Lockwood readied himself by the aluminum door of the warehouse, stopping a moment to double check his M16A2. The weapon's three round burst setting was engaged and his weapon was locked and loaded. He held up his right hand signaling the rest of the team to hold position as Hernandez took place along the right side of the door, his automatic 12 gauge in one hand, a flash–bang in the other.
Lockwood took a couple of deep breaths to calm his excitement. Running point on these ops was at this point routine. He'd lost count of the buildings him and his team breached over the years, kicking in doors of gang members, drug dealers, murder suspects, bank robbery suspects, hell even heavily armed religious cults. Whatever no good slime that littered the streets of his home town, he volunteered to be first through the door.
The Houston PD SWAT leader claimed it wasn't a death wish that prompted him to take the risk. Most in the department suspected he did. It was the only logical explanation for offering to be the first one rushing into the line of fire shy of perhaps a hero complex. No one, including his family understood why he would continue to put himself in harms way. Sure, he'd been hit several times, most of the time, his class III body armor absorbed the buckshot or subsonic small arms rounds fired from handguns and submachine guns.
His most severe injury occurred during a raid of suspected gang leader Ernesto Compos’ residence. He was wanted for the murder of a four year old girl–collateral damage during a gang related drive by. His shot went wide from the motion of the vehicle and hit the girl playing in an adjacent yard.
Again, Lockwood was on point that morning as usual. The gang leader knew the State of Texas was going to execute him if caught and convicted. He decided his demise was going to be on his terms, not those of the system that had been holding him back since his birth. The team knew that. Taking him alive wasn’t going to happen–Intel and common sense told them so.
As Lockwood entered, sweeping the entryway, blind automatic fire erupted from behind a makeshift barricade. The suspect knew enough about breaching tactics and protected his senses from the flash-bang grenade. Lockwood had entered under the false assumption the distraction would give him the edge. The second 5.56mm round from the gang leader's AR-15 penetrated his armor while the other rounds suffered a high YAW rate from the continuous fire. They hit sideways, drastically reducing the bullets' penetrative abilities. There, the armor did its job, and so did Lockwood. He continued forward, ignoring the hits while laying down a series of tight well placed three round bursts into the wooden barricade.
High velocity 9mm rounds from his MP5 penetrated the table Compos thought would provide adequate cover. The confrontation ended less than thirty seconds after it began, when Ernesto's lifeless body fell into view–blood from the multiple wounds spilling onto the floor. Moments later, the penetration in Lockwood’s lower right abdomen began screaming for his attention. As the adrenaline wore off, an intense pain spread from his right side. He collapsed, clutching his side as his body went into shock.
Memories of the painful recovery and subsequent return to the front line played through his mind as he gripped his weapon. This raid, he thought, might just be the one that finally get's him. If Reid's tip was sound, the three month manhunt was about to end in a bloodbath. These weren’t the typical street thugs he was used to– these were some no good sons of bitches–cop killers of the worst kind. The bank robbery that took the lives of two officers, and left the loved and respected Lt. Whithers reduced to a bedridden body with little to no brain activity, was determined to have been an intentional shootout with the police.
Lockwood gave the signal and the heavy steel battering ram hit the door with enough kinetic energy to defeat the layers of locks and forced the door inward. Hernandez tossed the flash-bang inside without exposing anything more than his arm to the inhabitants of the building. After a long two seconds, a defining sound exploded as the grenade burst with a blinding shroud of bright phosphorus light.
“Go, go, go,” Lockwood shouted as he rushed through the door, weapon up, sweeping the room with his eye locked looking down the barrel. The rest of Alpha team poured in, sweeping his right flank. As he panned back and forth, he found the large warehouse all but empty. The firefight they had prepared for didn’t erupt. There was no greeting party returning fire–hell, there was no greeting party period. The only others in the large storage area were Bravo team entering through the side door.
“Clear,” each of the team members called out.
Lockwood, spoke into his mike, “Alpha Team, area secure, no hostiles.”
“Bravo Team, area secure,” came in the report from the second team. Lockwood was pissed, the information they received anonymously turned out to be a dud. There was nothing in the warehouse except for a van that looked as if it had been crushed in a hydraulic press–and wrapped in a large red bow–with the words Feliz Navidad painted on the side. He instinctively raised his weapon and pointed it at the mass of twisted metal carnage. Other than the tires, there was little for one to use to positively ID the scrap metal as having been a vehicle at some point in it's past.
“Help,” a voice called out. The rest of the team heard the voice and moved in, weapons primed for any surprises.
“Police,” Hernandez called out.
“Shit man, we’re fucked now man,” a muffled voice said.
It took over thirty minutes of cutting before the first of the suspected gunmen in the Mercury Savings shootout emerged. He stunk to the high heaven, having been trapped at least a day or two. Armando Florez was weak–his arms and legs numb from the long confinement–and he was covered in vomit from the stench of his friends having relieved themselves in the small confines of the van. He took to the ground, kneeling down with his hands interlocked behind his head as instructed. His heart was racing, fearing what was about to come. He was a disarmed suspected cop killer surrounded by heavily armed police with a savage grudge. With any luck, his absolute cooperation would reward him with a simple apprehension–but he knew better. The pigs were going to beat him a bit before and after they secured his wrists.
The group of pilots filed into the 152nd Reaper's briefing room. Flying a fighter was only part of the job–the fun part. But with every flight, hours of planning was spent before going up and followed by debriefs of varying length. That was the shit part of the gig, but as each pilot could attest, it was worth it. The freedom they had, commanding the skies made it the best damn job in the world.
"Listen up boys," Colonel Majors said calling his Squadron to order. "Before we begin, I would like to take a moment to recognize the newest member of the Martin–Baker Fan Club. Everyone give a round of applause to our very own Noodles for his heroic nylon letdown that landed him in the drink near Key West. Stand up Major, and be recognized."
“Noodles? More like a wet noodle now,” Waffle called out as the slew of insults fired toward Caparelli began dying down. They let out their rowdiness for another minute before Majors called for his squadron’s attention.
“Okay, you guys can rag on him later. After a review of the encounter, the panel has concluded mechanical failure, absolving Caparelli here of any wrongdoing. Details will follow later, but it appears there was some more strange Triangle anomalies that screwed with his Eagle’s avionics. Turns out our boy's bird decided to stall out while chasing some phantom likely caused by the same interference. Now, everything was beyond his control, but I think it's only fair since an Air Force Pilot ditched in the ocean and needed his ass saved by squids, he should be entitled to a name change. I had something else in mind, but Waffle’s “Wet Noodle" takes the cake.” The briefing room erupted with laughter.
"Great, thanks guys," Caparelli said.
"Ok, let's settle down, I have a couple more announcements before we begin. Like I said, we have been encountering an influx of magnetic interference in the triangle, so let's be alert while on patrol. Immediately report in if you come across any irregularities with your instrumentation and keep a close eye on your wing."
"Sir?"
"What is it Splinter?"
"Sir, what of that bogey?"
"Splinter, you wanna head down to the infirmary and have your hearing checked? Didn't I just get done telling you, we were having major problems with radar and avionics. That bogey was nothing but a bug."
"But sir, we all–"
"–Did you have visual contact at anytime during your short encounter?"
"No sir."
"Very well, then there was nothing there but a figment of our imaginations. That will be all. I don't want to waste any of our time thinking about UFOs. Let me be very clear, talking about that crap, believing it's real, has always been a career ender. So if you boys like strapping those jets to your crotch, then I suggest you worry about finding the source of this interference." Majors paused a moment, shifting his notes around. "And finally, speaking of nylon letdowns, I am very happy to announce this fierce squadron is no longer Co–Ed. The only nylons my pilots wear is on their backs and not on their legs unless of course some of you boys like they way they feel under your flight suit,"
The guys cheered, while Caparelli quietly took a seat. He was happiest of the bunch. The veteran pilot couldn’t stand having a skirt flying with them. They belonged in the kitchen, cranking out kids while the guys got to have their fun. Everywere he went to get away from the constant complaining, their nagging, their supposed superiority, the broads would demand they be allowed equal rights. There was no place safe where a guy could get away where the dames kept insisting on poking their heads.
He hated the way the polluted every male dominion with their feminine touch. They whined at the crude chatter, insisted on their own latrines and special treatment several days each month. He and the other guys wanted nothing more than a place they can call their own other than the commode.
The guys didn’t know the full story, but he did. The Reapers weren’t the only squadron to ditch the bitches. The rumor floating around the upper ranks was the program was cancelled–Jordan finally proved they couldn't hack it in the cockpit. She left his wing twice in the engagement, leaving him vulnerable while she used the opportunity for self glory. He smiled thinking how her selfish attempt to prove herself ruined the chances of the other broads. It was back to the glory days where the only place a woman had on an aircraft, was painted on the side of the fuselage. Caparelli was relieved, because deep down, he knew she was better than him. For that, he hated her–glad to have finally ridded her from his squadron.
“Angel? He the one with the teardrop tattoo? He’s the one that did the shooting?” Brennan asked, upping the pressure on his suspect.
“No, not him, I’m talking about a real angel. She’s the bitch that put us in the van and brought us here.”
“You talking about one of those cherubs with wings?”
“Not like that…”We were in Mexicali, Miguel’s brother had a garage where he fixed cars and stuff. We were sitting around drinking and counting the loot, when she appeared out of no where. I mean literally appeared. One minute, I’m looking at the tool bench, then the wall moved behind Maricio. She just fucking appeared out of thin air and man she was a foxy looking blonde bitch. Face was a little rough looking, but fuck man, I wanted to stick my dick in that piece of ass–until she attacked us." Brennan listened with amusement, letting the perp rant a little longer." She had to be an angel or some kind of fucking super bitch. She was fast, she could fly and our bullets didn't do shit.” He paused sticking his head out so the detective could see the bruise on his head.“ She fucked us all up in a few seconds, broke Carlo’s arm and tossed Maricio across the garage. See what the whore did to me.” Brennan leaned over the table as if to massage the wound, instead he grabbed the turd’s head and slammed it down so the bruise hit the brushed steel table. “You mother fucker I’ll–”
“–You'll what?" Armando fell silent knowing he wasn't going anywhere, nor in a position to do anything to the detective.
"Look, you piece of shit, I want to know who the shooter was. I don’t really give two shits about your erotic fantasies with mythical creatures. How you three assholes came into my possession, I don’t really give a rat's ass about. I have two dead officers, and one who spends most of his time staring at the ceiling drooling out of the side of his mouth. Because of you fuckers, he’s nothing but a vegetable and I have news for you, this is Texas, not Mexico. There is no life sentence for cop killers like you. Oh no, we do it a little differently down here. We here love our executions.” He turned to his partner Alvarez. “What did they say the average wait time is before they juice these scumbags?”
“What? Five years, maybe less. It’s really quick, not like California where you sit on death row for 25 years," Alvarez joined in Brennan's scare tactics.
"That's right, not here, we have an express line for scumbag cop killers like you–especially when there's lots of witnesses. You and your boys,” Brennan said pointing at Armando, “they will feel the prick of the needle in their leg before they have a chance to wear out their first issued tooth brush.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Armando yelled out. Handcuffed to the table, he had no other recourse as the two detectives tormented him. His fear was building knowing just how ruthless Texas Criminal Justice is.
“Pretty tough guy aren’t we. Maybe it was this prick that did the shooting. Takes a lot of balls to light up a car with an AK you piece of shit. Brennan stood up and tossed the chair he was sitting on across the room. Armando tried to move as far as he could away from Brennan as he walked around the table. He grabbed the back of the punk's head, pulling tight on his ponytail. “Yeah, you look like the kind of pussy that would do something so cowardly. I’m going to enjoy watching you squirming on that gurney. This whole department’s going to have party watching. Alvarez, you bringing the popcorn?”
“Ok, ok. I’ll talk, but I want a deal.”
“You talk then we will talk about a deal.” There was a knock on the glass. Brennan looked up at the mirror and let go of Armando. “Stay put asshole,” he said as he stepped outside and into the observation area.
“Captain?”
“Pubic asshole’s on the way. Can you crack this boy quickly?”
“Depends, the DA going to give us something to work with?”
“Give him 25 to life, no death penalty, we want the shooter.
“Coming right up,” he said as he proceeded back to the interview room. Brownly watched the drama unfold.
“Well Armando, looks like we were too late. Seems like your buddy is going to give it all up before you. Come on Alvarez, let’s get going.” Alvarez, knowing the drill, sighed and collected his case file as he stood. Brownly started laughing as Armando panicked.
“Wait, don’t leave me. Wait.”
“Too late dipshit,” he looked at his watch then looked up at him, “five years...starting...now.”
“Wait! Broderick, he’s your shooter.”
“Don’t have a Broderick in custody. Nice try buddy,” Alvarez called back as he walked out the door.
“No, the others never met him. He’s the one you want. His first name started with an S, big white guy.”
“Holy shit,” Brownly said from behind the glass. He watched as Brennan did an about face, rushing back in the room and grabbing Armando by the throat, pushing him back in his chair, his arms stretched as far as they could with the handcuffs still locking him to the table.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“S. Broderick. He never told me his name and I never saw his face, but I saw a bag with his name on it in the back of his truck.
“What kind of truck, what kind of bag? Hurry up asshole, answer.”
“It was a blue Ford pickup. Raised with roll bars. His bag? It was black, kinda like a shooters bag. Patch with blue stitching with his name on it.” Brennan squeezed harder as three sets of three knocks on the glass echoed through the room. It was the signal that the public defender was in the building.”
“You better not be lying to me,” he said as he released his grip and straightened Armando's shirt, making him look presentable for the slime bag attorney.
“I swear, I’m not,” he said as Brennan again left the room.
“Did you catch that Captain?” he said, entering the interview room. Brownly was already heading out almost running into them.
“Quick, my office,” Brownly said, looking down the hall hoping to get out by the time the attorney showed up. As they entered the spacious office, Brownly closed the blinds while Alvarez shut the door closing it’s blinds as well.
“Seth Broderick? He can’t be serious?” Brennan said.
“I sure hope he’s full of shit,” Brownly quickly added. “If not, we got a problem. We got a former cop with a hell of a vendetta against us.”
“Captain, with all due respect, Broderick isn’t one of our own. Prick got the shaft over two years ago.”
“Yeah, still, he was one of us,” Brennan said, scratching his head.
“Shit, the press is going to have a field day with this.” Brownly pressed the clear cube along the bottom of his phone that initiated a ring.
“Yes Sir,” a voice said over the speaker.
“Brewer, bring me the complete file on Officer Seth Broderick. Drop everything you are doing and bring it to me. “Call Chief Gormley, let him know we have a Priority 1 situation.”
“Sir, the Chief is still in New York.”
“Of course he is. He’s everywhere in this damn country except in Houston. Get him on the horn right away, I don’t care if I’m interrupting his dinner with the Mayor. Also, I want Ferguson and Gibbs and Landrum in here right away.”
“Yes Sir. Gibbs is in the field right now–”
“–Call him in ASAP.” He hung up without letting her reply.
“Sir, if Broderick is the shooter, then we have a problem. This guy is one dangerous son of a bitch. Shouldn’t we put out a warning to all patrols?”
“Why?” Alvarez asked.
“Let’s move to the war room, I’ll fill you in there.” Brownly said.
---
Brownly sat at the end of the conference room they reserved for large powwows with the department heads. He studied Broderick’s file, recalling his military background as well as his short history with Houston PD. He was a tough fierce man and took his aggression too far. Bitch sessions with Broderick were often very unpleasant as his attitude applied to all he encountered, even to Brownly. Often, Brownly would make sure to have several others in the room with him during his excessive force scoldings.
“1983, Grenada. Broderick, a U.S. Army Ranger with the 1st Battalion lands as part of the Army’s Rapid Deployment Force. He was an exceptionally good soldier and had a thriving career. That came to a rapid end on that tiny island where he was hit by a frag grenade while protecting his fellow soldiers. Took quite a bit of shrapnel. He became one of the few U.S. casualties during the short conflict and, as a result, ended his military career.
According to our shrink here, that’s when our boy started slipping. His whole life revolved around his career and when he was discharged on a medical, things went downhill from there. Spent a year in recovery pissed that of the 7800 troops that landed on that tiny island, he was the one who took a career ending hit. For a while things improved after he came to the Academy, hoping to keep some action going. He bulked up and despite his injuries, started off with impressive results. About a year into his time with us, he began getting overly aggressive, finally leading to the Tim Keller beating where he brutally beat a local well known transient, a Vietnam veteran suffering from PTSD and other mental issues. Keller survived, but has permanent brain damage from his head injuries.”
“Captain,” Ferguson interrupted.
“Go ahead Bob, what is it?”
“This is all about the Keller Case?”
“Of course, what else would it be about.”
“That case led to his firing. The DA never filed the criminal charges, but we let him go in light of the public pressure. That SOB did not go easily either.”
“No, he did not. That’s what bothers me. Asshole was threatening us as we escorted him out of the building. Still–that was a very public spectacle. We have to be careful, anyone could drop that name knowing Seth might have a vendetta against us. If that’s the case, you make sure that asshole gets hung out to dry for lying to us, but if not, we are going to have a problem.”
“Sir,” Brennan started to say, waiting for Brownly’s attention, “I recommend we put the department on alert while we check out Broderick.” Everyone chimed in agreeing that was the best course of action. “Plus, if this dipshit’s lying to use, Broderick should be easy to find,” Ferguson interrupted.
“Bad idea. We need to consider him hostile until we can clear him. This guy is very dangerous. I’ve seen his gun collection and he's an expert with each one.”
“Bob’s right. Brennan, you’re new here, you didn’t work with him like Ferguson, Whithers and I. He’s a first class asshole and while we don’t rat each other out, none of us thought Whithers was wrong testif–” Gibbs stopped short not finishing his sentence.
“Whithers. Son of a bitch,” Brennan said aloud. The fucker was waiting at the bank for him. What about Celi and Upton? They worked with him didn't they?"
“Yes they did, now that you mention it. Check out that connection, but I’ll be honest, I'm inclined to think Whithers was a fluke. Whithers sent Mendoza out looking for Reid when that shit storm burst. He was out covering for her and just happened to be one of the first responders. There is no way Broderick could have planned that,” Ferguson said with confidence.
“Thank you Bob, that sounds very reasonable. I’m inclined to agree, Whithers was a lucky hit for him. I also agree we treat him as a hostile. Very quietly, get eyes and ears on his known residences. Do not try to apprehend him without my approval understand? This guy is a very well trained tactician and weapons expert. On top of that, he’s highly aggressive.”
“Yes Sir,” they all said in agreement.
“Ok, get to work, I want answers.” The team of senior officers all started to leave. “Bob, stay behind a moment,” Brownly said.
“Captain?”
“Bob, how’s Reid doing?”
“Talked to him yesterday. Still limping around, but he’s getting better.”
“Any chance we can get him in here? I could use some of that magic detective work of his.”
“He was planning on hitting the desk in a few more weeks, but I might be able to convince him to get his ass in here early.”
“Call him. I am going to need him to start reviewing data as it comes in. Also tell Brennan to keep pursuing those turds in custody in case this is a diversion.”
“Yes Sir. Calling Reid right now.”
A cold December winter chill blew through the park. The orange autumn leaves littered the sidewalks and endless grassy lawns of the central park. Houston was a temperate climate and didn’t see weather frigid enough to produce snow, but it still got cold enough, where the spirit of the Christmas season could be enjoyed. Couples could stroll in the cold brisk air all bundled up and savoring the endless sparkle of the Christmas lights. Two years ago, I was on board a spaceship, celebrating the holidays cramped with six other astronauts. Last year, I spent it alone with one of those astronauts, my friend, my confidant. Still, both of those years, I was alone inside.
As with last year, my wife and daughter were still not a main part of my life even though I had returned from space, and rescued them from the evil clutches of a man I thought was part of my NASA family. They were safe and enjoying being amongst the living again, but they were not yet ready for me. To them, I was still a stranger, no longer their husband/father, but a strange woman from another planet who sent the man they love far away. It pained me greatly to sit and watch over them from a distance, unable to tell them that I am with them, that it was only my mere body that had traversed the cosmos, while my soul was still here.
I sipped my coffee while sitting on a hard iron chair in the outdoor patio of the cafe adjacent to the park. Traffic from the local shops came for a stroll along the lit pathways and people stopped to take their annual pictures in front of the tall tree erected in the middle of the main walkway. I watched from afar as Liz and Ash sat on the bench in each other’s arms enjoying the sights, the sounds, and the pleasant smell of the world around them. It was the closest I could be to them, and every day, I sat watching over them, part protecting them, part dreaming of the day I could be on that bench with them participating in their joy.
Every day, they rose early, and spent most of their day outdoors. They would picnic on the grass, or take a patio seat at a restaurant, anything to avoid being inside. Their distain for enclosed spaces, gave me the ability to watch over them easily, while still remaining out of sight.
“Aren’t you cold?” A voice said beside me. I kept my eyes fixated on my girls and replied.
“Hi Reid, how’s the leg?” I could see him limping up out of the corner of my eye and pulling up a chair of his own. He had a tight leg brace on and used a single crutch to get around faster.
“What, are you psychic? How’d you know it was me?”
“I could smell your aftershave.”
“Pretty impressive. As for the leg, it’s getting better, not as stiff, but still hurts to walk. A couple more weeks and I should be able to rid myself of this crutch. Seriously, you ok in just that sweatshirt?”
“I’m fine, I don’t get cold,” was all the explanation I wanted to give at the moment, still enjoying the sight of Liz and Ash alive and free. “You know, last year, on this date, I came and saw you. It was a rough morning, Megan and I had a few good laughs that made my pain go away momentarily, but shortly after that it came back and hit hard. I was starting to think they were dead, here I am a year later and they are alive, as happy as they can be considering what happened to them.
“Where are they?”
“On the benches, to the right of the tree?”
“Which tree?”
“Which tree? Come on detective, I can’t do all the work for you, otherwise you can start giving me a cut of that paycheck of yours.”
“Oh, that tree. I see them. They are looking really good. How is Liz doing?”
“According to Megan, she is making a little progress with her, but it’s slow. Liz is really depressed. She won’t tell me all the details, but being confined and lied to for all that time has really screwed her up. Liz has a lot of guilt and built up anger, but she is talking with Megan.”
“You think you will get to see them soon?”
“I pray every day for that time, but I am being patient. It’s rough, but at least I can see them, and hear them, they just don’t know I am around.”
“You can hear them?”
“Yes, right now they are talking about getting a puppy. Ash always wanted one, maybe it’s a good time for them.”
“Having a dog around would give them a nice sense of security. Not like you aren’t, but...well...oh, you know what I mean.”
“Yes, don’t worry, I’m not sensitive like that. Say what you want. Hey, by the way, the department like that little present I sent you?”
“Wasn’t really the type of van I wanted, but the interior was quite nice. Thank you very much. How did you manage to find them?”
“Same way I found you and Liz.” Reid looked around while I kept my eyes locked on my family.
“Yeah, I’ve been scratching my head on that one for three months now. Care to share?” I thought long and hard about what I was willing to let Reid in on. I had spent the three months thinking it over, bringing it up to Megan. I went from Megan being the sole keeper of my secret, to a total of five, three of whom only know the partial truth. My friend simply said it was my choice to make and that she felt comfortable either way. Kaaren’s ability to read people’s hearts still had me baffled. Sometimes I could sense something, but most of the time nothing. Remote viewing was easy, it just happens after a few seconds of contact, but reading thoughts, the trigger still eluded me.
“Well Jim,” I decided to go for broke and let him in. He listened as I explained, surprised to find he was already familiar with the extra sensory perception in my inventory of alien abilities. He had mentioned before about psychics trying to offer their gifts to law enforcement. They were bothersome and most of the time ignored by the police.
"I always thought it was crap, using some object to conjure up visions of past events."
“Well it’s not crap, I have the ability,” he didn't seem to believe me.
“Seriously? Really, how did you find us?”
“I am serious.”
“Then what the hell did you waste a whole year of my time for? What did you need the police's help for if you could have found them on your own?”
"Simple, I didn't know that I had this ability until that night. I was wearing one of Liz’s dresses–” I paused, deciding I didn’t want to give too many details about that night, “I put on one of her dresses and somehow I was able to see through her eyes.”
“That’s pretty amazing–you in a dress.”
“Stop it,” I said playfully.
“Seriously, we would have been goners if you hadn’t figured that out. You know, that could be a very useful part of your repertoire,” he said then, pausing. My eyes left Liz and found him looking up in the sky with a sad look on his face.
“Thinking about your sister?”
“Good guess, or are you reading my mind.”
“No Jim, just a guess. I can help you, but you need to know how it works. It's not a sure thing and still requires detective work. Megan and I still had to put things together with the pieces of information I had."
"Ok, like what?"
"It’s based on a couple things." I began explaining the rules I discovered that governed my ability. He listened intently, learning that the more recent the clothing was worn, and the more they wore them, the longer the vision. After that, the energy is gone.
"Two, I can only see and hear what the host is seeing and hearing at the time. If they don’t give me clues, it’s useless. In a nutshell, I can’t promise success.”
“I understand. If I can just see that she’s ok and happy, I would feel better.”
“Are you prepared if she’s not. Are you prepared to find out the worst possible case?”
“I think so, but let’s talk later. First of all I need to talk to you about something else.”
“Ok,” I said with a bit of concern at his sudden change in tone.
“We haven’t had a serious conversation in the aftermath, and it’s time we did.”
“Sure, what’s on your mind?”
“Karen,” he stopped a second, “I have to remember what name to say at times.”
“It’s ok, I guess it doesn’t really matter.”
“Well it does matter, and that’s what I need to talk to you about.” He stopped and looked around, finding they were alone, since not too many wanted to sit out on the cold iron chairs. “Karen, I understand you trying to hide and all. Believe me, I would do the same, but you don’t really exist. You are not a citizen of any country. This Karen Santucci isn’t real, she has no past and if any of my men decided check you out, they would find nothing. Now that’s fine if you want to hide out under a rock and move about a little, but I can’t have you coming by the station and getting involved in police matters. I can’t have this unknown person working with my officers. It’s too dangerous, and if you get discovered, I can get in big trouble.”
“So what are you saying, we’re not going to work together?”
“Karen, you got very lucky, lucky that people liked you well enough to keep you anonymous in this case. With Dwayne dead, there will be no trial, and Liz and Ashley seem committed to keeping your existence quiet. Liz was very irked that you pretended to be her
husband’s non–existent sister. If you continue as Karen Santucci, I can’t see them ever embracing you, and I can’t work with you.”
“I see.”
“Karen, it’s too dangerous. If you get called into testify, the people we are trying to get off the streets will get a nice “get out of jail free card”. I can’t risk that. I have work to do, and Ms Santucci and I need to separate.”
“I understand. I heard you are in the big leagues now and I don’t want to hurt your career,” I stood up and grabbed the bag I had with me, “So this is goodbye? I delivered you a nice gift, hell you wanted me to help you find your sister, but you are afraid of working with an alien. Nice, Reid. Why couldn’t you have started the conversation off that way?”
“Hold on a moment, don’t go just yet, and settle down. We can still be friends, in fact I got you a little Christmas slash, thank you for saving my hide a couple times present,” he said sliding a red gift wrapped box across the iron table. It was about eight inches long, five wide, and about four deep. I shook the box listening for anything distinct inside.
“I wonder what it can be. May I?”
“Really? I’ve been waiting impatiently to give this to you, I just couldn’t wait for Christmas. Of course you can open it.” I carefully unwrapped the paper, not tearing it like I was taught as a kid. After this superhuman chick fought with the invincible scotch tape, I pulled the paper aside, revealing a box that said Gucci on it. I opened the fancy box and peeled the tissue paper aside. Inside was a long leather woman’s wallet.
It was made of shiny leather and had a semi rough texture to it. I unsnapped the leather buckle and opened it up and looked inside. It had two rows of slots for credit cards, a little zippered coin purse and a red silk liner where you keep the bills. I explored the rest finding nothing but a mock social security card inside a little plastic window where one would keep their identification. Slightly disappointed to not find any money, I closed the wallet and started to put it back in the box.
“Well?”
“Reid, thank you, I really like it, especially the red liner inside,” I said, trying find something I liked about the lame gift. “Not sure how you guessed my favorite color.”
“I didn’t guess, it only took a smidgen of detective work. Glad you like it, but how do you like the contents?”
“What contents? Am I missing something?”
“No, you were looking right at it.”
“I was? There was nothing in there except that–” I grabbed the wallet from the box while my memory recalled the contents. My hands fumbled with the wallet while I fought to open it up as quickly as possible. Reid had this huge smile light up his face just as I opened to the ID section. I stared at the fake Social Security card and read the name over and over again.
“Karen Anne Guest” it said on the white and blue government issued card. My head shot up and looked at him, catching his first proud chuckles.
“Is this–”
“–Yes” He said not even letting me finish the sentence, “It’s real, and it’s legit–Sorta.”
“What do you mean–Sorta?”
“You’re better off not knowing, and I am better off not telling. I can get in a lot of trouble for this. Let's just say I know some people who did me a favor.” He withdrew large envelope and handed it to me. “Inside is your birth certificate and some details about your deceased birth parents. You are twenty three, born on June 5, 1965 in Boston. You can take that to the DMV and get yourself a drivers license, open bank accounts, and get yourself into school.”
“My god Reid, this is really real? I have an actual identity?”
“Yes, I hope you like the name. I had to pick through a bunch of Karens trying to keep your first name.”
“Like it, I love it. Guest is rather fitting. Thank you, this is the best day ever.” I reached over and hugged him.
“Well it looks like your day is going to get even better Ms. Guest. Looks like you have guests here to see you.” At first I was confused, then I heard a voice behind me.
“Hi Aunt Karen,” I spun around as fast as I could to find Liz and Ashley standing there.
“Ash, hello there. How are you sweetie?” I said, giving her a hug, afterward standing up and turning to my wife. “Hi Liz, it’s great to see you.”
“Hello Karen,” she said in return, offering an awkward hug. I fought every impulse in my body to pull her tight and passionately kissing her on the lips. “We are doing ok, thank you for asking.” She turned to Reid and acknowledged him. “James, how’s the leg coming along?”
“Getting better Liz, getting better.” He stood up and left the crutch behind and limped over to them. She gave him a hug as well, one with a little more warmth than the one I received. Ashley backed up behind her mother, keeping her between herself and Reid. Ashley’s attitude instantly changed and I could tell she was afraid of Reid.
“Hi Ashley, you remember me?” Reid said, seeing her behind Liz. She was getting tall and her head was almost to Liz’s chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around her mother and she refused to come out or acknowledge him.
“Sorry Reid, she knows who you are, but she doesn’t trust men right now regardless of who they are.”
“I understand, she’s been through a lot. Eventually she will come around.”
“I hope so. Well I’m glad you are doing better, you look like you can get around faster.”
“If you consider a turtle fast.”
“When are you getting back to work?”
“I plan on hitting the desk after the New Year, but no field work for another few months.”
“I’m glad to hear that, and the hearing?”
“They still ring off and on. The doctors say it will pass, but I will likely start losing my hearing a little earlier than I had hoped. Enough about me, how are you two doing?”
“Adjusting. Slowly, but we are getting there. It’s just great to be outside and enjoy this time of year.”
“The media leaving you alone?”
“They still bother us, but I don’t budge. Eventually they will realize I don’t care how much they offer, I don’t want my story told.”
“Good for you. Well I’m really glad to see you. You know, if you need anything, don’t hesitate okay?”
“Thank you. James, you mind excusing us for a few, we would like to talk with Karen, and Ashley won’t come out if you are around. Please don’t take it personally.”
“No, absolutely not.” He turned to me and patted my shoulder before walking back to the table. Slowly but surely, Ash came out from the security her mother offered her.
“Karen, would you like to take a walk with us?” She was very serious, and I became frightened that she found out I had been following them.
“Of course, I would love to.”
“Good,” she said as Ash reached up to take my hand. We turned to walk and headed toward the pond.
“Megan tells me you have your own apartment now?”
“Yes, I started renting a place a few miles from your place. It’s small and simple. I don’t really require much.”
“So I hear. She tells me you don’t sleep?”
“A little each week, I don’t really get tired.”
“Must be nice. Every mother’s dream super power. Do you have kids back home?”
“I actually do, a little cutie, just like this one,” I said, shaking Ash’s blond hair. She looked up and smiled.
“I’m sure she misses you very much. Michael is a great dad, and I’m sure he's taking a liking to her,” she said as a tear started flowing down her cheek. She pulled a damp handkerchief from her jacket pocket and wiped her face.
“I know he will. All he talked about was making sure you two were safe. It’s all he wanted, he loves you two very much.”
“And we love him. It’s going to be hard living without him, but at least he is alive, and that makes us very happy,” Liz paused and her tone changed a little as she resumed, “Karen, Megan was going to tell you this, but since we ran into you, we thought maybe we will tell you personally. We have been talking, Ashley and I and...well, we feel,” she stopped, keeping me in suspense. She tapped Ashley, who had been very quiet, her eyes constantly focused on Reid off in the distance. “Ashley honey, go ahead and tell Karen what we talked about.” My heartbeat began slowing down knowing what was coming wasn’t bad since Liz was entrusting Ash with the delivery.
“Aunt Karen,”she said as I turned and lowered myself. Ash was so cute, her hair cleanly styled and permed. She was wearing a purple sweater under a jean jacket and had a red scarf around her neck. Her ears were pierced and had small fake diamond studs.
“I like your earrings,” I said, pointing to them.
“Mom finally let me get my ears pierced.”
“She was supposed to wait until she was ten. I took her last month to finally get them done. A year late, but she more than deserved it.” I approved of the decision. We had argued a little in the past about how old we wanted her to be before she got them done.
“Well they look great.”
“Aunt Karen, mom and I want you to spend Christmas with us.” My heart skipped a beat at the news.
“Is that ok with you?” Liz said.
“Of course, I would love to. Thank you Ash for inviting me.” Aafter giving Ashley a hug and kiss on the cheek, I stood to face Liz.
“Is it really ok with you?” She spent a moment before responding.
“Listen Karen. It’s going to take a while, and I am not going to promise you anything. Right now, we are happy, but later tonight, we might be a complete wreck. You are still a lot to process, but we do owe so much to you. It’s the holidays and...well, we want to give it a try.”
“Thank you Liz, thank you so much. I would very much want to be part of your lives, but I understand.”
“I have a couple conditions. One, Megan will be there. It’s not that we don’t trust you, we frankly don’t trust anyone except maybe her. For now, I want her around until we can get to know you better.”
“I fully understand,” I said, partially disappointed. Her attitude did make me proud, knowing she was dedicated to protecting our daughter. If only she could know that she doesn’t need to protect Ashley from me, “Two?”
“I understand you can hear really well, so instead of leaving Ashley alone for a moment, I am going to whisper to you.” I nodded in agreement and Liz’s voice lowered to a soft whisper. I focused on her voice. “Around my daughter, I want you to be as normal as possible, no showing off what you can do, nor are you to talk about it. I know you saved her from that plane, but do not ever take her flying again, understand me? You are just a normal human, nothing more.”
“Yes.”
“Also, any discussion about her father, goes through me. Again, I understand you needed to gain her trust on the rooftop, but it ends there.”
“Understood.”
“Good,” she said in a normal voice. “Finally, please...I really want to stress this last one. Please, go easy on our house.” I sensed the last one was Liz’s attempt at breaking up the seriousness, and not coming across as a hardass, but I still took everything to heart.”
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“It’s ok, but this is our home, not yours. I understand you were mostly living at Megan’s and only stopping by on occasion to maintain it, but from now on, you only come over when invited.”
“Liz, you are a great mom, and all this is nothing I wouldn’t expect of someone if I were in your shoes. I will be thrilled with any time I can have with you two.”
“Ok, I don’t mean to be this way, but–well, I’m not going to explain.” After a quick break to adjust her mood back to a cheerful one, she continued. “Back to Christmas, Megan is going to go to her parents Christmas Eve, so we will have you over for Christmas dinner. I hope you like human food, so bring an empty stomach.”
“Human food, makes it sound like I usually eat dog food,” she laughed at the joke as did Ashley, “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. I love the food here, I can’t wait,” I said with excitement, knowing that Liz was a culinary goddess.
“Ok, there are a couple more things, but Megan will explain to you. We need to get going now, so we will see you on Christmas.” She pulled Ashley close. “Say goodbye to Aunt Karen.”
“Bye Aunt Karen,” my daughter said, looking up at me. She had grown so much in the time I was away, but I still towered over her, having increased in height myself. I bent over and gave her another hug before saying goodbye. They walked down the path back to the parking lot, disappearing off in the distance. Reid limped up next to me carrying the bag I left on the table along with my new ID.
“So, how did that go?”
“Excellent! I will be seeing them for Christmas.”
“Good to hear. Let’s talk about New Years.”
“What about it?”
“For once, I won’t be on duty, and I plan on having some people over. Why don’t you come by?
“Who’s going to be there?”
“Trish and a few others from the department plus some other friends.”
“I don’t know if I should.”
“Come on, I want you to have some fun. I have a lot of work for you in the new year.”
“But I thought you said–”
“–I never said I didn’t want to work with Karen Guest. Heck no, she and I are going to do great things in 1988. What do you say?”
“I’m game, but I think you need to step up your game a little.”
“What do you mean?” He asked as I opened the bag and pulled out a gift wrapped box and handed it to him, “Jeez, this is heavy.”
“It’s not a toy like you are used to,” I said as he started opening it. Inside it was a large wooden box.
“Karen, what did you do?” he said as he started to open it.
“Wait, I said as I looked around, making sure no one was looking. Okay,” Reid lifted the lid to reveal my Colt 1911. He sat and stared at it a second.
“Wow, nice piece. How did you buy this?”
“I didn’t, It’s Michael’s.”
“I can’t accept this, it’s not even yours to give. Besides, I can’t transfer it without him being involved. If it's not in my name I can't use it as a duty weapon.”
“Sure you can, it was never registered. It belonged to his father. Let’s just say he won’t be needing it for quite a long time and he would want you to have it. You can give it back when he returns.”
“Still, I don’t know if I feel comfortable using this.”
“Come on Reid, you afraid of a .45,” I said, teasing him into accepting the gift.
“No, not at all.”
“Good, then it’s settled.”
"Third times a charm," I said out loud as I finally got the head wrap right, tightly sealing my wet blonde hair within the confines of the towel. For a moment I paused, staring at my naked body in the mirror, still not completely used to seeing a beautiful woman in place of Michael. In the evenings, when the rest of the state was sound asleep and I was left alone to suffer another long restless night, my mind would settle and wonder, thinking of the time before my change–the time not so long ago when I was still a mere mortal human male. "If only her father hadn't been killed." It would have been a worthy trade, remaining a man and gaining the power of a god.
Instead, I was an attractive female, trapped and unable to adjust in a world dominated by men with lustful thoughts. I had come a long way in a short time–adjusting to Kaaren's body–becoming more comfortable living as a woman. It scared me though. To think there might be a time when Michael fades from my memory, leaving only this person–Karen Anne Guest–behind. In ten or so years, I might not recall what if felt like to be a man. Maybe, I wouldn't want to change back?
"Don't think like that Michael. Come on buddy, you're never going to get used to this and as long as you have Kaaren's memory, you will never forget."
My drifting thoughts and fears of losing myself vanished as I glanced at my watch, noticing it was getting late. Megan was going to be by in an hour and I still had much to do before we went out. I slipped on my red bathrobe, tying it tight around my slender waist as I walked out to the living room of my apartment. It was a simple one bedroom apartment, the property relatively new. It had a spacious kitchen with surrounding counter top that could double as a bar. While cooking was never my thing, it was one of the few features that became the deciding factor.
I slowly walked over to the large open box between the kitchen and living room and peered inside. A warm joyful feeling came over me as I watched him sleep, not yet aware of my presence. The beagle pup laid sound asleep with his head lying on the rolled up towel I placed in there with him.
After meeting Liz in the park, I had Megan ask her if she would allow me to buy the puppy for Ashley. To my surprise, Liz agreed, making sure I bought the dog Ash wanted, a cute little male beagle she set her eye on at the local pet store. He was an adorable pup, tempting me to purchase his brother for myself.
He slowly woke up, eventually getting to his feet, having sensed my presence. His little mouth opened wide, letting out a long yawn while he stuck his rear in the air and spread his front legs out, giving a long early morning stretch.
"Hey buddy," I said, picking him up out of the tall box and holding him with both hands in front of me. "My little girl is going to love you."
He licked my hand as I carried him under my arm into the kitchen where I fetched a bowl and filled it with water. I set the yet unnamed dog down on the tile next to the bowl and let him drink. He lapped up the cool water while I prepared my morning's first beverage. The coffee just started brewing when my temporary house guest starting sniffing around.
“You gotta go out?” Before he could pee, I picked him up again and stopped a moment at my front door, realizing I was only in my bathrobe and quite naked underneath. Despite my speed, the puppy would likely pee before I could change. A quick scan in infrared confirmed no one was outside my door, and a grassy courtyard was only a couple steps away.
“Hurry up, do your thing.” I set him down next to the base of the palm tree outside my window and watched a moment before looking around. The beagle, who had a good mix of black to brown spots on his white coat sniffed around before he lifted his leg and peed.
“Lucky dog. I miss being able to do that,” I mumbled to myself. “Ok, number two, hurry up.” Standing outside in my bathrobe was making me very nervous, worried that some guys would see me and start harassing me. Just as the pup squatted and began doing his second round of business, the steady breeze suddenly increased to a gust. By the time the creaking door registering in my brain, it was too late. My front door slammed shut.
“Shit,” I yelled out. Ignoring the dog, I quickly rushed for the door, praying to God I didn’t just lock myself out wearing only a robe. “Son of a bitch.” My keys were inside and I could hear voices starting to emerge from around the corner. Ok Michael, you can break the doorknob, or jump over the fence, either way, someone is likely to see you.
I was just about to head for the leasing office across the courtyard when Reid’s pickup pulled into the cul-de-sac and parked in one of the handicapped spaces.
“Shit, not now,” I said, frantically trying the doorknob again hoping it would magically open. “Screw it,” I began applying force to the knob while thinking the price of a replacement was worth hiding my scantly clad body from Reid.
“Hey Karen.”
Too late, he saw me. Before any damage was done, I released my grip and focused on adjusting my robe. I held the dog close to my chest, using his body to hide Kaaren’s delicious looking cleavage peeking out of my bathrobe. He was limping across the grass, slowly working his way to my door.”
"Hey Karen, sorry to drop by un–you okay?”
“No, not really. Now’s not a good time.”
“Sorry. What’s the matter?”
“Turn around, don’t look at me?”
“Why?”
“Look at what I’m wearing for heaven’s sake.” His eyes scanned my figure rapidly before regaining eye contact.
“Cute.”
“Excuse me?”
“The dog, when did you get him?”
“Seriously Reid, come back in about twenty minutes.”
“Go on, go change and I can wait here on your porch.”
“No, you need to leave.”
“Oh come on Karen, lighten up. I don’t want to keep walking around.”
“Damn it Jim, I locked myself out.”
He laughed and laughed, then pushed me aside and picked the lock, popping it open in under a minute.
---
"I told you, I'm busy. Megan and I have some Christmas shopping to do. What do you need help with?" I asked as I prepared some coffee for Reid.
"Karen we have a huge problem? I need your help, lives are at stake." I didn't have to have any special paranormal senses to know he was in distress.
"Here watch the dog while I change." I picked the pup up and handed him over to Reid,
“Cute pooch, what’s his name?”
“It’s for Liz and Ash, so no name yet. Got any ideas, might as well give him a temp name until Christmas.” I opened the cabinet and removed a couple of coffee mugs, filling one for Reid.
“That’s nice of you to buy the dog for them,” he said as I handed him the mug.
“Oh, great, thank you," he said, not wasting any time taking a sip, “so, you have dogs on your planet? Can they fly?”
“Hahaha, very funny. No it doesn’t work like that. On my planet, I’m normal like you, but you, you would be like me if you were to go there. That’s why I needed Michael.” I explained as generally as possible the details of Kaaren's mission from her perspective. I was about to start discussing the question about the dog and realized I had a problem. Shy of what Kaaren told me, I had no clue about her home. Her planet’s name, culture, biology, government, animal life, all that important information was locked away on a small crystal I couldn’t access. Questions Liz is surely going to ask, and I had no idea how to answer.
“Jim, I know you didn’t come here to talk about canines on my world. Let me get some clothes on and you can bring me up to speed.”
I closed my bedroom door, leaving Reid out in living room with the dog. He continued to talk while I laid some clothes out on the couch. It made more sense to utilize the space as an office with a sofa the take up the space with a bed I wouldn’t ever use. My one or two days I actually slept, I could crash on the couch or open the sofa. I dropped the robe and stood in the room naked while rummaging through my drawers. As much as I still preferred gender neutral outer clothing, I did find certain women’s underwear to be insanely comfortable. I withdrew a pair of red silky panties and quickly slid them up my legs followed by a matching colored sports bra.
I tugged at the bra, lifting Kaaren’s nicely shaped breasts, adjusting their position until they felt comfortable.
“Chicks are so damn complicated,” I murmured to myself.
“I like your place Karen,” Reid called out through the door.
“Thanks, It’s comfortable. It’s much better than living in a cramped spaceship.” As I finished saying the last word, a sense of dread came over me as I realized I just blundered by giving away a clue that I was Michael. Then I realized that Kaaren also lived on a ship for some time. I gave Kaaren’s breasts one more squeeze before feeling confident the torture device was on right before pulling on a pair of gray pleated pants with thin black stripes. They had a typical 80’s baggy feeling to them and were quite comfortable to wear rather than the tight jeans. Next I selected a bright blue blouse and tossed it over my bra, buttoning it up before tucking it in. Finally I grabbed a pair of socks and a dark, raggy, but stylish women’s sport coat with the sleeves rolled up.
“That’s it?”
“Sorry Reid if you don’t like what I’m wearing. I’m not dressing up for you.”
“Hahaha. No Karen, I mean, that’s it, you're already dressed?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You got ready faster than most guys I know, and you still look amazing. You don’t happen to know anyone from your planet around my age do you?”
“How do you know I’m not your age?”
“Never thought about that?”
“Don’t get any thoughts mister,” I said, erecting my walls. I took my dog from his arms while quickly changing the subject. “So Detective, what’s the big crisis?” I said, sitting on my recliner lifting my foot.
“Ok, those scumbags you brought in for us, one of them talked.”
“He ratted out the others?”
“No, he ratted out our main shooter.” He paused a moment. “Karen, he’s a former cop with the department. This wasn’t a bank robbery turned bad, it was a trap.”
“You’re telling me a former cop lured you all to the bank just to shoot–”
“–Yes, that’s exactly what happened. We took his house last night and found some pretty disturbing notes.” Reid opened a file he had with him. “Take a look.” He passed the first of many photos to me. I scanned the images taken by the forensic team. There were newspaper clippings, letters and photographs, clearly showing a man full of hate.
“What’s this guy’s story?” I asked in a state of disbelief.
“He was a very brutal cop. Had a lot of issues from a conflict back in 1983 on a small island–”
“–Granada?”
“Pretty impressive for someone what wasn’t even in the galaxy at the time.”
“Um, I wasn’t in the solar system, but still within the galaxy,” I said partially correcting him.
“Well excuse me?” How about Cosmo?”
“Cosmo?”
“The dog. Just a thought. Kind of a fitting name for an astronaut’s family dog. Astro just sounded too much like that stupid cartoon.”
“Reid, I love it. Cosmo it is. At least until Ash gives him a new name.”
---
"So are you saying Whithers was a target? The bank job was to force all units to converge?"
"Partially true. We think Broderick got lucky with Whithers. Whithers was high on his target list, but he had no idea Whithers would be responding. It sucks what happened to him, but at the same time, if he wasn't out covering for Trish, it might have been her."
"It wasn't her. She's alive with no scratches on her. Count that as a blessing."
"Yeah, I guess so. She is torn up from the incident. She took one of those bastards out and it’s got her pretty shaken up.”
“I’m sure she would be.”
“Guy had it coming.”
“So, he’s still human. As despicable as they are, we still feel. I have a friend I needed to protect that forced me to take several lives. These men were vial individuals, but it hurt afterwards. Give her time.”
“Can’t say I understand, but thanks.”
"Just how is Whither's doing?"
"Minute brain activity at best,” he said with a sad look on his face, “bullet hit an artery. They tried to get to his car, but the bastards had us pinned down, we couldn't get to him and by the time we did, he had lost a lot of blood. They were able to bring him back after about twenty minutes and stabilized him. Unfortunately by that time, the damage was done. At best he might look at you, but there's no reaction. Once a great man, now reduced to a lifeless body."
"What of the family, they gonna pull the plug?"
"His wife wants to, but his kids and ex-wife are taking her to court. They have some kind of ridiculous false hope that he will pull through. His ex also claims Whithers was going to leave his current wife–that she is really after his pension.”
“Shit, they are going to fight over money while he’s laying helpless in the middle. Such crap.”
“It’s not just that, there is a moral issue both sides are fighting as well. Many want him to stop suffering, while others don’t feel it’s our place to play God and decides who dies.”
“Isn’t keeping him alive playing God?”
“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m not taking sides, but I agree with you. It is playing God using all those machines to prevent a natural death. Would be nice if we could talk to him, see if he knows anything that can help us.”
"I don't think that's going to be a possibility, so we are going to have to find this creep on our own. So what else do you have?"
Reid handed me several more pictures from Broderick's house. I studied the images, blueprints for a variety of explosives, modified weapons, piles of ammunition. This guy made Rambo look approachable. Reid gave me the rundown on his background and eventual firing that led to his attitude.
"You think you can use that magic of yours to see where he might be holed up?"
"Yeah, I don't see why not? Can you get me into his house?"
"Of course. They are still combing through the place, but I might be able to distract them while you play dress up?"
"Oh you're hysterical. Is that what you think I do, enjoy wearing other people's clothing? You better not go missing again, I don't think I could stomach wearing your clothes."
"Hey, I resent that. I'm a nut when it comes to keeping my clothes clean."
"It's not the smell, it's that horrible pastel fashion you've got going on. Seriously, the Crockett look doesn’t work too well here in Texas."
"At least I have a fashion sense. I've never met a woman who would wear the same outfit three or four times in the same week."
Man, hanging out with Reid was a blast. Made me feel like a man again, playfully picking on each other like I was back with the guys of the old 152nd. A loud knock sounded on the door. I looked at my watch and realized that it was time for Megan to stop by and pick me up. I hurried over to the door and opened it up.
"Reid, get your feet off my furniture," I yelled to give Megan a warning that someone was over before I opened the door.
"Hi Karen, she said catching on," Reid stayed on the couch with Cosmo, greeting Megan without getting up.
“Aww, so cute. When did you get him?”
"I take it she's talking about you and not this beat up excuse for a detective," Reid said to Cosmo, lifting the dog up and over his head. Megan crossed the room and took the puppy from Reid's grasp.
"Hi James, good to see you again. How's that leg doing?"
"Aches. Still hard to walk around too much."
"Well of course. Gunshots don't heal overnight you know? It's been what, three months? You shouldn't be walking around much at all."
"Yeah, yeah. I was getting bored at home."
"So what are you two doing? We're still going out right?" she said, turning to me.
"Jim needs some help on a case."
"You're not back to work already?"
"Relax Doc, just lending my brain. We are still trying to find the SOB who shot Whithers." Megan held Cosmo, scratching under his chin. He was loving all the attention. I slipped on a pair of black Converse tennis shoes and laced them up from a standing position, keeping perfect balance as I brought one leg up to work the laces into a tight bow.
"So what's the plan?" Megan said.
"I don't know. Jim, when do you need me to go over to the house?"
"Right away."
"So we're not going shopping? I'm not going to have the time the next couple of days." Not really wanting to break my plans with Megan, I turned to Reid at the same time Megan did.
"I'm sorry Megan, I don't mean to take Karen away, this is really important. We are trying to catch a really dangerous individual. I only need her for about thirty minutes. Just go over to this guy's house, put on some of his clothes and see if she can see anything that can help us find him," he said while Megan looked at me with a sense of displeasure.
"I see. Well, I can't say I approve Jim. What Karen could do is very powerful and shouldn't be treated as some kind of a casual request.”
"That's a good point," I said, agreeing with her. "Jim, to be honest, I'm not sure I really like using this ability. It is very powerful, one that could get misused rather quickly."
"Come on you two, I'm not trying to cheat at cards here. A former cop is waging war on our department and he needs to be stopped before other officers are killed and further families are torn apart."
"Yeah Reid, but if you didn't have Karen, you would have to do this the old fashioned way. Sure you might save a couple of days, but in the end, classic detective work will suffice.”
“Hey, she didn’t mind using her abilities to me helping her find the Owens, you saying all of a sudden she–
“–Okay okay, wait just a moment you two. Time out.” I said, interjecting. “Megan, thank you for bringing this up, but this is my body, and I will choose how I see fit to use it. Reid, you know I’m dedicated to using my abilities for good, especially when protecting the innocent. I do think the use of my remote viewing should be done with caution. Because of the nature of this case, I will help you, as well as helping you find Sarah. But in the future, I expect you to present the same level of certainty you would give a judge before approaching me. Is that fair?”
“Ok, I think that’s fair. What else?”
“Reid,” Megan started to say while still holding Cosmo, “Karen is very special. Your first and foremost job is to protect her. She might be invulnerable, but those she loves are not. You keep her safe, you also keep us safe.” I grabbed my wallet and keys, getting anxious to leave rather than sitting around having an ethical debate over the what others thought I should and shouldn’t do with my body.
“Ok, thanks Megan, that will be enough for now. I’m an adult, I get to decide just what I want to do with my body. End of story. Now, what's the plan for today? Reid, Megan and I did have plans. How long is this going to take?"
"Like I said, maybe twenty, thirty minutes."
"Karen, you go do what you need to do, I'm going to go ahead of you and do some other shopping. Reid, you think you can drop Karen off at the mall for me when you finish up?"
"You can still fly right?"
"Jesus Jim, really? Maybe I can use the helipad on top of Macy’s." Megan laughed at my sarcasm.
"I'm kidding, of course, I’ll drop you off. Hell, what do you say I take you two ladies out for lunch?"
"You know Jim, thats a great idea. In fact, whaddya think Megan, maybe we can take our Detective here and get him some clothes fitting someone who works with all the big boys now?" Megan reached out and grabbed Reid's white coat.
"Either that or put in for a transfer to Miami Dade.”
“What did you say this guy’s name was again?” I asked as Reid and I ducked under the yellow tape around the house. Several officers were standing guard outside. Voices from inside alerted me to the presence of more cops.
“Seth Broderick,” Reid said as we ran into a pair of forensic technicians I had never met before. One was carrying a sealed cardboard box. We met up with a few other uniformed officers who where looking through the garage. A large gun safe had been cut open, the contents spread across the floor where the officers were tagging and bagging the guns. The garage reeked of gun oil and cleaning solvents. Several work tables had been set up as a fabrication bench– cluttered with weapon parts, pipes, chemicals and a variety of tools.
“Looks like he was making pipe bombs,” I said as Reid leaned down slightly toward a rifle, wincing in pain from the strain on his leg.
“Hey blondie,” one of the officers called out. I turned in time to see a pair of latex gloves hurtling toward my face. A split second before they hit, I reached up and caught them, surprising the cop with my swift reflexes.
“Thanks,” I said, pulling the gloves over my hands to prevent me from contaminating the evidence. Any defense lawyer trying to ease his client out of this mess was going to find it to be a very daunting task given the evidence, still, making sure this guy didn’t walk was worth the precaution, “what do you have there?”
“A really nice Remington 700. Similar to mine, only this has more custom work on it. Either he has something better, or he was stupid. Doesn’t make sense that he would go through the planning he did and not take this along.
“He’s got something else,” the officer with the gloves said. “Who’s the broad, detective?”
“Friend of mine, we are going to look around a bit. And don’t call her a broad or I will kick your ass.”
“With what leg? A penguin can kick better than you.”
“Reid, that’s enough. He’s not bothering me.” He sighed, turning around, leaving the cops alone as we made our way back inside the house.
“Looks like he really had it in for you guys.” We stopped in front of a wall covered with photos of Houston’s finest.
“Yeah, guy’s defiantly a whack job. Come on, let’s see if we can find him.” As we walked towards the bedroom, my eyes scanned the house committing everything I saw to memory for later use. The bedroom as it turned out was the least interesting of all the rooms. It was neatly kept and had very little other than a bed and a couple of dressers, all of which had tags indicating all contents relevant to the case had been removed. As my gloved hands opened the closet, memories of my drunken escapade that led to Liz and Ashley’s salvation rushed to the forefront of my mind.
“What is it?” Reid asked, my sudden change of attitude failing to slip past his keen detective skills while he took a rest on the bed, lifting his leg up.
“Nothing. Leg bothering you?”
“Yeah, a bit. Seriously, what’s the matter?”
“Oh nothing, just thinking about the night I went through my...I mean Liz’s closet.”
“The night you saw her?”
“Yeah.” I fumbled through the Broderick’s clothes. He had a few suits and several of his old police uniforms along with his BDU’s from the Army. Taking up the space deeper in the closet were his casual clothes.
“Looks like something you would wear?” Reid mocked as I withdrew a gray sweater that said “ARMY” on the front.
“Yeah, well I can pick up a scent on it,” I said, pulling off my coat and throwing it to Reid.
“What, like your beagle?”
“You better watch it, or I’m gonna shoot you in the other leg,” I said, keeping up our playful banter. “Now drape that coat over your head and no peeking until I say so.” Reid didn’t require any explanation and did what he was told. With the door closed, I began unbuttoning my blouse while intently watching over him in case he decided to sneak a peek. I tossed my blouse on the bed and threw the sweater on. “Okay.” Reid got off the bed while holding my coat as I turned to the wall, the sensations traveling through my body.
“Do you see anything?”
“Shh, shut up. It’s starting.” My vision of the room vanished, taking me through a short journey through white clouds before my vision cleared. As it did, the sound of a TV newscast flooded the room I was now in. I tried blinking several times, finding my vision to be rather blurry. Broderick’s head began turning sideways, his vision slowly trailing behind. I made a note of everything I could make out as he panned around the room. He focused on a table with a large caliber sniper rifle sitting on top, surrounded by dozens of other weapons, several ammo boxes, a radio and a couple of Chinese food containers and about a dozen empty beer cans. The reporter offered little help, talking about a fluff piece rather than the case itself. The image began fading, returning me to the bedroom where Reid was standing at my side.
“He’s got another hideout, and yes, he has a better rifle. Something rather large, magazine about this large,” I said, holding my hands apart guestimating the size using the trigger as a scale.
“.50 cal. Likely a M82 Barrett. Very long range weapon.”
“Shit. What, do they sell that shit at Big 5?”
“No, but you can buy them. Cost ya about 12k. What else you see?”
“He looked drunk, his eyes were out of focus. He was just sitting watching TV.”
“Drunk at 10am?”
“Well, maybe he’s going through some remorse,” I said, responding to Reid’s analysis.
“Try again.”
“Turn around,” I ordered, returning to the closet and removing one of his BDU jackets. With Reid averting his eyes, I slipped out of the prick’s sweater and yanked the expertly creased uniform off the hangar. Broderick no doubt had been a finely tuned, well disciplined soldier. If Reid’s description was right, and I believed it to be so, I partially understood him. This guy did his duty, his career ended over combat related injuries. Sure, war screws with the strongest of men. In a way I could relate, my mission failed, I almost died and the people I love disappeared, but murder never entered my heart. I stood there in just my bra as the bell inside the phone began ringing. Reid turned toward the phone beside the opposite side of the bed. I lifted the uniform, covering my nearly bare top.
“Jeez Reid, don’t turn around it’s only a phon–” I froze mid-sentence. My sensitive ears began detecting a sound, a faint beeping sound.
“What?” I just held my hand up, switching vision modes until activity registered in radio. Radio waves began emitting from the simple phone. Puzzled that a phone like that would be transmitting a radio signal, I began scanning, discovering multiple radio signals throughout the walls.
“Don’t touch the phone,” I yelled as I ran over to the wall, punching through the drywall. I withdrew the device attached to another device with several wires leading down between the studs. The answering machine in the other room answered, Broderick’s voice reaching my ear. I punched through the wall at the base and cut into the floor, tracing the wires.
“What the hell are you doing–”
“–OH SHIT! BOMB!” I yelled, hoping the others could hear. Dilating time, I quickly grabbed my coat and tossed it over Reid’s head while grabbing ahold of him. “Cover your ears,” I commanded as pulled him through the bedroom window, shattering the glass and wood panes with my back–minimizing injury to Reid. We cleared the house as several small primary explosions erupted in slow motion throughout the house. I held him tight, not caring that his face was buried into my chest while accelerating up the hillside. A defining series of bangs overwhelmed my sensitive ears as the house splintered and exploded, the entire property disintegrating before my eyes. A massive shockwave rippled across the property, its speed gaining on me as I traveled high up the hill behind the neighborhood. With only a fraction of a second to spare I quickly took cover behind a boulder, crashing hard against the uneven rocks. Reid let out a grunt as the shockwave impacted the hillside around us, kicking up a cloud of debris and loosening rocks of all sizes.
“FUCK” Reid let out a muffled scream into my chest as the boulder began rolling backwards. I put my feet up while pushing Reid off of me, roughly tossing him to the side a second before the massive rock slipped.
“Jeez Karen, be careful damn–” He stopped speaking the moment he pulled the coat off his head and saw me pushing the boulder with my legs, keeping it from falling on top of me. Almost without effort, I pushed–surprised the enormous weight of the rock was halted in it’s tracks by my strength. In the background, a large plume of smoke and fire rose high into the sky, sucking in the surrounding cool December air mixed with the hot gasses. The rising toroidal fireball rapidly cooled, its ascent ceased allowing the plume to begin spreading into a mushroom cloud.
“Reid, you ok?” I said, pushing the boulder back to it’s resting place where it stood a moment before toppling over the plateform it had stood for several thousands, perhaps millions of years. A loud crashing sound ripped through the area as the rock tumbled down the hillside, loosening debris along its path. A small rockslide trailed after the boulder which was heading for the neighbor’s swimming pool.
Overprotective of his already damaged hearing, Reid was still covering his ears tightly. “Reid, talk to me buddy, are you injured?” He slowly uncovered his ears and sat up, pulling my coat off his head, almost chuckling from the sight of the massive splash as the behemoth rock displaced the pool’s water.
“I’m ok, I think.”
He looked around, while slowly standing up, his injured leg struggling to keep him up, on the uneven terrain. “Oh my god,” he said, looking at the flaming wreckage below.
“Reid, don’t, anyone down there is gone. I’m sorry.” I grabbed his shoulder while I lifted my coat wipe my face. Below, I saw the extent of the damage. The surrounding houses were all heavily damaged or destroyed from the powerful shockwave. The rock had saved Reid’s life–the blast would have destroyed every internal organ destroyed and shattered his bones. Myself, other than my own set of ears, I felt no different.
“Thanks Karen,” he said as emotion started to well up inside him.
“It’s ok Reid, let it out.” I saw he was fighting to maintain his dignity in front of me, not wanting to get emotional, but so overwhelmed from trauma, his heart was winning. “Jim, trust me, it’s ok. Don’t fight it,” instead of trying to convince him it was ok to show his frailty in the aftermath of a traumatic catastrophe, I pulled him close, laying his head on my shoulder.
To Be Continued....Episode 2 “Be Our Guest Part II”
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Angel S:2 E:2 "Guardian Angel"
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright © 2013
Edited by: jeffusually
–––
The Neighborhood was flooded with emergency vehicles. About a dozen ambulances were on scene treating neighbors whose surrounding homes were destroyed by the blast. Two forensic techs and a detective working in the garage were missing and likely dead, caught in the middle of the massive blast. Where Broderick’s house once was, nothing remained but a massive crater extending beyond where the foundation once was. The shattered remains of the two officers standing watch on the house outside were also among the casualties bringing the total casualties attributable to Broderick to eight plus Whithers.
The large white portable phone I was holding started to ring while Reid laid down on the gurney inside the ambulance. An “Incoming call” message flashed in an amber colored display along the top of the keypad. I pressed the talk button.
“Hello.”
“This is Doctor McCormack, I received a page from this number.”
“Megan, it’s me, Karen,” I said, careful not to use my real name. Had it not been for my rapid thought processes, there was little doubt I would have bluffed a hundred times already.
“Hey Karen, where are you, I thought you were only going to be thirty–"
“–Doc, there’s been an accident...no wait, an attack. The house we were in was rigged."
"Mother of God! Is everyone ok?"
"I'm fine. Reid has a few minor scrapes and is a little shaken up, however we lost at least another five police officers,” I said, breaking down myself, my emotions emerging as I was confiding in my trusted friend.
“I'm on my way, tell me where you're at.”
“I’m fine, you don't need to come out,” I said while holding onto Reid's hand as the EMT checked his vitals again. He stared at me, breathing in the pure oxygen. A single tear dripped from his left eye.
“I'm not worried about you, tell me where are you're at.”
“Don’t Megan, it’s a mess out here. I will meet you at my place in about two hours. Can I ask you to pick up a few things for me to give to Liz and Ashley?”
“Well I can shop for Liz, I know what she likes. Ashley? If it’s clothes I have a few ideas, otherwise I’m clueless.”
“Megan, I completely trust you. Listen, I gotta get going, I’m on one of these portable phones. Damn things are an arm and a leg per minute,” I said out loud as I watched several technician off in the distance who were placing the severed body parts into bags. At that point, I began breaking down and hung up without saying goodbye.
“You ok Karen?” Reid asked, to which I frantically shook my head back and forth.
“I want this bastard. I’m gonna find him.”
“Ms. Guest, please, I really think you should let me examine you,” the paramedic examining Reid said, turning to me.
“Thank you, but I told you, I’m fine. I don’t need medical attention. How’s James?”
“He’s got a few scrapes, but nothing that requires stitches. Overall, he looks fine. Quite lucky you two were out back when the house blew, otherwise it could have been all over for the both of you.” He finished applying a bandage to Reid’s arm, then hopped down out of the ambulance.
–––
I sat behind the two way mirror as an officer brought Armando Florez into the interview room. His attorney, a middle aged woman in her 50’s, stood up and greeted him.
“Detective, are full restraints really necessary? My client here claims one of your other detectives was quite brutal with him.
“Counselor, your client is a murder suspect where, well let’s see...the count is now up to seven police officers and two forensic techs are dead. The restraints will remain.” Florez was wearing a standard issue orange jumpsuit from the local county lockup. His hands were handcuffed and padlocked to a thick leather belt, securing his hands to his waist, effectively eliminating usage for anything but playing with himself. The belt was also attached to a long length of chain locked to a pair of leg irons secured around his ankles.
“Please detective, the casualties today were not my client’s fault. He gave you information...information that you wouldn’t have had if I hadn’t been held up in traffic. He has retained my counsel, and you are not to cut any deals without me being present. You understand me?”
“I completely understand you. I was still out on medical leave when he was brought in. I can assure you, I play by the rules.”
I covered my mouth, trying hard not to laugh. ‘No rules about me are there?’ I said to myself, waiting for the questioning to start.
“Counselor, I am going to ask your client here to positively ID the man he led us to. In addition, I am going to ask him about his interactions with the suspect in question. Is that fair?”
“Yes, provided my client’s information will reduce his sentence should he be found guilty.”
“If his information is solid and it leads to an arrest.”
“And if you kill the suspect, our offer will still stand?”
“Of course. Any resolution that removes this man from my streets, thus allowing all my fellow officers in there to breathe easier.”
“Very well. Mr. Florez, do you agree?” He nodded his head in agreement.
“Mr. Florez, is your first name Armando?” Reid asked.
“Yes.”
“You mind if I use your first name?” He nodded again.
“Good. I’m Detective Reid. I’m going to show you some pictures of Seth Broderick, and I want you to see if you can identify him.”
“I already told the other guy, I never saw his face. He had a mask on.”
“Ok. So all you had to go on was this bag in his truck?”
“That’s right man.” Reid slid a photograph of Seth across the table, placing it in front of Armando.
“This is Seth Broderick.” Armando studied it for a few seconds, then concluded. “That’s not him.”
“Wait, wait. I thought you said you hadn’t seen his face. How can you be sure that’s not him?”
“Detective, what the hell kind of game are you playing?” the attorney asked.
“I mean, that body size is right, but this man he looks too good. He has no scars.”
“Scars?”
“Yeah, I didn’t see the face, but I could see he had some scars around one eye and a couple on the neck.”
“What side?” Reid asked while hovering his pen over his note pad, waiting for input from Armando.
“Right side.”
“Is that a lie?”
“No Jim,” I said into the radio. Reid was wearing a small earpiece allowing me to talk to him. “Kid’s telling the truth. His body temp hasn’t changed much and his pulse is the same pace as yours and the attorney’s.”
Before Reid went in the room, the attorney was let in where I spent a few moments listening to her heartbeat, followed by Reid’s. With a little tuning, I was able to identify the different sounds, allowing me to listen for increases in Armando’s pulse. It was crude, but when paired with my thermal vision, I was able to sense when he was lying.
“Armando, did you see anything else that I might be able to use to identify this man you saw?
“A tattoo, on his right upper arm, just above his sleeve.”
“True,” I said into the mike.
“What was the tattoo of?”
“Man, I don’t know, some military like tattoo.”
“If I were to show you a few pages of tattoos, you think you can pick it out?” Reid slid a binder with filled with all kinds of military insignias. Armando had Reid turn a few pages, then he stopped him.
“Wait, right there. Second one down on the left page.”
“This one?”
“No over two.” Reid pointed since Armando’s hands were secured to his waist, “Yeah, that’s it man...kinda.”
“What do you mean kinda?”
“His had something written below. ‘Something furry’ and a date.” I made sure my mike was off as I started laughing.
“Something furry?” Reid said, trying to withhold his own laughter. “You mean fury? As in Urgent Fury?
“Shit man, furry, fury, I don’t know. But yeah, that's it.” Reid slid a couple of photos across the table.
“This is Seth Broderick after Operation Urgent Fury. He was injured on November 12th, 1983. The scars you saw were from shrapnel he took in the face and upper body. I want you to look at that right eye for me. Is that what you saw?”
“That’s him.”
“Detective, just what are you trying to do here?” The attorney finally spoke up.
“You know very well about Broderick’s escapade. I’m not trying to protect him in any way, but I want to make sure we are going after the right guy. Seth threatened our department several times since we fired him, which makes him our prime suspect. I wanted to make sure, the man your client met with, was indeed our boy.”
“So, now you got him, now what?”
“We catch this guy, and your client here testifies against him, that could help his case. I will let the DA know to not pursue the death penalty, but your client is still looking at a bit of time.” The officer returned and escorted the prisoner back to his cell, while Reid and the Public Defender finished their discussion.
“Urgent Furry, sounds like Cosmo needing to go out or something,” Reid said as he entered the observation room laughing. I snorted my coffee out my nose at his joke.
“Damn it Jim,” I said wiping my nose, coffee still dripping from my nostrils. “Son of a bitch, I thought you were going to crack in there.
“With all that happened today, I so needed that. Let’s go to my office and talk there.” He turned and slowly stepped out into the hall, having trouble walking without his cane.
“Would it help if I carried you?”
“Thanks, once a day is enough.” We passed by the cubicle bank. A low hanging cloud hung over the department, silencing each and every cop. All the jokes and bantering that usually flooded the office areas were gone. Those who were talking, their conversations had been reduced to nothing but business. Several gave a friendly hello to me, but the sexist remarks were put on hold.
“Keep walking, I moved,” Reid said as I started to pull out the chair in his cubicle. I continued with him in the lead until we arrived at a small office with a door.
“Definitely moving up in the world. All that for getting shot in the leg?”
“Actually yes. Exactly that. Brownly needed me in early and arranged to give me some space to spread my leg out. Just a temp office till I can move around better.”
“Oh, if I were you, I would milk this as long as possible.” He chuckled as I closed the door.
“Who said I’m not?”
“Seriously? You just made me follow you as you traversed twenty yards at a snail's pace, just for show?” I smiled back.
“Ok, let’s get serious. So what was your read on him?” Jim said, turning up his radio to drown out their voices.
“As far as I could tell, he wasn’t panicking when answering your questions. Pulse and body heat all slightly above normal, but no sudden spikes.”
“Like a human lie detector? Well not really human, but no one knows about it. Simply amazing, the things you can do.” It would have been easier if I could have read his thoughts, but I just couldn’t figure it out. Maybe there was something about the planet that was rendering that ability useless. My crude lie detector was a good alternative, and one with fewer moral dilemmas to worry about. Reading one’s vitals to discover truth was far less invasive than entering their mind.
“It’s my opinion that you are correct, Florez was contacted by Broderick to run a diversion operation. So what’s next? All his clothes were obliterated, I can’t remote in.”
“I have to figure out what his next move is going to be. Brennan is running a trace on the phone call that triggered the bomb. I’m baffled by one thing though,” Reid said, staring up at the ceiling.
“What’s that?”
“How come no calls triggered the bomb before. Surely someone would have called the house and left a message.”
“I’m not sure this means anything, and might be hard for us to pursue, but as I began my mad dash for the window with you in my arms, I heard a series of tones as soon as the answering machine started recording. Perhaps there was a some kind of frequency that triggered the devices.”
“Possible. How did you know there was a bomb?”
I gave Reid a quick rundown on my vision before answering the question. “There were radio devices throughout the house that started transmitting as soon at the phone rang. I’m thinking that armed the device, which then waited for the signal to detonate.”
“So he called in to set it off. Why did he wait so long?” Reid started to ponder his last question. The ideal time would have been to blow the place when we initially raided the place. “Maybe it wasn’t how many cops were there, maybe he was waiting for specific cops?”
“Not following, Jim. What do you mean?”
“If he blew that house when we raided it, that would have been a big kill for him. What if he’s after specific people rather than an all out war?”
“Ok, I can see that. Have you analyzed the casualties against those involved in his firing?”
“I’ll check with Brennan to see if he’s working on it. You know it’s about 1pm. Why don’t you get out of here and meet up with Megan while I bring my boss and the others up to date? Still can’t have you officially involved, so you will need to disappear. I’ll talk to Brownly later, you mind if I let him in on your analytical skills and memory?”
“As long as that’s all.”
“Of course. Need a ride home?”
“Nah, I’ll take the bus,” I said, standing up. “You have Megan’s pager number?” Reid sifted through his rolodex, finding Megan’s card, and read the number off for me to confirm. “You got it, call her if you need me.” A few minutes later I was down the street in an alley checking to see if I was alone before taking off.
–––
“Mom, where’s the scotch tape?” Ashley called out. She sat on the ground in the living room next to the tree. Unwrapped gifts they bought a few days ago sat scattered around Ashley along with rolls of wrapping paper.
“Honey, you had it last. Did you check the drawer under the coffee table?” Liz asked. Ashley rummaged through the drawers of the new coffee table, finding the scotch tape.
“Found it.”
“Good. You want some cookies sweetie? Just came out of the oven.” Ashley abandoned her gift wrapping mission and ran into the kitchen, stepping up on the first rung of the bar stool, taking a seat at the kitchen counter.
“I really like your hair Mom. You look really good with short hair.”
“Thank you sweetie. Can’t handle the long hair any more.” Liz sprinkled powdered sugar over the batch of small round cookies before lifting them off the tray, placing them on a wire grill to cool. She put a few on a plate and handed them to her daughter. Ashley barely got a thank you out before biting into the hot snowball cookie. As she savored her favorite holiday sweet, Liz poured her a glass of milk, then refilled her wine glass.
“Are you excited about Aunt Karen coming over?”
“Of course I am. I wish it were Daddy coming home, but Karen–well, we have to be grateful to her.”
“Well I like her. I can’t wait to see her again.”
“I know sweetie. Just remember what we’ve been talking about.” Ashley gave a slight grin knowing the talk was coming again. She had heard it dozens of times how she wasn’t supposed to talk about Kaaren–the alien, even at home. Her mom and Dr. Megan stressed how important it was to their safety and Kaaren’s. To prevent an accidental disclosure, Liz, backed by Megan, implemented a zero discussion policy, where any talk of Michael on another planet, Kaaren’s alien nature, or her abilities was strictly forbidden.
“I know Mom, I won’t talk about anything, I promise.”
“Ok, Honey, I know. I’m going to remind you all the time though, so don’t give me any sour looks when I do.” Liz took a long sip of wine as the doorbell rang. She set her glass down and hurried over to the entryway, peering through the peephole. She unlocked the multiple chains and deadbolts that were recently added and opened the door.
“Frank. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Hi Liz, Merry Christmas. Sorry to drop by like this. Mind if I take a few minutes of your time?” Liz stepped aside and opened the door wide for him. He was carrying several gift bags that attracted Ashley’s attention. She approached, then stopped suddenly, slowly backing up.
“Hi there Ashley, remember me?” She didn’t respond, instead backing up further, no longer interested in the Christmas presents.
“It’s ok Ashley, it’s Mr. Thompson. You remember him right?”
“Is everything Ok?”
“Ash, if you are not going to answer, then please go to your room.” Ashley turned and disappeared down the hall, “Frank I’m really sorry. I’m struggling to work with her, but after the incident, she has some insecurity issues with men, even if she knows who they are,” Liz said, inviting him in.
“Liz, I’m really sorry. I guess I understand after–” Frank paused, not sure if he should continue, instead he stepped in and gave Liz a casual hug. “Carol wanted to come by too, but she’s not feeling well. She said to wish you a Merry Christmas. She will call you next week. She would love to see you.”
“Well tell her I look forward to it. I hope she gets better. Lousy time of year to get sick.” Liz led Frank into the kitchen. “Sorry my living room is a little messy, Ashley was wrapping some presents when you came by.”
“Oh, it’s ok, you should see our house. The boys are home from college and my daughter and Son-in-law are going to have her first in a couple weeks. My folks flew in from South Dakota and are staying with us until Jo has her baby.” Liz held up a coffee mug and a wine glass. Frank pointed to the wine glass. Liz didn’t hesitate and began pouring.
“That’s very exciting. Gonna be a Grandpa. You all ready?”
“Can’t wait, but she’s being stubborn. Won’t tell us what she’s having and won’t tell us any of the names they’ve picked out.”
“I kinda like that idea, no one can try and influence her,” Liz said, handing Frank his wine. “We don’t get to pick our names, so why should we let our parents pick our kids' names too?”
“That’s a good way to look at it. Anyway, Merry Christmas.” They lightly touched their glasses together and took a sip. Liz slid a chair out and sat down at the kitchen table. “We are so happy to know you two are safe. I was a nervous wreck this last year worrying about you two.”
“Thanks Frank, I know you were really passionate and did what you could to assist the police. Both Megan and Reid assured me you really stepped up to the plate.
“Liz, we’re a big family and Michael was one of my best. I can’t expect him to perform if you are not being taken care of. We should have done a better job watching over you.” Frank thought back to the day the call came in. He was in the middle of prepping for the first shuttle launch since the Deliverance returned, when someone slipped a note under his monitor informing him that Reid had found Liz. His heart skipped a beat, his mind temporarily taken from his duty savoring the joyous news. Word spread like a wildfire. In a matter of seconds, notes were being passed around Mission Control, that Liz was safe as was Michael’s daughter.
A creeping feeling set in deep in Franks heart amidst the wonderful news. He knew it was that last visit with Reid that broke the case, but fear struck ahead of the news report. He knew who Reid had gone to see. The excitement flowing through NASA was short lived. The media ate the story. The family of NASA’s best was kidnapped and held prisoner by a fellow astronaut.
Frank tried to pull his crew together, hoping his team would set the horrific news aside and proceed with the launch, but morale was rapidly deteriorating. The treachery of Turner’s actions left a dark shadow hanging over the control room. It was as if they lost an entire crew during liftoff, no one had any motivation to proceed with the mission. Liz and Ashley’s rescue became secondary to the stain Turner left on the organization. His death, as much as Frank didn’t wish that upon the man, was a relief because it meant there wouldn't be a public trial.
“Frank, I understand now...kinda. It’s going to take a long time for us, but I understand how important and stressful the mission was. I blame just two people, Dwayne, and myself. Before you tell me not to...save it. No matter what the best therapists say, I will carry that to my grave. I delivered myself and my daughter into the hands of someone I thought I could trust. My daughter will likely never trust a man again, especially one from NASA, because of me. I wouldn’t doubt she doesn’t really trust me.” He stood up and put his arms around Liz as she started breaking down.
“Liz, you are a strong woman. Ashley has no reason to mistrust you. You kept her safe that entire time.” She started to think about how they were home free until she tried executing Dwayne in cold blood in front of her daughter.
“Frank, I need to stop talking about this. I’m sorry. I’m just not ready to talk about it.” He grabbed one of the gift bags and fished for an envelope.
“Well, let’s talk about something else then. You two can open these on Christmas, but I wanted to deliver this personally,” he said, handing her the envelope. Liz opened the long red envelope and withdrew the card inside. She opened it, finding a check inside made out in her name. “I know you and Michael had a nice little inheritance put away, but I thought you could use this. It’s back pay for the last year. Some strings were pulled, rather easily if I might say, and you will be receiving a nice comfortable pension for the rest of your life. It’s our way of saying thank you and we’re sorry, really sorry.”
“Thank you Frank. I really appreciate it.”
“I have a few more things. Make sure Ashley keeps those grades up. When she graduates, we have a special college fund set up for her. Full scholarship. Michael helped set it up for her, but we added to it.”
“Wow, that is quite a gift, thank you so much. I have a feeling she might be working for you some day.”
“Michael did say she liked the sciences, he always hoped she would follow in his footsteps.”
“Well I will be sure to let her know later. Might be the last thing on her mind. I’ve been home schooling her right now, the first of the year, we are going to try getting her back into school. Might not work out, but I want her to get social as soon as possible, otherwise, knowing girls, she will never quite fit in.”
“Sounds like a good plan. She’s a great looking kid and smart too. She will do just fine in school. Anyway, a couple more things. When you and Ashley are ready, we would like to send you to DC so you can visit Michael’s memorial.” Frank reached into the large bag and withdrew a triangular shaped polished wooden case. “This isn’t really a Christmas present, but I know you would want his flag.” Liz took hold of the case, a tear forming and running down her cheek.
“Frank, that's too much, you've done enough."
"Liz, this isn't about making up for the last year. This is giving you the opportunity to start the healing process. We would have flown you out there for the National funeral."
"Ok, I just don't want you to shower us with favors as if you are trying to relieve some kind of guilt." Liz, always known for being reserved, was no longer afraid to say what was on her mind. It was the one thing she learned during her imprisonment. If she would have spoken up sooner like she did the night she confronted Dwayne, maybe she would have discovered his lie and freed herself. Now she was a changed woman, and like Ashley, didn't trust anyone. Her old self died with Michael, leaving the frail housewife of an astronaut a distant memory. In her place, a stronger, hardened woman remained, one who would never let any harm come to her daughter again.
"Liz, I can't stop thinking about what one of my men did to you and Ashley. I'm not going to lie to you and pretend I'm not overwhelmed with some form of guilt, deserved or not, but always remember this, we owe everything to Michael. Taking care of the two he loved so much is the least the world can do. We have piles of letters and packages from every country in the world. All addressed to you." Liz began crying heavily. Frank embraced her again, letting her cry on his shoulder. He looked up to see Ashley standing in the kitchen staring at him. He slowly released Liz and stood up, backing up into the living room to allow Ashley to come to her mother's aid.
"Go ahead Ashley, it's ok. Your mom needs you."
Frank slowly backed up, giving the Ashley her required space. She watched him making certain he remained in the living room as she approached her mother. Ashley held on to her mom afraid to take her eyes off Frank.
“You two have a Merry Christmas. I’ll have Carol call you early next week. Don’t mind me, I will let myself out.”
“Frank, don’t be silly, let me walk you out.”
Liz planted a kiss on Ashley’s forehead, “thank you sweetie for being there for Mommy. Stay here a moment okay? When I get back I have something to show you. Daddy and Mr. Thompson did something very nice for you. You think you can say thank you?”
Ashley stood in silence, trying to muster up the courage to speak. She finally turned her head, gazing at the man she had met many times, “Ashley, it’s ok. Tell you what, you write a card and have your mommy send it for you, think you can do that?”
“Frank, thank you, but she has to overcome this,” Liz turned to her daughter. “Ashley honey, you don’t have to go over there, just be a polite little hostess and thank Mr. Thompson for the gifts. “Sweetie, Mr. Thompson’s a nice man, your father and him were good friends. Was Daddy and Dwayne good friends?”
“No,” she said in a whiny voice while shaking her head.”
“See, so why don’t you trust your dad and trust his friend.”
After another long moment of thinking, she finally opened her mouth, “Thank you, Merry Christmas.”
–––
Reid softly rapped on the door to the room. A moment later the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum floor sounded through the thick door.
"Hi Denise."
"James! I was starting to think you would never come by," she said, opening the door to let Reid in. He offered her a bouquet of flowers that he picked up at a local florist on the way over.
"I've been recovering myself, but that's no excuse, I should have come sooner."
"Well I'm glad you are here now, please come in." Denise’s face looked worn, having done nothing lately but shedding a lifetime of tears. It didn't take any detective work to know she was tired. Her life completely put on hold, standing by her ex-husband's side, waiting for a miracle. Reid looked across the spacious room, finding the hospital bed with the lifeless body lying there in silence. He slowly limped his way around the bed, taking ahold of Whither's warm but motionless hand. Denise watched, hoping Bill would react to Jim's presence.
"Bill, it's me Jim. Can you hear me?" Reid waited, he too hoping for movement. He tried several more times hoping there would be a reaction, but there was no movement.
"Some days he will move his hands and eyes a little. I’ve caught him staring at me a few times, but mostly, there is no reaction. The doctors say it's all spasms that cause the movement, and nothing that his brain is doing. They do such a great job of stripping hope from you don’t they?"
"There's always hope, found that out the hard way."
"I know you did. I'm proud of you Jim. You never gave up hope. Finding that family somehow makes this somewhat acceptable. He believed in you and was excited to have you working with him. He loved the passion you had for whatever was thrown at you. He told me the day this happened, that if anyone could find them, it would be you." Reid pulled up a chair, getting off his leg.
"Thank you. That means a lot to know that. I was really looking forward to working with Bill. He was always a good guy. Didn't take crap, but he was a man of integrity.” Reid paused, adjusting his leg until the pain eased. As he spoke, Denise stood up and fetched another chair, helping Reid lift his injured leg and allowing it to rest. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.
"And he wanted to have you on his team. Bill was very excited to have you come on board."
"You know several blame me for what happened, and believe me, I blame myself too. It bothers me to think part of this was my fault."
The first several days in the hospital were hell. Burning in fever from the infection, while tormented that his absence caused Whithers' injury–no, caused his death. Reid stared at the lifeless body before him as Whithers' first wife laid her hand on his shoulder.
"Don't do that James. He was a good cop and loved his job. We all know there are risks with police work. He knew that, I knew that when I married him, had children with him. I eventually left him because I couldn't stand the thought of having someone knocking on my door one day telling me he was killed in the line of duty."
Denise began breaking down in front of Reid. "I made a mistake James. I should have never left him. Instead of me, the current Mrs. Whithers got the knock on the door. Her first reaction was to call her damn lawyer. She finally arrived to find the kids and I in the ER praying he would pull through. What does she do? Orders security to keep us from seeing him."
Reid's heart broke hearing the story. As a police officer he had witnessed all kinds of scum, even people that made Dwayne seem charming. Vanessa Whithers was a despicable human being. It wasn't that she was so vile, no, he had seen worse, but Bill was someone he cared for. This was personal and he knew her type. Marry, put up with the guy a while, then grab the money and run, then repeat. With Bill out of the way, she would get his pension, and the kids wouldn't see a dime.
"I see she didn't get far with that?" Reid said laughing. All hospital security could do is call the police and have a visitor arrested for trespassing after failing to comply with hospital rules. Bill was well liked throughout Houston PD. About the only thing people despised Whithers for was marrying Vanessa, an obvious gold digger twenty years his senior.
At first, security complied with her demands to have Denise, his two sons and daughter removed. When they refused, the guard placed them under citizen's arrest for trespassing. Officer Kelly finally responded and quickly placed the security guard under arrest for false arrest. From the department heads who witnessed the spectacle, Kelly turned the false arrest into a big scene in front of Vanessa and the other security guards, sending a clear message not to screw with Whithers' family.
In a rage, Vanessa took her complaints of police harassment to the top before she finally gave up and channeled her efforts through the courts–not to keep the family out, but to pull the plug.
Here, support for Whithers split down the middle. Many remained on the family's side, but a strong opposition sided with the wife on an emotional front to see their beloved friend's suffering come to an end.
"How can she do this to him? You know what's going to happen if we lose in court?"
"Yeah, she gets to end it for him. I don't want to see her do that, but it just seems cruel to keep him alive."
"No James, that's not what happens. He's not hooked up to machines keeping him from dying. His body's alive and functioning on it's own. They don't pull the plug Jim, the pull the feeding tube. Sick bitch is going to legally have him starved to death." Denise paused, crying her heart out for several minutes before regaining her composure. "I can't bear the thought of the torture. It can take a week, slowly withering away. They might think his mind is gone, but I know he's in there."
"Oh god, that's a horrible, painful death if he is. I promise you Denise, if I can find a way to stop her, I will."
"If there is anyone that can, it will be you James. You never give up. Those two girls are safe because of you. I think it's time you told Bill how it all played out." Reid looked up at Denise. She handed him a folded newspaper.
"What do you mean?" he said as he opened the newspaper, finding himself on the front page lying in his own hospital bed, with Liz and Ashley on either side. Taken a week after they were found, it was the only appearance they made for the press.
"I thought he should hear it from none other than you. This is a good end for him. The Owens will be his legacy, carried out through your hard work. You were his last partner and I couldn't be any more proud." She gave another squeeze and started to walk back to the other side of the bed, grabbing her purse off another chair. "I'll leave you two alone. I have to get going before the new Mrs. Whithers comes by with her lawyer. I’m not going to let her pull the plug Jim. Bill and I had our differences, but something in me never stopped loving him.” Denise didn’t wait for Reid to reply. She just opened the door and left the two alone.
–––
Reid took a cloth and wiped the drool dripping down Whithers’ face. Part of his upper left scalp was shaved where a 7.62 round grazed his head. The wound had healed nicely. The bullet wound to the left collar, where an AK round hit the subclavian artery, had also healed nicely, as did the other impacts along the left side of his body. It had been determined that the angle at which the rounds struck the glass deflected their trajectory enough that the bullets missed the vital organs.
It boiled down to one’s worldview as to whether you considered Whithers to be a lucky man. The cops with strong faith flooded the room, praising God that he was still alive, while those who didn’t have any allegiance to religion, or downright despised the idea of believing in an imaginary sugar daddy in the sky, thought Whithers’ life was now a waste of space. Keeping him alive was useless, if not cruel.
“Bill, hey buddy. Come on, it’s me, Jim. We’re all alone, just you and I. Talk to me,” Reid said as he got up and moved to the other side, where Whithers’ head was still turned. “I know hospitals suck, spent over a week in one myself. Wanna see?” Reid opened newspaper and held it before Whithers’ eyes, “See, that’s me recovering from a gunshot too. See those two beautiful girls?” Reid pointed to the picture. “This is Liz, and that’s her daughter Ashley.
Reid looked into Bill's eyes hoping to see some kind of reaction. After a minute Reid lowered the paper and took a seat beside him.
"Quite a story Bill. If it hadn't been for your compassion, that sick bastard would have kept them for who knows how long. Who would have guessed it was the envious alternate commander of Operation THOR that took them. FBI criminal psychologists are having a field day with this guy's psyche."
Reid lifted the paper, scanning down the column searching for the part he was looking for.
"Here listen to this," Reid gave him a quick glimpse before turning to the article and beginning to read.
"Detective James Reid, lead investigator on the Owen case who was recently transferred to Houston's Homicide division, tracked the missing family to a self made bomb shelter made by NASA's own Dwyane Turner. Turner, a former Air Force Pilot and NASA astronaut, was Commander Michael Owen's rival on Project THOR. He took the family after learning of Owen's death in October of last year.
Authorities released a statement reporting the family had been convinced by the jealous pilot that the Icarus had in fact impacted. "We were afraid to go outside due to radiation he said was filling the atmosphere. How were we supposed to know it was all a lie? It all seemed real in light of the mission my husband gave his life for," Elizabeth Owen, wife of the late Michael Owen said through a spokesperson from NASA.
A detailed investigation performed by the FBI found Turner had been working part time as a project engineer for BioTech Labs in Houston TX since March of 1986. Two weeks after the Owens' disappearance immediately following the successful completion of Operation THOR, Turner resigned from NASA, accepting a Lead Project Engineer position with BioTech Labs where he worked mostly from home, developing self contained biospheres and living environments for off-world colonies.
"Mrs. Owen and her daughter Ashley were in part being used as human guinea pigs by Turner. Pages of data was recovered at his home and office strongly suggesting he was testing long term survivability as if his subjects were Mars colonists," Detective Harris, also assigned to the case, reported.
Harvey Benson, President and CEO of BioTech Labs announced his resignation in the wake of his indictment on 23 counts of fraud and misappropriation of Government Grants. Federal investigators uncovered financial records showing Benson and other executives had used considerable portions of private investments and government grant money on lavish parties and exotic vacations.
"Over 2.4 Million in investor capital was transferred from a R&D account to a private offshore account in Switzerland by Turner two days before fleeing the country," Special Agent Maxwell of the FBI said in an interview Tuesday. Because of Switzerland's neutrality with the U.N., the country is not obligated to reverse funds or cooperate with foreign investigators."
Reid skipped down the article, bypassing more crap about the financial trouble of the company.
"–Turner, age 41, was officially declared dead after several boaters off Key West witnessed Turner's aircraft performing a series of maneuvers and increasing altitude before the Cessna stalled and disintegrated before hitting the ocean."
"After cross examination of the witness testimony and verification of Radar tracking of the aircraft, we are confident Turner was in control of the aircraft and had not parachuted to safety," Maxwell reported, stating Turner was indeed deceased."
Reid skipped again. "Listen to this Bill," Reid said, turning to Whithers.
"When asked to comment regarding the case, Detective Reid said from his hospital bed, "Since the day I was first handed the case, finding Commander Owen's family was my number one priority. He left the two he loves the most behind so he could save us. I had to find them, even if it was the last thing I did. I owed him that much."
"Detective Lt. Bill Whithers, senior investigator with Houston criminal investigation devision who was critically injured during the Mercury Saving's shootout two days prior, had been searching for Reid after he failed to report for duty. Whithers, a 40 year veteran police officer, well known for the arrest and successful prosecution of several dozen violent offenders, remains in critical condition with a grim prognosis. Police Chief Charles Gormley stated Whithers was a major asset in the final outcome of the Owen case and has extended his department's sympathy for his officer."
Reid stared at the mylar "Get Well" balloons begging to be freed from the ceiling where they could escape into the clouds.
"Bill, this is all you. They’re safe because of you. Imagine, two more days was all it boiled down to. You gave them life Bill. That two more days you gave me was all we needed and now Owen's wife and daughter are free. I don't know if you can hear me in there, but we did it.
Reid looked down to see Bill’s eyes had sunk back and were welling up in a pool of tears which were trapped by gravity inside the eye socket, not able to flow down the cheeks.
Excited, Reid quickly stood, leaning down connecting to his boss, staring deep into his eyes. Bill's eyes tracked his movement, following Reid's face moving closer to the bed.
"Bill, buddy, that's it. Come back to us."
Whithers' right hand twitched and slowly lifted, feeling its way across his stomach. Reid reached out to meet it half way, taking Bill's hand into his and lifting it up as his face produced a slight frown.
"What do you want to say Bill? Talk to me, anything you want, just say something."
Reid waited impatiently hoping it would be him he spoke to first. If Bill did nothing but cuss him out, Reid didn’t care.
The tears finally collected and spilled over, running down Whithers' cheek, his lips trembling as if he was trying desperately to keep from tearing up in a sappy movie.
"It's ok Bill, you take your time, you talk whenever you want."
Reid felt a slight twitch grow stronger in Bill's hand–giving a slight squeeze before slumping on his chest. The sudden burst of life disappeared as quickly as it appeared, leaving Reid alone with the lifeless corpse once again. As Bill's hand slid back down it knocked the pulse monitor from his finger, tripping the alarm. Reid was fumbling to reattach it when a nurse rushed through the door.
"What's going on?"
"He moved," Reid shouted with excitement, "he moved his hand and knocked the clip off his finger."
"That's normal, just involuntary muscle spasms. There's no brain activity, you people need to stop getting all excited when this happens."
"No, it wasn't a spasm, he reacted to something I said."
"Sorry, he didn't. I would love nothing more to see him come back, but the brain is simply dead."
"Bullshit, he teared up in front of me, I saw, he wanted to talk but couldn't."
"I'm sure it appeared that way, but patients like Mr. Whithers here don't blink that often. Their eyes can dry up or catch some dust, causing a stimulation of the muscles that release moisture from the ducts. It's simply nothing."
"You're wrong."
"Look detective, you don't see me criticizing your lack of police work finding Whithers' shooter, so don't sit here and try convincing me I don't know my field of expertise. If you don't mind, visiting hours are over, and don't think you can strong arm your way into staying. Unlike security, I'm not afraid of you. I have a patient to care for and there's nothing that will keep me from doing that job. Say good night detective."
Furious, Reid quickly gave Whithers a final squeeze of the hand before rushing out the door as quick as his leg would allow. He had to find a pay phone and call Denise. Then, he needed to find something on Vanessa to stop her from yanking the plug.
–––
"How are you doing on money Karen?" Megan said as I followed her around the women's clothing department. Megan managed to free up a few hours and lend me her expertise in woman’s clothing. It was a madhouse, the mall was crowded with only one shopping day before Christmas Eve. I had several ideas for Liz, but mostly jewelry. Megan advised against it. A gift of that magnitude should actually come from my true self, not Karen. Once she learned the truth and was able to accept it, then such gifts would be appropriate.
"Still doing alright. The apartment is starting to eat up my cash, but I still have enough to last a while."
"Too bad you can’t get access to the rest of your money."
“Don’t need it. Let Liz and Ash have it, they need it. I’m the man, I can get a job and support myself. Besides, my needs are small.”
“Good attitude.” she held up a purple dress. It looked tight and sexy long enough to show her legs, but not too short, "how about this?"
“No!”
“Why not, I think she would look really good in it?”
“No!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want her to look sexy like that.”
“Why not?”
“Megan, that has got to be the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say. Why not? Think about it. Just what the hell am I supposed watching her stroll around like that. Can’t love her, can’t touch her, can’t...oh forget it.”
“Oh dear, I’m sorry. Yes, that was dumb, I should have given your feelings a bit more consideration.”
Megan hung the dress sideways on the rack. “Can I tell you a little secret about us girls?”
“Why do you always say that?”
“Say what?”
“Swear, none of you thought to let me in on this secret society of yours until I wound up playing on your team. Now you want to teach me everything. Would have been good to know the first 37 years of my life.”
“What’s the matter? Is everything alright?”
“I’m sorry, just a little moody. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. If you don’t mind, I was going to tell you how we girls don’t dress up for men.”
“So you completely waste our time for nothing? What the hell do you dress up for?”
“We like being complimented. You suck at it.”
“I most certainly do not.”
“Ok you tell Liz, but what about me? What about other women?”
“Well sorry, my wife happens to be all I care about. Not that you aren’t attractive and pretty–shit, this feels like one of those damned if you do damned if you don’t traps.”
No matter what I say, it’s going to be wrong. Oh hell, I hate this. I’m so confused living like this. She was silent as if she was lost for words for the first time in her life.
“It’s not a trap.”
“It is. You girls give us no safe way to answer. Is my ass look fat? We get in trouble for saying we like it, we get in trouble for lying, and we get a night on the couch for keeping our mouth shut. Don’t get upset if you don’t like–”
“–Give me a break, you know I’m not like that, so don’t accuse me as such by grouping me in with other women.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be this way. I have a lot going on right now, and I’m worried about Friday.”
I followed her through the racks of brightly colored clothes dazzling my vibrant eyes, stopping every now and then as she picked something off the rack and uselessly asking for my opinion. All I offered in return was a shrug of the shoulders or a thumbs down.
“You’ll do fine, just don’t show off, be humble and enjoy the time together. When she’s ready, she’ll see her husband isn’t so far away.”
“You think she will get pissed that we’re lying to her?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“But I do.”
“I’ve told you before, now is not the time. They won’t believe you if you told them, but give them enough time to get to know you, and it will be just like I said, they’ll recognize the man they love. Trust me. If I’m wrong, I will take full responsibility.”
“I trust you.”
“Good, now, trust me on the clothing.”
“Not that.”
"Just hear me out Mich–I mean Karen,” Megan started to say, almost slipping up.
I liked when she called me by my real name, but she and I were starting to spend a lot of time in the presence of others who didn't know who I really was. Even if we were alone, we got in the habit of using Karen. At first I enjoying hearing my new legal name provided by Jim, but soon the novelty wore off and I began feeling the early signs Michael was starting to fade away.
“Women like to be told they look pretty, even if it’s from other women. Something like this says you think she’s a knock out and can rock this dress.”
“I get that, but I don’t want her to–”
“–Think about it this way, you want to come across as purposely trying to dress her down? I’m sure you are quite aware of yourself, you’re extremely attractive, the stuff runway models are made of. Tall, slender, great figure, gorgeous hair and a face anyone would love to wake up to ever–”
“–Oh god, stop right there. Too far Megan, too far,” I shuddered at the thought waking up next to another man. Given my new body, I was still quite straight inside.
“Sorry, didn’t mean that. Any ways, she’s going to find you to be competition if you think she should wear Sunday church clothes.”
“And what am I wearing? Does this look like runway model fashion to you?”
“You make anything look good. You know how many women would hate you if they knew you could maintain that figure without even trying.”
“Fine, I don’t want to think about this any more. It’s too complicated. Just pick something out, I’m going to look around. I’ve been meaning to get a watch, none of mine fit.”
“What about you, what are you going to wear on Christmas?" I shrugged my shoulders.
"I have no clue. Haven't thought about it."
"Still a guy at heart. I bought a couple new outfits for both Christmas Eve and Christmas. This is a big day for you, don't you want to make a good impression?"
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm not trying to con you into anything, I just know how important this moment is going to be for you. Consider me just looking out for you."
“Thanks. I might just pick me up a red shirt to wear with my black suit.”
“We can go take a look when we are done here.”
“Did you ever find something for Ash?”
“I bought her a camera. Canon make these cute little Snappy cameras that anyone can use.”
“Oh, she will love that, great idea. She’s a good age for that.”
“I thought so. Some day, say ten years from now, you might want these times you spend together with her captured.”
“Maybe.”
“No, trust me, you will. Later, you may not have the enhanced memory you have now.”
“You’re right, never thought about that. It’s true, I don’t care who I am, as long as I can be there for her.”
We continued through the department store, stopping every few feet to remove something from a rack. Megan would hold it in front of her, checking herself out in the mirror before sizing it up on me.
“Karen, look,” she pointed to a display of Christmas clothes. She walked over and picked up a red sweater, unfolding it. “This looks like the one you used to have.”
“It does. Maybe a little longer.” As I spoke the words, Megan held it up to me. Sure enough, the bottom was low enough to make it look like a short skirt. “Higher around the neck too.”
“I think it would look cute. Would go great with black leggings.”
“Cute? I don’t want to wear cute. Besides, I practically wore the same thing last year.”
“Ok, now you’re starting to sound like one of us. You don’t have to wear it to dinner. I just know you loved that sweater and thought I would point it out.”
“It was okay.”
“Just okay? You practically wore it every other day. Tell you what, I will buy it for you. After all, it was my fault the old one has two giant holes in the upper chest.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me about that.”
–––
Sergeant Nolan sucked the scalding hot coffee off his hand as the kid drove. Damn lids were worthless, no matter how careful you are, coffee always leaks, staining your newly cleaned uniform.
“Told you rookie, don’t top this shit off.”
“Sorry Sarge,” the kid said as he reached over with a napkin to help clean up the mess.
“Don’t touch, you are only going to make it worse,” Nolan barked back, tormenting the kid. The kid, or rookie as he would call them, graduated from the academy six months ago and had been nothing but a nuisance. He made sure to hound him relentlessly even when his performance was spot on–as it usually was.
“Sarge, I’ve been meaning to ask you, I know you don’t like me much, but I’m going fishing Saturday with my dad, uncle and cousin. He still wants to meet you, so I suggested he let me take you along.”
“Kid, let’s get something straight. It’s not that I don’t like you, I have a job to do, one that I don’t like doing much, but I’m good at it. I’m not here to make friends with the FNGs, I’m here to teach you all the shit they don’t teach you in the academy. Like my boy at home, he doesn’t learn the important aspects of life by being his buddy. Same goes with you. You understand me?”
“Loud and clear Sarge. You know you’re a lot like him?”
“Who?”
“My pops. Treated me the same way growing up. Kicked my ass and never took any shit from me. He’s a tough as nails, no BS kinda man who wouldn’t hesitate a moment to knock me back in line.”
“That so? That what makes you a man, smacking people around?”
“No sir, it’s just that I grew up to respect him.”
“Yeah, well my father beat me and my mother, can’t stand the son of a bitch. Let me get something through your skull, I have never laid a hand on my kids, and I don’t engage in that bullshit on the job either, not like this asshole we’re after.”
“Sarge, I’m not saying you beat your kids, nor did my pops. There’s a difference between hitting your kids and beating them. Certainly a difference here on the streets.”
“Yeah, well don’t let me catch you acting like this asshole. Here pull over.” The kid eased the cruiser out of traffic, pulling up alongside an officer scribbling out a parking ticket.
“Hey Miller, how’s the new job?” Nolan said leaning out the window.
“Piss off Nolan,” he snarled back.
“That’s Sergeant Nolan to you now. You’re supposed to move up the ladder, not down. Hey kid, meet our new meter maid.”
“Oh, got yourself a new chauffeur I see? Make sure you hold his hand when you help the Sarge out of the car. He has trouble getting in and out of cars at his age.”
“Least I didn’t get shot in the back with my own weapon.”
The kid just kept his mouth shut, likely debating if he should risk stepping out of line by saying something he shouldn’t.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“You know what, you’re right. We got real police work to do, catching bad guys. Have fun writing parking tickets.”
“Asshole!” Miller yelled out, as the kid pulled back out into traffic. They sat in silence a bit before the kid finally spoke up.
“What’s his story Sarge?”
“Miller? He’s the type I was telling you about. Been beating the crap out of his kid for years. Didn’t straighten him out, made him a no good little SOB like his dad. Kid’s serving four years for shooting him.”
“His boy shot him in the back? He’s the one I’ve heard about. Was the desk Sarge?”
“Key word was. Got his ass suspended and demoted.”
“For getting shot?”
“No because he was a reckless idiot. Boy was being booked on burglary charges and Miller popped him in the face while he was handcuffed.”
The Kid cringed, “Oh god, really?”
“Yeah. Another broke dick in the department hadn’t secured his cuffs, the boy wiggled free and decided he was finally sick of his old man’s bullshit, grabbed his pop’s .38 and put a bullet in his back at point blank range, then took a woman hostage.”
“Carrie, I’ve heard the guys talking about her.”
“Karen, her name’s Karen.”
“Yeah, that’s it, heard she’s got a great bod and super cute.”
“Watch it Kid, she’s off limits. I don’t give a crap if the other guys make their snide remarks wanting to get a piece of her. You talk shit like that in front of me again and I will partner you up with Miller. You understand?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Good, because if it weren’t for her–”
“–Sarge. Four cars up, got a blue pickup. It’s raised with roll bars, looks like our guy,” the kid said with excitement like he hooked his first fish. Nolan grabbed the radio without making any sudden moves.
“Ok kid, take a deep breath and calm down. This guy’s dangerous, act like you don’t notice him and get me a positive ID on the make and model.”
“Yes sir.”
Nolan tried to calm himself down without revealing he was nervous. Silently he cursed himself wishing he was doing the driving right now instead of the kid.
“123 to dispatch, possible sighting of suspected hit and run suspect driving a green Ford Sierra X-Ray Robert 41 heading westbound on Gray St,” Nolan called in the predetermined code for Broderick’s vehicle. He likely was monitoring police bands, so a false vehicle description was given to all units during the AM briefing two days ago. The Ford model was rare, only 650 made, none offered in green. The likelihood of an actual Sierra XR41 colored green driving through Houston was nearly impossible.
“Dispatch to 123, 10-4 on the Green Ford Sierra. Units en route, stand by for further instruction.”
“Positive ID, Ford F-150. Got a partial match on the plates,” the kid said casually.
“Good. Partial match, or you can only see part of the plate?”
“The latter. Texas plate Tom Henry 24. Can’t see the rest.”
Nolan watched as the truck rolled to a stop ahead. He picked up his coffee and took a sip while looking around, hoping to act as casual as possible. His hand clenched tight on the 12 gauge seated between him and the kid. Damn, he wished he had his AR-15 instead of this piece of shit Remington. The department had distributed M-16s to several squad cars as a tactical response to highly armed suspects, but the department was having trouble ordering stock to issue to every car. To give him a boost, Nolan swapped out the standard issue buckshot rounds with deer slugs hoping they would be effective enough against Broderick’s armor.
“Good work kid. This is likely our guy. Can I count on you to do exactly as I say?”
“You know I will Sir–”
Ahead the blue pickup screeched to a halt at an intersection, stopping traffic. The door swung open and a large well built man emerged.
“Shit,” Nolan yelled seeing Broderick appear through the windshields of the cars ahead of him.
“Sarge, he’s got an M-16 with an M203.”
The sound of automatic fire erupted as the kid kicked the door open while drawing his side arm. Broderick was about 75 feet away firing to the left of his truck. Nolan exited and ran wide with the 12 gauge trying to flank him while yelling for the pedestrians to get down. The kid’s handgun reported as he unloaded the magazine.
A bright flash erupted followed by the sound of an explosion. Nolan came into view sweeping the area with the Remington. A cruiser facing northbound at the intersection was engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowed from the twisted hood where the grenade impacted while the cop driving exited, dropping to the ground screaming as the flames burned his flesh. “Get down lady–” Nolan yelled to the woman standing frozen to his right. Broderick heard and quickly turned, ignoring the kid. His upper body was armored and his face wore a mask painted like a skull. He raised his weapon over his head and fired crudely. A stream of rounds hurtled toward Nolan before he could get a shot off with the 12 gauge. He dropped the shotgun, lunging for the woman still standing just beyond the field of fire.
More pistol shots reported through the street, echoing off the buildings as the sound of approaching units drew closer. Automatic fire returned, silencing the small arms fire from his partner.
“Stay down damn it,” Nolan yelled, drawing his .45. He stood, weapon out, as a second explosion rocked the area, jolting him before he regained his posture and fired–hitting the side of the truck’s inner bed as it peeled out. Nolan tracked the vehicle as it emerged and vanished among the traffic. Drivers in the cars, deeming it finally safe to flee their vehicles, scattered, preventing a clear shot.
“Get the fuck down!”
The truck disappeared around the corner, robbing him of his opportunity to end this shit.
“Serge, get in!” Nolan heard from the side. Lights and sirens from his car came to life and the door swung open. The kid was still alive. Nolan didn’t hesitate, he grabbed the 12 gauge and jumped in the car, hitting his head on the door frame.
“You ok?” Nolan asked as the kid accelerated. Light poured through the holes in the door where the M-16 rounds penetrated.
“Fine, you?”
“A-Okay.”
“I hit him. Several times in the vest, but I think I nicked his arm,” he said with excitement.
Kid had been on the job six months to Nolan’s 14 years, yet the rookie fired his weapon at his first live target about 20 seconds before Nolan took his. He had drawn his weapon countless times over his career, but this was a first.
“He’s going left, get ready,” Nolan called out anticipating Broderick’s escape. “Officers down on corner of Grey and San Jacinto St. 123 in pursuit of a shooting suspect in blue Ford F-150 heading southbound on LaBranch. Suspect armed with an assault rifle and grenade launcher. Suspect may be hit in the arm, recommend alerting hospitals to be on the lookout.”
“Roger 123, proceed with caution. Air units en route.”
“10-4.”
The kid pulled a hard left, rapidly closing the distance between them and Broderick. Nolan reached out to the sun visor and grabbed the medal clipped on the shade.
“What’s that?” The kid asked as Nolan rubbed the medal several times.
“St. Michael. My grandmother gave it to me when I first started. I keep it in every car I drive.”
“Some kind of religious thing?”
“Get ready, he’s going to go down that alley ahead,” Nolan said before calling in his position. “Yeah, it’s a Catholic thing. St. Michael’s the patron saint of cops.”
“What’s a patron saint?”
“Later, pay attention to this ass–”
“–Shit,” the kid yelled at the truck skidded to a stop. Broderick jumped out and raised his M-16, “Grenade!”
A small puff of smoke cleared the barrel of the M203. The shell hit the windshield, penetrating the glass. Nolan closed his eyes thinking of his son and daughter, clenching the medal tight in his hand waiting for the explosion. He felt his heart about to explode from the tension as the seconds passed.
“CS grenade,” the kid yelled, flooring the accelerator. Nolan opened his eyes as the car lurched forward. A thick cloud of gas started filling the back of the cruiser from the grenade embedded in the back window. The Kid barreled down the alley with his head sticking out the window taking shallow breaths. Nolan held his breath, his eyes starting to tear up as the gas began mixing with the moisture in his eyes.
The tear gas round had penetrated the front windshield dead center, and passed through the small window in the wire mesh keeping them safe from a suspect in custody. Nolan stuck his head out the window and gulped at the fresh air. He started coughing, taking some gas deep into his lungs.
“Small breaths Sarge, don’t hold your breath,” the kid said, becoming the teacher.
“You still on him?” Nolan said between coughs.
“I’m right on his ass.”
Nolan found the shallow breathing helped, but it was too late, the gas was already burning his throat and the cloud was getting denser.
“Cover your ears.” Nolan ordered as he shifted in the seat to face backward. He poked the twelve gauge through the opening in the wire mesh and began firing the deer slugs around the edges of the back windshield. The first few slugs simply made a large hole in the glass. The fourth round impacted, completely shattering the glass.
The wind current pouring in the side doors no longer circulated around the back seat pushing the gas forward. With the window gone, the gas hitched a ride on the wind current and poured out the back, almost instantly clearing the back seat. Nolan sucked in the fresh air trying to cough up the shit in his lungs.
“You okay kid?”
“Never better.”
With the front clear of the gas, both could see out the front windshield again. Nolan watched as the truck swerved slightly before passing another alley.
“Watch out,” he yelled to the kid, noticing a semi trailer backing up into the alley. He held on tight wondering if the kid was going to chance it or stop.
“You’re not going to make it.”
The kid pulled a hard left, skidding across the wet alley before straightening out and accelerating down the intersecting alleyway, barely clearing the semi’s trailer.
“Kick ass driving kid,” Nolan said, surprised he actually complemented him. The rookie turned right, then right again, pulling onto the main street. Cars slowed to a halt instead of pulling over as required by law. The kid flipped the switch before Nolan though of it and barked through the PA at the driver of a pink Cadillac with a pair of steer horns on the front fender, before finally pushing through, grinding his cruiser against the hideous car.
“Hahaha, hell yeah. See you went to the Harris school of offensive driving,” Nolan said, coughing.
“Fucking prick. What’s part of emergency don’t they understand?”
“123, lost sight of suspect, anyone got a visual?”
The kid turned back down the alley. With the exception of a couple of derelict cars and countless dumpsters filled to the brim, the alley was empty.
“Shit, where the hell is he?”
“Anyone got him damn it?” Nolan coughed into the radio.
“149, Negative visual on the Suspect.” The kid slammed on the brakes and started pounding on the steering wheel as all units reported in that they'd lost contact with Broderick’s truck.
“Where the fuck is air support damn it?” Nolan seized the opportunity and bolted out of the car, heaving from the gas still in his lungs. The Kid rushed around to his partner as Nolan hunched over, the contents of his stomach rushing to the surface.
“Sarge, you ok?”
“Fine. Feeling better now. How about you?”
“A-Okay. Had to breathe that shit about eight months ago in the academy. You hold it and you suck in too much when you run out of breath. Breathe shallow, and it’s not as bad.”
The two walked back to the car where Nolan hopped up on the hood, collapsing on his back, his legs hanging over the edge.
“Scully, that was some pretty damn good work there. You can chauffeur me around any day.”
“How about Saturday?”
“You tell that old man of yours I would be happy to. Welcome to the club, you don’t need a babysitter any more.”
---
"How's the leg Reid?"
"You know, I could retire if I got a dollar every time someone asked," the detective answered, closing the door to Captain Brownly's office. "Seriously, hurting like a son of a bitch right now," he pulled up a chair and plopped down without waiting for permission. He reached out with his new cane and pulled the other chair around and lifted his leg onto it.
"Can't tell you how thrilled I am you are alright. Damn lucky SOB.”
‘In ways you would never know,’ Reid thought to himself. Had Karen not been there to save his ass again, he would have been gone, with nothing for his family to bury.
“Ok, enough of the sentimental crap. I read your report regarding Florez’s positive ID of Broderick. It fits with everything else, including the assault rifles in the trunk of the van our boys were delivered in. That was one hell of a nice tipoff you got by the way. Care to share the source?"
"An anonymous friend. Never met him," Reid said with confidence, having already planned what he would say.
"Well you got some nice friends on the other side of the fence. If you talk to them, you give them my thanks."
"Will do Sir."
"Now, where was I?"
"The AKs in the van."
"Yes, that's right. So all the weapons recovered were registered to him, and covered with his prints. Prick didn’t give a shit if we traced it to him.” Brownly, a straight-laced kind of guy, didn’t like spending too much time on unless chatter. Conversations with him were often colorful and very intimidating if you happened to be in trouble with him.
“He sure hasn’t been shy, going out of his way to let us know he means business.” There was a knock on the door to which Brownly called out, permitting whomever was outside to enter.
“Captain,” Brewer said as she entered the office.
“What do you need Brewer?”
“Sir, reports are coming in, Sergeant Nolan and his trainee Scully spotted Broderick’s truck moments before he put a grenade into Worley’s car.
“God damn it.” He screamed, slamming his fists on the desk while making eye contact with her. She read the expression on his face and knew what his eyes were asking.
“Worley’s in critical condition with third degree burns. His partner Lozano was pronounced dead on the scene. Nolan and Scully are being treated for tear gas inhalation after Broderick fired a gas grenade into Nolan’s car. Said the kid gave a mighty good chase before Broderick disappeared.”
“How the fuck did he get away?”
“Units have a ten mile area sealed off and checkpoints set up leading out of town.”
“What do you need from me right now?” Reid said as Brewer left to carry out Brownly’s orders.
“Jim, I need you to stay the hell off that leg. I appreciate you helping out, but I need you here going through the data. We have to connect something to his base of operations.”
“I agree Sir, these attacks are too well planned to be carrying out from a car.”
“Find where this asshole is holing himself up.”
“Sir, would it be okay if I work from my car. I promise I will stay out of trouble, but it will at least keep me in the field in case we need extra manpower.”
“I don’t like it, but I see the logic in it. Very well, but get in your hole and stay put. I’ll sign off for a mobile phone for you. Call me directly if you find anything.”
“You got it.”
“Reid. Find this son of a bitch for me and I might just let you keep that spacious office of yours.”
–––
“Radio check, this is Angel, over, you hear me Kemosabe?” I said into my throat mic. Instead of my Russian radios, Reid acquired a couple smaller, encrypted two way radio for us to communicate with.
“Kemosabe?”
“Yeah. Texas lawman with the last name Reid, sidekick does all the actual work. Fitting, right?”
“That’s right, he was a Reid, wasn’t he, and what do you mean, you do all the work?”
“Well I do.” Reid jumped in his car seat, startled as I poked my head into his open window while hovering over the top of the car parking behind the deserted lot. What was once a thriving shopping center, was now Reid’s hole as they called it. Each officer had one, the place they would hide out from their supervisor’s patrol car. A place where they could catch up on paper work, shoot the shit with other cops, or hell, just catch a quick nap.
“Shit, you scared the crap out of me.” I turned myself around and came to a landing beside him.
“Nice suit. You look more like the Lone Ranger in all white. Don’t you think white stands out a little at night?”
“Silver was white, not the Lone Ranger.”
“You watch all our TV up there on Vulcan? Pretty well tuned into TV for someone who has only been here a year.”
As he spoke I reached back behind my head and pulled the hood attached to the back of the suit. I had always wondered what it was for but never cared until I discovered the suit’s stealth capability during my dogfight. When the dust settled, I spent some time exploring the suit Kaaren left me finding it was much more than white tights. It’s rough texture came from the organic crystals woven tightly together. The suit not only offered the same protection covered by my field, but it allowed faster solar absorption than other clothes that would otherwise block the Sun’s energy. Now my whole body could absorb light instead of just my head and hands.
Reid’s face changed as I demonstrated the best feature of all. The tiny crystals not only somehow absorbed RF, but could be tuned to absorb visible light as well. With the hood over my head, I was fully cloaked. Light entering from by back passed through the crystal fibers of the suit much like fiber optic cables, and projected the light out the opposite side. What Reid was seeing, was the light passing around me, rendering me nearly invisible.
“No shit? The Invisible Woman.”
“Not quite. It’s more like active camouflage.”
I explained how it worked as best as I understood it, comparing it with certain species of octopus that can change color and even skin texture to blend in with its surroundings. The demonstration over, I removed the hood, changing my visibility back to white. Only, I didn’t leave the suit white. Like the octopus, I could control the refraction of light bouncing off the visible crystal fibers. I touched the silver band around my left wrist right before the suit joined to the gloves and ran my finger across the surface, watching the suit lose it’s white appearance and become solid black.
“Dark Angel now huh?" Jim said, his eyes tracing up and down Kaaren's body the same way I did when I stood before her."
“Yeah, something like that. Now quit staring at me or I’m going home and you can play cowboys and indians by yourself.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to. Not sure what guys are like on your planet, but we get a littl–”
“–Reid, I get it. Just drop it ok. If I had a choice I would wear something else. “So, what’s the plan? You got a lead on him that I can use?”
“No. I have a different idea for tonight. Wanna have some fun?”
“Sure, what’s on your mind?”
“We are spread thin with officers working overtime. They’re all on edge. What do you say we help them out a little? Remember all the codes and radio slang I taught you?”
“I remember everything.”
“Ok then, when a call comes through, get there first and do what you can.”
“Which mic do you want me monitoring?”
“Good,” Reid said, impressed I used the proper lingo, “northwest mic. It’s Christmas Eve and we usually get a lot of burglaries while everyone is out with family.”
“Yeah, I remember last year. Poor couple got robbed, lost everything.”
“I know the one you’re talking about. Came in a couple day later and dropped the charges, said they–” Reid stopped and looked up at me. I couldn’t help but smile. “Well no shit? What else has my sidekick done while pretending to be some astronaut’s sister?”
“Some other time my friend, we have work to do.” Reid stepped out of the car as I lifted up into the air, slowly at first, gradually picking up speed until I was hovering 5,000 feet over Houston. I watched the traffic pass by below me as I slowly traveled through the dark sky. The city was again illuminated for Christmas, homes and businesses alike decorated in the holiday spirit.
I shifted my hearing, trying to tune into conversations, listening for sounds of distress, but found my hearing wasn’t that sensitive. The broad range of sounds flooding the streets below was too diverse for me to hone in on anything specific. Instead I switched to infrared and swept the area before me, searching for anything out of place.
“How long after you start a shift do you get a call?”
“When I was on patrol, sometimes I wouldn’t be out of the motorpool before the radio would go nuts. It’s a Thursday night, but expect it to be a busy night.” Reid barely finished when I heard an alarm go off.
“Got a 10–33.”
To Be Continued....Episode 3 "Reunion"
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Angel S:2E:3 "Night Watch”
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright © 2013
Edited by: jeffusually
I'm back, and writing like a mad woman. It's been too long and many apologies to my fans. I've encountered a couple life events forcing me to put my writing on the side. While I am still working to get myself back to capacity, I am dedicating time each day to write and promise to have regular releases going forward.
A side note before we begin with Episode 3. I would like to take a moment to warn those who are sensitive to rape and attempted rape to proceed with this episode with caution. Angel is not for those seeking thrills as you would find on FM, instead tackling important issues that people of all walks may encounter, especially transgender people. If you are not sensitive, please continue as the rest of this message may contain spoilers.
For those squeamish, I use crude language for the attackers during their assault, much of which many of us Transgender find insulting. This is not meant for anything other than to add realism to 1987 Texas scene where even to today, friends of mine are harassed for trying to simply be themselves. I ask you be patient as this woman's story slowly unfolds over the course of this season and if you have any concerns, please PM me.
Thank you,
Megan
---Night Watch---
“Come on man, this is taking too fucking long,” the kid said to his buddies. They were ransacking the pawn shop, smashing the glass display cases, destroying anything fragile, while looting anything they found of value. They had all the fun, while he sat watch–listening for the first sounds of sirens approaching.
“Shut up, quit being a wuss,” his older brother called back.
“He’s gonna be trouble Carlo, what the hell did you bring him for?”
“Fuck you, that’s my brother you’re talking about,” Carlo said, raising his handgun up to to Victor’s head. “Only I get to talk shit about my brother, you got me?”
“Sorry man, didn’t mean no disrespect.”
“Good, now hurry up and pop that cash drawer.” He turned to the back door, finding that the kid wasn’t there.
“Raymond? Raymond you stupid shit, don’t leave the door. Ray, if I have to come back there, I’m going to kick your ass.”
There was no answer. Victor was about to speak, rubbing it in that he was right, but found himself staring at Carlo’s gun as he walked away.
“Let’s go!”
Victor finished piling the cash into the sack and made a break for the back door, hoping to catch up with his partner. He turned the corner to find Carlo stopped dead in his tracks, holding his gun out. Carlo’s large body was blocking his view of the person he was aiming at. Victor drew his own gun, a Mac-10 he kept stuffed in the back of his pants. He stepped aside, pointing the small sub-machine gun toward Carlo’s target. Instead of a disgruntled store owner, a cop, or a good Samaritan, he found himself locking eyes with a woman in all white. She wore a skin tight pearl white suit, which hugged the most spectacular looking body he had ever seen.
“The fuck you want slut?” Carlo said, cocking his gun. “The fuck you do to my brother?”
“Such a vocabulary you got there Carlo,” she said to him, her face hidden in the shadow.
“Picked the wrong guys to screw with bitch. Gonna pop you, then maybe take your lifeless body for a spin.”
“Really? Well by all means, take your best shot,” she said, moving forward. Carlo and Victor tightened on the trigger, waiting to see her face emerge into the light.
“What the fuck man?” Victor shrieked, seeing her face. There was nothing but a blur as if she were violently shaking her head back and forth with speed that wasn't human. Victor's bladder emptied from the horrifying, unholy sight before him. Without conscious thought, his finger clamped down on the trigger. The Mac-10 burst into life, bucking in his unprepared hand, hurling a stream of hot lead toward the angel.
The ear shattering sound of automatic fire suddenly erupting a few feet from his head startled Carlo into firing wildly with his pistol. Burning powder residue from his cheap automatic hit him in the eye, forcing him to clamp his eyes shut. His ears throbbed and his eyes burned. He rubbed frantically at his eyes, clearing the ash. His eyes involuntarily fluttered as he peered into the darkness, searching for the woman. She was nowhere to be found.
"Where the fuck are you?" Carlo called out into the darkness of the storeroom in the back of the pawn shop. He panned the room–his hands shaking violently as he tried to find her. As he gazed around the room, the near lifeless body of Victor laid sprawled on the ground, his prized sub-machine gun disassembled and scattered around the body.
"What the fuck is going on?" Carlo yelled, panicking that the crack he did earlier was cut with some kind of shit. It was the only thing that could explain the demonic visions.
"Please make it stop!"
"Why, it's so much fun," a voice screamed into his ear. Carlo jumped, turned and unloaded his gun in one panic-induced motion. The gun discharged point blank into her midsection, scoring several direct hits. For the briefest of moments, Carlo celebrated having driven several critical hits into the woman–or creature.
"That all you got big boy?" She rapidly appeared before him and quickly closed the short distance, reaching out and grabbing Carlo by the throat. Effortlessly, she lifted the punk high into the air and slammed him against the wall.
---
"Well that was fun,” I said over the radio, resuming my patrol of the city.
"So I hear. Gutierrez is going to have to get his back seat reupholstered after he drops those two off at county."
"Aww, poor lawnmower."
"He's a good guy, you two just got off on the wrong foot."
"How's that data crunching coming along?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Puzzled."
"What about?" I asked while cruising high above the city, waiting for my next call. Several were coming through but were either Priority 1 or 2, calling for an immediate police response. First night out Reid wanted me to test the waters dealing with lower priority calls–ones that were likely important, but were bumped down the list due to the shortage of patrolling officers.
"Here's what I don't get. How far do you have to fall to want to kill former brothers after you were justly fired? It's not like he ratted someone out and was harassed until he threw in the towel. Broderick got fired for beating that poor kid. What's there to hold a grudge about?"
"PTSD can really screw people up. Maybe that's all part of his psychosis, he genuinely believes he didn't do anything wrong."
"He did do something wrong. Look, I won't lie, many in our department let their power get to them–it's intoxicating when you first start out, you have to have a solid grasp on what kind of man you want to be. Even then, you have to fight to keep in control."
"I know exactly what that's like, had to make that decision for myself."
"What kind of man you want to be?"
“Aren’t you a comedian.”
His comment brought some of my insecurities back up to the surface. Back on Kaaren's ship, I had to do just that–choose the kind of man I wanted to be–choosing courage over my fear of giving up my identity. Many days were spent thinking of Kaaren's profound analysis. Becoming her–becoming a woman–was a stunning display of masculinity. Sacrificing myself, shedding the male figure I had been all my life–all in order to protect and serve my family, my loved ones, even my fellow humans.
"Sorry, I didn't mean that," Reid said over the radio, apologizing. My long silence must have given him the false impression I was mad at him.
"No, it's ok, I was just thinking. This power is intoxicating. I can destro–"
"–All units all units priority 1. Felony hit and run suspect fleeing in a white Chevy Blazer, License plate Adam Queen 452 Henry. Suspect on 610 heading southbound just past Richmond. Driver reported to be under the influence, proceed with caution.”
"I'm on it."
"Wait, units are already responding. Air support is en route."
Time slowed as I increased my speed. Units with lights and sirens blazing merged onto the on-ramps below, racing toward the fleeing Blazer.
"Any word on the victim?" I asked. There was a long pause as Reid switched to the police band. He held the transmit down, letting me tune in to the conversation with dispatch.
"The bus just arrived, I'm heading out to the scene now. Reports say it was a couple crossing the street that were struck. Doesn't sound good."
Up ahead traffic was slowing down and clustering into tighter pockets. I increased speed, rocketing past the traffic below while activating my suit's stealth and descending to fifty feet. Instantly my nose picked up the distinct odor of radiator steam.
"I think I got him," I called out just as the trail went dead. "Shit, never mind."
"What happened?"
I climbed to a thousand feet and brought myself to a sudden halt, scanning the roads to the right and left of the last off-ramp. A quarter mile down Clinton was a rapidly diminishing trail of steam, constantly being renewed by the damaged radiator of the Blazer.
"Got a visual. He's turned down Clinton heading westbound."
Off in the distance, above the sound of approaching sirens, I could hear the beating of rotor blades cutting through the cold night air. Heat from the turbines helped me hone in on the chopper's position. It would be a couple of minutes before he reached my position, and another few minutes to figure out the driver turned off the highway–unless of course Reid called it in.
It was time to end it. The driver–clearly drunk–made a critical error and turned on to a quiet road with little traffic. Even cloaked, the street was a prime location to take him out with few witnesses.
I calculated the Blazer's speed to be eighty mph after converting my airspeed indicator to miles per hour. The truck was swerving across the lanes, plowing through red lights, cross traffic barely avoiding a collision as they proceeded through the green. I ran the physics of stopping the vehicle traveling at its present velocity through my head, calculating the best option to safely stop the car. My first priority would be the safety of other traffic, with the preservation of the collision damage being second. Further, damaging the front end would ruin forensic evidence necessary to connect his vehicle to the victims.
Still cloaked, I paced the car just outside the passenger side door. How the driver was able to see with a shattered windshield and steam pouring out of his radiator was beyond me, but I wasn't going to waste another second and let his reckless driving cause further injury.
I punched through the side window, startling the driver, and entered the vehicle feet first, kicking his foot violently away from the accelerator while effortlessly prying his hands off the steering wheel.
The driver, a large white male in full denim, cowboy hat and matching western footwear to complete the Texas image, screamed in fear from the near invisible being suddenly in the vehicle. A well placed sucker punch in the gut forced him to surrender control of the vehicle while he leaned out the window retching.
"Dipshit, you killed a couple back there," I said, not really sure of their actual condition. The Chevy screeched to a halt from my foot pressing the brake pedal into the floorboard. The disk brakes locked the wheels from the excessive force. A thick layer of burnt rubber smeared twin trails onto the asphalt just as a semi truck barreled through the intersection–missing the Blazer's hood by a couple of feet.
The driver kicked the door open and stumbled out of the vehicle. For a moment I ignored him, knowing he wasn't going far, instead focusing my attention on disabling the ignition system.
"I got him, vehicle disable–" Before I could finished my sentence a series of loud pops erupted, followed by several impacts to my head and upper body; the rounds harmlessly bouncing off my body. Ignoring the strikes, I glanced up to see the driver struggling to reload a 1911 he had drawn from a rawhide holster on his left hip.
"Angel, what the hell's going on?" Reid was yelling over the encrypted radio, clearly having heard the shots. The area suddenly flooded with bright light from the approaching helicopter locking its intense searchlight on the driver.
"Drop the gun asshole," a new voice called out. My first reaction was that it was a cop arriving on scene, until I heard the booming voice over the helicopter's PA.
"Attention, this is the Police, drop your weapon immediately and lay down on the ground."
I watched the driver of the Blazer turn around, facing in the direction of the other voice. Still camouflaged, I exited the vehicle to see the standoff. The semi driver, clearly irate from the near impact, had stopped his truck to confront the drunk cowboy only to find him shooting into his vehicle. He was pointing his own handgun, a large revolver, at my driver.
"Drop the fucking gun right now, or I'm going to drop you," the semi driver yelled out.
"Fuck you," was the only reply the cowboy gave as he released the slide on his .45.
There was no time to think about whether I would be seen by either of the drivers, or the observer running the searchlight above. I accelerated, speeding toward the cowboy, grabbing hold of his shoulders and pulling him around my center as he fired. The shot went wide, hitting the rig. I pushed him hard toward the Blazer's driver side door, then pivoted on my heel, bringing me face to face with the semi driver in time to track the three rounds fired in retaliation.
In slow motion, the three hot lead slugs raced toward me. I shifted, making sure to align myself with the bullet's trajectory, placing my invulnerable body between the cowboy and the semi driver's well placed shots. As much of a scumbag as the cowboy was, I wasn't going to let someone kill him.
"Angel, answer me goddamn it," Reid yelled as the observer repeated his commands through the PA.
The first pair of cruisers slid to a halt, officers hurrying out with weapons drawn. I looked up, finding the helicopter clear, and applied thrust, instantly propelling myself high above the scene as dozens of cruisers converged on the scene.
---
“I’m sorry Karen couldn’t make it for dinner,” Catherine said as she loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher.
“She said she was sorry she had to cancel. She enjoyed being with us last year and was very excited you invited her back. Something came up that she had to attend to, as much as she wanted another helping of your cooking.” Megan partially lied to her mother about Michael’s enthusiasm for a second dose of the McCormack Family. Last year, Megan found she needed to get him plugged in with others to keep his depression from consuming him. Looking back, Megan wasn’t sure it had panned out the way she wanted. Rayme wasn’t around this year to cause unnecessary territorial conflict with a woman who had no interest in men; still, she knew Michael would be miserable. Playing cops and robbers with Reid would be far more therapeutic.
“Well I'm glad you two made up and are friends again."
"I am too."
"Just what does Karen do that she has to work on Christmas Eve?”
“She’s working on getting her PI license.”
“That similar to what you have?”
“Mom! No, I have a PhD. PI is short for private investigator.”
“Oh, like those two brothers on that TV show. That younger one with the blonde hair is really cute.”
“I don’t know Mom, I don’t watch much TV you know that,” Megan reminded her.
“Well excuse me,” Catherine quickly snorted back. Megan loved her mom, but she was aloof sometimes. All of Megan’s intellect came from her father, while Rayme and Ronnie got their personalities mostly from her mom, Ronnie being the more grounded. Connor was quite a bit younger, the baby of the family. He too was intelligent with much potential. It pained Megan to see her brother waste his talents, not investing the effort she did to develop himself.
“She doesn’t look like someone that would be a private investigator.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, she’s...well you know.”
“No Mom, I don’t.”
“I just think a woman like that, with her looks–”
“Mom! You seriously think that? Just because she’s attractive doesn’t mean she can’t be smart. I'll have you know Karen is extremely intelligent, more so than me. She has to put up with a lot of crap from men who don’t think she can cut it just because she’s a woman with a great figure. It’s bad enough they won’t see her for her intellect, now she has to hear it from other women?”
“Honey, don’t get upset.”
“I am upset, she means a lot to me Mom.”
“I’m sorry Megan. Your mother’s just an old fashioned broad.”
“Well, I didn’t stay home raising kids, I went into space. Never heard you questioning my choice to follow my intellect. Or is it because you didn’t think I am good looking like some of the other girls?”
“Megan come on, give me a break honey. I didn’t mean anything like that. You are very beautiful and don’t think for one minute your mother isn’t proud to death of her daughter. Now I like Karen very much, and I don’t mean to insult her. I thought you were mentoring her toward a NASA career, I didn’t expect she was going to be some kind of cop.”
Megan knew her mother well enough. All of her family’s psych was well deconstructed by her advanced understanding of her profession. She knew her mother was lying to weasel her way out of the conversation. It was a good lie, well crafted and improvised on the spot. Megan was impressed, but saw through it nonetheless. Her mom never gave it a thought that Karen was working toward a similar career even though that was her ultimate plan–to rejoin the space program.
A pair of arms startled Megan as they wrapped around her, crossing over her abs, and pulling her tight.
“Hi Daddy.”
“Hey you, how’s my M&M?” he asked, releasing his grip and grabbing a premature cookie from the tray. Catherine slapped his hand, scolding him for not waiting for dessert.
“Mom and I were just chatting.”
“Oh yeah, what about?”
“Just girl talk Dad, nothing you would be interested in.”
“Probably right,” he said as Megan picked an olive off the counter and raised it up over her head. Damien leaned over, gently taking it into his mouth before releasing his love grip on his daughter. She turned and planted a tender kiss on his cheek. “How about we get a drink and go to my study so we can catch up a bit.”
Catherine waved her hand, shooing them off, knowing Megan was never an asset in the kitchen. She'd tried over the years, but she was too much like her father. Damien stayed away from anything where he could injure his hands, his surgeon’s hands. He lived in constant fear of causing irreparable damage to the precision his fingers brought to the surgical table. They were his greatest asset, able to manipulate instruments with swift precision without the clumsiness of your average person. His patients' present and future relied on the skill his fingers gave him and the thought of ruining his gift playing petty games was too much.
---
“You are looking very good these days. I trust you have been overcoming the shooting?”
“Yes, and no. I still have nightmares from time to time, but I have other things keeping me busy” Megan said, sinking into her father’s fancy chair. As kids it was forbidden to enter his study, the privilege of entering rarely being granted. Several times she had been caught sneaking in and looking around. Upon the third or fourth incident, it became clear to Damien that his daughter possessed a high-level intellect; she was seeking to feed on the wealth of medical knowledge he possessed in the room for nourishment. Gradually it became their hideout and they bonded well as he taught her as much as his time would allow.
“Pretty scary what’s happening downtown, isn’t it?”
“That nut case? Yes, very scary. Shooting up police cars in broad daylight, has the whole city of Houston on edge. James was almost killed in that explosion the other day.”
“James? Who’s James?
“Sorry Daddy, Reid, Detective Reid.”
“Oh right, he’s the one that found Michael’s family. Sorry, I didn’t know his first name. You said he was in that explosion?”
“He happened to be outside and away from the blast,” Megan said, stretching the truth. She was still in wonder how remarkable Michael was as Kaaren. Many times she wished it would have been her cast away from the Deliverance, so she could experience what Michael does.
“That was a massive explosion, heard it damaged homes for blocks. He’s pretty lucky indeed. Do the police have any leads on this guy’s whereabouts?”
“No, not really. I know a little more than the general public, but not much more. He just disappeared into thin air. One cop said he hit him in a fire fight.”
“Yes, I heard. We have all been alerted at the hospital to look out for anyone with a gunshot to the upper left arm. So far nothing at our hospital.”
“Well he has to get that treated somewhere.”
“Maybe not, although I do hope he bleeds out.”
“Daddy!” Megan said, almost scolding him for suggesting such.
“You know me, I usually don’t think like that, but this guy is pretty evil. I’ve seen what he does first hand.”
“What do you mean?”
“Keller, that poor boy, he was one of my patients. You were in training when that happened.” Damien was just leaving after a long stretch when Keller was brought in with multiple skull fractures from blunt force trauma."
“I didn’t know you treated Keller.”
“I saved his life, although mentally he's in worse shape than before. Sad what happened to him. I should tell you his story sometime, at least how his dad told me, not the vague story circulating in the news.”
Megan tried to recall the stories. She and the rest of her team were knee deep in heavy training. She had little time to hear about it when the news broke. It was one of the worst cases of police brutality Houston had encountered.
"From the stories I remember, Keller was a local transient, living on the streets, an unwanted Vietnam veteran."
“He wasn’t unwanted, his father did everything he could to help him. He was more than willing to let him live at home. The war screwed him up. He voluntarily took to a life on the streets, no matter how many times his father tried to drag him home. Tim just found some level of peace living a transient life. Gentle spirit, never hurt anyone, and enjoyed interacting with others in the community. He didn’t deserve the beating he got.”
“So you got to know Mr. Keller pretty well?”
“Yes, I did. In fact I have lunch with him every so often.” Damien paused a moment.
“He must have been crushed when Broderick’s case was thrown out and he walked scot-free,” Megan said, keeping the conversation going. Her dad didn’t show much emotion around others, but with her, he relaxed and wasn’t afraid to reveal his softer side. Megan loved him for his openness with her, something he confided in her long before she matured.
“What father wouldn’t? If that man had taken your life earlier this year and got away with it, I wouldn’t be able to live knowing my baby’s killer got away with murder.”
“Aww Daddy, I’m still here, thank God. Listen, I don’t know how we started talking about this, but it’s Christmas, let’s talk about something else–”
As she spoke, the phone rang–ringing twice before it stopped. Damien was just about to speak when Connor called out through the door, “Meg, phone!”
“Maybe Karen is coming after all,” Damien said.
Megan picked up the portable phone from the cradle and extended the long telescoping antenna before turning the phone on.
“This is Dr. McCormack.”
“Doctor, Doctor.”
“Hey you, Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you.”
“What time is it there?” Megan asked.
“About 8 am Christmas morning. A cold one too. Good thing I can’t feel my feet.”
“Be careful with that Gene, you can get in more trouble by not keeping your self warm enough.”
“Megan, I have enough medical advice, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Sorry, just worried about you.”
“Don’t, I take very good care of myself.
Now tell me, what are you doing for New Years Eve?”
“Nothing in stone yet. Might spend it with my friend, why?”
“I’m coming home, that’s why, and I want to see you.”
“Really! Oh Gene, I’m so excited. That's great news. You coming back for good?”
She could see her dad's face perk up and smile upon discovering who the caller was. He looked at her with a large smile on his face. Megan knew exactly what he was thinking and feared the pressure her parents would start imposing on her.
“Not at first, but hopefully by the end of first quarter next year I should be back permanently.”
"I am so happy. What about your lab, you're not going to leave that behind are you?"
"It's up and running. I would like to go back from time to time, but traveling is difficult and I just want to come home. There's lots to tell, but I will save that and tell you over dinner."
"Well Doctor, what makes you think I am going to say yes?" Megan taunted with a playful tone to it.
"You will."
"I will huh? You think you can figure this shrink out?"
"We'll have to see," Gene said, playing along.
"When do you get in? You need me to pick you up?"
"I have someone picking me up already, there's some business to attend to first. I should be done around 3pm. How about I pick you up around 5?"
"Sounds great, where are you going to pick me up?"
"I'll call you around noon and let you know."
Megan gave him her pager number, followed by a series of goodbyes. Finally, she wished him a safe trip before handing the phone to her dad. "Daddy, Gene want's to say hi." He took the phone from her and greeted his daughter's savior with warm Christmas tidings.
---
"Name is William Tillman, from Austin Texas. Said the suspect ran a red and plowed into him as he proceeded on a green. Tillman stopped his truck to give him a few words only to find the man drunk and shooting at his car," the officer explained to Reid.
"Where is Mr. Tillman?"
The officer pointed to the well built man sitting on the curbside, his arms secured behind his back. Reid limped over to the man accompanied by the two officers, "Un-cuff him."
"Sir?"
"You have his piece secured?"
"Yes detective."
"And you've searched him? So far he is cooperating right?"
"Yes, but–"
"Ramirez, this guy is a good citizen who helped apprehend a hit and run suspect. Isn't that right Mr. Tillman?"
"Yeah, I guess," he said as Ramirez lifted him up and unlocked his cuffs. The man rubbed his wrists, glad to be free and not treated like a criminal.
"Mr. Tillman, I'm Detective Reid. You mind telling me what happened?"
"Sure, this idiot almost runs a red and hits me. Like I told the officer here, I stopped to give the guy a piece of my mind."
"With a loaded .357?"
"No, of course not. I took that from my truck after I saw him pumping his car full of .45s. I thought he was shooting his wife or girlfriend."
"Yeah, I've had my share of back seat drivers that almost drove me to that. So, you got back to your truck and grab your Smith. You always carry a loaded firearm?"
"Please detective, this is Texas, everyone carries, even my 70 year old mother."
"Ok, so what happened next?"
"I aimed at him and told him to drop his gun. He was clearly drunk, he turned and fired, then-"
"—Then what?"
"I have no idea."
"What do you mean you have no idea?" Reid said scratching his head, pretending to be puzzled.
"That's just it, I have no clue as to what happened. I mean, I have no clue as to what I saw. The drunk cowboy was just about to shoot when he suddenly spun around and–well it appeared as if he was thrown against the car."
"Thrown? By who?"
"Tell ya detective, sounds like this guy's nuts, that's why I wanted to keep him cuffed. I personally think this guy isn't giving us the true story and is making up some bullshit."
"Thank you Ramirez. Well Mr. Tillman, you jerking my chain? There something you're not telling us?"
"No Sir. Honest to God truth. After that, there's more. I returned fire a split second after he did."
"Wait, when did the other guy shoot at you? Before, or after some mysterious force tossed him over his car?"
"Into his car, not over. He discharged his weapon just as he turned around. I fired immediately after–three tightly grouped shots."
"So you hit him?"
"No Detective, the suspect wasn't hit," Ramirez answered.
"Not very tight then."
"The hell they weren't. I'm a three time Austin pistol champ. I could shoot better than you."
"Maybe, but if he was moving, why were your groupings so tight, shouldn't you have tracked the movement?"
"I did, only something was in the way."
"This here, Detective, is when our hero's story starts falling apart."
"What was in the way?"
"I don't know. There was some kind of distortion, almost like thick heat ripples that bent the light. Only there was no heat. It absorbed my shots, then disappeared."
Reid finished taking his statement, writing in his crude shorthand, recording everything Tillman said.
“Sounds like bullshit to me too.” Reid said
"Detective, are you going to arrest me?"
"You think I should?"
"No, I didn't do anything wrong. I have the right to defend myself and others."
"What others?" No one else was in the Blazer and he didn’t hit your rig."
"Well I didn't know that. Who the hell starts shooting at their car for no reason?"
"Drunks. Look, you were told by the helicopter to lower your weapon, you didn't and therefore–"
"–That's crap, the other guy was pointing his gun at me, what the hell was I supposed to do? If you guys had shown up to control the situation, that’s one thing, but a chopper pilot telling me to drop my weapon when I’m being threatened is a little fucking stupid.”
“You just watch your tone there buddy, or I might just completely change my mind and side with Ramirez here. Hell, maybe I might get myself in the mood to give that truck of yours a thorough search. You think I we have enough probable cause Ramirez?”
“Don’t need probable cause to check out that trailer Detective. Want my boys to give it a run through?”
“Whatcha think Mr. Tillman?”
“Sorry Detective. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
“I didn’t think so. Ramirez, that will be enough for tonight. See to it you have all his info. Gonna give you 72 hours and I want you to come in to make a statement.”
“Didn’t I just do that, give a statement?”
“Yes, but trauma causes memory loss immediately following the event. About 72 hours and the brain settles, allowing clearer recollection of details. Perhaps by then, that ghost you thought you saw will have disappeared and you can be a better help to this investigation.”
---
“Nice touch with the .357s in the phone pole across the street.”
“Thanks. Any word on the couple?”
“Early reports were wrong. The husband pushed the wife clear of the vehicle. She just has a broken wrist from the landing. The husband’s in ICU right now. His prognosis is favorable, the dipshit driver apparently wasn’t going as fast as we were led to believe, but it was fast enough,” Reid said as I adjusted his passenger seat to accommodate my long legs.
“I hope he makes it. Terrible day for tragedies like this to happen.”
“Crime and stupidity never take a holiday. If it did, I would be spending a nice evening with my family or Trish right now.”
“Why not both? How long you two been going out?”
“Couple years.”
“Couple? Jim, what the hell you waiting for? Don’t tell me you haven’t brought her home yet.”
“No I haven't, but it’s not like that. One of us is usually working on the holidays. If we both are, we can arrange a little time alone during our alternating shifts.”
“Still, you see yourself with her right?”
"Yeah, I do."
"So, what's your holdup. Show her you care, bring her home."
"I will. This mine?” Reid said interrupting the conversation while picking up the bag I delivered. His hand plunged deep down into the sack, fishing for his dinner, “extra onions right?”
“Yep, quit changing the subject, when are you two gonna settle down?”
“I might pop the question tomorrow.”
“On Christmas? Come on Jim, that's so lame. Gotta make it a day she can call her own. You said yourself you two are going to be working. What are you going to do, get down on your knee and propose after reading someone their Miranda Rights? Yeah, she’ll be telling that story for years.”
“She's still on leave and since when are you an expert on human courting rituals. This is what? Your second Christmas.”
Shit, I thought. I’m getting over my head. Come on Michael, you gotta be more careful, besides, you’re starting to talk like a woman now.
"Who cares what planet you're from,” I finally said, “a woman's not going to care for sharing that day with any other special days."
"So tell me, you're married back home right?"
"Yeah."
"And how did Mr.–what the hell is your last name?
“Guest.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Doesn’t matter. What are you trying to ask?”
“So, how did your stud wow you into marrying him?"
Ok, now I was getting uncomfortable.
"Not now Jim. I don't want to talk about it. Eat your burger."
"Hey you started it. You were on a roll there, now you are gonna plead the fifth on your partner here when he needs you the most?"
My mind drifted back to the day I proposed to Liz. We flew out to California to visit my dad up at the cabin. It was all arranged in advance. I took a week of leave–much needed R&R. Liz called Dad on my behalf while I retrieved our bags from the baggage claim. He delivered his lines perfectly, informing Liz the water lines ruptured in the cabin. To make up for it, he booked us into a fancy bed and breakfast in Temecula’s wine country.
Liz, a sucker for the fruit of the vine, jumped on the plan deviation while I sulked in disappointment. It was not much longer of a drive from Ontario, just off the 15 toward San Diego. Along the way, Liz grew excited seeing the hot air balloons rising, drifting along over the vineyards and expressed her desire for me to take her up. Little did she know Dad and I had the whole thing planned.
We departed the field, just the two of us savoring the sight of the valley below, slowly drifting along in the wind’s current. Liz and I sat close in the basket, feeding each other fine cheese and sliced fruit while sipping on champagne. She was like a little girl, her eyes sparkling, her face radiating a heavenly joy. It was every woman’s dream to experience a romantic excursion with her man and this was no exception. I had her hooked and distracted from what about about to come.
The balloon passed over the marker. Excusing myself, I stood and opened the chute, allowing the hot air to escape, lowering our altitude below the wind current. In the still air, we slowed to a hover right over the target–a property my dad was developing for a new winery. Dad had many people eager to do favors for him and the owner of the land made sure to impress.
I invited Liz to stand beside me, reaching out and helping her up. She wore a yellow knee length linen dress that accented her hips and showed off her legs. The slight breeze blew her long red hair and the setting sun cast an orange glow on her beautiful face. At first, Liz stared out across the vast landscape oblivious as to the field of flowers directly below.
An eternity passed, yet I remained patient until her eyes locked on. She didn’t notice me step away, getting down on my knee. She was too busy reading the writing in the field of flowers. The owner had cleared the field, prepping the ground to receive his first wine crop. As a favor, the only flowers he left standing were a hundred yards' worth, spelling out “Will You Marry Me Liz?”
“Michael, is that?–” She spun on her cowboy boot finding me kneeling before her holding the ring up.
“Liz, will you marry me?” I officially asked. There was no long, dreaded silence, just a momentary lapse as she fought back the excitement. She covered her mouth as her eyes watered up in joy.
“Oh my sweet Michael, yes. Yes, of course I will marry you.”
We made love in the basket, hovering over the soon-to-be vineyard where we were married. A short time later, we set the balloon down on the property where we were welcomed by my dad and his client.
“So, I have a daughter-in-law or no?”
“Yes you do, Dad. You sure had me fooled.”
“Don’t look at me, my boy here did all the planning. I just pulled a few strings.”
My thought earlier was wrong. I wasn't thinking like a woman when I spoke to Jim. No, I was an old fashioned man, a romantic, cut from a line of strong masculine types long since extinct. The real definition of masculine, not the insecure types plaguing the male population today. It was my Dad that passed it on, ensuring Liz would be the recipient of a dying breed. Even after my mom left, he made sure I respected and cherished women, chastising me for blaming them for my mother’s mistake. In my anguish I continued to be a man who cherished their women and went to the ends of the world for their love.
It wasn’t my story I told him, but my parents' proposal, modified so that it could have occurred anywhere in the universe for all he knew. Liz and I kept that magic moment to ourselves, never sharing our balloon ride with anyone other than Dad. We were like that, private with our affairs, choosing instead to keep those treasured moments between the two that created them.
"Wow, mind if I borrow that?" He said, wiping his face after devouring the burger.
"Yes Jim, I do. The point is not for you to copy me, think outside the box. You're a detective, use your brain and get creative."
"This is is a damn good burger by the way, where is this place?"
"They're only in California."
"Then how...never mind."
We sat in silence awhile, listening to the chatter on the radio. Activity in the area had calmed, allowing for a long break. I stuffed my hands into my sweatshirt's front pocket and stretched my long legs out, crossing my suit's boots up on Reid's dash.
“I have a question. You said back in your office that the bomb killed specific cops.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“What was the relationship with each of the deceased in relation to Broderick?”
“Celi was his last partner. They got along the best out of the others.”
“What the hell did he kill him for then?”
“Celi? He was part of that Keller beating. He roughed Keller up a bit, but nothing excessive. Certainly didn’t bother trying to stop it either. In fact, he was kind of amused by it. In the aftermath, he and Upton–the other slain officer–didn’t back him up. There were some rumors Celi ratted him out to IA to keep from being disciplined, but that’s just speculation.”
“So Broderick was the only one who got the can? What about the others in the house. How do you connect them?” I asked as the radio sprang to life, alerting us of a crime in progress.
---
Erica kicked off her heels and sprinted as fast as her tight skirt would allow. She darted across the dimly lit gravel path, ignoring the pain the coarse dirt inflicted on her bare soles. The fear of the consequences of slowing down drove the pain to the back of her mind. She screamed, hoping the neighbors around the park would hear her pleas for help.
"Where you going toots, come back here. We're not going to harm you," the taller of the two called out into the darkness. He and his out of shape friend could easily overtake her, but instead, they pursued with reduced enthusiasm. Either that, or they were playing with her. That was the only other conclusion her terrified mind could formulate as she turned off the path and ran across the grass.
Before she could speed up, her bare foot slipped on the wet grass, buckling under her weight as she toppled over. Gravity took hold of her, violently pulling her body to the ground. She felt a sharp pain shoot up her leg moments after the cracking sound in her ankle echoed through the deserted park.
The two laughed as she screamed from the pain. The watched her in amusement as she pushed her small round ass across the wet grass with her good foot.
"Aww, gonna ruin that pretty white dress of yours," the short fat one said, still trying to catch his breath. He moved toward the woman, only to be stopped by his friend.
“I saw her first, I get first rights.”
“Fuck off Jed, you got to go first last time.”
“Hey shit for brains, I saw her first last time too. When you start spotting the foxy ones like I do, they you can go first. Until then, zip it and watch my back while I take this pretty little thing for a spin.”
The woman turned, scurrying on her knees, crawling as fast as she could away from her two assailants. Her fleeing was useless, only delaying the inevitable. Jed ran up behind her, dropping to his knees on the wet grass. He slid to a halt, ramming his crotch into her backside. Jed reached out and grabbed a lock of her long dark hair, pulling it back as if he were breaking in a horse. She screamed, she squirmed, she tried fighting back. Surprisingly, she was strong, but not enough to overpower him.
“You just stay bent over like that,” Jed commanded as he reached down to unzip his fly.
"No, please stop. Don't do this."
"Don't you like it Jed when they beg like this?"
"Hey Billy, you got shit for brains? Quit using my fucking name."
"Oh who cares, the cops aren't going to listen to her. Fact, she's gonna like it so much, she's gonna want to remember where we were."
"Hahaha. Damn straight you're gonna like it, won't you?" Jed said, reaching up her dress and grabbing hold of her silky panties.
"Oh man, how does she feel?" Billy said, pointing a knife at her face, threatening her into submission. Tears were streaming down her face in shame as Jed violated her.
"Please stop," she cried, pleading for it to stop. Billy watched as Jed's face suddenly changed. His hand was shifted frantically around before he quickly withdrew it. It was his turn to scurry along the wet grass butt first. Billy was confused. He watched as Jed started hacking and wiping his hand in the grass.
"Hahaha, she piss on you? Served you right for going first."
Jed couldn't speak, just pointed at the woman, shaking his head as she curled up into a ball on the grass, crying harder than before.
"She's...She's, holy hell, it's–"
"You suck Jed. If you're afraid of a little piss, I'm taking my turn."
"That's a fucking dude."
"This?" He said pointing his knife at her.
"Yeah, she's packing under those panties."
"Oh jeezus. She's one of those?"
Jed stood up, regaining his composure while withdrawing his Buck Knife from the leather pouch in his belt.
"So, our little tramp here wants to be a real girl. Whatcha say Billy, we give her a little surgery down there?"
"HELP! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!"
"Oh I'm gonna help you all right. Gonna–"
"–AAHHHH!"
Jed froze in his tracks as Billy screamed from behind. At first he thought his friend was simply tormenting the woman, mocking her cries for help, but this scream was different. It was the kind one can't mimic that easily. Strange too as his screams seemed to be rapidly moving away from him. How his fat friend ran to the other side of the park in mere seconds was beyond Jed's comprehension, but Billy was now screaming louder than the woman–man–hell, whatever it was.
Several gunshots pierced the night, forcing local residents to wake from their sleep, realizing finally the screams for help were not part of a dream. Lights flickered to life in several homes across from the park as Billy grew eerily silent.
"Billy, you okay?" Jed called out to his friend. He began to panic as the first sound of sirens cut the brief silence. He knew the cops were a minute or two away and turned, sprinting into the distance leaving his friend to fend for himself–if he was still alive. Who the hell attacked him? Maybe it was an animal? No, he didn't hear any noises to back up that idea.
Jed was just reaching his top speed when his feet stumbled over something large, something he didn't see. The object brought his feet to a sudden halt, freezing them in place. His upper body however, kept moving forward.
"Shit!" He called out, bracing for a devastating impact with the ground–only the impact never came. Instead he felt a tight pressure above his knee. The ground that was supposed to be rushing toward him was moving away. His head cleared–enough to think straight. It was a hand, that was gripping his leg, causing intense pain.
“Let me go asshole,” he yelled to the unseen person lifting him high above the ground from behind. Jed twisted his body, trying desperately to identify the person holding him. The pressure eased up as the hand released it’s grip. Instinctively, Jed held his hands out before him preparing for a head first fall. Before gravity recalled him to the ground, another hand tightened, and turned him around.
At first, all he could see was a white boot. His eyes traced downward from his inverted position. He followed the boot where it continued up a very well toned leg and thigh. The shape continued to widen at the hips before narrowing at a slender waist still covered in the sparkling white outfit. The organ in his pants sprang to life ignoring his pain and humiliation.
“Son of a bitch, you bitch, that fuc–AAAHHH!” Jed yelled before he could finish cursing.
“Aww, that hurt?” the strange woman finally said. He tried looking around to see if someone else was helping her hold him. If someone was indeed there, they were just outside his field of vision. “Well, does it?”
“Fuck you,” Jed spat while swinging an inverted punch at her midsection. His hand hit with little force–his hand deflecting off her abdomen. Her tight belly was rock hard as if she were wearing some kind of armor–armor with an abrasive texture that scraped his knuckles.”
“Bet that hurt,” she said before tossing him. Jed landed hard about ten feet away, his elbow cracking on impact with the ground, “and that.”
Jed scrambled to his feet–unsuccessfully rubbing away the pain in his elbow. He only looked at her a moment, watching her approach him unafraid. The bone in his elbow was broken, preventing him from bending his arm and reaching the compact pistol holstered on his back.
The sirens grew louder and the flashing of red and blue lights bathed the homes surrounding the park. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid of their presence, or counting it a blessing.
“Where you going?”
“Stay away from me?”
“Or what?”
Jed turned and ran, taking several steps in the opposite direction before colliding with the woman. It was like running into a brick wall, his head stopping suddenly on impact with her body, knocking him backward onto the soft grass. He let out a scream from the pain spreading throughout his arm. He fished for the gun in his waistband, struggling to withdraw it with his left hand. As he fumbled with the weapon, long beams of red and blue light cut across the homes across from the park, dancing along the walls while accompanied by the high pitched cry of police sirens.
A cruiser turned the corner, jumped the curb and raced across the grass, trailed by two other patrol cars. Jed scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his elbow. A soft thunk on the grass informed him his pistol freed itself and was now laying in the wet grass. The woman that attacked him was nowhere to be seen, having fled at the first appearance of the police.
Jed now faced the same choice as he watched the patrol cars sweeping the park, desperately trying to find his gun.
“Fuck it,” he said out loud, turning away from the oncoming police and racing toward an adjacent farm.
---
Terrence held onto the large Santa-like sack filled with the little he had managed to loot from the house so far. The alarm would ring for two minutes before the security company dispatch called the local PD. It was enough time to hit a Christmas tree, maybe grab some tools from the garage. Nothing big. He couldn’t afford to get greedy. When he bypassed the alarms and had the whole night to himself, that’s when he took it all. The jewelry, the electronics, anything of value.
He hurried around the corner to his van. It didn’t belong to him, the van belonged to the phone company he worked for. It was a sweet gig. Lousy pay, but the benefits were great. Simply clip a few telephone wires outside, wait for a call from his dispatch, then go out to fix the problem he created. Easy as pie and best of all, his employer just promoted him for his outstanding service.
His customers loved him, he was a people person–or so they thought. In reality they were stupid. They bought his act without question, welcoming him into their expensive homes and showing them the layout of the house as he checked all the lines, all the while drinking the freshly made sweet tea or coffee they offered. Terrence would chat them to death, telling the ignorant housewives his aspirations of playing pro football while he further disabled the security system in front of them. With the system disabled he would return a week or two later, waltzing in through a side door the moment the family left.
Terrence hurried around the corner, bummed he couldn’t spend more time in this house. Somehow the alarm was back in working order and called out to the security company. The voice startled him as it poured through the speakers from the central dispatch office, asking if there was a genuine alarm. He remained silent, taking that as his cue to leave.
The cops would take their time. That crazy former cop was his new best friend, keeping the local police so preoccupied tracking him down, they almost didn’t give a shit about a home burglary.
“Shit,” Terrence cussed out loud in a panic. He looked around, checking and rechecking, but the van was gone, “Fucking bastard. I’ll find you and kick your ass. That’s my van you asshole.”
“Not so much fun is it?” a voice called out. It was a soft very feminine voice. His eyes gazed into the shadows looking for the source of the woman’s voice.
“Where are you? What did you do what my van?”
“Mine now. I don’t have one of my own, so I thought I would take this one. Surely you of all people understand my logic, don’t you Terrence?”
“What are you talking about bitch? Give me my fucking van?”
“Finder’s keepers. Aww, what’s the matter, don’t like it when people steal from you?”
Terrence pulled a knife from his pocket and opened the blade. Where are you?”
“Scary, careful you don’t cut yourself as you climb up here. Terrence tracked the source, not paying attention to the unmarked police car pulling up behind him.
“Drop the knife and get down on your knees?”
Terrence turned into the bright spotlight, trying to make out the man.
“Police, I said, put down the knife and drop to your knees.”
“Shit,” he said out loud, tossing the knife away and lifting his hands. Terrence turned to face the officer, who was limping around the vehicle. Oh man this was his lucky day, getting busted by a lame cop. Ain't no way this pig was going to catch this track star, Terrence thought to himself.
“Turn around, keep your hands where I can see them.”
Terrence squatted, not to kneel down as ordered, but preparing for a sprint. He dug his feet into the ground knowing the cop wouldn’t shoot. Terrence spoke softly to himself, “No he can’t shoot, I’m unarmed. He couldn’t hit me if he wanted. I’m fast, faster than any human on the planet. It was all the convincing he needed as he broke into a run through the empty lot between the two homes. Terrence darted across the field, his feet sinking into the soft dirt. He glanced back, seeing the cop wasn’t pursuing.
“What’s the matter pig, bum leg, can’t run?” Terrence said, stopping in the darkness to taunt the cop.
“Don’t need to, got a knife with your prints, and your van. See you at work tomorrow Terrence.”
“Or we can wrap things up tonight,” a voice said from behind. Before he could turn, he felt a pair of hands firmly gripping his shoulder and right arm. He tried to struggle, but felt an intense pain around his wrist. He moved his body low to the ground, the only direction where he found temporary relief.
“Shit, you’re hurting me damn it.”
“Not faster than me,” the voice said as his face pressed into the dirt. Pain traveled up his immobilized arm, locked in an impossibly tight hold behind him. The headlights of the cop's car drove across the lot, bathing the area with his spotlight. A moment later, he felt the cold steel of the handcuffs being secured tightly around his wrists. After a thorough search of his body he felt himself being lifted and crammed into the tight rear seat. The harsh reality of his new uncomfortable situation hit home as the cop slammed the door.
---
“Well, that was a successful night.”
“Feels great catching that guy.”
“It’s a great feeling indeed. I remember my first arrest.”
“You think you will be able to track what he stole?”
“Not all of it. He will likely make a plea deal and give up his buyers in exchange for a shorter stretch.”
“Lame,” I said, disgusted at the thought.
“Yes and no. It’s the way it works. We get more people off the streets that way. The more people realize that buying stolen merchandise is going to land them in jail, the harder it’s going to be for the thieves to make a profit.”
“How about that woman in the park, how’s she doing?”
“That’s a bit complicated.”
“How so? What the hell is complicated about a woman getting raped?”
“It’s complicated because that wasn’t a woman.”
“Ha, yes it was.”
“I’m not joking, she...I mean he was just a guy in drag. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint? Disappoint, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Jeez Karen, when the hell you start cussing like–”
“–like a what? I’ll cuss if I damn well please? What do you mean disappoint? Sexual assault is thrown out since the victim has a penis?”
“Something like that isn’t going to go to trial.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because the victims usually decline to press charges. They don’t want to take the stand, and in this case you were the only witness and I don’t think we can use your testimony.”
“So that’s it, these jerks walk?”
“Karen, the Public defender would have ripped her...him apart on the stand.”
“Why do you keep changing the pronouns when referring to her?”
“Because, it’s not a her. It’s a guy.”
“Jesus Christ Reid, are you that thick? And what’s your sister, a he?”
“Hey Sarah’s different.”
“Yeah? How?”
“Karen, calm down, what the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Answer the question. How’s your sister any different from a man that chooses to live as a woman?”
“Because.”
“Because why? Okay for girls to be guys, but not the other way around. Demeaning being a woman, is that what you think? Maybe you should give it a try Jim. Open your ignorant chauvinistic eyes. Put you in some heels, a dress and makeup, change your name to Jamie, and toss you on display, see how you like being gawked at.”
“Be more feminine than you’ve ever dressed. Hell my sister has more dresses in her wardrobe than you. Let me guess, you got a big fat zero. Must be tough walking in a skirt with that Sasquatch of a walk you have, maybe you are packing down there too.”
I sat there a moment in silence before busting out into a fit of laughter, Reid joining in with his own uncontrollable fit of hysterics. We laughed for several minutes before he spoke up. “Karen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this is a sensitive issue for you.”
“So what if it is or isn’t. She’s a victim, end of story, don’t be a sexist pig.”
“Karen, I resent that. Come on, you know me, I’m not sexist in any way.”
“Unless you think they’re not really women, then all bets are off, is that it?”
“Karen, give me a minute, hear me out,” Reid said pulling the car over, “can you listen for a moment and not get all emotional?”
“What? Oh Jim, you did not just say that.”
“Jesus Christ, let me talk.”
“You talk too much Jim. Yap yap yap, just like a woman yourself.”
“Karen, shut up and give me a fucking moment.”
“Wow, now look who’s cussing.”
“I can’t do this. Go home and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I’m busy tomorrow.”
“Then next day then?”
“Busy then too.”
“Tell you what, when you're finished, and you get your wits back, come see me.”
“Finished with what?”
“You know?”
“Now you’re being sexist. What, women can’t get bitchy unless they are PMSing? For your information, I don’t suffer from that shit.
“Could have fooled me.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
In a rage, I kicked the door open, tweaking the door hinges. I exited the vehicle, slamming the door, shattering the window from the force.
“Careful with the car, damnit,” Jim yelled as he tossed the car into gear and sped off, leaving me alone on the street wearing nothing by my sweatshirt over my suit.
“Asshole,” I yelled out.
“What the fuck is happening to me?” I said out loud as I welled up. Shit, he was right, I was getting emotional, feeling completely out of control. All the breathing exercises weren’t doing crap and Reid couldn’t have dropped me off in a worse neighborhood. There were people all around preventing me from safely taking off without being seen.
Across the street was a pay phone next to a dimly lit building.
“Yes, I wanna make a collect call to 214-555-1937.”
“Can I get your name please?”
“Michael,” I said through my sobs accidentally using my real name.
There was a brief pause. “Please hold son, connecting the call right now,” the operator said as the tears were streaming down my face.
“Come on Megan pick up please.”
“I’m sorry, your party isn’t there. Is everything okay, are you in trouble son? How old are you Michael? Is Megan your Mother?”
Silently, I set the dirty handset back on the cradle and turned to exit the booth.
“Fuck, I hate this body. Kaaren, what the hell did you do to me?” I’m an emotional train wreck, pissed off and crying for no reason. “This shittin body is taking control of me, I want my body back,” I said out loud, grabbing my hair and pulling it into bunches while pacing back and forth along the building.
“Get a grip Michael. Come on buddy, hang on in there.”
“Say, looks like we got us 'nother one of dem crazy white bitches.”
I turned to see two gangbangers approach.
“What’s the matter baby, boyfriend kick you out of his car?”
“His loss.” The other said.
“Our gain,” they said, slapping their palms together.
“Piss off, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”
“Ooh, we got us a feisty one,” the punk with the red bandana around his head said as he approached.
“I’m warning you, I will fuck you two up,” I said, standing tall.
“And we are gonna fuck you.”
“Come get some, I really need this right now.”
The first approached with a switchblade, sticking the blade in my face.
A voice called out to me as I began channeling energy to my hands.
“Never use this body to cause pain,” Kaaren’s soft voice said through the river of emotion surging through my body. The Russians I killed appeared before me, replacing my two attackers. Tolkechev, the only one I knew by name, spoke to me in Russian as his face decayed rapidly in front of me.
I screamed out loud, applying thrust to my feet. The ground below me shattered, my attackers thrown backward from the invisible release of stored solar energy. In less then a couple of seconds, I passed through the stratosphere, the continental United States rapidly shrinking below me. My scream continued as if trying to purge the rage inside until suddenly there was nothing but an eerie silence as I exited the Earth’s atmosphere and hovered over the planet, holding in the little O2 left in my lungs. I tore my sweatshirt off, casting it away, letting it drift in the micro gravity while basking in the energizing rays of the Sun. The surge was stimulating yet relaxing, overwhelming my emotional rage.
I closed my eyes, focusing on everything in my life that I love and cherish. Liz’s face appeared before me, then Ashley’s. I longed to touch them again, hold them in my arms and tell them who I am. Dinner with them was a little over 12 hours away. Liz’s touch and Ashley’s laugh would be mine to cherish again. My insides calmed–still emotional, but functional again. Thoughts came in clearly, not dictated by alien hormones.
Reid’s words ate at me. The woman in the park kept running through my mind. I snapped at him, but deep down I was confused. Why would a man choose to live as a woman? I did, but it was out of necessity, donning this immortal figure in order to rescue humanity from doom. This poor guy? What could possibly drive him to change? It made no sense. I’d heard of men cross dressing and even a few stories of a surgery, but why?
Why? I’d been asking myself the same question over and over again. If Kaaren had arrived five years ago, before the threat, and asked me to switch with her, would I? The answer is always no, but here is someone who would have jumped on the offer in a heartbeat. The woman in the park undoubtedly wouldn’t have even given it a second thought.
I opened my eyes, calm, but confused as to who I am. Megan is the only one I could talk to and lately I feel it’s all one sided. As smart as she is, she just doesn’t understand us guys. Reid gets it, but to him, I’m just another species of female. I’m so alone, I wish I had my wife to talk to. Just another woman who would find it cute that a man is living as a woman.
I looked below, staring down at Europe, England off the coast, the unmistakable boot shape of Italy. So many places I can travel to anytime I want. “Nikolai!” I smiled as I thought of his name as I gazed on the brightly lit Russian landscape below. The shadow had just swept westward, a new day having just begun in Moscow. Yes, a friend that knows me, the real me trapped inside. I turned my body and began willing myself forward, racing to see my friend.
---
"Available units, priority 3, possible juvenile in need of assistance at the corner of Dowling and McGowen."
Reid leaned into the car and picked up the radio thinking to himself that's where he and Karen were arguing a few minutes ago.
"This is 155, en route. ETA 2 minutes. You have a description of the kid?" He opened the car door and tossed the six pack of beer he just purchased.
"Male, approx 5-12 years of age, no physical description."
"Who called it in?"
"Collect call operator. A kid placed a call, seemed in distress, then the call disconnected."
"Copy, stand by."
“10-4 Detective.”
Reid flipped the lights on, to clear the little traffic cluttering the streets as he raced down the near empty streets. He checked the clock on the dash. 12am. Bad time and bad neighborhood for a young kid to be wondering around alone. Hopefully Karen spotted him before she took off.
"Son of a bitch," Reid yelled out, punching the steering wheel. Karen could take care of herself, but he shouldn't have left her alone like that. If for no other reason than it was disrespectful to kick a woman out of the car, leaving her alone at night.
He shut the lights off before turning the corner and pulled up to the phone booth. Reid reached over and grabbed his Maglite from under the seat and stumbled out of the car. His leg throbbed, he was overdoing it and feared causing additional injury if he kept up.
The phone booth's light was the brightest in the area, casting more light than the adjacent building. Broken glass surrounded the booth, littering the ground inside and out.
"In the wrong neighborhood asshole," a voice called out from behind. Reid turned around, finding himself face to face with a tall black kid about 18. Reid hit him with the light while drawing his .45.
"Police officer. Get up against the wall."
"Hey, I didn't do anything, just tellin you–"
"–Don't give a shit. Not in the mood to be threatened, get your ass up against the wall."
The kid cussed as he complied, spreading his arms and legs like a seasoned pro. Reid shoved the flashlight in his back pocket and pinched the kid’s interlocked fingers together, securing them behind his head. He ignored the pain in his leg as he kicked the kid’s legs wider before holstering his weapon and began the frisk.
"I doubt you got a permit for this?" Reid said, examining the small .380 cal automatic he withdrew from the kid’s belt. It was a cheap Bryco Arms .380 with a time to crime average of 1.5 years. Traffickers loved them, cheap automatics with a high markup cost. Dangerous weapons too, known for many accidental discharges. He checked the safety on the pistol before carefully placing it in his pocket, then pushing the kid hard into the wall. Confident the thug was off balance, he took hold of the kid's hand, twisting his open palm in a firm sankkyo grip. If he tried to turn all Reid would have to do is apply pressure to stop him in his tracks. While keeping a firm hold, Reid locked the first cuff around his wrist and quickly secured the other before laying him on the ground.
"I'm looking for a young boy, made a call from this pay phone here about 10 minutes ago."
"I want a lawyer."
"Haven't even arrested you yet."
"What the hell you call this?"
"I'm detaining you while I question you, this isn’t an arrest. Now I can easily turn this into an arrest for carrying a concealed unregistered weapon. If I run your name, what do you think I will find out?"
“What do you want?”
“The boy, you see him? About 5-12 years old.”
“No man, no boy around here all night, just some...some–”
“–Some what?”
“Sweet white bitch, taller than me.”
“What else?”
“Had blonde hair, a red hoodie, and some sexy tight ass pants.”
“You see her with the boy?”
“You deaf man, there was no boy.”
“I got a call, some male juvenile used this phone booth.”
“It must have been her, she was the only one that used that phone all night.”
“Where is she?”
“Fuck man, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me asshole.”
“She flew away.”
“She did huh? Okay, I was being nice, let’s go downtown.”
Reid picked the clown up, bluffing. He fought back the pain in his leg as he escorted the punk to his car
“I’m telling you the truth, she just disappeared into the sky.”
“Oh screw it, I don’t want to deal with this shit tonight, I wanna go home.” Reid said, slamming the punk against the hood of his car. “This is your lucky day pal. I’m taking these off, and you are going to walk away. If you do anything else, I’ll either take you in, or shoot you, you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes Detective,” Reid commanded as he unlocked the cuffs.
“Thanks Detective.”
“Don’t ever let me catch you carrying again?” Reid tossed the man’s wallet on the ground and sped off.
“155 to dispatch.”
“Dispatch, go ahead 155.”
“That’s a negative on the boy. Eyewitnesses say it was a woman making a call after some A-hole kicked her out of his car.”
“Bad place to leave a woman stranded. A-hole indeed.”
“Sounds like she got a lift, disregard the call.”
“10-4 Detective.”
“I’m signing out for the night, 155 out.”
---
Wearing three layers of clothing was restrictive, uncomfortable, and downright unnecessary. Not necessary to keep me warm at least. It was minus 10 degrees, cold enough I felt a slight change against my skin. Still, I was the only one strolling across Red Square not rubbing their gloved hands together trying to keep warm.
It was 5pm in the Motherland. The Sun's light, obscured by the thick clouds, was rapidly vanishing. The magnificent splendor of Moscow's city lights were coming to life, awakening from their slumber and bathing the city in a bright glow. Much of the western world who haven't ventured far will tell you Vegas, Tokyo or Paris is the most beautifully illuminated city at night. Moscow puts them all to shame.
"Quite different look than last time we were here together, yes?" came Nikolai's voice from behind. It was a different Red Square. The tanks were gone as were the protesters, who had taken to the streets demanding the heads of those responsible for his apparent death. Twice he had died that day, or so everyone thought, including myself.
"Nikolai!"
"Michael, Good to see you my friend. It okay if I call my friend by that name?"
“Of course.”
He refused when I held my hand out to greet him, insisting a friendly hug was in order.
"I did not think I would see you again."
"Why did you think that?"
"Thought I scared you off until you called asking for help."
"I was scared. Hell I still am."
"Understandably, I would be too, but we are friends, no? You would be there for me had situation been different, yes?"
"Nikolai, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"If it had been different, you think you would have made the same choice?"
"Come my friend let us get inside. I have evening prepared for us."
"I don't want to interrupt your holiday plans with your family."
"Nonsense, you are family, yes? Besides, in Soviet Union, we celebrate Christmas on January 7th, not December 25th. Remember?"
Nikolai, trailed by several bodyguards, escorted me to a waiting vehicle where we rode in silence for the duration of the short trip. We arrived at a small restaurant with a closed off private area reserved for him. As we settled, he explained how he met Megan here. Here that he learned his intuition about me was correct.
"How is our friend?"
"Megan's doing quite well. I have no idea what I would have done without her."
"She is quite remarkable woman. We were very lucky to have her on mission. Wish she could have saved Igor."
"How is his family?"
"Funny you should ask. You know his Uncle is strong Political Figure, Boris Yeltsov?"
"That Boris Yeltsov?"
"Yes. Small world, yes?"
"Understandable he wouldn't have been selected without a political tie right?"
"No my friend. Quite correct."
"So what about him?"
"Soviet Union will not last much longer. Politiburo is all but dismantled. Gorbachev will become first president of Free Russia, but his support is collapsing. He won't sit long. Igor's Uncle is gaining popularity. Enough to be a major player to win presidency.
"And he wants you to support him?"
"He wants me to join him."
I was speechless, thinking of the possibilities of the ticket–if you call it that. A powerful key political player–uncle of the late Igor Yeltsov, hero of the Soviet Union, partnering up with the living hero who practically brought down communism. It would be a sure win.
"Well you have Anzhela's vote."
"I knew I could count on your support. But vote from unknown woman, not what I had in mind."
It wouldn't be a legit vote anyway, using her identity. In the aftermath of the events last March, I had returned to her only to discover she had met someone and moved away with them. The family she was staying with were not helpful, saying her American dream finally came true.
"And what is it you have in mind?"
"Military will soon no longer control Russian Space Program. In few weeks, we announce formation of new civilian organization."
"Like NASA?"
"Yes. NASA is on board, so is American Government."
Nikolai detailed the short term and long term goals. The subject of the meeting between the Soviets and NASA last March–the meeting that was rudely interrupted during the coup d'état– would continue as planned. The world's first orbital space station, a neutral territory for scientists of all nations to work in harmony for the betterment of humanity, would in part be created by Roscosmos–the new Russian Federal Space Agency.
"I see the Commander is on board already."
"I don't even know what I would do, but count me in."
"In USA you have difficulty with identity?"
"Actually, I have a friend that took care of that for me."
I briefly shared with Nikolai about Reid, explaining that he was the one who had found Liz and Ashley. He listened intently as I told him of my involvement with Houston PD and my growing friendship with Jim.
"This police officer, he knows who you are? You can trust him?"
"I do trust him. He's a good guy, but he doesn't know the full truth."
"I see. So he thinks you are simply a martian?"
"Yes. Only you and Megan know the truth.
"What about your wife and daughter."
"No, they don't know."
"Why not tell them? I know Liz loves you. You think she will not?"
"I don't really know. Megan feels this is a bad time, and I agree. When I first returned, I was ready to tell them, but Dwayne stole that from me. He screwed them up and now they don't know who to trust. I can't stand that bastard."
"You asked me if I would make same decision as you? Simple answer is yes. Can't say would be very appealing, but I wouldn't hesitate. We are good friends for many reasons. One, we think alike, we have same values."
"You're right, we do."
"Us Russians do things different than Americans, but we we love our families just the same. I would have made the same decision for my wife and son. What I am most proud of, is your restraint. Dwayne, I might have thought of killing him because that is how Russians deal with criminals, but like you, I couldn't have done that no matter how sick he was. Sergei would have put several bullets into Dwayne, but not me."
"I wanted to rip his heart out and hold it in front of his face as he died."
"You could have with no trouble, but you didn't. Instead you surrendered your power over him and gave it to my brother–a noble deed. Not many would do that."
"I didn't want to, but I made Kaaren a promise."
"No Michael," he said with a serious tone, “it was your character, not some guilt over a promise to an alien."
Perhaps he was right. I had spent much time thinking about it; finding my real motivation for not executing Dwayne eluded me.
"And how is he?"
"My friend, it is our agreement you released all concern over him to my brother. Wrath is vile thing, one that consumes you quickly. Wondering whether he is suffering enough will not relieve your wife and daughter's suffering. It will not reduce your pain."
"How is it you are so wise?"
"I learn from good friend."
"You know Megan would be very impressed with you right now."
He poured the last of the first bottle of vodka into my glass and cracked open a second to refill his glass. He took a long draw on his drink–pausing a moment as the warm distilled alcohol slid down his throat.
"Sergei broke him fast. Camp scared him into submission. You were right about him. He has big ego, but most all show. After two months, we operated on his knee and kept him under while we transferred him. He awoke in an actual prison, but we keep illusion he is still in Kolyma. Dwayne works and is confined in solitude with minimal interaction. When in presence of others, none understand English, to keep your secret safe.”
“Why did you just tell me that after you said you wouldn’t?”
“Because my friend, you and I both know you didn’t ask out of contemptme...contempl–”
“Contempt?”
“Contempt. I have right word, yes?”
“Perfect,” I replied complimenting him. It was rare that he found himself tripping up on a word, but when he did, I simply corrected him.
“Good. Like I say earlier, your heart is in right place. As much pain as he caused you, you still have compassion. It is why I tell you. But no more, including his whereabouts.”
Indeed, there are going to be tough times ahead, this I knew too well. My wife has a long road to recovery ahead of her. There are going to be days where Kaaren’s emotions were going to seize control of me. I won’t think straight. My heart will be full of rage where I will want to kill him. But his punishment can’t be mine. It can never by mine.
“So what of Roscosmos?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I have very exciting prospect for you,” he said, refilling my glass.
---
"You get enough sleep last night?" Brownly Asked.
"Enough, got home around 3am and logged about 6 hours of shuteye."
"Good. I went through your reports from last night and spoke with the DA. We are going to hold off on the firearm charges against the driver of the Blazer. We got him on felony hit and run, and whatever else we can throw at him. Frankly the story from the truck driver is too bizarre."
"I agree. Some strange shit happening lately."
"What do you mean?"
"Well that's the word anyway. You hear that chatter from that break in? Those two punks were spouting off about demons or something."
"Ahh, horseshit. Those two were on dope, hallucinating if you ask me. These assholes will make up any damn story to get out of more jail time. Shit, I've been a cop for forty years. You know how many times I've heard that bullshit. Angels, demons, aliens, hell even the King of Rock N' Roll has been conjured up as a fucking excuse."
"Presley? Gonna have to tell me that one sometime."
"Perhaps."
"What else you need from me?"
"It's Christmas Reid, get your ass home and enjoy yourself a little."
"But Captain–"
"–Zip it Reid, don't make me take your badge to force you to rest. I'm ordering you to take the night off. Take Mendoza out and have a good time. She can use a little distraction to get her mind off that shooting."
The Mercury Savings shootout had been a game changer for Trish. In the hospital, she told him everything that had happened. One minute she had been out looking for him, sharing intimate moments of her life with Karen, the next responding to the bank robbery, being one of the latter officers to arrive on scene.
Three minutes after the teller had tripped the alarm, the bank and surrounding streets had been transformed from a peaceful quiet neighborhood to an urban war zone. Several officers were on the ground, wounded from the heavy automatic fire erupting from the four bank robbers, each decked out in full body armor and sporting automatic rifles fed by high capacity drum magazines. Police cars were instantly shredded, the cops' small arms were simply no match for their armor.
Whithers was the first to arrive on scene, screeching his car to a halt as the five men emerged from the entrance. The lead opened up–at least that's how witnesses reported it. He was calm and collected under fire, not like the others, who were sloppy with their gun handling. Broderick's well placed rounds hit Whithers before he had a chance to draw his weapon.
It was basic military strategy against American forces. Incapacitate, and mow down the rest trying to extract their wounded from the battlefield. Their high magazine capacity kept the police pinned down while Whithers was bleeding out and SWAT was still two minutes from joining the action.
It was Trish's arrival that turned the tide of the fight, arriving from the rear of the building. One of the five gunmen turned to direct his fire towards the new arrival. But she was already out of her vehicle hitting the deck as the 7.62mm rounds from the man's AK tore through the side of her cruiser. Trish, using the cover of her cruiser, returned fire from a prone position, aiming for the unprotected lower legs–the only thing she had to shoot at.
Safe from the oncoming fire, she relaxed and put a .45 hollow point through the man's ankle, dropping him like a brick. His head hit the ground, falling into perfect view for her next round, a well placed shot through his forehead, that sent him to the morgue and changed the stakes.
One of the four switched his AK for an M32 multi-round grenade launcher and lobbed a series of M561 CS gas shells into the defense line, blanketing the shattered remains of Houston's vehicle fleet with tear gas. Under cover of the thick blinding cloud of gas, the gunmen fled as the police struggled to give pursuit. In the aftermath, FBI analysis concluded the job was professionally orchestrated, with their escape planned around a typical textbook police response.
Trish's status instantly changed. Everyone knew it was her rounds that turned the tide and saved what little was left of Whithers. Overnight, the constant ridicule she graciously tolerated for the job was replaced by the department's admiration. After close to twenty years on the job, she finally had respect–and she hated it.
The first few days, she was high on the adrenaline still flowing through her veins. She bathed in her new-found popularity. The excitement exploded with the news of Jim finding the Owens. As she confidently walked the halls, seeing her name in the paper, her co-workers patting her on the back or buying her lunch, the first signs of doubt crept in. The doubt turned to regret, then mutated to a raging guilt.
The recognition and the fame rapidly faded. The recognition she earned was no longer exciting. It came at a huge cost, the expense of a man's life. It was a valid, righteous kill necessary to save the lives of innocent civilians and fellow officers alike. Still, her nights were growing longer, laying awake watching in slow motion as her .45 shattered the man’s skull.
"I adopted an orphan who lost her parents to a drunk. I saved a man who almost died from a heart attack. Dozens of other heroic deeds received no recognition, but I wipe a grease ball off the face of the Earth and everyone stops tormenting me. Why?"
Reid couldn't answer. Nor could the department shrinks. They simply affirmed her performance, her courage under fire, but no one was able to ease the demons flowing through her. The scumbag, justly sent into the afterlife, returned each night to torment her.
"I will see what I can do Captain, but she's not taking it well. I know we can use her patrolling the streets, but we may have to count her out.
"Well knock some sense into her. What the hell's got her so screwed up? Bastard deserved what she gave him."
"I agree. She did her duty, be she still feels."
"Yeah, problem with them. Too emotional about that ‘It's a life crap,’ he said mockingly. The conversation quickly grew uncomfortable. All the positive attention Brownly was giving Reid suddenly became irrelevant. The Captain was a dick and often dished out a steady stream of sexist remarks.
"Sir, with all due respect, Mendoza is probably one of the least emotional of our department. She's got her head on tight, but let's face it this isn't our first officer involved shooting. We've had a handful of male officers take an extended leave of absence in the wake of an officer involved shooting. To speak freely, it's rather naive to claim only “they” feel remorse for taking a life. That son of a bitch that locked up those girls and put a bullet through my leg visits me at night and I didn't even kill the bastard. Those we lost in the house the other day are tormenting the shit out of me. I'm on edge myself, holding on as best as I can and I'm not going to let you, I don't give a shit who you are, I'm not going to stand here and let you insult Mendoza or any other women in our department. You have my support sir, 100%, but you don't have my respect." Reid finished his long-winded response screaming at Brownly. The menacing Captain was silent for far too long, causing a stream of worry deep within Reid.
"I must say detective, gotta be the first time someone spoke to me like that."
"Sorry Sir, I–"
"–Shut your hole Reid. You apologize and I'm gonna think of you as a pussy, just when you were doing well to impress the shit out of me. Now get the fuck out of my office while you still have the upper hand in this argument."
Reid grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, slamming it in his wake.
To Be Continued....Episode 4 "Season's Greetings"
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Angel S:2E:4 "Season's Greetings”
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright © 2014
Edited by: jeffusually
***Note*** Sorry this is a little late as the Christmas season has ended. Hope you enjoy, some fun stuff in this episode.
"They're here!" Ashley screamed out loud with passionate excitement–her voice passing through the solid wood door, traveling down the driveway where my ears received the minute vibrations. Her cute little face disappeared from the curtain where she had probably spent the last half an hour peeking through in anticipation of our arrival. From further away, Liz yelled out to her, dampening her thrill–imploring her under threat of punishment to wait.
"Ashley Renee, I said don't open that door, you hear me?"
"But Mom, it's Karen and Dr. Megan."
"I don't care who's at the door, I'll open it, not you."
"But–"
"–No buts missy. You listen to your mother, or you can spend the evening in your room."
I froze on the driveway, listening to the drama unfold. Megan was right, Liz was much more tense than I had known her to be. The sounds of Ash's sobbing from her scolding certainly set the evening off in a dull uncomfortable mood for everyone except Megan, who could barely hear the exchange. Liz did overreact considering Ash's actions, but it was based on sound judgement. In light of their experience, my wife was justified, taking on double duty to keep our daughter safe. She made me proud, knowing in my absence Ash was looked after with great care.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing, it's all right," I explained as Liz' voice calmed and lovingly explained to the excited kid her reasons for her new rules. The sounds of the two quickly making amends restored my holiday cheer, as glimpses of Liz' loving nature emerged.
"Keep your head up and enjoy yourself tonight. You're going to do just fine"
Megan patted me on my shoulder as I nervously approached the front door. Newly added deadbolts turned. Before Megan could ring the doorbell, the thick heavy door cracked open, Liz' face peeking through to verify their safety before opening her home to her guests.
"Hi Aunt Karen, Merry Christmas!" Ashley was the first to speak, appearing at the door from behind her mother's safety. Liz had made sure to dress Ashley in only the nicest of holiday attire like she did every year. My daughter was absolutely adorable, wearing a burgundy colored knee length dress made of that soft slightly fuzzy material you can draw patterns on by changing the direction of the fibers. To cover her legs, she wore white tights and shiny black leather slippers. Her hair, still long, was pulled back and wrapped in a green bow.
"Merry Christmas Ash. Liz, Merry Christmas."
"Hello Karen. Same to you," she turned to Megan and greeted her. We stood on the porch frozen in place before she finally invited us in. My eyes rapidly scanned Liz, memorizing every detail of her in all her splendor, standing alive as ever before me. My wife wore a long dark green loose fitting, long sleeved dress with shoulder pads that looked like she stole from an Oiler Linebacker. On her left chest was the gold pin shaped like a trumpet that I had given her years ago.
Her smile was forced as she stepped aside, allowing us to enter, while Ashley was glowing. Her face radiated a confident happiness missing on my wife. Children can often surprise you in how well they can handle trauma, Megan had told me as we prepared for this meeting. What would likely take Liz the rest of her life to overcome, Ashley could do in a couple of years. My daughter took my hand, not knowing her father was savoring the feeling of her touch.
"Ash, help our guests carry their gifts inside," Liz politely ordered as she bolted the door shut behind us. Our home's warm tender atmosphere had returned to the lifeless void it had become in their absence. One passing by would be unaware of the holiday cheer contained inside, as the exterior remained without the twinkling of red, white and green illumination. Inside, however, the pleasant fragrance of pine and cinnamon mixed with the heavenly aroma of Liz' kitchen.
Ashley led us to the tree, one of the largest in our family history. It was covered top to bottom with ornaments and twinkling lights. The mantel was furnished with long strands of live pine branches garnished with holly berries and pinecones.
"You can set the presents down here Aunt Karen."
"Thank you sweetie." I stretched my now free arms out to her as I squatted. "You look very beautiful tonight, you know that? Come here, give me a big hug." She fell into my arms and placed her head on my chest. I tightened my hold on her, as I leaned my head down and kissed the top of her head.
"Can I get you two something to drink? Some wine, a cocktail perhaps?" Liz said, interrupting the moment. I stood up lifting the bag I brought with me and handed it to my wife.
"I brought some wine for you."
"Why thank you Karen, that is very kind of you. Please, have a seat and feel free to help yourself to the hors d'oeuvres."
The coffee table selection was different from what I was used to. All the junk food that we snacked on before dinner was missing, replaced by a smorgasbord for rabbits filled nothing but raw vegetables and fresh fruits.
"Can I help you with anything Liz," Megan asked, following her into the kitchen, my sort of wingman for the night, running a brilliant diversion operation allowing me to enjoy Ashley's presence.
"I'm okay for now Megan, just enjoy yourself."
She remained with my wife, beginning the first conversation of the night.
–––
"How was your evening at your parents' last night?"
"It was quite lovely. Little smaller than usual. My brother, sister-in-law and niece are out of town and my sister spent the night with her newest boyfriend's family," Liz thinking ahead to where the conversation would likely lead, a talk comparing this year with last year, so she shifted the conversation.
"Frank came by the other night. He told me about you and Brad. I'm really sorry to hear that. Even worse as to who it was with."
"Liz, don't worry about me. Brad's ancient history, he’s not a concern anymore. Yes, it hurt and yes, Susan’s betrayal hurt even worse." Liz didn't waste a second and began probing.
"So, this mean you found someone else?" Megan's face flustered a bit before she had a chance to contain her feelings. She gave it a quick thought and decided Liz could handle it.
"Kinda. It’s nothing serious right now."
"And do I know this person?"
"Yes. You're not going to believe me, but Gene and I have been getting a little close."
"Gene? You mean Eugene?"
"Yes, Eugene Shephard. That Gene," Megan said with a smile on her face.
"I thought none of you liked him much?"
"He was a jerk at times, but he's gone through many changes and emerged a different man. Spent a whole year on board with him, all the while not wanting to get near him. Now I can't wait until Wednesday when he comes home."
"Comes home, where is he?"
"He's still in Russia."
"Russia, what's he doing there?"
"Oh, Liz, I'm sorry, I never told you. We were all invited to the Soviet Union to continue our partnership with the Russian Space Program and were caught in the middle of a coup. I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for–" Megan's emotions emerged, showing her vulnerabilities briefly.
"-Our special friend saved the day?"
"Yes, but the real heroics were done by Gene and Nikolai. Gene nearly gave his life to save mine, and Nikolai practically toppled the communist party."
"Nearly gave his life?"
Megan pondered how much she should explain, but thought this was a good opportunity to teach, that not all men change for the worse, some change for the better. "Liz, Gene can't walk. He took a bullet to the spine and is paralyzed from the waist down." Liz put her hand up to her mouth as her eyes started to tear up in sympathy.
"Oh my god Megan, I'm so sorry, I didn't know. How is he now?"
"Liz, it's ok. I took it worse than he did. He's full of spirit and a much better man than he ever was."
"You don't mind having a man in a wheelchair?"
"Not at all. It's the spirit inside Gene that I am attracted to, that body he's trapped in, while I love that too, isn't what I am in love with." Megan praised herself silently for finding a way to turn this sad story into something Liz could hopefully benefit from in the near future.
"That's very sweet Megan. I hope I can meet the new improved Gene sometime. You want some more wine?" she asked, lifting the bottle and pouring before Megan could protest.
"So, I take it Frank delivered some good news?"
"I guess. Just money. Ashley and I will do just fine financially, but,” Liz hung her head low, staring at the pot of gravy she was stirring, “it doesn't replace Michael. I would rather have my husband than a pension.”
“Of course you would, and I know there is nothing in the world he would want more, than to be with the two he loves the most.”
“I wonder what he’s doing right now?” Liz inquisitively asked as she removed the roast from oven.
–––
Kaaren remained still, lying down as the room around her glowed bright yellow. She felt a pleasant warming sensation as the energy flowed through her veins, transforming every molecule. It was a different feeling than it had been before, but nevertheless, she still felt stronger. The dull pain in her shoulder was gone and the gash in the side of her head was fully healed.
She sat up as the last of the radiation ceased, the room returning to its sterile white look. The pain from Michael’s deteriorating bone and muscle mass was gone, leaving her with a sense of strength in his thighs. She reached out with her arms, flexing Michael’s newly developed muscles.
“It worked,” she said in her native tongue. The data was correct, the radioactive material that heated her planet’s core and found its way to the surface was indeed making her frail human body nearly immortal. The council who executed her mother and killed her father would soon be bowing down before Michael.
Kaaren opened the door to the main deck of her ship, looking out the window. Flying through hyperspace was not visually stunning. After opening the wormhole gate, she entered into a void outside of Space–Time, where her ship was no longer within the fabric of the universe. Here, anything with mass could easily break the light speed barrier while taking shortcuts to other parts of the galaxy. Few had attempted to travel to neighboring galaxies, and even fewer had ever been heard from again.
She wondered what became of Michael in her body. Did he succeed? It was only a few hours since she left him, but she knew over a year had passed from his point of view. She felt guilty for ejecting him into the blackness of space and leaving him where she found him, but it had to be done. Kaaren knew she couldn’t risk jeopardizing her mission by allowing herself to become emotional. She programmed the ship to release Michael and keep herself confined until the ship entered the gate. Had she seen herself, or Michael seen his own body, one of them might have changed their mind. It was better this way.
“They won’t be able to stop me. I will have my vengeance, and lead my people to a new home.”
–––
“How old are you Aunt Karen?”
“Twenty three,” I said as I sat at the edge of her bed, quoting the age my legal documents said I was. Kaaren's real age was a mystery to me. She left me on my own without revealing much about her. For all I knew this body I now inhabited could indeed be in its early twenties, or could in fact be far older. Her people might age much slower than humans, making me a senior citizen that appeared to be in the prime of her life.
In the short time since I had walked through the door, Ashley was actively engaged in talking my ear off. Instead of the fathers who sat on the couch ignoring their daughter’s pleas for their attention, I sat listening to every word she said, while asking all the questions I had for my daughter the last two years, “So you’re going to be twelve in June right?” I asked, realizing I was now, at least according to my birth certificate, twelve years older than my daughter, closer to an older sister than her parent.
“June 25th, what about you? When’s your birthday?”
“Mine? I’m in June as well, June 5th,” I said simply, giving her Karen’s legal birthday, shying away from complex explanations I really didn’t know how to answer, “So your mommy tells me you are going to go back to school soon. Are you excited?”
“I’m a little scared.”
“You know, when I was younger, my dad moved around a lot. I always had to change schools. At first it was scary having to meet new people every year, but eventually I realized most were nice people once you got to know them.”
“But what if they don’t like me?”
“Ash, who wouldn’t like you? You are such a pretty girl, extremely sweet and very smart. I hear you like math."
"I guess."
You know, no matter where you go in the universe, no matter what languages you speak, mathematics is the one universal language that all intelligent creatures know?”
“Because the numbers are the same?”
“Yeah, kinda like that,” I said, impressed with her simple explanation. I withdrew some books off her shelf and laid four on the bed next to each other, while placing two apart from the rest, “now, this is very simple, but if I were to add these two books to this pile, that would make six. Regardless of what language I thought in, regardless of culture, there are still six books. Now the characters we draw might be different, but the actual objects they represent don’t change.”
“I get it.”
“You can teach math to anyone in the world and they will understand.”
“Do you like to read?” she asked as if trying to change the subject.
“I do, but I haven’t read for fun in a while. What’s your favorite book?”
“This one, she said,” her hands immediately gravitating to the first book on her shelf and withdrawing it.
“Anne of Green Gables,” I said, reading the front cover.
“It’s one of my all time favorite books. I read it three times this last year. It’s one of my mom’s favorites too. The girl is a redhead like her.”
“What’s it about?” I asked, pretending to not have a clue, but being vaguely familiar. In high school during my freshman year, the drama department produced the play based on the book. I saw bits and pieces of the rehearsals, having gone to see Amber DuPont, a junior I set my sights on. She had won the lead role not only for her acting skills, but also because she had long beautiful natural red hair and freckles that matched the character.
Amber was a nice girl. While she wasn’t part of the elite circles at school, she was higher up the chain than I had been. Many made fun of her for the very features that won her the role, but I liked her. As Liz would attest, redheads always drew my attention and boy did she love the attention I gave her. Soon enough a friendship blossomed. Unfortunately, before I had an opportunity to develop a relationship with her, my dad was re-stationed for his final assignment, forcing us to move yet again, leaving her behind.
For a short while I hated him for forcing me to leave yet again, leaving behind a girl I finally connected with. We wrote each other for a year, keeping in touch, vowing to somehow get together again. Then tragedy struck, my mother, who had always been there, suddenly left, leaving nothing behind to explain why.
It was the worst time of my life, second only to my father’s untimely death. Unlike the death of a parent, the sting of abandonment hurt like no other feeling I had ever experienced. I was a teen, still trying to figure life out, when my greatest support, the one who nurtured me from conception, said one day that she needed a weekend to herself. The weekend became a week before the letter arrived. It was cold and emotionless, without the familiar essence of her love often found on birthday cards. All she said was that she had to leave–it wasn’t anything I did, or my father. She just left.
So many I knew had dads abandon them. It was a common story, but here I was, alone in the world, being the only one with a mother abandoning her only child. It was simply unheard of–Moms didn’t leave. Dads yes. Mothers? Never. For years, I struggled to find answers, but none came. Eventually, my father and I moved on. He retired a couple of years early, sacrificing his full retirement to be there through my teen years. My father spent much time working, but when he was home, he was actively engaged, teaching me to be a man. Those times were my more treasured memories, when he made up for lost time. He would take me to ball games, fishing trips, camping in the woods.
After our small family dwindled to two, we became exceptionally close until his untimely death, two years after Liz and I married.
“It’s about an orphan girl,” Ashley continued as I listened intently. “She is mistakenly sent to live on a family’s farm. They wanted a boy, but got her instead. Eventually they began to like her and let her stay.”
“Sounds like a wonderful story.”
“Would you like to read it?”
Her question shocked me at first, until I thought about it. “Sure, I would love to.”
Might be a great way for me to connect with my daughter. I opened the book and began flipping the pages.
“There aren’t any pictures in case you are looking.”
“No, sweetie,” I said laughing, “I’m reading.”
“Are you really reading, or just pretending?”
“Seriously. I’m at the part where Matthew is at the Bright River Train Station and finds out the girl on the shingles is the really the orphan he’s supposed to pick up.”
Ashley took the book from my hand, careful not to lose the page I was on. She skimmed down the two pages of text reading the story from that point, confirming my claim.
“Wow, you really read all that?”
“Yes.”
I gloated a minute, enjoying impressing her until I realized I was treading on dangerous ground, talking about things I shouldn’t. “Ash, I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“It’s okay, I won’t say anything. Besides, some people really can read really fast.”
“You know what? You are right, some people can read. Maybe faster than me. I tell you what, I will take this home and read it slowly, then next time I see you, we can talk about it,” she gazed into my eyes and smiled.
“I would like that. I’m happy you are my friend.”
“Oh Ash, nothing brings me more joy than to have you for a friend as well. I hope you and I will get a chance to spend more time together.”
“Me too.”
“So, what else did you get for Christmas?”
“Um..let me see," she said, looking at the pile of boxes Liz likely made her take into her room prior to our arrival. "I got lots of clothes, shoes, books, make-up, and a few other things. Most of my dad’s friends sent lots of gifts, but Mom and I are going to donate them.”
My mind couldn’t stop thinking about the make-up. Part of me wondered what Liz was thinking, letting our daughter wear make-up at eleven years old, “Make-up. You’re wearing make-up already?”
“Just a little. Mom won’t let me have too much. She said I’m too young, but she bought me some basics. The overwhelming sigh of relief was setting in when she asked, “Can I paint your nails?”
I drew my moderately long nails to my face, gazing at them a moment, pondering Ashley’s request. After a year, they rarely came to my attention, but in the beginning they drove me nuts. “It’s ok, maybe another time,” I said, denying her request, not really wanting to have them painted.
“Why not?” She looked at me with a long sad face. I felt a chill come over me, suddenly powerless. The few times Megan tried to convince me to embrace femininity, I quickly expressed my unwillingness. She caught on quick that I had no intention to live as a woman and respected my feelings. Yet, here I was, staring into my daughter’s eyes with a look on her face–a look no dad could resist.
“All right,” I said, caving to her will.
“Great, what color do you want?” she asked, opening a little purple make-up kit. My finger immediately gravitated to the red polish. “That’s my daddy’s favorite color. He always wanted everything in red or black. He has a red sports car out in the garage, you wanna see it later?”
“Sure sweetie, I would love to,” I said as she shook the polish, mixing it up, followed by her carefully opening the small bottle. The strong smell tingled my nose.
"Hold your hand out please," she said, wiping the excess polish off the brush before she carefully applied the first stroke, de–virginizing my nails. Ashley was so cute the way she tried to apply the polish, pretending she was a seasoned pro. Her strokes were slightly off, getting a little of the bright red polish on my skin, "blow on your nails while I do your other hand."
I switched hands, then blew on the wet polish as she instructed. It was a good color of red, a bright cherry hue, indeed like my car.
"What do you think my daddy's doing right now?"
"Ash, your Mommy doesn't want me to talk about that with you unless she's around."
"I know, but I miss him."
"Aww honey, I know you do and right now, he misses you very much."
"I wish I could talk to him." I turned my head, peering through the walls to make sure Liz or Megan weren't around. Their heat signatures appeared to still be in the kitchen where they continued to work preparing the meal.
Determining it to be safe I turned to my daughter, "Pretend I can send him a message, what would you want to tell him?"
"That I love him and wish he was back home. I’m sad I couldn’t see him before he left." I put my hand up to my head, holding the side, pretending I was communicating telepathically.
"Ok, I sent it, now we have to wait a while for an answer."
“You didn’t send anything, you’re just pretending,” she said with skepticism in her voice.
“Maybe I am. What if he says something that only you could know, would you believe?”
"Do you miss your family?" she asked, not really wanting to play the game.
"Why of course I do. I love them very much. Being apart from them hurts, but because I love them so, I needed to sacrifice myself so they could be safe. It’s kind of what your daddy chose to do for you and your mom. He didn’t want to leave, but if he didn’t, none of us would be here right now. You understand?”
“I do. Thank you for saving my dad,” she said, reaching over and hugging me.
“You’re welcome. He is such a great man, your daddy. I’m glad I met him. And because I met him, I got to meet you." She sat on the bed close to me as she finished painting the last finger, I heard a sound in the doorway. My head snapped over to see Megan suddenly there, watching with a slight chuckle on her face.
"You two having fun?" she asked, stepping inside.
"Hi Dr. Megan. Aunt Karen let me paint her nails."
"She did huh? What a great job you did. Would you like to do mine later?"
"I can do them right now."
"We will have to wait, dinner is ready. Why don't you two get cleaned up and come outside," Ashley quickly stood, putting her make-up back in the little purple box as I blew on my freshly painted left hand.
“Come on Aunt Karen, let’s go.”
“Ashley, I’m going to talk to Aunt Karen a moment, you mind if we stay in your room for just a moment?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you, tell your mom we will be right there.” Ashley took off down the hall announcing to her mom what she did to my nails.
“You ok?” Megan asked with a smile on her face.
“Yeah, just fine. How long were you standing there?”
“Not long.”
“Pretty stealthy there, got past these sensitive ears of mine.”
“I wasn’t trying to. I think you two are bonding pretty well.”
“Yeah, if you consider getting your nails painted deep red, father/daughter bonding?”
“You know, my dad used to let me do the same thing to him. He didn’t care. He was never worried of his manhood being questioned, having his daughter color his nails. Of course he didn’t go out in public like that, but he was so thrilled to be part of my life whenever his schedule permitted, that he was willing to use that time however I wanted. You know what?”
“What?"
“I love him so much for that very reason. So many men lose out on that special connection because they aren’t willing to learn about their girls. Moms will get involved with all their son’s activities, and it strengthens the relationship. Ashley likes you, she feels safe with you. Don’t ruin that over your insecurities. Just be happy for the time you have with her.”
“I didn’t turn her down.”
“I know, but be careful showing your displeasure. She may pick up on it. Ashley’s still young but she can read things the wrong way. At her age, while dealing with her trauma and loss, she might take it too personally. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but I am an adult and she can’t get upset if I refuse to do something.”
“You really wanna be that stubborn? You have any idea what you are risking?” Megan reduced her voice to a whisper,
“Michael, you just remember, it’s a privilege you are here tonight. By no means, did I design this evening, nor put Liz up to it. She’s not ready for you, not in three months. Yet, something stirred in her. She’s trying very hard to reach out to you. This evening, spending Christmas with us was their way of thanking you. If you screw this up, especially by violating Liz’s terms, this might be the only time you get to see them. In their eyes, you have no place as part of the family. Liz is the sole parent and you will listen to her. If she doesn’t want you talking to Ashley about your special gifts, then you zip it.”
“Why are you being a hard ass all of a sudden?”
“Because, you have no idea the shit I am trying to undo on your behalf. What’s his name screwed them up worse than you could imagine and I’ll be damned if you are going to screw up three months of therapy because you’re telling Ashley things you’re not supposed to talk about. Now, make sure those nails are dry, wash your hands, and get your butt to the dinner table.”
“Whatever,” I said, pushing past her, making way to the bathroom across the hall.
“Damn it, I’m doing this because I care about all of you and I want you to be together,” I heard her saying in a quiet whisper as I shut the bathroom door.”
–––
Reid
“Danny! Merry Christmas Cuz.”
“Hey Jimbo, you sorry son of a bitch, how have you been?”
“Doing pretty good. Dan, this is my girlfriend Trish. Trish, this is my cousin Danny Reid. He’s a lifeguard in Galveston.”
“Fucking lifeguard, that’ll be the day.”
“Jim told me you made Sergeant?” Trish said, breaking up the banter between the two cousins.
“That’s right. Got me a promotion six months ago. Nice life, just sit in my car and keep an eye on my officers and the pretty ladies bathing in the sun.”
Jim took Trish’s coat and hung it on the hook in the doorway next to his overcoat.
“Jim told me about your famous beach encounter a few years back.”
“Ahh yes,” Dan said as he motioned the two out of the hallway and into an empty living room. “Two were screwing on my beach like horny pubescent teens burning in lust. Should have seen the look on their faces when I hit them with my light. Took a moment for me to place the face, but damn it was him alright.”
“She’s quite a woman,” Trish shared about the first time she met Liz and her daughter. She was in her cubicle when the call came in. Reid had reported in calling for assistance. Days of misery contemplating worst case scenarios came to a sudden halt. Her worries finally subsided knowing the man she loved was alive and so were the Owens.
She fought every impulse to abandon her post and drive out to meet him. Instead, she remained at the station, partially afraid she would blow the cover on their relationship. It bothered her that Jim wanted to keep the relationship secretive. There were no rules against dating, especially since they worked different divisions. Many times she felt Reid was ashamed of her. Same with his family. He always had an excuse why they couldn’t meet.
Everything changed that day. She had the department’s respect. Jim embraced her, letting the cat out of the bag in front of news crews as he was wheeled into the emergency room. There was no howling by her fellow officers, just a simple nod showing their acceptance of their relationship.
Trish released her grip, letting the ER staff admit her boyfriend. As she stood up, she found herself face to face with Liz Owen. Trish recognized her face from the dozens of photographs she had seen of her. The astronaut’s wife’s pale skin pierced through the trails where her tears washed away the accumulating dirt on her face. Trish reached out and took her hand, assuring her she would remain at her side until her daughter was rescued.
“What a moment that was when we got the call the girl was safe. Liz had just finished cleaning herself up at the station when Karen called saying she had the daughter at the Owen's. That reunion was her single greatest experience as a police officer.”
“Kinda nuts how we all played a part.” Jim added.
“Yeah, well I saw her first and I have proof. Wanna see the original autograph?”
“Not right now.”
Danny turned to the bookshelf and withdrew a small picture frame. He blew hard on the glass surface, kicking a small cloud of dust into the air.
“Sorry Trish, he’s going to show you anyway.”
As Danny handed the framed white citation ticket to Trish, the doorbell rang, indicating more guests had arrived.
“Pretty full of himself isn’t he?”
“He is, but you get used to it.” Jim said, looking at the original for the first time. “Definitely not a fake.”
“How can you tell?”
“Been through enough of the Owen’s finances during the investigation. Saw plenty of Michael’s signatures. It’s legit. See, you have to compare dozens of signatures and analyze them for the same patterns. I’m not an expert, but I worked a fraud case where this scam artist was also one hell of an artist. His forgeries were superb and fooled everyone except an expert we brought in from Dallas. He compared over two hundred samples. At a glance they looked alike, but when you looked closely, you could see minute differences in pen pressure. Turns out this guy was a lefty like a lot of creative types, but the owner of the accounts was right handed. Under a microscope you can see the pen’s ball digs into the paper at a different angle than it would have if written right handed. It’s what we used to convict the guy.
“Interesting. So you're an expert now?”
“Nah, enough to know this isn’t a forgery. I mean, it is pretty darn good and Danny isn’t motivated enough to pull an elaborate scam like this.”
Reid looked up, hearing familiar voices as they made their way inside the house. He took the frame and placed it on the coffee table.
“Well, ready to meet my folks?”
“Jamie, I’m so glad you could finally be home for Christmas and brought Trish along. We were beginning to thing she wasn’t real,” Jim’s mom Janet said as she stood beside her son, filling his plate with mashed potatoes. To most he went by James, those closest in his life called him Jim, but Jamie, only his mom and grandmother got away with that name.
“I’ve been busy working.”
“Every year? You haven’t been home for Christmas in three years, don’t tell me they don’t have a rotation each year.”
“It doesn’t always work like that.”
Truth was, Jim didn’t enjoy hanging out with much of his family. Not while Sarah wasn’t in the picture. His family, with their deep Texan roots, didn’t approve of her lifestyle. At first, Reid didn't either and was chiefly responsible for pushing her away. Jim and Sarah were close growing up. She was the little brother he always wanted, playing just as if she was one of the boys. When the other boys in the neighborhood teased her for being a girl, Jim stood up and defended her.
It was Christmas five years ago when the shit hit the fan. Sarah brought her girlfriend home and mass chaos ensued. Reid suspected his sister's definition of girlfriend was something more intimate than her mother believed. Still his shock when Sarah made the announcement at the family table in the middle of dinner drove him to say hateful things. He found himself no longer defending his little sister, but condemning her. The rest of the family joined in behind him, each taking their turns praying for The Lord to cast the demons out of her that drove her to rebel against God's holy institution.
Jim and his mom spent many hours conversing, trying to make sense of where Sarah went wrong. Their relationships with Sarah deteriorated overnight as every moment with her was spent trying to save her from her sin.
Jim fought the hardest, using his badge to pry into her life. He dug into the girlfriend's criminal record, finding she had several drug convictions, even going so far as to pulling her over and trying to bust her for DUI. The harder he attacked her lifestyle, the more withdrawn she became, running away for weeks on end, always returning when she needed money.
The ongoing battle culminated in her suicide attempt. Jim was on duty when the Sarah called, saying she just downed half a bottle of ibuprofen. She had threatened killing herself many times, but it was always a ploy for attention. Jim suspected this too was a ploy, a desperate attempt to wake him up. Instead of calling her bluff, he called for immediate assistance. He had a bus arrive on scene and had her taken to the hospital for a drug overdose. To further drive the point home, he arranged for her to remain committed for a week under the supervision of a suicide counselor.
It was during that week of Sarah's stay in rehab that her girlfriend found herself alone without her lifeline. Jess wasn't the attention seeker that he suspected Sarah of being and was found dead in a blood-filled bathtub with deep lacerations on her wrist. The Coroner found a fatal level of prescription pain killers and alcohol in her system that would have killed her had she not cut her artery.
It was the first death Reid had encountered involving someone he knew. All the anger and hate he had been dishing out ended that moment he was hovering over the body of his sister's girlfriend. A deep regret fell over him, knowing it was his doing that left Jess alone with no one to turn to, only it wasn't Jess he saw in the tub. The head half submerged in the bloody water was Sarah's face. No matter how many times he cleared his eyes, he couldn't clear the illusion of his sister' sad face on Jess' deceased body.
"Jamie tells me you have a little girl?" Janet said.
"Not so little anymore, she's twenty five."
"Well, not surprising, he must have missed telling me that part. How young were you when you had her?"
"Actually Sam's adopted. She had a rough life, lost her family to a drunk driver when she was young."
"Oh my, how tragic."
Trish spent a couple of moments telling Jim's mom and aunt the story while Jim and the guys talked football, making sure not to give too many details that might trigger a reaction. She had a strong feeling Jim must have warned the family not to talk about her shooting. None of them mentioned it, despite her being in the news.
"I love stories like this. Jim hardly tells us the heartwarming tales of his job. I only hear about the scumbags he deals with."
"How many of you ladies are in your department?" Jim's elderly aunt asked.
"We make up about 9% of the department. Most in doing administrative work. About nine of us on the beat, four detectives, and one Lieutenant."
"That little?"
"Not that many of us, no. One day perhaps."
"Tell me Trish, how did you and Jamie meet?" Janet asked, changing the subject.
"Jim and I? Let's see, this was three years ago in–"
"–June," Jim said interrupting.
"I know, your mom asked me to tell the story. You had your chance Jamie."
"Hey, watch it with the Jamie, you don't get that privilege."
Trish smacked him on the arm and turned back to Janet, while lifting her glass and taking a long tug on her chardonnay,
"We worked a kidnapping case together. Divorce gone bad, dad took off with the kid. Jim arrived on scene, but couldn't speak a lick of Spanish, so he called me over."
"And you translated for him?"
"No, I can't speak Spanish either, I'm half Filipino on my dad's side, white Texan on my mom's. Everyone automatically assumes I'm Mexican."
"I didn't know that."
"Anyway, we ended up helping each other out on the case, eventually finding the father before he hit the border. After Jim asked–"
The sound of breaking glass startled Trish mid-sentence. She looked to her left in time to see red wine splatter all over the white tablecloth. The red liquid soaked into the cloth and spread out. Jim stood up quickly to avoid any of the wine falling on his brown slacks.
"Jesus be careful," Danny yelled at his ten year old son seated next to Jim.
"It's okay, it was an accident. He was passing the corn and the plate was heavy." Jim said, defending his nephew. He reached out and picked up the pieces of broken glass off his plate.
"Jamie, pass me the plate, there's glass in there. Let me get you a new plate."
Jim lifted the plate and turned to Trish. She wasn't there. He turned further to find her a couple of feet back, her chair scooted against the wall. She had one hand covering her mouth.
"Trish, you okay babe?"
She didn't reply, just sitting there, eyes wide open, frozen in place. The table fell quiet, everyone turning their attention to her.
"You swallow some glass?" Janet askedm to which Trish remained quiet.
"Sweetie, what's the matter?"
Trish stood up, still covering her mouth, and hurried out of the dining room.
"Guess she doesn't like your cooking hun," Jim's dad said to his wife, putting her down as he often did. Reid set the plate down and ran after her.
"Maybe Jimbo here got her knocked up," Dan's younger brother accidentally blurted out loud.
"David, I can't believe I just heard you say that."
"Sorry, but she looked like she was going to puke."
Dan smacked his brother upside the head. "You dumbass, that's not what's going on.
Reid checked the bathroom door, finding it wide open. He peered inside, flipping the light switch on, flooding the room with light. She wasn't inside. Reid swept a few more rooms before catching a faint smell of cigarette smoke. Trailing the scent to a cracked rear sliding door, he scanned the darkness, catching a glimpse of an orange glow before it disappeared. Reid slid the door open and approached the spot where Trish was standing.
"Hey babe, you okay?"
Reid's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, so he could see details of her face in the pale moonlight. Tiny fragments of the moonlight reflected off her cheek. She looked at him without saying a word, her hand behind her back hiding the cigarette.
"That help?"
Trish nodded. Reid held his hand out. Slowly she reached around and reluctantly handed the smoke to him. Instead of putting the cigarette out, he lifted it and took a deep drag and held the smoke. The calming feeling rushed through his body, bringing a sense of peace. As he blew out the smoke, he handed it back to her. Confident he gave his consent, Trish took another deep drag, holding it a moment before blowing the smoke out her nose.
"I thought you hated smoking Jim."
"I do, but man that shit is great on the nerves. Been so stressed lately with that son of a bitch running around. Every minute I'm driving around, I'm afraid he is going to turn my shop into a barbecue. We've lost a lot of great officers lately and I can't stand to think we might lose another.
"Whithers?"
"No baby. You."
"Yeah, well you know that might be a possibility."
"I know." Jim took a seat on the cold brick wall around the edge of the pool, gently wrapping his arm around her hip and pulling her toward him. She took another drag as she sat next to him. "Had a talk with Brownly. He wanted to know when you were coming back."
"Not sure I want to continue and I don't want to sit at a desk the rest of my career. I've been talking to Sam and I might take an early retirement. So, I won't get full benefits, but she's grown up and will have a job soon."
"What are you going to do?"
"Don't know. Maybe I'll talk to Karen and get a PI firm going. I can still do something, but out of the action." Reid thought about Karen and the fight they had the night before. He reached out, signaling he wanted another drag. Instead, she reached into her coat and withdrew another cigarette, lighting it with the burning ember of the first one. She handed what was left of the first to Jim.
"You gonna start smoking too?"
"Nah, just tonight."
"That's what I said a month ago. You don't mind me smoking?"
"Haven't said anything all month have I?"
"You knew."
"We kiss, right? You think those breath mints cover that up?"
"Well thanks. I promise it won't be an ongoing thing."
"Don't worry about it. I understand what happened in there."
"No you don't." Trish said, turning her head away from him.
"Sure I do. I've seen more blood than you have on the job, always the first think I think of when I see something–"
"–Jim, you don't know what it's like, okay, so don't try and act like you do."
Trish stood up, breaking the embrace Jim held her in. She walked to the edge of the pool, staring at the moon's reflection in the still water.
"Okay, so talk to me babe. I'm here for you."
"I don't know. It's kinda hard to explain. The wine looked like blood, but it was a smell that triggered it. I can't place it, but certain combinations of food give off an odor that makes me think of that day.
"Never heard of that before. I know PTSD often creates audible and visual triggers, but smells? You talk to the shrink?"
"Yeah, they're worthless. Might look into some therapy outside the department."
"What about Dr. McCormack?"
"Not her area of specialty. Besides, what the hell does she know about PTSD?"
"More than you think." Reid said, standing and joining his girlfriend by the pool, wrapping his arms around her.
"Yeah, I know about her mission in space and how traumatic that must have been, but that's different from a firefight."
"No, she was in a firefight. Had a Russian point a gun in her face, almost blew her head off...almost shot her."
"Shit, when the hell did this happen?"
"March."
"March? This last March?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"Her friend took a bullet to the spine to save her. Why do you think she wasn't talking to Karen. She withdrew, hiding in the American embassy until she returned the day we freed Liz."
"That's why Karen was so upset that day."
"Yeah, I guess so. Rough when people walk out on you. You know, I will never do that to you."
"What are you saying Jim?"
"Just that, you can always count on me to be there for you. I love you."
"Yeah, I know and I love you too."
"You okay to go back inside?"
"Yeah sure, I guess so."
"Good, because I have an announcement I want to make to everyone and I need you there." They turned toward the house arm in arm, both taking the last couple drags before entering the house.
"Announcement, you get a promotion?"
"Maybe something like that."
---------
Miller pulled his cruiser to a stop behind the Old white VW van while humming Jingle Bells, the popular Christmas tune stuck in his head since hearing it two hours ago at the 7-Eleven.
A small dinner rush was in full swing. Patrons too lazy to cook, or those who didn't celebrate the holidays blanketed the streets with moderate traffic. The owner of Fulton's Steak House called in the complaint regarding the eyesore in front of his business. The vehicle showed up midday when no one was around. The beat up POS vehicle was sticking out into the slow lane slowing traffic and blocking the space where the restaurant valet set up their station.
Miller hated his bullshit assignment. Every year since he made Sergeant, he managed to have Christmas off. This year, not so lucky and for what, a few parking tickets? Since the incident with his son, he had been reduced to what the other guys called the meter maid. They littered his desk with feather dusters, even hung a French maid outfit in his locker. He came close several times to decking some of the guys, but resisted, knowing further acts of aggression would land him deeper down the drain.
"89 to Dispatch, need a plate on a white VW van, Texas plate Adam, David, 115, Henry. Vehicle illegally parked along 2400 block of W Alabama St.."
"10-4 89, VW van Adam, David, 115, Henry was reported stolen on November 30th in Dallas."
"Copy," Miller said, peering into the window, searching for any clues. All the windows were intact, leading him to conclude the lock was jimmied. He returned to his vehicle and withdrew his own slim jim from the trunk, returning to unlock the vehicle, "Dispatch opening the vehicle now, stand by."
"10-4 tow truck en route."
"This car's a pile, don't know who would report it stolen," he said as he began working the lock. The notch on the slim jim caught the lock and he gently pulled up. As he did, the window shattered, "son of a bitch," he yelled out. He glanced down at the shattered glass now covering the front seat. The moment he noticed the blood, a warm feeling began to fill his body, followed quickly by pain. He reached up, touching his left shoulder. His right hand was covered in blood and his left arm wasn't responding to his commands. Panic set in, realizing he had just been shot. His body began shutting down as he abandoned his weapon and instead went for the radio.
"89 down, officer needs assistance, taking fire from unknown position. Need assistance," Milled said into the radio with a weakening voice as a second bullet arrived striking him in the upper leg. A woman screamed, halting traffic as his blood spattered all over the side of the white van. He turned, grabbing his weapon, searching for the shooter. A third bullet impacted his right hip, the energy from the bullet tearing through the hard bone of his hip and forcing him back against the car. Dispatch was trying to confirm his report while his body slid into a seated position, his back against the van. He picked up his 9mm and began firing blindly, still not able to locate the shooter.
"Help Goddamn it, someone help," he yelled. Everyone was frozen in place, afraid to approach.
"89, come in, over." Miller dropped his empty handgun, and grabbed the radio. As he bled out, a shape moved at the end of the alley directly facing him. The figure, a large white man dressed in tattered rags, stood from a trash pile along the back wall.
"It's him," Miller mustered up all the energy he could in order to speak clearly through the mic. He drew in a deep breath, preparing to communicate the next words when a quick flash of light appeared. The bullet traveled the distance in less then a second, hitting Miller between the eyes, blowing the back of his skull all over the already tarnished white door of the van.
---
"That was a wonderful dinner, it was absolutely fantastic,” I said as I strolled down the street with Liz just as we used to do after dinner. The meal was, without exaggeration, amazing as always. I began cautiously as certain foods I have always loved sent different signals to Kaaren’s brain, her taste buds slightly different. Some, I found desirable in a whole new way, while others became inedible.
Dinner tonight was a heavenly experience. Most of the main dishes were just as I remembered them. Liz’ Irish side of the family traditionally prepared a savory pot roast with a rich brown gravy mixed with potatoes, carrots and onions. Liz, the last in her immediate family, was now the sole keeper of her great grandmother’s recipe.
The creme de la creme was her quarter Polish contribution to the holiday dinner, pirogi. A time-consuming dish to prepare, it begins days before, where Liz and her mother used to spend the entire day kneading dough, rolling it into a thin sheet, and cutting it into small circles. A mixture of potatoes, sautéed onions and cheese is placed on the individual circles of dough, which are then folded over and sealed. They would be boiled shortly before dinner, then sautéed in rich butter and onions.
Because of the time they require, dining on them came but once a year. It was the one day of the year my strict diet was ignored, knowing my body could tolerate pigging out one day of the year. Tonight was no exception. For two years, I dreamt of my wife’s cooking and I ate as if it were my final meal before my walk down death row.
"I could tell, you had three helpings and then some. Never seen a woman with a figure like yours eat so much, then again, you're not like most women."
"No, definitely not."
"Another super power all women want. Not gaining weight after eating like a man."
"I actually don't eat that much for sustenance, rather enjoy–"
"–Stop, I don't wanna hear that."
"Sorry. Your cooking was amazing. That was what Michael wanted upon his return, right?" I already knew the answer, but asked anyway.
"Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Yes, that’s what he wanted, but you know, that was more of a secret code."
“Yes, he told me you would find comfort in those words, as silly as it sounded.”
Liz briefly chuckled. “I know it was silly. It was the only thing we could think of last minute.”
We turned the corner heading around the circular neighborhood, enjoying the pleasant sights of the brightly lit homes, all in competition to outdo their neighbor’s Christmas display. My hands were fidgety, fighting hard to keep them from instinctively reaching out and taking my wife’s hand.
“Did you enjoy the time you spent with my daughter? She couldn’t wait to see you again.”
“Yes, I had a great time. She’s a great kid isn’t she?”
“She’s my pride and joy. I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost her. She kept me going on so many levels. I have nightmares of that plane crashing with her in it. I–”
“–Liz,” I said looking down into her eyes, sparkling from the dancing array of festive Christmas lights all around, “I couldn’t imagine losing her either, but she’s home and safe–”
“–Karen, you don’t know what it’s like. You’re not her parent and you people don’t have to worry about dying. It’s rather naive of you to think you understand how a mother feels.”
“I do, where I come from, I am mortal, just like you.”
“Listen Karen,” she said, pausing near the park, “my precious daughter and I are very broken. Right now, deep down, there is a battle waging in the depths of my heart. I’m bitter and angry. The nightmares of being confined or my little girl dying with that bastard visit me every night. I am doing everything I can right now to be sane and have a normal Christmas, when I really want to scream. Last year, Ashley and I spent it confined in a dark shelter around a half dead tree we thought he salvaged from a post apocalyptic Texas hillside. He lied, told us we were all alone, my beloved Michael was dead. You changed everything for us, you freed us from his clutches and returned hope that I will see my husband again. This night is about you. I want so much to get to know you, but please don’t lecture me about details, I don’t want to hear about where you come from right now because it makes me think of–.”
I watched as Liz buried her head in her palms, unable to contain to tears any longer. I reached out and pulled her close, offering myself to cry on. My eyes watered as her pain triggered my emotions. The watery trail, chilled in the brisk night air, did little to tingle my senses, but I felt its presence nonetheless.
“I’m sorry. I would love nothing more than to be part of your lives. It’s not my intention to hurt you in any way. It’s like walking on eggshells as I don’t know what to say.”
“Pretty damn good English.” Liz said, pulling away from my embrace.
“I’m sorry?”
“Walking on eggshells. That’s an idiom, those aren’t easy to pick up and used by non-native speakers.”
“Oh, thanks.” I replied, not offering anything more, afraid of giving her useless details, most of which I myself was taking wild stabs at guessing.
“Look, I know you want to be part of us, whether to fill the void in your life, or a genuine need to fulfill your promise to Michael. I want you and I to spend some time together, but you have to understand something Karen. Tomorrow I will wake up, this night will have never happened. I won’t be happy, but will spend half my day depressed, locked in my room crying while hating you for sending my Michael away–away during the time in my life I need his loving tender care the most.”
‘God Liz, I’m standing right in front of you,’ I thought to myself and had to restrain myself to keep from blurting the words out loud. How I wanted to chuck it all, go for broke.
"I am sorry for sending him away. But I didn’t really. You should know, Michael left of his own free will, willing to sacrifice himself so that the two he loves most can go on living. He placed his trust into my hands, his only demand that I serve as your Guarding Angel, keeping you safe from harm. In his absence, he sent me as a vessel containing his undying love until he returns." I opened the small bag I carried with me, withdrawing the wrapped object inside.
"What's that?"
"Liz, I want you to have something.” I handed her the cylindrical object wrapped in a red silk cloth. She unwrapped it, finding the pink colored crystal Kaaren left me. Liz listened as a tear ran down her face while I explained the purpose of the crystal to her, bestowing unto her first rights of Kaaren’s return signal.
"Karen, that's very thoughtful of you, but, let's be realistic. I'm not going to place this on my fireplace mantel staring at it every day, reminding me that my husband is in a galaxy far far away."
"My world is within this galaxy, it's only–Never mind."
"–The logistics don't matter to me. This crystal won't be glowing for another eleven years. Hell, according to Megan, he's only halfway to your planet." She was correct, Kaaren hadn't even begun her conquest. Eleven years was a long time for a married woman to spend apart from her love; I was finding it a daunting task myself to persist without her embrace. But for me, the advantage was mine knowing she was in my presence, while Liz was unaware I was standing only a foot away hidden within the impenetrable flesh of this strange body.
"Karen, I'm sorry you had to meet the new me. Before Michael left, I was sweet and loving, but now, I am a hardened woman. I hope she will go away and the old Liz will return so that you and I can be close. I want to get to know you better. Michael trusts you, Megan trusts you, and that's all I have to go on. Perhaps later in the week you and I can spend some time together. You can share with me all that happened between you and Michael, but for right now, I have to stop thinking about everything. Let's get back, I need to clean up before dessert."
“Nonsense. You relax and enjoy yourself, I can take care of the dishes.”
–––
In the two years since I had seen Ashley, she had certainly matured. Her face betrayed her, giving away her true excitement, but nevertheless, she took her time, carefully peeling the wrapping paper away. Their year living on bare minimum taught them the value of togetherness, the true joy of the holidays, while turning away from the socially ingrained norm that Christmas was all about material possessions. At eleven, she was still a kid at heart, and they joy of opening presents was still exciting to her.
“Show Mommy what Dr. Megan bought you.”
Ashley held up the box with a smile on her face.
“It’s a camera. Thank you, I love it,” she said, already opening the box.
“Wow, that’s pretty neat, purple too. I love it Ashley.”
“Ashley, I’m glad you like it,” Megan said, happy the gift was a success. Ashley had the camera out and was withdrawing a film container Megan added to the box before wrapping it. If you want, I will show you how to load it and you can start taking pictures right now.”
“That’s a great idea honey, you can start taking pictures to share with Daddy when he comes home,” Liz suggested.
Liz paused a few, letting me set up her new camera, knowing what was coming next. I walked Ashley through the process of loading the film and warned her what would happen if she opened the door before winding the film roll up. She slid the black switch on the side, sliding the two thin doors protecting the lens. The ready light told her the flash was charged and ready for her to take her first exposure. Naturally she turned the camera toward me, but I insisted Liz be her first subject. After taking five exposures, Liz asked Ashley if she could take a few, cuing me it was time for Cosmo.
"Excuse me, I left something in the car," I said while navigating through the mess of torn wrapping paper.
"Ashley honey, be a good girl and throw the paper in the trash while Aunt Karen runs outside."
Ashley, still in the excitement of the moment, groaned at the idea of doing work, but listened to her mother. Outside, I turned, walking around the garage door, finding my way to the gate. My plan was slightly foiled, finding Liz had padlocked the side gates to increase her personal security. I tried the keypad on the garage, finding Liz changed the code. Instead of going back in the house, I performed a quick sweep of the neighborhood, then pulled myself up over the fence, landing in the side yard. Fortunately, Liz had left the side door into the garage open as planned. Cosmo was just waking up from a nap when I reached in and adjusted the red and green bow around his neck.
"You ready to meet your new family?"
As I said the words, my calm happy emotional state rapidly changed. I fought as hard as I could, but teared up anyway. Life seemed so unfair, finding myself envious of a beagle pup. He was about to become the man of my house, living there full time, the recipient of my family's love, while I needed permission to enter my own house.
"Come on Michael, get a grip. Don't screw this up. If they see you emotional, you might ruin the mood and Liz will pull the plug," I said quietly to myself, finding a towel on the dryer to wipe my face with. After a moment of breathing exercises, I felt calm enough to proceed, psyching myself up, eager to see Ashley's reaction.
I unlatched the garage door and pulled it open as opposed to hopping the fence again. After Cosmo relieved himself, we stepped inside. A conversation between Ashley and Megan abruptly ended upon hearing my return. Through the wall I could see Liz' body heat. She was standing up, pointing Ashley's new camera at our daughter, hoping to catch the expression on her face.
"Where did you go Aunt Karen?" she asked. Her inquiry was short-lived, her face lighting up with excitement, connecting immediately what it was I had around my wrist. Her eyes traced the leash down behind the couch and waited eagerly for the puppy to emerge. The flash fired followed by Ashley yelling out, "You got us a dog!?"
Megan and Liz laughed as Liz loaded the next frame, hoping to catch her daughter's first moment with the puppy. Ashley ran over, falling at her knees, meeting her new dog half way. Liz pressed the shutter button, capturing the moment Ashley lifted him from under his front legs.
"You like him?” I asked.
Ashley shook her head rapidly up and down, “I love him, he’s so cute,” she said, setting Cosmo down to hug me, “thank you Aunt Karen.”
“You’re welcome sweetie. You take good care of him, you promise me?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to name him?” Liz asked.
Ashley put her finger to her mouth, her facial expression clearly that of one in deep thought. “I don’t know, what do you think we should name him?”
“He’s your puppy, you and your mother should be the ones to decide. I’ve been calling him Cosmo for the time being.
“Cosmo’s a cute name, but I’m a little biased,” Megan said, throwing her two cents in.
“Reid of all people came up with the name.”
“What’s Cosmo mean?” Ashley asked.
“Cosmo like in Cosmos. It’s Greek for universe. Don’t the Russians call their astronauts cosmonauts Megan?” Liz explained the origin of the word to Ashley.
“Yes, that’s exactly correct.”
“Daddy’s an astronaut, but you can call him a cosmonaut too, right?”
“Very good Ashley, yes they mean the same thing,” Megan answered.
“I like Cosmo. What do you think Mom?”
“Aunt Karen is right, let’s think about it tomorrow sweetie. Why don’t you get Aunt Karen and Dr. Megan’s gifts out from under the tree?”
Ashley let her mother hold the unnamed puppy then knelt down under the tree, grabbing the last of the presents. “Here Aunt Karen, these two are for you,” Ashley handed me two large giftwrapped boxes and handed a third to Megan.
"Why thank you Ash," I said, taking the box and shaking it, hearing nothing hard inside moving around.
"Go ahead, don't be shy." Liz held out an inviting hand, letting me know it was okay to start unwrapping the gifts. I began stripping the paper away, revealing a large cardboard box from Neiman Marcus. 'Shit,' I thought to myself, bracing for what was about to come, 'keep calm, act surprised Michael.'
My hands trembled as I lifted the lid, finding pink tissue paper folded over. I looked up and faked a smile before moving the paper out of the way, finding a yellow dress with thin little shoulder straps and purple flowers.
The flash of Ashley's new camera fired as my daughter snapped a shot of me lifting the short dress out of the box, forever imprinting my shock on the film. The dress couldn't be any longer than my knees.
"We really didn't know what you like, so we thought you could use some nice clothes. That's more for spring, when the weather gets warmer. Under is a cardigan to go with it."
"A what?" I asked Liz.
"A thin sweater," Megan said, restraining her laugh with all her might. Next in the box rested the matching button up sweater. It was a thin garment, light purple in color that perfectly complimented the flowers on the dress.
"I love it,” I replied while thinking it would be perfect for waxing my Porsche, rather than wear this in public. Instead, I lied through my teeth, plotting terrible acts of vengeance against Megan should she be found guilty of putting them up to this.
Liz took the sweater and dress from me, expertly folding them up while I continued explore the contents of my box. Below the sweater was a long, red sleeveless dress. The upper part had two cups joined by a loop that I supposed wraps around your neck, acting as support. The dress was long and baggy, easily extending down to my feet despite my tall stature. I was quite pleased with the color, but again I had little desire to wear it.
"Ashley insisted on this one. I personally though blue would go better with your blonde hair, but I couldn't argue with her."
"No, I love red, it's my favorite color."
"Same with Michael. He bought me that gown of mine you were wearing, thought I would like it as much as he did."
"I'm sorry about that by the way, I hope I didn’t ruin it."
"Yeah, well it's ok, I wasn’t fond of it. I’m just happy someone enjoyed it. Turns out your affinity for higher end women's fashions ended up saving the day as we struggled to pick out your gifts. Keep going, there's more," she said, waving her hand at me to continue.
‘My affinity for what?’ Oh boy did she read that wrong. My mind wondered just how much money she blew buying me clothes I would never wear. The last item in the box was a black dress made of some kind of synthetic material that ended above my knees.
"Every woman needs one of these in her closet. When in doubt, it works for most occasions." Liz said, educating me.
‘Not my occasions,’ I thought as the flash fired again. Ashley was having a field day with her camera, snapping pictures single-handedly while holding Cosmo in the other. The thought of hurting them as they sifted through the photographs and seeing my disappointed look inspired me to relax a little. Thoughts of pleasing my wife and daughter began to flood my mind, thinking back to previous Christmas mornings. I imagined the look I had holding up the new watch Liz bought to add to my collection, or the artwork Ashley crafted with her own hands. By no mean’s worthy of a museum, but knowing it was made with her love for me made the work a priceless masterpiece. A genuine smile lit up my face.
“Thank you, it looks rather sexy. I can’t wait to wear it.”
“Try the red one on,” Ashley called out. Liz and Megan froze, staring at her. The good feelings keeping that new smile going were rapidly diminishing. Needless to say, I hadn't given any thought to immediately donning my new wardrobe.
“Ashley, Karen’s not finished opening her presents,” Megan said, standing up for me, reducing my suspicion that she turned traitor.
“Please.”
“Ashley Renee, stop whining. Dr. Megan’s right, we are still opening gifts. After we are done you can ask Aunt Karen if she is willing to change.”
My stay of execution was short-lived. I finished opening the rest, finding two more boxes of girl clothes. Adding to my feminine attire, I acquired a couple of skirts with colorful neon tops, one light blue, the other hot pink. They had a wide opening, reminding me of the popular trend where half of the top would slide down one shoulder. These for sure seemed soft enough to buff the wax on my Porsche to a mirror shine.
The last of the gifts were some belts and a variety of bracelets also commonly worn by girls to compliment their clothes.
“I hope you like everything. If something doesn’t fit, let me know, and I can exchange it for you.”
“How did you know my size in the first place?”
“That’s what we are good at, clothes shopping. Had a hard time finding jeans for a woman of your hight, so I stuck with dresses I thought you would like. I found some of the clothes you wore in my dryer, so I figured that would be your taste.”
She had me pinned all wrong. Thanks to Megan’s recommendation that my remote viewing remain a secret from Liz, my wife misinterpreted my dressing up as something enjoyable to me. Megan’s advice has always been sound, pretending Liz’ insights were correct was far safer than the paranoia she would live with with the constant thought I was invading their private lives.
“Well that was very thoughtful, thank you very much Liz. I don’t have much of a wardrobe.”
“Good. I figured of all we could get you, clothing would be the most practical. I know it’s nothing compared to what you have done for us, but please accept it from the bottom of our hearts.”
–––
We finished dessert and sat around the table enjoying our coffee while watching Ashley play with her new puppy.
"Are you going to try this dress on Aunt Karen?"
"Oh sweetie, maybe another time," I replied, trying to get out of changing. Worse, get out of putting on a dress. I was drunk when I slipped on Liz' evening gown and high on the excitement of having my family back when I voluntarily wore Liz' white dress. It was more to hide Kaaren's suit that it was anything else. After that moment, my distain for feminine clothing returned and I thought nothing further about giving it another try. Now I sat, holding boxes of what I would consider the worst Christmas presents ever. A box of socks and ugly ties would gain more of my favor than the wardrobe Liz picked out for me. All because of a false signal I sent her.
"You do like what we picked out don't you," Liz asked, making me feel a sensation of guilt. You're going to blow it Michael if you don't suck it up. Stop being such a sissy, I thought to myself.
"Quite a bit so. You have a wonderful taste for fashion," I mustered.
"What do you usually wear?"
"Pleated slacks, jeans, stretch pants, I have a couple suits and a–"
"–No, I mean what to you usually wear in–" She said point up towards the ceiling.
"Oh," why thats a good question. I had no idea. Both Kaaren and her father seemed to wear fancy white clothes. Upon waking in what I had thought was heaven, I too was clothed in what had to be her father's clothing.
"Mostly generic clothes. We have little in the way of fashion and use clothing for practicality rather than announcing our social standings or for means of attraction."
"Rather boring. I can see how you would become fascinated by it. Well I am pleased you like it. If something doesn't fit, let me know so that I can exchange it."
Megan just sat there in utter silence, holding Cosmo in order to distract herself from the conversation. She knew better than to say anything that would side with the girls.
"Please Aunt Karen, I really want to see you try this on." It was like Liz forcing me to try on the new shirts or slacks she used to buy me. Ashley looked at me with this sad puppy dog face, cute and she knew it. Somehow she guessed that the same face she made to reduce her father to putty in her hands would work on this strange alien being. Maybe it was the same face she gave everyone else, I being the only one who was unable to resist.
How could I live with myself if I choose this moment to crush her? My standing in her heart would be forever ruined, and Kaaren's chances of bonding with her would fail before they began. She would be an adult before I could be with her again, having been pushed away until I could escape this dreadful body. No, I couldn't risk it. Be a man Michael, don't hurt Ashley. Not tonight, not ever.
I turned to see Megan staring at me. She gave an ever so slight nod to convey her approval. She was right, as much as I hated to admit it. Liz and Ashley both sat waiting for me to respond.
“Of course Ash. Anything for you.”
“Really?” She said excitedly.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” I carefully withdrew the long dress from the pile of new clothing and made my way down the hall.
“You can change in the bedroom if you prefer,” Liz called out. “Just be careful with the new mirrors.”
I laughed out loud, surprised she managed to get a joke out. “Thanks, I’ll be careful. I already have enough bad luck.” The last part I said to myself.
My alien pump was beating a mile a minute. Why the hell was this so bothersome? I’m not my male self putting on a dress in front of my guy friends. This gown is perfectly appropriate for this body to wear. What’s there to be afraid of? There are no men to make snide remarks, just three women who I care deeply about.
“Stop being such a wuss man,” I said quietly to myself as I stripped off my suit coat and carefully laid it across the bed. Next I kicked off my shoes, a simple pair of black leather loafers similar to a style I preferred in men’s formal dress shoes. They had a matte black finish and sported a small buckle across the top and had a quarter inch raised heel. They were fashionable, complimenting my business suit without appearing feminine, nor raising my tall stature.
One thing I found was a lack of pain associated with wearing formal shoes. The leather no longer blistered my ankles nor caused other forms of foot pain associated with such footwear. It boggled my mind thinking how women subjected themselves every day to such painful footwear.
My baggy pleated suit pants slipped down my legs after I released the fastener and lowered the zipper. I slipped my foot through one pant leg and lifted the pants with my other leg; then I took them and quickly folded them neatly before placing them on the bed with my coat. Kaaren’s long slender legs reflected in the mirror, drawing my attention. The red silk blouse I recently purchased to complement my pants suit draped low against my bare thighs. For a minute, my eyes remained fixated on my reflection, drifting back to the night that made this night a possibility.
My wife and daughter are free because of my strange desire to dress up in Liz’ clothes. The two I love more than anything else in the world have been returned to me. How can I allow myself to be such a fool? My small delicate looking fingers began working the buttons of the blouse until finally I was stripped down to my sports bra and panties. I still had a strong disdain for those uncomfortable-looking bras with the wires and snaps and such. The soft lycra fabric of the sports bras made them more than wearable and provided enough support for my ample sized breasts. I was picking up the dress when a soft knock on the door sounded.
“You ok in there?” Megan’s voice said.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I think I can manage.
“Ok, let me know if you need me.” I watched as her body heat disappeared down the hall. I turned my attention back to the dress, examining it closely, hoping I could figure it out. It was a thick soft cotton material and not made of the shiny satin material Liz’ evening gown was made of. After a bit of fussing, I determined the proper way to enter the garment was to pull it over my head rather than step into it.
I pulled it over my head and pulled it down my slender body, finding it easier than the evening gown. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I would have to remove the bra and go bare as the built-in support wasn’t compatible with what I was already wearing. As I turned to the mirror, I pulled the dress' strap over my head and let it dangle while I pulled the bra off. I stood at the mirror gazing closely at the reflection of Kaaren’s full-sized breasts. I took them into my hands and lifted them while running my fingers across my firm nipples. The feelings running through my body shook me ever so slightly, reminding me yet again that I was not trapped in a yearlong dream.
“Quit touching yourself damn it,” I said, letting go of my tits and pulling the top around my neck again. This time, my breasts comfortably filled the cups, providing a much less restricting feel. Other than my cleavage showing, I found the dress to be rather comfortable. Before I ventured outside to face the trio of critics, I adjusted my thick wavy hair, freeing any strands from under the strap around my neck. “Pretty damn hot there man. Too bad it’s my body I’m looking at.”
Timidly I opened the door and slowly walked down the hall, stopping several times contemplating flying off. Ashley’s voice alerted me to her growing excitement. I stopped at the edge of the wall and peeked around, finding myself face to face with the three still sitting at the dinner table.
“Well now, don’t be shy Karen. Let us see you.” Liz was the first to speak. Slowly I emerged from the safety the wall provided, making visible my angelic body encased in a gorgeous red dress with the tops of my breasts showing. As I stepped into view, Ashley spoke up, “Wow, Aunt Karen, you look amazingly beautiful.”
“No I don’t.”
“Nonsense Karen, you do look quite stunning. Turn around.”
I held my arms out and rotated with a very animated movement, feeling ridiculous as I turned around. I felt bare and exposed not having my cleavage, back and shoulders covered. Strange, having lived all my life with the freedom to walk bare chested in public. A year later, my natural instinct is to cover up, and not expose my upper body.
“Come here Karen,” Megan said, motioning for me to approach her as she herself closed the distance. “Lift your arms.”
“Why?”
“Just want to fix something.” I raised my arms. She reached up just below my armpits where the dress hugged my side. Her fingers pulled the edge open and started tucking a little plastic loop inside with her other hand.
“What were those things?”
“It’s for hanging the dress on a hanger,” Ashley answered for her.
“Oh. I was wondering what they were for.”
Megan finished tucking the other side when Ashley motioned for Megan and I to stand together, her new camera at the ready. Before I could object, Megan had her arm around my shoulder and was already smiling for the junior photographer.
“Say cheese.” I cleared my mind and focused my gaze upon my wife and daughter standing before me, both displaying what appeared to be genuine smiles. For the briefest of moments, both mother and daughter seemed happy, their troubles having fled, leaving behind the merriest of souls. Their bright faces brought a smile out of me, yanking my stubborn self out of the unpleasant modeling session. Ashley pressed the shutter release, capturing what I knew would be a keeper.
“Thanks Ashley. Why don’t you go stand with Aunt Karen and let me take a picture of you two?” Megan offered, widening the smile on my face. Ashley stood close, wrapping her arm across my waist. I draped my left arm down over her shoulder and pulled her tight as Megan framed up her shot. She took a few exposures of the two of us before inviting Liz into the picture, taking several of my family and I. The year melted away and for once I felt normal as if this were any other Owen family Christmas.
–––
“I’m so proud of you Michael,” Megan said as I merged onto the highway, “you handled yourself exceptionally well back there and made that little girl of yours very happy.”
“That was a wonderful night indeed. Did you see how cute she looked when I brought Cosmo in? And Liz, she was somewhat herself. Doc, I don’t know how you did it, but you really made the night very special.”
“Michael, I had a little to do with it, but it was mostly you that brought it out of them. That’s why I’m so proud of you.”
“Well, I don’t care, you laid the groundwork that made it all possible. You’re a miracle worker, you know that don’t you?”
“Not really. I don’t want to ruin your night, but just remember the ups and downs.” I thought back to what Liz told me during our walk around the neighborhood, how she would likely spend her day tomorrow.
“Yeah, I know. She said tomorrow was likely going to be rough. I get that, but I don’t want to think about that. If I do, I start thinking of him again.”
It was too late, Dwayne popped into my mind the moment I said it. My wild imagination of the torment he subjected them to. I knew some of his wicked deeds were truly heinous when Megan invoked her doctor/patient confidentiality and refused to give an inch. She was just protecting them, she would say. All she would offer was that he never violated my daughter or raped my wife. Those two she swore were the honest truth.
I pulled into to my complex when we finally broke the silence. “Mind if I come inside for a few? I have a couple other gifts for you I wanted to give you in private.”
“You’ve already done enough.”
“Nonsense Michael, I can never return the gift you’ve given me.”
“Come on Megan, let’s drop this life debt foolishness. I acted out of instinct during the breach, and as far as me taking on this body, well–.”
“–Michael, I’m not talking about you saving me, I’m talking about the gift of our friendship. I had a feeling you would be very special from the moment I first met you.”
"Thank you," I said as I fell silent, thinking back to that night. It felt like destiny, Megan entering my life and Liz'. The three of us formed an instant bond that night that would soon expand to include Ashley. None of us could have prepared for the life-altering events that would transpire, testing the very fibers binding our friendship together.
Often, on my many sleepless nights, I would fly high above the Earth. There I would bring myself to a hover, floating amongst the clouds, watching the motion of the headlights below. Alone, in the peaceful serene solitude the sky provided, I would let my mind wander. Many times, the what-if scenario would play out in my thoughts, wondering what my life would be like had Megan not been part if it. She was my voice of reason, my comfort in Liz' absence.
"I don't know what I would do without you." She reached up and patted me on my shoulder, giving it a rub as I parked her BMW.
"Same here. I wish there were more men like you."
"What, you got a thing for guys trapped in women's bodies?" I said, lifting the red cups of my dress, lifting my breasts." Megan, surprised as my action, laughed out loud.
"Oh stop, you know what I mean."
We transitioned from her car to my apartment. The night was still young, only 10pm and neither had much to do the next day. I cracked open a bottle a wine and poured my friend a tall glass before pouring one for myself. Before relaxing on the couch next to her, I grabbed her gifts from under the tiny tree in the corner.
"Here, this is for you." I placed the large box on her lap and along with a smaller jewelry box. "Open the small one first."
"Geez this is heavy," she moaned, struggling to lift it off her lap.
"Sorry, I sometimes forget how heavy objects are."
Instead of unwrapping the gifts, she reached over on the table and handed me two wrapped boxes.
"If these are clothes or vibrators, I'm never speaking to you again."
"No gag gifts this year, I promise."
"I agree, after last year, let’s kill that tradition."
Megan carefully pealed the gold wrapping paper using her fingernails to lift the tape instead of tearing the fancy paper. I waited with excitement as the small jewelry box slowly came into view
"Ooh, jewelry. Getting more intimate are we?" She said lifting the lid of the box.
"Just a little something special for a special friend?"
"Oh Michael, I love it." She said excitedly withdrawing the necklace. It was a small silver chain with a custom charm, a silver piece with a highly polished light green stone fastened. The stone was shaped in an oval a half inch in length. "I've never seen anything like this before, what kind of stone is this?"
"Open the other, then I will tell you."
Megan again carefully unwrapped the larger present revealing a large lacquered wood case about 1 1/2 feet long by 1 foot wide and five inches deep. She lifted the lid, gazing at the contents inside.
"Oh wow, that's amazing Michael, where did you get this?"
"It's custom made, had it done just for you."
"No wonder it was so heavy. You duplicated the patch perfectly."
"There's a stand in there so you can display it if you want."
Megan traced her hands over the carving in the light grey stone. The carving was pricey, but worth every penny to produce. Carved onto the surface of the stone was a 6:1 etching of our mission patch that was sewn into our flight suits and space suits. For each shuttle mission, a unique embroidered patch was created with a graphic representing, in the simplest of manners, the nature of the mission.
For our mission, a top view of the Deliverance sat in the middle, the Earth below it, and a grey asteroid above. Around the outer edge of the oval patch were each of our last names, mine being on the top and our casualties below. Unable to duplicate color found on the patch, the curved lines converging were the US and Soviet colors signifying our union. Over the face of the Earth, the words "SIS-1 Deliverance" was inscribed.
"What's this made of, it's beautiful?"
"Part of our Lunar Neighbor."
"Moon rock! Really?" Megan connected immediately that the sample she held in her hands was not from the Apollo Missions. "You were on the moon?"
"Yes! Both this and the necklace. Been there several times over the past couple of months."
"I thought this would have made it from the Icarus." She said with a slight expression of disappointment
"Yeah, I didn't want to go back out there." I said turning my head away and staring at deep into the wine glass in my hand. For a moment I remained quiet before gulping the contents. I felt Megan's hand touch my shoulder.
"Michael, I understand. Do you want to tell me about it?"
"Another time Doc."
"Well I love it. Why dredge up old memories. I've always wanted to see the moon, so these gift are perfect Michael. You've made this girl very happy. Thank you." She reached around my neck and pulled me close to her kissing the side of my head. I lifted my left hand and touched her hand, gently caressing it as I leaned on her shoulder.
"Glad you like it."
"I do. So, these trips sound incredible, tell me about them?"
"Well for starters, the landings weren't faked." I said rapidly emerging from my slump. Truth was, I hadn't spent much time thinking about the Icarus and never told Megan about it, instead burring that memory deep inside.
"No, really? I could have told you that."
Anyone in NASA will tell you just how ridiculous the conspiracy theorists are. It was a common question asked of us during public speaking events, one we all laughed about within the circle. If only people understood the sheer volume of people involved in these missions.
“Quite spectacular up there, standing not far from where Neil made that first step.”
“You saw his footprint?”
“Yes.”
“And what's left of the LEM, what about the American flag?”
“Well, not really an American flag any more. More like a symbol of Earth’s surrender to alien invaders.”
“What?”
“The flags are all white now. I’ve been debating replacing them.”
The flags cost $5 bucks back in ’69 and weren’t made with anything to protect them from the Sun. I could leave the white flags in place, leaving the historical scene unchanged, or replace them, restoring the 1969 look.
“Good question. I say leave it as is. Don’t mess with history.”
“True, but we restore historical sites here all the time, why not do the same?”
“Another night. You know Michael, you are technically the first female to set foot on the Moon?”
“Never thought about it like that. I guess in part you’re right.”
“No matter, you made history for us girls, that’s all that matters. Of course, no one knows about it.” She held out her hand, pointing at the two packages sitting on my lap. “Your turn.”
She took the empty glass from my hand as I sat up and refilled it as my newly painted nails ripped into the paper. My dress draped between my parted legs as I lifted my bare feet and rested them on the table.
“What did you do?”
“I don’t know if you will like this. If not, be honest and I will return it. I just thought you might find it acceptable.” The first box was rather lightweight. Since she promised it wasn’t clothing, I wondered what was contained inside.
“Interesting,” was all I could say, gazing at the bag within the box. It had all the earmarks of a purse. Is was about the same size as a women's handbag, made of soft textured black leather. Instead of a zippered compartment, a leather flap secured by a silver fastener covered the opening, "you bought me a purse?"
"Well, yes and no. Go ahead, take it out."
I lifted it out of the box. Several adjustable black leather straps fell, dangling from the bag. Suddenly it became clear, it wasn't a purse. Not really. It appeared more like a backpack than a purse–a small backpack that is.
"You don't like it do you?"
"What's it for?"
"I was afraid if I bought you a purse, you would swing it at me. Instead, I happened to come across this and thought you might be comfortable carrying this around. Might be useful if you have to travel." I really didn't carry much with me, nor did my new body require the same assortment of accessories my human counterparts did. No bag was really needed to carry make-up, hair care, hygiene products or any of the thousands of mysterious items women toted around with them. I did give it some thought, finding it was a rather thoughtful gift, something I wouldn't feel insecure carrying.
"Actually Megan, I think I kinda like it. Haven't got a clue what to fill it with, but yes, I like it."
"Oh wonderful. I'm happy to hear that. Ok, now the other one."
The next package was a square shaped box about three and a half inches thick. Its mass was too heavy for clothing. I tore it open with great excitement, knowing Megan put much thought into giving the perfect gift. Although I heavily modified the instrument cluster she gave last year to making it more usable under the harsh conditions I needed it for, I found it to be the most treasured gifts I had received.
Inside I found a large leather bound book with our crew's group press photo on the cover. With me in the middle, each of us stood in our orange flight suits posing. So much of our time was wasted during training, having to appear in front of the media, looking our best. We hated every moment of it. To the world, we were celebrities, having to always exert caution in front of the cameras, making sure not to do or say the wrong thing. One would think the press conferences were a time to rest. In reality, our stress levels increased more during the moments the world was tuning into what we had to say.
Often it was personal questions they focused on, rather than serious questions pertaining to the mission. It was my doing that eventually put an end to the press conferences. One evening, we ended a grueling eleven hour stretch in the pool, having spent the day simulating the drilling phase of the operation. Megan and Collins took position inside a mockup of the Orbiter, monitoring and assisting Gene, Nikolai, Igor and Anthony as they rehearsed the most critical phase of the operation.
Before my exhausted crew had a chance to eat and rest, Edwin, our PR director dragged us across the campus where a troupe of national reporters were waiting impatiently with their best prepared questions. Until then, we put up with it. It was simply part of the job to appeal to the public. It was when a young cocky sexist reporter began badgering Megan how living long term in zero gravity would effect her reproductive system, several of us became annoyed. She was calm and professional, answering the question as a doctor would, without the timidness discussing the sensitive private functions of the female body.
Not satisfied with a medical response, the reporter escalated his line of questioning to a sexual nature, asking how she would spend her time alone with six other men. I still remember trailing Gene by a nanosecond, jumping into the conversation. My goal was to shut down the session, but Gene, stressed from a long tiring day underwater, laid into the kid. Gene didn’t hold back, but got in the kid’s face, reading him the riot act, demanding he show Dr. McCormack some respect. It was all caught on camera and we all agreed it was Gene’s finest moment. Finest moment until he took a bullet for the Doc.
In the aftermath, a mutiny erupted amongst the teams, forcing NASA to end these time wasting events. Half way through the training, preparing a new crew in time was impossible, giving us tremendous negotiating power. From that point on, whatever we wanted, we received, and the first thing we wanted was our time. No more wasted moments posing for cameras, no more interviews. We had little time before our scheduled departure, and much work to be accomplished.
“I remember this day quite well.”
“Was a great day. Just two days before I had been officially made part of the team.”
Megan sat closer as I opened the cover, delving back into the past. The album chronicled our time together during our training, filled with pages of photos taken by NASA’s own journalists.
“Simply amazing. Wonderful collection of photographs.” With Kaaren’s speed, I could read pages of text in seconds, but spent a minute on each page, reading the captions.
“I love that picture of you, Niko and Igor.” Megan said pointing at the picture of the three of us posing for the Soviet propaganda photographers.
“Same here.”
“You okay Michael?” she asked as my facial expression clearly changed.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just realized it’s been ages since I’ve seen recent photographs of my former self.”
“You were quite a handsome man Michael. Don’t worry, she will be back and you can be that man again.”
“I hope so.”
We continued flipping the pages, reminiscing about our time together. There were pictures of me in the sims, me with Megan and other members of the crew during all aspects of training.
“Oh wow, where did you get these?” I asked. The middle section contained a couple dozen pages of pictures of Liz and Ashley visiting during various times leading up to our departure. They were truly the last photos I had of myself with my family. “Did you show these to Liz?”
“I had a similar one made for her that I gave her privately.”
“Are these all the pictures you took during the mission?”
“Yep, those are all mine.”
“Doc, this is the greatest gift, thank you so much. I never thought I would have such recent pictures of us.”
“These are pretty special. I’m glad you like them.” I leaned over and gave her a long hug.
"Been an exciting ride so far hasn't it?"
"You wanna go for a ride?"
"Right now?"
"Yeah, come on Doc, you have to see the lights from above while listening to the city traffic below. It's simply incredible."
"They will be up for another week, I just want to drink like fish and have some laughs with you until we pass out." She began sipping on her wine when I lifted myself up off the couch and floated a few feet in front of her doing my famous micro gravity fish impersonation until she blew the wine through her nose.
To Be Continued....Episode 5 "Guest Services"
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Angel S:2 E:5 "Guest Services”
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright © 2014
Edited by: jeffusually
Liz’ eyes shot wide open, her face buried in the pillow and her hip digging into the soft mattress. She brought her hand up to her chest and pushed against the bed, lifting her body slightly. Tilting her head straight, she gazed around the dimly lit room before locking her eyes on the alarm clock, reading the time. She let out a long sigh before rolling onto her back.
A soft rap on the door briefly startled her before she remembered the time. It was 10am, and Ashley always woke up early, her brain highly active and craving stimulation. Liz envied her as well as Kaaren. What she would give to avoid sleeping–avoid the dreams.
“Mommy, can I come in?” she said, already cracking the door open and peeking through the small slit. Liz spied her daughter’s cute face, partially covered with the messy dirty blond hair she had yet to tidy up.
“Oh sweetie, of course you can.”
She entered, carefully carrying a mug in her hand. Liz’ pain temporarily faded, watching in joy as her treasured little girl inched closer to her, cautious not to spill a drop. Behind her, Cosmo followed curiously, entering into Liz’ bedroom for the first time.
“Just the way you like it, milk and a single sugar cube.” Liz sat up and adjusted her nightgown before reaching out for the mug Ashley held before her.
“You made me coffee?” she asked, taking the cup and inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. It was weak and several grounds hitched a ride on the current, seeping into her mouth and catching on her teeth. Liz took a second larger sip, pretending it was just the ticket she needed to wake her from her slumber. “Very good, that was very sweet of you to do that for me. Thank you Honey.”
“Are you okay Mom?”
“I’m fine, why?” Liz said, stretching her arms out. Ashley jumped up onto the bed, kneeling before her mother. Liz leaned forward and kissed her forehead while wrapping her arms around her.
“I heard you screaming. Did you have another nightmare?”
“Yes sweetie, I did. Don’t worry though, I will be okay.”
“I get them too. Most of the time, I know they aren’t real, but sometimes I see ones that are kinda real.”
“Sometimes they are, but this one wasn’t, just a silly dream,” Liz said, lying. Part of her didn’t want to trouble her daughter, who had enough of her own memories. The truth was that Liz couldn’t bring herself to conjure up the memories, painful events Ashley was still too young to understand. They laid back, settling into bed holding each other.
“I wish you weren’t so sad all the time. I miss the way you used to be.”
“I’m trying my best Ashley. You are going to have to get used to it. Things aren’t they way they used to, and they will never be that way again.”
“But Daddy will be back, right?”
“Not for a long time Honey. Ashley, I don’t want to talk about it. Dad’s not coming back any time soon. As much as I want him to, he’s going to be gone a while."
"How long?"
"Honey, I don't know. Ten years. Maybe more, maybe less."
"I'll be a big girl then, 21 years old," she said without stopping to calculate.
"That's right, my darling little girl is going to be a grown woman then. There will still be plenty for your dad to see. He will be home when you get married, maybe have your own kids."
"You think he will forget about me?"
"Your dad? Never. He will be thinking of you nonstop. You wait and see."
Liz kicked the sheets aside and rolled out of bed. She hit Ashley playfully with the pillow.
"Put the puppy in his box and go take a shower."
"Why?"
"Cuz, we are going out for breakfast, then we are going to take a little drive in daddy's car."
---
The sound echoed throughout the apartment, stirring me awake. For a moment I was confused as to why my head was pounding.
The bell sounded again, followed by a series of knocks.
“Shit, what was that?” Megan said, jarring herself awake. She was stretched across the couch, with her head on my belly and her arm dangling over the edge, still holding an empty bottle of wine. My bare feet were propped up on the coffee table while I was sitting upright with my arm hung over Megan’s chest.
“Some asshole selling something. Go Away, I’m not interested.”
A continuous, yet obnoxious scratching sound permeated the living room.
“Michael, your hand is on my breast.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t getting fresh ... at least I don’t think I was,” I said, quickly pulling my hand back. Megan struggled to sit up as I searched the room for the god-awful noise piercing my head before finally identifying the record player on the shelf.
“Karen, you home?”
“Oh shit, it’s Jim.”
“What time is it?”
“0800. Jim, go away, I don’t want to get up,” I yelled through the door.
"Karen, can we talk?"
Slowly, I got to my feet and surveyed the damage. My floor was littered with empty bottles of vodka and my new clothes were scattered on the floor inside out. A dull pain permeated my head, restoring my ability to feel pain. It was a love / hate relationship, one I begged for until I was in the middle of experiencing it.
"Go hide, I can get rid of him for you," Megan offered, trying to get up.
"No, I need to talk to him," I replied as I started picking up the bottles and collecting them on the counter as Megan tossed my new clothes into the bedroom then shut off the record player. After a couple of minutes of tidying up, I finally opened the door, too hung over to care I was still in the red dress Ash bought me.
The blinding light of the early morning sun burned my dilated and extremely sensitive eyes, forcing me to clamp my eyes closed.
"Wow, you look pretty...um, well pretty. A total train wreck, but pretty."
"What do you want Jim?"
"Can I come in?"
His blurry face came into view as my eyes rapidly adjusted to the intense light. His face was peeking over a bouquet of flowers.
"You going to see Whithers?"
"No, these are for you. I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about the other night. I was a jerk and said some stupid things that I shouldn't have."
"What, are we dating or something?"
"No, but I value our friendship and want to do something nice for you."
"Jim, save you money I'm–"
"–Jim," Megan said, interrupting as she fell in behind me, "that is very sweet of you. Isn’t that right Karen?"
Reid's face changed as he realized he wasn't alone.
"Oh hi Doc, I didn't know you were over this early."
"Yeah, well I never left last night." Megan put her hand on my shoulder and gave a soft reassuring squeeze. "Why don't you let him in Karen; I can put some coffee on."
She took the liberty of opening the door, inviting him in. Jim reached out with the bouquet and handed it to me. I hesitated a moment, thinking this had to be the first time anyone bought me flowers, especially another man. It was awkward and uncomfortable, standing there with some guy nearly twice my apparent age handing me a bouquet of red roses.
"Aww Jim, these are beautiful," Megan said, not helping the situation.
"I know these are a little much, but I didn't know what kind you like, so I went based on color and got you your favorite–red."
I reached out and took them from his hand as I stepped aside to let him in. Megan leaned over, sticking her nose in them and taking a long deep breath.
"Yeah, well thanks Jim, I don't know what to say," I stuttered.
"You don't have to say anything, I'm the one that's sorry."
I pretended interest and took a long drag, inhaling the pleasant perfume-like aroma of the roses. They were bright red with a darker deep base near the stem and stimulated my vision and sense of smell in the most pleasing way. My stress surprisingly melted away, leaving me calm and peaceful. A warm feeling permeated my body, leaving me feeling a little flustered.
"Hey no worries, forget about it. It's all good. Hell, I was being an asshole too."
Megan sat and watched the exchange with a slight grin on her face as we moved inside. She reached out, offering to take the bouquet just as I was about to toss the flowers on the kitchen table.
"You two relax, I'll put these in some water for you and get the coffee brewing." Megan pulled the cellophane wrap away from the flowers, finding a small packet attached to the rubber band. "What's this?" she asked, trying to read the small print on the foil. Jim turned his head, curious as to what she was inquiring about.
"Oh, the florist said that's aspirin. You're supposed to add it to the water, it helps the flowers stay alive longer."
"Oh thank god, this impervious alien friend of ours doesn't have any painkillers. You mind?" she asked, to which I affirmed her request. She tore the foil with her teeth and downed the tablets with a glass of water.
"So Karen, you didn’t go shopping after I took that stab at your wardrobe did you?"
“No, it was a gift from my ... Michael’s family,” I said, quickly thinking myself out of my blunder.”
“Well, Liz has good taste, you look like quite a knockout."
"Don’t get used to it, Ash made me try it on last night. Megan and I got drunk and passed out before I could take it off."
“It suits your looks."
"Yeah, well not me," I said as I made my way into the bedroom to change.
---
"I hear you two got into it the other night?" Megan asked as Reid limped over to her in the kitchen.
"Go sit down doc, I'll take care of the coffee. You look like hell."
"I feel it. Thanks Jim," Megan mumbled as she made her way to the couch, falling back into the soft cushions.
"So, she told you what happened?"
"Of course. We tell each other everything, but that's between you two. I'm not going to get in the middle of that."
"Fair enough. Listen Doc, you think you would be comfortable working with Trish?"
"What about?"
"Well, I thought you might be able to empathize with her as she deals with her shooting," Jim said while searching through the fridge for creamer, finding an endless assortment of junk food. He was about to comment when he considered Karen's alien nature and decided against it.
"If she's willing to see me, I can schedule some time with her. Tell her to call me."
"Yeah, it might be a few days. She's a little upset with me right now."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"We can later, you need to rest. Milk, sugar?" Reid asked, holding up the milk carton.
"Black please. I'm okay, we might not get another chance. Tell me what you did," Megan said in a curious tone.
"Always our fault." Reid said, sitting next to Megan after handing her the mug. "It was stupid really. Karen told me not to, but she had an episode last night and I thought it would cheer her up."
"I'm confused, what did Karen tell you not–"
"–You didn't?" Karen said, peeping her wet head through the door. "Jim, what a way to screw up. What did you do, ask her at the dinner table?" Jim hung his head low, shame overwhelming him.
"Jim, you proposed to Trish? Aww, I'm sorry she turned you down. Karen's surprisingly right, now's not a good time for her to make a decision like that, especially in front of people she doesn't know."
"Surprisingly right? What do you mean by that?" Karen said, peeking through the door again. Megan giggled, finding her friend's actions rather cute. She ignored the question, as did Jim, who turned back to finish his story.
"Yeah, I kept telling myself not to, but I wanted to cheer her up."
Karen popped her head through the door again, this time partially clothed in a black turtleneck sweater. "Way to go, bet you fixed everything."
Karen caught eyes with Megan glaring at her. She watched as her friend rubbed Jim's back as he sat there sulking. "Sorry Jim, didn't mean that."
"No, you were right, I deserve it."
"You want me to talk to her?" Karen called out, disappearing again behind the door only to re-emerge moments later dressed in a pair of jeans. He watched as she pulled her long curly hair back while holding an elastic band in her mouth.
"Thanks, might just need some advice from you two experts."
"Of course Jim, don't worry, she will come around and when she does, Karen and I can help you ... " Megan stopped mid-sentence, Karen's face having suddenly changed composure. "Karen, what's the matter?"
"Nothing, I can hear your pager vibrating."
"Anyway, I was saying, we can help you plan a perfect proposal." She finished her thought as she dug her purse out from under the coffee table, careful not to expose her and Michael's gifts to each other lest Jim see them.
"So, enough about me, how was your dinner with Liz and Ashley? You have a good time other than your presents?"
"It was enjoyable. Ash loved the puppy. In fact, your name might stick."
"And Liz? How was she?"
"Surprisingly, pretty chipper."
Karen reached opened her fridge and withdrew the plate of leftovers. Reid stood up and stretched before walking over to investigate the plate of food his friend was placing in the microwave.
"Good, glad to hear all went well."
Megan wandered over to the kitchen, her pager in hand. She lifted the phone and started dialing as if it was her own phone. Michael had made it clear to her many times she should feel right at home after having him as her guest.
"Jim you gotta try some of Liz' cooking, it was so good. Felt like I gained twenty ..."
She stopped talking, holding her finger up. "Hi Mom ... No, I'm over at Karen's right now ... yes, last night was great ... I missed you too, I wish I could have been home but this was important ... Yes I'm fine, you don't need to worry about ... what? ... When? ... Oh my God ... I have to go, I will call you back shortly."
"Everything okay Doc?" Jim asked, seeing Megan's face suddenly change.
"Jim, you better get to work, there's been another attack."
"What? When?"
"Last night around 9pm. You know an officer Miller?"
----
Cloaked, I scanned the streets below. The block was still sealed off to traffic. It was midmorning, but spectators still gathered around the barricades trying to catch a glimpse of the action.
"Nothing on infrared. It was doubtful this guy is still around with the armed response this attack drew. A full SWAT brigade established a tight perimeter around the crime scene, standing guard over the detectives investigating Miller's murder.
"10-4. What's your twenty?"
"Look up, perched on the left corner ledge ... higher, all the way up." I watched the small figure that was Reid gaze higher and higher until he found the ledge.
"I don't see you ... oh wait, I see a faint movement."
"I'm waving to you."
"That's some pretty awesome shit."
"Okay, pipe down, you got a detective approaching you. I'm going to change, will be down in a moment."
From the roof I could see the crime scene clearly. The single white VW Van was parked curbside across the street. Directly below me was a long alley that dead-ended into another building. The opening on Alabama St. was the only way in or out of the alley. If you had access, you could use the dozen or so loading docks for the various businesses connected to the alley.
I stood on the ledge and kicked off, propelling myself across the street toward the lower roof of the opposite building. In mid-flight I rotated my body, bringing my legs down in preparation for landing. My body began slowing its descent as I applied downward thrust, bringing me to a silent touchdown.
From this angle, I could see the end of the alleyway about two hundred yards away, lining up perfectly with Miller's body. If the shooter hit him with a rifle, he could remain hidden in the shadows at the far end of the alley and easily take the shot. Many variables ran through my mind.
"Reid, will be down in a second. Meet me at the barricade to your right."
He was busy conversing with another detective so I didn't expect an answer. I descended to the driveway below and ducked into the cover of a receded side doorway, de-cloaking in the process. After pulling the hood off and fixing my hair, I shifted the suit's color to black, then removed the gloves. Inside the bag, I had packed my sweater and a pair of wrinkled slacks. With great speed I dressed, covering Kaaren's suit, leaving only the boots exposed.
"She's with me, let her through," Reid called out to the officer holding the crowd at bay. The officer traced to where Reid was pointing and motioned for me to proceed through the barricade. Several men locked eyes onto me as I scooted through the crowd and began calling out, one begging for my phone number. Their words fell on deaf ears as I opened the floodgates, letting a full barrage of sounds penetrate my eardrums, effectively drowning out their lame attempts to win my attention.
"What's the word Jim?"
"Puzzling. We have a person of interest. Miller reported he saw a man at the end of the alley."
"You don't think it's Broderick?"
"Oh yes I do, he's high on my list, but there is always a possibility this could be a copycat."
"What about Miller's son?"
"He's still in county, not eligible for parole for another year." We approached the van just past Miller's patrol car, still parked where he left it. A large yellow tarp that appeared to be covering the body fluttered in the gentle but crisp morning breeze.
"Miller's body still there?"
"No, we are just preserving the impacts to the car and blood splatter patterns. Ever see a dead body before or been around blood?"
"Yes ... and yes."
"What's the 'and yes' mean?"
"The body was human."
"Last name didn't start with a T did it?"
"Not now, maybe I will tell you about it later."
As we examined the scene, a man dressed for a rodeo approached. He wore a white cowboy hat along with a dark blue shirt, denim jeans and an expensive looking pair of boots to complete the look. His rawhide holster holding his automatic service weapon rode high on his hip.
"Lt. Brennan at your service. Who do we have here Reid?"
"Lieutenant, this is Karen Guest. She's on retainer with the department."
"Not like I'm complaining, but under whose authorization?" Like most guys, Brennan's eyes were fixed on me. He spoke to Reid, not allowing his gaze to wander. I wondered if I could ever get used to being constantly stared at.
"Captain approved it."
"So what's she here for?"
"Just watch."
"Trust me, I'm watching." He turned and tipped his hat to me, "Howdy Ma'am"
"Lieutenant, can I see where Miller expired?" I asked, cutting to the chase. He simply waved for the techs to remove the tarp. One of the forensic technicians, who I had worked with several times, greeted me.
"Hi Karen, good to see you again," Doyle said, carefully removing the covering, revealing a bloody mess. In the corner of my eye, I could see the crowd reacting to the uncovering, but a couple of strategically placed patrol cars blocked their view.
"Hey Gary, same here. Good to hear you weren't in that house when it blew."
"Same here. Counting my blessings I procrastinated with a report and had to finish it that morning. Still, lost a few friends that day. So what are you doing here? You working for us?"
"Just helping out."
"Thanks, anything we can get is a help."
"Hey, quit yapping, I need to get this street opened up like yesterday." Brennan barked.
"Were there any witnesses?" I asked as I squatted just outside the chalk outline of Miller's body. His lower half was outlined on the asphalt, while the upper half was traced along the door of the car. The car door had been pierced by two large caliber bullets and possibly a third that took out the window.
I scanned the rest of the scene, rapidly making a mental note of the details. There was a large volume of blood already dried and oxidized into a rusty brown color and giving off an odor of decay. Seventeen markers were laid around the body with a corresponding number associated with them, but nothing to mark.
"What are these markers for?"
"Officer Miller's service weapon, spent cartridges and his radio. We photographed the scene, so we collected them."
"Where was he shooting?"
"We are still trying to find all the rounds. So far we found five, in the alleyway. All of them were spread pretty wide."
"Panic fire?" Reid asked.
"We think so," Brennan answered. "He reported seeing the shooter in the alley. We have a vagrant downtown for questioning who was found in the trash heap. Likely that's who Miller saw and confused him with the shooter as he bled out. This guy was pretty drunk; doubt he knows anything."
"You find where the shots originated?"
Brennan turned and pointed down the alley. It was a eight story building, mostly businesses occupying the floors. The first two floors had no windows or doors facing the alley. The third through eighth floors had windows and a fire escape. A couple of officers were climbing the ladders and carefully checking each of the fire escape platforms.
"We are still trying to locate it. Huge mess of trash we are searching through for shell casings. If that fucker shot from the ground, he must have no sense of smell, or he was one determined son of a bitch."
"I think it's fair to say Broderick is determined enough, and fucking crazy," Reid added.
"Lieutenant, I count about three bullet strikes, how many times was Miller hit?"
"Four. One to the upper left shoulder, one to the right thigh, left hip, and finally to the head."
"Sounds like the right order," I said.
"That so?"
"He's standing when he takes the hit to the shoulder. Bullet knocks out the window. He turns and takes one to the thigh but remains standing."
"Wait Karen, I took one to the thigh, I fell like a brick," Reid chimed in with his personal experience.
"Did you have a wall to lean against? Also, this hole is about right for his thigh for his height. I assume the hip shot didn't penetrate the bone, that's why I only count the hole in the door and one, maybe more, in the window. If the second took out the hip, that would have dropped him. No, round two was the thigh. He remains standing and fires back, then the third bullet strikes. Now, lying on the ground, his head lines up with this hole here."
"See?" Reid said, tapping Brennan's upper arm with the back of his hand.
"Pretty impressive Mr. Guest. That actually aligns with eyewitnesses who saw the shots."
"Where did the witnesses say the shots came from?" Reid asked.
"No one heard anything."
"Suppressor."
"Of course it was a suppressor, you see fucking arrows sticking out of him? Also removes doubt this was our guy. He would have that kind of hardware."
I stood up and walked around the van. The passenger side window was cracked in a spider web pattern with a hole in the middle, somehow still holding together despite the driver side being completely shattered. I peered through the hole, trying to see all the possible shooting positions that were available.
"What are you thinking about Karen?" Reid asked.
"The bullet's trajectory."
"Kinda hard, we need the shooter's position to determine that," Doyle said.
"What if we can minimize digging through that mess of trash down there and pinpoint the angle of attack?"
Reid limped up and peered through the hole in the passenger window. His head moved in circles, trying to line it up with possible shooting positions. There were many possibilities; it was hard to isolate with one point of contact.
"Hey Doyle."
"Detective?"
"We have an ID on the caliber?"
"Yes. We are still looking for the one that made that hole you are looking through, but we recovered the head shot. A .308 Winchester."
"What do you say the distance was to the target?" I asked.
"All the way to the back wall? Two hundred and ten yards."
"Jim," I said in a low voice. "What about the shattered window, what if we can reconstruct it and line it up with this one? That will give us two points to work with and we can triangulate the origin of the shot?"
"Sounds good, but we would have to take that back to the lab and rebuild it. We have to get this vehicle off the road, like soon."
"No time. Can you have them extract all but the smallest of fragments and lay them out on the pavement?"
"Sure, but why?"
"Just do it."
Reid and Brennan barked at each other a moment, until Brennan finally agreed to his madness. Doyle, skeptical, was on it in a heartbeat and began carefully removing the shards, handing them off a few at a time to the other techs. Doyle combed every inch of the van until each piece was laid out on a large sheet of cardboard on the ground.
"Impossible, this is going to take days to fit together," one of the technicians whined.
"This is a waste of time Reid."
"Hold on," I said, kneeling down next to the shards, the glass sparkling in the midmorning sun.
"Here, the ones with the large density of blood should be the center."
As Doyle spoke, I dilated time, my eyes rapidly scanning each and every jagged corner in the glass and memorizing what shard it belonged to. Kaaren's keen eyesight was as sharp and vibrant as an Eagle able to spot fish high above the lake. Only it was minute cracks, bubbles and imperfections in the glass I was able to see clearer than any human. Seconds in real time passed, yet hours from my point of view. I compared every little detail and was ready to begin work.
"Okay, let me at it, move back."
"Here Karen," Gary said, handing me a pair of rubber gloves. When I first met him, he was a prick and hated Reid, having little respect for such a low ranking detective. He loved the major crimes and resented receiving evidence that didn't challenge his mind. Over the course of the year, he caught glimpses of my handiwork and became a fan, eventually finding respect for Reid as well.
"Thanks," I said, stretching them on and immediately tackling the puzzle that could bring us one step closer to justice for all the recently departed officers.
As my eyes locked onto the next piece, my memory rapidly recalled the opposite piece and its location. Just like a real jigsaw puzzle but without having to pick up the same piece over and over again, failing to find a fit.
In deep concentration, the gasps of those surrounding me were barely audible as they whispered in disbelief. The puzzle that was the window was coming together. Starting with the bullet hole, I worked my way outward, fitting the shards together, careful not to crush them with my invincible yet strong hands.
It wasn't a perfect fit; many small pieces too tiny to collect remained in the van, but so far, my work was rebuilding the impact as the .308 exited Millers shoulder and penetrated the first window.
"Simply amazing Karen. I clocked you at eight minutes," Doyle said, patting my shoulder.
"Thanks Gary, you by any chance have a tape measure and some masking tape, maybe duct tape?"
He ran off to fetch the items as Reid and Brennan hovered over me.
"Un-fucking believable," Brennan said, exhaling a cloud of smoke then bending over to examine my handiwork up close.
"What else can you do?"
"You don't want me to spoil it do you?"
"Ahh, I see how it is. Smart, very smart. Well, until you uncover something with this time we wasted, I'm not entirely convinced."
Doyle returned and began stretching out a length of duct tape as long as the reconstructed window.
"Good thinking Gary, but that's not what I had in mind."
"How are we going to lift the glass?"
"We're not." I measure the dimension of the window, then measured the cross section of the bullet hole. He caught on immediately where I was going and stretched the tape across the opening where the window used to be. Within a few minutes a duct tape model of the window was in place with the hole precisely where it should be.
"Bingo! Way to go Karen," Reid said excitedly.
"Doyle, you have a spool of cord?"
"Sure, how much?"
"About a two hundred and ten yards worth."
"I only have about 300 ft of 550 cord."
"Shit." Brennan yelled as we hit another brick wall.
I glanced around trying to find something to use in its place. Nothing shy of finding a hardware store.
'Think Michael.'
"Karen, I got an idea," Reid called out. He hurried over as quick as he could and spoke softly. "You can see infrared, right?"
I simply nodded in the affirmative.
"What about a laser? Like he has on his assault rifle?"
"I can tune to just about any frequency in that range. Great thinking."
"Lockwood!" Reid called out getting the SWAT leader's attention as he stood on guard, waiting for an ambush. He responded cautiously to Reid's summoning, alerting his men to increase their awareness.
"Detective?"
"Mind if we borrow your laser sight?"
"As in just the sight? Hell yes I mind. You know how long it takes to zero these things. You take it off and it's useless until I get back to the range and recalibrate it."
"Well, can we barrow the rifle too?"
"What for?"
"We have two points of entry along the bullet's trajectory. We want to line them up to isolate the shooter's position."
"Detective, your job is to detect, mine is to make sure this asshole doesn't light you up when you get close nailing him. You take my weapon out of my hands and you put us at risk."
Lockwood was a tall man, solid but with a slim physique. He paid little attention to me; he was more worried Reid was going to take his gun away.
"You mind helping us out?" I asked politely before realizing what I was doing, using looks to get what I want.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"It's okay Lockwood," Brennan said jumping in. "I agree with my guard here, I don't want him disarmed, but if you can put a dot through those two holes and paint that wall on the far side while we mark it, I would appreciate it. Fair enough?"
"Yes sir."
Without hesitation he lifted his M-16A2 with his finger ridged outside the trigger guard. I watched as his thumb pressed down on a little button running from his pistol grip to an overly large cylinder running alongside the M-16's heat dissipating forearm grip. At once, my eyes detected a faint illumination all but flooded by the bright sunlight. The sun had risen high enough to cast hard light onto the wall, washing out the red dot.
"Thank you."
"You're not going to find that dot." I laughed as I turned and ran, shifting my left eye to infrared while keeping my right tuned to the visible spectrum. Sure enough, a superimposed beam cut through the alley.
"Want me to carry you?" I joked with Reid as I ran past him. He ignored my friendly taunt and continued limping forward. Brennan and several officers were scanning the walls looking for the beam. I honed right in and put my finger on the the side of a dumpster parked in front of the wall.
"Got it," I yelled out to Lockwood. The beam immediately turned off.
"Too high," an officer said.
"No, it's perfect, you have to account for the bullet drop."
"It's still too high, what do you know about guns."
"Not a lot, but I know about escape velocities and trajectories of spacecraft. Same thing, instead of shooting bullets, you are shooting rockets." I finished my monolog on Newtonian physics to a bunch of jaw-dropped men who clearly didn't comprehend a word I was saying.
"Boys, what Shelock Holmes here is trying to tell you, when you shoot long distances, you fire up and the bullet essentially lands on top of your head. Now this is a simple two hundred yard shot, but you still have to account for elevation and bullet drop. Since the alley is covered, there is no crosswind, so, look around for any signs of a shooter. Footprints, sandbags, bipod marks, shells, cigarette butts, recently eaten food. Get to work."
"Yes sir." They scattered again, each whining they already searched the area.
"You okay?"
I shook my head no. The foul smell was too much for my heightened senses.
"Here, try this," he said withdrawing a little jar and tossing it to me while making a motion with his finger under his nose.
"Vicks?"
"Helps mask the odor of decay."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome ... Sherlock." I gave him a sour look as I opened the jar. Instead of rubbing it on my nose where it would likely screw up my senses when i might need them most, I tossed it back. Instead I tried controlling my sensitivity just as I could with my eyes and ears. A young rookie cop, barely my apparent age, sat there frozen on a trash heap chuckling, his eyes in a tight gaze, staring at me and smiling.
"Think it's pretty cute how you wiggle your nose like that," he said, abandoning his duty and walking over to me. "Name's Officer Scully." The kid straightened out, showing off his posture, clearly a rookie enjoying the power his uniform had on attractive females.
"Officer."
"Give it up Scully, Karen will kick your ass, get back to work," one of his friends called out. There was a small cluster looking our way laughing.
"You're Karen?" he asked as I tried eavesdropping on their conversation. To my relief, they were using the time to make fun of the kid, rather than make lewd comments about my figure.
"Yes, you've heard of me?"
When he started to reply, his voice was loud enough to down out the conversations and a really bad rendition of Space Oddity. I toned down the sensitivity, canceling the other noises.
"Yeah, you still teaching that Ninjitsu stuff? I heard you were teaching these guys a while back and was hoping I could meet you.
"Might resume some time soon. Talk to Reid here." I pointed in Jim's direction as the lyrics of that song I just heard kept playing through my mind. We played that song so many times during shuttle missions, I knew it by heart. In an attempt to ignore the kid, I tuned my hearing, focusing on the source, while fading his voice as best as I could. The music was muffled, but audible. Some garage band attempting, with little effort, to play Bowie's song.
"God that's bad," I accidentally said out loud.
"What, you're actually able to hear them playing in there?" Scully asked.
"What? Where? What are you talking about."
"The other side of this wall. That's Downtown Sound, it's a rehersal studio. I have a band, couple guys from the academy used to rehearse there. Wann ..."
I shut him out and faced the wall, switching my vision to detect body heat. Faint images appeared, clearly the walls were insulated.
"Shit."
"Hey, you even listening to me?"
I turned to the kid. "No on the band, sorry." His face sunk as his friends started laughing because I denied him. Scully was a nice looking kid, full of energy and spunk, just like many of the pilots I flew with at his age. I smiled at him. "Scully, if you're off Wednesday, 10am in the gym, bring a couple pairs of sweat pants and be prepared for some pain."
I spotted Jim moping around, using his injured state to get out of the dirty work of sifting through the trash. "Reid, I got something," I said, giving the dumpster a nice hard kick away from the wall.
---
"Police, everyone on the ground," Lockwood yelled, charging into the soundproof room seconds after the owner cut power to the amps. The four sweaty band members and the five girls packed together on the couch screamed as armed men burst into their room, disturbing their session. A moment of confusion passed and, realizing this wasn't a joke, they each complied and hit the deck.
Reid and I walked straight to the wall. Sure enough, a small insulated door has been installed, rigged to swing inward. I laid down as Reid popped the door to reveal a green dumpster with a two foot square section cut out of the back. An officer on the outside lifted away the false sign affixed to the front, giving me a clear view to the van on the far end of the alley.
"Son of a bitch. Even got a free set of sand bags with the rental," a cop said, lifting a blue bag with a canvas handle off of a light stand.
"This was one well planned hit, not the typical hit and run. He's becoming more careful," Reid added.
"No, this took weeks to plan."
"Okay, Reid, excellent job, I am fucking impressed to all ends. Take your friend here and get back to HQ. Prop that leg up and you two find me a connection between our boy and Miller. Scully, get back with Sergeant Nolan and you toss that Twinkie inside and out. Get those boys to dust the shit out of that van. This SOB drove that and parked it there knowing Miller was going to find it. Now, someone bring me the owner of this joint. I wanna have a nice friendly chat.
---
"Smells good, what did you pick up?" Reid asked as I set the bags on his desk. He piled up several stacks of folders, making space for our dinner.
"Peruvian, ever have it?"
"When I was younger. Friend's dad was from Peru. His mom learned most of the dishes. Was a welcome alternative to the Reid's BBQ.
"Well, first time for me. Gonna make my new years resolution to eat out more."
"Must be nice, spontaneous trip anywhere in the world just to get a bite to eat. Just don't go bragging about that to your human counterparts, they usually stop eating for the new year."
"Yeah, I know. So you find anything while I was gone?" Reid opened a file and passed it to me. I skimmed through it as he leaned back and opened a little fridge, withdrawing two cans of soda.
"Not a whole lot here is there? A few incidents, but nothing out of the ordinary."
"No, that's most puzzling to me."
"Miller was Broderick's first partner. When we start off out of the academy, we get assigned to a senior officer or Sergeant for our first year. They make sure we learn all the shit they don't teach in the academy. We learn the streets, the lingo, when to arrest someone and when to let them go so we can build their trust in hopes they will lead us to the bigger fish. You know Miller, total asshole like Broderick."
"Anyone visit Clyde yet?"
"Mrs. Miller went out. From what I hear, the kid was just said 'Good' and asked to be taken back to his cell."
"Sad, you can push someone so far out of your life they couldn't care less about your death," I said, thinking as much as I considered my mother dead to me. Deep down, I still have compassion for her, even if it's minuscule. No matter how much I despised her for leaving, her death would nevertheless cause me grief.
"Look Karen, something I have been thinking about. It's off subject, but since we are kinda talking about it ... the other night, I want you to–"
"–Jim, it's done, no need to dwell on it."
"No, I had something I wanted to tell you, but didn't because Megan was there. Trish told you my mom pushed Sarah away, but that's not the truth. The real story, it was me. I couldn't stand the fact my little sister was disrespecting our family values by sleeping with that girlfriend of hers. Sure my mom played a part, but I just couldn't deal with it. We went from best friends to enemies and now, well, let's just say if you were to knock on her door and tell her that had been me that had been killed, she would have reacted the same way."
"Come on Jim, that's not true, I know she still loves her brother, especially if she found out you were looking for her."
"No it's not like that." I listened as he told me his story, culminating with Sarah's girlfriend's suicide. Everything I knew about Jim proved his remorse was genuine. His hatefulness of others for their lifestyles didn't keep him bound as it used to. Still, traces remained, lurking inside, occasionally fighting with the new and improved character, like in the car the night we saved that girl in the park.
"I was being disrespectful and said things I vowed to myself I would never again say, but I would like to try helping her if you still want to."
"Yes, I find her to be very interesting. I've been meaning to talk to the doc about her."
"Well, I admit, I don't understand why one would change yourself like that, but perhaps I would like to hear her side of things. Might help me understand my sister's choices."
"Jim, maybe your problem is you keep looking at it like they are choices. Perhaps what is governing your sister's life is a conflict inside. She was simply born that way, just like you were born the way you are. You didn't choose to like girls, you just do."
"Thank you for that. I've never once thought ..." Reid looked up as a soft rap on his door startled him. I turned to see the Captain reaching for the doorknob. Reid stood while I jumped out of my chair to let him in on Jim's behalf.
"Captain."
"Reid," he said, entering.
"Captain, you remember Karen, right?"
"If I didn't, I've had a rash of recollections throughout the day. Quite a fast-thinking mind you got there amongst other things."
"Thank you."
"I'm glad you are both here," Brownly said, reaching over and grabbing a few potatoes from the container without bothering to ask for permission. I handed him a plate, seeing his approval as the first signals registered on his taste buds. He wasn't shy and loaded up.
"What's up, sir?"
"Here's Brennan's report from his questioning of the owner of that soundstage. He's had a few regulars coming in on a regular schedule. We have their names; I need you to pay them each a visit and see if they noticed anything. Get them to give up any names of their guests."
"This guy didn't see anyone fitting our boy's description coming by with a large guitar case?"
"Nothing. Mostly your typical metal bands, guys dressing like drag queens and getting away with it." I chuckled, having said the same thing about some of Liz' favorite bands.
"What about forced entry after hours?" I asked.
"It would have been several entries in order to set this up. The lock was old, kinda hard to determine if it was picked, but it's possible he came in during the night. Local business owners were questioned. No one saw a man fitting his description. Either way, we know how he slipped away after the shooting without any witnesses."
"Quite brilliant using a sound booth as a shooting hide. You could shoot a high powered rifle without a suppressor and not make a sound."
"You will find this interesting." Brownly passed Reid several photographs. It was a hollowed out amp filled with foam insulation. "Tested positive for powder residue. Lab is working on an ID on the make of powder."
"Karen and I have been working on a connection under Brennan's order. So far little to go on. Are there any other records I should have?"
"I have a few incidents I kept off the books. Mostly insubordination."
"Is that something I can review?"
"Yes, but the files stay in your office and locked. Speaking of, I'm changing the locks in here. They will be in in the morning to do the work and take down that nameplate. What color marble you want?"
"You letting me keep this office?"
"Well you stunk it up eating in here, don't think I could give it to anyone else. Besides, it goes better with this."
Brownly stood and handed him a leather box. "Congratulations Detective Sergeant." I watched Reid almost choke up as he stood to accept his new badge.
"Thank you sir, I don't know what to say."
"You deserve it. Next Tuesday, there will be a ceremony with the Governor and Mayor. Gonna be a lot of media, so I hope you're ready."
"Why the big show?"
"In addition to your promotion, you are being awarded the Blue Heart and Meritorious Service awards." He turned to me. "Your sister-in-law will be there with her daughter to present. Hope you're proud of him. Me personally, taking a round to the leg with your own gun isn't much to brag about."
"Right? I thought I taught him enough about weapon retention," I said, smiling. "Congratulations Sergeant Reid."
"Now, let's talk about you. What are your plans?"
"Karen's getting her hours for her PI license. She needs about three thousand hours."
"Put em together and I'll sign off on them."
"I still have a ways to go."
"Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it. I'll get you some work space and a steady check, how does that sound?"
"Thank you very much Captain. I am quite honored."
"I'm pleased to have you helping us out. Wish you would reconsider putting on a uniform."
"I'll think about it Sir."
"Karen insists she will think about it Sir, but I think she can be much more useful to us as an objective outsider, especially with all that's going on. She has less emotional ties with the department. Face it, morale is down, people are mourning, operating on little sleep, and, face it, quite scared they will be next."
"He's right Sir. While I do feel the losses you have been encountering, I'm not part of the department. This guy doesn't know me, therefore, I'm not on his hit list. I can work with a clearer mind."
"You make a good point and the two of you seem like a good team together. Just watch her back Reid, you're responsible for her."
"I will Captain. One more thing, we know when the services will be held for Miller?"
"Not yet. A notification will go out to all the department heads in a couple of days."
Brownly excused himself, stepping out of Reid's new permanent office. Reid stretched his legs out, lifting them onto the desk, staking his claim.
"Detective Sergeant. I can get used to that."
---
"Dr. Shephard, don't worry. Everything will be fine. Dr. Meersman and I will make sure the tests you ordered on the items are completed on schedule and the data sent to you. You need some time to relax."
"Thanks Cat, I don't know what I would have done without you. You've been a great help and one hell of a research assistant. I don't suppose I can convince you to come to the US when I move back permanently?"
"We will talk when you get back." She handed Gene several thick envelopes. "Listen, everything is organized so you can find it easily. This is our offer letter and agreement for you to get familiar with on your flight. Dr. Meersman has arranged for a company attorney to meet with you Thursday morning when you arrive at the offices. He is a top attorney with many years experience with tech company acquisitions. Their company is in dire need of cash to get them out of the hole they're in. They will accept this offer, especially after hearing from you."
Eugene shifted the stack on his lap. "And this?"
"Their company profile and ten year business plan before it went south. Get familiar with it. Appendix B has a list of all their current patent holdings. You should already be familiar with them."
"Yes, most of them. Are these the latest batch of test results on Item 232A from Lone Star Labs?"
"That's correct Doctor. A little light reading after you finish with the difficult legal documents. The last envelope I am going to put in your side pouch. That's your passport, Texas ID, boarding passes and a customs declaration already filled out. The Embassy has made arrangements for your arrival at Dulles. Someone will be there to assist you through customs and get you to your hotel in DC before your meeting in Langley. After, they will drive you to the airport for your trip home."
"Someone will pick me up in Houston, right?"
"Sorry, there you are on your own ... kidding, of course. Yes, it's all been arranged."
Gene chuckled as she collected each of the items and placed them in the backpack hanging off the rear of his wheelchair.
"I put a couple of fresh batteries in the smaller compartment along with your Walk-Man and your favorite tapes."
"Life saver, barely made that last flight. How's that going to work by the way? Never flown in a wheelchair before."
"Well Doctor, the plane will do the flying," she said, joking with him. Eugene liked that about her. She was funny and not afraid to crack a light joke about his new handicap. She helped him fully come to grips with his injury to the point he forgot what it was like to wiggle his toes.
"They will board you first. You are in the front row, the first window seat in first class. The seat next to you has been booked as well for privacy, so no one will disturb you. They will take you as far as the end of the ramp where they will move you to a wheelchair that will fit between the aisles and take you to your seat assignment. If you need anything, the stewardess will attend to your needs."
"Anything else?"
"Lastly," she said, holding out a little box. Eugene carefully took the box into his hand and opened it up, examining the contents.
"Absolutely perfect. She's gonna love it. Thank you again."
"Yes she will Doctor. Go get her."
---
"What's it like being able to fly around like you can without gravity?" the girl asked.
"At first it's really exciting, floating around, but after a few hours, the excitement wears off. Lots of tasks are easier, but other everyday tasks like eating, sleeping, exercising, or going to the bathroom can be difficult. Moving large heavy objects, while easy since they are weightless, still requires effort because they still have mass. Some of the bombs we used on the asteroid had more mass than me. If I pushed it, I would move more than it would. So, all over the cabin, we had straps for our hands and feet to keep us in place while we worked. We were in micro gravity for almost a year; by then, our bones were weak, our muscle mass deteriorated. At that point we wanted nothing more than to be home. When I landed on Earth, it felt like someone was sitting on me constantly for a week. At first I couldn't walk, it took me several months before I could walk normally again. It was a painful recovery, but it was all worth it, because we are all able to be here and talk about it."
"Any other questions for Dr. McCormack?" the tour guide asked the Girl Scout troop.
"Was it stinky living with six guys for so long? My daddy sweats, it's gross. How did you not gag?" Megan chuckled, as did the rest of the troop.
"I guess it can be smelly at times, but it's the price you pay for the best job in the world. Keeping clean in space is difficult. With micro gravity, water floats around and that's dangerous if the droplets float into an electrical component. Even shaving, the little hairs can damage components, which would cause our mission to fail. Instead of a shower, we have this special soap you rub on your body. We don't wash it off, instead we leave it there."
"Dr. Megan," one of the older girls said, raising her hand. Megan had asked they use the same name as Ashley, maintaining respect, while marginally informal at the same time.
"Yes Heather."
"What about your um ... I mean does your ... never mind," she said, blushing.
"It's okay Heather, what do you want to ask her?"
"I just wanted to know if everything works the same in space for girls."
"Okay Heather, that's not appropriate."
"No, that's a great question," Megan said, jumping in. "A menstrual cycle is a normal part of a woman's life, nothing to be ashamed of. All of you one day will experience it," Megan began. Judging by the age group, many were close to that stage in their journey toward womanhood. "As far as we know, everything works just the same as it does here on Earth. For me, I used hormone treatment to alter my cycles, so they were infrequent. This was mainly done for safety on our long trip. I hope one day to study more thoroughly the long term effects, because you know what ladies, in the future, there will be women shuttle pilots, women will command missions and one day we will travel to other worlds."
"What would you say to girls wanting to be like you?" the scout mom asked.
"Well ladies, being an astronaut is the best job in the world, but it takes lots of hard work. NASA's a great place for women to work. We are a big family and if you are smart, it doesn't matter if you're male or female, white, black, or green." The girls laughed. "Work hard in school, you ladies are our future and we need you. There are going to be some amazing new technologies for studying the universe that will be ready by the time you are graduating college. I hope you all come back as candidates."
"One more question, then we have to call it a day. Carly make it quick."
"Dr. Megan, do you think there are aliens out there?" Megan paused a moment, pondering her response. "I do. Not everyone I work with thinks so, but the universe is a really big place. From what we can see, there are billions of galaxies, each with hundreds of billions of stars. If you think about all the planets that might be orbiting those stars, it's inevitable we will find some with life on it. But I'm not going to make that discovery, I'm counting on some of you to. So make sure you study hard and I hope to see you come back some day."
"Okay girls, say thank you to Dr. McCormack for her time."
Megan spent another twenty minutes answering questions and signing autographs. She identified the ones who would clearly return one day as the next generation of astronauts. They were inquisitive, having to be pried away by the scout leaders in order to make the bus back to town. As the last girl exited, Megan looked up, catching a figure in the doorway.
"Sean! Oh my god, come here," she yelled out in excitement, standing and quickly shuffling over to him.
"I heard a rumor you were around. Some of the guys said they saw you, so I asked and found out where you were."
"It's so good to see you, how was Christmas? How's Deborah?"
"Christmas was good, Deb's better. Still has nightmares."
"Aww poor thing. Trust me, I have them too."
"So, recruiting for the Star League?" he said, shifting the conversation away from Russia, regretting he mentioned his wife's inability to deal with the incident.
"A few of them perhaps. What about you. What's NASA got you doing?"
"Training."
"You back on active flight status?"
"I am. Been working my tail off getting back in shape. Last month doctors cleared me. My lung is healed, ribs mended. Hoping to get command of STS-35."
"Well, I knew you would be the one to head back out there. I hope it works out for you."
"Have you heard from Eugene or Nikolai?"
"Actually, Gene's coming home this week. I think his flight gets in tomorrow. You didn't know?"
"No. I've been trying to get in touch with him, but it's difficult. Is he coming back to stay?"
"Not this time, but he will be back for a few weeks. He said he's working on making the transition back to the states and will finally be back for good in a few months."
"Great, can't wait to see him. I trust he is doing well."
"Yes. Very well."
"What about Nikolai? Been hearing buzz on the news about him. He really taking up politics?" Megan gathered her belongings and motioned toward the door.
"Got time for a coffee?"
Sean checked his watch, staring at the display and making a few funny faces. "I have about forty five minutes before I need to be in the simulator. Sure, why not."
"Great, I'm buying."
---
Kneeling on the mat, I took a deep breath through my nose, holding it in a moment before exhaling through my mouth. "Just like that, in through the nose, out the mouth. Close your eyes and clear your mind of everything that's troubling you. No more worries, no more pleasant thoughts, just emptiness, a void in your head. Now breathe again. In through the nose, out the mouth." I led the meditation while trying to clear my busy mind. Thoughts of regret impeded my attempt to reach the same level of emptiness I was teaching. After a few minutes of my own relaxation, I clapped my hands together, producing a sharp sound echoing through the gym.
"How do you feel?"
"Better. Much more relaxed and focused."
"Good, keep doing this at least once a day. All the stretching exercises and about twenty minutes of meditation. More effective than cigarettes when it comes to calming nerves."
"I know. Jim doesn't like it, but he says it's okay, he understands my situation."
"He's a good guy you got there, he really loves you."
"I know, and I love him. Would be a stupid question to ask if you know what happened."
"Of course I know," I said, holding out my hands to her. Trish was my mirror image, kneeling inches away. She reached out and let me grab her wrists. I tightened down, firm, but within the realm of human strength. I watched proudly as she closed her eyes, inhaled and brought her hands together as if praying. Her new position made it difficult to maintain a solid connection without resorting to my hidden strength. Instead I lifted my body, curling my toes so they were now dug into the mat. Raised higher, my palms were now able to maintain a connection to her wrists instead of becoming separated.
Trish spread her arms out, rotating her wrists. Her left arm moved high above the side of my head, while her right took my hand low to the mat. She had my center mass divided and neither hand could contain her movements. She pushed me off balance, pivoting on her knees as I rolled backward and pinned her open hands inches from my face.
"Good. Getting better."
"Thank you. So you think I was wrong to turn him down?" she said, letting me back up and resuming our position facing each other. I grabbed her hands again, waiting for her to repeat the exercise.
"No, you weren't wrong. He was just doing what he thought would cheer you up. Guys are clueless at times. What usually works on them, doesn't work on women. There was no harm in it, well intended, just not the right time."
"You think I should say something to him?"
"Sure, but take your time. Think it through. He will wait for you."
"Thanks. I just wish I could get through this crap. I can't stand the pain."
"You know, Marines are trained to kill. The Corps strips them of their humanity, and makes them a killing machine. After Vietnam, they returned home suffering from all kinds of post-traumatic stress. Worse, the institution that turned them into killers didn't bother spending the time or resources to deprogram them. Instead, they just let them go back home to roam the streets without a way to channel their feelings. A dojo in California specialized in taking in some of these marines and taught them Aikido as a way to restore peace and harmony, neutralizing the aggression within them. It worked, and many of them went on to find success."
"You think it will work with me?"
"I know it will, but it will take time. If you are willing to commit, so will I."
"Anything to get my life back. I don't want to quit, but I'm such a wreck," she said as my 10 o'clock strolled in full of confidence. I watched through my wide vision while maintaining my eye contact with Trish.
"We'll get the old Trish back and improve her at the same time." I turned and swiftly walked on my knees like a duck until I was a few feet away, then pivoted to face Trish again, pausing a moment before bowing to her.
"Thanks Karen for talking straight with me. This was better than a hour of therapy with your friend."
"Don't discount her as a resource as we work to regain control of your life. She can offer you insight I can't."
"You think I should see her?"
"Hey, you think our relationship is all fun and games? Many times I have sought her wise counsel."
"I know you're right," she said, turning to see Scully approach.
"Good morning."
"Morning Karen. Morning ... I'm not sure we've met. Scully."
"You the fresh fish I've been hearing about?"
"That'd be me. You are?"
"Mendoza. Usually work the NW beat. Who you riding with?"
"Sergeant Nolan."
"Sergeant Nolan's a good guy. Worked with him several times. You listen to what he says."
"You're Patrica Mendoza right?"
"Scully," I said, interrupting, "Officer Mendoza and I are still wrapping up, you mind excusing us a moment?" He withdrew quietly without making a scene, leaving us alone again.
"Thanks. Kid's pretty cocky, do me a favor and knock some sense into him. Thinks he's hot shit for being the only one to fire on Broderick."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of him. So, what do you think about Jim's big news?" I asked, tossing her a breadcrumb. They hadn't spoken since Christmas Eve, but I wasn't there to get in between them.
"What news?"
"Duh, I didn't know you hadn't heard. How about you ask him, I don't want to spoil anything."
---
The war room was bursting at the seams. Representatives from every department were present, the officers and detectives most directly involved were lucky to have a seat at the large conference table. The rest leaned against the walls with their notepads in hand.
"First order of business, people. Services for Officer Miller will be held next Thursday. For sake of manpower, and in light of the current situation, this will be a limited service. Those of you in attendance, it will be the same routine as the previous services. A fund has been started for Mrs. Miller. If any of you care to donate, Brewer will be handling the collections. Everyone, I don't know about you, but I am getting tired of funerals. This department needs to step up its game and nab this SOB," Chief Gormley said, addressing his people. He had a reputation for not investing enough time with his main duties.
"Prick's gonna start screaming in 3, 2, 1 ..." Harris whispered into Reid's ear. His estimation lagged; several seconds passed before the Chief morphed into a raging beast, yelling and cussing. He attacked the department as a whole, then trickled down to departments for their shortcomings on the case. Finally, he called several individuals out, reducing them in front of the crowd.
"His days are numbered. The Mayor is shitting down his throat for his fancy excursions. Now he's doing the honorable thing and shitting on us," Reid said.
The room relaxed when Gormley finally ended his bitch session and excused himself, leaving the meeting in the care of the Captain.
"Okay, that about ends the ass chewing. If you all feel you lost a fair portion of padding back there, feel free to check out mine." He received some laughs, enough to mellow the mood so that he had their attention. Brownly was a tough boss to work for, expecting much from his people, but if you excelled at your job, he was an approachable man. For that, the department respected him.
"Our boy is still out there. Like the Chief said, we've been doing a sloppy job at catching him and need to step up our game. So let's hear it. "Moony?"
"Sir, Air Support will be adding two additional birds on loan from NASA. They are a pair of Bell Jet Rangers distinct from our MDs and will have the call signs Fox 51 and Fox 52. Both are being repainted and fitted with necessary equipment. I expect them to be flight ready by 1400 today. In addition, we have four transfers from Dallas, Austin and even Los Angeles. All four are pilots and will rotate duty as Tactical Flight Officers. This will keep us airborne up to 24 hours if needed."
"Thank you Moony. Next on the list. We received another round of AR-15s and Ruger Mini-14s. Due to limited supply, we are issuing them to select vehicles and will send notifications through the pipeline to report to the armory."
Brownly continued through the list of topics, pausing now and again to call upon his department Lieutenants for updates. Everyone was prepared for war, each department eager to bring to the meeting the critical piece of the puzzle that would end this madness.
Fergusen stepped up, addressing the room's occupants. "In addition to the pilot transfers, we will also be transferring several officers from nearby counties to help fill some of our losses and take up the slack. We need to press hard, but we are getting tired. Expect about twelve transfers coming in in the next few days. Three from San Antonio, two more from Dallas, one from Oklahoma City, two from New York, three from Austin, and one from Galveston. Reid, that's your cousin coming up from the coast, right?
"That's right. Said he was a little bored now that the weather forced the bikinis back into the drawers." The seriousness of the room briefly relaxed as the crowd laughed at Jim's joke.
"Well, we are damn lucky to have him, you express our appreciation."
"I will sir."
"Okay, to follow up on the transfers, several of you will be divided up and partnered with them." Fergusen yelled for order the moment his patrol officers started barking about being reassigned to a new partner. "Quiet. I don't care how long some of you have been dating, you will take your new duty assignment without question. This is a temp assignment and we have chosen our best officers so that our new guys can learn these streets by yesterday. There will simply not be any discussion on this, so shut your holes. That understood?"
"Yes sir." Several moaned in partial agreement.
"Captain?"
"Thank you. Finally, while some of you are being assigned to a new partner, a few of you will be asked to report to the War Room immediately following the conclusion of this meeting. A new joint task force is being established, and representatives from this precinct, Westside, and several from Dallas will join with the Marshal's Office and our own Texas Rangers. The following from Houston have been selected, Harris, Gates, Alvarez, Reid, Scully, Lockwood, and Hernandez. Brennan, who as you know is on loan from Dallas, will be one of their representatives. Each of these officers will be sworn in and given special powers including interstate jurisdiction. This will mean we can cross into Oklahoma or New Mexico to catch this asshole."
"Any questions?" Fergusen asked, being met with silence. "Ok, let's get back out there."
---
Far from having my own office just like Reid's, the room they provided felt like a file storage closet that had recently been partially cleared. A handwritten sign with large lettering was taped to the wall saying "Guest Services."
"I like that," Jim said.
"Thanks, Megan kinda thought of it."
I opened the door to find my desk had a fresh vase of flowers and several gift bags.
"Shit, already? Maybe I should get some office space outside the department."
"What, this? No read the card."
The flowers did bring a pleasant aroma to the closet, masking the stale mildew smell from the boxes of old case files. Attached to a plastic pitchfork sticking out of the vase was a small envelope with my name written in neat feminine-looking handwriting.
"Some of the girls insisted on giving you a little welcoming."
"Yeah, nice of them. I'll read it later."
"Not a flower kinda girl are you?"
"Was nice of you the other day, but no, I'm not. In this case it keeps this room from stinking."
"About that. Most of these are old files. We have been trying to enter them into our new computer system, but it's been taking a long time. Most of us don't like all this new technology, so finding computer savvy people to enter all the records is challenging. Might be about six months before we completely clear this space out."
"Just tossing it out there, but not only am I good with computers, I can type pretty damn fast."
"You volunteering?"
"Perhaps, might be a good chance to give some of these cases a look-through."
"Most of these are from traffic. Mostly collision reports, vehicle citations and such. There are a few cold cases, but nothing important. Let's get you settled first, then we can worry about taking on other projects. For now I need you, I have to make a house call, I wanted you to come along.
"Sure, where are we going?"
---
Ashley lay curled up on the couch, a tear dripping down her face. Under her arm was her puppy, who lay on his side enjoying the warmth of his companion.
"Ashley, remember, the rules don't apply in this room. It's a magic room, the only one in the world. You can come here and all the feelings and secrets you want to get off your chest, you can. Everything you tell me in this magic room stays behind these doors."
"I know."
"It's okay. Ashley, don't be afraid." Megan asked.
"I have bad dreams sometimes. I want to tell my mom about them, but she has dreams too. When I talk about mine, she starts crying. Sometimes she won't come out of her room and I spend several hours by myself. At least I have Cosmo to keep me company now."
"I'm glad you decided to keep that name. It's a cute name for him don't you think?"
She simply nodded her head as she lifted her hand to rub Cosmo's chin.
"Tell me about the dreams."
"Did Aunt Karen kill Dwayne?"
Ashley's sudden deviation from the dreams to her asking such a serious question startled Megan. It was a fair question, one Michael never talked about. The creep's demise was well accepted, his plane crashed into the ocean and nothing but his jacket washed ashore. It was the jacket she had thrown Michael though, not the flight jacket Liz said he left with. She knew from Michael's reaction that Dwayne was alive. If Dwayne's death was as everyone thought, Michael would have confirmed it, instead, he asked that she trust him. It was all Megan needed to know, that Michael didn't kill him in cold blood. She knew her friend well. He was now an immortal alien with no one to answer to. No one but a few could place Karen with Dwayne and if they did, not a soul on Earth could force her to answer for it.
It was Michael's lack of emotion that told Megan Dwayne was still alive. Where, she had no idea. Perhaps locked in his basement up in his cabin, a fitting punishment. She made a mental note to confront her friend, if for no other reason, out of concern. As much as she disliked Dwayne, he was still human and an American, deserving of Justice as guaranteed by the constitution which she helped preserve.
"Honey, Aunt Karen isn't a killer. Dwayne probably crashed just like everyone says."
"I hope she did."
"Ashley, I know Dwayne was a very bad man, but do you really wish he would die?"
She paused a moment in thought, then squeaked out a response. "Yes. He hurt my mom and made her sad. Aunt Karen left me on the roof to go stop him. Maybe she made him crash."
"Let me ask you, do you think your daddy would kill Dwayne if that was him instead of Aunt Karen?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because my daddy's good and doesn't like hurting people."
"That's right. Remember your dad's birthday party when you and your mom came to Florida?"
"No."
"No? It was you, your mom and I sitting at the table."
"Oh yeah, I remember. That other lady was sitting with us, tall like Aunt Karen."
"Yes. I forget her name, but that was the night. Well Dwayne was being mean to Mr. Yeltsov. Instead of hurting Dwayne, your daddy was nice to him in order to protect Mr. Yeltsov. He could have hurt Dwayne really bad, but he chose not to because like you said, your daddy is a nice man. Maybe he told Aunt Karen to protect you and your mom, but to be nice. You think that's possible?"
"I guess."
"Good. Let's talk more about this next time. Tell me about your dreams."
"Can I talk about that next time too? I'm tired of talking Dr. Megan. Can we go out?"
"Sure Ashley, anything you like. This is your time, so you get to use it however you want. Wanna go out for lunch and shopping again?"
"Can we?" she said with sudden excitement, sitting up.
"Sure, but I have to talk to you about something, can you give me ten minutes?"
"Awww. I guess."
"Good. Remember Detective Reid, the policeman who found you and your mom?"
She nodded her head while stroking Cosmo's head. She held him like an infant, close to her chest, rocking him back and forth as if trying to put him to sleep.
"Well, next week is a special ceremony where they are going to give him an award for saving you two."
"But Aunt Karen saved us."
"She did, but Detective Reid found you first, but Dwayne shot him."
"Yeah, because he tried to stop my mom from shooting Dwayne."
"Tell me about that," Megan asked, surprised as she had never heard this part of the story.
"He was trying to handcuff Dwayne when my mom tried to shoot Dwayne in the head. The policeman stopped her and let Dwayne get away and hurt my mom. Aunt Karen should get the award."
"Well we are her friends, that's the best award. You know, Ashley, that no one can know who Aunt Karen really is, so Detective Reid is going to pretend he saved you two."
"But that's lying."
"Kinda. Did you know I got an award for saving the whole planet?"
"No."
"I did, the President of the United States and other world leaders gave it to me, Mr. Collins, Mr. Mitri and Dr. Shephard. But you know what? We didn't really save the planet. You know who did?"
"Aunt Karen."
"That's right. And as much as I want the whole world to know it was her, she wants to hide. Because everyone will want her for the amazing things she can do. Some will try to hurt her, but won't be able to. So they will hurt those special to her instead. Aunt Karen doesn't want anyone to find out about her, because you won't be safe. So, I pretended to be the one who saved the Earth and got a shiny metal I don't deserve, just to keep Aunt Karen and you and your mom safe. Do you understand?"
"Kinda. But I still don't like him."
"Ashley. He really is a hero. He saved your mother from making a mistake. Killing Dwayne would have hurt her in many ways. One day you will understand that and appreciate him. Look Ashley, I know Dwayne made it hard for you to trust men, but Detective Reid is a really nice man. I know your father would trust him. Now your mom doesn't want to force you to do something you are not comfortable with, but it would mean a lot if you could be there to give him his award. Do you think you can do that?"
"I don't know," she said, hugging her dog. Cosmo turned and licked her face, causing her to giggle. Seeing Ashley's bright smile brought a smile to Megan's face, enjoying the spirit of Michael and Liz' daughter. She knew Liz wasn't ready for the truth, but Ashley would accept him. Kids had a way of cutting through the crap adults added to complicate everything. Politics, religious superstitions and such played no part in a child's life. They were simple creatures, able to see people's hearts clearer than the most intelligent of adults.
"Would you try seeing him, maybe if you and your mommy took him out for dinner?"
Ashley quickly shook her head no.
"What if Aunt Karen came too? You know she and Detective Reid are friends? Aunt Karen helps him stop bad guys. Would you go if she went?"
This idea received an affirmative from Ashley.
"Good, then I will ask your mom if it's okay. If she says yes, then we can all go out."
"Can we go now? I'm hungry."
Megan looked at her watch. She still had a couple of minutes left.
"Well look, I said ten minutes, and ten minutes is up. Go take Cosmo out back to do his duty, then put him in his playpen. I'm going to go change real quick. Why don't you call your mom and tell her we are going out."
"Okay Dr. Megan."
"Sweetie, I think it's cute you call me that, but you're a young little lady and we are friends, you can just call me Megan okay?"
----
"Seriously, I should be thanking you for that smooth flight."
"Nonsense Dr. Shephard, it was an honor having you on my aircraft. Consider this the least I can do to show my appreciation," the captain said, pushing Gene's wheelchair up the ramp. Gene, like most with handicaps, didn't like being treated as someone inferior because of his injury. Worse, he didn't like the hero status–not from THOR, or saving Megan's life. The latter he knew was justified and deep down knew he would do it all over again, but the mission was a crock. None of his work was considered beneficial to the outcome. The trillions of dollars spent, the efforts of all the nations, didn't matter. In the end, it was some mysterious supernatural event that was responsible. An event he couldn't stop thinking about.
"Looks like you won't be waiting around after all Doctor," one of the flight attendants said as they cleared the ramp, entering the main terminal. Gene picked his name out of the crowd of chauffeur's signs and wheeled himself up to the man–a short slender man wearing a black suit, holding the name card high over his face.
"I'm Doctor Shephard, Dr. Meersman send you?"
"You're not going to puke all over my limo are you?"
"Pardon me?"
"You better not Gene, cuz I just got the smell out of my T-38," the man said, lowering the sign."
"Only if you start talking about the Earth being 6,000 years old you old bastard. How'd you know I was coming?" Gene asked, playfully duking it back to his friend.
"Quiet, I don't want anyone here to recognize me."
It wasn't until Sean had the last bag loaded in his Mercedes and Gene comfortably situated in the front seat that the two began conversing.
"Damn it Sean, that was a hell of a surprise. Seriously, how did you know I was coming back?"
"Saw the Doc yesterday at JSC talking to a troop of Girl Scouts. How come you didn't call me to tell me you were coming back?"
"I didn't want a welcoming party, just wanted to get back quietly and get settled in. I've been gone way too long."
"I know how you feel my friend. I get tired of people asking for my autograph and posing for pictures. Kinda hard to turn them down, but it's not what I went up there for." Sean patted Gene on the shoulder, "damn, it's great to see you."
"Same here. Been a long time my friend. The U.S. liaison to the embassy told me you were alright and made it out safely with everyone else."
"Yeah, sorry I didn't come see you."
Sean thought back to the night Gene's life changed forever. For everyone involved, the banquet seizure was a life-changing event. The lights cut out, just like the coded message said they would. The group, all clustered together, immediately falling flat on the ground, below the typical line of gunfire that had erupted seconds later as KGB forces forcibly entered and took the room. The terrorist resistance was short-lived, the KGB team entered and mowed the conscripts down, using the latest in night vision technology to peer through the darkness.
As the last of the terrorists, riddled with bullets, hit the ground, a second team breached the doors, pouring into the hall. At first Sean thought is was reinforcements arriving to assist in securing the site. Instead, they ordered the first team to surrender their weapons. Sean almost expected a tumbleweed to blow through the hall as the two groups stood, weapons trained on each other.
The women in the crowd whimpered or cried, scared out of their wits, while the men held them close, silently terrified themselves. Finally the standoff ended with the first group's surrender. In the aftermath, the confusion as to who the good guys were became more clear, learning of the attempted overthrow of the Soviet Leader.
"No worries Sean. To be honest, I didn't really want a lot of visitors for a while."
"I guess I could understand that. Still, you and I have been through a lot. Might have started off on the wrong foot, but hey, look at us now. How's Debbie doing?"
"She's hanging in there. We both have our share of nightmares, hers are worse."
"You should try watching mine sometime. It's like being shot over and over again. Can't feeling anything down there, but in my dreams I can. Not sure if I actually like the feelings in the dream or not."
"Well, I'm just glad we're all alive, that's most important."
"Yes indeed. Thank God Mitri was able to take that room without any casualties."
"Mitri? What are you talking about?"
"Oh shit, you don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Nikolai's brother?"
"News to me, what about him?"
"Sergei Mitri, he's the one that led the assault. He's a major in the KGB. Actually I think he's a Colonel now, maybe higher."
"No kidding. I didn't know Nikolai had a brother. Hey isn't the KGB dismantled?"
"No, just operating under a new name and answering to a new aspect of the government. Pretty much still the same."
Sean sat in silence pondering the new information. Things made more sense.
"Gene, a couple things have been bothering me about that night."
Gene lifted his hand and pointed to the sign. "Get off at the next exit, then hang a left. God I miss home."
"You are a native Texan like Megan, right?"
"That's right. Grew up in Dallas. Family had a lot of ties with big oil companies. My great great grandfather on my mom's side sunk his first well about 100 years ago."
"Hell, spent a year crammed in a small ship with you and I'm finally learning about you."
"So, what's been bothering you about the banquet?"
"Right. So this might sound strange, but I've been trying to find a rational explanation."
"You, trying to reason?"
"Yeah, no kidding, right?"
Sean pulled off the expressway and headed down the ramp, flicking his left turn blinker on. "So, about five minutes before–What's Nikolai's brother's name again?"
"Sergei."
"Right. So, just before Sergei and his men hit the lights, I received a ..." Sean stopped, wondering if he should continue.
"Received a what?"
"A message, in morse code. Told me to prepare everyone for the lights to go out, and shooting to start," Sean said before continuing his story. He explained the repeated message that used his call sign to get his attention. The message came in the form of dots and dashes encoded into audio feedback in the banquet hall's audio system.
"Really? So what do you think it was?"
"I don't know. In light of our experience with coded messages, my first instinct is to appeal you know where."
"Why not? You think only ghosts know morse code?" Gene asked, knowing there were other alternatives to a supernatural intervention but not wanting to derail the conversation. Instead he let Sean continue.
"Well. I'm sure there's a sound explanation for the message, but that's not all," Sean said while thinking about that.
"About five miles, turn right on William Travis Ave," Gene said, preparing him for his next turn. "So, what do you mean that's not all?"
"I don't know if you remember much right after you were hit."
"Can't say I do. All I remember is thinking that I was going to die, and so was Megan as that asshole turned back to shoot her. She was screaming in absolute terror."
"Right. That's just it."
"Not following you buddy, what's bothering you?"
"What it was she was screaming."
"That, I didn't quite hear."
"Well I did, and so did Debbie. She was screaming for Michael."
Gene fell silent a moment in deep thought. "You saying Megan was calling out to Michael?"
"Yes. She screamed for Michael to help." He repeated the message verbatim, just the way she screamed it, seconds before the Russian's head exploded.
"Likely just reactionary. I mean, sure, every one one of us–even yours truly–believe he saved us somehow."
"Yeah, but don't you think it's strange, she's the only one of us that, from the first day after we returned to Earth, she's denied everything."
"True, she doesn't talk about it much, but she was also closer to Michael. It's possible she took his death harder ... no, I know she did. She likely believes the same as we do, she just won't admit it. She's a psychologist, she's much more grounded than we are."
"Still, I find it strange that she called out to him and a short time later, he codes a message to me."
"So you think she has the power to call him out of the afterlife at will, as if he's her own personal guardian angel now?"
"There was a time in my life I would have absolutely said yes to that. Now, I'm just trying to find the truth."
"Well, maybe he is watching over us. Frankly I like the idea."
"Funny isn't it Gene? You believing, while I have no idea what to believe."
"Sean, you really let all that get to you? Don't tell me you lost your faith?"
"What's the next turn?" Sean asked, making the right. Gene gave him the remaining directions.
"So where are we going?"
"Biotech Labs."
"Isn't that dipshit's company?"
"Was. They filed for bankruptcy. Turner made off with the federal grants and private investments. He's shark food, and the money's in offshore accounts. Investors want their money back and Turner left a dark stain on the company. Won't be long before they close their doors."
"So what are you going to see them for? You're not going to invest in that asshole's company are you?"
"Hell no, I'm going to buy it, take their facilities and their patents and incorporate it as my corporation."
"So that's what you are doing out here?"
"That and other things."
"So I hear. When are you going to see her?"
"Taking her out for dinner tomorrow night."
"You and the Doc. Damn, Gene, who would have thought?"
"Right? Probably the same people that wouldn't have thought we would be friends."
---
"What are we doing here?"
"I'm waiting for someone."
"Okay, can you be a little more vague?"
"Name is Stephan Kránger. He's the lead singer in a band that used that sound booth on a regular basis. The owner said they had a big guy with them on a few occasions," Reid explained in between sips of his coffee. It was a quiet, upscale neighborhood that likely retaliated against their garage performances and forced them to seek out alternative venues as they improved their musical craft.
"So you think our boy knows these guys?"
"Doubtful, but we need to be thorough. I still think he broke in in the middle of the night."
"What about the VDub?"
"DMV shows it registered to a man in Dallas. He reported it stolen a few days before Miller's murder."
"Isn't that where Broderick is from?"
"Good catch. Our friends in Dallas have a surveillance team watching his parents' house. If there is any attempt at contact, we will know."
"Must make his parents real proud."
"Mr. Broderick is a prick. Rich slimy scumbag who dumped a shitload of money on his attorneys and probably anyone else he could bribe. It worked because the DA dropped the charges against Seth. They're still barking that their sweet innocent shithead of a son isn't behind this."
"The guns registered to him, the bomb in his house, his truck on the scene, hell, even that perp ID'ing him in a photo not enough to convince them?"
"Parents get crazy when their kids do wicked things, but these parents are shit. Should have let him fall. He would still be in prison now and we wouldn't be in this mess."
"Stupid thinking Jim. We are in this mess, thinking about what could have happened is pointless. So, I take it the parents are refusing to assist in locating him?"
"Of course, wouldn't you?"
"No." I said with certainty, but deep down knowing it would be one of the hardest things a parent would have to face. Protect a known murderer because you don't want to see your child sent to prison or executed, but the torment of knowing you allowed innocent lives to be taken at the hands of your offspring. Their blood equally on your hands.
"How about I go up to Dallas and poke around? I can check out the van's owner, then maybe befriend the Brodericks. Maybe get close to the mother and see what I can find out."
"Good idea. I'll let my contact up there know you will be snooping around so they won't harass you."
"Okay, I will leave in a couple of hours and spend the evening up there. Give me what you have on them."
"Wait, I forgot. You might want to hang around tonight."
"Why?"
"I think Megan was going to call you, but Liz, Ashley and Megan want to take me out for dinner tonight, she mentioned something about inviting you as well."
"Dinner, what for?"
"Hold on, he's here," Jim said, interrupting me as a beige station wagon pulled up into the drive way. A young adult about my age exited the vehicle, then lifted the back gate, withdrawing a large case.
"Stephan Krá¼ger?"
"Yes," he replied in a moderate German accent. Reid flashed his new Sergeant's badge.
"Sergeant Reid with Houston Police."
"I've never been greeted that way before. Is there a problem?"
"I'm investigating the murder of one of my police officers behind the sound studio you and your band practice in."
"Yes, I've heard. Terrible to hear. I'm quite sorry. What is it you need me for?"
"We are looking for this man," Reid said, holding up a photograph of Broderick. "I understand a large muscular man was seen with you and your friends."
"I've never seen this man. My friend Karl, his brother is a big guy and a sound engineer. Helped record our demo."
I listened to his heartbeat as he spoke, watching his body heat for fluctuations. As far as I could tell, he was being truthful.
"You have a name for Karl's brother and an address?"
"I can. Is he in trouble?"
"No, just want to ask them if they've seen this guy."
"His brother's name is Gá¼nther Lanz." Reid started patting his jacket down as Stephan dictated his friend's address.
"You need me to write it down for you?"
"No it's okay," I said, memorizing the information for Reid. As he continued to speak with Stephan, Reid's radio sparked to life off in the distance. I listened to the message and grabbed Reid, pulling him toward the car.
"Reid, we gotta go," I said, pulling him toward the car.
"Wait, I'm not finished–"
"–There's been another shooting, get in the car," I said, ducking under his arm and lifting him off his bad leg. Moments later he was peeling out, racing down the street with his lights flashing.
"What did they say?"
"All units, all units priority one, officer involved shooting on the corner of Travis and Polk Street in downtown."
"151 10-4, proceeding to scene. ETA 10 minutes." Reid turned to me as I began stripping my top off.
"What are you doing."
"I can get there in seconds."
"It's broad daylight."
"No time, trust me," I said, kicking my slacks off, leaving them crumpled on the floor of Reid's car. His head kept shifting back and forth, watching as I pulled the hood over my head, sealing my thick head of hair and pretty face under the alien garment.
"You look like a mannequin."
His comment forced a laugh through my nasal passages just as I activated the stealth on my suit, rendering me semi-transparent.
"Screw you, I just sneezed in this mask," I yelled, pulling myself through the open window and taking flight.
---
"Captain, phone company finally got us the phone records. The call that triggered the bomb was routed through five different residences. That's why it took so long to track."
"Where did it originate?"
"Dallas, the Broderick home. There's a guest house on the property and a phone line dedicated to that location. The call originated from there."
"I want the parents picked up for aiding and abetting this bastard. I'm not going to stand by and listen to this bullshit they don't know where he is. Tell your boys back home you are coming up with a team to take the house. Maybe we can put a squeeze on this fucker by prosecuting his parents. I'll get with the DA to find anything we can charge them with."
"Might be a stretch, but I like it." Brennan's head snapped back as the door to Brownly's office burst open. Officer Brewer stood at the door out of breath."
"Jesus Christ Brewer you wanna fucking kno–"
"–Captain, we got him.
Angel S:2 E:6
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright © 2014
Edited by: jeffusually
—
The sound of gunfire below pierced my ears. Two officers were barricaded behind their cruiser’s doors, unloading their magazines into the blue Ford F-150. I watched the scene unfold below, trying to ascertain the situation and devise an appropriate response. Two additional cruisers arrived on scene, the officers exiting their vehicles and opening fire on the Ford.
“Angel, what’s happening?”
“Police have him pinned down. They’re riddling his truck.”
“Any casualties?”
“Negative, no officers down, thermal shows him crouching on the passenger side. He’s not returning fire.” As I spoke, the whole scene below seemed out of place. The tough vengeful son of a bitch Broderick was, was suddenly reduced to a pussy, curled up in the fetal position in the front seat. Something wasn’t right.
“Screw it,” I said, accelerating toward the truck below.
“What are you doing?” Ignoring Reid, I hit the ground hard, shattering the pavement next to the passenger door and triggering a break in the gunfire. As the officers on scene began approaching the vehicle, weapons raised, I heard the faint cry of an infant from within the truck.
“Oh shit,” I said as one of the officers sighted the driver and called out his position in the passenger seat. Another barrage of gunfire erupted, piercing the back cab of the pickup. Without care of being seen, I dashed, placing my body between the cops and the passenger seat, blocking the gunfire with my invincible, yet cloaked body, appearing only as a blur.
“Angel, what’s going on?” Reid demanded as I deflected as many rounds as I could with my hands, my slender body an ineffective shield against a large target.
“Call off the attack.” Just as I called out, Reid barreled through the debris, pulling his car to a skidding halt behind the truck. He leapt out of the vehicle flailing his arms.
“Cease fire goddamn it,” Reid commanded, pulling his new rank on the responding officers. One at a time, they stopped firing, ejecting their spent magazines and reloading.
I used the brief distraction to take flight and hover above the scene.
“Jim, there’s a kid in the front seat.”
There was a brief pause as Reid, weapon trained on the front of the vehicle, moved to the rear of the truck.
“Police, I wanna see your hands. Place them outside the window where I can see them.”
“Don’t shoot goddamn it. I’m not armed.”
“Hands through the window, do it now and keep your mouth shut.” I watched as two hands appeared through the window. An officer approached Reid and handed him a bullhorn. Reid pushed him away, continuing with his normal voice. “Right hand, slowly open the door and push it open. Then I want to see those hands.”
The driver complied, opening the door as instructed, then presenting his wide spread hands to the police.
“Driver, slowly exit the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them.”
“What about my son?”
“You first. Out of the truck.”
Below, a white man in his late thirties emerged. He wasn’t the large muscular man Broderick was, rather built but a smaller frame. His muscles appeared to be the product of hard labor vs someone hitting the gym every day.
“Driver, face forward and with one hand lift your shirt.” The driver lifted his blue flannel shirt, revealing a bare back. He slowly rotated, proving to Reid he was unarmed. He continued following instructions, kneeling down and crossing his legs.
“Passenger, exit the vehicle, keep your hands where we can seen them.”
“He’s a fucking toddler you assholes.”
“Jim, he’s not lying,” I said through the radio, hovering fifty feet above the car.
As another officer repeated Reid’s instructions, Jim inched forward, his .45 trained on the truck.
“Sergeant, what are you doing?” one of the cops asked as the sound of a child crying flooded the area.
“Clear,” Jim called out before handcuffing the driver.
—
“No sir, it was the same make and model, but not our boy’s truck,” Jim reported to his captain through the mobile phone.
“Son of a bitch. Is the driver okay?”
“Light injuries sir, some scratches from the glass. We roughed him up a little as I secured the vehicle, other than that he’s okay. Mistaken identity, a farmer in town visiting family for the holidays. He was really shaken up that we could have killed his kid.”
“There was a child in the car?”
“Yes, a two year old in a car seat up front. Kid’s okay, no injuries. The driver’s threatening a lawsuit.”
“He’s not fucking threatening, he will sue the shit out of us.”
“Captain, I’m afraid we have a problem. A civi caught the incident on his VHS camera. Press has it already.”
“Fucking assholes,” Jim heard as Brownly directed his voice to someone in the office with him.
“Gus, get those two broke dicks in here immediately. Oh Christ, this guy’s probably already lawyered up and is going to suck us dry,” Brownly yelled into the handset, not bothering to move it away as he barked orders to Ferguson. Reid moved the portable phone away just as Brownly slammed his fist on the desk.
“Captain, I think everyone is on edge in light of Miller,” Reid said.
“That’s no fucking excuse Reid. We don’t panic and open fire just because it’s the same blue Ford pickup. Hell, a pickup truck is the official vehicle of Texas. We need to stop being a bunch of pussies, afraid of taking fire. Shit, if we had killed an innocent kid, God help us.”
“Sir with all due respect, this isn’t the military, and even then, fear is a natural reaction.”
“Reid, shut the fuck up. I don’t give two shits. We are all sworn to protect the innocent, even if that means sacrificing ourselves in the process. I want each of my men to go home at the end of their tour, but, I’m not going to stand for civilian casualties because we’re stupid or afraid. The goddamn media’s gonna give me a colonoscopy. Gonna shove some of those big ass cameras right up my ass.”
“What do you need from me right now?” Reid said, not sure how to respond directly to Brownly’s comments.
“Ferguson is en route. Take charge until he arrives to relieve you then help with the investigation.”
Jim looked at his watch. It was 1pm, plenty of time to wrap this up, head back to the station, file the report and still make it to dinner with everyone tonight.
—
Ashley stood mesmerized by the tank of live lobsters, watching them as they lived out their final moments on Earth.
“You like lobster Ashley?” Megan asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had it before.”
“Well, tonight you can have anything you want, of course if it’s okay with your mommy,” Megan said, looking up at Liz for her approval.
“I don’t think she will like it, but if she wants, it’s okay with me as long as she eats it,” Liz said, taking a seat at the lounge table and carefully setting three glasses down. She divided them up, handing Ashley her Shirley Temple, then placing Megan’s martini in front of her. Ashley quickly grabbed the skewer of cherries and drew one off with her teeth.
“You did get in touch with them right?”
“Yeah, they will be here, they’re probably almost here.”
The three toasted, then took a sip of their drinks.
“You look like a very pretty young lady, I love your dress,” Megan said, complimenting Ashley’s long floral on white dress.
“Thank you Megan.” Liz gave her a look of displeasure.
“Liz, if it’s okay with you, I told her she can drop the doctor off my name.”
“She needs to respect adults.”
“And she does to a T. But we are friends and Doctor feels too formal for me.”
“Fair enough.”
A cold breeze blew in as the front door opened. Liz turned her head to see James limping through the crowd wearing a normal suit and tie. Karen’s puffy blond wavy hair peeked out from behind his equally tall frame.
“Hi, sorry we are late. We got tied up downtown.”
“Everything okay?” Megan asked
“Not really, but I’m willing to forget about it for a few hours.”
“Jeez, anyone hurt?”
“No, no casualties thank God.”
“I’m glad you are alright Jim.” Liz said.
“Liz, good to see you again,” he said, reaching out to hug her. “How have you been?”
“Been okay. Thanks for asking. Congratulations on your promotion, we’re really happy for you.”
“Thank you. Kind of a surprise since I just had one earlier in the year.”
“Well, you deserve it.” Jim turned and greeted Megan before finally facing Ashley. She froze in place, her counseling suddenly forgotten and her fear returned. She scooted off the stool and hid behind her mother, increasing the gap between her and Jim.
“Ashley, say hello to Mr. Reid.”
She shook her head in defiance, refusing to listen. Megan watched her reaction, carefully studying her movements as she tried to avoid Jim.
“Hey Ash,” Karen said, squatting down to Ashley’s level and taking her into her arms. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of Jim? Jim’s a good friend of mine. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t find you and your mom. He got in a lot of trouble because he wouldn’t stop helping me look for you. He’s a good man, just like your daddy. I promise you, nothing bad will happen to you. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then go say hi.”
Slowly Ashley emerged from her safety net. Still afraid to approach, she remained brave enough to let him come closer.
“Hi there young lady. I brought you something Ashley. A gift. Will you accept it?” Megan watched as Ashley’s intrigue over the small wrapped box got the better of her.
“Ash, be polite and say hello before taking the gift, sweetie,” Karen said, drawing a look from Liz. After a few attempts, Ashley managed to formulate her greeting.
“That a girl,” Jim said, holding his hand out to shake.
—
“What can I get you Ma’am?”
“Manhattan with JD and a Rusty Nail.”
“Sure thing. Just need some ID.” I handed the bartender my license as Megan snuck in behind me.
“Hey you.”
“What’s up Doc?”
“Looks like that went well.”
“We’ll see, Ash can do amazing things when you bribe her. Let’s see how long it lasts.” Megan reached out and handed the bartender a twenty for the drinks before I had a chance to pay, insisting it was on her. He continued shaking my cocktail while keeping his eyes on Megan.
“You know, Liz was asking if you liked the clothes. I think she’s a little put off you came dressed like that.”
“Like what? It’s a suit, the way I always dress and appropriate for fine dining.”
“I know, it’s just. It’s just, I think Ashley was looking forward to seeing you dressed up.”
“Oh come on. I don’t want to go out feeling bare. Besides, I don’t have any shoes that match.”
“Look, do what you want. You know me, I’m not pushing you.”
“But you are, you are going to guilt me into it. Fine. Bring my drink to the table and tell them I will be back in five minutes.”
“Where are you going?”
“To change, where else?” I took my drink and gulped it, setting it back on the bar. “Never mind that, get me another and take that to the table,” I said, hurrying out.
“Karen,” Megan called out. As I turned she tossed her keys. “Top shelf of my closet on the left, there’s a red box with a pair of shoes that will fit you. Have at them, they will go with the red gown.”
—-
“She’s kidding” I said aloud, standing up in the heels. My ankles wobbled as I took my first step, hating everything I was doing. If I could sweat, I would be drenched right now from the fear of going out in public dressed for display.
Slowly, I took a step forward, careful not to put my weight on the heel, remembering the last attempt in Liz’s shoes. It was easier walking on my toes, allowing me to walk with fewer difficulties. Still, every several steps my feet gave out from under me. My ankle twisted and folded under me.
“Screw this,” I said, lifting my leg to remove the shoe, holding my balance by defying gravity. I had the buckle half way undone when it came to me. I refastened the buckle and stood straight, applying just enough lift to take the weight off the shoes. Lighter on my feet, I walked the length of my bedroom with greater fluidity.
“Okay Michael, you can do this. Only tonight, suck it up for Ash and your beautiful wife.” After tying my hair back, I donned my black overcoat, scanning the surrounding apartments for body heat. The area clear, I stepped out back and lifted off, streaking high into the sky.
—-
“Megan, where’s Aunt Karen?”
“She had to go home real quick. She will be back any minute. Did you decide what you wanted?”
“I can’t decide.”
“She has been gone a while. What did she need to go home for?” Liz asked, a little annoyed.
“Here she is,” Reid said, spying her as she walked in through the front door fidgeting with her hair. She wandered the restaurant a moment until Reid heard Megan say in a quiet normal table voice.
“Turn to your left Karen.” Reid caught on and reached his arm out waving to her. A waiter intercepted her just as she turned and saw Reid’s hand, and escorted her to the table.
“So sorry to keep you waiting. How long have you been at the table?’
“Just a couple minutes,” Jim said, lying.
“Can I take your coat Ma’am?”
Megan smiled as Karen stood as if confused for a moment.
“Yeah, sure,” she finally said, fumbling with the sash and buttons on her coat. Megan watched Ashley’s eyes widen as the bright red dress became visible and the coat fell into the hands of the waiter who was caught in a trance staring at Karen’s figure.
“Oh wow Aunt Karen, you are really cute in that.” Megan and Liz erupted in laughter while Reid simply chuckled and stood to let his friend in.
“Why thank you Ash.”
“Did you go home to change?”
“I did. I didn’t realize how dirty my suit was, so I ran home. You like it?”
“Of course, I picked it out just for you.”
“I know you did, and an excellent job, you know what I like.”
“So now that we are all here, why not have a toast?” Liz said, raising her glass
—
“You two assholes get the fuck in my office right now,” Brownly screamed, tossing objects off his desk. He marched over to the door, slamming it shut. Officer Cruz and Officer Lenard jumped as they stood at attention. Brownly walked up to Cruz, planting his face inches away.
“How long you been a cop Cruz?”
“Sir, fifteen years.”
“You mind telling me at what point in that fifteen years we introduced a shoot first ask questions later policy?”
“Captain—”
“—Shut your fucking hole you stupid shit. You have any idea what you just did to this department? I have a media circus outside wanting to take a bite out of my ass and that of Chief Gormley’s. So, let’s hear it, what in God’s name was rolling through those shit for brains heads of yours?”
“Sir,” Lenard started, stuttering from the menacing presence Brownly had, knowing the man was about to devour him and spit him out. “The suspect’s truck—”
“—He’s not a suspect, he’s an innocent bystander who is going to make a killing when the department lawyers settle with him.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Captain, we observed the vehicle fail to stop at a red light heading southwest on Walker and make a hard right turn onto Travis. He nearly caused a collision in the intersection and sped down Travis at approximately 45mph. We simply thought it was our boy in flight.”
“So you two thought you would be heroes? Was it not made clear enough to you how dangerous this man is. He can seriously fuck you up before you even know what hit you. You dumb fucks were given specific instructions to call for backup. But no, you two had to pull this Lone Ranger crap. Worse, you endangered the life of a two year old. That kid and his father are damn lucky you can’t shoot for shit. As much as I need every man on duty hunting this asshole, I have no choice. The Mayor himself is receiving a shit storm from the public. Orders came straight from him, you two are on suspension pending a formal hearing. IAD will contact you regarding the investigation. Give me your shields and get the fuck out of my sight.
The two officers handed over their badges, then cowered out the door, passing the other officers who arrived as their backup.
“You four get in here.”
—
“Need help Ash?” I asked as she poked at the lobster, wondering where to start.
“I don’t think I want to eat this.”
“Ashley Rene. You are going to eat it. You insisted on ordering that. We don’t waste food, you know that.”
“But it looks gross.”
“It does doesn’t it?” I said, agreeing with her while lifting the lobster and wiggling it, raising my voice so that is was even squeakier than it already was. “But I taste really good. Eat me, eat me.” Ashley giggled at my crustacean reanimation. With the small fork, I pointed to the claw. “This right here is the best part. Let me get the meat for you.”
I took the claw in one hand, pinching at the base with my still painted nails. The lobster’s armor plating was outmatched against my strength. I effortlessly popped the arm off, then crushed the main claw. I peeled the shell away, dropping the claw meat on the plate in front of her.
“Dip that in the butter and try it. You’ll like it.”
Ashley took a mouthful sucking on the dripping butter. Her face lit up, enjoying the flavor as she began chewing on the soft meat.
“You like?”
With her mouth full, Ash simply held up her right thumb indicating her approval. I cracked the other claw, then prepared the tail before starting on my steak.
“You know there’s this place in Amarillo where you can order a 96 oz steak. Thing is this big.” Reid held his hands out to show the size. “They load your plate with lots of fixins. If you can finish the whole meal, everyone at the table eats for free.”
“My dad and I went there. He only made it half way through. Doesn’t some pro ball player have the record of 9 minutes?” Megan said, joining in the conversation. Bet you can put the whole meal away Karen.”
“Sounds pretty awesome, when do you guys wanna go?”
“Jim, you are a Texas native like Megan right?” Liz said, interrupting and diverting the conversation.
“That’s right. Was born in Abilene. Small dump of a town. Folks moved to San Antonio in ’58 and opened a Texas BBQ pit near the base.
“Kelly?” I asked.
“That’s right. Did a pretty good business. He and my mom moved to Houston in ’65. I stayed and ran the restaurant into the ground while they opened a couple locations in Houston. In ’67, I joined the police academy and worked for the first three years in San Antonio before transferring to Houston.
“What’s the restaurant’s name”
“Cranky Hanks.”
“Cranky Hanks? Your family owned that?” I said without thinking. Megan kicked me under the table.
“You’ve heard of it? My pop, Hank Reid, sold the last one five years ago to some foreigners who destroyed it overnight.”
“Oh, just heard a lot of people raving about it, upset it was sold,” I said, quickly thinking my way out.
“Michael and I were devastated when it sold. You’re right, the new owners had no idea how to run a business. A crying shame,” Liz chimed in.
“Well, I will have to invite you all over for a family BBQ sometime. Dad’s old and tired, but once a week, he fires up the smoker.”
“Would love that,” Liz said.
“How about you Liz, where are you from?”
“Grew up in Florida. Nothing special.
“She met my daddy in Florida.”
“Well I would say that’s special,” Jim said, changing his voice. “Have you seen where your mommy grew up?”
Ashley nodded her head yes while taking a sip of her Shirley Temple.
“We went back there for Michael’s launch,” Liz explained. “We spent the last few weeks with him. After he, Megan and the rest of the crew transferred to the Deliverance and were safely on their way, I took Ashley to Disney World and brought her to see my old home, her father’s old Air Force Base and the restaurant I met him at.”
“I don’t think I ever heard that story Liz, how you and Michael met,” Megan said. I sat there simply listening with my arm wrapped around my daughter. The conversation was full of topics I wanted to take part in, but couldn’t. Instead I silently repeated to myself to keep my mouth shut, that saying something could give me away.
“Understandable Megan. Michael and I had several moments we kept to ourselves.”
“Not even how you met?”
“Nope. Even our engagement story is just for us.”
“Never heard of that before. Well the guys at least don’t talk about any of that stuff, but you Liz?”
“I know, strange, but that’s the way we are.”
“It’s not strange. I think it’s rather cute. Makes the moment much more intimate. Everyone heard my engagement story with dirtbag. But, now it’s all but forgotten.” Megan said.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, resuming our feast. Ashley found the tail to be a little tougher to eat and resorted to poking at it before Liz scolded her and demanded she finish what she ordered. There was a time I would have fought her as well, instilling some uncomfortable parenting, instead I traded meals. She took a liking to the softer crab while my impervious teeth ground up the tough lobster without resistance.
“Ash,” I said, “you didn’t show me what Mr. Reid bought you.”
She set her fork down and lifted the small black box off the seat next to her. Her little hands struggled with the box a moment before she finally lifted the lid. Inside was a small black leather wallet. My first instinct was Jim had a thing for giving wallets until Ash lifted it out and opened it, revealing 3/4 scale police badge.
“Oh wow Ash, that’s pretty cool.” On the top it had her first initial and last name engraved. Along the lower portion it read “Jr. Detective.”
“Mr. Reid says I’m a Jr. Cop.”
“You are? You think you might want to be a real policewoman when you get older?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know Ashley, Aunt Karen helps me solve crimes by using her brain. Your mother tells me you are pretty smart too. We need smart people to help us catch bad guys.”
In my peripheral vision I saw Liz’s face change. She reached out and took a large gulp of her cocktail. As I kicked Jim’s leg, signaling him to stop the conversation, Megan jumped in, also catching Liz’s reaction.
“You know Ash, I met with a girl scout troop the other day and told them about my time as an astronaut. You ever think about being a girl scout? They do lots of fun activities and help out the community.”
“Actually Megan, that’s a great idea,” Liz said, snapping out of her funk. “Ashley needs to interact with other girls her age. How about it honey, you wanna join?”
“I guess.”
“I loved the boy scouts when I was a kid. My dad went with me on many camping trips and field trips. The scouts is a great organization, all kids should get involved.”
The conversation dwindled as the waiter arrived with the dessert tray. Ash as usual couldn’t make up her mind and spent several minutes deciding between the ice cream sundae and the chocolate cake, eventually settling on the cake. Her reasoning, she could get a sundae anytime, but cake was for special occasions. The conversation was just starting to resume when Jim’s pager went off.
—
Reid thumbed through the report, quickly studying facts he anticipated. The sets of fingerprints lifted off the van indeed belonged to Broderick. He wasn’t trying at all to hide his activities, but proudly leaving his signature after each attack.
“How the hell did he drive from Dallas to Houston in that beat up van and not manage to get pulled over?” Brownly asked.
“We checked the vehicle out, all the lights worked, registration was up to date, tires not worn out. If he drove the speed limit, there would be little reason to pull him over. The van on the highway gets about 19 mpg with a 15 gallon tank. Could easily make the trip without stopping,” Ferguson said. “Personally, if I saw the vehicle roll into town I might have found a reason to pull him over, but let’s face it Captain, we weren’t looking for a VDub and certainly weren’t worried at the time about some stoners coming to town.”
“Okay, I will give you that, we had bigger fish to fry. But now we know, this guy is planning some elaborate attacks.”
“Sir,” I said, pausing for permission to speak.
“Yes, you have something to add Ms. Guest?”
“He’s been very dramatic so far. Mercury Savings, blowing his own house, hitting a parked police car in broad daylight with a grenade launcher, then he suddenly takes to silent long range sniping. Why the sudden change in tactics?”
“Geez, that’s easy. He likely knows we are on to him and now he’s being careful,” Ferguson answered.
“At first that’s a good analysis, but I would think he would start being careful after we tossed his house and launched the manhunt after the bombing. No, Miller was a very personal hit. He had to know Miller’s patrol and set up that vehicle right in his crosshairs.”
“Ms. Guest and I are trying to find a connection. So far we have several incidents, nothing substantial. With your permission, I would like to question other officers who worked with them while they were partnered up. See if we can uncover any other incidents we might not be aware of,” Reid said, backing my analysis up.
“Done, get on it.”
“What about Mrs. Miller? Maybe an affair?” I asked.
“Good. Very unlikely she would leave one asshole for another, but I’ve encountered stranger affairs in my time,” the Captain replied.
I felt proud of myself actually being invited as a civilian with no credentials to take part in the meeting with the upper ranks. My whole adult life revolved around aviation. I studied aerodynamic engineering, physics, foreign languages, escape and evasion, survival, self defense and eventually became an astronaut. Yet here I was working with local law enforcement trying to catch a murderer. My only tools were Kaaren’s brain and body. With her mental capability I could expand my knowledge as fast as I could read and boy could I turn the pages.
Still, I wasn’t operating at her full potential. There was much I’d mastered of her capabilities, but I knew there was so much more. How I wish I had access to Kaaren’s knowledge. Knowledge she backed up for my use, knowing it would transfer to my body. Even my remote viewing was useless with Broderick’s belongings destroyed.
“Brennan, how are the warrants coming along?”
“Judge O’Connor is reviewing them as we speak, should have a green light in an hour. I have travel arrangements on standby and my boys in Dallas are ready to greet us.”
“Wait, warrants?” Reid asked.
“Sorry Jim, we are taking Mr. and Mrs. Broderick into custody They’ve been harboring a known fugitive and that’s enough to take them in.”
“How so?”
“The call to Seth’s house originated from their guest house,” Brennan said.
“It’s possible he snuck in and they were unaware,” I added.
“I don’t give a shit, it’s time he faced the fact his son’s a vile piece of shit and was held accountable for bringing him into existence,” Brownly barked.
“Jim, Captain and I think we can put the pressure up by taking them in and charging them. Either the parents crack, or he will.”
“Captain, Karen and I were talking about her getting close to the mother.”
“Not a chance, we are taking them in, I don’t have time to play games. Ms. Guest, your insight was been very helpful, but you don’t have any experience in undercover work. I’m not about to hold this operation up.”
“Fair enough,” I said, agreeing. Jim cocked his head, staring at the ceiling.
“Got something Reid?”
“I do. Instead of holding up the show with Karen, maybe we can use her after the arrest?”
“Go on,” Brownly said, intrigued.
“Karen,” he said, looking at me with an evil looking grin, “ever spent time behind bars?”
—
“Jim, be quiet. There’s no fucking way I’m going to sit in lockup dressed like a slut.”
“Karen, come on, we—”
“I’m walking then. It’s simply not going to happen.”
“Why are you so against this. Women dress like this all the time.”
“Not me.”
“Well, this isn’t going to work then.”
“Yes it will, but under my conditions, not yours. I go dressed like a student instead of a hooker. I’m in the tank for DWI. Seriously Jim, what a stupid idea. You think a sophisticated woman like Mrs. Broderick is going to strike up a conversation with a prostitute?”
Jim was silent as he calmed down and thought things through.
“Point taken.” He stood silent a moment, deep in thought. He pointed his finger at me, shaking it several times as he began laying out his new plan. “I have an idea how to play this that will have you two friends in no time.”
“Okay, share.”
“That’s the plan. Bring your overcoat, the one you had on at dinner.”
“Why?”
“Trust me. Dress however you want, preferably something comfortable that you don’t mind getting dirty and bring that coat.
“If you are screwing with me, I’ll knock down the jailhouse wall.”
“Hey, have some faith.”
“Okay. So, when do I go in?”
“Before the raid. It would look less suspicious if you are already in there.”
“No I won’t, she won’t even be thinking I’m undercover. She’s going to be scared out of her wits. When I was a teen, my dad had me locked up for a night. He was friends with a cop, picked me up for no reason. I was crying like a little girl when I got out. Trust me, she’s never been in jail.”
“That’s a great idea. Remind me if I ever have a kid to try that. It work?”
“Yes, cleaned my act up.”
“Very cool. I like your dad. Tell me more about him sometime.”
“Can they put me in later, I wanna run backup on your op in case there’s a fight.”
“Highly doubtful he’s there. The house has been under surveillance. We have Dallas SWAT going in along with some of our guys. There’s nothing you can do. Even with your camouflage, there’s too many eyes. I need you to get through to her when we deliver her.”
“Okay, but have someone ready to pull me out of there immediately, otherwise the walls are coming down.
“Fair enough.”
—
Megan pressed the button closing the garage door just as her phone inside began ringing. She cussed, looking at her watch and realizing it was nearly 11:30 pm. After Michael and Jim said their goodbyes, she drove Liz and Ashley home and ended up staying a couple of hours keeping Liz company after Ashley fell into a food coma and passed out on the couch.
The answering machine kicked in before she could make it to the kitchen. Relieved, she let the machine run its course as she stripped off her coat then kicked off her heels. As she reached for the rear zipper on her dress, the machine began recording.
“Hi Megan, it’s Eugene. Sorry for calling so late, but it’s still daytime for me and I’m wide awake. Thought you would still be up, but I guess you hit the sack early—”
Megan smiled, lifting the receiver of her portable, and fell back on her sofa like a teenage girl, her legs hanging over the armrest while her head sunk low on the soft cushion.
“—Hey you.”
“Oh you are awake. Screening your calls I see?”
“I just got home, was out for dinner.”
“Yeah, you go out with your folks?”
“Actually I was out with the Owens.”
“Really? How’s she doing? I heard the story about her. Broke my heart when I learned the details.”
“Well they’re doing just fine. I told Liz you were coming here. She said she would like to see you.
“That would be nice, I would like to pay my respects. How’s Michael’s daughter, Amy is it?
“Ashley. She’s quite well. She’s a lot of fun, full of energy. So how was your trip? You enjoying being back home?”
“Flight was rough, but hey, been through worse flights right?”
“That’s the truth. Turbulence on an airliner is nothing after you’ve been blasted into orbit.”
“Listen, I want nothing more than reminiscing over dinner with you tomorrow. I had a slight change of plans. Instead of dinner in the city, I thought we could get together earlier and head down to the ocean. Maybe spend the day in Galveston. What do you think?”
“Thought you were canceling on me at first.”
“Sorry, no I was just thinking of something different.”
“I thought we could go somewhere you’ve been craving the most.”
“Nah, nothing here worthwhile. Let’s go for a drive, I miss that the most. No checkpoints, no papers, no endless inquiries as to my purpose for traveling.”
“Sure Gene. It’s your welcome home party. Anything you desire,” Megan said. The freedom Gene spoke of was indeed worth coming home for. The months she spent in Russia, being restricted in her travels did create an element of claustrophobia. You feel like a prisoner in your own city, a criminal with a past whose every movement was called into question by men carrying automatic weapons.
It wasn’t freedom that Gene wanted, Megan suspected. Her instincts told her Gene’s motives to get out of Dodge were driven by an old ghost returning to regain control over his emotions.
“I just have one small request.”
“Sure Gene, what’s up?”
“Can you drive?”
—
“Don’t like flying?” I asked Jim, his face green. The other cops racked up a story for the books after Jim tossed what was left of his dinner from last night into all the available barf bags in the row. Some are born and bred to live in the sky, while others like Jim were destined to have both feet permanently planted on the ground. This was my first time in a plane since my whole world changed. It felt strange, taking an hour to fly from Houston to Dallas when I could orbit the planet a hundred times in that hour. The private Lear jet Brennan chartered was comfortable and roomy. I hated flying as a passenger, sitting in uncomfortable seats far away from the flight deck. The only control I had over the aircraft was the recline button on the seat and the service toggle near the ceiling light; that made me feel very out of control.
“Hate it. If God intended for us to fly, he would have given us wings.”
“I don’t have wings.”
“Cute Karen.”
“Relax Jim This is the fun part.”
Jim’s fingers were digging into the leather wrapped around the armrest of his seat as the plane began descending. I sat back in the chair reading a magazine without a care in the world.
“What’s that noise?”
“We’re going to die … ahhhhh,” I said, perhaps a little too loud.
“Screw you.”
“Lighten up Jim, it’s just the flaps, it’s completely normal, the pilot is lowering them to give the plane—.”
“—I don’t care what they are for, just tell me if we are going to die or not.”
“We?” I said out loud before leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I’ll be the first one off this plane if it goes down.” He gave me the dirty look I was expecting. “Relax, if anything happens, I’ll make sure we land safely. You think I would let anything happen to you?”
Still tense, he relaxed a bit as he thought about the security I brought to air travel. Jim leaned forward and gazed out the window, watching the ground grow larger as the plane descended on final approach.
—-
The Captain sat reviewing the reports piled up on his desk. He bit into the last of his sandwich while keeping his eyes glued to Lenard’s testimony regarding the shooting. Exactly as he described verbally the night before, the truck plowed through the stoplight and sped down the street. The stop was justified, and his officers did react on instinct. Reid was right, they were on edge and deep down he didn’t blame them. Brownly thought to himself as Ferguson knocked on the door that he would have likely opened fire as well.
“Terrence, just wanted to let you know, the team touched down about ten minutes ago. DPD is taking them to site, ETA thirty minutes.”
“Thanks Gus. You got a few minutes?”
“Was just about to leave, but I can stay. What’s up?” he said, closing the door.”
“Instinctually, what’s your take on this fuck up yesterday?”
“Procedurally, it’s a total cluster.”
“Right, but if you were on the beat?”
“I would have shot if that door opened.”
“Why?”
“He could have changed the plates.”
“Lots of Ford Pickups out there in blue.”
“Sure, but less F-150’s with similar aftermarket lifts and roll bars. I’ve driven in Broderick’s truck, and I saw this up close. At a quick glance, they looked a lot alike.”
“The VIN’s are different. Can change a plate, but not its serial.”
“No sir. Truck’s registered to Samuel Dodd. Has a cattle rancher out in Kimble County.”
“Explains the lifts on the truck.”
“Personally, we’re going to get raped by the public, but IAD will clear our guys. If it’s anything, I think we should tone down our disapproval of their actions. It’s more dangerous to civilians if they second guess their instincts out of fear of reprimand. We are short on manpower and I need my officers sharp.”
“Couldn’t have said it better. Been on the fence with this and I would have shot too when that door opened.”
“How do you want me to handle it?”
“First of all, we don’t make any solo stops. Lenard and Cruz fucked up by going after them alone. We get eyes on the target and call it in. Our senior field officer will coordinate.”
“I will remind them. How long you expect me to be two down?”
“That’s out of my hands. Chief and I have a friendly little meeting tomorrow with the Mayor. This might be my time to cash out and retire.”
“Sir, with Whithers and Miller down, we’ve lost a few in the command ranks, we can use another senior officer on the streets.”
“Can’t promote anyone for that now. Need someone who can lead out there.”
“Understood, that’s why I’m volunteering.”
“Didn’t see this coming, I thought you were done out there?”
“I was sir; we need to get this guy.”
“Nolan’s the only one I would put in your job; I’d just as soon keep things the way they are.”
“What if I can get you a solid replacement and fill one of our holes at the same time?”
“Don’t have anyone.”
“Sir, what if I give Mendoza my job. She passed her Sergeant’s exam six months ago.”
“You think she can do your job?”
“No one better. Give her a good safe job to come back to, might be just the ticket to get her back.”
“How soon can you get her up to speed.”
“Figure a week. She’s covered for me before.”
“The rest going to listen to a woman telling them what to do?”
“I’ll take care of that if it comes up.”
“Okay, easy sale. I’ll talk to Gormley in the morning and pass the paperwork through, make sure you can sway her. Have Jim help you if you need.”
“Yes sir. Thank you.”
“Speaking of, you see Jim when he gets back, have him redo this report from Christmas Eve. It’s so vague, I might use it for toilet paper. Something about a juvenile welfare check.”
“Don’t remember. What was the outcome?”
“Just said it was a false call, but no details. Tell him to rewrite it and have it on my desk ASAP.”
___
“Karen, this is Deputy Moretti. She will be hauling you off to jail and making sure you are looked after while you are incarcerated,” Jim said as we parked next to her cruiser, his door next to hers. We exited the vehicle, parked in a vacant strip mall off the main highway.
“Hi Karen, nice to meet you. Sergeant Reid here gave me the rundown on what you will be doing under my watch.”
“Deputy, nice to meet you,” I said, thinking to myself how much I hated the idea. No prison could restrain me and no inmate could hurt me, still, the idea of voluntarily going to jail bothered me.
“So, here’s what to expect. We are going to put you directly into the Bond Out tank. This is the place where those who have been bailed out are separated from those about to have a long stay with us. Usually it’s drunks and disorderly conduct visitors, so not much to worry about. Still, this is a county lockup, so things can get rough. If anything crazy happens, we are on it and will shut it down. Any questions?”
“I’m not too worried.”
“Good. You will do just fine. Sergeant, we doing the full treatment, or are we just taking her to the holding cell?”
“We talked earlier, I doubt the subject is going to be suspicious, so I will leave it up to Karen here.”
“Can we just do the handcuffs and a simple pat down, that enough realism?”
“Good enough for me.”
“How much time do I have Jim?”
“We are going in around 7am. Catch them when they are waking up. It’s 6am, so you have about an hour till we go in. Say about thirty to forty minutes holding them on site, about an hour for processing. After that we will sweat her out a bit in the main tank, them move her down the line to you. Deputy, why don’t you and Karen here go get some morning grub, get a few drinks in her, then book her.”
—
“Bravo team, standing by at location, awaiting orders,” Lockwood radioed in, crouching beside the door to the guest house along the east side of the two acre property. The guest house was a single story two bedroom home between the pool and the main property.
“I didn’t know this bastard was this wealthy?” Hernandez whispered.
“Quiet. Ready on my mark.”
“Alpha Team. Outside perimeter secure, we’re ready to go in,” Sergeant Townsend of Dallas’ SWAT team called in. Lockwood, taking point as always, was leading a small detachment of his team, securing the guest house, while Dallas PD took the main house. Eyes on the property reported no activity in the house for the last several days, but that did little to ease Lockwood’s anxiety. Broderick was a professional soldier possessing a deadly suite of skills taught by the US Army. He was tough and planned well. It wouldn’t surprise Lockwood if Seth spent the last several days laying down on the floor of the house with a rifle pointed at the front door, waiting for the breach.
Lockwood sprang to life the second the green light order poured through the radio. An officer on loan from Dallas smashed the front door in with a battering ram, trailed seconds later by Hernandez tossing the flash bang through the opening. The grenade hit the floor with a definitive clink, signaling Lockwood to charge in. He knew Broderick was well versed in raiding buildings. Seth would anticipate a flash bang, shielding his eyes from the blinding blast. As a counter tactic, Lockwood, didn’t pull the pin and gambled on the target staying concealed in the first seconds after the door was defeated.
He rushed through the door with a powerful light attached to the end of his carbine lighting up the room, bathing the entryway in bright light as he stepped aside to allow the rest of his team to enter. Hernandez hung a right, clearing the adjacent living room of threats. The sound of glass shattering toward the rear and sides alerted him the rest of the team had entered at different points.
“Donald,” Hernandez shouted toward the beam of light cutting through the faintly lit dining room.
“Duck.” His team member called back the other half of the code, “section 3 clear.”
“Entry Clear,” another voice called out.
“Alpha Team taking fire,” Lockwood heard through the radio as he approached a door in the kitchen. The house so far was as he expected, empty with no signs of recent activity. Still, he resisted the urge to charge to the main house without completing the sweep of his assignment, trusting his Dallas counterparts were as good at their job as he was.
“Looks like a basement door,” a voice said over his shoulder. Lockwood turned, signaling using hand signals for his bomb expert Romero. Seconds later a team member donning thick heavily padded bomb resistant armor approached, kneeling at the door and examining the frame just as Alpha Team reported in that all subjects were in custody with no casualties. Lockwood, relieved the main operation was a success, motioned for one of his team to report while he remained with his bomb technician. If Broderick was below, or left a surprise, it would be here, when the team’s confidence in their success was high and their guard lowered.
“Sergeant, this is a standard door handle. The other side cold be rigged with a variety of triggers. We could blow the door remotely from safety or I can drill through the door and use CCTV fiber optic imaging to see inside.”
“The latter.”
Romero went to work, withdrawing a power drill with a 1.5″ auger bit attached. He quickly drilled a series of holes around the hinges and door handle before another technician knelt beside him with a long tube shaped device with a light at the end. The technician inserted the tube while Romero worked a pair of small joysticks as if playing an arcade game. Next to the handheld controller was a portable monochrome CCTV monitor. Lockwood watched as the illuminated end of the snake returned an image to the monitor showing no devices were attached to the top door hinge.
“Pretty neat device isn’t it Sarge? Compliments of NASA technology. I hear they based this off cameras used on the mission.”
“Funny how Houston forgot to give us one. Gonna raise hell when I get home.”
“Wait, they are making a 1/2″ snake that will fit under most doorways. Won’t have to drill through the door.”
Minutes passed before Romero concluded the door wasn’t rigged and the base of the stairs was clear of contacts. Lockwood lifted a flash bang off Hernandez’s vest, this time pulling the pin. Romero pulled the door open.
“Seth Broderick, Dallas Police, we have a warrant for your arrest. You are surrounded. I want to see you at the base of the stairs, shirt off and hands interlocked on your head. You know the drill.”
Lockwood repeated the message several more times as Romero ran the snake down the stairs, scanning the basement. Confident their boy wasn’t down there, he tossed the stun grenade for extra insurance, waiting for the blinding flash to pass before rushing down the stairs trailed by his team. He panned the room soaking in the display before someone finally spoke his mind.
“Mother of God.”
—
“I’m going to fucking sue each and everyone of you sorry sons a bitches. You have any idea who I am?” Mr. Broderick screamed as the EMT’s finished securing him to the gurney. A large blood stain soaked through the dressing taped to his shoulder.
“Good luck with that asshole. What fucking part of ‘Police, we have a warrant’ didn’t you understand?” Brennan said as he was wheeled out escorted by four officers assigned watch as he was taken to the emergency.
Reid watched Mrs. Broderick, her face a teary eyed mess as she sat, handcuffed, in the back of the cruiser watching her husband being rolled past her. Mr. Broderick’s injury, he thought, just might help push her over the edge, driving her to cooperate, had he surrendered peacefully. Instead, the father was looking at heavy charges for firing on peace officers in the service of a warrant. Sure, he was rudely awakened, disoriented and armed. Under normal circumstances, he might draw sympathy from a jury, but in light of his son’s crimes, he would be hung out to dry. It was the bargaining leverage he needed to get them to give up Seth’s whereabouts.
“Sergeant. I received word from county. An inmate expired in the cell they had arranged for our operation. Your undercover has been moved to tank two until they can clear up the mess. Might be a couple hours.”
“She okay?”
“So far.”
“She should be fine. Let them know our subject will be en route in about ten minutes.”
“Yes Sergeant.”
Reid was still trying to get used to being called Sergeant along with the authority his rank had. Still far down the totem pole, he enjoyed the feeling of achievement. Now matter how much guilt he felt rising in rank from Karen’s involvement in his cases, it was him and him alone that found Liz. He found her using his own skill and not relying on Karen’s supernatural abilities. It was the resolution of the case involving the kidnapped wife and daughter of the international hero that led to the unanimous decision to promote him.
A much as he gloated about his achievement, Reid wanted desperately to cheat, wishing he could see through Broderick’s eyes. The detective wanted nothing more than to see just what was going through the man’s mind.
“Hey Reid,” Brennan yelled out. “Let’s go, Lockwood found something.”
—
“Welcome Ma’am, are you checking in today?” the valet asked while opening the door. He offered his hand, helping Megan out of her BMW.
“Thank you, but no, I am just picking someone up.”
“I see, here is your claim check then.”
“Actually, you mind leaving my car here while I gather my friend?”
“Ma’am I need to keep this driveway clear.” Megan reached into her purse, not wishing to give the valet a detailed explanation regarding Gene’s handicap, instead hoping a stiff tip would be sufficient. The kid held his hand out waiting for his bonus when a man in a suit walked up and pushed the bills back toward Megan.
“Many thanks Ma’am, but please put your money away, you go ahead and leave your car here as long as you like.”
“Why thank you. I should only be twenty minutes.”
“Take all day if you like. I’ll keep an eye on it for you.”
Megan thanked the manager and walked away as he smacked the kid upside the head, scolding him for not recognizing who she is. As much as she disliked the recognition, the favors, the free meals and beverages wherever she went, Megan found it easier to simply accept it and thank her grateful admirers rather than uselessly trying to convince them she didn’t need their gratitude. Instead, she made it a point to take her savings and pay it forward; helping people in need was a better use of her fame.
“Doc!” Megan heard a voice call out from the bar. She turned to see Gene at a table with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. He set the newspaper down, then reached over to the seat next to him.
“Gene.” Megan tried to contain her excitement and walked up instead of running over to him, in fear she would come across too enthusiastic.
“You are looking quite lovely Megan.”
She reached down to hug her friend for a long moment before releasing.
“Thank you Gene, you are looking quite well yourself. I’m so happy you are finally home.”
“Good to be home. Here, these are for you,” he said, withdrawing a bouquet of flowers he had placed next to his bag and holding them out to her. It wasn’t some cheap bouquet available in the gift shop for men looking for a last minute gift in hopes of a meaningless score; rather they were an expertly arranged assortments of flowers, hand selected and wrapped by a passionate florist, one that knows how to sweep a girl off her feet. The pleasant fragrance of the roses melted any reservations Megan had about her reunion.
“They are absolutely gorgeous Gene. Where did you find these?”
“Oh, they have a vending machine in the laundry room.”
“I bet.”
“Seriously, I had them delivered just for you.”
“Well thank you very much. Mind if I stop home and put them in water?”
“We have the whole day.”
Megan sat down, placing the bouquet on the table, and slung her purse around the chair next to her. She studied Gene’s features. His hair was longer, the back reaching down to his shoulders. He was clean shaven, his mustache and goatee gone, revealing the face he had before they launched. He was still in good shape, but she noticed he had gained a little weight.
“You want to get some coffee and sit a few, or would you like to get going?”
“I’ll wait on the coffee, but please, finish yours.”
Gene lifted his mug and sucked down what was left of his morning joe, then reached for his bag, placing it on his lap. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a wad of bills, tossing a ten on the table.
“Why waste time here in a hotel, let’s get going.”
—
The jail my dad had me stay a night in was quite different. It was a small sheriff’s station in the south area near where he was stationed. I was simply out late, past curfew, when the deputy picked me up. I wasn’t doing anything mischievous other than ignoring my parents’ rules and not returning by sundown. My father called his friend to keep an eye out for me and eventually found my friend and I playing near an abandoned house.
At first I thought we were going to take a simple ride home when the deputy received a call, forcing him to return to the station. My dad confessed years later that when he received the call that they’d found me, he asked his friend to lock me up for the night, making up a false charge of trespassing and telling me I would need to appear before the judge in the morning.
There were only three tiny jail cells, large metal cages a stone’s throw away from the deputies’ desks, like an old western sheriff’s office with a few modern perks added over the years. I was separated by a cell length from a loudmouthed thief who had been caught breaking into cars. He spent the better part of the night swearing at the deputies and verbally attacking them before they roughed him up, rendering him silent.
Dallas’ county criminal processing center was different. It was a large facility secured with perimeter fencing around the entry. We arrived with me handcuffed in the rear seat. My long slender legs had trouble getting comfortable in the narrow space between the center partition and the seat. Deputy Moretti explained en route to the jail that handcuffs and the back of police cars aren’t designed for prisoner comfort.
There was a strong overwhelming feeling of captivity from the moment the ratchets locked home around my wrists and the cruiser door slammed shut. After passing through the main gate, she drove her cruiser through the parking lot and parked in a small enclosure about the length of a bus, then waited for the gate to close. Once secure, and another level of the prisoner’s freedom taken away, she gently helped me out of the vehicle.
“How are you doing, you okay?”
“Fine,” I replied, looking around checking my surroundings. We passed through two more levels of security before coming to a stop. There were two women sitting on a bench half naked, overseen by three deputies. One held a bra in her hand, feeling the padding, searching it for drugs, weapons and anything that could be used to escape. Another deputy did the same with the woman’s shoes, examining them inside and out before returning them.
I sat on the bench for what seamed like an eternity until the prisoners’ searches were through and they were escorted to the processing center.
“Okay, let’s take those off of you.”
Moretti withdrew her keys and unlocked the cuffs, freeing my hands. If only she knew how effortlessly I could have removed them and escaped her custody. The Russian handcuffs were thicker and heavier, yet my fingers cut through the chains and twisted the steel as if it were made of paper.
“Inmates are expected to follow all commands given to them without question. Answer yes Ma’am no Ma’am or deputy. Walk with your hands behind your back, and do not deviate from the yellow lines panted on the floor. Follow the same rules while we are here and no one should suspect things are out of place.”
“Yes Deputy. Are you going to strip search me?”
“No, but I will pat you down. I don’t want you to lose anything that can be picked up by another inmate. I’ll give it back to you later.”
The search was a bit uncomfortable, no territory off limits. She was thorough, but quick and gentle, something others likely didn’t receive.
“Okay Ms. Guest, you ready to be an honorary guest for a while?”
She escorted me, holding my upper arm. We passed through the final gate, taking me into the main holding area. Instead of the large steel cages, the tanks appeared to be just that. Like giant aquariums, with large solid plexiglass walls, allowing an unimpeded view of the group cell.
A dozen and a half women of varying ages were sitting or laying on cold looking concrete protrusions at the base of each wall. The common assumption that there were rows of cots to sleep on appeared to be false. There were no blankets or bedding, just cold cement slabs.
Several of the girls had bundled together, holding each other for warmth instead of fighting. Another misnomer, the notion jail was this duke fest where all the inmates were beating each other senseless. What I found was that each of them kept to themselves, each afraid of the rest.
I performed my stumbling drunk routine as we walked by, the inmates pausing to catch a glimpse of me, the tall attractive blond. I simply watched them out of the corner of my eye as we passed the cell door. Moretti stopped me at the second tank, which fewer women occupied. She withdrew an obnoxiously large key and opened the glass door, gently pushing me in. A wave of terrible odors flooded my sensitive sense of smell. I turned as Moretti sealed the door, locking me in my new smelly prison. As quick as I could blink I counted nine inmates, all staring at me as I pretended to be drunk and stumbled to the first available slab.
“Can’t sit there, that’s taken,” a woman in her fifties said through her brown rotting teeth. Her voice was deep and raspy, her skin was dark and terribly wrinkled, her clothing reeked of cigarette smoke. It was a foul smell, but preferable to the stench of the toilet in the corner.
Shit, I thought to myself, something I didn’t expect but should have. It was a disgusting looking contraption, brushed stainless steel with no hinged seat. It was a single solid bowl with no seat covers and a partially soaked roll of toilet paper.
“Hey bitch, you deaf? You can’t sit there. I’m saving that for my boyfriend when he gets here.
“Shut the fuck up, there’s not a man in the world desperate enough to screw that filthy hole of yours,” a young woman in a flashy tight dress and long furry coat said. Her legs were encased in tight fishnet stockings and she wore knee high boots with long heels that lifted her high on her toes.
“Who’s got the dirty hole you whore?” the older woman barked back.
“Shut up, all of you, I can’t take it.” The girl, apparently in her early twenties, sporting a fresh shiner and a split lip, was peeking out through a bandage. She was curled up in the corner, her knees to her face, and she held her hands around her ears, hoping to silence the madness.
I stumbled over to another empty spot and took a seat. The old woman barked again that my new choice of seating was also reserved. I ignored her after the hooker called out, “Just sit down, she thinks she owns the place.”
“Thanks,” I said, leaning back against the wall and lifting my legs, trying to get comfortable while secretly wishing this was my day of the week I could sleep. Instead I was wide awake, thinking this was a mistake. I should have backed out the moment I was informed the original plan would have to be postponed pending the cleanup of a body in the next tank over.
Good job Michael, great mess you’re in, I thought to myself as the first drops of the booze found their way through my system.
—
“Sergeant, you wanted to see me?” Trish said, peeking into Ferguson’s office.
“Mendoza, have a seat if you don’t mind.”
“Sir?” she said, sitting down and adjusting her skirt, dressed in casual attire.
“You’re looking good. How have you been holding up?”
“Better the last couple of days. Head’s clearer.”
“Good. You know we miss you. Won’t lie, I could use you.”
“I know sir, I’m just not ready to hit the streets again.”
“What if you didn’t have to go back out there? What if I were to offer you a new job that will keep you indoors?”
“Thank you sir, but I don’t want to be a desk jockey. I signed up for something more, and now I really don’t want it anymore.”
“Don’t think pushing papers is a noble job for a police officer? You know what I do?”
“Sir I do.”
“You think all I do is push papers? I interact with my officers, watching out for them, making sure you know what to expect when you leave my roll call and hit those streets. Very few can do this job. This is why I think you would be perfect to replace me.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Trish, you have 18 years on the job. You are one of my senior officers with lots of field experience. You know the streets, you know the community, and best of all you are a good people person. What do you say, take a promotion, get you off the streets, but still active?”
“What about you sir?”
“Going back out onto the streets.”
“The streets?”
“Not going to lie Trish. We are in a tough situation, we just lost two more on a mandatory suspension. Fortunately we have some experienced transfers to fill in our losses, but we still need senior officers to get them up to speed on our streets. I know you aren’t up for it, so I’m going and was hoping you could take my job.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I was talking with my daughter about retiring.”
“When this is over, I’m hanging everything up as well, but I’m not going to leave my men high and dry. Now I can’t tell you what to do, but you are one of my best, and right now we’re desperate for officers with lots of street experience.”
Trish remained silent, thinking the proposition through. She loved being a cop; from her first day as a rookie, she suffered through all the torment because wearing the uniform and serving her community fueled her. She had a rocky start, made a bunch of mistakes, but the Sergeant before Gus saw something in her. Every time she reported to his office, her stomach knotted up, fearing they were going to give her the boot. Instead, the Sergeant turned each failure into a learning experience and spent personal time molding her imperfections. In six months, she had her own shop. It was the greatest feeling in the world, driving her own unit out of the garage, patrolling on her own.
She and Gus worked well together and spent time after their tour socializing. Trish felt honored that Gus not only was confident she was shift sergeant material, but he was willing to put himself into the thick of action in order to free up the position. It would be difficult for her to turn down such an offer.
“Come on Trish, you’re too young. You are gonna take a pay cut on your pension if you quit now. Tell you what, take the promotion, give the job a few months while we take this guy down. If you don’t like it I’ll take the job off your hands and give it to Nolan.”
“Thank you Gus. It means a lot coming from you. You’re the last person I want to let down. Let me talk this through with Steph and I will get back to you in the morning. Fair enough?”
“Okay, you decide yes, you think you can suit up tomorrow?”
“Uniform’s pressed and ready. What’s the time frame for the change up?”
“You will shadow me for a couple of days, get used to being back while I get you up to speed. After that, we’ll make the announcement, and I’ll shadow you in the mornings, then hit the streets.”
“Okay. Wasn’t expecting this when you called me in.”
“No, but it’s something you wanted before the shit hit the fan. Now it’s yours if you want it.”
“What about everyone else? You think they will accept me?”
“If they don’t, I’ll kick their ass. Now get home, get some rest, and say hi to Steph for me.
“Thanks again Gus.”
“I’ll reply to that when I see you suited up tomorrow.”
“Deal. Say, have you seen Jim?”
“He’s in Dallas right now. Should be back later today.”
—
Reid pushed on the railings, lifting himself up off his leg as he maneuvered the narrow basement stairs. It was a mistake he knew, putting so much demand on his leg without sufficient time to rest. The brace he wore under his pants helped ease the stress, but the body has a way of telling you it can’t take much more.
As he hit the last step he reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a small metallic case. He opened it and took two small pills, popping them in his mouth and swallowing without water. It would take about twenty minutes for the meds to circulate through his bloodstream and get to work easing the pain.
He wished he could have a moment with Dwayne, alone in a cage match, not just for payback for his leg, but for the pain he caused Liz. If only that shotgun were loaded when he fired into his chest. It would have been a good clean shooting. One he could have walked away from and felt no guilt.
If only Michael knew what his wife and daughter went through and were still going through. How they desperately needed him. Instead the bastard’s traveling to another world unaware of the pain his loved ones were in. A noble deed, giving up your family so that an entire civilization wouldn’t go extinct. Two civilizations for that matter, Earth, and whatever planet Karen was supposedly from. Still it bothered Reid that a loving husband and father could leave such a beautiful family behind, uncertain whether or not he would return. Uncertain if they were even safe.
“Reid, you okay?”
“Yeah, fine. What’s going on Lieutenant?”
“Take a look.” Brennan pointed to the collection of photos on the wall. Reid scanned them, magazine photos, newspaper clippings and a large 8×10 color photo. The detective immediately recognized the face.
“This bastard really slipped this far off the deep end?”
“It appears so. We have one seriously dangerous and now completely crazy fuck on the loose.”
“Why, why go after him? What’s killing that kid going to prove?” Reid asked, reading the headlines of the Keller case. Timothy’s life was spread on the wall. Articles covering his heroics in Vietnam, painting him as an American tragedy, a good kid ruined during The Conflict and returned home to a country rejecting him. Other articles focused on his short-lived post war career flying a news helicopter in Los Angeles, only to have been found flying under the influence and let go after the FAA revoked his license. His marriage finally dissolved and he had trouble making ends meet to the point he wound up living on the streets, finding himself in and out of trouble.
Reid continued reading newspaper clippings, articles detailing his run-ins with the law. He had numerous drug possession violations and several assault charges that were thrown out or reduced to lesser charges based on his Congressional Medal of Honor.
“There has to be a bigger connection between these two. Lieutenant, I just can’t see Broderick simply wanting to finish his beating.”
“I agree. Wonder if your friend could think of something. I’ve been through his case file a hundred times. They had a few interactions prior to the May 5th incident, but nothing that would warrant beating him nearly to death, then returning two years later in a murderous rampage, wanting to finish the job.”
“Well it’s obvious these two are mental, so let’s take a psychological approach to this,” Reid said, trying to channel his limited experience with behavioral science. These guys are both combat-injured veterans. Keller in Vietnam during the last couple years of the war, while Broderick was injured during Operation Fury.”
“You mean Furry?” Brennan said, laughing. “Listened to the tape of your interrogation of Florez, almost pissed myself laughing; what a dumb fuck.”
“Lucky you, I had to hold it till the interview was finished.”
“Okay, back on track. You have the background on Keller’s tour?”
“Just that he was a Huey pilot. Risked life and limb going into a hot LZ to pick up a bunch of doctors trapped in an overrun firebase in ’73. Took an RPG and managed to keep the chopper airborne long enough to clear the area. Was severely injured in the crash, lost his co-pilot and one of the doctors.”
“That’s what got him the CMOH.”
“That it did.”
“Never heard that story, just that he was a little punk.”
“We had our share of issues with him, but nothing major. Was usually when provoked he would give us a fight.”
“Like I said, a punk. Shouldn’t have been screwing up to the point we get a call. That’s probably why our boy walked away without going to trial. Sounds like Keller just got what was coming to him.”
Reid ignored Brennan’s statement. He had run into Keller several times, most of which were without incident. He was a nice guy, troubled but nice. Would often get money from his father, then turn around and give it away to other vagrants, keeping little for himself. Reid on several occasions reached out, buying him goods instead of arresting him for petty crimes. His approach to dealing with him earned the kid’s respect. Keller was quick to cooperate, but equally quick to resist when confronted with aggression.
“Lieutenant, how about this? Broderick was an Army Ranger, destined for a long military career. Takes what might be considered a bad luck wound that scars him and ends his service. In a fit of self loathing, he joins the Police in order to make up for his loss, only he keeps running into a real decorated war hero who, also due to self loathing, takes to a life of mischief.”
“Thin, but I see where you are going. Let’s get a psych profile updated on him with that input when we get back to Houston.”
“Lieutenant, Reid, we found some more weapons and a little contraption on his phone. Think you might want to take a look.”
Reid reached under his coat and withdrew the canister he clipped to his belt.
“Lockwood, this yours? Almost tripped over it on the way in.”
“Thanks.”
“You know, I think they work better when you pull the pin.”
“Not against this guy. I hoped I could gain a couple of seconds as he hid his eyes from the flash.”
“Good thinking Lockwood. Glad you came up with us,” Brennan said.
“Tactics; don’t forget Sir, this guy has superior combat training and knows police tactics. He would expect a flash bang on entry. Just remember, I’m damn good at what I do too.”
—
I curled up in to a fetal position, my face buried into my knees, my legs drawn tight against my body as the sound of jingling keys approached the door. Her whimpering signaled that my contact was standing outside, about to be delivered.
“You two behave in here.”
It was my cue that Mrs. Broderick had finally arrived and Reid was likely listening. I quickly mustered up some fake tears and resumed my intoxicated act before slowly raising my head.
“I want to speak with my lawyer damn it,” she yelled out as Moretti closed the door and locked it. The mother, still quite attractive in her mid to late 50′s, banged on the plexiglass, yelling at the deputies.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said.
“I don’t give a shit, I’m going to sue the hell out of these people. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You mind, I have a headache,” I said, pretending to be uninterested in her problems.
“Well that’s your fault now isn’t it? Me, I’m not supposed to be here. My lawyer will have me out of here—”
“—Please, I finally got some sleep and now you are waking me up. Now shut up, or they are going to come in here. You don’t want that to happen.”
Silently she took a seat on the concrete block opposite me and curled up into her own ball. She was dressed in her nightgown, a long cotton gown with long sleeves, colored baby blue with little pink roses. Her feet were covered with thin socks and furry pink slippers. She rubbed her arms, the first chill hitting her as the heat her body produced faded from the loss of excitement.
Through the glass Moretti and another female deputy sat chatting. I listened as her partner explained every detail of her date the night before while crocheting a purple scarf. A cruel ploy no doubt, turn the AC down low, chill the inmates into submission while casually knitting warm weather clothing within their view.
All I had to go on was a slight vapor emitting from my mouth as I exhaled. That and her body as it began to shake. Through my wide peripheral vision, I watched as she pulled her arms inside her gown. She squirmed and shifted, but couldn’t get comfortable. I turned my head as she stood and marched to the glass, banging on the window. Moretti stood and rushed over, withdrawing her baton.
“You will stop hitting my window right now,” she said in an assertive voice, pointing at Mrs. Broderick. “Don’t make me come in there.”
“Please, I need a blanket, I’m freezing.”
“Aww, want me to call housekeeping, maybe get you a pillow too? How about a little space heater?” For a brief moment, she had a look of hope until Moretti began laughing. “Go sit down and be quiet. Next time dress warmly.”
“Please, you can’t do this too me. At least turn—”
“—I said, shut up.” Moretti reached for her keys and drew closer to the door, her partner dropping her project to assist. I stood on cue to save the day.
“Come on,” I said, putting my arm around her. “You really don’t want to piss them off. Sit next to me.” Moretti replaced her baton as Mrs. Broderick withdrew into submission, gravitating to my care. I led her back to my spot, away from the AC vent, and removed my overcoat.
“Here, put this on.” She looked back at me in disbelief, unsure whether or not I was serious.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be okay, I still have my sweater, but you will catch hypothermia in that. They didn’t let you get dressed?”
“No, I was still sleeping when they broke in.”
“Shit, what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. I’m innocent. They want my son, and they shot my husband,” she said, completely breaking down. I drew her close to me after wrapping my coat around her.
“It’s okay. Your lawyer will get you out, but it might take a while. What time is it by the way?”
“I don’t know, they took my watch.”
“What time was it the last time you looked?”
“Maybe 9am.”
“That long?” I said aloud, hanging my head in an award winning performance as one who was quite disappointed.
“Why, how long have you been here?”
“Oh since midnight.” She began sobbing more, realizing she was in for a long stretch.
“Here, put your arms in the coat. It’s wool, and very warm.” She was hesitant until a violent shudder came over her. Her teeth chattered as she leaned forward; the promise of warmth overcame her timidness toward touching a strange woman.
“So are you,” she said, surprised, her hands feeling my belly. Now it was my turn to feel uncomfortable. Over the course of the year since becoming Kaaren, I’d steadily grown comfortable with my new body, provided I didn’t spend much time thinking about it. Once my mind trailed off, thinking of my male body traversing the cosmos, piloted by the previous owner of this knockout of a bod, my dysphoria kicked in. Staring at the image in the mirror, or letting my hands wander, exploring every soft, sleek contour of my female body, instantly drove me from my comfort.
Aside from The Doc, no one touches me unless it’s a hug or pat on the shoulder. Men who’ve tried grabbing my ass were quickly given a fierce lesson in aikido. Mrs. Broderick’s touch sent tingles up my spine as she rubbed her hands, trying desperate to warm up. I directed my attention to the mission at hand, trying to cast out my insecurities. There were many times when my fear of failure haunted me throughout Operation THOR, but my calm, natural ability to lead others through impossible situations kicked in and overcame my worries.
This was no different. Inside I was the same man I always was. Calm and collected and on a difficult mission, but one with promise. Jim’s plan was perfect. He knew the cold temperatures the jails were kept at. My resistance to extreme temperatures made for the perfect bonding opportunity. Mrs. Broderick’s trembling hands were a testimony to her unknowing submission to me. She was reduced to putty in my hands in less than ten minutes.
“See, you will be fine. Just keep close to me.”
“Thank you. My name is Karen, Karen Broderick.”
“Well no kidding, I’m Karen as well.”
“Really?”
“If you don’t believe me, you can ask them.”
“No, I believe you. So, what are you doing in jail?”
“Bastard cops. I had too much to drink and was smart enough to know I shouldn’t drive. So I slept it off in my car. Asshole busts me for DUI anyway.” Sharing a false disdain for cops, hoping to have one more thing for her to find in common with her cellmate.
“And you weren’t even driving?”
“He said it didn’t matter, my keys were in the ignition.”
“Scumbags.”
“There goes college, my dad’s going to shit bricks when he finds out.” I allowed a pause and a show of despair to cross my face as I pretended to ponder my predicament. “Never mind, it’s only money, what about your husband? You said they shot him? Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I will get lucky and he dies.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because then I would finally be free of him.”
It didn’t take much detective work to conclude from her confession that Seth was a chip off the old block. I had known many in my time, dads who would beat their kids senseless just for the hell of it. The unfortunate ones made sure to pass the misery on to their children and so on generation after generation.
My old man was a Marine, a tough old man, but fair. I learned early on to respect him and my mother. His disciplinary response was swift and painful, but never brutal. While it molded me, I decided early that my future children would never feel my hand. Ash never needed it. Like every kid who ever lived, she had a few days out of the year where her usually cheerful self failed to shine.
“Feeling warmer?” I asked, reminding her of my generosity before stepping into her personal space.
“Yes Karen, thank you. I’m very grateful. You sure you’re alright?”
“Fine, I’m used to colder than this. So what did you mean that you would be free of him?” I asked, pleading ignorance.
“I can’t say anything to him without him getting upset. It’s like I’m constantly walking on eggshells. Didn’t take long after we were married; I learned not to ever question him or criticize him for anything.”
“That’s not a marriage if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I know, but there’s nothing I can do. He won’t let me leave.”
“Control freak right? You try and leave and he cuts you off until you come crying back to him.”
She sat up straight and looked me in the eye.
“How do you know?”
“Mrs. Broderick, I’ve had friends with husbands just like him. You’re not the only one.”
Victoria Millbourne was one such woman, trapped in a life of constant abuse and powerless to do anything about it. The police were paid off by these rich jerks, leaving the woman utterly destitute with no hope of freedom.
“What did they do?”
“One of them got out. It was rough for a while, but she made it. Lived in shelters for a while, but once she broke her dependency on him, he no longer had power over her. She eventually remarried to a man who respects her,” I said, proud of my ability to rapidly improvise and make up stories loosely based on truth.
“What about the others?”
“Well another, believe it or not, her husband had an accident. It was enough to wake him up and get him to seek help. He’s a different man now.”
“Not my husband. That will never happen.”
“Likely true,” I said, rubbing my forehead. She reached up and began massaging my head with both hands.
“Hung over?”
“Yeah. Could use some water, but I dare not drink from that fountain,” I said, pointing to the dirty stainless steel toilet / sink combination in the corner with a small brick wall providing minimal discretion for inmates to relieve themselves.
“I love your hair. It’s so thick and soft.”
“You can have it.”
“If I could take you up on it I would. Between my husband and my son, I went grey way too soon.”
Bingo, she finally mentioned Seth. Treading carefully, I went for the kill.
“Can I ask what the police want with your son?”
“I take it you haven’t been following the news?”
“No, too busy with school to care about current events. Why?”
“My son used to be a police officer in Houston, now he’s killing the people he used to work with … or so they say.”
“Oh, right, I’ve heard people talking about that. That’s your son?”
“I don’t believe them. I’m sure you’ve heard parents all the time claim their kids are perfect. Seth may have his flaws, but I don’t believe he’s a killer. At least I hope not.”
“Can’t imagine being in your shoes.”
“It’s awful. The media won’t leave us alone. They’ve already ruined him and us. Jesus, I thought people were innocent until proven guilty.”
“Should be that way, but that’s for the courts, not reporters. Why don’t you think he would kill? Didn’t he beat up that kid?”
“He did. That, I am ashamed of. I taught him better than that. His father was rough with him, but I always made it clear as he was growing up that what his father did to him was wrong. Seth was a good kid, he tried to get away from his dad and enlisted in the Army. Sent him off an honorable man, but what I got back was something different. That conflict changed him for the worse. That poor kid didn’t deserve what Seth did to him. As much as I resent him for it, I never stopped loving him.”
“Of course, you’re his mother. Can’t imagine if one day one of my kids did anything to hurt someone else and found themselves on the wrong side of the law.”
—-
“She’s pretty convincing Reid,” Brennan said, watching the CCTV feed from the holding tank two doors down. They both sat holding half a headphone to their ears listening to the conversation between Karen and Mrs. Broderick.
“Damn women, put them together and all they do is yap, yap, yap. We need to close this deal up. See if you can get her to step up the game.”
Reid pressed the button on the gooseneck microphone sitting on the table they brought into the cell. The signal ran through a wireless transmitter that broadcast his voice to the small earpiece in Karen’s ear. Her thick head of hair was enough to conceal the small wireless speaker from view.
“Karen?” he said, then paused to wait for her. She feigned a headache, pausing the conversation to focus on his instructions.
“Good job so far, but we need to get this wrapped up.”
Karen played the hangover a moment, then resumed her questioning.
“Can I ask you Mrs. Broderick, why did the police arrest you? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, I didn’t do shit. It was my dumb ass husband who was shooting at them. Him and his stupid guns. Sleeps with them. Same with Seth. They both have enough guns to arm the Contra rebels.” Brennan laughed at her joke, Reid following with his own brief chuckle.
“Karen, ask her when was the last time she heard from Seth,” Reid instructed, before taking a bite of his Chinese food. Nothing was more satisfying than sitting outside the tanks with the aroma from their meal drifting through the holding cells while the inmates picked the inedible gristle out of their bologna sandwich. Locked behind the glass with no clock to keep time, filthy toilets, freezing cold cells, and terrible food. It was enough to knock some sense into some.
“When did you see your son last?”
“Oh, months ago. Before this all started. I really thought he was turning himself around. Coming to grips with his anger and letting go of his resentment toward the department.”
“Turning himself around how?”
“He got himself going to church about six months ago. Supposedly he was born again. I believed it. Nothing a mother wants to see more than their kid getting their act together. Guess it was a sham. I hope to God it’s not, but I can’t deny the facts. My boy fell pretty far.”
Reid jotted notes regarding the church and the time frame onto the notepad in shorthand. To be sure, he glanced at the tape recorder, checking for the tenth time that it was indeed recording.
“You a churchgoing person yourself?” Karen asked before Reid could chime in. He wanted to know what she knew about the church, but Karen was already going there.
“Yes. It’s been the only thing keeping me going through my marriage. My husband thinks it’s all a crutch for the weak, but then again, he has me so broken, I guess I need it. How about you?”
“To be honest, I haven’t given it a lot of thought. I was a teen last time I set foot in a church.”
“Well, if you would like to come with me sometime, I would be happy to have you as a guest.”
“Thank you. Maybe I will. I could use a little structure. What church do you go to?”
“Calvary Baptist on Hope St.”
“What does your pastor think of Seth’s conversion?”
“I don’t know. Seth found some other church. Met one of the pastors at a gun range. Never understood the association of Jesus and guns, but it worked, got him to check it out.”
“Did you ever go with him?”
“I did. They were all nice enough, but not my style. Twice was enough for me before I went back to my own parish. Seth, he liked the guys there and enjoyed their weekend getaways.”
“Did you see his attitude change after he started attending?”
“Yes, which is why this whole thing is so puzzling. I really thought he had changed for the better. Didn’t agree with all the church’s teachings over there, but whatever it was that spoke to my son, it seemed to have made a difference.” Reid watched as she turned her head away from Karen, sniffling, before she began speaking through the oncoming sobs. “Then he dropped off the face of the earth, and a week later… oh God, how could he do such a thing? His friends. He killed some of his best friends just because they betrayed him.”
“Well, sounds to me like the cops got it wrong. Bet you it’s all a mix-up.”
“Oh dear God I hope so, because if it’s true, this State will execute him.”
Brennan turned to Reid, swallowing his chow mien.
“She’s a bit rusty, but has good interview techniques. A little work and I might use her from time to time.”
“Sure, just ask her. So what do you think?”
“Got a feeling we aren’t going to get much else from her. Seems like she’s a fifth wheel in the house. Let’s investigate this church of his. See if she could weasel the name of the place out of her and let’s call it a day.”
—-
Moretti stood at the door tapping her foot impatiently as Mrs. Broderick and I hugged.
“Thank you so much for your kindness. Sorry for being a bitch in the beginning.”
“It’s jail. Does something to the best of people. I hope you post bail soon.
“You don’t mind me keeping the coat?”
“No, you go ahead. I’ll get another.”
“Karen that’s very sweet of you. Please give me a call in a couple of days, I want to take you out for lunch. I can give it back then.”
“I’d like that.”
“So would I. Sometimes I wish I had a daughter. Let me give you my number.”
She recited her personal number as Moretti forcefully grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the tank, putting on a nice show. The last thing I saw was Mrs. Broderick curling up under the coat trying to retain her body heat. We cleared the wall and Moretti let go of my arm and led me to the tank two doors down. Jim and Brennan were packing up their surveillance equipment, carefully placing the electronics back into hard cases with DPD stenciled on each of the six sides.
Moretti handed me a large envelope with the belongings I surrendered to her. I fished the items out and replaced them in their respective pockets; then plucked the earbud out of my ear and handed it to Jim. It wasn’t until we were secure in the administration area that they began talking.
“Good job Karen,” Brennan said first. “Did well asking questions without sounding like you had an agenda.”
“Yes, and I like how you left it open with her.”
“Thanks. You get what you need?”
“Not a lot, but we have a couple more leads than yesterday,” Brennan said.
“What about Mr. Broderick?” I asked
“He’s in recovery right now. Probably another hour or two before the doctors will let us in. I think we can grill him pretty hard and force him to talk, otherwise he’s going to prison on felony attempted murder of a police officer,” Brennan replied.
“I would talk if I were in his shoes,” Moretti said, giving her opinion as she opened the final door to the parking lot.
“Deputy, I appreciate your cooperation. You let your boss know I’ll be in touch to thank him as well.”
“My pleasure Lieutenant. Sergeant, Ms. Guest. Ya’ll have a great rest of the day now.”
—-
“You didn’t happen to find anything I can remote in with did you?” I asked as Jim cruised down the highway. He cranked up the heater in the cheap rental car, compensating for my refusal to close the window. The crisp and clean desert air was refreshing after several hours locked up in county, the foul stench of the cells having overstimulated my sensitive sense of smell. It was a memory I hoped to purge from my thoughts, instead my recollection of the odor lingered in the warm car.
“Shit. Totally forgot. We can go back after we check out this church.”
Jim had run through the details of the operation, bringing me up to speed on Broderick’s guest house. The list of targets was puzzling—troubling even. If Seth was a bit as remorseful as Mrs. Broderick made it sound, finishing off Keller was beyond bizarre. There was nothing to gain, unless of course the kid and Seth had deeper blood between them than previously thought.
“I can go back and check it out later. Will tell you if I see anything. What time’s the flight back to Houston?”
“Leaving at 7pm. I’ll be driving back.”
“Aww, scared of flying?”
“No, not at all. It’s just I’d rather drive and enjoy the scenery.”
“Like you can see anything after 7pm? Ladies and Gentlemen, if you look out your left window, you will see a whole lot of blackness.”
“Funny. You do that too well.”
“Come on, admit it, you’re afraid of flying. Nothing to be afraid of. You have a better chance of dying on the road, than from your plane crashing.”
“Doubt that.”
“How many fatalities do you record from car accidents each year?”
“Not sure, quite a few.”
“In the US, try over 35,000 per year. How many plane crashes do you hear about?”
“Not many I guess.”
“Know how many planes are flying overhead each day?”
“Okay, okay. I get it. Still, I don’t care to fly.
“I should take you up sometime, knock that fear out of you.”
“No thanks. Done that already and you almost killed me.”
“If I didn’t, they would have cleaned your body up with a mop.”
“Thanks for that vision Karen. You mind, I’m trying not to think about that.”
“Sorry.” I said.
We drove in silence for the next twenty minutes until we arrived at the destination. Jim eased the car into the visitor parking spot at the First Assembly of Christ. The white main building was anything but unique with its steep triangular roof. A square column, topped with a crucifix and containing a moderate sized brass bell, rose high above the main entrance . Across the main sanctuary, an assembly hall showed the only signs of life.
I followed Jim’s lead, walking through the open doors of the hall to find several men and women preparing for what looked like a pot luck. The men were rolling large round tables out onto the main floor while younger kids placed folding chairs around, breaking periodically to screw around. A long row of rectangular tables was partially covered in hot casserole dishes and buckets of fried chicken.
“You folks here for the community pot luck?” a friendly elderly woman said, stopping and giving us a look over.
“Sounds wonderful, but no. I was wondering if there was a pastor we can speak to,” Jim answered.
“You two looking for a new church?”
“Yes, we were wondering if there was someone we can talk to about finding a new community to fellowship with.”
“Well bless the Lord you found us. Is this your daughter?” she asked. I sensed a hesitation in asking the question as if she was afraid to ask if we were an item.
“Yes,” I said, not sure why Jim didn’t just identify himself. All other possibilities seemed out of place for a 40 year old man hanging with an attractive broad in her early twenties.
“You don’t look alike?”
“Adopted,” Jim blurted out, playing along.
“I see. Is there a Mrs?”
“No, bless her soul, it’s just us two.”
“And you two have names?”
“Oh, sorry ma’am, mighty rude of me. Name’s James, and this is Karen.”
“James, just like Jesus’ brother. Welcome, I’m Mrs. Williams. I’ve been going to this church since I was a little girl. Boy has the time flown by. Now I’m just an old broad, going to be 75 next week.”
“That so? I would have pegged you for being in your fifties,” I said, trying a little flattery.”
“Oh isn’t she cute. We are going to get along just fine Ms. Karen. You two must stay for the pot luck. Lots of great food, and you can meet the other parishioners.”
I turned my head to Jim, “Please daddy?” I said with little puppy dog eyes. My body gains most of its energy from the sun but I still needed food. Although my stomach never growls, begging to be filled, my brain was still human, and hardwired to identify meal times and boy did I love being able to enjoy food without guilt for once in my life.
“I suppose so, when do the festivities begin?”
“Oh people will be arriving in 45 minutes. Let me see if I can find Reverend Samuels.”
“Daddy?”
“Improvising for your BS story. What’s with the cover?”
“Tact my dear daughter. The congregation doesn’t need to know why we are here. These places are gossip central. Trust me the pastor will be grateful for keeping it quiet.”
We sat a moment, watching as more people slowly flocked in the door, anxious to arrive early in hopes of landing the table closest to the food table. Mrs. Broderick’s description of the church seemed off. I wondered how she drew the conclusion they were cult like. There were no uniforms or dress code. The men and women freely chatted while the kids ran through the hall playing.
“Welcome you two,” a tall man said, appearing from behind. “I’m Reverend Jesiah Samuels, senior minister here.” Jim stood and greeted the Reverend as I took up position behind him. He turned his attention toward me as I rose a few inches taller than him.
“James Reid, Reverend, this is Karen.”
“The Lord is good. I always enjoy the new children he sends my way. Mrs. Williams said you were looking for a new church, you two I take it have already been cleansed by the Lord’s redemptive work on that cross.”
“Indeed I am.” Jim’s failure to include me in the reply caused a curious look.
“And you as well my dear sister?”
“His little angel.”
“Angel? Why we humans are better than angels. Maybe not now, but when the Lord returns and glorifies us, we will be risen higher than the mightiest angel.”
“Reverend, is there some place we can talk?”
“Absolutely. I do have to be back here in—” he paused, checking his watch, “about thirty minutes. Is that enough time?”
He led us to his office within the main church building. It was a small office in the front of the church tucked away toward the side of the building. Through the window he could look out on the courtyard, assembly hall and part of the parking lot. He took a seat in an expensive looking leather chair behind a large oak desk with fancy carvings along the trim. Behind him were bookcases filled with Bibles, books on theology, VHS tapes, and audio cassettes.
“So, how did you hear about us?” he said, getting the conversation going.
“Reverend, I do need to apologize, we are not here to join your church,” Jim said, withdrawing his badge. “I’m a detective with Houston PD.”
“Little far from home aren’t we detective. What’s with the charades?”
“Courtesy Reverend. No sense stirring up the pot with your flock without talking with the shepherd first.”
“Well I appreciate that. And you Miss, you a detective too?”
“No sir, I’m just tagging along learning what I can.”
“Ahh, so you are his daughter, planning on following in his footsteps, is that right?”
“Yes Sir,” I said, keeping my role hidden. Jim didn’t flinch and went along with it.
“So, how can I help you Detective? One of my flock step out of line?”
“Perhaps,” he said, reaching into his tan blazer’s pocket and withdrawing a photograph.
“I’m sure you’ve read about this man?”
“Indeed I have. So this is what this is about?”
“I have reason to believe he attended this church a while back. I take it, this is correct?”
“Yes, it is. And thank you for keeping it quiet,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “See, I’ve been praying a while as to whether or not I should come forward.”
“Reverend, this man has been killing many of my brothers.”
“Allegedly? We are still innocent until proven guilty are we not?”
“Yes, of course. We do have a lot of threats and direct evidence linking him to these crimes. There is little doubt as to his guilt, but you are correct, forgive me.”
I groaned silently, finding it absurd that one could excuse this piece of trash. He was beyond guilty and I couldn’t wait to bring him down and put the fear of God into him.
“So, Mr. Broderick has allegedly killed many police officers and is still at large. I understand with all the media attention, the last thing you need is word getting out that he attended this church.”
“Mr. Broderick did come by for about a month or two, even brought his mother along, but he didn’t stay.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Oh, let’s see, it’s January now? I would say it was last September, near the end of the month.”
“Did he mention he was unhappy here? That he was leaving?”
“No, not a thing. In fact he was supposed to go on a weekend getaway with one of the guys here, but apparently he never showed up. After that, never saw him again. A few weeks later, the shootings started.”
“Reverend, can you tell me what your impression of him was?”
“Can’t say I had a lot of interaction with him. We spoke a little in private once for about twenty minutes.”
“What did you two talk about?”
“Detective, surely you are aware of the priest-penitent privilege?”
“I am, but I’m not really interested in any confessions he may have disclosed to you. This was before the shootings and he was cleared in his altercation with Mr. Keller. I do have reports that he was remorseful and working toward a path of redemption, or was he simply lying to everyone? Don’t forget, that privilege doesn’t protect you if he declared his intent to commit future felonies.”
“No, heavens no. I will say, he tried to change in the short time that I knew him. Lots of anger, but absolutely at no time did he mention some kind of vengeance. I tell you most of this based on observation and not on private conversation.”
“Did he show aggression toward anyone in your congregation?”
“Nothing physical. He was quite colorful, but would often retract after a rant.”
“Who did he converse with mostly?”
“Well, the man you should talk to is Jack Hollingsworth. He brought Mr. Broderick into the fold and mentored him.”
“He the one Seth met on the firing range?”
“You’re quite informed. Yes. Jack has a little shooting ministry here. Kind of a cocky fellow, but a nice guy and very generous. About once a month he takes the men and some of the ladies out to the range. The two hit it off instantly. Between Seth’s guns, Jack’s and some of the other guys, they could start a war.”
“Well, allegedly, one of them has. That’s why I need to find Broderick. Reverend, is Mr. Hollingsworth going to be here tonight?”
“I’m afraid not. Jack is still active with the military and is deployed right now. Been overseas for a few months.”
“That so? What branch?”
“Army I believe. Was some kind of communications tech.”
“You know where he’s stationed?”
“Afraid I don’t. If I hear from him, you have a card, I can have him call you?”
“I would appreciate that Reverend.” Reid dug into his wallet and withdrew a crumpled business card. He stood and handed it to the minister, citing the time.
“Thank you detective, I wasn’t paying attention to the clock. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Yes, do you have the name of the range this Mr. Hollingsworth held these shooting excursions at?”
“Let me see,” he said, ruffling through a stack of papers on his desk. He thumbed through several dozen pages before coming to a stack of old bulletins. The Reverend skimmed through the dates, stopping occasionally to look inside before finally finding the one he was looking for. Inside was a full page flier for the event.
“Here you are Detective.”
I glanced at the page as he handed it to Jim, memorizing the contents before Jim could read the first line. On the top of the page was a circle with crosshairs resembling a rifle scope. The crosshairs were off center and thickened in the inner section where the two lines intersected, giving it the unmistakable appearance of a cross. Wrapped around the top of the circle was the text, “In His Sights.”
“Cute name.” Jim said just as I came to the same conclusion. Mixing guns and religion was anything but cute, rather sickening.
“Hidden Valley Gun Club? You know how far that is from here?”
“I don’t know, the Word of God is my sword, never had an interest in guns.”
“You have a phone book we can barrow?
“Why of course,” he said, opening one of his desk drawers and withdrawing the large yellow book. Jim handed it to me and asked politely if I could look up the location. Texas loves their 2nd Amendment rights, and I found several pages worth of gun stores and shooting ranges. I spent a second on each page before homing in on Hidden Valley Gun Club, finding three locations.
“I think that will be enough Reverend, you have a pot luck to attend,”Jim said as I handed the minister’s phone directory back to him.
“Well thank you for stopping by. It was the Lord’s will, His answer to my prayers. Glad I was able to get this off my chest even though it’s not very much.”
“Might seem insignificant, but each piece adds up. Eventually we will put the puzzle together.”
“Well I sure hope so. Damn shame, wish this troubled soul could have found what he was looking for instead of reverting back to doing the devil’s work.”
The Reverend insisted we stay and eat, but Jim was in a rush to report in. Jim waited until we had eased out of the parking lot before dialing Brennan’s mobile phone.
—
“I forgot how much I miss the ocean. My family and I used to come down here in June every year and spend a few days soaking up the sun,” Eugene said as he and Megan sat at the waterfront dining area. The heaters removed the chill from the air, making their dining experience comfortable despite the brisk winter weather. Even without the heaters, they were comfortable. Their time in the harsh Russian weather toughened them up. Houston’s nastiest weather was now easily tolerable. Braving the outdoors was rewarding in that few patrons were willing to spend the duration of their meal outside. Megan and Eugene were relatively alone, the others well out of earshot.
“My dad was never a beach kinda person unless it had a good golf course. I do love the ocean though. I was thinking of getting my open water certification. It was great fun diving in the NBL.” Megan paused as she spoke about her diving aspirations.
“The days in the pool were absolute hell. I hated every minute of it. The Icarus was better with less gravity, but it was still difficult work cutting through that rock in those suits. Still, looking back, I wouldn’t mind being weightless again.
“You know Gene, maybe you should go diving with me.”
“You’re kidding right?”
“I’m not. In fact one of my professors is a certified SCUBA instructor and specializes in taking paraplegic veterans diving. Being neutrally buoyant in the water gave them a sense of freedom and supposedly helped them physically and mentally.”
“I don’t know. What if I panic?”
“Baby steps Gene. Take it a little at a time, get used to it. I’m sure everyone will have a partner in case of an emergency.”
“This professor even still around?”
“I can make a couple calls and find out. It will be good for you. You’ve been cooped up in your lab for so long, why not get out and explore a little. Everything on land isn’t wheelchair friendly, but below the ocean is an endless visual feast. It would help with your anxiety and stress.”
“It might, but not as much as just being here with you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say. I’m glad we could be together.”
“Funny, there was a time you didn’t like me much?”
Megan paused, uncertain as to how to answer him. She couldn’t lie, the Gene before the shooting was an asshole with his good side peeking through on occasion. It was in those rare moments that Gene’s secret attraction for Megan made itself known. By then she was knee deep in her relationship with Brad. He was the dream catch. A well built guy, very handsome and most of all, gentlemanly. Brad was nearly Michael’s clone, but looking back, it was all for show. His integrity was a sham. Throughout the months following Gene’s injury, Megan finally allowed herself to face the painful breakup. Having dated only a few times growing up, Megan found herself lost in love, and lowered her guard instead of applying all her professional experience dealing with the human condition. Looking back, Brad displayed many warning signs, signs many of her patients described in their boyfriends or girlfriends. Megan had been blinded, swept off her feet by Brad’s charm and didn’t see the problem until he dumped it on her in the hotel room that night.
Gene was anything but charming. At 44 years old, he was the oldest of the crew and was eight years older than Megan. He was attractive, but a little rough around the edges. A life of stress and hard work greyed his hair in his late thirties.
He changed drastically after the shooting. Before he was arrogant and carried an attitude that would turn casual conversations amongst the crew into a hot debate. Never with anything mission critical, but discussions about life, politics, religion always had to end in his favor.
Everything changed when they returned to Earth. Gene had been out cold most of the flight home, waking up en route to the hospital. He was so certain death was upon him, it took an hour for doctors and NASA staff to convince him he was home and the crisis was averted.
For Gene, it was a new lease on life and the miracles he had spent his life trying to discredit, he now found belief in a higher power to be credible. His bitterness toward the chaos the world had to offer melted away, leaving behind a man at peace, enjoying for the first time the pleasures life had to offer.
Megan knew well enough, this higher power had used that moment to prepare him for the greatest challenge yet. Had the old Gene lost his legs, he would have fallen into despair as the world around him collapsed for the last time. She knew he would have ended his life rather than remain confined to a wheelchair.
Here they were, over a year since their return, together with the sparks of romance ignited into a small flame. Megan would have never guessed years ago, she would be sitting here, like a girl in love.
“I still don’t, but that man doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve been reborn, and the man sitting across from me has a lot to be desired.”
“Like what?”
“For starters, your courage and I’m not talking about you taking a bullet for me. I’m talking about you having the courage to see the person you were and be bold enough to reinvent yourself, even if it meant admitting to those around you that the old Gene needed to go away.”
“Interesting perspective.”
“You know, after finishing my Doctorate in psychology, I began seeing patients. Everything from relationships, sex, substance abuse, family problems, you name it. Of all my patients, you know how many turned their life around?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Not many. Most of them, it was all talk.”
“I never talked about it. Never admitted I needed to change, and when I did, I never asked for help. Just woke up one day and decided I was going to approach life with a new set of eyes.”
“Near death experiences can do that to people. So what about me?”
“You mean, what do I like about you? Well, can I let you in on a secret?”
“I’m all ears.” Megan said leaning forward.
“I’ve had this thing for you since the day we met. Doubtful, that’s much of a secret to a professional shrink such as yourself.”
“I had my suspicions. How come you never said anything?”
“You where with Carter. Also, we were two of the most needed crew members. There were solid backups for the others, but you and I, slim pickings based on our specialties. If we were an item, it wouldn’t have worked.”
“No, definitely not,” she said as their dinner arrived. They ate in silence for a few before inquiring about the other’s meal. After the first several bites began satisfying their hunger pangs, they resumed conversing.
“I’m glad you agreed to let me take you here. I’ve always heard great things about this place. Makes it even more special to try it with you.”
“I’m very happy to be here with you as well.”
“Good, I was worried I would upset you for changing our plans.”
“Gene, I’m sorry, that was my fault. I should have thought to warn you about what’s been happening lately here in Houston.”
“What do you mean?”
“The violence that’s been happening. It’s why you wanted to get out of the city, right?”
“Nah, just found it boring. Wanted to take you somewhere different.”
“It’s okay Gene, I understand. It’s been hard for me too.”
“Doc, I said it’s not the reason, so drop it okay?” Gene froze as Megan turned away from his outburst.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“—Megs, don’t apologize. I’m the one that was out of line. Yes, you are right, I just don’t want to admit it. I was a chicken shit up in space, then I toughened up for you. Now, I feel like a coward again, afraid of a guy running around killing cops. I don’t want to be scared, but I am. You don’t know what it’s like, holding your stomach, desperately trying to keep your life from escaping through the hole. I kept waiting for my time to come, but it never did.”
Megan reached over, taking Gene’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze as her guilt slowly crept back into her. She saw his dead legs through the frosted glass of the table, recalling her terror, watching the Russian slowly pull the trigger back. Just as she started to close her eyes, the blur of Gene’s body leapt before her.
“Gene, I will never forget your courage. No matter what you feel now, know that because of your sacrifice, we can be together.”
“I would do it all over again for you.”
“Well, I hope to never cause a need for you to, ever again.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t remember this. Maybe a little, but Sean had to bring it up. Just after I was shot, and the Russian turned back to you, you said something, yelled something in fact. Said you were calling for Michael.” Megan paused, stunned by the sudden question. She was on the spot, and couldn’t think of a way out that wouldn’t compromise the secret she kept.
“You okay? I didn’t mean anything by the question.”
“Gene, I don’t really remember,” Megan said after a moment’s pause. “I was terrified, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You miss him don’t you? I know you two were close and you practically shut him out of your life after his death. It’s okay to talk about him though.”
“I’m okay with it Gene. I’ve done my healing.”
“Have you? Come on Megan, I know that’s not true. We’ve all taken our turns talking about what happened up there, you’re the only one who refuses to talk about it. You can’t keep him hidden in that closet forever. I just hope you can find safety in confiding with me. The best shrinks need someone to talk to as well.”
“Gene, I have to face him every day. You don’t know how much pain there is between his wife, daughter and I. At some point, maybe I will open up, but for now can we simply talk about something other than that goddamn rock?”
“Sure. Okay, happy thoughts it is.” He paused a moment, looking out into the harbor with his finger to his mouth as if in deep thought. “I have one. It’s wonderful and I think you will like it, but I confess, it will require a brief discussion about the Icarus. I promise, you’ll like it. Is that okay?”
Megan agreed as Gene dug his hand into his side pouch hanging off the left arm rest of his chair, withdrawing a small wrapped green box with a white bow.
To Be Continued....Episode 7
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