Christi was decked out in her heels and best dress – the marine blue one that went well with her flaxen hair and blue eyes. Her hair was up and set to stay and she had on the gold necklace her Grandma had given her as a child. It was always a favorite of Christi’s.  Fredrick whistled at her when she went to his place to get the pass for the evening. “Why Ms. Connelly, you do a middle aged man’s heart good.”

“Uh, thanks”. She smiled to receive the compliment and was actually speechless for a comeback, so after the feeble attempt, Christi just chose to pose. Fredrick quietly clapped his hand by his left cheek and nodded approvingly. His toupee needed to be adjusted and Christi couldn’t resist helping before she turned to the business at hand.

A string quartette played in the corner of the main floor. Its song climbed the atrium to the skylight three flights up. Champagne and hors d’oeuvre were being served to the guests on all four levels. An ice sculpture stood in the middle of the main floor at the bottom of the stairs where Christi stood looking down on the festivities.  The sculpture depicted the Jewish tradition of Abraham sacrificing Isaac on the altar. Three streams of water shot steadily over it and fog from a bush next to the bronze basin that held the ice sculpture sent a cloud across the entire pit area.

On the mezzanine, where most entered the museum, people chatted and laughed and observed a few of the pieces in the exhibit. The same thing was happening on the third and upper floor, where some of the larger pieces were being exhibited. Christi was able to see all the main floor and mezzanine and part of the third floor as well as part of balcony of the fourth from where she entered. She looked carefully for Vorster.

Taking a glass from a passing tray Christi scanned the area for her prey.  Not seeing a sign of him on the main floor or mezzanine, she walked down the stairs towards the ice sculpture to get a better view at the upper levels. She could see the other side of the third floor, but because she was lower, the angle was too great to see the entire level.

Since she couldn’t spot Vorster, she knew she would need to do this floor by floor. I better not miss him. So she nonchalantly strolled back up the stairs to make conversation with the guests as she continued her ascent to the third level.

She recognized some faces on the third level. The mayor was present with her entourage. She was probably at the most viewable spot in the building. Christi saw her as soon as she turned to go up from the main floor. Maybe Fredrick will want to know what she wore. She made a mental note. After casually observing the people on the third level and glancing at some rather disgusting art depictions, Christi concluded if Andros was there, he must be on the upper level.

Offhandedly observing the patrons from the third floor, she caught sight of Shultz on the upper level walking with determination towards the staircase on the far side of the room. He was looking from where he came and bumped into a couple too busy discussing part of the exhibit. Brushing them aside he continued his march towards the staircase. Following the line of sight Shultz was coming from, Christi saw Vorster was charming one of the older female patrons of the museum. She was laughing, head back with her left hand on Vorster’s left arm and her right hand holding a glass. He was being his charmingly smug self.

The elevator was behind her. So Christi decided to avoid the chance of being intercepted by Shultz on the stairs and opted for the ride up to the top level.

The elevator doors opened on the fourth level and she stepped out to one of the most graphic displays of human suffering she would have conceivably dreamed. It was a part abstract, part realism depiction of a huge number of hearts being ripped from their bodies. The caption read 20,000 Hearts and had a 1521 quote from Benernal Diaz.  Christi didn’t bother to read what from the Cortez survivor wrote. The picture captivated her in horror.

She couldn’t pull herself immediately away. In the distance the bodies were being cannibalized in gruesome detail. In the foreground, men with evil masks pushed their hands into the chests of their human sacrifices, the flesh and blood oozing through their fingers. The eyes on the mask seem to follow her as she moved her head as if they were lusting after her to be one of the thousands victimized in the name of religion.

Christi covered her mouth with her hand. The realism was disgustingly palpable. But it was more than that. She sensed the presence of another here. It was female. It was evil.  She sensed it was akin to the same evil she fought in her dream. Are you losing it Connelly? It was just a dream.

But the wickedness was real and it had a personality. It held her in its grasp. It wanted her destroyed. It wanted her killed horrifically. It wanted to feed on her fear. It held her there, captivated in the grotesqueness. She wanted to pull away, but it held her and instead of releasing her, the evil moved her along the balcony.  After a few steps she managed to break from the gaze of the image and she turned and saw the force was escorting her towards the smiling Vorster.

Excusing himself from his companion he graciously addressed Christi. “Why Ms. Connelly, a pleasure to see you again so soon. Do they have you investigating the City’s social scene now?”

As soon as she saw Vorster’s smile, the sense of malevolence abated. She quickly shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “No such luck Mr. Vorster. I’m still investigating you.” Christi said with a slight grin, trying desperately to regain her composure after her reaction to the picture.

“How do you like the exhibit?” he asked, pointing to some nearer displays. “Do you think your readers will find it enlightening?”

“Some will no doubt. I hope no children see some of the displays.”

“I’m sure they see worse in their video games”

“I haven’t heard if Aztec Bloodletting has hit the market yet.”

“Given enough time…”

“Listen Andros,” she cut him off “I’m not here for chit-chat. I do have another question to ask you.” Moving towards him, she steered him away from the crowd, towards the wall.

“I am sure I can be of no assistance,” he said plainly but still not pulling away.

She looked him in the eyes. “What do you know about ‘Soul Seers’?

His lips pursed. His back straightened and he looked down on her with all his attention. It was like he was measuring her up, looking past her, somehow seeing straight through her. His eyes pierced her. There was a movement of light that flashed around them and all motion in the room stopped.

Christi sensed no one else was moving. She didn’t dare move her eyes to check. No, she couldn’t move her eyes to check! Christi could feel the beating of her heart. She sensed the growing beat of his heart. As it grew louder, her breathing became faster and shorter. She knew she was panicking, but could do nothing to stop it. She could not look away to break off his stare.

She felt naked, embarrassed, like she really didn’t deserve to ask such a question. She tried, but couldn’t look away. It was like her reaction to the picture a few minutes ago. Yet it was more real than any picture. The world stopped moving. Her breathing quickened more. They were in a place that was nameless to Christi.  How long they remained there she could not establish – it seemed outside of time.

But while they remained in this timeless place, Christi had no doubt she existed because Vorster willed it so. Never had she felt so dependent on someone else. It wasn’t right, but she felt if she broke the gaze, if she was able to look away and she broke the gaze, it would be over for her. She needed him and he was toying with her – like a cat with a mouse.

She knew he wanted to release his rage at her, yet she sensed he hesitated. Why? What was stopping him? She knew he wanted to silence her; no he definitely wanted to hurt her. But he wouldn’t, no he couldn’t. Something was holding him back even though he tried desperately to portray himself as the one permitting her every breath.

“Why do you search out things too lofty for you to comprehend?” The voice wasn’t Vorster’s. It was female and dismissive and came from far behind her.  She wanted to turn around, to see who it was, but Vorster held her in his gaze.

In her peripheral vision, Christi could see that they were in a tunnel-like luminance of swirling red that spun around them. It was as if Christi was weightless in that her feet were not supporting her body. Yet there was such pressure against her form, as if she was scuba diving deep under water, but deeper than she had ever gone. She could not move her feet to any place of support. Her arms and her head were immobile. Her breathing was quick and shallow; she knew she was hyperventilating. She was surrounded with terror.

She opened her mouth to question her questioner but no words escaped her lips. “Who are you to ask such questions?” The voice was closer and even more intimating. Its sound resounded in her chest, sucking away what breath remained. She knew it wanted to destroy her even more than Vorster. Is this why Vorster was holding back his anger?

“You are a fool who will pay for her folly.” The voice was immediately behind her right ear. Christi felt the breath of her female assailant on her cheek. Her whole body shook with the enunciation of the syllables. Still she could not move. She could not run. She could not respond. That voice… it was as if it came from the painting. It was as if it inhabited the essence of the piece. It fed on the terror it produced and Christi knew it was feeding right now on her terror. It wanted to strike her. It wanted to knock her down. It wanted to devour her. But it didn’t. No, it couldn’t.

It grew angrier and screamed. The high-pitched squeal pierced her eardrums.  Christi could feel its fiery breath push her hair forward. The smell was overpowering. It was the smell from the Kicking Horse. Is it the smell of death? She knew it could not do what it desired to do. She knew it could never admit to being stopped. Still Christi could not respond, as she stood motionless against the murderous cries of this unseen beast behind her.

Suddenly a set of hands grabbed each arm and the room stepped back into real time. A security guard was on each side and Andros directed them: “Gentlemen please escort Ms. Connelly quietly to her vehicle.”

She didn’t want to protest. She’d rather be anywhere than next to this man right now. She’d go quietly. No need to make a scene.

Before they took the first step, he noticed the necklace she wore and put a finger on it. “You’ve received this from your grandmother,” he stated.

She nodded in agreement. As she brushed his hand away she held the pendant between her thumb and index finger.

He motioned the security men to proceed. But after they took a few steps he called out to her. “Your grandmother could answer your question more adeptly than I.”

She looked back and then down at the pendant held by her fingers as the guards continued their march towards the stairs, with Christi Connelly, the name that brought fear in to deadbeat posers across the city, strangely quiet in tow.

© admin for Trevor Lund, 2010. | Permalink | No comment | Trevor H. Lund is a Christian Speaker, Author and Lead Dreamer for Expectancy Ministries. He imparts hope and empowers destiny with creative communication, memorable motivation and applicable inspiration. Add to del.icio.us
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Entering her apartment, she put her things on the counter, disconnected the recorder from the mike line and removed it from its hidden compartment. She scrolled down the time index on the recorder to its most recent entry and clicked on 8:49 AM.

The wooden door creaked open and then her footsteps, a shuffling of a bar stool and then her greeting Percy with the order “Just ice water, thanks”. A few bumps when the water came, then the stool chair squeaking on the hardwood floor and her faint foot steps again as she moved to the booth nearer to the couple. Then her voice in a gasp, then some chairs move and footsteps to the door, the wooden door creaking in the distance, fast movement, the kitchen door swinging open and her conversation with Percy.

“No! What happened?” she couldn’t sleep before she found some satisfaction. Was she too far away to record the conversation? No, she heard it fine; the mike could pick up people whispering across a room. Did the recorder malfunction? Maybe it really didn’t happen at all? She needed to know.

She went to her desktop and turned on the screen. Connecting the recorder to the fire wire cable, she downloaded its contents to the hard drive.  She opened up the software and imported the file and viewed it in the timeline. There it was – twenty-six minutes between activations. The recorder was in voice-activated mode. It would record only what it “heard”. Why didn’t it hear what I heard? At least she knew there was twenty-six minutes between her walking over to the booth and her talking with Percy. Did she fall asleep and dream it? No, she wasn’t ready to believe it, not with the smell and not with the note.

Still, to be absolutely sure, she made a quick call to Percy and asked if he noticed her sleeping for twenty-six minutes when she was there. “Not at all Christi, it’s now that you need sleep.” She didn’t argue and promised she would take his advice. The mystery still remained.

She retrieved the napkin from her bag and held it up. Soul Seers stared back at her as clear as the first message did. The “S’s” were the same as she remembered from the Secret Society message. But maybe the message would be gone after a good sleep. There was nothing more to do. Derek may need a day to get back to her about the lack of identity for Mr. X and she needed to be objective, especially if someone wanted her to screw up big time. So sleep it was.

She turned off her cell phone and muted her pager, eliminated the ring on the phone and turned down the volume on the answering machine, shut off the speakers and computer monitor, set the alarm for 2:00 PM and fell exhausted on her unmade bed.

***

The darkness almost completely surrounded her as she struggled towards the door that emitted a small light that pierced and illuminated along its beam. Sand was surrounding her feet and every step pulled her deeper into its clutch.  Water came up and passed her waist, and the effect of it all slowed her every movement. She struggled against the forces that pushed against her.

Panic gripped her as her heart responded to the understanding that came to her unconscious mind. She knew she had to push through. She knew that if the water covered her or the sand succeeded in halting her progression, the end would come. So she pressed on towards the light.

The face of Mr. X swirled around a vortex to her left, laughing hideously as he taunted her efforts to advance. She wanted to scream defiantly at it, but when she opened her mouth no sound came from her and a wave crashed over her, filling her lungs with salty liquid. Coughing as the wave fell away and wiping the residue from her face, the same pungent odor from the Kicking Horse entered her nostrils.

She was in a dark ocean, it wasn’t just night – it was dark. It wasn’t the sand or the water she was fighting. She became aware that it was against the darkness she railed. If the darkness engulfed her, all would be lost. She was desperately trying to reach the door that was suspended in space, above the crashing surf. Her feet sank further into the sand with every step. The waves crashed violently over her and the undertow that followed beaconed towards the growing vortex of swirling light around which the repugnant avatar continuously cackled.

Every breath was a gasp. Her muscles screamed with every movement, wanting to give in to the forces at work against her. But she knew she must resist and willed her progression towards the door that began to close. She could not, she would not, give in.

Another enormous wave crashed over her. It was no act of nature. The wave had a will of its own – to crush the very life out of her. She could hear its laughter joining in the cacophony with the bodiless Mr. X.

Now off balance, the undertow made her knees collapse and she still struggled. With her knees stuck and sinking in the sand she threw the right side of her body forward, then the left.  After another exertion to advance the right side she braced, intuitively awaiting the crashing of the next wave. When it hit her she felt it was multiply the pleasure it experienced with all the waves that proceeded.

Spitting and coughing up the liquid from her lungs and in utter desperation her right hand shot up and caught the bottom of the door and suddenly, as the first part of her finger hit the beam of light, all was calm. Her heart began to settle down.  After a few deep inhalations her breathing returned to normal. She was disorientated, but knew she knew where she was.

Sun broke through a window and dust particles danced in its beam that landed on an area rug at the foot of a bed. A well-used set of drawers was angled in the corner next to the window. The upper part of the window was opened and screened and a slight breeze that played with the leaves of the tree outside the window also slightly moved the floral printed windows coverings pulled to each side. The bed was big and looked comfortable. An old rod iron headboard and footboard framed a beautiful quilt that looked very much like the work of someone she should recognize.

The floor behind her squeaked a familiar squeak. She turned and saw in the open doorway her grandma in a housecoat, removing a lighted cigarette from her lips. “You’re safe here baby-child,” she exhaled the smoke “Grandma’s looking out for you.”

And then she was alone. Alone in the room she spent her summers growing up in.  And she knew she was safe, that there was nothing more to fear. She was tired and curled up under the quilt as she had so often in her days of innocence.  Pulling the quilt up she saw the designs again. The underside of the quilt held beautifully intricate circles within circles. Holding the quilt up she could see the bigger circles the smaller circles formed. But she knew if she could see the complete quilt it would reveal a beautiful tapestry of something far more intricate than she could recall.

The bed surrounded her as she sank in safety. Eyes heavy and with the freshness of the country air mixed with the familiarity of her room in the attic, she dreamt about sleeping.

***

Christi awoke in her apartment extremely well rested. Her clothes and the bed were soaked in sweat. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was 1:00 PM. Good she could have a longer shower. The dream was real and still was vivid – up until the part she fell asleep. She didn’t usually remember her dreams. Most nights she slept fast and hard. But on occasion she had dreams that she knew meant something more than a brain processing the day’s information. When she had ones like this last one, they usually led to something. Maybe she should go visit her Grandma soon.

After the shower she made a quick call to egg on Derek. But he had already cracked the government database and could find no evidence for any missing data. Nothing was fragmented and nothing has been written over.

“It’s neat, clean and very professional. No sign of tampering.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I’d say his profile was never in the database. If something is erased it’s retrievable to the seventh write over. Even with the precautions government and industry take, I’m able to find something, if it was ever there. But in this case, there’s nothing. Either they never put his profile into the database, or he doesn’t exist. I’ll let you choose what’s more reasonable.”

“Since I have a picture of him I’ll need to lean to administration incompetence. Thanks Derek, you’re the best. Looks like I wasted a stakeout. I’ll need to try other avenues.”

She remembered she needed to back up the voice recorder and reset it because the last time used up most its memory. Scrolling through the files she deleted ones she knew she had saved and the ones she knew weren’t worth keeping. She stopped at the interview with the squatter who ended up floating in the river. What was it he said about the other ones’ confrontation with Shultz? Something reminded her to listen to it again.

“And whens I went to get my tings I saw Whitey walks towards  d’one width a scar. Deyz went around d’corner. Weze all heard Whitey say ‘Youze tells da Master we knows about Project Avar Delta’ I don’t know nothin bout no project, buts that’s what Whitey he said.”

“He said ‘Master’?”

“I’m telling yous dats what he says. But den wind comes from round the corna den a blue light den a red flash, den Whitey hesa gone. Only de one width de scar comes walking round d’corna.”

After what she saw at the Kicking Horse, she wasn’t so quick to dismiss it as a delusion… unless of course she was delusional as well. Her sub-conscious could have remembered this account and had her dream it at the bar.  No, Percy said I didn’t fall asleep. And there are twenty-six minutes of time not recorded. And I still have the message on the napkin, right? Looking at it another time she saw it still bore its last inscription. It couldn’t be the work of an overworked imagination. Could it?

If the squatter described an event with the lackey of Andros Vorster similar to one she witnessed, maybe she should have another conversation with the land developer to find out what he knows about Soul Seers.

She went online and did a quick search on the afternoon edition for Andros Vorster. What luck! Mr. Vorster will be presenting a check tonight from the Vorster Foundation to the museum to help fund The Path of Appeasement -an exhibit chronicling the history of human sacrifice.

Christi saw her reflection in the monitor as she turned it off; a devious smile was on her face. Two nights in a row, Andros may think I have a thing for him.

© admin for Trevor Lund, 2010. | Permalink | No comment | Trevor H. Lund is a Christian Speaker, Author and Lead Dreamer for Expectancy Ministries. He imparts hope and empowers destiny with creative communication, memorable motivation and applicable inspiration. Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: Christian Speaker, christian writer, Freelance Business Writer, ghostwriter, Shadow, Soul, Soul Seers, trevor h lund

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As Christi escorted Derek out the front door, her beeper rang. It was one of her best informants. She said good-bye to Derek and called Percy Monroe at the Kicking Horse – the watering hole for politicians and business shakers.

“ A little early for serving isn’t it Perce?”

“We serve breakfast, now wisenheimer. You’d know that if you’d come visit once in a while.”

“Is now a good time to visit?”

“It is if you have money to tip.”

“I’m on my way.”

Christi ran up and got her bag with everything she would need. Hidden camera and digital voice recorder, pen, paper – she threw in most of her “tip” money and set out the door. Percy was always a good source. He wants things kept silent because he wants to keep his clientele. But that doesn’t mean he likes the ones he serves.

She knows to drop everything when he calls, because it’s almost always worth the trip. Percy has owned the bar for over 40 years. He saw businesses rise and fall and politicians rise and fall faster. He has a nose for news and has, for a few dollars and generous patronage, given Christi some of her best leads over the years.

She knew Percy wasn’t so interested in the tip money; he got a thrill seeing his leads pan out to headline grabbing stories. She’d show up at the Kicking Horse the day a story he gave her a lead on would break and he’d give her a wink and a cup of the good coffee, her poison of choice.

Christi met Percy after a grueling week of testing that Stanley had put her through. She remembered ordering a coffee before the evening rush and sitting at the bar with her head buried in her arms out of exhaustion. Percy struck up a conversation and Christi soon let him know of her aspirations to be a good reporter and that the week was a particularly difficult one. Because the place wasn’t very busy yet, he took the time to listen to her journeyman woes of being stuck with all the fluff pieces and then encouraged her to “stick it out, there’s always a story worth writing in a town like this.”

A few minutes later a gentleman walked in and sat at the far end of the bar. Percy passed her a napkin with a note written on it: “There’s your next story”. He nodded his head towards to new arrival. A little while later Christi approached the man and found out he was an accountant for one of the big publicly traded companies in town. In no time he was talking about the terrible accounting standards the company was using, how someone was sure to find out and how many heads would roll at the revelation. Christi asked if she could quote him and he had just enough drinks to agree. After convincing Stanley with enough secondary sources that it was a true story, it was her first scoop.

No one knew that Percy was the one who pointed her to the source of this and quite a few other stories and he liked it that way. Christi enjoyed the game he liked to play as well, it was so cloak and dagger and he hardly ever came up with a dry lead.

It was a short walk from the paper to the Kicking Horse but Christi decided to drive. Maybe she’ll just head home for a nap after this little excursion.

She sat at the bar and Percy nodded slightly at a couple sitting at one of the tables. They looked ordinary enough. Both were attractive, but nothing special. Probably in their late forties or early fifties, they were both dressed casually and clean, like professionals on recreational time.

She had on a blouse; he was wearing a polo shirt. They looked as if they were relatives – similar noses and eyes, her hair was lighter, but their mouths looked similar. They looked pleasant enough eating their breakfast and talking casually with each other.

Christi caught Percy’s eye and gave him a “what’s up” shrug. Percy came over with her ice water.  On the napkin he placed under her glass he had written the words “Secret Society”.

Her eyebrows lowered and she used the napkin to pretend to wipe her mouth and then slipped it in her handbag. He can’t be serious. But she trusted him, so she picked up her ice water and moved to the other side of the room, to the booth next to the corner window. This gave her a less obstructive view of the couple and a more casual way to observe them.

They were perfectly content, enjoying the food and each other’s company. He even nodded a hello to Christi as she passed by him on the way to the table. She could see no visible tattoos or necklaces or rings that would suggest secret society. But granted, they both had on necklaces that hung below their shirts. They’re not the type for secret societies anyway, are they? How would she know? It’s not like I’ve been invited to join one. Maybe Percy missed this one. She would finish her water and then head home for a nap.

While she was finishing up her last swallow an anarchic looking young man burst through the door and headed for the empty chair at their table. He appeared to be in his early twenties, most likely an addict who spent the last few weeks in the same clothes. The collar on his jean jacket was twisted; one arm was up revealing a dark tattoo on his forearm. Christi couldn’t make out the symbol. His jeans were visibly layered in splotches of filth.  He had a smell about him that Christi recognized but couldn’t place. It wasn’t the stench of the street. It was unnaturally pungent, almost like decaying flesh. Where do I know that smell?

The few patrons in the bar stopped to watch the proceedings. The businessman in the corner peered out from behind the financial section. The two from the other side of the bar stopped their conversation and looked on. Even the man passed out at the bar sat up to see what was happening. Christi still had a now empty glass in her hands. She set it down to watch what was happening.

Percy came out from behind the bar and authoritatively asked the young man if he could help him but the man at the table motioned a hand to stop. Percy nodded his head and backed off. Everyone but Christi tried to look as if they went back to what they were doing. But she could see everyone else continued a passing interest.

What was that smell? It was a deep memory triggered in Christi. What was it?

“You can’t be here.” The young man challenged the couple “You have no right, you have no reason.”

“You know we have the right” the man responded in quiet confidence, placing the napkin on his plate, “and our reasons are not for you to know.”

“I will not allow it,” the young man said, slapping his palm onto the table. Everyone was pretending not to look but all glanced towards the noise.

A smile came to the women’s lips. “As if you have the choice,” she chided.

“Now is not the time. You have no right to impose your will.” The younger one stood to his feet as he spat out the words.

“But the time is now and we will impose our will,” said the man calmly. With that the two closed their eyes and started speaking in some unintelligible language.

A blue light and some kind of force emanated from where they sat. The young man leaned forward and pushed out with his arms to resist the assault, and as he did, red light came from his hands. But the blue light that came from the side where the two were sitting circled and snuffed out the red light. When it did so, the druggie was picked off the chair and floated seven feet off the ground above the table.  He screamed as his arms and legs flailed looking for something to grasp, desperate for some way to escape.

The smell was overwhelming. There was a flash of white light that blinded Christi. She looked away and closed her eyes as well as her open mouth. Immediately the wind like force abated as the flash of white light retreated. As Christi turned to look, she saw the young man was gone.

Christi blinked as her eyes grew accustomed once more to her surroundings. She looked around the room. The druggie was gone. The businessman was still reading his paper. The two on the far side of the bar were still in conversation. The one was still passed out at the bar and Percy was nonchalantly cleaning glasses at his station behind the bar.

Christi was too stunned to move as she watched the couple at the table casually finish the last bites of their meals, leave a healthy tip and walk out the door. On the way out the woman caught Christi’s eye and smiled a nod to her. Christi realized she was sitting with her mouth gaping.

In a few moments she shook her head and ran for the bar, grabbed Percy’s arm and pulled him to the back room. “What just happened?”

“What do you mean?” His one palm faced the ceiling.

“Who were those people?” She pointed back towards the lounge.

“Which ones?” He pushed open the door and looked out.

She pulled him back into the kitchen. “The couple that just left!”

“I don’t know. They came in, told me to give you a call, asked me to give you the napkin and sat down for breakfast. When did they leave?”

“You didn’t see what happened?”

“It’s been a pretty slow morning.”

“You didn’t hear them talk? You didn’t see the light? You didn’t smell that stench?”

“I guess I didn’t. Have you slept yet today?”

“Not yet. Did you see what happened to the young guy with the awful smell?”

“What young guy?”

She paused in stunned silence. “You don’t remember approaching that awful smelling 20-something druggie looking as if you were going to throw him out?”

“Christi, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I do need a good sleep.” As her eyes wondered over the tiles in the kitchen floor she thought I know I’ve smelled that smell before.

She turned to leave but her mind cleared enough to ask another question, “So you weren’t the one who wrote on the napkin?”

“There was something written on the napkin?” there was a puzzled look on his face.

“This napkin you gave me has the words ‘Secret Society’ written quite plainly on it,” she said, pulling the napkin out of her handbag. Opening it up for Percy to read she saw the same penmanship but the words were different. She flipped it over. The other side was blank. She handed it to Percy and looked in her bag for another napkin.

Percy tilted his head to the right and scratched it. “Is that the right napkin?”

“It’s the only one I’ve got” Christi said still looking into her bag.

“Well that one’s blank.”

“There’s writing on this side,” she said handing it to him as she continued to search the bag.

Percy held it up to the light, flipped it over and around and declared “Christi, there is nothing on this napkin.”

She stopped her frantic search. Took the napkin from Percy, turned the writing to face him and held it up for him to read. “You don’t see that?”

“It’s a napkin with the Kicking Horse crest, a water mark where a glass was sitting.”

“So you don’t see these words?” she held it in her palm and indicated where they were with a finger from her opposite hand.

“There’s really nothing there Christi… How long have you been without sleep?”

Christi shivered as she turned the napkin to read it again. In the exact spot where the words Secret Society had been, in the exact handwriting – which admittedly wasn’t Percy’s – the new words remained in plain view of her sight: “Soul Seers”.

No point to argue with Percy.  She knew him well enough to know he honestly didn’t see the writing. He wasn’t playing her. He’d never try to confuse her like this. Somehow he didn’t remember what took place and can’t read what is in plain sight… or else maybe she has been working too hard… or maybe this was part of the plan to get her to self inflict harm. No, Percy would never be a party to that… or would he? She couldn’t start second guessing her instincts now.

“Go home to bed. Don’t leave a tip for this one.”  He turned towards the kitchen door.

“But Perce,” she said stepping through the door and folding the napkin to place it back in her bag “this may be the best one yet.”

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Sleep was a good idea, but Christi had to wait until Derek arrived to find out who the mystery man was. She wanted to believe Stanley’s scenario, but until she could determine who Mr. X might be, she wasn’t ready to let the most natural understanding of the recording be put aside. A girl can’t be too careful. She went out for a quick low-cal bagel but she returned with plenty of time to wait for 8:00 to arrive.

She started sorting the files on her desk. Corrupt cop; embezzlement at city hall; potential serial killer; Senator taking payoffs; secret society’s sinister plans; puppies bred for sacrifice… the files read like a bad soap opera. Some were wait-and-see tips from sources proven credible. Others needed to be out soon or someone else will scoop them. A few were finished long before and needed to be filed with a copy of their headlines.

How could I self inflict harm to my career? It would be as easy as jumping too quickly on a story… or consistently waiting too long to file stories. Why would Andros Vorster, through Gregory Shultz, pay Mr. X to force me to self inflict harm? This Project Avar Delta must be something quite significant. It would seem that they wanted her to make more than a mistake; they required her to do irreparable damage. Who do they think they are?

As eight o’clock rolled around she waited at her office door exchanging pleasantries with her co-workers as they arrived. People had been coming in at a hurried rush since 5:45. Different positions had different shifts. Tech support didn’t come in until 8:00 so they could be around later in the afternoon, when more technophobes tended to need more help. But this morning, Christi couldn’t see the logic in it. She needed help NOW! As she waited she tapped out a beat on the frame of her door.

As soon as Derek shot through the front doors, collar up around his ears and glasses fogged up, arms filled with CD’s, toolbox and various wires, Christi stopped mid beat and began her assault from across the room.

“Good morrow Sir Derek!” she waved as she moved with increasing quickness towards him. “How doth the battle proceedeth?”

Derek glanced up and saw the trouble coming so he immediately diverted his gaze back to the carpet and quickened his pace to the tech office hallway off to the right.

“Yoo-hoo Derek! Wait up, I have need of your limitless expertise,” she called, ever quickening her pace to overtake him at the door to the hallway where he was heading for his escape.

“Listen Christi” he pleaded as she caught him placing her arm across his path and hand on the glass door before he could push through.  Lifting up his head, but keeping his eyes to the side he proceeded with his defense. “I can’t do anymore wire taps or hack any more corporate websites from the office.”

“But you can do it from home, no?” she said nodding quickly.

“Technically,” he shrugged “ya.”

“Good to know, it may come in handy. Not what I’m looking for today.” She put her hand on his shoulder and turned their conversation away from the bullpen so they faced the wall. “You set up the Biometric program, right?”

“What did you do?” He finally made eye contact. Those dark rimmed glasses retro-70’s screamed techno-geek.

“I didn’t DO anything.” Both her hands were in the air. “I can’t get the program to work.”

“Did you check the government connection?” His eyebrows lowered.

“Yup. Up and running. It gives me matches if I put my own picture in.” She smiled as she framed her face.

“So what’s the problem?” He faced her more squarely and adjusted the load in his hands.

“I took some pictures last night. I really need to know who the guy is. An error comes up I’ve never seen: ‘No Profile on Record’. It doesn’t even give me partial matches.”

“Is it a good picture?” His shoulders moved slightly away from her as he straightened up.

“Derek, you wound me,” her right hand flopped over her heart as the knuckles of her left hand touched her forehead with her palm facing Derek. “You know my work.”

He shook his head in surrender. “Where did you save it? I’ll take a look.”

“Let’s look at it together.” Her arm caught his elbow in an embrace. “You can come to my office now. Bring your stuff. No sense going to a bunch of desperate emails so soon in the morning.”

She showed him the picture and went to grab them both a coffee. Derek was a good character. A little nerdy, but he didn’t have to be. Christi wasn’t about to tell him. His passion with technology created a safe distance between them. She seemed to like a bit of distance in every relationship. Her passion was reserved for getting the story.

He’d always come through for her. Sure, he’d put a front and yes, she’d manipulate him a little but she trusted him and he was very good at what he did. They came to the Guardian at nearly the same time. One look at him – all shy and withdrawn – and she knew if she could draw him out she’d have an ally to move ahead. To date, the plan worked flawlessly.

When she came back he was shaking his head, hands lifted in desperation from the keyboard. “This is impossible.”

“What is?” She said placing his cup on the desk and moving around to see the screen.

“There are no similarities between this person and anyone else in the data base.” He pointed towards areas on the screen. “You need to expand the range to the point of including a huge portion of the population before you get a possible match.”

“So what does that mean?” She pushed a stray hair back over her ear.

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Either his profile, and everyone like him has been erased somehow from the database or else he doesn’t fit any known profile.”

“I thought every profile in the world was in this database?” She took a drink of coffee.

He scratched his head. “It’s supposed to be.”

“But he looked human enough.” She smiled.

“I’d have to agree.” He said lightly tapping the mouse. “Maybe you should call them to see if they are missing any profiles.”

“You know those government types. It will take weeks for them to get over the offense of someone questioning their competency and then a month to get around to doing anything about it. I really don’t have the time.”

“You never seem…” he paused and lowered his voice as he returned his eyes to the screen, “to have the time.”

“That’s what makes me loveable…” she ignored the moment and quickly went on. “So can you tell if his profile has been erased?”

“It’s a government database.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s still illegal to break into a government database.”

“That’s debatable, and you still didn’t answer my question.”

“I can’t”

“You can”

“I shouldn’t”

“You will” she smiled “Thanks, I really need to know who this guy is.”

“Even if I do get in,” he was whispering, motioning her to come closer to him.  “And even if I can tell something has been erased – there’s a very good chance someone who could get in to erase it would know enough to erase it completely. We’ll probably not find anything. The best I can hope for is to find a block of information missing.”

“Derek, You’re my best shot. I trust you. You’re the best. You did a great job getting me that Andros Enterprises intel.” Her hands on his shoulders, her face was next to his cheek as she continued. “This guy took money to hurt me and it scares me a little that I don’t know who he is. I need to find out very soon.”

She knew she’d hooked him. Derek loved a challenge and loved rescuing the damsel in distress. She’d play the role when it was required.

“I’ll try,” he relented “but I’ll need to do it from home.”

“Thank you Derek, you are a prince.”

“Tonight…”

“Tonight?” She echoed an interruption. “Why tonight? Tonight puts me a day further behind the eight ball. Please, Sir Derek?”

“I’ve got to check my inbox.”

“You can do that from home.”

“But what if someone needs me physically here?”

“Derek, you’re looking a little ill,” She checked his forehead for signs of a fever. “Do you think you should take a sick day?”

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Christi played the sound byte back again and again. With the little bit she had, she thought about every conceivable connotation. The more she listened to it, the more convinced she became that she was a threat about to be silenced. It’s a contract on my life! But it was all so unbelievable.  She needed to talk to the one person she trusted the most.

Stanley Ludlow was almost like a father for Christi. Her own dad died when she was quite young but she imagined Stanley was what a father would be like. He took her under his wing when she came to the paper. Well, not at first.

He was as hard and as gruff on her as he was on any upstart college grad. He gave her the grunt work but she did it well and went above and beyond. He saw the potential in her and encouraged her to trust her intuition on stories.

As soon as Stanley came in at 5:00 Christi went to his office with a copy of the conversation. She had stored a dozen reproductions in various hard drives and web servers. Stanley had taught her to never be too careful. She needed him to give her other ideas than the one she was fixated on. If there was any other conclusion, she needed to consider it before she went off the deep end.

Stanley was sitting at the desk and told her to come in and close the door as he began the conversation. Leaning back in his chair and stroking his beard he asked. “You’ve been pushing Andros Vorster haven’t you?”

“Well I had dinner with him last night, but he was quite polite about it, even if I invited myself.”

“You haven’t borrowed documents from his company?” His eyebrow up, head tilted towards her and hand pointed in her direction while his elbow remained on the desk.

“Well I may have come into contact with some yet-to-be-made-public material, but it was all in the line of duty and as far as I know legal.” As she shook her head her brows went down and her nose scrunched up. “Why does this bother you?”

“Because the owner of this paper” he said, pushing himself back in his chair  “and every paper in the region, making up 45% of all the papers in the country – is on the board of the Vorster Foundation and goes skeet shooting on the weekends with Andros Vorster!”

Leaning forward with her elbows on the arms of the chair, her hands rose up. “What’s happened to freedom of the press?”

Giving her a knock-it-off look Stanley softened “I’m not telling you to stop pursuing a valid story, I am saying be careful how you go about doing it. You know I trust your instincts, but you sometimes tend to be a bull in a china shop. It’s going to get you into trouble that you may not be able to get out of.”

“Understood.” Her head shook in the affirmative.

“Now” Stanley continued. “Do you have anything more than a hunch with Vorster?”

“As a matter of fact…” Christi was about to tell him about the tape.

He cut her off “What do you know about him? Who is this man?”

Christi knew to give Stanley what he wanted before surprising him with the tape. When she needed his agreement or uninterrupted input with something, she would let him say his piece and approach him in a way that made sense to him. In private he admitted to her that she usually got her way. “He showed up innocuously in the city about three years ago and starts doing business.” Christi recited the file from memory. “Basically involved in land development but has his fingers into many different business ventures. Andros Enterprises is a privately held multinational company.  He gave considerable money to some local charities through the Vorster Foundation and has got his name in the paper once in a while.”

“I know all this.”

“He has political connections at the local level and from the public records we know he provides huge contributions to national leaders.”

“But so would any man in his position.”

“True.” Christi admitted. “There’s no record he’s been married or divorced. Too bad, exes are a great source for leads.”

“Don’t I know it?” Stanley was married to the paper and his own marriage suffered because of it. At least they didn’t have kids to complicate things when the inevitable breakup came. His ex moved out of town about a year after Christi started at the paper. She married some rich used car salesmen and was living large in some Midwest town. It just meant he could put longer hours in at the paper.

Christi stopped to smile before continuing “So far there’s no record of his birth and no change of name. He’s obviously from another country, but every time we’ve met socially he’s steered clear of the question and there is nothing in the records to indicate his origins either. He must be from somewhere in Europe, but his accent is almost undeniably local.”

“So he’s private and a quick study.” Stanley yawned then drank some coffee. “Why don’t you like him? Most people seem really taken by him.”

“There’s just something about him that screams ‘poser’.”

“That’s why you hacked his corporation?” Stanley looked at her from beneath his eyebrows. “Christi you’re good, but just because a judge ruled a company is responsible for its own security and hackers aren’t responsible for exploiting flaws in the system doesn’t mean it’s ethical to get information by any means. That ruling will be overturned or the law re-written in the next year.”

“But until then, it’s not illegal.”

“True.” He agreed. “So did you get anything?”

“Just a name that’s not on record with Andros Enterprises – Project Avar Delta. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a building project on the river delta.”

“So why do you link it to Vorster?”

“Someone who mentioned it to his henchman Shultz disappeared and the one who witnessed the exchange and told me about it was found in the river.”

“Was he a credible witness?”

“They were squatters on Vorster’s next project.”

“And he mentioned Shultz by name?”

“He described the scar on his face and Shultz looked guilty last night.”

He ran his hand over his face. “And you think that’s enough to conclude you’ve found something nefarious?”

“There’s more now,” she got his attention to where she wanted it to be. “I need your advice on something.”

“Go on.”

Settling back into the chair she continued. “Well after a delightful dinner with Andros, I trailed Shultz to some warehouses. Someone eventually came to meet him… by the way; do you know what it means when the Biometric reader says ‘No Profile on Record’?

Stanley squinted at her and shrugged.

Christi barely took a breath “No? I’ll wait for Derek to get in… Anyway here’s the conversation as I have it recorded. What do you think they’re saying?”

She played the conversation in full for Stanley. As it played, he leaned his ear to hear and color proceeded to drain from his face. After the snippet had played, Stanley sat stunned. As his eyes looked aimlessly through his window into the bullpen he gathered his thoughts. “You don’t know yet who was talking to Shultz?”

“No, the Biometric reader is on the blink. He’s the unknown in this equation.”

“A Mr. X…” Stanley hummed.

“Exactly what I called him.” Christi agreed.

Stanley accepted her interruption and continued. “Let’s look at this from all possible angles.” He picked up a pencil with his left hand and started writing things down on a pad.

“I’d love to hear another interpretation”

“What could he mean by ‘self inflicted’?” he circled the words on his pad and put a question mark by it.

“Sounds like suicide.” She shifted her weight on the chair.

“At least self-harm.” He said with the end of the pencil in his mouth.

Christi hands emphasized her speech. “But he’s paying him 15% more than the going rate!”

“And he said it had to ‘be self inflicted, not just appear to be self inflicted’” the pencil became a conductor’s baton.  “How in the world is that possible? Does he expect this mystery man to talk you into hurting yourself?”

“That won’t happen.” She shook her head no.

“That’s my point.” The eraser’s end of the pencil pointed at Christi. “Maybe the obvious isn’t the answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Which is easier, to get someone to inflict physical pain on themselves or to get them to destroy their reputation, their career?” His hands were raised on either side, weighing the options.

“I guess given the right deviousness, I could help someone self destruct professionally.”

“Maybe that’s the mystery man’s angle.” His eyebrows rose at the possibility.

“But it sounds like contract for a hit!”

“And you’ve heard how contracts on hits are given?”

“Well, I’ve… seen movies.”

“Listen Christi, it’s not specific enough. If they said, ‘make it look like a suicide’, you’d have something to take to the police. But ‘it needs to be self-inflicted’?” He shrugged his shoulders. “No, it’s got to be character assassination.”

“Wouldn’t his work be limited to politicians?”

“Maybe he’s expanding. Consider it a compliment.” He tore off his doodle paper and shot it like a basketball into the garbage next to the door.

“Gee thanks. I’d rather get a Pulitzer.”

“You just may, but that makes me think – do we have to assume you’re the Ms. Connelly they are talking about?”

“Well the only other one is I know of is my Grandma, but she’s a ways out of town and as far as I know, she hasn’t done much to tick off Mr. Vorster recently. I guess there are others with the same name, but that may be too much of a coincidence to hope for.”

“Ya, you’re right. You’re the only Ms. Connelly I know who anyone would target for character assassination.”

“That’s me. But are you sure it’s self-inflicted character assassination and not something more… um, permanent? One guy is missing and another died. I’ve been thinking this is the closest thing to my first viable death threat. Sure, people have said they’re going to kill me, but when they’ve come after me it’s a spur-of-the-moment passion thing. As far as I know, no one has ever planned my death or been paid for it, especially 15% above the going rate.” She was shifting on her hands that were once again under her thighs.

“I’ve had my fair share of death threats. This is disturbing, but I doubt it is a contract to rub you out. Listen, I was confused when John called me last night to insist that I put pressure on you. You’ve ticked off his buddies on more than one occasion, and he’s only called to get me to congratulate you. Someone has gotten to him and you’re no longer the apple of his eye. You need to tread carefully. It smells like you’re being set up to fall.”

“Point taken.” She sat back against the chair and folded her hands in front of her. “What’s the plan?”

“It doesn’t seem like you have a story yet.”

“Not at this point.” She concurred.

“There’s not much point talking to the police about the recording. It’s too ambiguous and you’d have a little explaining to do. Keep a copy to give out if it becomes needed…”

“I have twelve copies,” she interrupted “seven of which are ready to be published with a note of explanation at my untimely demise. You have the eighth copy. Don’t let them scoop you.”

“Let’s assume it won’t come to that. Be careful. Look for ways you might lose credibility. But don’t let that stop you from doing your job. Follow up on other stories for a while. See if you can’t find out who our mystery man is.”

“Sounds good”

“And get some sleep, you’re looking like an old woman.” He said grinning, motioning her to move towards the door.

Getting up she returned the jest. “I know old woman, and I’m not there yet Grandpa.”

Once the door was closed, Stanley closed the blinds, picked up the phone and dialed a number.

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Christi Connelly held her breath as her heart raced in her chest. She knew her hunch was right, but she guessed wrong the direction and couldn’t get a picture of the man’s face from here. She crouched behind some crates with her camera in hand waiting until she could move to her secondary location. At least her voice recorder was in position she should be able to her what was being said.

Christi knew who was in the car; she needed to know the man who walked past her hiding place with such authority.

Without risking giving her position away, she aimed her camera at the mystery man’s back as he walked past her and continued his advance towards the car that Christi followed to this wharf a number of hours ago. She had chosen the wrong side; she had to get to a better location.

The man had the collar of his trench coat pulled up and a hat to protect from rain and seemed quite anonymous. “We’ll see about that, Mr. X.” Christi muttered under her breath. Quickly and quietly, she maneuvered around the crates, back to the other side of the car. She had traced this route out ahead of time secretly removing the few pieces of debris that would have given her away.

“Spontaneity runs on the rails of preparedness.” She could hear her editor Stanley’s, voice in her head. He’d be pleased at how she planned this one out if she managed to get the story.

It took less than a minute to arrive at her secondary location. She outpaced the new arrival and was ready for him as he was still approaching the car. Aiming the camera she waited for the shot.

“Look this way now” Christi directed under her breathe and as if on cue, the man looked up at the camera. “Got you.” Running this through the biometric scanner will be easy enough when she gets back to The Guardian.

“Who are you?” Christi wondered aloud, her hand shooting up to her mouth as she surprised herself with the volume. Good thing she was far enough away not to be heard by the two men already in conversation. She took a few more shots of the mystery man.

The car was restarted, so it would have easily covered up any slip of the tongue. Why was the car restarted? It must have happened while she was making her way to this position. Just where did they think they were going? Maybe it was just to warm up the vehicle. The cold nights were the one thing Christi did not like about this style of investigative reporting.

She and her lead had been waiting for over four hours for this mystery man to show up. Christi noticed she was shivering in her rain-soaked jacket. Her shoulder length blonde hair was matted by the weather. The conditions didn’t matter now; it was time for the story and she needed to check the voice recorder. If it wasn’t picking up this night could turn out less than stellar.

She got low behind the crates and crept her way up to where she placed the recorder. Coming closer she could hear their voices but the distance was too great and there was too much interference with the noise of the car. The mike was good, but may not be picking up much of the conversation. Great, things were going to get more complicated. Christi had to risk it.  Good thing she prepared for this eventuality as well. It was just a matter of inching towards them as quickly as possible without alerting them to her presence while she kept the recorder within its line of site. No problem.

No time to waste. It had to be done. Christi inched towards them, keeping the mike directed in the general location of the car until she was in a better position along side the vehicle. She was just one row of crates away. Quietly placing the recorder between two crates, at the level of the car window, she rested against the one crate and thought about controlling her breathing as she watched the exchange.

The mystery man was leaning with one hand on the roof talking to Gregory Shultz, the lackey of Andros Vorster. Neither of them noticed her approach.

****

Earlier in the evening, Christi had caught up with Vorster at Le Petite Maison, a restaurant he owned and was known to frequent on Tuesdays. She had information she wanted to see how he would react to, a little fishing expedition. She smelled a story, but so far no hard evidence and a witness she had spoken to had shown up dead at the city morgue.

As she walked up to Vorster’s table in the middle booth, he cordially welcomed her by name and invited her to sit. They had met periodically over the two years he had been in town. Christi never trusted him. He didn’t show surprise or offense at her appearance, but rather seemed quiet pleased at the intrusion.

Perfect. She smiled at the thought. I love being the one who surprises.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” His head tilted to the left as his right hand opened the invitation to sit.  He motioned to his staff for service.

“I suspect this will be more business than pleasure.” Christi responded. As she sat down, the servers that Andros had motioned for, set the place setting in position.

“Well, let us enjoy the meal and the company and then I will answer any questions you have – off the record of course.” he replied with a twinkle in his eye and a practiced smile.

“Always the gentleman” He’s completely off guard. She smiled and accepted the offer. But did I have to bat my eyes at him?

During the meal she led the discussion back to his personal life and business interest. He more adeptly turned the conversation back to her. By the time dessert came Shultz had come into the restaurant and stood beside his boss at the table. He came from the back of the booth and stopped short after seeing Christi at the table. Shifting only his eyes down to his boss Christi willed herself to hold back her delight.

He has something important to discuss with his boss and little old me is in the way. Christi surmised.

As Shultz accepted the grunt of his employer as an invitation, he sat down at the chair beside Vorster. No better time to bring up the squatters. Christi continued to school her face as she began the interrogation.

“Andros are you aware that one of the squatters removed by Mr. Shultz on March 13^th from the property you’re developing on the waterfront is missing?”

“Really Ms. Connelly, how do you confirm that someone with no fixed address is not there?” Vorster was unaffected, as he plunged his fork into his slice of caramel coffee cake. Shultz’ cheeks began to turn red as he played with a dessertspoon at his setting.

“True enough Mr. Vorster,” Christi kept her face straight as she drew the circle smaller. “But it’s easy to know when another one turns up in the river two days later.”

Shultz looked at his boss. Vorster, still eating his dessert, wasn’t disturbed enough to move his eyes to meet Christi’s gaze. “Ms. Connelly, you of all people should know how fleeting life is on the city streets.” He lifted his stare and looked unblinkingly at her.

Christi shivered under his gaze. Something suddenly felt wrong. She felt inadequate. She was unprepared. She shouldn’t be asking these sorts of questions without harder evidence. It was foolish to go fishing when you didn’t know what you are fishing for.

But no, what non-sense is that? She broke the look and fought the thought. This poser isn’t going to get the best of me.

She kept her composure as she went on. “So it’s not because they knew more than they should about Project Avar Delta?”

Shultz sat up, mouth open, eyes darting between Christi and his boss. To Christi’s enjoyment Vorster pulled his shoulders back as well. He drummed his fingers and shot a glance at Shultz who averted his eyes from his employers.

Vorster took a few seconds to regain his composure, and then returned to staring Christi down. “Ms. Connelly, that potentially is a future project of Andros Enterprises. It is not up for public discussion.”

Christi wasn’t about to be intimidated again so soon by this faker. “So why hasn’t it made its way onto any of your company’s long term planning?”

“If that was true,” Vorster broke his stare and took a drink of his wine. With the glass still held at his nose he continued, “there’s no way you could know that unless you acquired information surreptitiously.”

“Let’s call it a hunch” Christi tilted her head as she flashed a half smile.

A thoughtful pause as he wiped his mouth with a napkin led to a knowing smile on Andros’ face.  “Ms. Connelly, what if I were to promise you an exclusive on Project Avar Delta, when the timing is proper of course?”

“For what?” she feigned interest momentarily “What will it cost me?”

He fixed his glare again on her. “For staying out of my private matters in the meantime.”

Christi paused and took a sip of water. “So Avar Delta is a private matter?”

“If it exists, it would be, yes.” Andros folded his napkin and set it beside his plate.

Christi smiled deviously, “So you want me to stop investigating something that may not exist?”

“Exactly” He folded his hands before him, his elbows on the table.

Her smiled broadened. “Now you’ve got me interested.”

“On that thought, I’d like to thank you for the delightful dinner companionship” He was as congenial as ever. It is amazing how quickly he can turn it on. Christi thought.

“But to my shame, business requires that I ask for you to excuse Mr. Shultz and I for the remainder of the evening. I trust your meal and companionship was enjoyable.”

“Mr. Vorster, the pleasure is all mine” Christi got up and left the table. Shultz looked up sheepishly from the tablecloth and rose respectfully as Christi left to linger at the bar.

She stood around long enough to see Vorster whisper something to Shultz, who then left the restaurant as a man on a mission. It was then she had followed the lackey to the warehouse district.  It was a good thing she brought pants and a sweatshirt to change into as they waited for the mystery man to show up. Christi was nothing if not prepared.

***

From this angle she should be able to get more of the conversation and still be fairly well hidden. The recorder was on and pointed in the general direction the few seconds it took for her to creep forward. Hopefully it was picking things up all along. They hadn’t shown any sign they were aware she was there. Her heart beating wildly, Christi was glad she had decided to track Shultz after his quick exit following her exchange with Vorster. As she observed the clandestine meeting from a few feet away, she could hear its conclusion.

“…will cost you more.”

“We’ll pay 10% above your standard fee,” answered Shultz from the car.

“Twenty”

“Fifteen, plus all expenses – with sixty five upfront”

“Acceptable”

Shultz handed the mystery man a bulging envelope through the window and then a file.  The man stuffed the envelope into his inside pocket and straightened up to exit with the file. He was tall, well over six feet with a narrow build that was obvious, even under the raincoat that was tied at his waist. Tucking the file under his arm he turned and left the same way he came. From her position Christi followed his every step with the camera; thankful once again for the silent model she waited and paid extra for.

As the mystery man left, Shultz turned the car around and retreated in the opposite direction. Christi waited a few minutes, and then got up. Quickly and quietly she got to her car and drove straight to the office.

Alone in the office at 4:00 AM, Christi uploaded her pictures to the network.  It was still an hour before the earliest risers would start appearing. The printers were hard at it, but Christi was twelve floors above them. Stanley may be in before 5:00, but he was fairly unpredictable with his early morning schedule, except for that he would be in the office before most everybody else.

Christi liked being alone in this place. There was no one to distract her, no lines for the equipment. The computers were faster. She would get much more accomplished by leaving sleep for another time.

Glancing at her office walls her eyes hardly noticed the framed headlines. Her ten years at The Guardian had seen her advance through the ranks faster than anyone expected, except maybe her… in her dreams. But she worked her butt off making those dreams a reality.

The computer indicated it was going to take another few minutes to upload the pictures. She had snapped quite a few and she always kept it on the maximum resolution.

So instead of waiting behind the screen, Christi went to make some coffee and freshen up.  As she waited for the coffee to brew, Christi made her way to the ladies room. She navigated through the desks and cubicles of the bullpen with only her office lights, the light from the lunchroom at the far end and the exit sign near the doors to the elevator illuminating the way. When she found the door she pushed it open and found greater darkness behind it.

The fluorescent lights flickered as she hit the switch and she blinked as she became accustomed to them. Rubbing one eye and with another yawn she made her way to the sink. As it filled with water she looked at herself in the mirror.

“Finally looking more like thirty two,” she spoke to the reflection, leaning closer to the mirror to take a closer look at the redness in her right eye. She knew full well it was due to the time of day and the wonderful fluorescent lighting that she looked closer to her age.

Christi ran her fingers through her tangled hair and as she looked down, noticed the sink was about to overflow. Turning off the tap and draining a bit of the water, she splashed her face. Oh, that will wake you up! She got her makeup out and started to freshen up. There was no reason to let anyone at the office think her anything but competent.

The coffee was brewed and Christi returned to her office with a cup of black nectar gentled sipped. The pictures had finished uploading. She needed to find out who the mystery man was with Shultz. Ever since 9-11, when security took precedence over personal privacy, her job became a lot easier.  For the past five years, everyone had access to personal information that was common for people to naturally possess – like pictures and names. It made identification so much easier not only for law enforcement, but also for things like investigating deadbeat husbands and other legitimate inquiries – a category newsgathering fell under.

She found the shot that she judged was the best profile and one that looked reasonably straight on and brought them into the biometric program. It correlated specific points on the face, which could prove a match. It usually wasn’t that specific. Normally a few hundred possibilities would emerge. Then it was a matter of cross-referencing credit and debit card accounts to narrow the list. But with no one else using the system, she should have a short list in less than an hour and she’d be at the starting point.

Christi turned to the audio recording and wondered if she could clear up some of the initial conversation. She needed that to make sense of the rest. Someone was paid to do something that deserved a higher rate. Did he work for a competitor? Was he involved with the unions? Because of the location of the meeting, the time of the meeting and the payment of cash, it was obviously something less than honorable which needed to be kept off the books. Hopefully she got something incriminating at the start when she was off trying to get a decent picture. She may be able to get rid of the distortion from the car engine.

She used her laptop to import the sound file to clean it up a bit. There was all kind of interference at the start of the file. One by one she eliminated the obviously deviant wave signals. The ones she wanted were the quieter ones. After a few minutes of playing with it she thought she might be able to clean it up all by herself.

A sound from her terminal indicated the search was completed. “That was fast,” She turned to the screen she saw an unfamiliar error message “No Profile On Record”.

“What now? I don’t have time for this” she ran the pictures through again and watched the search for a few minutes. Again the same message appeared “No Profile On Record”. She checked the network to make sure it was connected to the government database. It was. She selected other pictures and searched again. The same message appeared.

She ran a picture of herself through and quickly had a growing list of women with similar noses and distances between the eyes and length of chins. It seemed to be working perfectly. Why did the “No Profile” message come up so quickly? This was obviously something beyond her expertise. She’ll need to wait for Derek to come in at eight. He was the expert on the system.

She turned her attention back to the laptop and her work at the audio. As she eliminated the interference, the sound of the voices became clearer. She needed to boost the signal, but that was easy enough. It was a little distorted, but she could make out most of the conversation.  Too bad he started the car, but it looks as if I got most of it as I moved it closer.

The conversation had already begun; the part she recovered had Shultz speaking to the mystery man.

“It needs to be self inflicted, not just appear to be self inflicted – at least at this point.” Shultz instructed.

“I assume no less, it is my specialty” That was the voice of the mystery man.

“Yes, well timing is not critical yet. She’s been lucky in the past and we can’t afford her being lucky this time.”

“The lucky are lucky because of foolish mistakes.”

“Ah, yes, um… Will you take care of it?”

“Ms. Connelly will be dealt with as you request.”

Christi’s jaw dropped at the mention of her name.

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It’s been a month of searching the hidden depths of my heart. I’ve done what has been expected. I have let no room for any to accuse me of foolishness. I back not down from any challenge. I do however see things through a different lens – the lens of my precious son’s death.

I can no longer accept the message as trustworthy, worthy of life or inherently true. I have followed it with a pure heart, accepted its struggles as an honor and sought with all that is within me to faithfully follow what I thought was best.  I can do so no longer as its tenets have horrifically proven to be false.

When I made my commitment, when I drank of the chalice and passed through the waters, I was warned by the gathered to expected difficulties… and I was prepared to do so as my life attests.  But no one could be prepared for anything so unnatural as this. The one he followed tricked him and led him to his destruction!

The words I so boldly proclaimed mock my memory bringing me shame. I was so naïve, so trusting. I willingly pushed those who didn’t understand away. I eagerly reached out to those who would listen. I followed the steps laid out before me. I went out boldly with full assurance that the good would always triumph – that the light would always dispel the shadows and overcome the darkness.

My son, my precious Phillip, forgive me. You willingly and eagerly accepted to learn the way. You trusted as a child and flowed mightily beyond most others’ expectation. Your heart was pure. You should not have fallen. The One with Many Names was not true to his words and led you to your demise.

I want to say he’s a false god, but I fear his wrath. Even now his chains lay heavy on my hands and my back.  A former pupil has threatened me, saying they will only grow heavier if I continue my now chosen course. This, after all that I have done for him! Now the student sits in judgment on the teacher. What has become of the natural order? Pain has changed it all.

I know he speaks what he considers truth, for I taught him that truth. But I no longer care. I care not to ever sense freedom again because the sense of freedom is merely deceptive bondage. A greater bondage than I now perceive on my soul, held me blissfully unaware until the trickery opened my eyes to the truth.  I choose not to forget the reasons for my chains.

My heart, once alive, is filled with darkness. It is a pain I must bear in silence. No one must know of my lot. If it were revealed to my baby-child, her knowledge of it would endanger her beyond the grave and multiply my grief. I wish only to bring back my son and keep him from his folly – the folly I brought on him following the Orakh.

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“You’re mother was always proud of you,” responded Colby. “We both knew you were created for greatness.”

“Do you still miss her Dad?”

“The pain has dulled,” he admitted to the young mother, “but the memories are strong. She would have loved to know your kids.”

“I can’t believe all that’s happened since we escaped the general.”

He agreed, “It seems more and more like someone else’s dream.”

“It’s like we’re in an almost true fictionalized account,” she laughed, “that’s being written in three days where the names and ages have been changed to protect the innocent.”

He picked up his granddaughter playing at his feet and held her forehead to forehead, her feet high in the air. “Never believe everything you receive from mainstream media.”

And little Davina laughed.

Then drooled on her grandpa.

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Colby awoke as he was hoisted upon someone’s shoulder. His hands were tied behind his back. He looked around to get his bearings. The battle was over, the devastation complete. He was thrown onto the ground against the tire of a vehicle. And he looked up to his captor. It was Simons. To his left, sat Henry and Liza. They were slumped over on the ground. On his right, surrounded by twelve in black were the kids. They looked tired and despondent but physically they seemed untouched.

They were facing away from the road. They couldn’t see the boarder and for the moment, Colby couldn’t tell which way it should be. What time is it? Where’s the sun?

“The sun is setting behind us,” said Sam.

“Silence!” commanded the Lieutenant. “There will be no talking!”

“Simons,” Colby took a tone of a parent, “You can do what’s right now. You don’t need to be fighting a lunatic’s battle.”

“I said SILENCE!” Simons crouched down and placed his handgun under Colby’s jaw. “That child murdered a general of the United States Special Forces.”

“I thought he got promoted to Homeland Security.” That comment got Colby the butt of the handgun to hit his forehead. He heard Jeri gasp. “Ouch… Stink… enough already. If you think that’s what happen, call an investigation, have a trial, do it right. Justice can’t be served through injustice.”

“That’s a good one uncle,” said Reggie.

“Thanks, I think I just came up with that right now. You OK?”

“SILENCE!”

Reggie nodded.

“I need to decide what to do,” said Simons. “You make sure they don’t talk.” He said to the leader of the twelve in black.

He nodded and stood facing Colby.

Colby smiled and thought. Can you hear me, can you hear me brother Sam, brother Sam? If you can why don’t you, rub your nose and hold it, brother Sam, brother Sam.

Sam rubbed his nose and held it briefly, never looking at his Dad. Colby kept his eyes on the leader, but saw the sign out of the corner of his eye.

Great, now anyone else listening in touch your head, cough, or do something that I’ll recognize as a sign.

Jeri cleared her throat. Reggie brought his knee up and rested his elbow on it as his hand casually went to his head. Taylor scratched behind his ear. Monica’s cough was so fake Colby was worried someone would catch the signal. They didn’t seem to.

Good. Now it seems to me they aren’t reading my thoughts. Can you tell if they are? Don’t answer that. If you think they aren’t listening in, Taylor can you yawn?

Taylor yawned.

Great. Before I tell you my plan I need to know if you think you can take these guys. He smiled again at his guard. I don’t know what happened before and I don’t want to send you into harms way. But I need to know if you found a weakness you can exploit. If anyone thinks they know how to win look at me and smile. He turned to them and Monica was not only smiling but also nodding her head and pointing to herself. The other four were smiling.

His guard looked down the line “What’s going on?”

“Just glad to be alive.” Colby answered. OK guys. I don’t know what your plans are. But Taylor, I was wondering if you think you can ‘call into being that which is not.’ The nephew exchanged a quizzical look with his uncle who quickly broke it off. What I mean is, can you imagine something that doesn’t yet exist, and make it so it does exist? Touch your hair if you think you can.

Reggie hesitated a moment, but then touched his head.

Have fun guys. Do your thing. I’ll do mine. “Young man, I’m concerned about these two. He nodded to Liza and Henry. “Have they been looked at? Are they still alive?”

The twelve year old looked back towards where Simons left.

“You wouldn’t want your parents left this way, would you?”

As soon as he looked back to Colby, Colby new he had found the trigger. “Just undo me so I can check them out. You’ve got the kids; I’m not going to do anything. I see they’re breathing, but I need to make sure they aren’t in danger….”

Meanwhile the cousins set their plan in motion. Monica knew she had to show the other kids that they were lied to. Taylor knew they had to know the truth. Jeri knew they needed to know they were loved. Sam knew laughter would break down their hard places. And Reggie was working on imagining something that should be there at the moment.

Colby was released and was checking on his sister and brother. The pistol marks on the back of their necks looked like the reason they were unconscious. Jeri will be able to take care of that soon enough. He caught Jeri’s eye and she nodded.

Meanwhile in the unseen world, she was reminding the twelve of the love of their parents. It was buried so deep in some, but gently, slowly, she was getting through. It helped when Sam could remind them of something they found funny. As soon as they laughed she could break through. When one stifled a laugh, the cousins couldn’t help but smile.

Monica would them show them the lies they believed. When they were no longer blinded, they saw the consequences of the lies in all their grotesqueness. Before they’d shake themselves loose, Taylor would show them the truth and they would connect once again with the love they once knew.

Colby didn’t know what they were doing. All he saw was the twelve, one by one, hit the ground, all like sacks of small, delicious, potatoes.

It didn’t take long once the first of the twelve fell for the last one to do the same. Colby called Jeri over and she put her hands on the back of the necks of her aunt and uncle and in under a minute they sat up, unharmed.

“We need to get out of here. The border is over that way.” Colby pointed north and took off in a sprint after he pulled the two to their feet, the five kids were all on his heels.

They came around the truck and ran as fast as they could towards the border. It was 200 meters away. The older kids passed Colby and he hurried them on ahead “Don’t wait for anything.” He grabbed the hands of Monica and Sam and turned to hurry up his sister. What he saw stopped him and Henry and Liza caught up in a stride. He wouldn’t let them stop. He placed the kids hands in there’s and pushed them towards the goal.

The truckers started cheering the arrival of the oldest kids and Colby was glad to hear that sound as he stood resolutely facing in the direction they just came. More cheers rose up and his heart sang out as he maintained eye contact with the one pointing a rifle at the backs of his family. He wouldn’t let Simons have a clear shot. I love you kids.

Jeri cried, “DADDY NO!” just as the shot rang out. The guard at the border held her back as her Daddy’s body fell lifeless to the ground.

Time stood still for the family. The cheering has stopped with the bullet. Helicopters on both sides of the border circled overhead but none of them seemed to notice. The shooter was taken into custody. None of them cared.

They were beyond tired and soon they’d be beyond tears. Liza and Henry held Sam and Jeri the closest as they watched the medics over Colby’s body from the safety of the other side of the border. They were numb. They couldn’t move. They couldn’t think.

“Call into being that which is not.”

Henry turned to his oldest son, “What was that son?”

“Call into being that which is not – it’s what uncle Colby asked me to do so that we could escape. I thought he meant a dragon to eat them or maybe… but maybe?”

“What are you thinking Reggie?” asked his mother.

“I’ve got to try,” was all he said before he forced his way around the guard and told the guard on the American side he was going to see his uncle. Before he was running towards the gurney carrying the body, Monica had torn free and was chasing after him with Taylor close on her heals. Coming out of the numbness, Sam and Jeri took off after their cousins towards the body of their Dad.

Henry and Liza did as well, but felt compelled to explain to each side of the border that they had no idea what the kids where up to, because they had no idea what the kids where up to.

“Call into being that which is not?” she asked after they passed the last guard and sprinted towards the kids “Only my brother would come up with a sentence structure so cryptic.”

“Well, it may not be original with him.” Henry explained.

Liza wasn’t looking for an explanation, “What on earth has gotten into Reggie’s head?”

“If I knew I would tell you.”

But the conversation ended as the children started to scream with delight. The coroners dropped the gurney and took a few steps back with mouths wide open. The kids were laughing and the younger ones were throwing themselves on top of the gurney. And just when Liza was about to give them all a piece of her mind, Colby sat up and hugged all the kids in a great big bear hug.

Liza fainted.

Henry’s knees gave way and he sat down by his wife. Tears welled up in his eyes as he started to laugh uncontrollably. One corner was shaking his head as he described the entry wound to the one who was scratching his head.

And the children danced with Colby.

And then, the all went home.

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“First of its kind.” He boasted.

“Is insurance higher?” questioned Colby. He never bought the extra insurance because the travel insurance feature was the only reason he had the American Express card. But for this trip, he was interested in the extra insurance.

“Standard rates.”

“Sold.” He slapped his card on the counter.

They looked into flying, but commercial flights were grounded into and out of Canada for the duration of the ‘threat’. Even though the president was impeached, it was going to take a few days to know who had the authority to lower the threat level, or for them to decide if it was in their political interests to lower the threat level.

The travelers checked the private airport, but no one seemed interested in breaking the no-fly rule. And who could blame them.  In any case, the Canadians just wanted to get home and so finding this Acadia, which let them travel the 318 miles to the border together, was great.

Colby didn’t bring up the historical fact that the British ousted the French colony of Acadia and sent them to mainly to Louisiana, where they became Cajun. This was before all land that drained the waterways that led into the Mississippi were subsequently purchased for just 5 million more than what the United States was willing to pay for New Orleans alone – a pittance of what it was really worth. Canadians captured and moved to the U.S. swamps – it’s not that he believed in omens. He just didn’t see the need to bring it up.

It was six hours to the border and they were ready to get home. Sam was so ready to return he didn’t ask to stop at every potential bathroom. They were about two hours away when the kids started sensing something that they had trouble defining.

“Should we keep going?” Colby asked.

“I don’t know.” Was all any of them could answer.

The adults agreed to continue. “If we want to get home, there is no other option.”

Not wanting to risk a border guard asking them a lot of questions, they talked about going to a lesser-known crossing.

“There are check points manned by one person and a pylon,” suggested Colby.

“I guess,” added Liza “if we went online we could find the nearest one.”

“If Paxton is back to tracking us,” replied Colby “I wouldn’t want to risk that.”

“Sometimes it’s better to go in the longer line,” agreed Henry. “Less questions are asked and there’s less chance the border guard feels like they are the last bastion for civilization.”

“What do you kids think?” asked Colby.

“I want to go home,” replied Sam.

“Take the quickest route,” commented Jeri.

“Ya, the quickest.”

“The sooner the better.”

“Let’s go as straight as we can as fast as we can,” said the other three almost simultaneously.

“I can’t tell if you’re using your gifts,” said Colby, “or you just want to get home.”

“Everything is fuzzy,” said Taylor.

Sam followed up, “There’s something in the shadow, but there’s no way for us to get around it.”

“We’ll just have to go through it,” said Reggie cracking his knuckles.

“Waterton it is,” said Henry from the steering wheel. “At least we’ll see some beautiful scenery.”

“Kind of like we’re on vacation.”  Colby said sarcastically to the kids as he dropped his chin and made a face that made them all grin.

“Vacation! Vacation! Vacation!” Shouted Sam with every bounce.

“I need a vacation, time to get away …” Colby led out and the rest followed the tune, “give me some fun in the sun in that good old fashioned way…” His instinct paid off again. The sound of song lifted the tension of waiting for the unknown.

An hour and a half later, everyone was quietly watching the passing scenery and Taylor broke the silence. “They’re expecting us.”

“Who is?” Henry wanted to clarify.

“The ones who don’t want to see us leave.”

“But the radio just said Paxton had lost his commission and was being indicted by a grand jury,” Henry explained. “He couldn’t still be after us, could he?”

“I don’t know if it’s him. But someone doesn’t want us to leave.”

“So what do we do?” asked Colby.

“We don’t disappoint them,” answered Reggie and all the kids nodded their agreement.

“Dear Lord,” Liza lead out, “You’ve protected us so far, please protect us now.”

Protected us? Colby thought. He hasn’t protected us. The kids and their gifts have protected us. He had nothing to do with it.

There was silence in the vehicle after Liza had finished her prayer. At least they can all be encouraged by it. Thought Colby when Sam interrupted his thought and the silence.

“Dad?” asked Sam, “Where did our gifts come from?”

“From the chemicals that spilled on you, from the missile,” he replied then added, “I don’t understand the science of it.”

Sam smiled and laughed through his nose, “You know that’s not true.”

Colby let the conversation die. He didn’t want to go there with his nine-year-old son. Not now. Not when he had no idea what they were about to face. Not until he was older.

“It’s OK Dad.” Sam said, putting his hand on his Dad’s, “We’ll be OK.”

As they approached the normally busy crossing, the first thing they noticed was the lack of civilian vehicles. Large semi’s were backed up on the Canadian side and between the Acadia and the border stood Paxton, Simons, and twelve shorter, thinner people dressed in black.

“What does he think is he doing?” asked Liza incredulously. “He’s got children out there!”

Colby and Henry looked closer and she was right, the twelve looked to all about the same age as Reggie.

“There’s more of them,” noted Jeri.

“They’ve all had training,” added Taylor.

“They’ve been blocking us,” said Sam with surprise.

“They’ve been told lies,” stated Monica.

“We can take them,” said Reggie.

“I think its time I go and talk to the general,” said Colby as he got out of the vehicle. He went back in to give Jeri and Sam a quick hug and a kiss. “Remember, I love you.” And before anyone could protest he said, “You guys stay back here for now. I’m going to see if I can reason with the man.” And he walked towards the ones waiting for them.

Henry jumped out from his side and called out from over the hood, “You don’t expect him to listen to reason do you?”

But Colby simply shrugged as he continued his walk to the gallows.

When he got close enough to Paxton to be heard, he spoke loud enough to be heard by anyone who would be listening. “Your President’s been impeached, general. Your authority has been stripped away. What possible reason could you have for wanting to see us safely home?”

“You’ve misunderstood my intentions from the start, you idiot! I’m here to make sure you don’t cross that line.”

Colby was suddenly glad for the Treaty of 1818 that the Americans called the Red River Cessation. Without it, that line would be miles beyond the 49^th parallel. Of course, this discussion could just as easily take place there. Which is one of the reasons Colby often felt he was living in someone else’s dream.

“That line? Oh, we will be crossing that line. General, you need to know the world knows about our kids. It’s not a secret anymore. The story is out there. If anything happens to us, the world knows everything you’ve been involved in. It’s over. Give it up.”

“This isn’t about winning anymore, Mr. Skyler. It is about doing what is right.”

“It’s right to let my kids go home.”

“IT IS RIGHT TO EXACT VENGANCE ON THE ENEMIES OF THIS COUNTRY!”

“You are acting like you are God again!” Colby put his hands to his head then pointed his finger at the general. “In fact, you remind me a lot like him. I despise you, you petty, vindictive, sorry excuse for a human!”
“Not helping” Colby heard Henry sing from behind him. I don’t care. Colby saw the Canadian border guards taking an interest in what was transpiring. So he yelled out to them “You have guns, use them!” The border guards lifted his hands to the sky and then pointed to the kids and took a step back.

“We’re Canadians” He pointed to himself. “He’s crazy.” He pointed to the general. But the border guard only went back to his post and picked up a phone.

The general laughed, “They’re not going to help you. You’re whole country is a bunch of pansies.”

He’s probably right, except the part about everyone being pansies. When they start doing Survivor on Baffin Island, then they can start saying the rest of the world are pansies.

“We don’t need their help.” It was Reggie.

What’s he doing beside me? Thought Colby as he whirled around and saw the family standing beside him.

“You guys shouldn’t be here.” He whispered, mainly to Jeri and Sam.

“You don’t need to lay your life down for us, Daddy.” Jeri lightly scolded.

How did they know? “Why did you think that’s what I was going to do?”

“It’s become really easy to see what people are thinking,” stated Sam.

“You can read people’s thoughts?”

“Yup”

“You weren’t fooling anyone Daddy.”

But I…

“Transparent as cellophane,” added Sam, fixing his gaze on the opposition.

Colby couldn’t help it; he started singing the song in his head. Mr. Cellophane, Mr. Cellophane, well you can say my name it’s Mr…

Sam picked up the next note and started humming.

“Incredible,” Colby whispered before the general interrupted.

“Oh how sweet.” He cackled “A family reunion.”

Colby returned to the issue at hand. “You have no authority here, Al. You’re government doesn’t trust you. What you are doing is criminal and wrong.” He said it more for the growing number of border guards paying attention. Even one on the U.S. side was talking on the phone.

“VENGENCE IS MINE. I WILL REPAY!” screamed the general.

It was Reggie who stepped up to confront him. Without an ounce of visible fear, he pointed his finger at the general and shouted, “You will pay for your stupidity!”

And right then the general dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes – those little potatoes that anyone who has grown potatoes know are too small, and would never spend good money on, that tend to spread out easier when their sack is dropped, and really are delicious – those kinds of potatoes. That’s what he dropped like. And it caught everyone off guard.

“General?” asked Paxton as he dropped to one knee and checked for vitals on the general. He looked up at Reggie and hissed, “What did you do?”

Liza stepped up and put her hands on her son’s shoulders. Henry stood tall behind both of them.  Just as she was about to speak, both the parents we’re thrown the fifty feet back to the car. Henry landed on the hood and it collapsed under the weight of his momentum.

Good thing I got the extra coverage. Oops, I mean I hope he’s all right. Good they’re both moving a little. At that moment in his thought, just when he was turning back to where the general lay on the ground, Colby was blindsided by Simons fist. He dropped like a wet bag of cement although, why wouldn’t you keep cement in a wheelbarrow? It was beyond Colby just before he blacked out. He dreamed in dialogue.

With the parents out of the way, the battle raged on beyond what anyone had ever seen or could ever see. Simons was tossed ninety feet as soon as he had assaulted their Dad. He wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

One led the twelve in black.  He coordinated their efforts against the cousins. Trees were uprooted and tossed, signs were flung and repelled, rocks were hurled, along with shingles. The five barely stopped a tanker truck from being dropped on them. The border guards fled for cover. One trucker on the Canadian side seemed to be videoing it all on his cell phone.

But human eyes could not see the most vicious part of the attack. For what was taking place in the invisible was far more vicious in size and intensity. The cousins were bombarded with thoughts of hatred and jealousy and self-righteousness and murder. But after recognizing those thoughts were not there own, they were able to ignore the confusion thrown there way. It was not an easy task and as the minutes grew longer their strength grew weaker. They found it difficult to concentrate on web of thoughts, feeling and emotions -both there’s and the twelve – they needed to control. Weaker they grew. Rocks were hurled they needed to deflect. Foreign thoughts were more difficult to accept as not there own.

Hopelessness griped the younger ones first and once they were gone, the concentration needed by the others to protect them, sapped the strength and the concentration of the older ones. None of them noticed Simons staggered to the vehicle behind them where their parents were or that a pistol was in his hand.

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