Tue, 24 April 2007  Chapter 26 - The Man Who Ran San Francisco I am posting the text before the audio because I have been traveling for business so much in the last few weeks I really don't have time to record anything. I'm posting this from my hotel in NYC. (So far from home) I know there's probably nobody out there that is staying tuned, but if there's at least 1 person... I hope you like the chapter BtD Direct download: Chapter_26_-_The_Man_Who_Ran_San_Francisco.pdf Category: novel text -- posted at: 7:47 PM Comments[3] |
Thu, 29 March 2007 Chapter 25 - Finding Point B I'm leaving out the (Where?) hyperlink, because I don't think anybody ever knew what it was. If you liked the feature, let me know. I'll bring it back. BtD Comments[0] |
Wed, 28 March 2007 Chapter 24 - The Green Dragoon For those of you who are still interested (if there are any) I am back and back to a point where I am working on the podcast again. It has been a long time, and there's no denying that. I can only say life got in the way. I hope you can forgive me. Anybody who believes, please say a prayer for me. I am struggling to find the free time to make more posts. You will see a few more PDFs uploaded, and then hopefully an MP3 of "Chapter 26 - The Man Who Ran San Francisco" next week or the following. It's recorded, and just needs to be edited Brad the Dad Direct download: Chapter_24_-_The_Green_Dragoon_copy_1.pdf Category: novel text -- posted at: 3:09 PM Comments[0] |
Thu, 27 July 2006 Chapter 23 - He is Right Here With UsDirect download: Chapter_23_He_is_Right_Here_With_Us.pdf Category: novel text -- posted at: 10:28 AM Comments[1] |
Wed, 26 July 2006 Chapter 22 - We Then That Are Strong Comments[0] |
Mon, 24 July 2006 Here is the text for Chapter 21 - The Withdrawal. Chapters past 20 are too big to include as text blogs, so we are releasing them as quickly as possible. Our greatest apologies to the readers who have been unable to keep up with the story. Hopefully this chapter is good enough to tide you over until I can get the next one up, which should be soon. And thanks for the reminder 'AAArron'! BtD Comments[0] |
Thu, 2 March 2006  Chapter 20: Dominos Are Falling (Where?)
"Thomas," George softly called to his right-hand man, "What the fffuck is happening here?"Thomas answered with his eyes locked on the television screen just like his boss, "I have no idea… Mr. President." They watched the television as the mediacasters updated, predicted, and analyzed the scene outside the San Francisco Federal Building; both continually shook their heads. Thomas almost forgot that his existence was to protect the leader of the free world, and became immersed in the tangle of San Francisco, as the rest of the whole world did the same. "Mr. President, sir?" "Yes Thomas." "Sir, may I have permission to speak freely and give my opinion?" George stared at the ground for a second, and rubbed the back of his neck. He noticed Thomas' shiny black reflective shoes which he could perfectly see the chandelier in the reflection of. His gaze moved up Thomas' black slacks to his belt line, where he notice a gun holstered, "Thomas, at this moment we're both sitting on the same couch, watching the same event on the same television, and I think we're both as mixed-up as the other." Thomas looked confused, and mistakenly assumed that George was under too much stress to hear the opinion of a strong arm such as himself. George noticed how Thomas received his comment, and knew he came off wrong. "Thomas, we're alone for once in the oval office, and right now I think we're as equal as anyone will ever let us be. You and I," He briefly looked up, "would probably both be evenly qualified to handle this problem if it were our mess. Please… speak freely even if you don't have any advice." George turned back to the TV. "I need to hear someone's voice or I'll set adrift and go mad." "I don't think this spectacle will be the last major event of the day we'll see being broadcast from San Francisco, sir." Thomas said. "I agree Thomas." George sat back, "Mayor McCain has let lose the lions." "But…" Thomas stopped short. George turned to look at Thomas, and he looked very serious, "Mr. President I believe all that we see and will see on the television is all part of the same thing." George sat up hastily, and wore a distressed look on his face. Thomas continued, "I think that all of this couldn't have possibly happened if officials in San Francisco were playing by the rules, and now that the Attorney General is obviously in on it, it seems like dominos are falling." The President continued to stare at Thomas in disbelief, he hadn't connected the Attorney General directly yet. Thomas continued, "I dunno, I just have an awful feeling about this one. I think even what we're watching right now has to do with it." Thomas peaked up to see the President's unchanged gaze, and bowed back again. "I know that I was hired here to be methodical, and to be level headed as a protector, but I'm going to risk my job here, and come out and say it Mr. President." Thomas took one last deep breath, "I've had this weird inner feeling the last day or so, that something is going on around me, and I have no proof. I have no proof at all, but I can feel it so strongly that I am scared. It has me preoccupied at night, so I can't sleep. Even before today, and all this. Something is culminating out of sight, and I am gravely worried about it. I think this is it; what I've been scared of, and now I think I'm begining to see very clearly." Thomas stopped. "Thomas." "Yes sir, Mr. President?" "Please continue to speak of this feeling. I know our relationship professionally is, in some aspects, a very high profile and important one, but I can not stress the importance of what I mean when I say please continue, and do not hold anything back." George's mind began to reel. Thomas' words were exactly what he had been feeling lately. Maybe not the premonition of conspiracy, but the description of emotion was on spot. That alone only solidified the seriousness of whatever Thomas would have said. It was what occupied his own troubled mind causing him to lose his sleep. This wasn't a Presidential practice, this was divine. This could happen no other way. "Now I feel like your life is in danger Mr. President. I have no proof, or evidence of this at all. Only the feeling." Thomas looked up again, and saw the president listening intently. He could see the seriousness in his eyes, and knew he was looking for something. Maybe an answer. "Mayor McCain is on line one as you requested Mr. President!" Glenda yelled from the other room not wanting to enter the oval office any more after the earlier events. George picked up the receiver, and pressed line one, "Mayor?" "Hello Mr. President," McCain answered. "Hello Mayor, I hope that things are in better control than the media is portraying it to be over there," George said with a stern tone, at this point wishing he had not asked Glenda to get the Mayor on the phone. "Yes sir. Completely under control, sir." "You call a hostage situation inside a federal building involving stolen drug evidence 'under control?'" George sounded like he was being undermined. "Sir, the situation is going as planned. The terrorists are coming down right now to exit the federal building." McCain explained. "They're giving up?" The President sounded confused. "No, actually… they have requested an escaped boat at the port which is about a quarter mile a…" "I know where the ferry boat terminal is Mayor. Are there any other demands?" "No." The Mayor answered abruptly. "What, in fact, is your game plan right now Mayor?" "Sir," McCain paused briefly, "we have gunmen positioned atop surrounding buildings ready to simultaneously and precisely take out the targets when I give the order." McCain sounded on track. "Sir," Thomas called, "They're coming out now… on the television." President quickly looked at the television screen, "Damn it McCain! There are live cameras all over the place. Do you understand what you're about to broadcast?!?!?" McCain seemed to be speaking to someone in the background quickly, and returned to the president, "We have ordered both camera crews, and news stations to turn their cameras off until further notice, but…" "But what?" "There are so many cameras here; free-lance internet sites, bloggers, home video cameras, I don't think there is anything we can do about all the cameras sir." "Sir," Thomas called softly unable find his voice. George answered the Mayor more calmly now, "That's alright actually. I'm more concerned about the networks, and cable outfits. Something that graphic can't be shown on cable televi…" "Sir!" Thomas loudly exclaimed finally finding his voice. "What Thomas?!?!" George said as he angrily, pointed towards the phone signaling that right now was not a good time to raise your voice at the president, but when George looked at Thomas he saw a look of ultimate fear, and then the President turned towards the television. Mayor McCain's voice came from the other end of the President's phone, "Oh my God." George just stared at the television unable to comprehend what he was really looking at; what this meant. The most powerless feeling he could recall during his presidency poured over his body, and he was utterly speechless, and all color left his skin. The cameras were indeed still rolling, and you could bet that not a single one would turn off before this event was over. "Mayor tell you snipers to stand down." George said with a lump in his throat, almost unable to speak. "Sir?" McCain was in a state of shock too. "Tell them that is a direct and final order from the President of the United States. Not a single shot is to be fired." George turned to Thomas, who was still in a ghost like trance, "Thomas, how long would it take for the President to get to California?" Thomas snapped out of it, "I would have to consult with air-traffic, and secure Marine 1…" "Thomas… You and I were both in the air force, and I a good part of my career. How long will it take you and me to get to California if we left in fifteen minutes?" "A little under an hour, sir."
"Mayor, I'll see you in an hour. I'm coming to California." Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:57 AM Comments[0] |
Thu, 2 March 2006 Chapter 19: Moment of Silence (Where?)
Now on the top floor of the San Francisco Federal building Keith Michaels placed the live telephone handset down upon the desk and thought in silence. With the same hand, he rubbed his strained eyes, and sighed deeply. He couldn't believe the way the morning had turned out. Not preparing made him weary. Preparation like this would make anyone worried. He was very uncertain of the outcome.A colleague sat next to him in a squeaky office chair, which would creek every time he leaned forward to consult Keith. Creek, "I don't think it's going to work Keith. No matter what he tells us." Keith stopped rubbing his eyes, but did not remove his hands, "It's going to be fine, trust me. With all the publicity today everyone is under extreme pressure;peoples' backs are to the wall. At this point they just want to keep things as calm as can be." Creek, "What about Bradley?" Keith began to rub his eyes again. He thought back at the way Brad had looked on TV when the task force ripped his son away from him. He knew what Brad felt for his son. He looked more broken when they took Gregory, than when they battered him. "Brad has his own problems right now. I don't think he will know the difference by the time this is all over." Creek, "I still think it's too risky; everyone is too vulnerable out there." Keith, eyes still closed, was now rubbing the bridge of his nose. Images of things passed continued to shoot through his head. Each making him second-guess their task. Keith and Brad were fairly friendly, but it all originated professionally. He remembered the first time Brad had brought Gregory by the house in Mendocino. Keith had picked Greg up, and sat him on his lap. He was taken aback at Greg's trust. He had willingly boosted up onto his lap, and bounced around playfully the whole time he and Brad spoke. It actually gave him that warm feeling that people were supposed to feel. The feeling that the world really wasn't crazed, and full of sickos. That feeling, the memory of that feeling, is what made this the hardest decision he ever had to follow through with. The decision had been made, and only needed to happen now, and at that point that warm feeling would be long gone. Keith lashed out angrily, "Once Mayor McCain gets on I'll talk to him, and he'll listen to me. Trust me." The world was crazed again. Creek, "Dude, it's too risky." That was it. Keith stopped rubbing his eyes, and placed his arm on the desk, exposing an elbow high tattoo on the inside of his forearm, of the famous Spaniard Knight Sir Francis Drake. As his vision came back his creaky colleague slowly came into view, as did the Kalashnikov strapped over his shoulder, and barked, "This will work. We just need a fuckin' threatening image for the cameras, and no one will as much as breath once we bring him out there. This will fucking work, because after this mornings report he might as well be the damn President's kid." Right then the sound of some one picking up came from the phone, and Keith placed his own assault rifle on the desk and scrambled to pick up the handset. "This is mayor McCain. Who am I talking to?" "You are speaking with the Golden Hinde. I will lead from this point on, so just listen. I assume you have been informed of the hostage situation." "I have." "For an exchange you will provide us with a helipad equipped boat at the port, east of the building across the embarcadero. We along with the drugs, the money, and the hostage will board the vessel, and will sail, unescorted, out past the golden gate. At a location known by us, but perpendicular to the center of the bridge, we will be met by a helicopter. We will board the transport with the drugs, the money, and only at that time, will we leave the hostage on the boat where we will contact you that he is then ready for pickup, signaling finality.� �Just don't do anything hasty. There are a lot of people outside� A lot of cameras.� The Mayor eloquently advised. Keith didn't know what to think or say. He heard the greasy tone of McCain's voice on the headset, and became angry. He looked over at his partner in disgust, but then gazed upon his colleagues AK-47, and knew that he was no better, and answered, �We're coming down in five minutes with everything including the hostage. I want every vehicle removed from a three block radius of the building, and all officers must holster their weapons before we reach the lobby. If not, we execute the hostage and as much of the crowd as we can get to.� Keith waited several seconds in silence, �Five minutes sharp Mayor. Be ready and get rid of those squad cars now.� Keith hung up the phone. He stood up from his chair, and threw his gun's strap over his shoulder. He looked at his colleague, and raised his brow in acknowledgment that it was 'go' time. �Get everyone together near the front desk. We're headin' down in early.� His colleague nodded and trotted away. Keith slowly made his way towards the front area of the floor near the elevators. The mixed feelings of guilt, disgust, and emptiness filled him. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He had known down deep all along, but he had been rushed into the job so quick he didn't even debate about it a bit. Even though things seemed to be working, and the hard part, getting into the building, was over, he felt worried about what he was doing. He was pretty sure it was his conscience. Everyone made it to the elevators fairly quick. Four men, looking like the rest, in there green cargos, mud brown shirts with thermals underneath, and black beanies came strolling in with large warehouse carts. On the carts was about thirty million dollars worth of tightly packed Cocaine, heroin, meth, and designer drugs. So much that the carts themselves took several seconds to start moving when pushed. They didn't bother with the green stuff since it wasn't worth much, and it took up a lot of space. One man was not carrying the defacto Kalashnikov, but instead a twelve gauge double barreled side-by-side shotgun, and attached to the other end was a hostage. Keith, the apparent ring leader called the group to listen, �Okay everyone. It's time to rock. I guess we can't go down together with the carts, but there's two elevators, and the carts will go down second after we pave the way for you with the hostage. Everyone has their two-ways?� Keith held up his two-way phone, and everyone else in the group checked off with theirs too. It was a couple minutes since the phone call with McCain and he pushed the button to call the elevators, �Alright if everyone stays calm and just goes with the plan nothing can go wrong.� DING! The elevators were ready. Keith pointed to several men, and signaled for them to board the elevators. He also pointed to the man with the shotgun and hostage, and motioned for him to accompany him in the same elevator. The first wave was now in the elevators staring back at the others, several with carts, and several grasping their A.K.�s. �I'll see you on the boat.� Keith pressed the button to close the doors, and as he did another colleague came from the back of the crowd with his two-way phone in his hand, and he was out of breath. He looked at Keith and said, �You won't get any phone service while you're in the elevators, so any of us traveling in them will be out of communication for the ride down.� Keith nodded simply staring at his tardy colleague, wondering why he looked so distressed. As the doors began to close the late comer blurted out, �And the news is saying Bradley broke out of Quentin and can not be found, and that every single person in the prison is dead.�
As the elevator doors closed Keith stared down at their hostage, and had a moment of silence on his way to the lobby. Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:52 AM Comments[0] |
Wed, 8 February 2006 Chapter 18: Revelation (Where?)
Bradley (still wet) and Augustine rode the elevator together up to the 19th floor of the Mark in silence. Brad's mind was racing, as it had been all day long. He needed rest, but knew if he tried he wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyway. The door opened and Bradley spotted Father Mac from the back, sitting watching television in the center of the room. Father Mac turned to see, and slowly rose to his old feet when he saw Bradley; a bit in awe.By this time Bradley figured any man of the cloth was on the good side, and he followed Augustine out of the elevator and into the sun filled room with his still wet clothes, and matching handcuff braclets. "This is Father Mac," Augustine introduced. Mac extended his hand, and Bradley shook it with a jingle of the handcuffs. "He and I are… well, we're…" Augustine turned to Mac with a look of contemplation on his face. Mac picked up, "Bradley, I'm sure that you have questions. Now time is something we don't have too much of, but you deserve answers, so we shall give what we can." He pointed to a table in the middle of the room, "Let's sit." They sat and Augustine took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Mac folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair slowly. No one knew where to start, and silence set in. Mac began, "Enoch, and I…" Bradley looked confusedly at the priest, "Father Augustine and I are of a certain priestly order." Mac squinted at Bradley, who was still looking mixed up, "Bradley?" Brad stayed silent for a moment assuming Mac was being rhetorical, but the elongated silence persisted, and he answered, "Yes?" .." Mac wanted to get an actual response out of Brad before he continued, "You understand that Father Augustine is not ordinary, right?" "Yes, I have been shown." Mac continued, "And you understand that your paths have crossed not by chance, but by destiny, right?" "I know, but I do not fully understand." "That is expected, you shouldn't. What I am NOT going to explain to you is that divine things are happening around you, or that the LORD's powers are infinite, because I figure you understand that enough, okay?" "Okay." "I don't really know how or where to start Bradley, so I think I am just going to go with the 'yank the bandage off routine' and make it quick and to the point." Mac prepared, leaning forward and resting his wait of his forearms on the table. Bradley nodded. His whole day had been going a hundred miles per hour anyway, and he was prepared for almost anything at this point. "Father Augustine and I are of a holy order. It is an order established by thee almighty God himself, and not by the church, to oversee the deeds of men, and to watch the movements of all those who oppose them. This order is a divine protectorate over the Earth, and its ties are only to the LORD, and since his birth, the Messiah, Jesus Christ. This order, the one we belong to, is called The Apostles." A confused looked appeared on Bradley's face, and Mac asked, "Is any of this making sense thus far Bradley??"
Bradley asked, "Do you mean like the apostles who witness Jesus after he rose from the dead? Like in the Gospel and Acts?" Augustine joined back in the conversation, "Similar mostly in title. Not the same group of the Gospel." Bradley nodded slowly, but still had a confused looked on his face. "You probably are wondering why Augustine is clarifying that we are not biblical characters who are over two thousand years old." Mac said. Brad replied, "I kind of figured you weren't." The two priests looked at each other, "You figured correctly... for the most part. Father Augustine, however is known by another name." Augustine shot a humble smile at Mac, who quickly corrected, "or actually by many names. He was originally called Enoch, son of Jared." Brad was not getting it yet, "Bradley, what I'm about to tell you is going to come as a shock I suppose. You do understand what I mean when I say infinite, right?" "I am slowly learning, but I do believe. Yes, I know." "Get ready," Augustine said in a tone of warning. Mac began, "Genesis 5:23 & 24: ‘And all the days of Enoch were three hundred and sixty-five years. And Enoch walked with God, and then he was not, for God took him.’" Mac waited for that to sink in. Bradley didn't understand, and he looked towards Augustine. “I am Enoch,� Augustine explained, "The LORD chose for me to be different. Instead of dying, as do other who have sinned like myself, he brought me up to heaven with a still beating heart where he revealed certain things to me. Most importantly that he had a special quest for me. A very long arduous one." Augustine leaned back in his chair signifying a long story. "At the beginning time, during the dawn of man, the LORD had created many Angels with many jobs. The least of the Angels, or the lowest rank of Angels, were set upon earth, in a human like form, to watch over the deeds of men. They were called The Watchers, or The Grigori." The name sparked the memory of Gregory, and Bradley's concentration was broken, but Augustine continued, noticing Bradley's thoughts, "Yes, the Greek form of Gregory. Though father Mac and I find no connection, the LORD connects everything. But we must not digress from the subject at hand… The Grigori were very much like humans. To the point which they were susceptible to the temptation of their fallen brother." Bradley looked towards Mac, and Mac clarified, "The Morning Star." Bradley repeated softly under his breath, "Satan." "Yes, Lucifer had by this time already fallen, and had been given his domain, and was hard at work against all that the LORD deemed good. He tempted the Grigori into the earthly desires such as lust, greed, and wrath. Some of the Grigori mated with humans, and offspring was created. The LORD had given specific tasks to specific segments of the Grigori, and when they had not returned he looked for them. When he discovered their sinful ways he punished them, and damned them to hell. He damned all the Grigori, even the ones who had not committed the sins of their brothers, because they had not told the LORD, He created a great flood, and water rose upon the Earth to the highest, and everything was wiped from the face of the Earth. I believe you have heard of this event." Bradley nodded, "Yes. The ark." Enoch lowered his head, understanding that the info was too much and too fast for Bradley to fully comprehend. "You will not understand everything Bradley, so I am not going to attempt to explain it all, we don't have time…" "Yeah, he has a book on the subject. You should read it sometime," Mac joked. Bradley did not react. Enoch continued, "In the absence of the Angels of the Grigori, the people of Earth needed Watchers. The Lord appointed me as The Watcher. As a Shepherd, not a Shepherd like Jesus, but a Shepherd as a watcher of the people of Earth. The responsibility once given to Angels was now passed on to the humans, and unto me as the humble leader of these Watchers, of the new Grigori. I was given this task, as well as a heart that shall beat until the Rapture. The other members of the Grigori have come and gone, and were not given life longer than human limits. I have seen thousands of Grigori, such as Father Mac, thousands of brothers in Christ die. Not all gracefully, and not all proceeding to the father. The LORD has given me special powers, that are equal in many ways to Angels, but he has left limitations intact too." Bradley was listening in amazement. "Omnipresence, I cannot exist in many places at once. I have only one body. Omnipotent, I have special powers now that I did not previously, and visa verse. I only have the powers that the LORD gives me at any time. Omniscience, I am not all knowing, and still rely on the Bible as a guide. Though the LORD bestows certain knowledge on me, there is much more that is hidden." "Like now," Bradley stated. Augustine lowered his head, and replied, "Yes. Now it seems that I must solely rely on the word of GOD. I am as confused as you Bradley. Much of my power has been taken away." "But what about the prison, the guns, the table and the wall? You still have incredible powers." "That, I fear, is changing. I used those powers because at that split second I knew I was supposed to. It is very hard to explain. Like I said, in the past I have been given many different amazing powers, and I use them only at the time when they are needed. My souls can feel them, but my mind can't. That I also fear is changing." Brad looked up confused, "Why do you fear that?" Both priests were taken aback at this question. They were expecting Bradley to be in disbelief at this time and full of questions. They expected to have more convincing to do. This question brought them down to the same humanly level as the young man in front of them. Neither responded to the question, so Brad explained himself further, "Why do you fear if you've been doing this so long, and know these are God's choices. I would think that whatever happens he has the plan. Like you said there's a bunch that is hidden from you, and this must be part of it." Bradley had stunned both of them. "The only reason I am not insane at this very moment is because you approached me as a priest. Although it is hard to understand the limitless power of the LORD, I at least know he's on my side." Both priests were still quiet. "That alone gives me faith that I will get my son back." A grave look appeared on both priest's faces. They bowed their heads in a sorrowful manor. Bradley grew worrisome, "What?" The priest's looked at each other, but remained silent, "What's wrong?" Mac answered, "As I said Bradley. We do not have much time left. I say that because we are on our final mission. The last crusade." "At the end of times," Augustine began, "great things will happen. This will all be finalized by the second coming of Christ, as it is written and prophesied in the Holy Bible. Great miracles will happen again, and forces of both good and evil will amass aware the end is near. You are familiar with the rapture, right?" "It is the time when all that believer will be lifted into heaven and the non-believers are left behind." Bradley returned. "Believers in Christ. Only Christians, Bradley. The rest will be left behind to face great tribulations." Mac corrected. "Oh." Bradley said sadly, with many thoughts running through his head of his friends and acquaintences. "The LORD is merciful son, but he gave his son unto a gruesome execution on calvary. For those who do not believe this, they are denying the sacrifice that the LORD made. Understand the love you have for your son Gregory, and multiply that by a number which is so great that nothing can count that high... and then put him in the place of sinners to die. It is another love which we cannot give." Augustine explained. "The devil works constantly at this goal. Since it is a deciding factor at the end of time it is ultimately his only goal. Even beyond the rapture." Bradley continued to look lost. It was so much, and so indirect. He tried to figure out what it all meant for him. "I know you are wondering how you fit in, huh?" Mac asked. Brad's expression confirmed that. Mac answered, "The rapture comes at a time when no one on Earth will expect it." Bradley looked at Augustine hoping he was the exception, and Enoch replied, "No, not one. I do not know precisely." Mac proceeded "This rapture is to be unlocked." Bradley squinted, Mac continued, "There is a key, and you are that key, or you have that key." "I don't understand," Bradley said anxiously. "Neither do we Bradley," Augustine replied, "These are messages in tongues, maybe. Or maybe you will have a physical key to a physical door. We do not know." "I don't understand," Bradley said with tears beginning to stream down his face. He started to bow his head as the weight of the information became to much. "The key, or the one who bares the key is one of great faith." Mac explained, “You are ‘The One’.� Augustine picked up, "Which is why we were so shocked, almost stricken in awe when you said those faithful word to us about fear." Brad raised his head, and stared with glassy eyes, Mac continued. "Those were the words we needed to hear. The roles are starting to switch. I was a shepherd; a leader, and now it seems that I am looking to your for strength." Silence struck the room, and the party was quiet for some time. They sat there, and Brad was letting everything sink in. Usually humans can't quickly comprehend knowledge as intense as this. Like a loved one dying, or a big change coming up, most people have a delayed realization. Somehow Bradley was able to stack things up. It was over his head, but it all seemed in line with what he knew as God's great plan. Then it occurred to him, "Why can't I get my son?" The grave look reappeared on the faces of the priest, and they looked at each other silently deciding on who would break the troubling news. Mac finally bowed his head in reluctance. Augustine answered, "Since you are the key you are in great danger." "How?" Brad asked, tears still in his eyes. "Like we said Brad. It is his ultimate goal to keep people from the LORD." Once again Brad softly said to himself the evil name, "Satan." His shoulders shrugged, and you could see his strength weaken. "Though we are uncertain of your job Bradley, we know ours, and that is to protect you at all costs." Then Bradley raised his head, "I need to get Gregory back. He is still close enough for me to get. I won't be able to go on without him. I die everyday I'm alone." "It is way too risky Brad. The devil is obviously at work. Today's events, especially those at the prison, have proven this to me. Remember, I told you that I only have the Bible, and my own knowledge to guide me now. It is not just the Priam brothers who want you." Brad placed his face in his hands, and silently continued to cry. "I will no be able to be without Gregory for however long this takes." "Three days," Enoch said. Bradley's raised his red eyes in utter bewilderment, "Three days until what?!?!?" "Until your wait is over." Enoch answered. Father Mac stifened in fright, and went pale. He stared at the wall in deep troubled thought. Bradley asked, "I thought you didn't know the..." "The precise time?" Enoch quoted, "I don't. I know the day, but now minutes are hours, and hours are days it seems." Brad laid his head on the table, and it felt like the life flew out of him. He was helpless. The thought of not seeing his son ever again, of not being with him, to comfort him and share the moment of the greatest event… it killed him. The priests knew it, but couldn't feel what Brad was feeling. It was something they didn't know. Enoch had children, but they were all with the LORD now. Mac did not have any children being and actual Catholic priest with a limited life unlike Enoch. They did not know what to say, so they just sat there and let Bradley feel. Brad sniffed and cleared his throat, but his head remained on the table, "Can he find us?" "Who, Satan?" Augustine asked. Brad nodded. "Yes, he can, but he can't touch us." Bradley tilted his head to get a view at the priest, "But the devil has much under his control, and his influence is only second to the LORD's." "So we can't just sit here, can we?" "No, we can't" said Enoch solemnly rubbing his tired hands remembering how many ages he had been battling. "So what should we do? Should we go now?" Brad asked. "Not yet, we are waiting for the other Apostles. There are two that remain." "Now, but one remains," a loud voice came from across the room breaking the fragile conversation, and frightening the three tremendously. A man, in church clothes, similar to Enoch and Mac's Catholic garbs, stood in front of the elevator somehow making it into the room without notice. He continued in a strong English accent, bordering on the Queen's English, "Yes, there is now only one we must wait for, but we must not idle too long I am afraid." The two priests arose out of their chairs with what seemed to be renewed vigor. A smile returned to Augustine's face, and he outstretched his arms. The new priest quickly embraced one, and then the other laughing a bit. He turned, and looked at Bradley who was still seated, and as always, out of the loop. "So this is the key barer. Stand up son. Let me look at you." The priest said in a grandpa"ish" fashion. Bradley stood up, and wiped the tears from his palms. He didn't attempt, nor did he feel like, he looked as he should; like a holy person. He was wet and dressed in slacks, now clean undershirt, and stood as he was." "This is Reverend Cromwell the third Apostle." Enoch introduced. "Correction, the first Apostle." Reverend Cromwell emphasized humorously. "The fake apostle." Father Mac interjected jokingly, "He's only Anglican." "Go twirl your skirt Scotty," Cromwell returned. "Now it's good to have both you back. I would like to point out these are the end of times my brothers, and it is not time for denominational slams, nor nationalism." Enoch interrupted. He turned to Bradley and whispered, "That's the nastiest tendicy of mortals." Brad actually cracked something similar to a smile. "Yes, but he is right. We can not stay here for too long. Once father Daly has arrived we must go immediately." Said Father Mac. "Yes, and we will need money too. As much as we can get. Money can not be an obstacle for us." Cromwell added, "At this time we need to tap everything we have set up." "I have money," Bradley said. All three men turned and stared at him blankly like they didn't understand what Bradley was talking about. "I have enough." "We could possibly need a great sum of money lad," Mac said patronizingly. "No single man could spend all my money in three days." Bradley responded with a gruff tone, as if Mac's comment insulted him. Reverend Cromwell turned to Enoch in reaction to Bradley's comments, and said, "Three days?" Enoch responded, "Yes three days left." A worried look grew upon Rev. Cromwell's face; far worse than any look at the table previously, but Augustine continued, "Bradley you never know what we might need. We may need room and board, or we may need a large protective vehicle. I have no idea, but we could never have enough…" "It was thirty five million when I originally invested it. That was about a month after Elizabeth and Catherine were killed." Once again the three were silence, and looks of amazement appeared on their faces. "That was after the bubble burst, and the market crashed, and it should be more like 50-75 now. "You got this from selling drugs?!?!?!?" Mac exclaimed with an unintentional tone of contempt. "Mac!!" Augustine interjected, "I don't care where he got the money from." Fury flared inside Bradley, "It's not fucking drug money! I inherited it when my parents were killed. Once Elizabeth and Catherine passed, I invested it all for Gregory. Almost every penny. It's not actually in his name, but it's all for him alone." Mac had turned away ashamed of himself. "Why Bradley? I don't understand." Asked Augustine. "That way no matter what happened to me Gregory would never need anything…" Bradley bowed his head sadly, "I guess I didn't think of something like this happening." "I'm sorry son," Mac apologized placing a comforting hand on Bradley's slumped shoulder, "I meant nothing personal by it. I misspoke." Brad just nodded his head silently. "But Bradley…" Augustine started. Brad lifted his head, tears now of anger filled his eyes, but he wasn't angry at Mac. He was angry at himself, "The money you have put away may now save a multitude." Brad slowly nodded again letting the idea wash over him. "How can we get this money? How long would it take?" "Do we have an internet connection?" Augustine nodded inquisitively. Brad continued, "Then I could get it a little over an hour I think." "That's impossible! Through which institute?" asked Cromwell. "Everything is invested in government bonds, and with a fee I can have it transferred real time to the local financial institute which my father originally went through." "Is the fee substantial?" asked Rev. Cromwell. "Yes, very, but so is what we will take away." "So this was your father's actual money? Not reparation from the airlines?" Mac inquired. "Correct. The airlines didn't give me anything. It was a mixture of trust, and insurance." "Wow… well," Augustine eyes were still wide, staring blankly into space signaling deep thought. "let's waste no more time. Brad, you and I will go… where's the financial institution?" "Down at the foot of California St." he answered. "Okay, you and I will quickly head downtown after you transfer the money. We have a connection over there." Augustine pointed to a laptop in the corner. "You two wait here for Father Daly, and then we will embark."
Father Mac interjected, "He can stop by the hotel laundry down 5 floors, and we'll have to get the handcuffs off. If we're going to go back out in public, we'll need this to go smooth and quick." Category: novel text -- posted at: 1:27 AM Comments[1] |
Fri, 27 January 2006 Chapter 17: Everything is Different Now (Where?)
After Father Augustine had finished he bolted through the prison doors to his truck, put it in first and flew out the open front gates. He needed to find Bradley, but there were many water edges to check and San Pablo bay was very large. He turned down the frontage road that split the freeway and the edge of the bay, and noticed several people staring and pointing toward the smoky walls of the prison. The waterfront home owners, who were adjacent to the prison, were all out peering across the water looking at the aftermath of what had just happened. He softly said out loud, 'Oh LORD, help me to find the lad. I need you now.' Then he noticed several of the home owners grouped together at the end of the dock which ran along behind the housing row. They were lifting someone out of the water. He sped as fast as he could towards the foot of the dock, and brought his truck to a dusty stop. He jumped out and ran over to the immerging man, and thanked the LORD as he saw a shaved head. They pulled Bradley out by both arms. He was gasping for air, but looked surprisingly intact. Enoch noticed that the facial cuts Brad had were now gone, as if he had been washed clean or renewed. For a moment Brad knelt on one knee letting the water fall from his body to the old splintery dock. Father Augustine stood bent over with his hands upon his knees, squinting as he waited for Bradley to catch his breath. He didn't have any idea what to say. He couldn't find the words. For the first time in a loooong time Augustine only had his gut to help him decide. Bradley had heard the priest's foot steps coming towards him across the dock. To him, they sounded like a clock pendulum. He wanted to close his eyes before he saw the priest, shake his head, and wake up. But he mysteriously felt the importance of the moment and his fear began to subside. He could see Augustine's shoe tops in front of him as he continued to stare downwards. Brad tried to align his thoughts before he looked up and acknowledged who he already knew was there. As Father Augustine had bent, his robe over lapped his shoes and came into view confirming his identity, and Bradley slowly raised his vision to meet the priest's. They stared silently at each other. Father Augustine confirmed, "This is very real Bradley. That's as much as I know, son." Brad remained silent, but the priest knew his words hit home. "We must get out of here; now." He slowly reached his hand out, and Brad took it. After he had risen they ran back to the still running truck, and sped to the highway going south. They remained silent for a moment; Brad still out of breath, and soaked, and Augustine still out of words. It was an awkward feeling in the truck. The two would trade stares, but still no words. Father Augustine broke the silence, "Let us give thanks." Bradley closed his eyes in immediate acknowledgement as Augustine continued, "Dear LORD thank You for Your grace. Like Daniel You have delivered us from the lion's den. We take this event as further confirmation of our tasking." Brad glimpsed at the priest who was already starring right back. Their eyes stayed locked on each other, "Help us to know what is next." he said almost to himself trailing off. The last comment confused Brad, and he wanted to ask what the hell was going on, and as he began to, the radio got hold of a signal and a newscaster's voice came through. Augustine scrambled to turn it up. "Greetings listeners, we have some of the most incredible breaking news to report." It was the lady newscaster they had heard throughout the morning. "We have reports from several different sources, which include some conflicting info. I can tell you that there is one thing we are certain of, and that is the presence of mass-confusion folks." You could feel the severity in her voice, "The following is a previously taped phone briefing from Mayor McCain:" The Mayor began, “Late this morning, at approximately 10:30 AM, a large explosion rocked the bayside walls of The San Quentin Maximum Security Prison. We believe this to be the acts of a terrorist cell sympathetic to certain occupants of the facility.� Random newscaster interjected, “Was anyone hurt?� McCain responded promptly, “Yes, unfortunately many prisoners and prison employees were fatally injured in the blast. Most beyond recognition in the short term, but we are working on identifying them as we speak.� Random newscaster, once again, “Is anyone identifiable?� “Yes, but we are abstaining from disclosure until the families are first notified,� McCain explained. “Are you aware of the status of Bradley Harris, Mayor?� McCain paused a little off guard with the question, “We are not, but have been informed that he was in close proximity to the blast, and cannot be found. This leads us to expect the worst for Mr. Harris.� Random newscaster continued with the questioning, “Were there any escapees?� “No, there were not. No one made it out of the wall, and all bodies are accounted for.� “Then Mayor, can you explain how the five guards with bullet wounds died?� No response, “Three with point blank shotgun wounds, but more specifically two killed at long range in perched guard towers... outside.� The random newscaster had made checkmate. Then there was that recognizable dead radio silence, and the world could hear McCain squirm for about 5 seconds. McCain: I have no further comments... (click) The live broadcast continued, and the familiar newswoman's voice returned "Again, that was Mayor McCain via phone. Commenting on the events that went on at San Quentin... A facility which is in Marin County... that he has no jurisdiction over. We're looking into that too.� Father Augustine, and Bradley were floored. It was obvious there were many forces at work here. It was apparently after the Mayor's announcement that he and other elite members must be conspiring about something. There was too much misconduct, and it went deep enough to get into the prison system. This meant it could go all the way up. Bradley and Augustine's minds began to reel. The radio broke the silence, “Now we have another on-location report. What you are about to hear is a testimonial of someone who was present at the events that took place at San Quentin. This report came in eleven minutes before the mayor's update, and is anything but typical.� The previous random newscaster's voice came back on, “Sir, can you state your name please?� A voice, familiar to Brad and Augustine, came from the radio, “My name is William Howe. I am the warden of San Quentin Maximum Security Prison.� The newsman picked up with the same tempo, “Where were you during the explosion sir?� Howe sounds very shaken, “I was in the immediate area, about twenty yards from the wall, in an observation room bordering the mess hall, which is where the event took place.� “Did you have a good vantage point from where you were standing Mr. Howe? Did you see anybody approach the wall previous to the explosion?� Howe, still sounding jaded, “No, my eyes were closed.� The newsman was caught off guard, “Your eyes were closed?� Howe explained further, “Yes, I was in prayer, so my eyes were closed until right before the explosion happened.� “Mr. Howe, can you explain to us what went on, and how it became that you were praying?� a startled tone came over the newsman's voice. At this point Howe stopped. The newscaster retracted his tone of voice, “Go on Mr. Howe. This needs clarification.� Howe's silence puzzled Brad and Augustine, “I want the listeners to turn up their radios. I cannot stress the importance of my message. I know that most will not believe me, but none of this is made up. I swear this upon my son's grave. Everything I have for you is very brief. I swear I will tell you all that I know, because I do not have much to tell. I… I was only there. It's like a dream where I am starting to forget certain bits. Random newscaster, trying to keep calm in the wake of mounting confusion, continued to urge him on, “We are listening intently Mr. Howe. The air is all yours.� Howe forced himself to go on, “During a newly required Retrospective Incident Meeting, a large group of guards and I had been abruptly approached by Father Augustine. He had entered unannounced into the meeting room through another door, and he plainly told us upon entering the room unannounced, that the 'end of days' was at hand, and that there was little time left to have a personal relationship with Jesus.� Howe waited for any kind of response, but there was none, just dead silence only further confirmed that his story was not starting off well. He continued, "The group of guards as a whole was very confused why they were being approached and told this, as was I. This is when a group of prisoners became unsettled, which added to our mounting confusion.� “What was happening in the outside room?� the newsman inquired. “Another priest, a black one, was attempting to convert certain prisoners. I can only assume this was in line with the other priest's apocalyptic warning.� Howe paused, and collected his memory, “The guards began to beckon to the worsening quarrel outside. Due to certain circumstances earlier, I strangely began to believed the Priest, so I tried to pacify them to no avail. At that moment Father Augustine reached into his tunic and retrieved..." Howe hesitated and dropped off to silence. The random newsman, as well at the listeners including Bradley, were hanging on the edge of their seats, “Please go on sir.� The newsman, eager for more, coaxed. Howe remained silent. Random Newsman pleaded, “Please, sir.� Howe pensively returned, “Sorry… this is where people will think I'm lying.� The newsman tried to comfort Howe, “Sir, I don't think anything you could possibly say is any more out of the ordinary than the day's previous events.� Howe seemed to speak to himself, “It's so silly, but I'm worried about my family.� The newsman continued to further comfort him, “Mr. Howe I can assure you that there is no one here to judge you.� Those were the exact words Howe needed to hear, “The priest pulled out and shone a cross burning of flame and emitting intense light.� The newsman had been outdone. The air was completely silent. Howe waited for a response for several seconds. All the newsman could rattle off was: I… I… I don't… Bradley looked at Augustine who again was already staring back wondering how Brad would except the news. He knew this all would be hard for Bradley to comprehend. Augustine had lived in the visible glory of the LORD for years upon years, and he was still had trouble understanding. Warden Howe continued with renewed vigor and a louder voice, “Floating about a half an inch above his palm was a three inch cross made solely of fire. Its magnificent luminescence dwarfed that of all surrounding light in the room. It’s presence was like nothing I have ever seen or felt before in all my days. This, and its miraculous state of suspension, stopped every single man in that room dead in their tracks, including myself. Many fell to their knees, and some covered their face, crying uncontrollably. That is when the Priam brothers entered the mess hall, and when Bradley Harris arrived down stairs.� The Random newscaster was stunned silent. He couldn't even think of a question to ask about this flaming cross, but Bradley's name, as well as the Priam's, brought him back, and he shakily continued, this time in a more serious tone “So… Mayor McCain was correct… in believing that Bradley was near the blast?� Howe did not answer directly, but continued where he had just stopped, “At this point all guards in the observation room we quelled in fear. I had started praying immediately once the Priest unveiled the flaming cross. Then,� Howe spoke vaguely as he seemed to be recalling, “I had heard a very loud sound come from the mess hall which I vaguely remember. I recall it because it was followed by a shotgun blast, and the Far East door was kicked open by Hector Priam… and Franc stood at his side. Franc called out to Bradley by name, and this seemed to draw the Priest's attention.� Random newsman, “Which one? The priest in the room with the… fla-ming cross… or the black one in the mess hall?� Howe answered, “Both actually, but the priest in my room returned his cross to his cloak, and exited the observation room into the mess hall.� The newsman asked, “What were the prisoners doing?� “They seemed to be confused because they made no move once the Priams entered the picture.� “And Bradley?� “He was still at the bottom of the stairs handcuffed, and the Priest left our room and entered his. The white priest, Fr. Augustine, stopped in front of Bradley, and motioned for the black priest to come over. They seemed to know each other, and spoke of the happening events as if they were planned.� “Could you make out what they were saying? Did it have anything to do with a bomb?� Howe, continuing to just tell his story, “A strange silence crept, and there was no sound except for the priests voices. They mentioned things I could not understand and then said good bye…� Howe dropped off, and silence filled the radio once again leaving everyone hanging. The newsman, more eagerly now, “Mr. Howe, did the explosion come next?� Howe sounded hesitant, and spoke to himself softly, “I know it was real I was there. I know what I saw.� He was convincing himself to go; almost prepping himself. The newsman about to die, but ever-so-calmly and slowly, “Mr. Howe, go on please.� “I'm sorry. I have always been a pretty plain man. Though I personally am religious I like to see things before I believe them. Now that I look back on my life I really never believed. At least believing never felt like this. Now I have seen it, and there is no doubt in my mind.� The newsman switched his approach, “Whenever you're ready William.� Howe slightly laughed, the newsman asked, “Where's the reaction coming from William?� Howe replied, “All of your comments have meanings that are completely different to me now. It's not you. It's just that my outlook is different. Everything is different now.� He sighed lengthily, “I guess I don't care who believes me.� Still talking to himself. He cleared his throat and blurted, “After they quickly said good bye the black priest stepped upon the table, and with a flick of his wrist and unforeseen power the mess hall table rose up and slammed through the side wall killing everyone seated, and many bystanders, and exposing the mess hall to the walled grounds outside.� Now the random newsman was completely without words. “Bradley was still standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of the priest. The priest was looking at Bradley, and at that point I could tell that was his reason for coming. A set of guards came in bearing arms to control the situation, I think. They pointed their weapons and tried to regain order. Again, with powers I have not seen or knew existed, the white priest raised his hands and the guard's weapons were torn from their grasp, floated in mid-air, and pointed at chest level.� The familiar news lady's voice came on, “Mr. Howe this is anchor Nancy Rock, I think you have successfully silenced my co-anchor, as well as everyone else here in the office. Please continue the story at your own pace unto the end.� Howe went on, “The Priest, now with total command of the room spoke loudly to the people around him. He introduced himself with a couple of different names, which all meant nothing to me, but he called himself The Shepherd. He began to preach like I have never seen before. His voice was intense, and bellowed louder than any voice I have ever heard. He prophesied that the end was near and that everyone needed to receive Jesus.� News lady Nancy sounded off, “What were the prisoner's reactions?� Howe answered, “They all unanimously answered to him 'AMEN.' It sounded like I was at the Giants game. It sounded as if from the masses. The unanimity of the prisoner's response forced half of the guards to their knees in freight and awe. They begun to beg forgiveness, and pray like children. At this point The Shepherd gave them their last warning.� Howe became silent. Newscaster Nancy prodded, “Then?� Howe sighed unhappily, “The Shepherd lowered his left hand and pointed it at Bradley's cuffs, and once again with divine power unknown to me, separated Bradley's handcuffs sending the chain links in every direction…� Howe paused, “and discharged the floating shotguns.� Newscaster Nancy didn't improve on the previous newsmans performance, “Umm… uhhhh…. and…� You could hear the energy leaving Howe, “The priest said something to or at Bradley. Bradley began sprinting across the hall, but was lifted from the ground and flew, suspended in air, through the exposed hole in the wall. This is when the two sniper guards got their sites on Bradley. I could not see, but from what I have been told he jumped with, seemingly super strength, over the south wall of the prison, into San Pablo bay.� “My God,� Nancy thought the account was over. Howe proceeded, “At this point I stood up. Somehow my instinct as the warden surfaced, and I ran into the mess hall. Franc and Hector were no where to be found, and I can only assume they fled in fear. The black priest lay dead on the ground appearing to be fatally wounded by the table's explosive contact. I stared at The Shepherd, and he back at me with an intense look. He looked right through me, and when we locked stares all I could do was cry, and fall to my knees.� “What happened next.� I seemed to go into a trance, and must have passed out. When I awoke everyone of the prisoners were dead.� “Was it the explosion?� “No. The ones that were obviously not killed by the explosion had no wounds. No explanation to their fatality. I had called for back up, but was in no shape to be in my position of control. I could only sit on the ground, and wait for anyone else to arrive.� “Was anyone alive besides you?� Yes. I don't understand why, but only I, the guards who remained in the drawing room, and three guards who had fallen to their knees on the second floor were still alive, but each and everyone of us was in the same condition.� “Then what?� “Then we all sat next to each other on the cement floor. No matter what our religion had been, and prayed together to Jesus. That was it. Now I'm calling you.� “So all of you are there?� “No some of the guards had followed through with a body count, and came up two short, which usually is the two guard towers we have outside along the south wall. When the towers were searched, both guards were found dead, with bullet holes in their heads. Dead center.� “They had been shot? Do you think it was Bradley during his escape, or the priests earlier?� “No, I am positive it was not them.� “What leads you to believe that?� The bullet holes were shaped like, well… I guess like an old style key hole� Newscaster Nancy, “What was that?� “That's the closest description I can come up with. The wound was a bit wider at the top, and thinned at the bottom. “Are you sure the guards were shot?� “No, actually we don't think they were shot at all.� “Now I'm confused Mr. Howe. I believe you said the two guards in the tower were shot. You said dead center I believe. I, apparently, do not understand.� “Neither do I Ms. Rock.� “Can you help me out here a little William? Everything is so confusing, and it's kind of running together. Can you expand on what you found in the sniper towers a little more?� “After checking the sniper towers we found both guards dead. We are positive it was a bullet, because we found a single blood stained bullet inside both sniper towers, and the backs of their heads had been blown out. The key hole entry wound make us think that the bullet had to be traveling end over end, which is not how a bullet is fired. It was more like a sling-shot effect, or as if it had been thrown by hand at a high velocity.� “That is very strange. How…� “What is even more strange is the fact a human skull can only be penetrated and blown out the back by something equivalent or more powerful than a strong rifle, or gun.� “Okayyyyy,� Nancy didn't seem to catch on. “It is physically impossible for a gun to fire a bullet end over end and keep it's speed and trajectory.� “Mr. Howe, do you have any hypothesis on what has happened? It obviously wasn't thrown by hand.� Nancy asked, and Howe went silent. “Mr. Howe?� “Yes, actually that is the only possibility that we have come up with yet,� You could tell Howe knew no one believed him. Especially not the newscaster, even though she had to seem interested. “What leads the team to believe this one,� Nancy asked cynically. “We checked the guard's rifles in the towers, and each had fire off one single round at Bradley during his escape.� “Un-huh.� “The bullets found in each tower were unmistakably determined, by simple forensics, to have been fired from each one's own rifle.�
Howe paused. Nancy remained silent in utter confusion. Howe clarified, “They had been killed by the very bullets they had just fired. The rifles were still in their hands. Bullets were still warm.� Category: novel text -- posted at: 4:09 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 16 January 2006  Chapter 16: Only Through the Lamb (Where?)
Brad flinched as the last stitch was inserted into his scalp. The doctor, who remained mostly silent during the whole procedure, now turned off the bright fluorescent light which had been blinding Bradley the whole time. As his vision came back, the dark silhouette filled with color, and the doctor's face came into view. It was an old man who, Brad guessed from his withered yet unfragile look, had been making house calls there for a while now.A guard had lackadaisically been keeping watch on Brad from the back of the small "operating room" they were in. As the doctor surveyed his work the guard said, "You should thank God you didn't end up like the other guy. Two more seconds and..." "We should thank God for a lot of things." the doctor calmly corrected. Brad looked at the doctor who remained rather concentrated on the task at hand, and went back to being silent after he chimed in. Almost as if no one else was in the room, and he had said nothing. Bits and pieces were starting to come back to Brad. He started replaying the day's events back in his mind, and anger started to set in. The mix of having to sit still in the chair, being confined to a prison, and not having his son was chipping away at his will, making every moment and every further thought increasingly unbearable. The circumstances were so incredibly intense that the world seemed like a dream to Brad, and he was just along for the ride. His body ached for sleep, and he â??no longer wasâ?? in control. The doctor finished up and removed his gloves, "He's all fixed up." "All right, up!" the guard sternly ordered. Brad rose to his feet, and instinctively went to touch his wound. The doctor slapped Brad's hand and said, "You'll be fine in an hour." At that moment Bradley noticed a flash upon the doctor's chest. Another cross? How coincidental Brad thought as things only became more surreal. With that the doctor exited the room, and Brad was left solo with the guard. The guard once again cuffed his hands, this time in the front, and embarked toward Brad's cell. At this point Brad could start to reflect on the day's events, but he was still in a state of utter disorientation and unable to cope emotionally. He felt like a ghost. As the guard led him out of the room, down a short walkway, and to a desk and door which bordered the main food hall, Brad looked down upon a large chunk of the prisoners eating lunch. He immediately noticed two rows of long metal cafeteria style pic-nic tables, with the benches attached. Everyone sat segmented by race. Whites, blacks, latinos, & several other "groups" could be distinguished apart from each other easily. It was a little weird, but Brad remembered this kind of thing touched upon in movies and such. He then noticed a priest. The priest was a black man who was vigorously communicating with another black prisoner who wore a solid black skull cap signifying his Islamic association. What Brad initially thought was arguing started to appear as pleading. The priest had been animated with his hands pointing to different areas of the prison and at times its members. He wore a distressed look upon his face, and each response was more agitated. Also surprising to Brad was the fact that a humongous Aryan looking prisoner had his arms folded sporting several association based tattoos of his own, and was nodding along with whatever the priest was arguing. The priest then reached out and grabbed the black prisoner's forearm, turned it over, and placed his finger upon a crescent moon and star that had been tattooed upon his arm. The priest poked the tattoo rapidly as he continued his intense communications. The prisoner wrenched his arm out of the priest's grasp angrily, raised a pointed finger and furiously aimed it back at the priest as he yelled. By this time the whole place was watching them. This was strange but the shocking thing was the fact that all the prisoners were totally silent and their attention was completely on the three. They resembled a group of school kids quietly onlooking as a fellow classmate gets scolded. The prisoners seemed to be worried. The black prisoner continued to become more irate with each word. He then placed his finger on a tattoo of a swastika that covered the majority of the white prisoner's upper arm, and then back at his Islamic crescent apparently making some sort of comparison. The large white man immediately became very serious and tensely glared at the black prisoner and slowly unfolded his arms. There was a moment while the room held its breath wondering what the Aryan might utilize his free arms for. He then placed his fingertips on his tattoo and proceeded to drag his claws down the swastika deeply penetrating the skin and producing thick visible streams of blood instantaneously. Both the priest and the prisoner were dumbfounded. The large white man seemingly yelled back at the black man in refute. He waved his bloody index, and then turned to the others in the room and hollered some type of message as his dripping hand motioned intensely. At this moment the door blocking Brad from the mess hall slid open with a red flashing light and sharp abrupt siren-like sound. Nothing could have gained more attention. Brad was now one level up and the center of everyone's attention. He could now hear clearly and watched as the bloody Aryan, who's attention also had turned to Brad, took a moment; and then turned back and yelled, "Father forgive me! Only through your son shall I be forgiven for what I have done!" and he knelt and bowed his head in front of the Priest seemingly in response to Brads entrance. The room remained silent, and now everyone's eyes were switching back between the penitent prisoner, and Bradley. The priest froze and stared at Bradley as if he were a ghost. Brad also noticed a drastic change in the black prisoner's state. He looked just as scared as the priest. Brad's guard had not noticed anything until this point, and was also quite confused. The priest's eyes remained locked on Bradley in awe, but he slowly raised his hand and placed it on the white man's head, and began with a trembling voice, â??Father Almighty, forgive and bless this man. Recognize his faith, and wash away his sins. Though, he has little time left, help him to embrace your word, and to be born again in your love and forgivenessâ?¦â?? As the priest started to pray several outburst from the crowd could be heard. Some confused, others scared, and some very angry. These cries multiplied rapidly with retorts and come backs. Bradley still had no idea what had just gone on, but the groups he had noticed prior seemed to fester and their reaction was very mixed. Brad started to make out anti-religious comments, and also arguments themed with white supremacy and other types of racism and nationalism. Some got up from their seats. One could not imagine a more confusing state than the one Bradley was already in, but this topped it. He looked around in shock, and then noticed that several prisoners of different race gathered around the priest, and knelt down next to the bleeding white man wanting blessings also. The black prisoner knelt next to the Aryan. He snatched his headdress from his brow and tossed it to the ground. The Aryan raised his head, and tears could be seen streaming down his cheeks. He then held out his bloody hand, and with no more reluctance in his heart the black man grasped it. Then they both bowed there heads. The chain continued, and more commotion set in. Bradley continued to survey the room. He noticed a window looking into an office that lay directly below the operating room he had just come from. He saw a couple of guards, some superiors, and Warden Howe all inside. The guards and others were all seated staring towards the front of the room, as if they were in class. Warden Howe sat upon the front of a desk with his arms folded calmly looking back at the guards in the room. No one seemed to be speaking. Then a door at the back of the room opened, and another Priest walked through. He was an average size man with dark gray hair, and he wore thin framed glasses which gave him a classic scholarly look, and he looked quite serious, as did the other occupants in the room. The guard that had been carting Brad to his cell had redirected his attention to the commotion in the mess hall. He grabbed his two-way, â??Hey this is Buddy. We have an issue in the meal room. I have no idea what the fuck is going on but Father Coleman is down in the middle of it.â?? â??Come again Buddy. What's goin' on?â?? another guard responded. â??I don't fuckin' know. We got the peckerwoods and a bunch of the other guys joining hands. Looks like a frickin mass baptism or something. We got the lunch crew raisin' hell, and it looks like a fight, and Syrus is bleedin' all over himself, but he's hand and hand withâ?¦" he became overwhelmed, "where the fuck are you guys?!?!? Get in here.â?? Buddy, the guard, exclaimed, a little shaken up. â??We're in the drawing room down stairs.â?? Answered the other side. Buddy, and Bradley turned to look through the downstairs window, and could see the guard on the other line looking through the window at the mess with a two-way in front of his mouth. Then the priest, who had just entered the room, said something that caught the guard's attention. The guard looked confuse, and Warden Howe nodded and pointed his finger sternly at an empty chair. The guard looked even more confused, and then returned to his seat. Buddy asked again, â??Jeff, what the hell are you doin'? Get the fuck out here, it's about to hit the fan right now.â?? With this Buddy grasped the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder, and aimed it impulsively at the worsening crowd. He turned to Brad, â??Stay fucking put! You don't want to fuck with me, and you especially don't want to fuck with what ever is going on down there.â?? With that the guard took off towards the stairwell. Now a lot of strange and intense moments had come about throughout Brad's day, and this added to the list, but he could not help but notice that he was alone for the first time. He was on the, currently abandoned, second floor cat walk, and everyone was below him. Two thoughts entered into Bradley's mind at this moment. Gregory and escape. All the confusion, and surrealism that Brad had been enveloped in shattered right away. His mind tuned, and the commotion seemed to disappear. The sounds around him softened to background noise, and his eyes began to scan his environment for any way out. The drawing room. He stared at it unbelieving, but noticed that the occupants had begun to argue, which meant that they were probably all aware of the building tension outside in the mess hall. Brad had to make it through the door that the new priest had come through. Hopefully the guards would eventually beckon to Buddy's call and spill out of the room leaving the doors unmanned. An escape through the drawing room was undoubtedly the only way. Brad, with hands still cuffed, started down the second floor walkway towards the stairwell to the first floor dining room. He got half way there, and looked toward Syrus, and saw that the prayer chain had grown incredibly. Now over half the room was kneeling. Brad stopped dead in his tracks. Pictures of the flashing crosses shot into his mind. He bowed his head in prayer. He asked the Lord for strength and grace. He would not be able to make it through the drawing room without them. He took a deep breath and started down the stairway. As he made his way down he looked in the drawing room and saw that commotion had set in. The guards were now standing and crowding the front of the room, and some were now brandishing their weapons. Warden Howe was trying to hold them back. The gray haired priest was remaining silent. He reached into his pocket looking as if he were retrieving something. At that moment Warden Howe moved blocking Brad's direct view of the priest's pocket. A yellowish light shone on the priest's face like that of a flash light pointed towards someone's eyes, but the light danced across the priest's face indicating a slight flicker. Undoubtedly whatever the Priest had pulled from his pocket was the origin of the light, and Bradley became transfixed on what was going on. Then every guard in the room was completely frozen in awe of whatever the priest was holding. At this point Brad's foot hit the bottom floor, with the drawing room to his right, the unsettled crowd to his front, and he was no longer isolated from anything. The prisoners were continuing to choose sides. More joining the penitent group of kneelers, and others becoming confused or angry. The yelling got louder, and was turning into shoving. Brad was still peering towards the drawing room. Some guards had a look of complete amazement on their face, and some also looking genuinely scared. The thought of moving closer went through Brad's mind, and his desire to find out what the priest held drove him to start for the, still closed, door. At that very moment a tremendous thundering sound of impact came from a solid white windowless door at the bottom of the staircase to his left that Brad had not noticed, and echoed loudly throughout the hall. The door seemed to be of the heavy duty type, probably created to withstand any sort of human breach, and on Brad's side there was no handle. The thump was loud enough to draw Brad's attention as well as the black priest's and many of the silent prisoners. Another loud sound emitted, and bits of the metal material, that the door was made of, crumbled to the ground, and was blown away leaving small holes and breaks in the area where the door handle would have been. Now the black priest stopped praying, and was now fully concentrated on the noise, Brad's attention was also on the door to his left and no longer on the drawing room. The guards were still in a trance like state, but the gray haired priest had also somehow heard the sound, and wore a growing look of worry upon his face as he also stared at the white handle-less door, waiting. Then the door rocketed open with a loud breaking noise. Three men could be seen through the doorway. The first, a guard with a discharged shotgun at door-handle level. Next, a tall strong built man clothed in a police chief uniform whose leg was extended in the air showing his as the one which kicked opened the door. Finally, a man stood staring angrily through the doorway with a filthy evil look on his face, and clenched fists by his side. â??Where do you think you're going Bradley?â?? The final man asked, to Brad's ultimate shock. â??Chief Priam?â?? The black priest exclaimed sounding incredibly distraught. Everyone and everything stopped. That name meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people in that place. That name was known. Bradley remained frozen not knowing what was going on in any sense at all. He was surrounded by opposition in every angle. There was no way out, and he did not know what to expect, how the man knew him, or how to respond except to just stand there motionless. Bradley's mind tried to tell him to turn to his original escape, and when he looked towards the drawing room every guard was kneeling. Some were crying, and holding their faces in their palms, and other were praying. Some were holding their arms out as if to embrace something. Warden Howe was now also kneeling and intently praying; head bowed with his eyes closed. The strange light had grown brighter, and was now illuminating the walls, brighter than the lights around the room. The gray haired priest had turned towards the door, and he opened it. Now silence did not 'seem' to set in. It actually did. Every sound, even those of nature, stopped except for the footsteps of the priest. Everyone in the room was as if they were mute. The priest slowly walked through the drawing room doorway, and stared at Hector and Franc across the mess hall. The two brothers glared at the priest, acknowledging him as foe. He slowly turned to the black priest, and pointed towards the cinderblock wall that was opposite the stair case and across the room from where Bradley was currently at. Bradley still had no grasp of what was happening. The black priest quietly walked over in front of the tables in the first row that the prisoners had been eating at. The Black priest's attention had been completely cut off from what he had been occupied with, and he slowly, as if also in a trance, walked towards the gray haired priest until they were about a yard away from each other. Then the black priest said, â??Be strong. Save many.â?? The gray haired priest nodded and replied, "Tell Peter to keep the gates wide. The river shall flow unto He." "With the strength of three, Enoch." "With the strength of three, Johnathan." Brad looked on. The black priest wore a grave look on his face as he turned towards the first row of heavy metal dinning tables which now held less than a quarter of the original prisoners. Then he took a deep loud breath, and like children, every single prisoner sitting or standing at the table sat down quicker than they had ever done anything, and unaware of any race, nation, or gang they all joined hands, and bowed there hands. Time was still slow motion, and Brad felt celestial and was overwhelmed with amazement. The prisoner's reaction confused him, and he then noticed that several seated prisoners had lost control of their body, and had wet themselves. They had instantaneously become children, all in a heavenly second. As that heavenly second came to an end old Father Coleman stepped up the bench to his side and mounted the table in the first row directly in front of Brad, Father Augustine, and the stairway. A massive roar came out of Father Coleman and he thrust his hands forward as if slamming open a double door, and the massive metal table in the far row flew with inhuman power, along with those seated, through the cinder block wall decimating the seated prionsers, exposing a huge hole in the wall, and annihilating everyone's understanding of reality. Bits of dust, and particles of cinder wafted through the air and settled down upon the astonished people around it. Blood had been splattered in every direction from the seated prisoner's fatal impact, and a red mist fell. The LORD had come. Right then things began to speed back up, and Father Augustine turned quickly. His eyes met Brad's momentarily, but darted up towards the second floor. Armed guards had lined the walkway. They looked seriously frightened and had shotguns pointed. Augustine raised both arms upward at the guards, and with an incredible force each one's gun miraculously was ripped from their clutch, swung around, and floated at chest's height now with the guards on the other end. Augustine exclaimed, â??Not since the day of Jonah has the LORD put in place such miraculous deeds. Praise be to GOD!!!â?? The prisoners answered, â??Amen.â?? â??I am The Shepherd! I am St. Augustine! I am Enoch! I come in the name of the LORD!!! Be warned. Now is the last of your days. This, if anytime ever, is The Moment of Truth! You brother's shall pay witness to the final acts of the LORD,â?? the priest had everyone's attention, â?? Now swear allegiance to Heaven. Give your heart and soul to the LORD Jesus, for if you do not, you will be lost. Only through the son shall you be saved! Only through the lamb!â?? The prisoners answered, â??Amen.â?? The unanimity of the prisoner's response forced half of the second floor guards to their knees in peril and God given fear. They cried out for forgiveness and wept uncontrollably. The standing guards wore dire looks on their faces, and did not know what to do, and only understood their orders. Augustine glared at the half of the guards that were still standing and said solemnly and with finality, â??Accept the Holy Trinity, or suffer the ripping and gnashing of teeth.â?? Then Augustine quickly looked at Bradley and his cuffed wrists, and with the incredible timing, the priest lowered his left hand and pointed at the hand cuffs. The hand cuff chain fiercely shot apart and the links flew everywhere freeing Brad's hands. Simultaneously the floating shot guns all discharged and fell to the ground. Now the shotguns in front of the kneeling guards had been above their heads leaving them out of harms way, but the half of the guards that did not were no more; all of them. At this Moment of Truth, Bradley felt like a child unable to communicate. Everything that went on around him was nonsensical. His brain could not hand him a next step. He looked at the cuffs around his wrist which no longer were bound to each other. He then raised his view to meet the priest's. Father Augustine's eyes locked with his, â??Go now,â?? and he pointed towards the gaping hole in the prison wall. A feeling of understanding came over Brad for the first time that day. He knew what the priest had ordered him to do was exactly what was supposed to happen. He peered through the hole in the wall, and could see a poorly kept grass area on the other side. At the far end of the grass were the prison walls which soared about thirty feet in the air. There was a low barbed-wired fence on the grass several yards from the wall, and two sniper towers flanked it. Bradley had no idea what he would do when he got outside to the grassy area, but he knew it was what he needed to do. He started for the hole, but then Brad felt hands strongly grip both of his biceps, and he was unexplainably lifted off of the floor, and with great speed through the wall's hole. The force dropped him to the ground outside, and Bradley wasted no time trying to figure anything out. He just obeyed the feeling he had inside, and ran straight for the thirty-foot wall. Both sniper towers were manned, and the gunmen's attention had undoubtedly been drawn to the exploding wall on the other side of the grassy area which they patrolled. Both were experts, and were now cocking their bullets into the gun's chamber.
Unaware of the two gunmen, Bradley heard the back-to-back blasts echo through the grassy courtyard. The sounds were followed by the breaking of glass and the flying or sparks in each sniper tower; once again, back-to-back. Bradley continued, but the gun fire did not. Bradley was coming up on the barbed wire fence which was no higher than his waist. As he reached it he jumped up with his right leg, and placed his foot on the barbed wire in order to vault off and over it, but as he rose to the pinnacle of his jump he felt the grips back on his biceps, and he was raised up and over the wall, and down head first into the bordering San Pablo Bay. He had been set free.. Category: novel text -- posted at: 12:16 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 19 December 2005 Chapter 15: Absolute and Unstoppable (Where?)
Conference room 216 was quiet except for the sounds of a television when Hector entered it mid-morning. He had surprisingly taken his brother's advice, and put everything in the back of his mind so he could get some rest. However, all the stress that Hector was able to shrug off was driven straight back in its origin when he saw the faces of the occupants of the conference room. Everyone was sullenly staring at the television in the corner of the room, which was locked on the local news channel.Robert Baron looked like a disappointed father. You could see the disapproval of the current situation in a tight emotionless expression. He looked as though he were waiting for someone to bare good news or tell him that whatever was going on was over. Mayor McCain looked scared and full of anxiety, more than angry, biting his bottom lips and also starring at the television. His level of stress was also through the roof, and he was the only one with his name out there in the publics' eye. Giovanni looked absolutely disgusted. He continually would run his fingers though his full dark hair and angrily comment in Italian with every new bit of negative news. Hector gathered a general status of the mission from everyone's faces, and it did not look good. He then looked at Franc who was squinting at the screen appearing to be in deep thought. He was rubbing his stubbled chin, and he would occasionally quiet the room and listen intently with any breaking information. Robert Baron was the first to acknowledge Hector, "So I assume even being the chief of the SFPD can't get us out of this one." Hector looked to Franc to clarify the subject. Franc did not remove his eyes from the screen, but only lifted his elbow off of the chair next to him signaling to his brother for him to sit down and watch along. At the same time the newscaster chimed in, and gave a recap of the day's earlier events. Hector slumped into a chair next to his brother and listened on. After the recap Robert said, "This is not a show stopper that's for sure, but it doesn't make me comfortable right off the bat. I mean�. Do we know how much longer this will last? Or how many more arrests will be made?" Mayor McCain answered softly without taking his stare off of the television, "It should be over by mid-day judging from the field reports I'm getting. Actually," McCain tried to provide some encouragement, "it could be a lot worse." "The hot topic of the day still revolves around the event of Bradley Harris and his son Gregory." The name struck something in Hector, and he quickly turned to his brother, "Why does that name sound familiar?" He whispered. The others in the room took notice of this. Franc seemed to react to the name also "I am trying to figure out that very riddle." "According to the production staff here today this has become an international news event, and we still are unable to determine why the public has responded to this story so adamantly. We are receiving numerous requests for updates on a variety of subject regarding Mr. Harris ranging from court dates, his apparent support from Jacob Hughen, and reunification with his son Gregory. We can however only continue to report what we know, and so far there is not much." "Is this the only sour event so far?" Hector asked. The group nodded unanimously. "I don't see what the issue is here. I think we're on track as far as I can tell." Hector's upbeat words did not carry an optimistic tone however. He continued quietly to himself, "But who the fuck is Bradley Harris?" "Speak of the devil!" The newscaster shook her head as she quietly read a piece of paper that was handed to her. "Of course as we reassure you that we are giving you all the updates that we have� we have in fact received a brief update from what our producers claim is a trustworthy yet anonymous source. Bradley was transferred to the San Quentin Maximum Security Facility in Marin� directly. Yes, apparently he was taken immediately to the prison without any medical attention� Now that is ridiculous!� said the newscaster angrily. She turned to someone off screen, "These were task force inflicted wounds!" the newscaster said tapping her finger tip on the paper she was handed. She most likely received some sort of hand motion to get on with it, "Sorry folks, I just can't believe this. The county is making it harder on themselves." She continued, "It says here that Bradley was transferred to the San Quentin facility, and his initial entrance..." The reporter seemed to be flustered, "sparked a catastrophic prison riot... Two prison guards are now in a critical state, and one of the inmates was fatally wounded with a shot....� This news was too much for even the newscaster. She shook her head, took a couple seconds, and continued. The reports are that Bradley is finally receiving medical attention, but there are no reports passed that." In the background you could hear the already busy phones start to ring off the hooks. "In directly related news there are no further updates on the general status of Gregory Harris. There are reports of a handful of protesters out side the Federal Reserve building urging for the reunification of Gregory with his father. Additionally, several journalists and a cameraman from Bloggers-On-Site have showed up, but reports state that nothing substantial has formed as of yet." The reporter slightly shrugged, "Just wait." The office that Hector, Franc, and the rest of the group were in was, coincidentally it seems, on Market across the street from that very building. Robert leaned back in his chair and looked out the window which faced the building, and saw the handful of protesters out on the street. Gregory is under government supervision temporarily. This is due to the fact that a proper guardian has yet to be established in the absence of a legal parent. Bradley's wife, Jennie, and daughter, Caitlin, were killed a year ago when a high speed pursuit turned fatally wrong, and the criminal collided with Mrs. Harris' car� At that point in time Hector and Franc froze in absolute and unstoppable fear. Both their faces went pale, and their eyes wide. Both of their mouths fell agape, and breathing ceased. They felt the fear of the world collapsing in on them. This is fear that a non-believer feels when they initially discover they are not in control of things. This fear was derived from the reality that someone or something else was in fact controlling the events around them. This fear ultimately came from the acknowledgment that whoever was controlling things, they were not able to be bought, or killed, or bargained with and most of all they were not on their side. It was obvious that their plan had been derailed and had been turned in-side-out, and now they were the victims. Hector slowly turned his shock stricken face to his equally devastated brother, "Franc, its over. It is like I said. There is no doubt and no escape." A smoldering look of fury shown on Francs face, "This is NOT over. I will NOT fail." Franc turned to Hector, "We are taking this to the limit." Everyone in the group had no clue what the two brothers were speaking of, and everyone's attention had now been shifted from the news to their conversation. Hector was completely confused at Franc's reaction, and what 'limit' he was referring to.
"What can we do brother?" Hector asked as he had many times before. "We're heading to Marin to stop this, now." Hector returned, "Brother, I will follow you this last time, but be aware. The forces at hand are absolute, and unstoppable." "We will find out."
Hector looked away from his brother painfully, "That, my brother, is exactly what I meant." Category: novel text -- posted at: 4:16 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 19 December 2005 Chapter 12: You Do Not Need, You Desire (Where?)
The near-hopeless confusion that Father Augustine had been feeling had begun to eat away at the priest. He became frustrated as he sat alone in the quietness of the empty room. He rolled over the day's occurrences in his head trying to align them in some sort of order that made sense, but no matter which angle he looked from nothing opened up. He began to notice he was getting further and further from understanding anything.Bradley had been captured. The only task left for Enoch on Earth was to protect Bradley, and before he could react, he has been taken, and he did not know where. Enoch usually would have seen this coming. He knew that the end of times would be troubling, and that the dark one would use his full arsenal, but Enoch always believed he would go into this battle well equipped. That there would be a glorious victory over evil. Now it seems that it would be anything, but what Enoch expected. Why, he wondered, at this time, would the Lord take away his advantage to fulfill His Word? Why did it seem that he, Enoch a great biblical figure, would be put into the field with the people he had been shepherding forever? It was almost as though the Lord was testing him as he was the rest. Removing him from his esoteric position and placing him back into the basket from which he carefully choose him from. Why, he asked again, would the Lord discourage him at the pinnacle moment in service. It was like giving a home run hitter the league record, and then stripping him of his ability to hit in the crucial game 7 of the series. Enoch, Father Augustine, felt betrayed. He felt as though he was the center of an atrocious joke. Each time he began to go into a rage he only was able to rage at God. For he was the one who both granted and diminished Augustine's powers. He was the only one who could. Every time the Priest's rage spilled out towards God, Augustine would be immediately humbled by the thought of insubordination. This repeated until he could no longer hold back, and attempted to communicate his anger out loud, "LORD why have you forsaken me?!?! Now at the time of my ultimate tasking why do you choose to strip me of my powers?! You are making it more difficult to accomplish the goals which you have set before me. Is this a test? Are you both testing and tasking me at that same time? I feel that time is critical right now, and I do not believe I am able to fulfill what is needed of me. If I were to regain my powers I know that I would once again be able to shepherd your people." Augustine, like many others, felt a bitterness growing within him due to the fact that God was not verbally responding. The Priest lowered his head, and in a spiteful tone said "I cannot do your will if I do not have what is necessary to..." "To what?!?!" bellowed a loud deep Scottish accent. Father Augustine looked up from his bowed position to gaze upon another Priest which he had long since seen. The priest continued with a commanding bellow, "What does the great Enoch need which God hath not given him? Do you need to be comforted? Do you need consolation, or motivation?" Father Augustine remained silently gazing, in awe, at his respondent. The Scotsman answered in an angry roar "No Enoch you do not need; you desire!!!! You desire that which God hath not given you. I remember a time, "The Scottish Priest's voice calmed substantially, "when you conveyed one unwavering fact to me. A fact that, you explained, should weigh into every decision I must make for the rest of my life. A fact that you said must be kept in mind forever, and to place it out of mind is what makes great men reach their human limitation and ultimately fall. That is the one simple fact that applies to everyone of God's children: God will only give you what you need, and nothing more, and by believing that fact you must acknowledge that at any given moment in your whole life you have what you need to move forward and fulfill God's goals. This applies to everyone on this earth Enoch, those of your equal, and those that you have been selected from. Do you remember that fact; that rule by which we live?" Father Augustine looked up at his companion with tears streaming down, and said with a rasp in his voice, "Yes, yes I do. It is sometimes hard to remember in times like these."
"The best way to remember this..." The Scotsman, Father Mac?, said as he picked up the remote control to the television that sat in the middle of the room, "...is to look for the gifts God has provided us all with," and he clicked on the television, and the two Priests watched and listened to the latest news update. Category: novel text -- posted at: 4:13 AM Comments[0] |
Sat, 3 December 2005 Chapter 13: Apparently Answering Prayers (Where?)
About forty five minutes to an hour later Bradley began to awaken to the continued rolling to and fro in what seemed to be the back of a van-like vehicle. It was pitch black, so at first Bradley was unsure if he was awakening or simply in a very disorienting dream. He quickly realized his hands were bound, and the continued rattling of chains meant that they were probably hand-cuffs. Bradley was in a deep haze and could not recall anything that had previously happened, and could not figure out how or why he was now in the back of this vehicle, or where it was going. Then it stopped moving and seemed to turn off. Bradley worked himself to a sitting position with his back against the cold metal walls. He could hear the tapping and clinking of metal, which resembled a key being put in a keyhole. A loud snapping noise sounded off as, what apparently was, the door handle was turned.Bradley squinted as a very small beam of light shone through the break in the two rear doors. Just one door was slightly ajar, but the sunlight luminously bounced off of the reflective metal walls inside the vehicle's rear containment section. Brad could now see where he had been rolling around. There was a single metal bench fastened to the wall on one side of the area, and a plain wall on the other, aside from Bradley's blood marks smeared around the bottom half that was it. He had a headache, and an immense amount of pressure which pulsated around the crown of his head. He felt a cold liquidy feeling around the area of his head, and when he realized it was a spot of blood he then remembered the events of the morning. More importantly he recalled that his son had been taken from him. The doors finally opened completely, and Brad had to wait for his eyes to adjust. Two police officers were staring back at him with no expression on either one's face, and they waited standing still. "Where's my son?" Bradley said groggily. He cleared his throat, "What have you done with my son?" Both police officers looked at each other showing knowledge of the subject, but they remained silent. One hopped up into the back of the van to retrieve Bradley. "C'mon, help me out," the officer said as he slid Brad towards the edge of the van. Bradley remained motionless until his feet were dangling off the side about 6 inches from the outside pavement. Bradley stood up on his feet, and began to wobble. The police officer that was still outside the van grabbed Brad's shoulders and hand cuffs to brace him. Brad had apparently lost a good amount of blood, and he could feel himself getting sick and turning pale. "Uhhhhhhh," Brad moaned as his vision came back into focus, "Where am I now? This doesn't look like the civic center." Bradley scanned the area and his eyes bulged when his sight fully came back to him and he then recognized the Marin Country historical building he was in front of. "Welcome to San Quentin Mr. Harris," Greeted a gray-haired drill sergeant looking man dressed in what appeared to be the maximum security prisons ranking staff uniform, "All criminals taken into custody by the task force in Marin are being confined within these walls, and you seem to be somewhat of a celebrity now with all the news stations playing the siege on repeat for the last hour or so." Bradley squinted in confusion at what the man was referring to, "You don't know, do you?" The uniformed man stared at Brad for a while and looked at the blood from his head wound. He then motioned to the two cops that he had custody over Brad now, and that they should leave. The officer named Wally looked at the staff member with an expression of shock, and silently asked, do you know what's going on? “I know, I know� he responded, the man understood how out of control things were. Both of the officers turned and left. "My name is warden Howe, and I am in charge of 'The Q' and all of its tenants, which now includes you." Bradley was a little unfocused and was trying to put a bunch of pieces together, "Where is my son?" Howe's initial expression was, that of which you would expect from a prison warden. With Brad's question it changed to a solemn, almost unhappy look. Warden Howe turned away from Brad and stated, "You're son has been taken from you due to your involvement with cultivating, consuming, and selling marijuana. He will remain in custody of the state, like the CPA I'm sure, as you will remain here until further notice from either Mayor McCain, or another superior." Bradley was still confused, and tried to gather Warden Howe's demeanor. He continued to stare at the warden with a grave expression. The warden gazed back at him, and for about three seconds they silently locked stares. Bradley slightly picked up on some sympathy from the warden. As if Howe also felt Bradley's imprisonment was unfair or harsh. Bradley gave the warden a nod in acknowledgment, and the warden seemed to shake himself out of a trance. He then motioned to a pair of guards to come over, "Take Mr. Harris to get cleaned up, and then to his holding area." Two guards came over, and pointed Brad towards a solid steel gate. They walked towards the entrance and buzzed themselves in. The gates automatically opened and Howe interrupted, "Mr. Harris." The guards turned Bradley around, "I have also lost my son." Howe was still looking away from Brad, and actually had his back to him. "I lost my son to the war." Howe slowly turned around and as he did a beam of light glistened off of a silver cross which hung around his neck, "Keep faith in your heart young man. For your son has not died, and you still will be able to see him." The guards brought Brad in, and he now understood what he saw in the warden's gaze. Bradley was now brought into a dark cold corridor splitting the front gate from another entrance to what seemed to be the main facility. He could softly hear sounds of commotion off in the distance. The barely lit cement walkway led all the way to a similar looking steel gate at the back of the room. As Bradley moved closer and closer the noise grew louder. It was voices, but nothing could be made out. They just grew louder as Bradley drew closer. As Bradley faced the steel gate in front of him the guards once again buzzed themselves in. The gate began to open, and as it cracked the noise became much more audible, and some cursing was made out. When the gate finally opened all the way Bradley stood staring as a giant area full or murders, thieves, psychopaths, rapists, kidnappers, and an assortment of America's finest. "Welcome to San Quentin kid." One of the guards said, "Someone else is your daddy now." Bradley usually would have been scared… any man in his right mind would have been incredibly scared, but Bradley wasn't concentrating on normal things at the moment. He could only think of the fact that he had lost his son. This coupled with the pure confusion surrounding him put everything in a completely different perspective. The only thing left in the entire world that he needed to keep up with, to protect, he had lost and now had absolutely no chance of getting to. The guards nudged Bradley on the back to prompt him to move forward, and as Bradley began to enter the area of thugs several of them pointed. "That's the father," a big black man, in a light blue prison suit sitting on a folded out chair said in astonishment. He pointed at Brad, and then back at a television which was showing the news. The newscast stated, "The controversial busts earlier today have caused quite a response from the local community, and beyond. What was previously looked at as a locally supported initiative now has seemed to backfire in the face of its creators. We've received thousands of calls from our viewers in the last hour since the events occurred. Some in support of the initiative… but the overwhelming majority sympathetic to the criminals. But the hottest subject of the hour is the specific bust of Father and Son Bradley and Gregory Harris. There seems to be a general cry from the public to release Bradley, and to reunite him with his son Gregory. We're not sure if it was the footage of the bust, the firing of the assault rifle, the fact they were praying, or the surprising support of Jacob Hughen, but we are continuing to receive call upon call about the issue. Here is a excerpt from one of those calls, "I'm a father. I drink alcohol, and I've smoked pot before and if anyone tried to take away my child in my own house there would be *beep*ing murder. I can tell you that much." With the last comment a loud commotion arose in the hall where Bradley stood. He heard a couple of 'hell yeahs!' which surprised him. The commotion was so loud that it took Brad's escorts off guard. Also this only added to the attention that he was receiving. Then Brad's image appeared on television, "See, I told you it was him!" the inmate closest to the television exclaimed. And the place went nuts. They started to crowd around the television, and inmates began to scream at Brad. Brad picked out some awful prison references, and violent threats, but then he started to hear cheering. "I'd fucking murder those cops too if they stole my child." An inmate said genuinely frustrated. "Hell yeah!" came a deep voice from a large pecker-wood looking man as he stared at Brad's two escorts. The prison guards became a bit fidgety, and started to push Brad through the crowd. The large white man balked a punch towards the escorts jokingly to catch them off guard and making them flinch. They clenched and raised their batons, which they were holding, to chest level, and they began to look rather scared. One of the escorts looked up a level at a fellow guard, and sent him a hand signal. Right then bright lights began to flash and sirens went off. This seemed to add to the commotion, but apparently the guard thought this was their chance to wade Bradley through the ocean of inmates towards his cell. The cheers and jeers grew loud to the point where Brad couldn't tell the difference or where they were coming from. One inmate rooted him on, and patted him on the shoulder, which initially scared Brad half to death. Then another grabbed Brad's blood stained shirt, and said, "What makes you so fucking special faggot! No one here to support you now fucker!" With that Brad's assailant, a Hispanic man, was knocked to the ground by what seemed to be the metal leg of a chair that another large black man held in his hand. At this point Brad knew he was in the middle of a prison riot, and so did the guards. One grabbed Brad by the back of the neck, and the other by the chain-link in his hand cuffs, and they pushed him, almost like a bulldozer, through the mess of inmates. Brad could do nothing besides collide with every single person that was infront of him, because his hands we behind his back. Several inmates were pushed over, some on top of each other, as the guards forced Brad through the crowd. As Brad made it past the fallen inmates the guards became stuck and couldn't move. Brad's momentum drove him to the outside of the crowd, and his escorts lost grip of him. At this point reality hit Brad, and fear set in. Bradley turned around, and saw the two guards become swallowed up by the crowd. Through the flailing arms and legs Bradley could make out about ten inmates "getting theirs" on the two downed guards. Bradley backed himself up against a cinder block wall that was behind him, and tried to become invisible. He could still see the guards being beaten, and spots and splatters of blood projected onto the guards and their assailants. Bradley was in complete shock, and even though he could not bear to watch the guards be battered he could not take his eyes off of the crowd. Then he noticed the Hispanic inmate who had assaulted him and been knocked to the ground had risen and now had Brad in his sites. Bradley watched as the inmate dug himself out of the stampeding riot, and now he was moving towards him. Brad could see he had the same intension as before, but now he had the chair leg. With his hands still cuffed behind his back Bradley was helpless. He froze against the wall, and just watched as the man grew closer. Brad tried to predict what was going to happen, and what the man would do, but nothing came into his thoughts. He was so scared that he couldn't imagine what was going to become of him now. Was this it? Was the inmate so crazy that he would just murder Brad? Brad thought Am I never going to see Gregory again? The inmate now closed in on Brad and grabbed him by the neck with one hand pressing Brad's head up against the cold hard abrasive wall. With his other hand he raised the chair leg. The same object which had just taken him down. Bradley knew the mans blow would be too much, and that there was nothing he could do. So he prayed as quickly as he ever had. Lord deliver me.
Right as the chair leg rose to its pinnacle point and began to come down on Brad's head the loudest noise exploded, and a flash emitted like a large spark. Brad's ears rang, and filled with incredible pain and he could no longer hear a single sound emitting from the riot, which was instantaneously stopped as well as all participants in their tracks. Also his face stung from the sparks of the flash. Brad had winced, and flinched as the blast happened. In a split second he had shaken off the burning, and opened his eyes; his ears still ferociously ringing. A guard was now standing in thick riot gear next to Bradley's assailant. He had the barrel of a twelve gauge shotgun pointed at the place where the assailant used to have a head. What Brad had thought was burning debris, apparently was partially skull and brain shrapnel catching him across the face. He looked around for anything that made sense, and he noticed once again a beam of light glistened off of a silver cross which hung around the neck of a prison warden looking down from the second floor whose left hand was outstretched with its index finger pointing down; apparently answering prayers. Category: novel text -- posted at: 9:15 PM Comments[0] |
Tue, 29 November 2005 Chapter 12: Crystal (Where?)
As George sat down at his darkly stained oak desk he let out a sigh of exhaustion. He began to reach for his feather quill pen, but mid-motion realized that he was not here to sign anything. He scanned his desk for priority documents that he needed to read, but alas, his desk was clear as it always was kept by his excellent secretary. George was at a loss to his objective, and he felt very uncomfortable about his growing lack of clarity.Now, he was a busy man by definition, but this ran far beyond job induced perplexity. He imagined this is what it felt like when one's memory goes, or when a mental breakdown is in its infancy. He could not control it, nor could he figure out the root of the issue. He was in the best shape ever, confirmed by the ever watchful, "you have to be a national image of health" committee, which unfortunately spawned from some former first lady. This was much to George's dismay. President George Jonathan Washington, direct descendant of the great, had also lived in Mount Vernon, Virginia. His Father, of the same name, was also elected to the highest office in the land two presidents before George now. Even though he and the rest of his family were in the same light as those other similarly famous American families, George continually had his share of trouble. He was a popular guy doing popular things back throughout his youth, and even with his mother's disapproval he would never hide the act of enjoying these pleasures. He was wild, but not out of control. He got in trouble, but nothing major. He didn't take school as seriously as he could, but he earned a high grade average, and he always made sure it wasn't his relatives that earned it for him. Nowadays he still occasionally had a glass of bourbon, or wine during a celebratory dinner. This, his wife addressed at the first mention of 'the election' when George was governor. He never understood why she, and the general public, thought of it as a bad example. He thought to himself at his wife's first mention of going dry several years ago the public would never come out and say it, but they think alcohol is bad. It's the substance that they identify with evil, and not the one imbibing. Even the one drinking acts as though the action is taboo, hiding it from some, and secretly reveling in it with their peers. What is the use of a premise nowadays? How has this happened? Do Christians forget the days of Jesus being criticized by the Pharisees for drinking wine? Is this not proof enough? Is not the Holy Bible the word of God? Something has changed the mind, especially American minds, against the actual substance. People are now creating their own rules… there own good and bad, but what do they factor against? Not their religion? Not a premise? I cannot place my finger on it, but it has already happened. How can people be lead down a blind path? The past mental conversation ran through his head as clear as it did the day his wife mentioned it. Then anger set in again. He was angry at America. He did not like the hypocrisy, or the hiding and lying. The trend of other people pointing fingers and passing judgment, without addressing themselves first, was always something George thought he was alone in noticing. He had never met a person who did not have faults, but he always met with people that pointed out everyone else's. Due to his job he was subject to listening to many people's opinions on the way things should be, the way people should act, and the rules people 'need' to follow, and every time he heard anything of the sort his mind would trail and he would look at the speaker. It was not the Mother Teresa's of the world. They asked for help for the under privileged. It was always the one's who were screaming on the inside. The one's who figured if their one request was met the world would be amazingly balanced in a moment. These were the one's George worked with. There was no other kind. There seemed to be no more Mother Teresa's left. Then George noticed something. To his utter bewilderment this was the clearest he had been thinking in the past three days. How did he even trail off onto this subject, and why is pondering it so clear? Then the door to the oval office opened, and Attorney's General Taggart entered with a folder full of his thoughts on balancing the world. "Good afternoon Mr. President," he greeted his boss. "Welcome General Taggart. I apologize for postponing our meeting earlier, but I was feeling out of sorts throughout the morning." George explained. "I understand completely sir. You have a lot on your plate lately, and I will make this meeting brief." Taggart mentioned as he handed his folder across the desk to the President, "Everything that we spoke about is documented in there, and it all should be fairly to the point." "What exactly did we speak about General Taggart? I remember discussing some concepts with you, but we never defined anything. What are you proposing in this heap of paper?" George replied wearily, as he quickly flipped through the document glancing at a page occasionally. "My proposal, Mr. President, is to remove the separate classifications of all substances under the 'controlled substance act', so that they are all equally measured in all senses, along with the reclassification of controlled substance trafficking, producing, and cultivating as acts of terrorism." Taggart spewed as if reading from a queue card. Silence set in, and George was again thinking clearly. A feeling of caution set in, and he began to review what Taggart's proposal really meant. He stared at the Attorney General in disbelief. The proposal was enormous, and fundamentally impossible, and George knew this. More importantly, The President knew that Attorney's General Taggart, the highest lawyer in the nation, knew this fact too; undeniably. Then the President noticed something. Taggart was standing at attention across the desk with his hands folded behind his back as he always did, being the stuffy guy that he was, but his face was pale, and he seemed strangely nervous. George had never seen him nervous. George said to himself something is wrong hear. Something is going on. George wiped any expression off and replaced it with his poker face. He wanted to feel Taggart out, "You understand this means that cultivators of cannabis, even for medicinal use, will be arrested and charged as a meth scientist, or a drug lord?" Taggart nodded, "Correct sir." "And you are aware that if classified as terrorist acts you would be able to pursue and locate the offender you are referring to, in this case a marijuana cultivator, with the highest level of clearance, and disregard for privacy?"p> "Correct again Mr. President. I believe this gives us an incredible platform from which to launch a final war against drugs. I am confident this will be the bellwether for us." Taggart gave his sales pitch, but seemed even more nervous now. "Who is 'us' Taggart?" George slowly asked in the tone of suspicion, which threw the Attorney General off guard and into a spin of anxiety. George was still trying to keep his cool on, and didn't know how the suspicious tone came out himself either, but the reaction in Taggart's manner was enough to confirm any suspicion the President had. The President of the United States and the Attorney's General stared at each other in complete silence. The senior, wondering what sort of conspiracy was be planned behind his back, and the junior knowing that some level of cover had been blown and was now completely frozen as a deer is when caught in headlights. George sat back in his chair in the slowest of motion. He wanted Taggart to remain in his immobile state, and felt that any sudden move might cause a change in demeanor. He reached his hand slowly towards the phone on his desk, which could call his secret service men to his side in the quickest of fashion, but he stopped. He could not understand why, but he stopped. A feeling inside told him not to pick up that phone. George looked at his life at this very moment. I haven't been thinking this clear in a long time. Either I'm going crazy or something that's supposed to happen is happening. I shouldn't pick up that phone. At the moment of George's decision the door to the oval office opened, and Thomas, the secret service man, barged in with Glenda, the President's secretary, ordering, "By who? By me Thomas! You're forbidden by me to go in there when the door to the oval office is…" George was still in a state of disorder, and did not speak but just gave Thomas a look of confusion. Thomas spoke out as soon as his eyes met the President's, "Mr. President sir, I would never do this unless I thought it was of absolute necessity. There is an incident in California, and I believe that many officials and possibly some within the administration did not want you to know this (Thomas motioned towards Taggart with his eyes), and are in fact hiding, I think, something from you. I beg of you to speak alone with me." General Taggart's eyes were wide and he began to tremble and shift his weight from one foot to the other. "Actually Mrs. Tilford will you leave Thomas, the Attorney General and I alone, and make sure that absolutely no one at all comes into this room until I have opened the doors. Have the rest of the servicemen man the entrances to and surrounding the oval office, and order that their weapons be drawn. Is that clear Glenda?" "Crystal, Mr. President." Glenda said nervously, as she backed out of the office starring at the carpet also trembling. George now stood up, and Thomas said, "Mr. President may I have permission to turn the television on?" "Thomas, this is of the most extreme condition, please do whatever you need to proceed and tell me what the fuck is going on, now." He was still starring at General Taggart as if his frightened state would disappear once his gaze was removed. Thomas turned on the television, and pulled out his two-way, "Matthew, will you play the tape from the beginning for the president on channel three?" The reply came back, "Sure thing Tom. Give me five." George interrupted, "Thomas you can bring me up to speed verbally in five min…" The images started, "Five seconds Mr. President." At the beginning of the video George was intrigued but still confused. He saw a couple of officers in an upper class suburban setting through the camera work of what resembling the filming of a Cops television show. The footage bounced to and fro in concert with the pace of the cameraman, and three task force members quickly moving towards the door. The President was still unclear on what was going on as the members kicked down the front door. The firing of the live round was followed up by the clearing of dust through the doorway, and then, in slow motion, George saw faint silhouettes. The dust gradually dissipated and through the cloud George saw those shadows form into a real American father and son. The camera quickly pans to the high chair, to the one who fired the gun, and then back to the crying child. Now George’s legs went weak and he sat down with his mouth agape, upon the velvet sofa in the middle of the oval room, and watched the remaining events unfold all the way up to the point where one of the people he nominated to the Committee of Economic Stability, a professional acquaintance, Jacob Hughen, was now on television angrily spewing like one of the sons of liberty. President George Washington now turned, with a very serious look on his face, to his still fossilized Attorney General, and said, "Taggart, the 'us' you were talking about… I think you were speaking of a different group than I belong to." The President stepped back a step and aligned himself at Thomas' side, "Even though it looks as though you don't need it, you do not have my support or approval on your proposals. They will not pass." Taggart remained frozen, "Thomas, you have a side arm, correct?" "Always Mr. President, of course" Thomas said as he drew with his sight locked on the Attorney's General.
"Thomas you are ordered to apprehend and detain Attorney General Taggart on suspicions of terrorism and of conspiratorial high treason of the president and people of United States of America.". Category: novel text -- posted at: 3:46 AM Comments[1] |
Thu, 17 November 2005 Chapter 11: Silver Lining of the Golden Hinde
Chapter 11: Silver Lining of the Golden Hinde
Juan-Pedro sat upon the leather couch inside his hotel suite, and closely watched the events unroll on television. He had been watching the arrests, and now he was watching one of the neighbors of the criminals with amusement. This old man, who was dressed in his fancy robe and flannel pajamas beneath was speaking to the camera in a way Juan had never witnessed before. The neighbor was apparently agitated with the officers at the scene. He had commandeered the microphone and now had captured and captivated the local bay area viewers.When the elderly man introduced himself as Jacob Hughen, one of the most powerful businessmen, and cornerstones of the accounting sector, Juan knew that something out of the ordinary had happened. The equation didn't make any sense. A young father, who was caught growing a substantial amount of cannabis, was being supported by a senior citizen of an ultra-high social class. Jacob Hughen didn't attack or accuse Bradley of being an irresponsible father, or of being a criminal. No, Jacob Hughen cared not about the charges. In Juan's country something like this would not even happen… any of it. He was surprised that it happened in America at all, even with the amount of liberalism that runs rampant in the states. He had not ever even witnessed a senior citizen supporting a young adult such as Bradley in any case. The two seemed to be different species, exact opposites, or even combatants. Mr. Hughen continued on to the subject of the criminal's son. His wife, Madeline, had come to his side with pressing questions. She had become terribly worried when Jacob mentioned that fact that a gun had been fired, and was now wondering if anyone had been hurt. Jacob was without the answers he was looking for too, so he turned and located the agent who had fired the gun off, and called him over to the camera for grilling. He asked the agent, agent Barker, what the offense was. Agent Barker stated the charges, and then informed Mr. and Mrs. Hughen of the maximum penalty of twenty-five years, and at that moment it happened. The camera had not been perfectly still the whole time, bobbing to and fro methodically with the sway of the flabbergasted cameraman, but there was no missing the single tear that immediately rolled down the face of Madeline Hughen that moment. The tear dropped at the echoing ring of the officer's last words. The pure emotional attachment was realized by anyone watching at the very instant. All could identify with the heartbreak, and sorrow the old woman was feeling, without even knowing the history. She communicated everything that the father and son meant to her with one large tear. He husband comforted her and he embraced her momentarily, and as he turned to face the camera and the world again he still wore the angry fire in his eyes, but his eyes had glassed over. With the motivation of rage and sadness Jacob Hughen drew a line in the sand, and told the government he would be crossing over to their side, and that he demanded to know where little Gregory Harris was. This was special Juan said to himself. He could feel an intensity about the event, a defining historical moment he was to witness in his life, and that something had just changed in the world, and there was no human ability to stop it. Juan imagined how far Jacob Hughen's platform would or could reach. Then the television rang out, "The boy is at the San Francisco Federal Reserve Building on Market…" What was this? Juan heard the officer state the location of the child, and he knew that meant something more. He tried to remember why that fact was so important, but it was a subject so new that he had not formalized any aspect about it in his head. His brain was in a blank state only searching for the importance of the whereabouts of the child. He did not have any tie to the child, and he would have cared less where the child was if Jacob Hughen wasn't so adamant about the subject. He looked back to why his interest had emerged in the first place to make him watch the news before he took off to SFO to return home. And then it all came together in his head. The phone rang and Juan answered, "Hello," mind you in his native tongue, "This is Juan." "Estoy Tomas. Are you aware of what has become of your situation?" a deep thick gruff voice asked. "Hola Tomas, you have called at a very strange time." Juan began to explain. "I agree." The tone in Tomas' voice was unexpectedly pleasant and relaxed. Juan could tell something was up. Tomas continued, "Are you aware of the events unraveling near you?" "Of what events?" Juan asked. "I can hear the television in your room, and that tells me you know of what I'm talking about." Juan was even more in shock now, "The event involving this neighbor Jack…. o Jacob Hughen?" "Si." Tomas plainly responded. "You are correct, but now I must ask you how did you hear of this?" "I too am watching thee very same footage you are watching now. It is on the local news here too, and I can tell you that means it is also being viewed in Europe and most Asian countries." Tomas calmly stated. "Si, this is not good for us…" Juan started to divulge. "Actually you must, as they say over there, see the silver lining." Tomas said esoterically. Juan now became uncomfortably confused, and his temper began to rise, "Tomas I have no idea why this would cause you to call me, much less please you." "Because the child is being kept in the Federal building on Market," Tomas eluded. "I am still not following you Tomas." Said Juan. "This is important because, what were the exact word 'The minor has been taken to the head quarters of the operation along with any and all confiscated evidence.'" And now Juan understood. Tomas continued, "We have contacted the Golden Hinde." "What for?" Juan said with disgust. "I have propositioned them with a deal." "This is bad Tomas. I must leave the country now. To me, the plan has back fired, and I can only gain exposure by staying here. This is not worth the risk." "Juan where are all the policia right now?" Tomas asked getting more esoteric by the moment to Juan dissatisfaction. "They are all out on the operation." "And where are the drugs?" "They are all..." Juan paused taking in the final equation, "at the Federal Reserve on Market." "I am sure that we could acquire the product at a much lower cost than from you Gringo partners, if we were to go through the Golden Hinde." Tomas came out with it. "What is happening Tomas." Juan had lost all his patience, and demand to be shot straight. "Time is of the essence Juan. To accomplish this, things must be hastened." "What did you do Tomas?!?!?" "The Golden Hinde is now amassing and will invade the Federal Building later in the afternoon. It is still early in the day, and the task force, I assume, has many hours ahead of them, but our window of opportunity is small. Our amigos are incommunicado, and there is no turning back." Juan hung up the phone in anger, and the only thing that came to mind was Giovanni Paulo.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 5:05 PM Comments[1] |
Thu, 17 November 2005 Chapter 10: The Guardian (Where?)
"Good Morning for those that are joining us. I'm Cindy Chen, and for those of you who have stayed tuned in, thank you for your patience. We're back from an unannounced break. The footage you saw previous to the break was of a raid upon a north Marin house, which was occupied by a man and childâ?¦ Yes, it has been confirmed the father and son were the tenants of the house, and I have also been informed that the raid has finally ended.The task force confiscated approximately two hundred plants. The spokesperson for the task force also stated that the owner of the house, who will remain nameless, had been identified as a potential target for sometime now, and the task force was just waiting for the right time. The spokesperson continued stating that the bust will put a huge dent in the "Golden Triangle" black market. Also that the citizens of this small town, and of the greater Marin area should feel much safer after today knowing that the large majority of people, like the mentioned criminal, are being targeted and arrested today. We now go back to Raymond the camera man who caught the intense bust on camera. He is speaking with one of the neighboring residents live... Hello Raymond. I know you're only on a cell phone, and can't see us, but can you get a feeling for the mood of the neighbors? Are they worried? Relieved? "Hey, yeah Cindy. I can hear you fine, and you're going to have to forgive my interviewing skills. I'm still a little shaken up from the turn of events in the last few minutes, so I'll do my best. I have, although, connected a mic to the camera so that we won't have to rely on the cell phone. Cindy returned, "Go ahead and keep the call live if you can, but take the interview from here Ray. Thanks" Ray continued, "Several neighbors have come out of their homes asking about the gun shot. They are conversing with one of the police officers, and there seems to be some concern, rightfully so." [The camera zoomed in on the officer and neighbors. One of the neighbors, an elderly man wearing flannel pajamas covered by a silk robe, and wearing slippers was pointing towards the house exclaiming something. He saw the camera, stopped his conversation, and immediately headed over to the cameraman.] Cindy, here comes one of the neighbors right now. Let see what he has to say... Hello sir, I'm from channel 4 local news, and I can understand if you would like to remain anonymous at this time, but we'd like to get your reaction to this and the other series of busts that are going on right now. Keep in mind this is a live feed with no delay, sir. So you're on TV right nowâ?¦ The man looked into the camera, and then back at Ray. He seemed extremely distraught, and his eyes were staring hard. He looked in to the camera one last time, and began, "My name is Jacob Hughen. I am the acting chairman and president of the largest public accounting firm in the world, Hughen Accounting, and as a citizen, neighbor, and a substantial contributor to the local public services I am fucking outraged," Ray's mouth dropped open. That's not what they were looking for, "Bradley Harris and his son Gregory are about the most loved members of this entire community. Everyone thinks highly of the family, and has grown to love them. Now I don't know what he got himself into, but I'd be willing to bet it does not warrant kicking down his God damn door, and blindly opening fire." A gasp was heard from behind the man. "That was a gun shot?!" an elderly woman asked in astonishment, "Why were they shooting at Bradley? Is anyone hurt? Where is Gregory?" "I don't know Madeline. The officer over there wouldn't tell me shit," Mr. Hughen momentarily turned to what seemed to be his wife and then promptly returned to the camera, "I don't know what happened to Mr. Harris and his son, but I'm going to fucking find out." Jacob turned, searching the area. He was an old man and he showed it, but the determination could be felt emitting from his steaming demeanor. He spotted a task force member, "Hey!!!" The task force member looked up at the old man and pointed to himself mouthing, "Me?" "Yeah you. You're the one who fired off the gun right?" The task force member bowed his head and beckoned to Jacob Hughen's call. Jacob began, "What has Mr. Harris and his son been charged with officerrrrrrrrr?" "Barker. I am special agent Timothy Barker from the Drug Task Force of the office of Mayor McCain. The target has been charged with the cultivation, trafficking, and sales of marijuana. We entered the house, found and confiscated over two hunâ?¦" "Did you call Mr. Harris, the target? Don't you think that's a word you want to stay away from considering you're current situation? And what would Mr. Harris' maximum sentence be?" Jacob was getting the hang of interviewing. He held the mic out to Agent Barker for a reply. "Mr. Harris could serve a maximum penalty of up to of twenty-five years in jail." At the statement Mrs. Hughen covered her mouth in utter horror. She clutched her husbands forearm for support as a tear silently trickled down her face. Jacob turned to her and whispered consolingly to her. His gaze returned to the camera teary eyed himself, "What has become of his son Gregory?" "The minor has been taken to the head quarters of the operation along with any and all confiscated evidence. He will remain in the custody of theâ?¦" "Bull fucking shit," Jacob replied with his wife wincing at his language, "Where is the child? I'm his guardian. The boy should be with us. We're his family." "Sir," Now agent Barker had heard enough. He wasn't here to answer questions, and he wasn't about to believe that out of everyone, Gregory's guardian would be an aging neighbor instead of a relative, "this matter is not up for discussion, and let it be known that the child is in the care of public servants and will be kept safe there until his real parent or guardian comes to pick him up." Jacob stood staring angrily at agent Barker in disbelief, and there was an uncomfortable silence for about 4 seconds. Jacob sternly returned, "Actually since his father and mother, Mr. & Mrs. David Wayne Harris, died in the United Airways attack of 96'; and the fact that both his wife and daughter were killed in a car accident almost two years ago; Mr. Harris has no surviving relatives, and in turn picked me, longtime friend of the family, as the rightful guardian to his son Gregory." This silenced agent Barker. A vague smile appeared on Jacob Hughen's face that moment, and he saw a weakness in the eyes of the man opposite him, "Where is the boy, agent Barker?" The agent remained silent, "As the boy's rightful guardian I am asking where he is so I may pick him up. He needs to be with friends," Jacob looked to the camera with a gleam in his eye, "Not the enemy." "I want the public to know that I am going to put up as much money as it takes to defend Mr. Harris of these charges, and I also would like Mayor McCain to know that there will be litigation revolving around the handling of firearms both unwarranted and around an unarmed minor of the age of three," the agent was now looking very alarmed. "Where is the boy agent Barker?" "Sir I would need proof that you are the boy's rightful guardian. I can not disclose the location of the boy until that time." Right then Wally interrupted with a cell phone up to his ear, "He is. I've confirmed that Mr. Hughen is the guardian of Gregory Harris." Agent Barker looked at Wally in disgust. Wally continued, "Hey my boss is on the line and he's not about to lose funding and take the wrap for Mayor McCain just because he sends out poorly trained agents to a drug raid. Mr. Hughen is the rightful guardian of the boy. You must inform him of the child's whereabouts" Jacob returned his look to Agent Barker for answers. The agent continued to remain silent. Wally once again interrupted, "The boy is at the San Francisco Federal Reserve Building on Market." Jacob once again looked to the camera, "That's still rolling right?" Raymond replied, "Sure is Mr. Hughen."
Category: novel text -- posted at: 5:01 PM Comments[0] |
Tue, 8 November 2005 Chapter 9: Time For You to Lost the High Chair (Where?)
Bradley awoke in his office and immediately felt the soreness of his hands. He opened his eyes only to become blinded by the high wattage lights he had installed around the room. He struggled to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes with his palms. Upon the wall the clock showed five in the morning.As he exited the room Bradley headed down the hallway and swung open Gregory's bedroom door, "Let's get up and get some food buddy. What d'ya feel like for breakfast?" Gregory rolled over turning his back to his father and Bradley could barely make out, "Pancakes." Brad chuckled under his breath, "Sorry dude. You know we don't have time for pancakes. We got to get you dressed and ready for school. You have mass today," Brad was pulling out Gregory's dress clothes, "So I'm gonna have you put everything on except your button up until you're done eatin'." Gregory was still motionless in his race car bed, and Brad sat down next to him and ran his fingers through his son's blonde hair. As he did this, Brad caught site of his bloodied knuckles, and decided to let Greg sleep a bit longer while he cleaned them off. Brad stepped into the bathroom, and flipped on the lights. He looked at himself in the mirror, and starred at the large bags beneath his eyes. He rubbed the short bristles on his shaved head, and massaged his temples a little. He wasn't much more awake than his son was at the moment. He proceeded to scrub the blood and dead skin off of his hands. He reached into his medicine cabinet, and pulled out a roach clip with a joint fastened at the end and lit it up. He took one pull from it, and placed it down on the sink. After splashing some water on his face, and doing some more waking up Brad took another hit from his joint and turned the sink on. He dabbed the lit cherry into the water to put it out, and tossed the clip and joint back into the cabinet. Brad once again sleepily walked down the hallway and turned into the kitchen. He pulled out two bowls and two spoons. "Come on Greg I'm pouring you a bowl. We'll get your clothes on after. We gotta hurry." Brad got the milk and cereal box and placed them along with the spoon and bowls down on the table. He filled both of them up and turned to call Gregory again, "Greâ?¦" Gregory was already standing in the doorway with a sleepy but very large smile on his face. He had dressed all by himself, and had left his button up still on his bed. "I'm like you daddy." Greg said referring to their matching out fits. Khaki pants, and an undershirt. "Dude come here." Brad commanded as he patted his knee. Greg hopped up, "I am so frickin' proud of you. I can't tell you how much, but I haven't been proud of anything as much as I am with you. I mean that." Gregory laid his head on his father's shoulder, and asked, "What about mommy and sissy?" "I was really proud of them too buddy, but you most of all now. Let's say our prayers and get some food." With that Bradley lifted Greg off his knee. As Brad took Greg off his knee and lowered his son's feet to the dining room floor a loud screeching sound came from out front. As the screech quickly came to an end the abrupt honking of a horn blared. Bradley's hands tightened around his son as he waited for the standard crashing noise after the skid. None came, and he let go of his son. Gregory walked over to the chair next to Brad, and pulled it out. He hoped up into the seat, and looked at his father for a reaction. Bradley looked over at his son, and as he eyed his son's school outfit he smiled, "Maybe it's time for you to lose the high chair Gee. I think you're big enough for the table. There is one thing about sitting at the big boy table though," Greg looked at his father eager to find out the requirement, "You'll need to switch off with me and say grace for the meals." Gregory smiled due to the fact that he was quite comfortable talking to God. He began, "Thank you Jesus for the food. Thank you for Daddy annnnnnnnndd," Gregory opened one eye to look at his father for some more material. Bradley mouthed "Mommy." "â?¦and thank you for Mommy and Sissy. I want to see them again. I miss them veryâ?¦" all of a sudden another screech sounded from outside starling Gregory, but this time much louder. Bradley waited for the accompanying crash, but instead heard a deep thud, and the clang of metal-on-metal which seemed too close to ignore. Father and Son still had their hands folded and fingers crossed for prayer. As Brad's head angrily rose up scowling to peer towards the front of the house, a tremendous noise, that of the breaking of fibers and splintering of wood, sounded and the front door was throttled and fiercely unhinged. It flew through the air quickly shattering, and then proceeded to the floor in a mangled state. At the same time a flash emitted from the front door, and a tremendously loud sound echoed through the house. Along with the door going forward was a small thirty-five millimeter round, which blew through the unhinged door mid-flight, and proceeded to fly through the living room piercing the unforeseen high chair and dismounting it from it's upright position. Gregory gasped in fright, and Bradley placed his hands on the table bracing his surroundings in utter shock. As the high chair landed, and the dust cleared, a figure remained in the doorway. His silhouette augmented by the lack of morning light outside gave little detail to his identity. The figure, which seemed to Brad like a SWAT team member, was looking down at his smoking weapon and seemed quite taken aback by it's discharged state. Two identically clothed crouching figures quickly brushed past and entered the room. Both men stopped dead in their tracks about five feet from the entrance, and five feet from the table. They looked at the father and son. The fact that they had obviously been in prayer seemed to momentarily stall the two teammates, and then their gazes turned to the tipped high chair with an inch and a half whole gapping in the backrest. Bradley was still unable to comprehend what the reasoning was for all of this. He eyes jumped from point to point around the room to gather clues to the meaning of the intrusion. His gaze moved along to the mangled door, the hole in Greg's old high chair, the camera, and then the man with the smoking gun. Bradley saw a badge upon the man's chest, and when he read the word's "S.F. Drug Task Force" everything began to come into perspective. Then several local police officers came through the door followed by a man holding something with a bright light on his shoulders. The three officers stopped in the middle of the room behind the two wing men task force members who had advanced, and they dreadfully looked at the high chair and then at the family. Wally saw Gregory with his hands folded, and then he noticed something devastating. The wall behind Gregory was bright with light, and a clear crisp shadow of the boy and his father was also present. Wally turned to see the source of the light, and his fears were confirmed. That shadow confirmed that they had just walked into a target's house after the drug task force had kicked down the door without any warning, accidentally fired a live round that tore through the house which had blown a gapping hole through a child's high chair, and the settling aftermath was caught on camera and broadcast live to all the local networks. "Ohhhh Fuck!" Wally exclaimed as he equated the big picture in his head. He turned to Tom, and Tom turned to him. There were no words that could possible surface in either of the officers at this moment. Each and every person inside the house was still, including the tenants. As Wally's exclamation echoed the task force members where removed from their shock-like state, and the lead man who fired off the round yelled, "Freeze! Step away from the table!" This shook everyone up. Brad scooted his chair back and stood up. The camera man re-angled himself to include all parties. The three police officers pulled out their guns, and made sure the camera man was keeping out of harms way. The two wing man task force members crouched and pointed their guns at Bradley. This made Gregory leap from his chair towards his father. One of the wing men rushed and grabbed Gregory around the waist denying his father's grasp. Bradley immediately darted for his son yelling, "No!" and the standing man issued the butt of his rifle into Bradley's stomach causing him to buckle forward. As Brad gasped for air clutching his stomach and stumbling, the man raised the gun over his shoulder with both hands and brought the stalk down upon Bradley's head knocking his head into the door frame and knocking him out. With the target out, and Gregory contained, sobbing in disarray, the two wing men proceeded past the dinner table and down the hallway with the camera man following. They kicked in Gregory's bedroom door, and scanned the room briefly and moved on. Next they kicked in the bathroom door, and searched around quickly. Next they arrived at Bradley's office door, and as one of the wing men raised his foot the camera man stating, "Stop fucking kicking down the doors God damn it!" The wing man turned to the camera man, was met with the blazing light, and froze. The Camera man continued motioned towards the hysterical Gregory in sympathy, "None of these doors are locked." The other wing man slowly turned the knob. As the door opened the light shined through the hallway, and the S.F. Drug Task Force member knew their operation was legitimate.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 12:12 AM Comments[0] |
Tue, 8 November 2005 Chapter 8: Half Dozen to Another (Where?)
In a residential town in north Marin, the sun had not quite come up yet, and the immense morning dew has settled on the soil giving everything a look as though it had just rained. This was typical climate for the north Marin area, and even though it looked cold outside, the temperature was quite comfortable.A police car was parked at a street corner, and inside were two officers. The driver was smoking a cigarette while the officer in shotgun was sipping from a paper coffee cup. Both of the men seemed anxious, and were waiting for something. The driver took a final drag from his cigarette and as he tossed it to the street he turned to his partner, "Shit Wally, I can't stand much more of this sitting around crap. Sarge shouldn't have even told us what was going on until this morning. I was up all night goin' crazy." "Same here. I haven't slept or even ate since they walked us through it all. This is exactly what I've been waiting for, too." "What? Bustin' dope dealers? Wally this is Marin. That's one of our specialties." "No, I mean a real initiative to do something about the problem. I never figured McCain to be a man of action. I mean I know that the guy gets stuff done over there in the city, but I never figured he would do something solely for moral reasons." "Fuck morals. If we were movin' out today on a moral crusade we'd be bustin' half our own guys." Wally shook his head "See Tom, now that's what's fucked. I'm tired of actin' like nothings going on. Like I don't see anything. I swallow my pride every time I bust a guy for something I see one of you doing. Feels like it's not making any sense anymore. Am I doing this to protect, or am I doing this to collect?" "Collect what?" "A fucking check Tom. A check. Shit. It seems like all the department is doing is running a business. Sarge prints out the "sweeps week" report at the end of the month, and he knows the dollar sign for each bust. He has a budget, and he spends his time trying to balance the figures. Balancing fucking figures Tom. That's not what the cops did when I was younger." "Yeah well Walter things have fucking changed too. We weren't always under such a huge fucking magnifying glass. Back when their was a right wing to be found somewhere in this state we got money when we needed it." "See that's what I'm talking about. There used to be no price on serving the public." "Yeah well there used to be less crime around here." "Whose fault is that, officer?" "I don't know whose fucking fault it is Wally, and really, I don't give a fuck. I know what I do, and I bust guys. When I bust a dude we get money to bust bigger and badder dudes. That's how it works. Missions like this are only possible because of busting any dude that is going forty-five in a twenty-five even though we all speed. If I see those punks in the alley after schools out you can be sure as hell I'm going in there looking for a joint or a bowl. I'll bust them, we get paid because we did the job right, and you get your public served. It all makes sense in the end." "And you pocket the bowl on the way out." Wally said under his breath. There was no comment from Thomas. At that moment the officers spotted a mini-van size car coming towards them very fast. The van came to a skidding halt next to the cop car before Wally and Tom could even react. As the van skidded next to the police car in a driver side-to-driver side formation the driver was slightly propelled forward, and his forearm cushioned his impact using the steering wheel. The van's horn gave out a short and abrupt honk, and the driver smiled a goofy smile as he rolled down the window. It was a cop from the same department as Wally and Tom. "Hey Tom..." the van driving officer greeted his buddy, "Sup P Town?" the officer greeted Wally with his hometown derived nickname. "Sup Charlie. What's up with the fucking van?" "I got a local news camera man in the back," Charlie said while smacking gum, and sporting a toothy grin. "What?!" Wally said as he leaned over Tom to get a better look in the van. "Yeah I think McCain is running for Gov or something. This whole operation is going to be on the news after the objective is complete." "Actually we're gonna be live." A voice corrected from the back of the van. "Fuck," Tom said as he lowered his head in defeat. "See Tom I fucking knew it. The whole fucking thing! "Shut up Wally," Charlie interjected, "We're on right now. Get out of the car. You guys had better be ready." "Who's pulling rank? The three of us are the only one's here." Asked Wally. "Nope," said Charlie as he motioned behind the van with his thumb. Right then an armored vehicle came blazing down the street, and as it turned into a drive way it came to a screeching halt and its front right tire jumped the curb creating a metal-on-metal sound from the vehicle. Three fully covered task force members exited the vehicle in unison, with hip-side assault rifles strapped over their shoulder, and bolted up to the door within seconds.. They sported swat team style helmets and gear which made them look intimidating even to their police officer cousins. They lined up, gave each some sort of hand signal, and the one bringing up the rear waved Charlie into action as the two other flanked the side of the front door in a wing man position, the third took a step and a half back to give him room to kick down the door. "Alright we're on." Charlie said as Walter and Thomas undid their seat belts, and unholstered their guns, and exited the car. And standing outside at that moment you could hear the camera man say, "3... 2... annnnnd 1, we're Rollin'," followed by the sound of cracking timber.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 12:05 AM Comments[0] |
Fri, 21 October 2005 Chapter 7: Hector Upraided Him (Where?) Hector Priam, chief of police for the city of San Francisco, lay in his bed as restless as he had ever been. He stared at the ceiling as he lay on his back. His eyes were wide open, and his mood was anything but winding down. He had felt this way since he had left the meeting with the group, and he was unable to pinpoint the root of his anxiety.He knew that he did not look favorably upon Franc's new proposal. He only agreed because he knew his brother was unable to succeed without his help. It had always been that way. At first, when they were young, it seemed as though it was a split initiative between the two. They would constantly be in trouble, and it always would fester from some grand idea of Franc's, but back then, Franc was "the brains" and Hector was the brawn. By the time they both arrived in high school Hector had begun to see his brother's faults. He was irrational, and impulsive. Two things Hector was not, and had no tolerance for. Nonetheless Hector continued to buy into his brotherâ??s ideas, and as a result he had realized that he was doing this to protect his brother, which was never too much of a problemâ?¦ until now. Hector knew from the beginning that the whole thing was a terrible idea. Even before the group was formed, or even before Hector was introduced to many of his new "associates." Hector had known Mayor McCain since his election as mayor. He actually endorsed him. It's not that Hector didn't pick up on the Mayor's greed right away. That still wasn't an issue to him. Mayor McCain was very supportive of San Francisco's arm of the law. It was an extension of the mayor's office by right. It was also an extension that the Mayor continually used to his advantage and to the advantage of the citizens from time to time. As for Giovanni and Juan, they were the ones that Hector was supposed to be hunting. The crime lords. They were the ones that he promised to rid the city of at all costs, and now he was doing business with them. Hector had no idea how it got to this point, or how his goals had been changed. He once again thought of his brother Franc with resentment. Hector was first introduced to Robert Baron through his brother, and at first like any one else in the world, he was quite impressed with Robert and in awe of his presence. He quickly got over his admiration, and could cut right through Baron's crust. Robert had funded his way into the hearts of every city official, and had also been given a quick route to the services of the law. It was a relationship that Hector learned to live with, and actually had little problem with. The relationship between Robert Baron and his brother Franc was not. At the beginning of the group Franc seemed to fully be in the same corner as Hector. Everyone was separated at the beginning. It seemed to be the Mayor and the businessman; the mafia boss and drug lord, and Hector and Franc. Slowly they became accustomed to each other, and the group began to solidify. As time pasted on, and the group became more intertwined, Franc seemed to distance himself from Hector. Franc began to have private meetings with Robert. Sometimes the Mayor would attend. When Franc started proposing ideas to the group that were foreign to Hector was when he started to pay closer attention. Then, things began to go into motion without consulting the rest of the group at all. Franc started collaborating with Robert, and "things" were done without the groups approval or even knowledge. And as before, the same thing that got the two brothers involved started happening again. Franc's private ideas necessitated resource from the arm of the law. When Franc's first "big idea" went sour, and it involved the cops, Hector put his foot down. He still became tense just reminiscing the turn of events. He had spoken to Franc later that night after they had cleaned up his mess, and for once he did not hold back on his brother. Two had died, and the department's fingerprints were all over the whole operation. Franc had risked his brother's job, reputation, and staff for gain. Hector raged at his brother that night swearing to turn his brother in if he continued to risk his department's safety and continued as he had planned. Unfortunately Franc's idea had reached two influential people in the city, and his planned seemed, to them, financially sound enough to pull the right strings. Those two were the Mayor of the city, and the CEO of the most powerful company in the world. Hector was ordered by the Mayor of the city to put together a "drug task force" that would be the main team to enforce laws regarding producing, trafficking, and selling any and all drugs. The state enacted a set of laws which allowed drug enforcement operations to work covertly, which allowed them to work separate from the police. This gave the task force the ability to remain silent about upcoming and previous operations which was the key to Franc's new "big idea." General Forge and Foundry supplied the funding and technology, which got Baron's foot in the door on Franc's plan. Someone representing Columbia was needed, and no one else fit the description as well as Juan Pedro. Finally Giovanni was brought into the group because of his locked down status of the industry, and his knowledge base of the "who, when and where." At that point the group had been formed, and they had: someone to fund, someone to govern, someone representing the "good guys", someone representing "the bad" sellers, someone representing "the bad" buyers, and Franc to spear head the whole deal.
The phone rang. Hector was startled by the late night call, and rolled over to reach his bedside phone. He answered expecting business, "Chief Priam."
"We have the full task force plus units from all the precincts on call and waiting for the order to move out." Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:15 AM Comments[0] |
Fri, 14 October 2005 Chapter 6: The Kingpiece (Where?) Just as morning broke a man walked down the hall towards his breakfast. He ignored the numerous decorations that he had to walk by to get anywhere in the house. He passed the many paintings, sculptures, and busts of fame as he did repetitiously almost everyday. Several flags, plaques, and important letters also seemed to pass by the man as if they were just a part of the beige colored walls, and of nothing fancy. His mind was somewhere else.
He arrived at the table and sat down to his breakfast. He stared at it knowing it was what he had pursued since he had thrown on his clothes a couple minutes ago, but the next step eluded him at the moment. He tried very hard to culminate his mental processing power. In the process of trying to come to some sort of conclusion his vision went fuzzy. A helpless feeling came over him. He rubbed his eyes in utter exhaustion.
He was rubbing his eyelids with his thumb and index, as she called. His head rose up slowly as his eyes were coming into focus. His wife sat in front of him in her robe.
Before the man had anytime to respond a tall black man, also dressed in black, approached, "Good morning Mr. President. I hope you slept well. The Attonery General would like to convene with you in the west wing in several minutes to discuss the penalty increase of the controlled subâ?¦" George could see the glimmer of sweat on Thomas' head as he nodded in reply. Without any noise, even from his footsteps, he made his way and turned the door knob. As the door opened slightly, the President said calmly, "Thomas?"
The serviceman turned, but still made no noise. The President could tell by the stillness that Thomas had turned towards him in attention, and he proceeded, "I am not angry with you personally Thomas, but will you please reiterate to the team that when the President of the United States says 'you may leave now' he does not want you out of his face. He just wants you to obey him. I must retain that caliber of command" Thomas left, and the attention was now on George as he turned to his family's gaze. His face wore a serious look on it. He started to think of something fatherly or husbandly to say to someone, but that was about as hopeful as his breakfast. Inside, thoughts ran in and out of grasp. This couldn't be lack of sleep. His mind was on overload with the state of events. When he started his election campaign he was sure he was doing what he had always wanted to do. He had so much support from everyone. Everyone kept reassuring him that he was the "right man for the job." Everything made sense back then. When the only goal was to become the president. Now that he had assumed the role, all his supporters became competitors for his ear. Everyone had a demand, and a priority level. He thought he had his own list of priorities coming into this, and he thought that's what got him the job in the first place. His agenda. There was that word again agenda. He heard the word a million times a day. That was the problem. He heard about his agenda all the time, but he was never the one to put it together. He said to himself 'how come someone else has me in order? How come I don't get to decide where I am and when? Maybe that's the irony of a position such as mine.' He rolled these thoughts over in his head, and a deep feeling of loneliness set in. He was the President, and answered to no one besides the citizenry. He had no one to escalate things to or manuals on how to do his job. It was completely out of the question to approach someone for help. What would anyone think of a president who needed something, or anything. Things were out of control, and he found no one around to help.
Then he remember as he lowered his head, "Thank you God for providing us with this blessed food that we are about to eat, and thank you for providing us with the necessities of life. Amen." George's family had instinctively lowered their heads as George began, and now as they raised them, "Also Lord, please help my staff to put up with me and help them to stay together through these difficult times. In your son's name; Amen." Although The President tricked himself into believing that the last bit of prayer was for his staff's sake, he himself needed the strength more than anyone. Category: novel text -- posted at: 5:15 PM Comments[0] |
Wed, 5 October 2005 Chapter 5: The Tasking (Where?)
Fr. Enoch Augustine felt shivers run up his back as he finished his creed. He felt the presence of beings behind him as he had hundreds of times before, and like hundreds times before he was still frightened to turn around. This, however, was almost a comfort to the priest as it was one of the emotions which reminded him of his miraculous state of existence. That he actually still lived and breathed, and feared after all this time. It also was a firm reminder that he had been chosen to bear this task since the earliest of days. And as he had done each time before he reminded himself that what came to pass had been determined a long time ago, and that he needn't hold fear.The fear drained away, and he turned to face two great beings. Two great men whom in their plainclothes would strike terrible fear into any foreign being in all existence, save the evilest of them all. Each with their hands folded behind their back, and both staring straight into the eyes of the priest with no emotion present on their faces. Their presence seemed to make everything else in the room completely insignificant as they towered in front the priest. The men continued to stare into Father Augustine's eyes waiting for him to speak. For they knew what he was to say. "Gabriel," Augustine called to the man on the left. The man nodded in reply. The priest continued, "It has been the longest of time since I have seen you last. I believe it was Ste. Marie-du-mont?" Without any facial change the man named Gabriel drew in a breath signaling his feelings for the last meeting with the priest. "The moment of Glory and Sorrow. The Father received many that day." "Yes I remember. That was the strongest I've seen the enemy." Father Augustine bowed his head and clenched his jaw. The last meeting, no matter how glorious, apparently had its cost. The priest slowly regained himself and turned to the other, "Raphael." The taller of the two great men showed a slight sign of a smile. Augustine continued similarly, "It has not been as long since I saw you last." Now the priest wore what might be called the smallest of smiles. The man named Raphael spoke, "Very true, though I have greatly missed you as always Leaf. I know it is not understood by mere mortals, but the army awaits the day that you shall return; never to depart again." "You are forgetful Raphael. I am no mere mortal, nor is it beyond me to partially understand, much less acknowledge, the grace I shall receive upon my final ascension. You also forget," Fr. Augustine's voice and expression changed to a drastically more serious tone, "That the time you speak of is nigh." Then the priest's eyes squinted, and he seemed to be occupied by thought. "Where is Michael?" Augustine looked to both of the men for answers, and received none. He continued in a more tenacious tone, "Gabriel where is Michael?" "He has been made mortal." Fr. Augustine was floored. Gabriel's answer was a less than sufficient explanation, both angels now had heads bowed in what looked like shame, apparently not wanting to speak of something. Father Augustine noticed apprehension in the two which he had never noticed before in them or any of their high order. Uneasiness grew inside him, and he looked at both the great men again for a better explanation, "In the name of Jesus Christ the Savior I command you to answer my question! Where is the arch-angel?!?!" At the very end of Father Augustine's command a celestial light shone behind the two great men, and there eyes widened, almost in anger or fear. Their hands unfolded and drop stiffly to their side, and in unison they began, "Oh Sheppard, the end is near. All that was, is no more. You have arrived at this final crusade, and the end battle for you is nigh, and in the end, all that has been told to you by the Arch-Angel Michael will come to be. But before then you are tasked. As of this hour much of your power has been stripped of you, and your future is no longer clear. You now suffer the mortality that your original sins of ancient time have brought you. And now, as a mortal you are commanded to fulfill the prophecy that you once accepted back on the mountain with Michael before your ascension in the first days. You no longer are the Sheppard of my children, but are the Sheppard of my chosen. The keybearer has come into the light, and the darkness is fully aware. You are tasked with protection, and though you have but few holy powers left, my power stands the test of all time, and is unfathomable. Be strong Enoch, for if you are not… you will be broken, and many shall suffer the gnashing and taring of teeth. Be strong, for I shall be by your side." The two great men became silent. Tears were pouring out of theirs eyes, and they looked drained of energy. They looked to Fr. Augustine, but this time for answers. For the two great men, the throne angels Gabriel and Raphael, were no more omnipotent than the mere mortal in front of them. "Augustine," Gabriel began, "The Lord has stripped us of much of our power. The future is as hidden to us as His objective. We are being tested; the same as the humans." Fr. Augustine seemed to be deep in thought. He starred at the hard wood floor in the room. His mind reeling in an attempt to piece together the bit of information he just received in tongues. And then it hit him… "Kin of Constantine???" The priest repeated in his head. "Bradley," he said out loud. The two great men were very surprised and did not know of what the Priest was referring to. The Priest noticed this and changed tones, "Gabriel," he looked to the man on the left and received a nod, "Raphael," he received another, "The end of days is near. The enemy is at his strongest, and the kin of Cain have taken the offensive. Both of you, as well as I, have lost most of the powers on which we have relied on for so many years. We must continually remind ourselves that the real cornerstone of our power… the true rock that we have relied on for all those years was the power of the Lord. With that in mind I task you both now. Speed to the corners of the earth and call upon the Apostles through their dreams. They all are to meet here by sun up, in two days." Both great men nodded, but stood still. Augustine felt as though he were lost, and picked up that the two angels felt the same way. He could not explain why the Lord had revoked any powers at all in a time like this. Although it was not his place to doubt anything, he felt like a totally different being. Much less sure of himself, and he could only assume that both the great men present had similar feelings about this. The Priest felt that he should say more to his partners, "Both of you, we are to embark upon the greatest of all crusades. Looking at ourselves at this moment brings feelings of confusion about anything we have ever done in the name of the Lord in the past. I will admit that I am unsure, and fear has never felt like such an enemy to me before. Though, I must remind you, as well as myself, that only by our faith shall we overcome fear. I know it always has been, but right now I am humbly reminded that faith is our greatest virtue, and our strongest weapon." Raphael and Gabriel both stood a little straighter as the somewhat comforting words of the priest ran over them. The Priest was right in his assumption that fear had never been more present, and they were positive of Augustine's explanation of faith; for they had experienced it only in a lesser amount than their leader Michael. "The time is nigh," Ft. Augustine finalized, "You must make haste, and spread the word to the Apostles, and your brethren. In these last days we will truly be side by side. Let the light of God guide you, and your faith in him protect you. Amen"
With that the Priest made the sign of the cross and both of the great men ran to the other side of the room and exited through the window in flight.." Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:20 AM Comments[0] |
Fri, 23 September 2005 Chapter 4 - The Proposal (Where?)
The room was silent aside from Franc's detailed proposal. Each of the members of the Darkest Group were uneasy with what needed to be done, but were all in agreement that there was no other way to achieve their goals."Now I have been successful in the past because of the way I deal with hindrances such as these. I have always treated any problem in the very same fashion. You are met with the obstacle. Then you identify and become familiar with it… then you obtain it and use it to your own advantage." Franc scanned the faces of everyone in the room. He saw that both Giovanni and Juan-Pedro seemed apprehensive to the role that each would have to play. Franc then turned to his brother Hector. Chief Hector was an extremely large and broad person, even compared to any other officer on the force. He had the frame of a warrior, and his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. Not that he was unintelligent, but as if he had something more important to ponder. When Franc finally caught his gaze, hector returned a nod of approval to let his brother know he was in support even though Franc knew that Hector had been weary of the group since the beginning. Franc now turned to the Mayor. Mayor McCain was a highly educated man who was the least complex in the room. His main goal, within the group and in life, was control. Not how much, but that no one had more. He made no attempt to hide it, and his people, the citizens of the city, wanted it. He was elected on the coattails of the recession when the San Franciscan voters had employment and economic stability in mind, and Mayor McCain had all the right friends to make that possible. The most important of his friends being Robert Baron… Robert Baron was arguably thee most powerful business man in the world. His father, grandfather, and he had each been the next in line to control General Forge and Foundry. The first Robert Baron, Robert's great grandfather, had started the company as a private firm which "managed" projects for the American Department of Defense at the beginning signs of the first World War. When the idea of America entering the war became a inevitability General Forge and Foundry became publicly owned, and all over the world, and all at once the Baron family became ranking military officials, members of judicial systems, politicians, and most of all permanently rich. For those that knew the current head of the family, Robert Baron III he was completely unstoppable (his grandfather, Franklin Baron, was named after a close personal "friend", hence the third and not forth). He had his hand in everything, and General Forge and Foundry was the most diversified company in the world, and there were none comparable. The company did everything from studies whose results often turned into accepted practices and industry standards; to consulting the military on the maintenance of their facilities, and inner-city warfare tactics just for random examples. When the economy was hot with start ups General Forge and Foundry specialized in venture capital, and when the bubble burst they specialize in corporate refinancing, and commercial asset liquidation. When the economy seemed to droop a little too low for even GF&F's tastes…. you had war. Since Robert's youngest years everyone around him was immediately aware of his command and quest for power. Even the numerous maids, nannies and butlers that came and went through Baron Manor found it was evident that Robert III was following in the family tradition as his famous fore-fathers did. At a young age Robert had lots of friends in school, but he never gravitated towards one in particular. He seemed to become involved enough to be known, and to know what was going on at all times. When it came to claiming, for instance, a best friend or a travel mate for vacations Robert refused to do either. The only time that someone accompanied Robert on a holiday was when a boy named David asked to be invited to their Christmas getaway in the UK. Surprisingly enough to the others Robert was neither thrilled nor indifferent about the proposal, and he invited his friend without thinking twice about it. So when Franc stared at Robert in expectations of an acknowledgment, Robert nodded the moment their eyes met. Robert still had the same goal he had since he was a child, and in his eye he had not achieved it yet. Franc knew that the group's question at hand had been turned over in Robert's mind only until the point where he was sure it would support his goal. If they were able to pull it off Robert would, at that point, finally have achieved his life quest.
"So gentlemen," Franc prepared, "now is the time. The choice needs to be unanimous, and if we are all in agreement it will start the moment we leave the building. Now I know that you are all in agreement on one thing, and that is that there is no other way to surpass this roadblock. The choice you are making is if the end result is worth what needs to be done. I know my end result is worth anything. Is yours?"
First he looked at Robert, "Of course. There is no other way" the reply came as Robert waved his hand in the air motioning for Franc to continue quickly. Giovanni-Paulo was staring at the desk as he felt the stare of Franc inquisitive eyes. He weighed heavily the words that Franc spoke about whether the task at hand is worth the end result. Everything in his body was uncomfortable with the decision. His muscles became tense, and he gritted his teeth behind closed lips. He knew that he should burst out and irrationally decline, but his desires held out, and "I am with the group." Franc finally turned to Juan-Pedro, "Now Juan you have one of the toughest decisions to make. The rest of the group is at the whim of your decision, and you also have the hardest task. Now if you agree, making it unanimous, you will have to leave for Columbia immediately, for you can do no more here, and only run the risk of exposure." Juan-Pedro sat silent at the table giving no sign of an answer. His silence ran long enough to the point where the rest of the group shifted in anticipation. He was tapping his fingertips together in front of his face in a physical show of meditation. Everyone held there breathe, and straightened up. He stopped tapping his fingertips which signaled that his answer was coming. He then turned, without warning, and looked at Giovanni, and stared. Giovanni eyes widened initially in surprise, but then he tried to look through Juan's gaze for a message, and he felt as though his Columbian associate had second thoughts too. A very foul look came over Franc's face when he saw the connection between Juan-Pedro and Giovanni-Paulo. He had no idea whether Juan had any communication with Giovanni, but right now he didn't like anything but agreement. Franc spoke up, "Juan-Pedro? Are you willing?" Juan continued to look at Giovanni now with a more intense look, as if he were looking back through the Italian's eye for a message that was not to be spoken. Inside Giovanni desired for Juan to call the whole thing off. To upset the unanimity and to make the decision that he himself could not. The words almost came right out of his mouth… "Just say no."
"I am not going to be the one to hold back the group. I am in this to the end, and I expect that everyone should be willing to give up just as much. I am nobody's fall guy, and none are greater than the group." Juan-Pedro still stared at Giovanni and Gio back at him. They now knew that the other had the same growing feeling inside them.
And each member stood up without saying a word, and left conference room 216. Category: novel text -- posted at: 4:55 PM Comments[2] |
Fri, 16 September 2005 Chapter 3 - The Shepherd (Where?)
Now in the city of Saint Francis the night was cold, but less than usual. An elder man of the cloth stood at the corner of a skyscraper's room. He commanded a bird's eye view of the city from the highest floors of the building in which he stood. He was facing a corner window, looking out towards the water that surrounded and characterized the city.The man, Father Augustine, was wrapped in a thick black robe of typical Catholic ware. He was an average size man with dark gray hair, and he wore thin framed glasses which gave him a scholarly look. At the moment he stood still, staring out the window at the vast openness of the city. His head wasn't rotating, nor were his eyes darting around to find a certain target. Father Augustine stared blankly through the window waiting for something to present itself. Like a bus rider for his bus, he very slightly rocked forward and backward on his feet with one hand laid gently in the other behind his back, continuing to wait patiently; something he had learned well in his old age. Suddenly, without anything appearing Father Augustine abruptly stopped rocking, and stiffly stood straight, as if at attention. Time seemed to stand still, and it became very quiet. The fog which would always gather around the windows all along the top floor of the building quickly wafted apart as if someone had fanned it away. His eyes opened fully, and his breath was held. Anxiety built up inside the Priest's stomach, and finally what he had been waiting for appeared. A streak of blue light, like a great fire, shot across the sky coming from the west and crossing perpendicularly overhead of the Golden Gate, and plunged down in the bay in the general proximity of Alcatraz.
The Priest began to clear his train of thought, took a deep breath and began, "Dear Father, I praise you for your grace. You have blessed me by allowing that I be part of your hidden plan. You have blessed me by allowing that I be present during the days that have been prophesized. And you have ultimately blessed me with the Miracle of the Messiah. Now, during the final hours of The Last Crusade which I have been tasked with, help make me the grip of your vengeful striking hammer. Empower me with the divinity as you have before. In my own eyes I am not worthy of this task, but I continue on only with the faith that you are omniscient, and have chosen me with a higher reasoning, one which I cannot at this time understand. With my proclamation of faith I will recite the prayer which was taught to me by the angel Mychal whence I was lifted up by You, Oh Lord, in my three hundred and sixty fifth year. Category: novel text -- posted at: 10:35 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 29 August 2005 Chapter 2 - The Darkest Group (Where?)
A sixth floor elevator door slowly opened to reveal a rather quiet sixth floor at an hour passed five as a man made his way out and past the empty secretary's desk. The man steadily bobbed and weaved back and forth through office desks and down hallways on his way to his predetermined destination, which was a corner conference room on the side opposite the elevator lobby where he had entered.The man, who was in his late forties, was built very strong, and appeared quite sturdy for a man his age. He had olive skin, and a thick dark full beard with bits of grey creeping through. He wore a suit of rather high cost and quality, and shoes of the same likeness. A serious look upon his face seemed to tighten with every step he took. He continually clenched his fists bringing his hands to a white knuckle, and then would release the clench along with, ever so slightly, loosening up his tensed expression. All while continually whispering, "Take this to the limit... Take this to the limit... Take this to the limit..." As he approached his destination he successfully calmed himself and slowly pushed open the door of conference room 217, as if to announce his arrival. He peered through the crack of the slightly opened door and scanned the contents of the room. He saw his brother and partner Chief Hector Priam of the city police department, and several other familiars all assembled at the table with the western sunset barely breaking the top of the hill where California St. splits the two luxury landmark hotels at the cusp. Like so many sunsets on the bay are, it would have been something to sit back and take in, but the night before had brought several issues to the attention of the group. There was one, more specifically, of the highest importance. "Franc," one of the fellows calmly acknowledged. "Mayor," Franc acknowledged in return. "I'm sure," another one of the men, dressed more professionally than the rest, burst out, "that you picked six at night because I love coming into work after all the rest of the workforce has already gone..." Franc interrupted abruptly, "It looks like the only piece that is not on our side of the board is the King." This quieted the room immediately. Franc slowly closed the door behind him. He had a collective presence now, somehow able to shrug off his previous white-knuckled tension for the sake of the meeting. "So Robert...," Franc began with the tone of a teacher speaking to a bothersome student, "I picked the only hour that we could possibly meet so that we may discuss my proposal on how to proceed without the king." "I don't see how that is at all possible Franc," said a man, who was more fashionably dressed than he was professionally. "It is Giovanni." replied Franc, "The reason we are unable to even court him about the issue is that he has such strong religious beliefs. This is why I think..." "I don't agree." Giovanni refuted, "Religious beliefs are not impassable, and I don't think they're the issue here. That's just an excuse." "I agree Giovanni-Paulo." Franc stressed the pronunciation of the names, "Religion is not impassable, and it is just an excuse." The statement rolled off of Franc's tongue to the extreme discontent of Giovanni. Since the beginning of the "pact" Giovanni had noticed that Franc and he did not mix well other than issues related to their work. Franc seemed to hold some sort of scrutiny towards Giovanni. Giovanni continually noticed Franc treating another member of the group with similar prejudice. That man's name was Juan-Pedro. Juan was the group's representative in South America, Columbia specifically, and he seldom visited the States. He was rather attractive and suave, but he never gave credit to himself due to his good looks, and mostly acted quite humble; almost in disregard or disagreement of them. Juan did not, however doubt his own personal power, or cut himself short and except less than anything he set out to make. Back in Columbia, and to a certain extent in the U.S., Juan-Pedro was a well known and often times feared man, and he did not attempt to hide it. Giovanni noticed and related to this quality of Juan's. For Giovanni had an extremely similar reputation within the U.S., and had the very same grasp of his own abilities. This was the troubling part for Giovanni. Both he and Juan were very powerful men that would neither accept disrespect nor give up an inch of their power. They were quite at ease with themselves, yet they both received and continually accepted Franc's mistreatment. It was common for Franc to disregard both Juan and Giovanni's opinion, and sometimes completely unacknowledged their statements altogether within the group. Franc seemed to have his ulterior motives just like the rest of the group, but at times it seems that his motives were almost combative to anyone else's, and Giovanni was quickly becoming uneasy of the forward motion of the group led by Franc. He thought to himself that he should speak privately with Juan-Pedro about this matter. Now Franc continued, "Gentlemen, we are now at a fork in the road. We have a major decision placed in front of us, and it is crucial that, with this, we are all in agreement to take this to the limit. Once agreed upon, set in motion, and executed there is no putting the breaks on this. As I had begun before; I picked the soonest hour that we could possibly meet, Mr. Baron, so that we may discuss my proposal on how to proceed without the President... tomorrow." Thanks, 'Brad the Dad' Copyright ©2005 Bradley Harris; Anonymous Category: novel text -- posted at: 11:47 PM Comments[2] |
Wed, 10 August 2005 Chapter 1: Father and Son (Where?)
As Bradley secured his three-year-old son in his high chair, he finally sat down at the dinner table, and lowered his head in prayer. His son did the same.Little Gregory was obviously too young to comprehend the full meaning of prayer, and what power it held, but he gathered from his father's behavior that it was, without a doubt, an extremely important ritual that was conducted during specific events of focus. Bradley started, "Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord; Amen." Bradley finish the nightly traditional prayer, and in an out of the ordinary act, he proceeded with a personal plea, "and dear God," Gregory raised his brow as to peak quickly at his father, "please bless my wife Elizabeth; Gregory's mother, and bless little Catherine. Both Gregory and myself wish they were both still with us. I know we both miss them terribly." Bradley raised his brow as to peak quickly at his son. Gregory had his eyes closed, and seemed to be rightfully in deep meditation, "Also, Lord, please help both of us to be strong like you, so that we can deal with our hardships. Forgive us for our sins, and thank you for everything you have given us," and in closing he made the sign of the cross. Although Bradley tricked himself into believing that the last bit of prayer was for his son's sake, he himself needed the strength more than anyone. Brad's wife and daughter were killed almost a year ago in a car accident coming back from Catherine & Gregory's daycare. That day Gregory was at home with his father. They were both home sick from their normal daily schedule, with the exact same flu. Bradley and Gregory laid on the couch all day long enjoying an array of shows ranging from the lovable Bear in his big blue house to watching the Giants win a pre-season game against their buddies across the bay. When Bradley received the awful phone call, about five hours after the accident actually happened, he was already terribly alarmed and worried that his girls were not already home. It was the storybook phone call. "Mr. Harris, this is Chief Priam from the S.F.P.D" He open-endedly introduced himself. Bradley replied, "Yes." "Are you Bradley Harris, father to Catherine Mary Harris, and husband to Elizabeth Mary Harris?" "I hope so," Bradley answered. The officer let out a slight breath in reaction to Bradley's response. " Sir, I regretfully have to inform you of some very unfortunate news." At that moment Bradley had all the confirmation he needed to know that he would never kiss his wife or daughter ever again. The informant on the other end of the phone also knew of Bradley's awareness to the fact that his girls were gone, but he continued anyway, "Your Wife Elizabeth, and daughter Catherine were killed this afternoon in a car accident." Chief Priam waited for a split second for a reaction. There was none, so he continued, "The accident was caused by a criminal who was being chased by another officer through downtown. The criminal was crossing Van Ness, and did not have the green light... I'm afraid your wife and child did sir. Your wife's car was blind sided by the criminal's, and the coroner stated that they were both killed upon impact." The rest of the phone call followed typical police protocol. In the end they wanted to know if Bradley would like a public servant to come over to the house to help emotionally and physically. He denied the gesture, and didn't want to ask any questions. Chief Priam asked one more favor, "Mr. Harris we will need some one to come down and identify them." Bradley took a while to mentally process the request and responded, "Catherine is the one next to my dead wife, and Elizabeth is the one next to my dead daughter." The phone call ended. Elizabeth's best friend identified the bodies. Before that, Bradley's only family was Elizabeth and the kids. His parents had died his first year in college. He was now alone except for his son and after that he kept close to Gregory all night long, and every day after that. That day was a turning point for Bradley. What he was from that very day, that very phone call, was nothing like he had ever been prior. Back in Marin, the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge, Bradley grew up well off with little material worries. His father managed a law firm, and made a handsome salary. While Bradley was in high school most of his worries were mainly social. He was well liked among students, peers, and parents. He had a very personable way about him; very cheerful. He seemed to be the universal peer; never associating with any one group of people, but rather being equally accepting by all. After the phone call he had lost all the joyfulness which he was characterized with, and became jaded. While father and son finished their blessed dinner, Bradley noticed that Little Gregory was not as hungry as he usually was. Bradley inquired, "What's up? You're not hungry right now?" Gregory rested his tired head on his fist as he slowly chewed the bite that was in his mouth as though he was forcing it down. He shook his head. "Are you sure, because I made you your chicken fingers, annnnd I remember the dip that Mommy likes to get you." Bradley was capitalizing on the fact that he had remembered the main ingredient to Gregory's favorite meal that he didn't realize that he mentioned the woman who never forgot it. Now as a footnote it was less than a year since the death of Elizabeth and Catherine. Little Gregory still held a solid grasp of his mother and sister, and when a child loses his mother and sister at an age where he can consciously hold onto their memory there will never be a right time to tell him of their passing, because he will learn it everyday. "I want Mommy dip." Since the dip in front of Little Gregory, and the dip that Elizabeth used to get for him was exactly the same, and in the exact same mini-container, and from the exact same grocery store, Bradley understood what this meant. Now Gregory is not mentally challenged in any way. Far from it actually. Bradley knew this, and also knew that when Gregory wanted "Mommy hugs" when he was sad, or "Mommy pillows" when he was tired, that he included a physical item in an attempt to say anything besides, "I want Mommy." In the past Gregory had said, "I want Mommy," and he was also unfortunate enough in the past to see his father's reaction after he had continually repeated it too many times. You could say that when he wanted "Mommy Dip" that he actually was reminding Daddy that there were two boys who missed Mommy and Catherine. Bradley rested his forehead in his palms as he drew a deep breath of composure in through his nose. As his inhale came to an end, Bradley's head and eyes rose to meet Gregory's. In the time of about three seconds of direct eye contact, and what seemed like complete silence, Bradley reminded himself that he needed to be there for his son. He said to himself that there was one young boy who couldn't deal with what life had dealt him without his father. After Gregory's comment Bradley wasn't very hungry himself, and took his time picking at his food, and feeling like not-quite-enough of a parent. Gregory imitated his father, and periodically looked up at him so he could further mimic. Bradley didn't really understand how much unconditional love and trust his son had for him. Gregory looked up to his father more than anything in the world, but for Brad everything seemed a struggle, and it was hard to notice the affection. Dinner was over and Bradley knew he had to rock Gregory's memories out of his head. He took Gregory out of his high chair and brought him up to his chest into a big fatherly bear hug. Gregory laid his head on his father's shoulder, and tried for a while to keep the thought of his sister and mother in his head by keeping his eyes open. But the fluid motion of his fathers swaying sent him to sleep. Bradley was aware how long it took to rock Gregory to sleep after the mention of Mommy, but Bradley also was aware that he still had a good amount of work to do before the night was over. As always he chose the importance of his son's well being over the work at hand. Bradley slowly and silently took Gregory to his room and gently laid him down in his bed. When Gregory touched down on the bed he, as always, rolled onto his stomach, and tucked his knees up to his chest into a tight fetal position. His eyes broke open slightly, and father and son made eye contact. Dread came over Bradley's body, at the thought of having to pick his son up and rock him to sleep all over again. Bradley had a habit of getting short tempered when Gregory acted stubborn about going to bed. Gregory noticed this in his father's reaction, so he decided to not anger him. "Daddy I miss Mommy, and Sissy." First off, that was one of the most complex sentences to come out of Gregory's mouth to date, and usually Brad would praise him for his progress. This moment Bradley had too many emotions running through his heart to commend Gregory. All he could respond with was, "I do too Greg. Big time." Gregory's eyes closed and he seemed to immediately fall into deep sleep. Bradley exited the room, and closed the door behind him. He leaned his back up against it, and rubbed his face with his hands trying to stop the crying. Tears rapidly fell down his face, but Brad held back any sound of sadness. He didn't want Gregory to wake back up, or to hear him crying in general. As the tears streamed down his cheeks, Bradley walked back toward his office. He knew he had dreadfully neglected his work in order to comfort his son, and that meant a lot of catch up. Bradley had placed a picture of his wife on the wall to the left of his office doorway, and a picture of his daughter Catherine on the opposite. He looked at both of the pictures trying to recoup, and did for the most part. He rubbed the remaining tears from his face, and pushed the door open wide. As he looked through the door his heart stopped. On the other side of his "office" he could see his computer screens blinking red with warnings that both the humidity had dropped, and the temperature had risen to a hazardous level. Bradley slowly scanned the two hundred marijuana plants that lined his office, and fell to his knees in despair upon the layers of newspaper which lined the floor. He now could not hold back the loud sobbing. His emotions took over, and an incredible feeling of hopelessness and defeat came over him. He clinched his teeth and pressed his palms against his face as hard as he could in angered release. He began to pound the thin newspaper covered hardwood floor, and he finally let out a savage scream. Shortly after all went black, he fell to the floor, and his bloodied fists soaked the front page of the Chronicle.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 11:14 AM Comments[0] |
Fri, 5 August 2005 Greetings brothers and sisters, please listen to my message. I am Brad the Dad and I will be the narrator of the podiobook, and I am really honored to be chosen by the author to do so. At the Appointed Time is an anonymously authored book, but is composed by an author who has written some of the most well read books in current circulation, and I'd be willing to bet that you've at least heard quotes from some of the older works which have been made into movies. I have contributed small bits to the book; mainly to modernize the language of certain younger characters. Stuff like slang, and other mostly unnoticeable things. I am actually really new to the book in general, and continue to be humbled by my unique involvement. I'm still not sure why the author thinks I'm qualified for this. The authorship of the book should not be of focus though. There are more important things you need to be aware of. Thank You, 'Brad the Dad' Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:50 AM Comments[4] |
