Mon, 19 December 2005  Chapter 16 - Only Through The LambComments[2] |
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 14 - "You Do Not Need, You Desire"
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Chapter 15 - "Absolute and Unstoppable"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] |
