As she witnesses her fresh tears spattering the marble countertop of the bathroom vanity, May feels a sudden thumping from deep inside the earth. There is a bombastic sound of music and heavy bass pounding her luxury home from a vehicle outside. May decides to leave the mirror for now, gratefully turning off the light as she steps into the living room to peer outside through her large bay window.
Her chest begins to tighten and throb, almost in rhythm with the bass as she steps up near the closed drapes. May hears the lyrics of a familiar song being blasted through her neighborhood. ‘Feeling like a freak on a leash… feeling like I have no release,’ the song thunders from outside. She opens her curtains to see a large, black truck parked near the curb in front of her home, but is unable to determine the make and model from this angle.
“Holy creepy, Dude!” A young teenage boy screams from immediately in front of her window, holding up a cell phone to get a picture of her.
“Oh my God!” May exclaims as she closes the curtain. “Why me!? Why today, you little fuckers!? GO AWAY!” She cries out, burying her face in her left hand as she feels the lyrics of the song tearing away at her soul. “GO AWAY BEFORE I CALL THE COPS, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLES!”
May bemoans her insides getting queasy as the young men snicker outside her window, showing no intention of leaving. She backs up against the wall, enjoying the cold comfort of its pristine surface, allowing herself to slide down to the soft carpet. As her backside reaches the soft padding of the plush carpet, May places her hands in her lap, crossed over one another, with the palms facing upward, damaged by the cruelty of this moment, feeling helpless and humiliated.
“SHE’S TOTALLY FUCKIN’ SCARED, DUDE!” The teenager shouts over the music from outside her living room.
When she hears the young man’s cocky voice, May raises her head, instantly personifying the honey badger character from her children’s books. She gets up quickly from the floor, showing renewed, brilliant, blue eyes that are empowered and vengeful. With newfound strength, May stomps through the home to her bedroom, making her way to the closet. When she reaches the closet, she opens the slatted, white wooden doors, looking for her purse. She soon finds the familiar black, leather bag and pulls it up from the floor by its thin strap. Her eyes are afire as she fishes inside the purse with her right hand for the .38 Special Revolver. When she grasps the familiar Hogue Grip, May removes the pistol and drops the purse on the bed. She then holds the barrel safely up in the air and makes her way back to the living room.
May feels powerful as she grips the small revolver in her right hand, stepping coolly up to the long, tan drapes. With a sharp swipe of her left hand, she throws the drapes aside and points the pistol at the teenager on the left. May is immediately shocked to see that he is mooning her from the front lawn, his pants pulled so far down that she can see his penis and scrotum dangling above them.
“OH SHIT, DUDE, SHE’S GOT A GUN! LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!” A teenager with spiked, blonde hair shouts as he begins to sprint toward the large black truck from his position at the right of the bay window.
The other young man starts to run without looking backwards, pulling up his pants as he goes, his curly hair whipping in the wind. May follows him with her pistol all the way to the truck, pretending that she is going to shoot him on the move.
As the blonde teenager gets to the truck, he throws himself into the driver seat, grabbing the gearshift, and putting the vehicle into drive. The truck tires begin to squeal as the curly-haired young man dives into the back, grabbing tightly to the side. May closes her eyes and shuts the drapes as the truck speeds away, enjoying the victory of winning her life back, and the blessed silence.
The OBDAT - Chicago
“They did all that for a case of beer?” Lorabell asks with a stunned expression, looking up at May on the LCD display with satisfaction, knowing that a subject holding a gun is a big win.
“Yeah, agent Burton was able to work out a deal with them where they would play the most offensive song they could find on their iPod through the bass speakers.” Maxwell states with a degree of pride. “That was ‘Freak on a Leash’ by Korn… She looks really pissed!” He admits with a bit of guilt as he watches May from his comfy, leather chair on the left side of the OBDAT control panel.
“She drew her weapon and used it in anger; that’s a huge win for us!” Lorabell celebrates with a prideful smile. “Don’t worry about her; she’s been dealing with these scars for five years, May is a lot tougher than you think.” Lorabell reassures Maxwell, detecting his discomfort with the situation.
“Okay…” Maxwell says with uncertain eyes. “What do you need me to do next?”
“Oh, look she found the postcard!” Lorabell proclaims with a smirk, looking back at the LCD monitor of May’s bedroom and ignoring his question.
On the display, May is shown standing in her bedroom holding a burnt postcard of Mount Rushmore. She looks down at her bed in shock, putting her right hand over her mouth, not remembering ever having seen this. The confused young woman looks around the room with a surreal expression, as the postcard shakes in the grasp of her left hand. She is certain there is no one else in the house. May experiences feelings of betrayal and terror that instantly rise up from within her as the image of the famous monument is burned into her soul… A vision of that horrible day on The Needle’s Highway driving through The Needle’s Eye; her deepest regret that they never made it safely to Mount Rushmore… Was Charlie going to propose? She snaps back to life, staring down at the burnt paper with a demeanor marked by wicked suspicion.
“Where the hell did this come from!?” May asks, tossing the postcard into the air and glancing around for signs of an intruder.
She retrieves her pistol from the bed and elects to inspect the home further.
“Where did it come from- indeed?” Lorabell asks with ironic dissent as she lowers her head onto her clasped hands, allowing her elbows to rest on the sleek, black plastic of the control panel.
NED LAWHORN:
‘I can’t be that guy,’ Ned thinks to himself as he sits on his coarse orange and yellow sofa staring at the television. He rubs his gray eyebrows and glances down between his leathery hands at his beer gut that has grown outward over the years. After this moment of introspection, he stretches briefly, looking over at his collie that is sleeping in the corner.
His chest is suddenly filled with tension as Ned recalls the show he just watched on television; the story of a man forgiving someone for accidentally killing his loved ones. Ned breathes in slowly with the realization that he may be alone during the remaining years of his life. His wife was taken down after a brutal struggle with stomach cancer, and a few years later, their daughter was killed by a drunken bus driver.
He stands up from the sofa in his small ranch house, stretching his tall frame to its full height, and nearly touching the ceiling with his long, pale arms. His boots are off, giving him the comfy, relaxed feeling of wandering the house in his socks; like a small child, enjoying the creature comforts.
Ned shuffles into the kitchen and pours himself two fingers of Jack Daniel’s Whiskey, and swallows it with conviction, as any good Texas man would. The whiskey burns his throat and makes his chest feel unusually warm, but it takes away the sting of losing his little Thelma. He sets the whiskey glass down and shuffles into a bedroom at the back of the house, his royal blue shirtsleeves dangling with the buttons undone. Soon Ned finds himself in Thelma’s bedroom, looking at a collection of wood carvings and leather crafts mounted to her walls or scattered about on white oak shelves.
He sits down on the bed, feeling the soft comfort of the mattress under his worn blue jeans, thinking about the many nights his little girl slumbered in safety beneath this roof. Tears spring forth from his eyes as the recurring helpless feelings return; knowing that he couldn’t protect her despite his best efforts- is almost too much.
Ned reaches down and grabs a length of rope; a thin, ten foot strip of blue nylon typical
ly used for climbing. He breathes out hard and slowly begins to tie the rope into a lasso, moving his hands in steady, tedious circles as if performing a prayer ritual.
His heart rises with warm memories and he feels as close to Thelma as possible in this moment. Many years ago, before she left for school, they were sitting on this bed, tying a lasso. It was the last thing they did together… before she ran out to catch the bus. The old Texan’s tears come forth naturally now as he clenches the rope tight in his fists, remembering the bus driver’s smug expression when they released him from prison. As a Texas man, a hundred years ago, he could have simply blown the man away with his Colt .45 Revolver, and that would have been justice… In today’s world he would be shunned as a criminal; a crazy person for not being able to forgive and forget…
Ned unravels the rope quickly, letting himself relax and forget the pain, feeling the whiskey work its wonders. He rolls the length of blue nylon up neatly in clockwise, circular loops, and tucks it under the small bed, beneath the hem of the pink comforter.
After a few moments of silent mourning, he gets up from the bed and makes his way to the master bedroom where he retrieves his Colt .45 and a small, plastic container of bullets. Ned tucks the pistol down the back of his blue jeans and makes his way out to the barn.
As he steps out of the house, Ned breathes in deeply the fresh country air, letting the flimsy screen door close behind him. His short gray hair blows delicately in the mild breeze and he enjoys the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun on his brow. He feels instantly calm without the memories of the house bearing down on him. When he steps off of the rough wooden deck, the aged Texan feels the soft red sand under his socks and laughs inside at himself, having forgotten his boots again.
Ned shakes off his own stupidity and makes his way to the tractor that is exactly fifty yards from his usual paper target on the barn. He observes the two bullet holes in the black and orange target, feeling no need to replace it with so few shots to track. While the whiskey does wonders for his stress, it obviously is no help for his aim.
The familiar sound of a Jeep comes rolling down the drive just fifty-yards away. Ned turns slowly and a broad grin forms on his weathered, wrinkled face, lighting up his deep, blue eyes. The cobalt blue and white Jeep bounces to a halt next to him, and the welcoming face of a younger woman is soon smiling at Ned from the driver seat.
“Forget your boots again, Cowboy?” Sally asks as she gets out of the Jeep and closes the door behind her.
“Yeah, they’re in the house with Jack Daniel’s; keeping him warm.” Ned retorts with a loving gaze, admiring her smooth, tanned skin and white blouse that is half covered by a brown, suede jacket.
“I just had a long drive,” she begins, stretching with her arms behind her head, showing off her well-endowed chest beneath the thin blouse, “maybe we can do some shootin’ another time?”
Ned smiles like a teenage boy as he admires his fifty-five year-old girlfriend, her slightly plump little bottom in a pair of expensive, black Wrangler Jeans. He looks down at her dusty, black, suede leather boots, his eyes glazing over a bit in dumbfounded anticipation.
“So, Cowboy, how about we lose the gun?” She asks playfully, brushing her red hair to the side and looking at him with her light brown eyes. “Also, the pants; you won’t be needing those!” Sally’s lips purse together, showing her slightly wrinkled, but still gorgeous, fair skin.
“Well, I just wanted to get a little target shooting in; was all…” Ned replies like a shy schoolboy; still uncomfortable with such a sexually aggressive woman.
“Well now, don’t you nevermind that target…” Sally whispers seductively into Ned’s ear as she wraps her arms around him. “I have a target that you can hit… All night long, and every time you get in the bull’s-eye; we both win a prize.” She finishes by kissing him hard, pressing her mouth onto her lover’s lips with a bonfire of yearning.
Ned returns her kiss, wrapping his arms around her as well; his body ablaze with the legendary lust of a preacher’s daughter. After a short round of passion on the red sand, Sally grabs his hand and leads him into the farmhouse, smiling seductively under her smooth, long red hair. His breathing becomes shallow with anticipation as they enter the screen door together, closing the solid oak door behind them. Ned tosses his pistol gently onto the sofa, eager for her kiss.
Sally presses Ned up against the door, kissing him with loving desire against the hard, thick wood, feeling it give a bit with their weight. As he tries to kiss her more, she puts her right hand on his chest, holding him against the door. Then Sally takes a few steps backwards and removes her suede jacket, throwing it on the sofa playfully. After the jacket is gone, she unties the front of her blouse, exposing her breasts in a sexy, black bra. She then steps towards the bedroom, beckoning him with her right index finger and giving her best naughty-girl smile.
Ned is officially tantalized and moves toward her like a bull, grabbing the small of her back firmly and kissing her with red passion. The two lovers lock together in a session of intense affection, enjoying one another in ways that only a seasoned couple can. They kiss more passionately as Sally’s lovely round backside gets closer to the master bedroom.
Sally is smiling and enjoying his teeth on her neck, but her smile soon fades as she looks to her left into Thelma’s old bedroom.
“Oh my God, Ned, what have you been doing!?” Sally inquires with disturbed frustration as she pushes her eager lover away.
“What?” Ned asks with surprise as he follows her gaze and suddenly freezes in place as his eyes locate something unnerving.
He begins to shake immediately, trying to make sense of what is happening, as though an icy hand is brushing down his back, leaving him feeling haunted and betrayed. Ned gently pushes Sally aside and enters Thelma’s bedroom wearing a face filled with suspicion. His fingers reach out delicately to a length of blue, nylon rope hanging from a roof beam in the center of the room. He opens his mouth wide in shock as he sees that the rope has been tied into a noose.
“Oh my God, Ned; are you thinking of killing yourself?” Sally asks as she steps up next to him with her hands pressed together in front of her mouth.
“No…” Ned replies quickly with an anxious expression. “I put the rope under the bed; it was a rolled up like I always do.”
“How much have you had to drink today, sweetheart!?” Sally asks with heartfelt concern, appearing defeated and frightened.
“I… I’ve only had a few fingers of whiskey…” Ned says softly with a remorseful demeanor. “Some bastard must’ve done this; I put the rope away… I remember putting the rope away!” He exclaims as his hands become fists and he stares at Sally in deep shame.
“There’s nobody for five miles, Ned!” Sally exclaims as she begins to cry. “Take it down! Get it down, right now!”
Ned hops up on the bed with an urgent desire to help Sally relax. He unties the rope from the beam and sits down on the side of the bed with a puzzled look on his face. As he peers at the rope in his hands, he remembers Thelma and begins to weep spastically, rolling the rope in perfec,t clockwise circles.
“Ned, let it go!” Sally demands, reaching for the rope.
Ned turns his back on his lover, continuing to roll the rope into a neat circular formation. He then places it carefully under the bed as if performing an important ceremony. Sally watches him with tears streaming down her face, never having seen him so vulnerable. For the first time in their six-month relationship, Ned puts his hands on his knees and begins to cry, rocking back and forth as the pain overwhelms him.
“It’s okay, baby!” Sally whispers in a comforting manner as she pulls his head to her breasts. “We’re going to help you get through this..! It’s going to be okay!”
The OBDAT - Chicago
“That bitch!” Lorabell shouts suddenly as she watches Sally comforting Ned on the LCD display. “We’ll have to get rid of her; she’s going to be a problem.”
Maxwell turns to loo
k at his new boss in stunned silence, somewhat ashamed at her lack of humanity in this moment. Lorabell glares at him, her eyes somewhat dark from working over fourteen hours after only three hours of sleep. She takes a swig of her coffee, looking defiantly up at Sally from the control panel of the OBDAT. Her fingers grip the coffee cup tighter as she considers this whimsical threat to her success.
“What kind of woman stands there in support of a man who is bawling like a little bitch?” She asks Maxwell, not waiting for a reply. “Rogers tied the noose and got out of the house just in time. The girlfriend should have seen him for the screwed up, broken down piece of dog’s ass that he is!”
“Well, maybe in Texas people don’t give up on each other as easily…” Maxwell says with a shrug, still showing concern for her lack of empathy.
“Fuck Texas!” Lorabell barks back at him. “She has to go!”
“Hey, I’m from Texas!” A technician shouts from the server room below.
“Get back to work; it was just a figure of speech!” Lorabell sets down her coffee cup and folds her arms, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by Henri’s deadline, and the burden of causing these people distress.
She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) Page 10