CHAPTER THREE
In the alley behind Kevin and Barbara's apartment, someone in the deep shadows of the dawn hour groans in great pain. Vince Lloyd tries to control his gasps of agony as he doesn't want to attract attention. Vince has already used his cell phone to call for help from a friend who knows how to keep his mouth shut. No ambulances or police for Vince—not when he would have to admit that his attack on a teenage girl went so horribly wrong. Embarrassing.
Vince reviews his brief fight with the girl, trying to understand what happened. He was standing in the alley, just next to the sidewalk, and when the girl came even with his position he swung his bat—aiming for her jawline. The girl ducked the blow so easily, it was like she knew it was coming. Silently, the pair circled each other, the girl adopting a martial arts stance Vince had never seen. He swung the bat again, and it was like the girl…disappeared. The closest thing Vince could compare it too was a magician's sleight-of-hand trick. She just wasn't where he fully expected her to be. He soon found out where she went when he felt his left thigh bone shatter…
Vince grits his teeth against the searing pain. How? How had she done it? The thigh bone is the strongest bone in the body, and very few martial arts experts could break one with a kick. This girl used her hand! To add insult to injury, there were no cries for help or calls to the police. She calmly retrieved her fallen water bottle and towel, and then proceeded on to the beach as if nothing had happened. It was like he was a pawn on a chess board who had been routinely toppled by the queen…
X X X X X
In Stevie Marx's bedroom, Dylan Hunter stands at the window watching the sunrise. In terms of being a bodyguard, last night was an uneventful evening. Unless God calls him off of this assignment, he knows he will have to keep staying the night with Stevie. Not that this is an unpleasant duty. Dylan looks over at his sleeping girlfriend and smiles. Stevie is so beautiful, kind and sweet. He loves that she is nearly always an up and happy person, especially considering the harsh life events she has endured. Desperately he hopes that their relationship won't be another painful event in her life. If only Joan wasn't in town, stirring anew the feelings for her that he has been trying to suppress for over a year…
Dylan sighs. Stevie has been through so much, and now some unknown danger is looming. He knows Stevie too well to think she is hiding anything from him, so this must have something to do with that letter from 'A Friend'. No, better not make assumptions. Despite the obvious possibility, he must stay alert to any potential risk. If he fails, and Stevie is hurt, or worse…
"You're up early."
Dylan turns and sees Stevie, modestly covered by a sheet, smiling at him.
"I wanted to watch the sunrise."
"You were restless all night. I know you checked the doors and windows at least twice."
"Well, you know how it is the first time you sleep in a new place. All the little creaks and groans that the host no longer notices, the guest can't ignore."
"I never thought of you as the nervous type. Dylan, I live in a safe neighborhood."
"I know, but you can never be too careful. For instance, have you noticed any strangers lingering around, or maybe had a feeling that you were being watched or followed?"
"Dylan, what's this all about?"
"Nothing in particular. It's just that you're so pretty and such a trusting person. I often worry about someone taking advantage of you, or God forbid, hurting you."
"That's sweet, but I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself. Now, since we are up so early, would you like me to fix you breakfast, or…"
Stevie lifts the sheet, revealing her curvacious body. Dylan growls his approval of this view and returns to the bed, trying to ignore the guilt he feels. There were times he wished he had never met Joan Girardi—that way he could fully commit his heart to Stevie. But there was no way to erase the past, and he will just have to deal with the angst of knowing the beautiful young woman in his arms will always be second place In his heart…
X X X X X
Joan arrives at the beach, and takes a moment to enjoy the view in the light of dawn. Her tutor-angel is there, and easily spotted—at least by her. For a change, he isn't impatiently waiting on her appearance. Instead, the gigantic, fierce, warrior angel is in a kow tow position before an old guy in a black suit. It has been a long time since Joan has seen this version: Mad Creepy God.
Joan walks over and shares the bench with what must look like to the few people about as a man who just doesn't know what to wear on the beach…
"An exciting start to your morning, Joan?"
Joan briefly grins. "My first time using the fighting techniques I was taught. They really work!"
"Did you think otherwise?"
"Well, when the big guy first started teaching me those moves, they made about as much sense as 'wax on/wax off'. It looks like Felicity's lust demon has decided to…come out swinging."
Mad Creepy God smiles at the pun. "Yes, apparently it doesn't realize you are on vacation."
"Some vacation. First a demon to handle, and then all of those nightmares about vampires and a mass killing of some kind—what's next, the four horsemen?"
"No, not yet."
"And what's with Dr. Hunter? How could a very spiritual man like him become involved with a woman who is demon possessed?"
"John Hunter has been in my service since he was a teenager, but he has had virtually no experience with the demonic. When he met Felicity Brewster, he was unusually vulnerable to her charms."
"How so?"
"John has been without a wife for a long time, and after his stay in Arcadia and the crush he had on your mother…"
"WHAT?"
"Relax Joan, it never went anywhere. John would never allow himself to say or do anything inappropriate with a married woman. However, upon his return to Los Angeles, John had the mindset that it was time to seek a new wife. Unfortunately, that is when he met Felicity."
"And he didn't suspect anything was wrong?"
"He did—briefly, but the intense renewal of his libido overwhelmed any doubts."
"Small head thinking?"
"Not entirely. Don't underestimate Miss Brewster. Were it not for her demonic controller, she would, in many ways, make John an excellent wife."
"I'll keep that in mind when I deal with the demon."
"Joan, I haven't given you an assignment. You are on vacation, with my full blessing. Feel free to take a swim, work on your tan and enjoy the unusual mix of people who will be arriving soon."
Joan laughs bitterly. "There you go again, being a passive-aggressive jerk…"
Joan is interrupted by a snarl from her tutor-angel. For one moment he breaks his lowered position to glare at Joan. Oh crap, he is really pissed.
Joan quickly adds, "Uh, what I mean is, you know I can't just stand by and watch one of my friends suffer. Not Dr. Hunter, and while I'm thinking about it, not Stevie. What's up with her? Why is she hiring a private detective, and does that have anything to do with her strange feelings about her mother? Please, I need to know. I owe Stevie."
"Don't you mean you think I owe her, Joan? That you think I erred when I had you become involved in her life?"
"I know I can't see the big picture, but you have to admit, the ripples haven't worked out well for Stevie."
"The ripples are not yet done, and it is not just her fate that is at stake."
"Are we back to my nightmares? Because I have an increasing sensation that something really bad is going to happen soon. Real soon. Is this about vampires? Because I didn't sign on to be any sort of…slayer."
"Nor would I ask you to be. You should avoid contact with their kind, Joan—even though you have an advantage that most humans don't enjoy."
"You mean the same one I have over demons?"
Mad Creepy God nods. "Because you spend so much time in my presence, you carry about with you a small amount of 'reflected glory'. No one will ever have to put a blanket over you because you shine so brightly, but it is enough to prevent any demon from personally attacking you without dire consequences."
"But…vampires aren't demons."
"No, they are a form of mutant, but that mutation was originally devised through the corrupting influence of the enemy. That plus their lifestyle of consuming life…of drinking blood…"
On both the spiritual plain, and literally beneath her feet, Joan feels the earth shake. It is brief, but an indicator of the level of wrath god intends to impose upon the blood drinkers.
"So any vampire that touches an instrument of God will suffer the agony of hell?"
"For a short time, yes. It is an indication of their condemned status. Joan, be careful. I know your heart, and I realize you will not be able to let this go. But be aware, despite this edge you have over vampires, no human—not even you, is safe around them."
With that, Mad Creepy God, whom Joan associates with death ever since Rocky's funeral, walks away—giving the backhand wave as he goes. Joan tuns back to her tutor, who is now on his feet and fuming as he stares down at her. Joan can feel his rage, and his almost overwhelming desire to smite her. Fearing he will lose control, the warrior angel turns and walks into the sea. He swims away.
"Huh, I didn't know he could do that." Joan remarks as she regrets this set back in their relationship. Over a year of hard work and trust building ruined by a few careless words. Joan sighs and begins her workout.
X X X X X
Later that morning in the main interrogation room at CTU, Jack Bauer enters and slaps down a file folder in front of a handcuffed Hobart Smith.
"I'm Jack Bauer, the agent in charge of this facility, and you are Hobart Smith, ex-marine corporal, veteran of Desert Storm and a former sheriff's deputy with ten year's experience. How the hell did a man like you end up a terrorist?"
Smith, muscular but with a bit of middle-aged spread, smiles. The man was tough, Jack had to concede that. The drugs they were giving him simulated the pain of a heart attack. Most men would crack after the first dose, and promise anything for the relief of the antidote. Smith, pale and sweaty, was stubbornly holding out...
"One man's terrorist is another man's patriot. For instance, I bet a lot of people think of you as a patriot...JACK. The head fed who devotes his life to defending his country from a handful of rag-headed lunatics. Bravoes and hoorays all around, for a fool! I think you're an incompetent cog in a system so corrupt, it isn't worth saving."
"I'm not the one who has spent the last two years traveling around the world gathering weapons from sleazy arms merchants and our country's enemies."
"And I'm not the useless bureaucrat who sits on his butt while an invading army seeps across our border, taking over this nation by sheer weight of numbers."
"We're not here to discuss immigration policy."
"POLICY? That implies a legal process. Our laws are ignored or spit on by those who know nothing of our history or culture, while a bunch of career politicans refuse to stand by their nation because it might cost them a future election. Disgusting traitors! This is the way the Roman Empire fell. Not by conquest, but through the assimilation of a people who had grown too weak to defend their land and their values."
"Is that what you and the Brotherhood are planning? A demonstration of...values?"
Smith laughs. "No, we've moved beyond that. The Brotherhood of American Blood started as a simple political movement, dedicated to standing up for traditional American values. What did we get for our efforts to improve the nation? The federal government, who thinks it owns us instead of working for us, decided we should be crushed. Our phones were tapped, our mail opened and our homes invaded by masked gunmen who believe shouting 'Federal agent' absolves them of all legal responsibility."
"Your group was declared a dangerous militia that was plotting the overthrow of the government."
"Of course we were plotting an overthrow - through the ballot box! But the established power structure grew nervous when they saw how fast our numbers were growing, so they said we were armed crackpots. Were we armed? Sure. Just as our fathers and their fathers before them were armed. But we weren't a 'militia'. We were just old fashioned Americans living our traditional lives in an era that chooses to be blind, stupid and lazy. We finally gave up trying to change things the legal way after you bastards murdered my brother!"
Jack hesitates as he again reviews Smith's file. He was letting the man rant in the hope he would let something important slip, but now they were at the crux of the matter. The one event that tipped the balance and changed a bunch on-the-edge goobers into fanatical separatists who were determined to carve out their own little country at any cost. Sadly, there was some truth in Hobart's claim of government guilt in the death of Leon Smith...
"Your brother was a drug dealer who was killed while resisting arrest."
The handcuffed man laughs bitterly. "The official line? Somehow I expected better of you, JACK. Leon and his wife Brenda were little more than a couple of oddball hippies who lived off the land and grew a little weed on the side. They smoked most of what they grew, but they did trade a little with some townsfolk for needed supplies. The only reason you feds went after Leon was because he was my brother. He never belonged to the Brotherhood, and he never held a gun in his life."
"Officially, he died resisting arrest."
"He died with a cell phone in his hand, trying to reach his lawyer. The poor fool still thought he was an American citizen with rights. But Leon's death did serve a greater purpose. When the Brotherhood realized the government could casually kill our families without reprecussion, and the men who shot him down were never punished or even reprimanded, well - then we knew this was no longer our America. The time had come to start our own country, and the tale of my brother's death swelled our ranks enormously."
"Spurred on by the repeated testimony of Brenda Smith, who never tires of telling how her 'innocent' husband died in her arms. Now, for the first time in years, Brenda has left the northwest wilderness to travel to L. A. on the same day you return from overseas. She has no outstanding warrants, so...we're settling for keeping her under surveillance. But you, Hobart, you we have on a long list of charges. You will never see the world outside the walls of a federal prison...that is, if you make it to prison."
"Trying to scare me, Jackie-boy? Do your damndest. You won't make me crack, at least not before the Brotherhood strikes."
"We know members of your gang are entering the L. A. area. Planning something ambitious?"
Smith smugly grins. "You want to know what weapons I've smuggled in, and where we plan to strike? Sorry, I can't tell you that, but I will tell you how we got our 'supplies' over the border. Since border security is such a low priority for the government, we just used the same people who smuggle those desperate wretches into this land. For a price, they'll take anything across."
"What do you hope to accomplish?"
"Washington has out list of demands. We just want a land we can call our own, where we can live our lives the way God meant them to be lived - free of beetle brained bureaucrats who want to micro-manage every moment of our lives. And you know what? They'll give it to us."
"Never."
"No? Then you haven't been paying attention to how weak this country has become. This nation is soft and easily panicked. All we have to do is bump up the casualty rate far beyond what anyone could expect. Do you think the spineless politicians will turn us down if we...say, poison the water supplies of a hundred towns all in the same day? The loss of half a million people from towns thought to be 'safe' will shake this country down to its' very roots. The people will cry out in fear, and those career politicos will do anything to mollify the voters - including giving away an entire state to make everyone feel safe. If that doesn't work, we could...wait until the middle of a freezing winter and blow up all of the natural gas pipelines that feed the mid-west and the northeast. Think a million people freezing to death will convince them to see things our way?"
"Can you hear yourself? You whine about the unfortunate death of your drug dealing brother while casually plotting the death of millions. What sort of man are you?"
"One that is done with this country. One that sees no future for what use to be a great nation. That's why we will have one of our own. A country where our values mean something, and the bizarre garbage that's been thrust down our throats the last thirty years will be done away with. But hey Jack, I'll be fair with you. Twenty years from now, when this region is the Republic of North Mexico, and the English language is forbidden, apply for a visa. I'll see that you get in, for old times sake."
Smith laughs as Jack shakes his head. There was no cracking this man. He will gladly die for the cause before he tells anything. Jack ruefully wishes they really did have surveillance on Brenda Smith. Finding her might be their last chance to prevent a disaster...
X X X X X
Mick St. John leaves his business card stuck in the front door of a small tract house in a working class neighborhood. He checks the incredibly long list supplied by his friend Logan of prisoners released last week, and who were also in the same cell block as Alice Sokel. So far he has eliminated nine names, with twenty two left to go. This small house belongs to a Nancy Mirren, just released after a two year stretch for income tax evasion. Like a lot of names on the list, the woman is just getting her life organized again. No known cell phone or land line, no known assoiciates in the area, and no known place of employment is the common story he is encountering. No doubt 'Nancy' is out looking for a job - a tough task at any time, but with a felony conviction by her name...
Mick checks his list again while carefully remaining in the shade. He is spending way too much time in the sun, and he is begining to feel woozy. Fortunately, he remembered to bring a cooler with a fresh supply of blood. A quick nap in a freezer would help too, since vampires are so sensitive to heat, but that will have to wait until he returns home. In the meantime, on with the hunt. All he has to do is find 'A Friend' and ask if she sent the letter. His superior hearing will tell him, by her heart beat, if the woman is telling the truth better than any lie detector. If he can ever find any of these women! Mick makes a note by Nancy Mirren's name to check back, and shielding his face from the sun with his arm, he hurries back to his car...
X X X X X
Felicity brewster reclines on her living room couch while sipping a cup of tea. A solicitous John Hunter hovers nearby, obviously concerned by the bruising his fiancee has suffered in a 'fall'...
"John, really, you didn't have to take off from work to attend to me. I have a few painful bruises, but the doctor says I'll be fine."
"Well this doctor says you need plenty of tender loving care. Are you comfortable? Would you like another pillow?"
"I'm fine, John. I wish you would just go back to the office. I feel guilty taking up your time when your patients need you."
"There was nothing earth shattering on my calendar, and I do have partners who can take over in case of an emergency."
"But this isn't one, and frankly..." Felicity pauses.
"Are you trying to say you've grown tired of my company?"
"No, of course not, but...I hate for you to see me this way. All of these bruises and swelling, they make me feel...ugly."
John chuckles as he gently sits next to his fiancee. "Nothing could ever make you seem ugly in my eyes."
Tears form in Felicity's eyes as she gazes at the adoring face of the man she...loves. No, how can she say she loves John when she is leading him down a path to destruction? She, or rather her controller, has been slowly but steadily corrupting John - drawing him away from his core beliefs. It is an old game for Felicity, corrupting those who are good and innocent. But John is different than the others. There is something so good at the core of his being, for the first time in years, Felicity's heart has been touched...and it is breaking.
"John..."
"My love?"
Desperately, Felicity tries to form the words to tell John that they are through. It is the only thing she can do to save this wonderful man, but no matter how hard she tries, Felicity can't force the words to her lips. Her controller allows her a lot of latitude in her day-to-day life, but when it comes to matters of its' interests, there is no defying her...master. It considers John a prize above all value, and that is why it has devoted over a year to this project, and apparently plans to carry it on for who knows how long...
"Uh, I've changed my mind about lunch. I will have that sandwich."
"I'll be right back with a tray."
Felicity watches John leave the room, despising herself for being so weak. Not even her controller can prevent a single tear from rolling down her cheek...
X X X X X
In his office at the studio where 'Improper' is made, Kevin works diligently as his computer until he feels a sudden kiss on his cheek. He looks up to see a smiling Barbara...
"That's a relief. For a moment I thought Mrs. Walker was getting frisky."
"Well, your secretary is pretty hot - for a sixty year old. So, what are you working on so diligently now that production is over for this season?"
"My notes for the DVD commentary I'll be doing this afternoon with Keith. We have three episodes we have to finish today."
"That may be a little tough. The last I saw of our star, he was in the commissary flirting with your sister."
"With Joan...?"
"Hey, what's so surprising? Joan is pretty and Keith..."
"Is a serious womanizer. I don't like this. Joan is just a kid..."
"She's nineteen, and she's having the time of her life."
"But Keith has to be at least thirty."
"Thirty-three. But that doesn't seem to matter to Joan. When I introduced the two of them, she did that wide-eyed tourist thing and her jaw practically hit the floor. She's definitely star struck, and I don't think it would matter how old Keith is. You're not really worrried, are you?"
"Keith Scotch goes through women like an elephant through a bag of peanuts. I don't want my sister to be another notch on his bedpost - assuming there's still room for another notch."
"I wouldn't worry. Keith is a friend, and I think he's just trying to give a happy memory to the kid sister of the 'man-who-saved-the-show'. He wouldn't actually try to...ya know. Besides, Joan is smart and can handle herself."
"This is a switch. When did you become such a fan of Joan? Last I heard you thought she was weird."
"Well, last night when we got home from the barbeque, I was feeling sort of grumpy..."
"Grumpy? You were thoroughly pissed and ready to bite the head off of anyone who got in your way. That's why I kept my distance while you cooled off."
"Sorry. You know how upsetting I find those family gatherings. Luckily, Joan was there. We sat on the balcony and had a long talk. It's amazing how intuitive your sister is. There's stuff I've been trying to work out in therapy for years that Joan picked up on right away. All that stuff about how I resent my real dad while still trying to win Hi's approval, and at the same time hating the Hollywood elites that sneer at his work. Joan understood that all of that was the main reason I chose this business for a career. We weren't able to solve all of my problems, but it really helped to talk things out with someone who understood. I guess you were right. Joan's instincts are amazing."
Kevin nods as he remembers Joan's warning about his relationship with Barbara. If he wants to hold on to this wonderful woman, he has to find a way to let her shine clear of his shadow... Kevin's thoughts are interrupted by another kiss from Barbara.
"You know, we could go to lunch, or I could have a sandwich sent into the booth while you and Keith do the commentary."
Kevin smiles. "And what would we do to fill the exra time?"
Barbara smiles back. "We could lock the door and hope we don't scandalize Mrs. Walker too much."
Laughing and kissing, they travel in each other's arms to the door, lock it and return to the desk...
X X X X X
Later that afternoon, Nancy Mirren adds a couple of extra gallons to the old compact car she has settled for upon her release from prison. What the hell has happened to the price of gas since she went inside the joint? Nancy sighs as she returns the nozzle to the pump, wishing for the days when she could afford to have an attendant pump it for her. Stupid tax laws.
Nancy enters the convenience store to pay in cash for her gas - it will be awhile before she can get a new credit card. As Nancy waits in line, she looks about the store, which has a wide variety of items, few of which she will be able to afford if she can't find a job soon. Suddenly, Nancy spots a familiar face. Oh-my-God, Erica Marx? Yes, that's definitely her at the back of the store. For a moment Nancy considers going back to say hello to a fellow ex-con, but then she remembers the unusual circumstances and the letter she has already sent to Alice Sokel's 'daughter'. No, best to say nothing and leave. Quickly, Nancy pays her bill and departs, but when she reaches her car an idea comes to her. In the glove compartment she has an old camera from her earlier and better days. It still has a few shots left on the role of film...
Lounging outside the store, a young man with a beard stands watching as Nancy takes a photograph of someone in the store. Of course it might be something innocent, but he can't take any chances. He steps inside the store and whispers a report to another bearded man, this one older and obviously an in-charge type. The older man takes note of the situation and motions for a third man to join them...
"What's up Captain?"
"Shh. No ranks in public, remember?"
"Sorry sir."
"See that woman getting into the Cavalier?"
"Yeah..."
"You and Brooks follow. He'll fill you in. Do whatever is necessary to resolve the situation."
Brooks, the first man, asks... "Anything? Even...?"
"Hell yes, if you have to, kill her. We can't take any chances with the security of Brenda Smith..."
To Be Continued. Please review.
