opponent by any and all means necessarily as it hurriedly searched for a wooden stake to gain the advantage. Aware of the demons deadly motives Valdrek surmised he could never allow the upper hand to be granted. He was desperate to remove the stake from the equation. Upon sighting the required device of death the demon dived on the weapon. However Valdrek was just as quick and kicked the demon's head with such force the acquired weapon was hastily dropped. Finally achieving the tactical advantage Valdrek grabbed the startled demons head. Meanwhile as the final battle raged on nearby, Carmilla and Adolpha carefully examined the castles grounds in search of other uninvited intruders. With no more invaders sighted the final battle of nightworld pride was currently taking place with no winner recognizable at this stage. Frustratingly the smiling demon had somehow maneuvered out of Valdrek's concentrated lethal grip. Slightly flustered by the resourceful intensity of the demons resolve. There was no doubt in Valdrek's mind his demon opponent had survived numerous life or death conflicts with all types of creatures of the night. As the many battle scars on its body would attest to. This unrelenting warrior's stalemate needed to be broken! Valdrek soon decided he would need to take to the air then swoop down hard if he was to eventually win this deadly battle of wills. Observing Valdrek's eyes wander up to the night sky the wise to the fight demon averted Valdrek's planned actions by grabbing his black silk cape to halt any advantage. Instantly the demons proactive maneuver worked as a resentfully grounded Valdrek swung back around to try free himself of the demons grip. The indecisive momentum of this reflex maneuver was to see Valdrek abruptly flung against the platform's wall. Noticing the slightly off balance Valdrek could be pushed over the wall the aggressive demon continued to forcefully thrust the aggrieved vampire against the wall. Then, unexpectedly Valdrek valiantly relinquished his stance to allow himself to be taken over the edge. His plan was simple, grasp the |
"I'm not sure, but I have heard about these and never seen one in person." They walked over to it on the lawn and looked closer. "It looks very similar," she narrated. "But I think— The windshield is different. Look. Fewer of those bars in the windshield." "Yes, I see that," he said. "Excuse me," Lourdes asked some people sitting nearby. "What kind of plane is this?" "Lockheed Model 10. Electra," they said. "Oh my God," Lourdes exclaimed. "This is like the one Amelia Earhart flew around the world, when she was lost. I really liked her. I | "I'm not sure, but I have heard about these and never seen one in person." They walked over to it on the lawn and looked closer. "It looks very similar," she narrated. "But I think— The windshield is different. Look. Fewer of those bars in the windshield." "Yes, I see that," he said. "Excuse me," Lourdes asked some people sitting nearby. "What kind of plane is this?" "Lockheed Model 10. Electra," they said. "Oh my God," Lourdes exclaimed. "This is like the one Amelia Earhart flew around the world, when she was lost. I really liked her. I can guess how hard it must have been for her, to be a trail blazer that way." "And she was from Atchison, Kansas, not far from Kansas City." "This stalk is about all chewed out." He spit it out. "You chew tobacco?" She asked, an accusing look in her eye. "No. And actually, I don't know anyone who does. Nasty stuff. I don't smoke, either. Now, I do go out and bay at the moon when it's full, and I keep some bib overalls in the closet so's when we get callers." Lourdes laughed. "I had to ask." "I don't blame you. And you being from l.A.— You probably eat wheat germ and work in the movie industry?" "Alright, I give up," she said. "I've been stereotyping you right and left for hours, haven't I? I'll have to call it quits for now." There were a group of T-28s up ahead. They moseyed through on their way back south toward her camp sight. "And if it's okay, I'll just peel off from here," she said. "Oh, no. I was going to walk you back and ask you to join us all for supper. Nothing much to eat on the field, yet, so we drive into town and eat with a group of volunteers: Mike, Millie, and half a dozen others. You have to eat supper." "I'll do just fine. And I do enjoy your company, but I'd like some alone time, for now. I just need to be alone." "Alright. Millie will be heart-broken. She really seemed to like you. But I'll try to let her down gently. I'll tell her you got a ride in that A-36 and haven't come back yet. Or married Matt Damon. Or Harrison Ford— He's a flier, too, you know. Pretty good one. I've seen him here before. She smiled and walked away from him for the second time that day, angling for the quiet, sentimental, Brown Arch. CHAPTER 8 _Crrack! _ A bolt of lightning seared the night sky in a jagged path from cloud to cloud, its thunder shaking everything for miles." _Aiieeeeeee_," Lourdes yelled on reflex. She sat straight up in her tent, rubbing her head on the rip-stop top flattened half way down by the building wind. Then the rain started pounding the tarp rainfly like a firehose, heavy with the Force. Her tent buckled to the south against its stakes and shook in an effort to cope. Her first thought was to pray her plane didn't blow away. She ran some numbers through her mind: stalling speed, clean, speed of the wind, gusts, angle of attack, sitting on the grass, staked— She lay back down to get her head away from the top. She'd heard that in a real rain storm, you shouldn't touch the tent, because it could conduct moisture in, causing drip then a flood. She lay still in her sleeping bag— _Get everything away from the sides! _ She began pulling things—bags of clothes, her inflatable pillow, the foot of her sleeping bag—away from the sides. Then huddled in her sleeping bag to ride it out. Oh, but that guy got that waterproof tarp rain fly on. Pushed by the wind, the northern side of her tent pressed down closer to her face. So it wasn't the top but the side. The whole thing shook like an evil giant was trying to tear it apart, the tarp rainfly flapping against its ties threatening to tear itself loose. _The stakes! _ Would they hold for the tent as well as the plane? _CRRRACK! _ went another close one. Thunder seemed to bounce off everything at the airport, echoing off buildings, other clouds, the moon." _Goodness_!" she yelled in protest. Rain poured down on the tent mercilessly. Its weight, in itself, nearly enough on its own to flatten her tent's fragile fiberglass poles. But the tent held. After a few minutes, the winds and rain moderated into a gentle storm. Thunder rolled more distantly, and Lourdes began to feel as if the weather were less an expression of her inner fears and more an expression of her inner turmoil. Which was comforting to her, she found. It seemed to take the pain out of her heart and dump it on the whole world. _The tent was holding_, she thought to herself in amazement _. The tent held! _ It was a new experience for her. She'd been rained on in her tent twice before in California, but nothing like this. This is Oshkosh! She laughed at the storm. Big in every way. Secure in the knowledge her tent had passed the test, she rolled over in her bag and slept soundly for the first time in years. CHAPTER 9 The morning sun peeked over Runway Three Six and Taxiway Poppa, illuminating the bottoms of wings and the lower half of Lourdes' tent. The top half was in the shadow of her fuselage. Lourdes peeked out the tent flap to have a look. The flight line was the most beautiful place in the world, to her. The morning sun reflected off tiny drops on planes and grass, which made them look like after-storm jewelry. By six a.m. Lourdes was walking through the grass alone, south along the Taxiway Poppa burn line abeam dozens of rows of planes, toward green fields beyond. She wanted to see what was down there, and if there was nothing, she needed some exercise. She felt her heart rate up where it should be and took a breath of fresh air to fill her system. God, it was beautiful. She didn't know how long it had rained last night, but everything was fresh and gorgeous this morning, with no puddles left in the grass to step in. The grass was wet, though, so she took higher steps than normal to try to keep her shoes dry. A biker blew past her on his way to the deep south, no plane in tow. It was early. "Hi!" Someone called from behind. She turned to see Jim gaining on her by foot. "Good morning," Jim said. "Good day for a morning constitutional." Lourdes didn't answer. He tried teasing her a little. "Are you that lady who flies all over the country without tie downs?" Lourdes ignored him. "How'd your tent hold up?" he asked. "You sleep dry?" "Actually, not a drop," she answered. "Slept like a baby if the baby slept well, thank you." "At your service." "And you?" She decided to speak with him. He had helped her, no reason to be stand-offish. "Same guy set it up." "I thought so." He walked along side of her. They were approaching the end of Taxiway Poppa, near the Vintage point shack called "Point Fondie." To her unspoken question, he answered, "It's because it's our nearest shack to Fond du Lac, a town twenty miles or so south of here. We've actually got a Fond du Lac city limits sign down there, at the end of the lawns." "Good, good. Need to know where you are." "Up over here to the right is where we tend to put amphibs," he said. "I can tell because of those amphibs." "Ah but did you notice there's a 'ditch' there? A gully, a wash." " You're a natural guide. They should pay you." "And right beside all of that are more gorgeous fields." "Amazing." "It's not filled up down here, though." "That's probably why it's not full of planes," she said. "It's Saturday morning, early. By later this afternoon, they'll have some of it filled in." "Do they ever fill up?" He walked beside her, breathing a little harder than she. "You're in shape." "I'm a nurse. I'm on my feet all the time." "They fill up in the North Forty regularly. Probably will today, if they haven't already. But this area down here? Rarely. It's good overflow. But it's so vast— I think it's only actually filed up once, in all the years I've volunteered here. We try to make room for everyone." "Ha!" Lourdes laughed briefly. "Sorry. I saw this guy, this morning, with a Pacer? He was putting his sleeping bag on his wing to dry it out. I guess he slept wet. I don't mean to laugh at him, but I just thought it was funny. It rained hard last night." "Yeah, that happens sometimes." "So what're you gonna do today?" he asked her. "I—" She paused to think. "I have no idea. Just be here, I think. Probably get some nerf herder to show me around. It's breakfast. I hear they have grass and trees— Do you eat trees?" "Little ones. Have you had breakfast?" "No." "Alrightie then," he said, doing a Jim Carrey. He guided her into a right one-eighty, heading back north. "There just happens to be a great breakfast tent right back up that way. Why don't we start there?" "I'll go eat and see a little, but no picking me up, okay?" "No, no. I've already had my workout." Inside a flight line tent cafe, down by the Ultralight Area, they sat to eat eggs and pancakes, sausage gravy and biscuits, toast with jelly, and milk. Everyone in there was abuzz with stories of how they weathered the storms last night. "The wind must have been forty knots—" " No fifty—" " Rain was blowing my tent sideways like a hurricane—" " That's why my wife stays in a dorm over |
"I told him we're canoe thieves." "Might have better prospects." "Any of that chili left?" I asked him. "I saved you some. But I didn't know you liked it." "I just want to be able to fart back at four in the morning if required." The sun was getting low and the wind died, so some mosquitoes came out and jabbed us here and there. "You think this "Cork' guy is just being curious?" I asked. "There aren't many people up this way, just the locals and the cottagers and the kayakers," Phil said, working on another beer. "The | "I told him we're canoe thieves." "Might have better prospects." "Any of that chili left?" I asked him. "I saved you some. But I didn't know you liked it." "I just want to be able to fart back at four in the morning if required." The sun was getting low and the wind died, so some mosquitoes came out and jabbed us here and there. "You think this "Cork' guy is just being curious?" I asked. "There aren't many people up this way, just the locals and the cottagers and the kayakers," Phil said, working on another beer. "The locals talk about each other and the cottagers try to stay mysterious 'cause they want to get away from everything. The kayakers come in groups, usually as part of a tour." "We're anomalies," I suggested. "They're bound to be curious, you know." "In case....?" "In case we're canoe thieves!" Phil laughed. Afterwards, Phil heated some water for dishes, and I wandered off to look at the shore. The road for the campsite was a pair of dirt tire ruts, with a hump of grass in the middle. It meandered around among campsites, some good and used a lot, others barely used and deep in weeds. Most of the picnic tables needed repair. "I'm here to talk some sense into you," a voice said, startling me. I'd been sitting on a log on the shore, watching the sun prepare to set and contemplating the wind in my lack of hair and the way the waves rolled in. "Jesus Christ Almighty!" I said. "I didn't see you coming." I've always been a Master of Stating the Obvious. Not that I actually got up from my log. A rocky shore has a limited number of comfortable places to sit and, as far as I could see, I had the only one for quite a ways. "You," Heather said, "are a master of stating the obvious. Glad you didn't have a heart attack, anyway." "I'm not so sure Nancy would feel that way." "Well, I gather that if you had a heart attack and pitched face-first into the water she'd stand on your head for a while to make sure." She smiled brightly. "I win friends everywhere I go." "Hence the name, or nickname, obviously. Although I suspect it's short for 'Winter' or something like that." I looked up, startled. Mine wasn't a name anyone ever guessed. "Winston" was the most common guess, and many times I'd let it ride rather than trying to explain why my parents named me "Winter". "Ah," she said. "Not a common name, but a good one." "I never thought so." "There's a lot of winter in your soul." "And there I always try to be Mr. Sunshine." "And that's why." Maybe it was. "Nancy know you're down here consorting with the enemy?" "She's busy making supper and muttering to herself about some guy she should have diced up at the café." Heather walked down to the water's edge, the toes of her hiking shoes just out of the splashing of the waves. "She's a hard-hearted woman." "She has a wildness in her, and doesn't know what to do with it." "You look into people's hearts and souls?" "I live there." "Seems like time for an eviction notice." "I was there before they were." "Welcome to the Wonderful Mystical Planet," I said. "Deep revelations fifty cents." She laughed. "Tell it to the wind. If the wind makes any sense to you, tell it to the water. "Might make more sense." "Than me?" "Yup." I chucked a rock into the waves. The sun reached towards the horizon like a groundhog heading for safety. "Do you know why the wind comes?" "Basic meteorology. High pressure systems. Low pressure systems. Nothing mystical." She was starting to annoy me. "You can predict every little gust?" "Nope. Can't. Basic chaos theory." I started to get up. "You believe you know and yet you believe in a universe in chaos. Doesn't that bother you?" "That's what the whiskey's for." I got up. "That's what the dance is for." She began an elaborate dance on a flat rock. I sat down. It was a good dance, for a woman with her clothes on. Eventually the sun was completely down. I finally left her dancing where land met water and night met day and the chaos of a universe abutted a woman dancing on a rock. Phil had a fire going and a couple of hot-dogs cooking on sticks. He had them propped up with rocks so he could stare at the fire and drink beer at the same time. "Out watching the sun go down?" he asked. "I did. It did." "Hot dog and a beer?" "Damn fine idea." He opened me a beer and wrapped a cold bun around a rather-overdone wiener. Outside the range of the fire the world was dark and chaotic. The wind whipped the tops of the poplar trees and we edged up closer to the fire. We talked guy talk, which was mostly silences. We moved our lawn chairs when the wind started blowing smoke on us. Eventually, we ran out of beer or maybe got tired of trips into the blackness to pee or maybe had one hot dog too many. Or maybe we just approached some topics that we didn't want to. "Ah, goodnight," I said, without preamble, and got up. We poured water onto the fire, then want to the tents without saying anything more. I crawled into my sleeping bag. I hoped to get to sleep before Phil started snoring, but my bladder had other plans. While I was up, I noticed that there was a fire still at the women's campsite, and that the wind had died. When I got up Phil was sitting in a lawn chair reading a book. He had his sleeping bag draped over him and a bag of granola on his lap. That explained the crunching sounds that had come into my dream as a pair of snakes chewing the bones of my toes. There were gusts of wind and the waving of branches had been angel wings in my dream. It had been exciting stuff. I checked the weather. The sun was probably just up, although a heavy overcast made it hard to tell. There was a dew on the ground and the tents and the picnic table. I wandered off to have a pee behind a bush and got my boots covered with morning dew. But I did note that the wind still down; the air was still as a sleeping bird. "Going to make breakfast?" I asked. "Let's check to see if the café opens this early," Phil said. He offered me the granola, which I declined. "Can we trust the girls not to sabotage our stuff?" I looked at all the stuff on the picnic table, and at the canoe on the car. "They need us to lead them to the money." Phil got up. "As long as we lock the car and take the map with us, there's not much point in their doing anything to us." It turned out the café wasn't open before ten, which was a couple of hours away. And it didn't matter anyway, since the girl's campsite was empty. Their car was parked in the official parking lot on the grass, and the kayaks were gone. So we cooked up some bacon and eggs but didn't bother with the awkward task of making toast - just had bagels. By ten to nine we were in the canoe, pushing away from the dock. I let Phil have the stern seat. The stern seat's the power trip seat. You get to steer the canoe and complain about the guy in front not paddling hard enough. Meanwhile, you can slack off and play with your dick for all the guy in front knows. But I still wanted Phil to decide which route to take. He had the (phony) map coordinates, after all. Out of the little harbour we passed a couple of boats coming in, but they slowed to keep the wake down and we waved our thanks. The stretch of water between the harbour and Sandy Island was smooth as glass, and the trees along the shore made a perfect reflection. We headed straight out for Sandy Island, as planned. Sandy Island's one of the bigger chunks of land in the bay and provides shelter from west winds. It's got a bunch of cottages along the shores, and a tiny little lake in the interior. The lake is actually more of a large beaver pond but it's got a little rock island in the middle. I once sat on the rock just to contemplate the fact that I was on an island in a lake in an island in a lake. No special reason, just liked the thought. Maybe Heather would have done a dance to that thought and its irrationality. I'd often heard about dancing as a metaphor for life and love and time and God's plan for the universe, but somehow it hadn't struck me until I saw Heather's dance on the shore. As we got close to Sandy Island, the water got shallow and, as required, sandy. We turned and followed the shoreline north, watching for marauding kayaks. As we paddled north, Sandy Island curved away from us until we could see other, smaller, islands, and past them, just a glimpse of the entire sweep of Georgian Bay. I guess it looked like a painting. The sky was still overcast and the water still as glass except for the tiny V ripples of the canoe and the little whirlpools behind each paddle stroke. There was a string of islands between us and Bateau, and we used them as a barrier between us and the open lake. One thing about a string of islands: you can't visually separate islands, points, and bays until you actually get to them. That means someone has to spend a lot of time with his head down looking at the map. I volunteered, but Phil figured I was doing such a good job paddling that I shouldn't be interrupted. Then, about the time we passed the tip of Woodall Island (looked like a good camping spot there) Phil announced, "pirates on the port bow." I looked around. There |
They explained that Indigo Prime was a medium sized desert planet that was found fifty years ago quite near a white dwarf sun in the Canis Major sector. Its erratic axis meant only a small portion of the planet received major sunlight for a minimal amount of its yearly cycle. This part of the planet also had the planets only ocean. Garnelks ever the business minded of all the races decided to make Indigo Prime a 'summer get away' as they called it. They built a large resort near the beach and opened it as a holiday resort. It was a massive success with many stars staying in the costly sectors. Which meant it had cash supplies stashed away numbering millions in credits in | They explained that Indigo Prime was a medium sized desert planet that was found fifty years ago quite near a white dwarf sun in the Canis Major sector. Its erratic axis meant only a small portion of the planet received major sunlight for a minimal amount of its yearly cycle. This part of the planet also had the planets only ocean. Garnelks ever the business minded of all the races decided to make Indigo Prime a 'summer get away' as they called it. They built a large resort near the beach and opened it as a holiday resort. It was a massive success with many stars staying in the costly sectors. Which meant it had cash supplies stashed away numbering millions in credits in all the casinos and safe storages. Ten years ago a small excavation team uncovered a crashed Thraxian vessel. Cracking it open the old power cells made by a technically advanced race powered the ships defense systems. The team were annihilated by the fifty awoken kill bots before they could get word out. Suffice to say the rich and famous fled Indigo Prime losing only a few of their number. The poorer people were left to die thankfully with no way off the planet. The kill bots happy the threat was dealt with powered down after their slaughter of every living thing. A few small attempts to retake the planet were met with superior force so it was left for dead. The triplets had heard about the casinos having millions in credits in their safe and reckoned if they could sneak a small ship in with an expert defense cracker get in the safes and take it all. Talia despite hating the brothers had seen cash signs in her eyes so offered the triplets her services. Of course they accepted they knew Talia was good at what she did. They were going to either kill her or leave her there though once the job was done. Talia wasn't stupid though she had counter plans for nearly every situation, other than this. They had got onto the planet hassle free not waking a single bot. Gotten to the old sand laden casinos without setting off a single alert or alarm. Then while Talia had got to work cracking a safe on of the stupid triplets couldn't help but get greedy. The gambling machines he surmised would be full of credits Tommy along with Ludo thinking to surprise Jacques with a mini haul of their own went about cracking them open. Seven numbers through the ten digit alpha lock Talia was shocked into setting the alarm off when a smaller alarm of a not quite dead tampered machine blurted into her ear. From shaded areas all over the resort Kill bots activated at the sounds of life. Tommy and Ludo with the couple of thousand credits they had pilfered from the machines ran, closely followed by Jacques. Talia hot on their heels the four made for the triplet's vessel. Two kill bots had already made it there before the group did and were closely studying the vessel for signs of life. The brother's saw this as their opportunity to lose the slack, Jacques quickly man handled Talia throwing her from their hiding place. The bots though efficient killers were very single minded about it, hence their name. Betrayed, out in the open and in peril all Talia could do was run. Finding a safe hiding spot in the resort she radioed in Vixen, the kill bots had found her before she could ask for anything other than help. Thankfully the AI could lock onto her location with the holoslate. She had been running and hiding now for four hours. She had, had to leave the resort as almost the full fifty bots were now scanning that area for her. Then these two had found her. It wouldn't be long before the rest started to come their way with all the commotion. A few meters away a large sandstone cliff loomed, Talia had to get high for a better signal lock for Vixen. Despite advanced AI they still weren't great at landing on their own. It was now or never. Talia had only one option her pistol could be over charged to explode like a large plasma bomb. It would leave her with only her useless knife but it might, just might take out one of her pursuers. Flipping it's side she set it to overload waited a few seconds then ran for her life, as she did she threw the overloading pistol in the general direction of the kill bots. Plasma energy was one of the very few destructive forces with enough oomph to take out shields anything else would take forever to wear them down. The robot with no concern for its safety only its singular purpose to kill stood right on the pistol. The impact coupled with the fact the explosion was now compacted into a tiny space made quite the plasma ball. It ate through kill bots shielding in milliseconds melting and fusing its frame together before shorting all its circuits. The resulting heated blast wave partially depleted the shields of the kill bot next to it as well as damaging its weapon and momentarily scrambling its circuits. Unfortunately the remaining forty eight kill bots who were following the gunshots now knew exactly what direction to go. The one now scrambled gave Talia enough time to run for the relative safety of the cliff. Bounding from ledge to ledge Talia started to climb higher on any foot or hand hold she could reach. She didn't care if she skinned her knuckles or scrapped her knees she had to get off this god forsaken planet. She had always hated summer time on any planet a permanent one just made her ever more determined to get to Vixen. Talia was almost near the top of the cliff when a metal on stone grinding noise below her took her attention. She feared its laser retribution until she spied its arm cannon sparking. She also noticed as small stone chips bounced off it its shields they shone red, this should mean they were low. Talia looked away continuing the last few feet to the opening above her. She scrambled away from the edge on her backside keeping watch for the kill bot to rear its head. Despite a damaged gun it still had the strength to crush her bones with its bare hands. As its metal hands came over the ledge closely followed by its deathly visage Talia quickly looked around for anything to use as a weapon. She spied a large rock a few feet away. Getting to her feet she ran to it scooping it up. She wasn't going to let this robot death dealer get the chance to retaliate, running over to the uncaring automaton she lifted the rock high. It looked up at her then the rock as it clambered over the lip. Talia brought it arcing down with all her might, considerably more than a pure blood human could muster. A thundering crack filled the air, as with her might along with the weight of the stone destroyed the shielding on its head. Lifting the rock she saw the optics of its right eye heavily damaged from the blow. She lifted again and smashed once more. The robot jerked suddenly then stopped moving the dim icy blue light leaving its eyes. Talia released the rock sending it clattering to the ground. She sighed sinking to the ground herself, as the adrenaline left her body she suddenly felt fatigue take it over. Legs splayed in front of her she didn't know what to do as the light reignited in the kill bots eyes. She tried to scramble backwards as it reached for her now accessible leg. This was it she thought, the end of Talia Saran's story. The cold metal of the robots grip grabbed her ankle tightly. She felt the pressure as it began to close its grip, it obviously sought to cripple her so she couldn't get away. A rush of wind at Talia's back shocked her also. The robot looked up also momentarily forgetting its ankle crushing. "Talia please duck backwards" Vixen's monotonous voice rang from the holoslate. Talia slapped backwards seconds before the ships twin ion cannons sent out two bursts of energy. If the kill bot hadn't already been damaged it may well of taken these and crushed Talia's ankle in the process. She felt a release but a weight still. Looking down she saw its arm still attached to her ankle but no longer a part of its body. "Don't just lay there run, there's about forty more in the valley below" Vixen scolded. "Right away ma'am" Talia replied flipped to her front then pushing herself up she ran for the Vixen. The AI had positioned itself near the cliff edge hovering with its cargo ramp down. Talia leapt inside barrel rolling along the floor as she landed. "Vixen close that door, set a course for Taurus IV right now" Despite her sarcastic nature the AI knew when not speak back. She just did as she was told. Talia sat there the forearm and hand of the kill bot still holding her ankle. It was covered in emitter arrays. An idea struck her for a use for them but not now while she was so angry. She just went to the cockpit and waited for the journey to end. The triplets were regaling a Garnelk of their story when the rushing of a spacecraft's engines made the four look up. The Garnelk whose name was Henry fled the scene as fast as he could, the ship landed. Cargo bay ramp extending the triplets looked on as Talia strode from inside. "Talia Saran, my sweet heart!" Jacques roared, throwing his arms wide in a mock greeting. The other two brothers looked on wide eyed, fear a little evident in their eyes. Talia walked right up to the large Velusian, then wordlessly and quicker than lightening her knee struck full force into his groin. "I wouldn't if I was you" She warned the other two before they even reacted. She turned then strode off leaving the heaving alien whimpering on the floor. Once she was back on board the Vixen and safely in space she relaxed. Then taking off her holoslate she retrieved the kill bot arm and sat at the table in the mess hall. "Where to now Talia" Vixen asked. "I think I need some quiet time and a stiff drink, head for Ganymede, Gruel's bar is calling me please Vixen" Sighing she relaxed back into her seat. "As you command Talia" The AI said with the slightest hint of sarcasm. Then in the blink of an eye the ship shifted into warp and vanished. © D.C. Rogers 2014 #Write What You Know By Madhu Kalyan Mattaparthi Once upon a time, a young woman was so in love with books that she decided to become a writer so she, too, could create loveable stories. She read everything she could about writing. Then, one day, she found herself in a book store where she bumped into an old man among the shelves. Turning to apologize, she discovered it was a venerable, much-loved author. As soon as she found her voice to speak, she said, "Oh, sir! I know you are very busy, and so I would just like to ask |
Easing to the shelf below, he set a second candle, barricaded it from view then lashed a lead across the wick. Lighting it, pausing to see it blaze up and begin eating the rope, he hoisted himself back up and headed to his final destination. Dark was falling quickly, enveloping the wide canyon as Adam ran easily over smooth surfaces long familiar to him, wanting to set the last, most important candle before settling in for the night. Two times earlier, Pike used what he called 'the candle trick' to help effect arrests, once in southern Idaho and again on the edge of the Absaroka Range. Neither against men shrewd like Petra or who were | Easing to the shelf below, he set a second candle, barricaded it from view then lashed a lead across the wick. Lighting it, pausing to see it blaze up and begin eating the rope, he hoisted himself back up and headed to his final destination. Dark was falling quickly, enveloping the wide canyon as Adam ran easily over smooth surfaces long familiar to him, wanting to set the last, most important candle before settling in for the night. Two times earlier, Pike used what he called 'the candle trick' to help effect arrests, once in southern Idaho and again on the edge of the Absaroka Range. Neither against men shrewd like Petra or who were, in their own minds, hunters not hunted, Adam hoped for different results here than there so was willing to make an effort to promote his goals. In Idaho, a trio of stage robbers hunkered down in a cabin knew they were being chased and gave little show of desiring arrest, hanging certain to follow given two killings committed while stealing little more than a sack of mail, a few trinkets from passengers and ten dollars in cash carried by them. At a time when posses might have one man or twenty, they fled rapidly into forested lowlands, camping on a spit of land along the banks of Bear Lake, letting that huge expanse of water cover their back while a wide stream shielded one side. With only a rock ledge as a means to reach them without blundering through thick underbrush, Adam had studied for two days, deciding finally no arrest was possible until they chose to leave. For an afternoon, he dragged and piled dead wood and brush in a dozen locations circling their hideout, arranging each so fire would cause more to drop and flare embers, leaving only one dark gap below the rocky trail. Using campfires rather than candles but following similar thinking, Pike lit each in order so through a moonless night the outlaws saw what they expected to see, a band of vengeful men pursuing them, blocking every way out. At sunrise, with Adam perched above their path, they emerged stealthily to find a US Marshal holding a shotgun behind them pleased to arrest and more pleased to watch them hang outside a courthouse in Boise a few weeks later. Candles, he decided later, were preferable where wildfires could easily spread over miles of flat range, thinking spawned by a saloon owner in Montana where Pike sat working over plans to drive a murderous prospector from a narrow canyon retreat above a squalid town south of Bozeman. With the man's hideaway under scrutiny through field glasses, Adam idled away most of week hoping the killer would descend for supply or escape, the stone cabin giving no safe approach and Pike unwilling to take a rifle shot that would execute the man without trial. Sitting over steak and potatoes, he listened absent-mindedly as the talkative bartender told yarns of events across the region, perking up when talk shifted to tales of spirits said to inhabit nearby mountains. A band of Arapaho preparing to raid the town, he learned, was wiped out one night in the canyon by a rockslide having no obvious cause. As did most Indians, Arapaho believed warriors dying at night could never rest and their souls would wander endlessly, a notion local folks took serious when hearing drums echoing late at night from the hillside. Intrigued, encouraging the conversation, Pike felt the seed of an idea sprout full grown when a local man told of a mining camp setting up operations in the same ravine, six families totaling twenty people including wives and children who simply disappeared after a week of panning. Two men riding a wagon of supplies to them as planned returned telling everything there looked proper, even clothes hanging on lines seeming usual except no one was found nor any trace of them having left. Swearing the account true, the fellow claimed himself to have seen candles glowing on still nights from windows of shacks built by the prospectors, more than a dozen of them by his account. Encouraged, his killer being from the area certain to know the tales, Adam popped up from his chair, dropped a coin on the table and skipped to their town's general store, his youthful exuberance at a keen idea on display. Buying up every candle in stock, a small can of lamp oil and several hundred feet of fuse cord, he slinked late that afternoon into the hills, spread the tapers in clusters with wicks amply soaked connected by line and as shadows descended, lit all in a succession of eerie shimmerings. Aiding the sensation by moving around while beating empty logs with a stick and chanting deep nonsensical phrases, he made the arrest at daybreak when his quarry bolted to escape the ghostly menace. "Don' care if ya' hang me, Marshal, jes' don' let them haunts steal mah soul!" he'd demanded as Adam tied him over a mule in preparation for a trip to the gallows. Arriving at a barren flat stretch opposite his first candle, Pike repeated his preparations, this last taper serving also to signal other brother Step in town below that he survived the day. Viewing lamps in windows across the distance, he knew the point was visible below and sat with high craggy peaks behind easily spotted even at night so the Sheriff, binoculars in hand, would be reassured all was well. Bark barrier in place, Adam tied twine around the candle and tossed the roll over the side then shredded the supporting cord to quicken the burn before throwing his long run of rope over the side to a flat rock forty feet below sitting within dense brambles on all sides. Spotted while evading Hawkins men, his original use of the spot required an arduous trek around, no rope being handy then, but served well once reached, a wormhole carved through sharp, cutting branches letting him hide two days while nursing a bullet wound to the inner thigh that came inches from ending Hawkin's problem permanently. Donning gloves, Pike rappelled hand over hand, bracing his feet while descending with a pause to turn, pleased seeing two haloes of light for a moment then only one. Reaching the base, he secured the rope end under a rock to hold it taut and rested on his haunches until it separated above and fell to the ground at his feet. Knowing the third light glimmered in Petra's mind as much as in his eyes, Adam wound and stored the coil then gathered dead twigs left during previous visits and built a small fire next to the tangled brush so no reflection off the cliff would be created. With coffee boiling, Pike cut a tunnel almost through where thicket met cliff, withdrawing to gnaw on some jerky and enjoy a beverage while considering the day's doings. Nothing done so far, Pike knew without doubt, would convince or even suggest the idea to Petra of ending the chase, even the candles likely accomplishing no more than to sow uncertainty. Adam's ability to evade would add a level of complexity to the hunt but bring greater resolve rather than a weakened one while various apparent mistakes like rousing a deer and leaving broken twigs should serve to harden his confidence. Smirking grimly, knowing only the hardest surfaces shattered most completely, Pike prepared for the following day to be successful. Chapter 9 Stretched out under total darkness, Petra stared upward, the overcast night resembling much the first after he buried Pa in a gully behind their cabin, hatred filling him for Marshal Pike, bankers and all manner of men who'd unfairly abused his father. Since childhood, Anton saw the man strive mightily to earn a living, first hauling timber from Oregon forests to the Columbia River for floating to the coast where shipbuilders bought masts and mills purchased to make lumber. Most those years, the youngster stayed weeks at a time in make-shift towns cared for by women with children of their own and favoring them over him most often using cash money paid by Pa. Never once did he recall a kindly moment then except when his father returned to rescue him. When timbering dried up, Pa took to farming, settling them in a one room house erected by his own hand on land gained through a note issued from a local bank. The best years of his life, Petra loved working the earth alongside his father, harvesting and selling crops to buy supplies and learning from him to hunt game in the forest. Pa knowing everything needed for good living, Anton admired his way of teaching while allowing ample time for the boy to roam country around close to home, learning plants used to make medicine while discovering which would cause rash or burning itches. When the Sheriff arrived with a foreclosure notice, young Petra had been stunned. Two hard years had been suffered, he knew, one from locust and the second from drought, but never had Pa mentioned it possible the bank might steal their home away nor, it seemed, was he aware that could happen. Folks often had difficult times without banks seizing land but, as his father told it, this time was different as theirs found someone willing to pay cash for their land at a price far better than the value of Demitri's loan. Behind on the note, Pa had no choice but to pack Anton up, move them both to the hills where prospecting talk was strong and begin panning and digging. The start of several years the boy liked none, hating mountain cold and despairing at father's regular absences said to be needed to explore streams for gold which denied him the only company he wished to have. It had been an early autumn night after one extended stretch alone when Anton woke, thrilled to hear his father moving about and sprung from bed. Lighting a lamp, he'd been surprised to see Pa wounded, a bloody bandage wrapped around one arm and more astonished to watch him secreting a canvas bank bag behind loose stones in the fireplace. Sitting his son down, Pa explained then his trips away weren't for prospecting but were spent robbing banks, evening the score while building a stash allowing them to soon leave the miserable winters and live in a decent home far to the south where harsh winds and snow could never bother them again. To Anton, embittered by treatment his Pa received from timber men paying little and thieving bankers able to steal homes of men and families, the plan made great sense, renewing love and respect he'd begun to believe was misplaced. Then Marshal Pike arrived, gun in hand. Anton had seen him approach, sneaking weasel-like through trees unaware he was a lawman. Bursting in their rear door hearing shots being fired, he stood horrified as his father collapsed to the floor dead. For a moment, he stared then spotted both the badge and a pistol aimed at him, the intruder demanding to know where Pa |
Want me to call her?" "Would you?" Lott asked. "We're going to be in the air shortly and she knows my suspicion." "Where did this come from?" Andor asked. "Elvis," Lott said, laughing. "I'll explain later. Just get that information on the way." "Autopsy results as well," Rogers said loud enough for Andor to hear. As Lott hung up and put his phone away, he looked at Rogers puzzled. "He had a tattoo on his left leg. Always wondered what it meant." "What was it?" Lott asked. "The letters KM in bright red and blue on his | Want me to call her?" "Would you?" Lott asked. "We're going to be in the air shortly and she knows my suspicion." "Where did this come from?" Andor asked. "Elvis," Lott said, laughing. "I'll explain later. Just get that information on the way." "Autopsy results as well," Rogers said loud enough for Andor to hear. As Lott hung up and put his phone away, he looked at Rogers puzzled. "He had a tattoo on his left leg. Always wondered what it meant." "What was it?" Lott asked. "The letters KM in bright red and blue on his hip where no one would see them unless he was naked." Lott felt even more puzzled. "KM?" "Kate McDonald," Rogers said. "His only real wife. I just now put that together." "Sorry," Lott said. She waved him off. "Just go get changed so we can get this flight in the air." He nodded. She was as tough a detective as they came, he had no doubt about that. But he had no idea how she was standing up to all this. He doubted he'd be able to. #24 _October, 2014_ _Salt Lake City International Airport_ _Salt Lake, Utah_ IT WAS AFTER EIGHT in the evening Salt Lake time, seven Las Vegas time. Lott and Rogers sat on Doc Hill's private jet, comparing notes, trying to figure out exactly where they should go next. April had brought them both glasses of iced tea and it tasted wonderful to Lott. It had been a long day for both of them, and Lott's feeling was that they should head back to Las Vegas as planned and get some sleep. But they had decided to take thirty minutes and make sure of that decision before telling the pilots to go. Plus, they were waiting for the files with the pictures from the autopsy and the warehouse to come in to make sure they were chasing the right murder. Ruby Rocha, Stan's Salt Lake wife, turned out to be deep in her faith when she married Stan for life and into the next life and forever, as her church believed. When he left, she had just waited for him to return. That simple. She had waited for twenty-two years. She had done nothing else with her life, it seemed. Tragic, very tragic as far as Lott was concerned. And he caught himself thinking that and wondering a little if he hadn't been doing the same thing with how he felt about Carol. More than likely, he had. Maybe it really was time, as Annie kept telling him, to move on. He could wait until the day he died and Carol would never return. He had to finally admit that. He didn't want to, but he had to. That fact was really hard to see when inside the feelings. Not so hard to see when looking at Ruby Rocha lying in a huge Hospice Care bed. She now weighed almost four hundred pounds and was being chewed up by all the problems associated with not taking care of herself medically at that weight. Plus she had a couple forms of cancer that had gone untreated. They found her in an assisted living home and the nurse on duty had warned them to not upset her. She had very little time left to live. Maybe less than a month. So they had decided to just not talk with her. There seemed to be no point. Stan Rocha, by marrying her, had killed Ruby just as effectively as putting a bullet in her brain. So they had headed back to the airport, riding in silence in the cab they had decided to take to see Ruby. It seemed neither of them wanted to talk about her. Lott knew he sure didn't. There just wasn't much to talk about. By the time they got back in the plane, the files had not yet arrived from Annie with Stan's autopsy pictures. So they sat across from each other in big leather chairs, their notebooks in hand, iced teas beside them, going back over everything from the day. Lott had no idea how much this jet cost Doc, but Lott sure liked the comfort of it. They had just finished when the pilot, a smiling young man by the name of Lawrence, wearing dark slacks and a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up, came back into the cabin and said, "Detectives, the information you are waiting for from Annie is coming through now." He pointed to a desk in the rear of the main cabin, tucked off to the right side. He went to it and pushed a couple of buttons and a monitor rose from the desk and a keyboard swung out. Lott just shook his head. Of course a private plane like this would have a desk to work at, just as it had a bedroom in the back to sleep in. Lawrence got the computer up and running for them with a couple more buttons and then said, "Let me know when you are ready to go. And to where." "Thanks," Lott said. "Really appreciate it." The pilot nodded. "Glad to help out." He then headed back toward the front as Julia sat down at the screen and pulled up the images. Lott stood over her right shoulder so he could see the screen as well. He hoped this was a good idea. He knew Rogers was a good detective and had seen her share of death scenes, but seeing her own husband the way they had found him wasn't going to be easy. The first one was of the warehouse scene and it made Julia sit back slightly. It actually surprised Lott a little as well. He hadn't looked at those pictures for a long time. There was a bloated man's body in pants and a ripped-open shirt lying face-up on the floor, dead eyes staring at the ceiling. The image brought back the incredible memories of that case for Lott, mostly attached to the smell of that body being in a hot warehouse and on the floor for seven days before being found. It was not a smell he ever wanted to remember. No human death smell ever was. It was the kind of cloying, thick smell that ate at you and got into every pore of your skin and clothes. Carol hadn't let him anywhere near the insides of the house when he got home that day. She had forced him to take his clothes off in the garage and then run for the shower while she opened windows. It had taken a week for the smell to be completely out of his car after the short ride home. He had finally had to take the car in and have it detailed out to get rid of the last of it. And Carol did something with his clothes that involved a long stick and a big black garbage bag. The body in the image was even more bloated than Lott remembered it being. Lott now understood why they had just assumed the wallet with the victim was the right one. They had tested the fingerprints as well, but Stan Rocha's prints had not been in the system. "Can't tell," Julia said, shaking her head as she clicked through the five or six angles of photos of the body. "Looks like him in general. Same basic size and shape." Then she brought up the first autopsy photo and gasped. It was of the same bloated body, only now naked, the clothes cut away, the body lying on the morgue table. "You all right?" he asked, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. He liked the feel of her strong muscles under his touch and he let his hand rest there only a moment before pulling it away. "I am," she said. "But your hunch was right. That's not Stan Rocha." Now it was Lott's turn to jerk. He had suggested that because of the Winnemucca wife's comment. He really didn't expect to be right. "How can you be so sure?" he asked, staring at the bloated body on the table. "He's missing the KM tattoo on his side," she said, pointing. Lott nodded. She clicked to the image of the other hip. Nothing there either. "And Stan was circumcised," Rogers said, pointing at the body's private parts. It was very clear to Lott this man had not been circumcised in any fashion. "I'll be go to hell," Lott said, standing and stepping back as Rogers quickly moved through the rest of the photos, then clicked off the computer and turned to him. "So who the hell is our murder victim?" Lott asked, feeling more stunned than he wanted to admit. "And where did Stan disappear to?" Rogers asked. "And did he kill that man to stage his own disappearance?" Lott asked. They both remained in silence for a moment before Lott finally broke it. "I think we need to head back to Vegas." Julia nodded. "I agree. Stan is wrapped up in this completely, since his identity was on the body. He staged this I'm betting anything. But we need to go back and start over, look at everything again." "Do you really think that the man you knew could execute someone to stage his own death?" Lott asked. "Honestly," Rogers said, "I can't imagine Stan hurting a fly. But I can imagine him staging all this. He hid a lot from me, and his other wives, and his family. This kind of deception is right up his alley." With that, Lott nodded and turned to the front of the plane to tell the pilots to take them home. After that he turned back to see Julia watching him. He smiled at her. "Looks like Elvis hasn't left the building just yet." She actually laughed. He sat down and buckled in across from her and for the entire short flight to Las Vegas, all he could think about was how he mis-identified the victim in his very first case as a detective. #Part III #25 _October, 2014_ _Las Vegas International Airport_ _Las Vegas, Nevada_ JULIA WAS GLAD that Lott hadn't wanted to talk much on the trip back to Vegas. The flight had only taken less than forty minutes and the entire time she just kept going over and over what they had discovered. The real stunner was that Stan might still be alive. How he had remained hidden for twenty-two years was beyond her, but if he was alive, he had done just that. She had spent over two decades knowing he was dead. And Jane had always thought her father murdered. How was she going to react to all this? Julia decided that she would wait until they had all this solved before even |
Isn't that so that they could control me? Of course they want us to believe bad things about ourselves so that they can control us. Any person who wants you to believe something bad about yourself that's not true is just wanting to control you in the end. [00:52:47.16] Mary: Yeah. So this is equally important really, that we begin to have faith that God is holy, loving and merciful but also that we are His Child, and that we're not these terrible things that false teachers and people in our past have led us to believe. Exactly. Because if we say that we are subservient and sinful and depraved, and subservient here also | Isn't that so that they could control me? Of course they want us to believe bad things about ourselves so that they can control us. Any person who wants you to believe something bad about yourself that's not true is just wanting to control you in the end. [00:52:47.16] Mary: Yeah. So this is equally important really, that we begin to have faith that God is holy, loving and merciful but also that we are His Child, and that we're not these terrible things that false teachers and people in our past have led us to believe. Exactly. Because if we say that we are subservient and sinful and depraved, and subservient here also means subservient to God; God didn't create us to be subservient to God, God created us to exercise our own will in harmony with love. They are two very different states. So whenever we believe we are subservient or sinful and depraved, we're actually making a comment about God as well as ourselves. We're saying that God created a creature that is depraved by nature, and we're saying that God created a creature that is sinful by nature, and that God created a creature only for God's own pleasure. Now if I had a child only for my pleasure, I'd be called narcissistic and stupid, and also probably I'd be classified as someone who's quite dark in their treatment of the child. And that's what we're doing with God by saying that we are subservient; we are basically saying that God created a subservient person in order for some of God's narcissistic pleasure to be satisfied. God's not a narcissist. So no, God didn't create us as subservient; God gave us, as the pinnacle of God's creation, free will. That means we're not subservient, that we can exercise our will in any way we wish. Mary: Yeah and this is where us having faith in the truth about God actually begins to change our own self concept. Already. Yeah. Even from an intellectual perspective we start going, "Okay, yeah I can feel that I don't feel that. I can see that if this is true, I don't feel it." So already I know that I'm going to have to release some emotions about these things as I receive Love, because if inside of myself I feel sinful and depraved and subservient, then already I know that I'm going to have some emotions to release. Mary: But already if I believe those things, and I believe I'm God's child, hang on, that doesn't match with the holy, loving, merciful God. So in changing my concept of God, even with faith in a different concept of God, it automatically gives me a different faith in myself, doesn't it? [00:55:15.13] Exactly. It will at least begin the transformational process in your soul; even just the awareness begins it. But you can also see in this first paragraph that if we believe that God is pure and loving and merciful, and that God did not create us to be sinful and subservient, then already we are starting to understand a lot of God's nature. And even if we don't believe it, just us having thoughts about this will start us on the proper road to at least starting to conceive a different truth to what we've been taught. Mary: And as you said even if it's not in our hearts as a belief yet, we can begin to act in harmony with it, we can exercise faith to actually let our actions be guided. Exactly. So stop acting like you're a depraved creature, and stop telling yourself that you are a depraved creature and that's why you acted depraved. Take some responsibility for the fact that it's a choice within you to act in these manners. So there's a lot that comes in with this proper understanding. In fact the person who reads this prayer, when they first read it, will go, "Oh that's pretty basic, I'll do that," but when you become at-one with God, you'll then understand the prayer properly. Before then you won't understand the prayer properly but there's all this meaning in the prayer. [00:56:49.15] Mary: A lot. A lot of meaning in the prayer. 11.3. We are the greatest of God's Creations and object of God's Love and tenderest care Mary: So let's continue. "I know that I am the greatest of Your Creations and the most wonderful of all of Your Handiworks and the object of Your Great Soul's Love and tenderest care." Wow! Mary: There's a lot in there. There's a lot in there about me, in terms of what I must come to know, even if I don't know it currently; that I'm the greatest of God's creations, that the human soul is the greatest of God's creations; that's the most wonderful of all of God's work, where we're not acknowledging that God created the universe as well, not just ourselves, but we are the greatest of those creations. We're also acknowledging that God has love and tender care for us. He hasn't just shoved us on the Earth to fend for ourselves, as people believe, but rather God wants to give us all the knowledge and all of the facts about the universe in which we live. It's just whether we're open to receiving it or not that will depend on if we receive it. So again a whole heap of truth about God that's contained in the prayer. 11.4. God's Will is that we become at-one with God Mary: "I know that Your Will is that I become at-one with You and partake of Your Great Love, which You have bestowed upon me through Your Mercy and desire that I become, in truth, Your child through Love, and not through the sacrifice and death of any of Your creatures." So again, a whole heap of truth about myself and God contained in another paragraph, pregnant with information. Mary: Yes. As long as we are able to receive it, we'll see the birth of the information. Mary: Well and in this paragraph we're told, or we can have faith in the fact that God is mercy, which we mentioned earlier. That God has a desire...Mary: But desire that I become at-one. It's not like, oh God, the option's there. God's not going to us if you want it you can take it, take it or leave it, it doesn't worry me. It does. God's says, "I want you to take it but I honour the free will that I've given you." [00:58:56.17] Mary: Yes. And the will is so much that you become My child not just through the fact that I created you, but through receiving this Love, and not just receiving a little bit; to the point of at-onement with you. Exactly. "That I can become at-one with you." Yep. 11.5. We do not become at-one with God through the sacrifice and death of any of God's creatures Mary: And then the last part of this paragraph says, "And not through the sacrifice and death of any of your creatures." Now obviously there's a huge Christian belief that says that you're death was the sacrifice and that's how people come to God. So I feel that that's addressing that false belief. It is. But there's more because remember I stated this prayer to people before I died. So there's a lot more to that statement than about my own death. Mary: Yes, and that's what I'd like to talk about. The fact that so many of us believe that love is about self-sacrifice; that's how so many people could take on the belief that your death was a sacrifice. Of course. Parents teach their children from a very young age they have to sacrifice for the family and that will prove that they love the family. Not true. Sacrifice proves nothing about love in fact. In fact, what sacrifice proves is the person who's demanding the sacrifice is unloving; that's what sacrifice actually proves. So the reality is that firstly sacrifice would never be demanded from a God of love. [01:00:27.15] Mary: Yes, and so what I think of when I read this is that God does not desire my sacrifice in order to receive His Love but also if I desire for God to sacrifice one of His Laws for me to show that He loves me, well hang on, now I'm...Or I desire my partner to sacrifice something of their desires in order to prove they love me. Mary: Yes; then I'm not going to receive Divine Love basically...While I'm doing such a thing. Mary: I'm learning that sacrifice and death are out of harmony with receiving Divine Love. I also, when I read this part of the prayer, think about the death (and this might be out of leftfield) of creatures. Yes. Mary: Eating animals. "I'm loving myself by eating some meat because I need protein." Mary: Yes! It's another example of living out of harmony with the principle of this particular paragraph. Mary: And yeah, and this paragraph tells me no sacrifice or death of any creature, any creature. Any, yes. Mary: Yeah. So I'm going to become God's true child in love but it's never going to be through the sacrifice and death of any other creature. [01:01:50.10] Exactly. Mary: So how can I eat another creature or even use or eat the products of any other creature because that's about their sacrifice. Yes. So we would no longer demand sacrifice from any of God's creatures. We would no longer put a cow in a pen just so that we can have milk, for example. We might go out in the field and get some (laughs), and chase the cow down if it's willing to be milked out there, but we wouldn't put it in a pen and do it that way. We would never demand the sacrifice of its life in order for it to give something to us if we were loving. And we wouldn't demand the sacrifice of its normal natural life, in terms of what it would normally do. So here again a lot of truth about God, and a lot of truth about our soul, and a lot of truth about ethical principles that will help us connect to God in one paragraph. [01:02:46.16] 11.6. Praying for the inflow of Divine Love into our soul to transform us into a Divine |
"Hello?" "Hey, Cerise." Drake's deep, familiar voice sounded distorted and broken up through the connection. "Drake! Hey, how's it going?" She was surprised, but happily so by the unexpected call. Taking a sip of her tea, she waited for him to answer. "I'm really good. I was just going through the McD's drive-thru and was wondering if I could pick up something for you? I just got off work and need something to do, are you busy?" "Not at all," she laughed, glancing at the television screen. "I actually wouldn't mind an ice cream right now. | "Hello?" "Hey, Cerise." Drake's deep, familiar voice sounded distorted and broken up through the connection. "Drake! Hey, how's it going?" She was surprised, but happily so by the unexpected call. Taking a sip of her tea, she waited for him to answer. "I'm really good. I was just going through the McD's drive-thru and was wondering if I could pick up something for you? I just got off work and need something to do, are you busy?" "Not at all," she laughed, glancing at the television screen. "I actually wouldn't mind an ice cream right now. Are you at the one on Regent?" "Yep, is that an Oreo or Smarty ice cream?" "Do you have to ask?" "Rolo it is." He laughed, while Cerise smiled. "I know, I know, it's Oreo. Be over there in a minute." He hung up; she broke the connection and placed the cell back in her pocket. It wasn't Steven, but she didn't really care anymore. She missed her good friend; and that someone had cared enough to be with her meant a great deal. She ran back to the bathroom, checking in the mirror to see if she looked alright. Aside from dark lines under her eyes and the smudged make-up, she was satisfied with her appearance. It was just Drake; he would love her if she looked like she'd just gotten out of bed. When she walked past the front door, she heard someone knocking on it. Startled, she brushed her hair behind her ear and walked over to it. "You're really quick, Drake, wow." She began to say as she opened the door. Instead of her friend greeting her, Nathan was waiting outside. In his hand was a bouquet of flowers. Smiling sheepishly, he waited for her to let him in. "Hey Cerise." He lifted the flowers towards her. "Nathan." Cerise folded her arms over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "Um, hey. Are those for me?" "They are. I—I uh, wanted to say how sorry I was. I really messed up Cerise, I really did." He held out the flowers again, his eyes filled with a look that she hadn't seen in a long time. It was the same look that he'd given her when he asked her out for the first time. Vulnerability. Sweetness. Taking the flowers, their fingertips brushed up against one another's in the exchange. She wanted to deny it, but a surge of electricity shot up her arm at his touch. Exciting. Frowning, she took a step outside, letting the door close behind her. "Thanks Nathan." He fidgeted nervously, staring at his feet like a schoolboy asking out a girl for the first time. Smacking his lips, he put on a smile, she supposed was meant to be charming, but came off wolfish. "I also came, because Cerise. I miss you. A lot." Right. Cerise didn't want him to get the wrong idea, so she took a step back, closer to her front door. "Oh." She thought of Drake coming and knew this conversation would have to wait. "Sorry Nathan, but I think you have to go." Wincing, he took a step forward. "I'm serious Cerise. I really miss you. And I still love you. I know you don't believe me, but I want to make us better. Even if that means getting it all thrown in my face." Cerise just gaped at him, wishing that her heart wasn't beating so fast. The back of her throat was dry and she coughed into her sleeve. "Nathan. You cheated on me—you broke my heart. I don't want to be in one of those relationships where it's break up, get back together, break up, and get back together. That isn't right. I don't mind if we stay friends, in fact, I want that. I miss you. It's just; I don't want a relationship between us." She was about to turn around, her hand reaching for her doorknob. But there was that look back in his eyes. A glint, a speck of bitter remorse. Weakness. Of self-loathing, a gap in a set of armor she was always sure was unassailable. Sighing, she stared deep into his eyes, realizing that the glint remained. It wasn't passing or hidden, there was something different in his stare. The usual cockiness had completely disappeared, replaced by a sorrow that she had never seen in him. "Cerise, I know you hate me." "No, I don't hate you. I just don't love you anymore." She opened the door, taking a step inside. Turning around, she saw that Nathan was trembling. "You hurt me, Nathan. You broke my heart, and that's why I can't let you back in. It's time we just said goodbye. Neither of us can live like this." The door began to close. Nathan shook his head, taking a few steps forward. "Please! Cerise, when I promised I would love you, I meant it. I still love you, and I know, somewhere inside, you love me too." "You're wrong, Nathan." "No! You're just too scared to do what you want! What you know you should!" "What I should do?" Cerise dropped the flowers, letting them fall on the stairs outside the door. "I have to let you go, Nathan. Yes, a part of me wanted to make this work, but then I remembered how you looked at her and how you looked at me. Sometimes, the one you want isn't the one you need." "Please, Cerise! I love you! I want you! And if I need to change, then so be it, I'll change!" "But you only change for the worse. Now please, go home, Nathan. I can't do this right now. We just have to leave one another alone, maybe ..." she pressed her lips together, knowing that giving him hope was the wrong thing to do. "We just have to say goodbye." "I don't want to." "I want to. Nathan, you need to leave." Her heart tore as she saw another look enter his eyes—pain. Raw, undiluted pain. Pain that she had inflicted upon him. Gone was his earlier look of vulnerability. "Cerise." "No. Please go away Nathan." "Just—" Nathan opened his mouth to say more, but turned around when a car pulled into her driveway. It parked, and then the front door opened, revealing Drake. He held her ice cream and his coffee, which he carried with him as he came up slowly—hesitantly to her front door. "What the hell is he doing here?" "Drake's my friend, Nathan—my best friend. Now get out of here." She took a step forward, stepping on the bouquet of flowers, watching as Drake came up to her front door. Nathan went down a step, glaring at Drake. "Hey Cerise," he glanced at Nathan, frowning. "Hey Nathan. Is this a good time?" "Nathan was just leaving." Cerise was about to reach for her ice cream, when the tray it was on went flying into the air. The coffee and ice cream sailed into the air, spilling out on the sidewalk. Nathan had tossed the tray out of Drake's hand, as he seethed with rage. "This is who you chose over me? Really?" He laughed bitterly, scowling at Cerise and her friend. "You seriously fell in love with him?" He made a nauseated face, turning around briskly. Cerise glanced at her friend, who'd stooped down to pick up the coffee and ice cream. "Well you know what? Screw you both," he said before heading back to his car. "I don't want your friendship, Cerise. I don't need it. If you want to fall in love with that asshole, it's fine by me." Cerise ignored him, sighing heavily. For a second, she had truly believed that Nathan had changed. "I'm so sorry, Drake." She took the tray from him, which was now covered in coffee and spilt ice cream with chunks of Oreo. "Don't be, are you okay?" He followed her inside, closing the door behind them. With a sigh, she set the tray on a nearby table, nodding her head. "I'm just glad he's gone." Staring at the ruined coffee and ice cream, Drake took it and threw it into the garbage. Grinning, he gave his friend a hug as she leaned against the couch, a miserable expression on her face. "C'mon, let's go for a walk. It's actually beautiful outside. Wind's died down and it's only a little freezing out there." "Okay," she took his hand, holding it tightly. "Thanks for always being there for me. You're an incredible friend." Squeezing his hand, she let it go, not caring if he took that the wrong way. All she wanted was to spend time with the one person that had always been there for her. Hopefully, one day she could make it up to him. Chapter Sixteen _________________" Mommy is gone?" A six-year-old Steven sat down on a church pew with his father, tugging at the uncomfortable tie his father had made him wear. Swinging his legs back and forth, his father put an arm on his shoulder, attempting to keep him still. "Yes Steven. We talked about this, remember?" His father sat morosely beside him, staring ahead as the minister gave a brief, concluding sermon at the end of the service. His tone was filled with compassion, as he comforted the family and friends of Laura Walker. Standing at the front of the stuffy church, his voice carried all the way to the back of the sanctuary. Steven stood at the back of the church, now seventeen years old, reliving his mother's funeral in a dream. With his hands clasped behind his back, he listened solemnly, now able to understand fully the stories and memories shared. However his father's voice and his own were especially loud, reaching his ears with more volume than the minister. Slowly, he perused the rows and rows of family and friends, all of them for the day mourners. Most of the people seated were strangers to him—leaving the Walker's life when the funeral was over. Others were |
When the relationship depends on wanting, the feeling of love becomes cramped and a constant power struggle ensues. The person who can fight the best gets the most. Love doesn't stand a chance in such a situation. In the beginning of a relationship, the constant need for love is normal. When the relationship becomes long term, it must be based on a more spiritual foundation. The basis of the relationbship needs positive characteristics such as wisdom, love, peace, and thoughtfulness. We need to anchor ourselves in a goal of inner happiness and not expect the partner to provide happiness. Often, we depend on outer happiness instead of looking for it within. We must find this within in | When the relationship depends on wanting, the feeling of love becomes cramped and a constant power struggle ensues. The person who can fight the best gets the most. Love doesn't stand a chance in such a situation. In the beginning of a relationship, the constant need for love is normal. When the relationship becomes long term, it must be based on a more spiritual foundation. The basis of the relationbship needs positive characteristics such as wisdom, love, peace, and thoughtfulness. We need to anchor ourselves in a goal of inner happiness and not expect the partner to provide happiness. Often, we depend on outer happiness instead of looking for it within. We must find this within in order to provide positive thinking and a love based on giving. When we can live our relationship destinies out in such a way, we can be happy in the long term. We can grow in happiness and in love. A sort of love addiction burns out after a time. A love based on giving is true love and can grow without bounds. A pure heart chakra can open the individual up to the highest plain of enlightenment, until we are only love itself, and as such live love and radiate love into the world. The way of superficial happiness is based on the tendency to expect to be happy through another person. This is the way of "addiction". This means it is only destined to end in failure. Those who expect happiness from others will only be disappointed. At some point in time, the "honeymoon" phase is over and both people will revert to their usual tendencies. Most people blame the partner for their lack of happiness. They begin to fight or to draw back in frustration. We need to overcome this faulty philosophy of superficial happiness. Then we can live in long term happy relationships. Evelyn got her ideas about the perfect relationship from Hollywood. Nils based his ideas on the psycho-analytic theories of Sigmund Freud. Both of these notions were incorrect and lead to unhappiness. Most actors, who live in the world of film, have unhappy relationships and split up constantly. The same goes for psychologists. The best relationships are to be had by those who care for the relationships with spirituality. Instead of exercising positive thinking, Evelyn concentrated on Nils' personality flaws. A spiritual person busies him or herself only with his or her own flaws and concentrates on the positive characteristics of others. The Yoga greeting "namaste" means: "the light in me recognizes and bows to the light in you". Those who see positivity in others thereby awaken their own happiness. Those who fixate on negativity strengthen the negativity in themselves. Evelyn saw the negative traits of Nils and this often enraged her. In the third year of their relationship, they had intense fights. Nils tried to understand what was going on. The sweet Evelyn had turned into a not so sweet individual. At some point, Evelyn began to see other men and Nils search for another woman. The happy fairytale came to a sad end. The Ten Points of Happiness \----------------------------------The most important results of today's happiness rsearch can be summed up in ten points. 1. A Proactive Life is a Happy One Happy people have positive goals and positive tasks. Proactive people are 15% more satisfied with their lives than more passive people. Happiness researcher Ed Diener explains, "happy people set goals for themselves again and again." 2. An Active Life is a Happy One Regular physical activity keeps the body healthy and makes the spirit happy. Daily walks raise the level of happiness 12% . David Niven says, "people who stay fit via sports are healthier, more positive, and more successful." 3. Doing Good for the World is a Source of Happiness Those who regularly do good things for others are 24% happier than those who only live for themselves. John A. Schindler wrote, "live as a giving person. Those who give are happier than those who only take. Those who give to others discover the beauty in the world." 4. Rest and Relaxation Bring Happiness The central point of a healthy and happy life is to find the balance between rest and activity. Besides, work, physical activity, and time spent with others, we need time to rest and relax. We need to get enough sleep. Scientific research shows that relaxed people think more positively and are happier. Every hour of sleep missed lowers the positivity one can experience during the day. Where that point of balance between rest and activity lies, must be decided for oneself. Everyone needs to experiment a little to find this correct balance. We have to figure out who much sleep we need and how much relaxation time we need and at what speed we function at our best. We in the western world of "go, go, go" who wish to stay happy and healthy, must also live extra clever. We need to organize our lives in an intelligent way to facilitate inner happiness and find one's personal way to inner balance. 5. Positive Thinking Those who think positively double their chance to realize happiness. Those who wish to be happy should think positively. The positive characteristics of wisdom, love, peace, inner power and joy in life should be set as the central point of one's life. One should exercise a conscious decision to be positive. Fo example, we can ask ourselves, "how can I go through the day in a positive way?" 6. Too Much Television Makes You Unhappy Scientific research states, "every hour of television lowers the general quality of life by 5%". TV orients people around superficial things, and the concept of superficial happiness. It raises desire, increases aggression, and creates sorros. Those who would like to grow in terms of happiness, should stop watching TV. The way to positive TV viewing consists of: a) choose your programs carefully. Avoid negative films. B) Find the correct amount of TV. Children should watch a maximum of one hour per day of television. C) After watching TV, one should practice some form of spiritual exercise (such as yoga, meditation, walking, reading, contemplating the meaning of life). 7. Foster Friendship Build on your positive circle of friends. Women who talk to others reduce their worries by 55% . Cancer stricken women who met with a group once a week raised their survival chances to twice as high as those who didn't meet with a group. In the western world, there is a strong tendency towards isolation. There are many single and lonely people. People who have a good circle of friends are happier and not isolated. We should take care of our friendships and practice positive activities with them. 8. Facilitate Joy Those who can find little elements of joy in their lives can raise their overall happiness by 20% . Nils once felt bad and in order to raise his spirits, he ate a lot of sweets. His spirit brightened more and more. Then he visualized the sweets in his stomach and awakened his kundalini energy. He awakened a strong energy which quickly brought him back into the light. Nils learned to thus connect outer enjoyment with spiritual exercises. One then needs less sweets. Just a bit of outer enjoyment is enough for inner happiness. 9. Humor Those with a good sense of humor raise their positivity by 33% . We should foster our sense of humor and learn to not take things so seriously. We should learn to laugh at our selves. Those who are able to do so, can live lighter and brighter. It is good to see cheerful films, read funny books, and to visit joyful people. 10. Self-Confidence Happy people believe in themselves. They believe in their goals, their wisdom, and their power. They see themselves as winners. They know they will prevail in the long term. In a world of doubt, all followers of the way of bliss need inner strength in order to go about their way successfully. The followers of the enlightened way need a clear anchor in terms of wisdom, self-discipline, and self-confidence. This needs constantly be affirmed to avoiding being brought off track by materialism and doubt. Newest Findings \-------------------- - Quote taken from an interview with physicist Hans-Peter Dürr (P.M. magazine 05/2007) Dürr: "Basically, there is no such thing as material. Primarily, there exists only connections to material foundation. We could also call it consciousness. Material and energie appear only secondarily as coagulated, solidified spirit." "many discoveries of quantum physics are not only immaterial, but also work in completely different ways that have nothing to do with the standard three-dimensional spatial sense we have. It is a pure information field, a sort of quantum code. It has nothing to do with mass and energy. This information field spans the entire universe. The cosmos is whole because this information field has no limit. There is only one, but this one united entity is differentiated." You are 78 years old. Do you believe in an afterlife? Is there existence after death? Dürr: "That is an interesting question. What we consider the here and now, this world, it is actually just the material level that is comprehensible. The beyond is an infinite reality that is much bigger, which this world is rooted in. In this way, our lives in this plane of existence are encompassed, surrounded, by the afterworld already. When I imagine that I have written my existence in this world on a sort of hard drive on the tangible plane (the brain) that I have also transferred this data onto the spiritual quantum field (Nils: the spirit, the indepenendent consciousness), then I could say that when I die I don't lose this information, this conscioiusness. The body dies but the spiritual quantum field continues. In this way, I am immortal." Quote from Rolf Froböse (Originally from (in German): readers-edition.de/2008/04/08/quantenphysiker-behaupten-es-gibt-ein-jenseits)" Professor Dr. Hans-Petter Dürr, former leader of the Max.Planck Institute for Physics in Munich, states that the body (material) and the soul (consciousness energy) can exist separately from one another. According to this notion, there is an afterlife that is composed of the universal consciousness. Dürr believes in life after death because of this purely scientific reasoning in connection with material and energy." Volker Becker (Gottes geheime Gedanken, 2006):" Scientifically, it is confirmed that 13.7 billion years ago a Big Bang occurred, which meant the beginning of the universe. Everything in the cosmos, such as the development of stars or the formation of galaxies, cann be understood according to physicial laws. The chain of reasons can be traced back to the Big Bang. ""We live in the midst of a universe that is embedded in multi-demensional space. This higher space is not comprehensible with our limited understanding because this space does not belong to our material |
What's your favorite thing about being in a beach town during the winter? It doesn't snow. Remember we came from Connecticut. Even in the middle of winter, you get some days that are warm and nice and you go to the beach and no one's there and its spectacular. What's your favorite local attraction/restaurant/event? I think my favorite attraction is the Intracoastal Waterway. There is boat traffic north and south. And it's very diverse and very interesting. We're still learning about some of the events. The Azalea Festival is pretty neat. And also, we've really found some offbeat restaurants that we kind of like, as well as some ocean view restaurants that have | What's your favorite thing about being in a beach town during the winter? It doesn't snow. Remember we came from Connecticut. Even in the middle of winter, you get some days that are warm and nice and you go to the beach and no one's there and its spectacular. What's your favorite local attraction/restaurant/event? I think my favorite attraction is the Intracoastal Waterway. There is boat traffic north and south. And it's very diverse and very interesting. We're still learning about some of the events. The Azalea Festival is pretty neat. And also, we've really found some offbeat restaurants that we kind of like, as well as some ocean view restaurants that have a spectacular setting. Of course, The Oceanic, and one of the more offbeat places is Flaming Amy's Bowl. How is the cost of living, compared with other areas you have lived? This is probably one of the least cost of living places we have been. Understand that we lived in San Diego, which is pretty pricey. The northeast, particularly Connecticut, is pretty pricey. In the last 30 years of where we've lived this is probably the most economical. Anything else? The one thing we didn't talk about is how good the health care is around here. One of the reasons we moved here is they seem to have a fairly decent hospital and medical facilities. But fortunately we haven't tested that out yet. CHAPTER 28 Dan Tranter ##Myrtle Grove from Rochester, New York Can you tell me what brought you to Wilmington? I have a friend who moved here last year and I came a number of times to visit and I decided I liked the area. So I started looking at houses and researching the area. That's kind of how I landed here. I moved here less than a year ago How did you go about choosing where to live? I just started researching the neighborhoods pricewise and I wanted something that was in a nice area that was close to everything. This area here is not in the middle of town but it's real close to the beaches, which is nice. Since I have a job where I work from home, traffic was not a factor. I wanted something I could fix up. This home was a foreclosure and it has some good work I can do myself and I got in for a good price. What made you choose this neighborhood over your other options? This neighborhood seemed very well kept and this house that I purchased, it needed a little bit of repairs. Because of that I got a good price. Price was the number one thing for me. This price was affordable and reasonable. It was a foreclosure and it was sitting there for 6 months by the time I put the offer in and I knew the bank was going to let it go for a good price. What other areas were you drawn to? I looked at a house in Pine Valley. That's on the outskirts of what's considered the city. It's still a very nice area with large yards. I looked at some areas close to downtown and some other houses in Monkey Junction. I did a lot of my research from out of town and a lot of what I looked at was everywhere, since I was looking online. If you had it to do over again, where would you live? I'm pretty happy where I am. I would pick here or another house similar to mine. I don't think I would do too much different. The only thing I might prefer would be a little bit bigger driveway in case I ever have a boat in the future. What do you like about living in Wilmington that was a surprise to you? I don't know if anything came as a surprise. I think everything was what I expected. The weather is nice here compared to what I'm used to. There's a lot of sunshine. The utilities here are a lot less than what I was paying up north, so that surprised me in a good way. What sort of people would like living in your neighborhood? It's a mix of young families and retired people and there are some other single people like me. It's a pretty good mix of everybody. Some people have families with a couple kids, but if they have more than two kids they tend to upgrade to bigger houses than what's offered here A couple of my immediate neighbors are retired or close to it. What is your favorite way to spend a weekend here? I like to spend my weekends at the beach. I go down there and take a long walk on the beach. Sometimes I go downtown and enjoy the stuff there. I like to be outdoors, mainly. A lot of that is because I was deprived of that previously living somewhere where winter is 5 months long. Is it a good area to live if you are single? Is there a night life? I'm not too much into nightlife, But there's a lot of activities to do. There's concerts and stuff. I've gone downtown to a concert recently. There's plenty of stuff to do. I like just getting together with my friends and hanging out. I like walking around, enjoying the scenery. There are a lot of waterways around here. I don't have a boat but in the future that might be an activity I take up. If you could, what would you change about Wilmington? I would put a better grocery store here. We had a nice grocery store called Wegman's up north, I would put one of those here. A lot of my friends say the same thing. I'd also like a better farmer's market. The one here is not very affordable. The only way to find fresh stuff is you have to drive away to rural areas. It'd be nice if they'd bring some of that here. I think there's a market for that. What advice would you give someone considering a move to the Wilmington area? If it someone who doesn't have a job, I'd say find one first. The economic climate here is not like you'd find in large cities. Anyone else, I'd say take your time looking and don't buy a house fast. There's a lot of choices out there. Find something you like first. Don't rush into it. Do you think your area offers a good quality of life? I think it does. There's a lot of stuff to do here. There's a lot of beaches, a lot of parks and outdoor activities and stuff to do in the city. For a city of this size it seems there are quite a number of activities and people who get together to do certain events. I've discovered a running meet up group that runs several times a week and I've been running with them and that's great. What's your favorite local attraction/restaurant/event? Restaurant: I found a small restaurant, The Sunset Bistro and it's my favorite. It's a small place and I know the couple who runs it and they have good food and it's affordable in a nice environment. I prefer smaller places over chain places. There are a lot of chain places around here. I can always go into Sunset Bistro and I'll get seated right away and always get good food. Are you worried about hurricanes? I have not been through a hurricane yet. It's something that concerns me. The wind and hail insurance that's required here if you own a property makes the housing cost a little higher than different areas. How is the cost of living, compared with other areas you have lived? In general the COL is less than where I lived before because the taxes in upstate New York are among the highest in the country. This area is a lot more affordable, even with the extra insurance. In general what you pay per square foot for a house is a little more here but it's not too much, considering what you get as far as quality of life. What's your favorite thing about living in a beach town during the winter? My favorite thing is free parking at all the area beaches during the winter months. During the summer months you have to pay to park during the week but in the winter months they take the parking meters down. It's nice to walk on the beach during the winter and a lot of days it's not too cold to really hang out. CHAPTER 29 Wendy Hall ##Hampstead from St Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands Can you tell me what brought you to Hampstead? We had been living in the Virgin Islands for 10 years and our daughter was turning school aged and I was concerned with the level of education available in the public schools there because they constantly lose their accreditation. And I wanted my child to be able to eventually go to college. My husband didn't want to have to go back to work in New York, so we looked for something between big city and island beach. We had never heard about Wilmington at all but years ago – before we moved to St. Thomas – my husband worked for a company called EUE Screen Gems in New York. And when we heard from EUE Screen Gems that they had a position, we looked here and we thought we'd like it. Then my mother came down from New Jersey to check it out for me to see if I'd like it – we were still in St. Thomas--and she fell in love with it and she bought a place here. Then we moved here, lived with her for two years and we bought a place a month ago and we are completely in love with it. It's got the great education, the cool city vibe downtown, the artsy scene that's SoHo-ish. How did you go about choosing where to live? God bless Buddy Blake and his team. Because this search literally took 4 years. There were 2 years where the team sent us information and I was online almost every day looking at houses and then two years while I lived here with my mom, looking at houses in person. I looked from one corner all the way to the other corner of the Wilmington area. I must have gone to probably about 900 houses. I'm not exaggerating. I was thrilled when I found this house here in Hampstead. I loved the Topsail school district. It's known as a good school district. What other areas were you drawn to? I investigated Carolina Beach because we loved the whole ability to have water access and the beachy things. We looked everywhere. I decided Leland wasn't it for me; I prefer the Intracoastal to the river. But I think we were ultimately between Carolina Beach and Hampstead. We did fall in love briefly with a house in Georgetown as well, If you had it to do over again, where would you live? Absolutely, yes. I |
But – but and but and but and but: both knew that each did know, knew that they were sharing an illusion, the illusion of being married, not how it happened but that it did happen; but he's not telling her even now, now not wanting to cripple this illusion, their married one, just wanting to move on; but as she asks the question, she knows the answer, that he had scored and yelled, Game over!...his own illusion, she'll grant him that; for her own self, she smiles wordlessly, saying, I kept telling you there was no Game! But Friday is a | But – but and but and but and but: both knew that each did know, knew that they were sharing an illusion, the illusion of being married, not how it happened but that it did happen; but he's not telling her even now, now not wanting to cripple this illusion, their married one, just wanting to move on; but as she asks the question, she knows the answer, that he had scored and yelled, Game over!...his own illusion, she'll grant him that; for her own self, she smiles wordlessly, saying, I kept telling you there was no Game! But Friday is a Game, not athletic, not gambling, not like that, back, again, to illusion. It is her game of no-game. I'm not me, I'm this other person. Isn't that how it always goes? Meeting and then fooling around, playing the game, trying to get the other to see you in a different light, a special way, like no one else? And when this happens, you become friends, special friends, boy and girl; then, steadies; then fiancés; better, engaged, now that lets the cat out of the bag: engaged; so if you're engaged, linked, clipped together, what then can be the illusion marrying conjures? Back then, it didn't have to be asked. Questions weren't really helpful. There was just one illusion after another, and you participating like a hapless member of the audience. Look at it this way, as they say, How many five year olds still wet their pants? I mean, How many twenty-five year olds – give or take some years – haven't been married? Get it? It just happens. You don't do the trick, it's played on you. Friday ends the work week because it just does; that's it, no illusion! When they got engaged, they jointly watched one illusion fade as another took hold. Their "single friends" faded. As if, they grinned, there ever was such a thing as "the single life." It has always been – will always be – "one seeking one," not a life lived alone, but a life lived with the presence of that one who is not here yet! Single folk live with an illusionary mate. The novel one that began to take hold is that they continued the single life; not that this burst in with bugles and all that, it took time: that as a couple they were in search of another mated couple; their coupled illusion. She had complained, "We never go out anymore!" and he griped, "The kids control our lives!" meaning that there was something inside them, now the _singular we: _ married people saying we with the same energy that an unmarried person says, I'm single; both meaning that there is an illusionary mate they have with them but yet not. True, married sex went for them the same predictable way unmarried sex goes. A Friday comes, but now it is, Can we get a babysitter? Should we leave them with grandma? My sister, she cancelled! Things like that. It is sex as the goal, again, but this time it's sex wanting the familiar illusion of unmarried Fridays. He wants to feel that he can seduce her. She wants to be seduced. So does their married sex go. Under this illusion. When did it change? How did Friday become Friday as it is now? (Forget for a moment that this one is an illusion, too.) They had gotten their married week in order just as each had done when unmarried. Monday was surrender to the work-week and Tuesday was a numb and forget everything but work often was Wednesday if not just simply forgotten a blank space in one's book of recall then Thursday was irritating awakening a bit the scent of Friday in the air and then Friday this time for celebrating: the first Friday was a movie the second dinner the third dancing, usually in a bar the fourth obligations at a party of friends etc.; not that they always came this sequentially but that they were there, and as a texture of illusion they held. As long as they had Fridays, as long as they were celebrating, they felt that they were really married. What is the Erotic principle Friday unveiled? She thought, at first, that it was Temptation. In reality, so did he. That at these meetings what they did together: as couple, as we, was ward off temptation. The Temptation to infidelity, to divorce; she was with him so that he could quickly pierce the illusion that he was single again; when he looked at a woman, her whole body spoke, even if she wasn't looking at him, ever from another room, "No!"... he was like that with her: a bit differently, he liked to dangle her as Temptation, like to see her all dolled up and looking good and knowing that there were just lots of lonely bastards and a lot more of really fucked up married losers who would go home that night and beat-off thinking about her, it was some of this which he liked, a special type of male celebrating. But that wasn't it. It was a special married moment. When they began to find couples with whom they could celebrate. Celebrate as couples. Share daily stories and events. Weave in and out of weekday time: a lunch-break at the gym; time together goofing the Web; volunteer teams at the various local schools their kids attended; then, moving in time to emotional bonding: feeling like family, adoptive parents of the other's kids, things like that; giving rides, but as expected, like you were their kids' dad or mom, like that. It happened: like waking up, breaking into that first moment of aware consciousness as a kid, realizing that you are simultaneously me and them: a we; can't ever not be! Can never exist, have existed, will exist without or outside or apart from them: coming to know you have "My father's eyes," "My sister's smarts," "Auntie's temper!" The first startle of immortality scented with mortality. Celebrating as being celebrated: never again a singular illusion: familial. There Erotic principle of procreation, even grasped symbolically, even mystically – but not just that. Now, for decades, the mingling, the conversing, the embracing, the kissing of "our larger family," kidded as "one Big Family!" at BBQs and festive occasions, holidays. Then, another moment of awakened consciousness. There were several such couples. Growing slowly to five. A group of ten. At one juncture, a playful insight: The Hand, we're like a hand. Two hands actually, five males, five females. Together, yet separate. This was the start of the imagination of another type of celebrating. As unmarried Friday celebrating was with the illusionary mate not yet there, so was married Friday, until another illusion set in, that of The Hand. He watches another's wife. There is the yearning. There is the hard cock. There is the goosebump riddling so familiar to the thief on the prowl. Yet, it is not that. Not steal so as to secret away, but to have so as to pry open the deeper secrets of his own mate. For all in The Hand had become "close," in those ways peculiar to each, one more intellectual than the others, one more artistic, one more innocent, yet, it grew into its own balancing act, not like a seesaw but like the ocean with so many waves, some crashing the beach as others are riptide, yet others, small eddies and whirlpools...it began, as it seemed proper when it was examined as to its development, it began with two and two. The familiar discussion, now discussed in details for several years, about, What do you two like about each other? and going down that question to others, discovering, exposing who one is and who one is in the other's eye and then asking the other couple, and now being four-eyed!...such that the shes are knowing each other directly and then indirectly as the hes are so knowing; in this motion, the prestidigitation of the illusionary Hand waving was without mark or conscious note, not a boundary which can be recalled...he knew that he wanted to find her, so he took the sister aside and said it straight out, I want to be intimate with you, and it did make her blush and it did turn her on but it also caused her to pause for she and her man had discussed this, Really, we did, he so wants to know your wife, and I do too, and you know...but what are the words and the reasoning and the syllogisms required here? For it is like unto the unmarried mating: two grasp hands and quietly float up the stairs to the magical bed of enchantment and illusion. Inside her and his coupled mind are a thousand words crashing, pushing to the head of the line, juxtaposing into simile and metaphor, erasing themselves as they form...for this is an illusion of uncharacteristic potency, she realizing that there could never be the thought of children, a biological impossibility now, for her and her sister, and for him, then, what; he here, her husband there?...all they had ever had was the imagination of children, of pregnancy, of procreation: the ready answer to, Why marry? but now it is, Why couple? yes, Why are we together? for what we have created, our family, the kids, the answer we have formed together is not all, not the full answer: this evident from years as The Hand: especially as one ages, they laugh, We're all beginning to look alike. Yeah, just like little babies look so much alike! Ha....it is for that discovery of what is not even anticipated as discovery, so poignant when he first realized that she: "It's you! You're the one." Meaning he was "you" to her, that one; the one which makes you, you and me, me and that elusive we. It's the "we," which is the rub; the conjuration here. As peculiarly as they once were I when unmarried – a peculiarity only peculiarly grasped once deeply married – |
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