She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies)

by Adams Irish, Travis

  “It’s funny to think,” Henri declares with a smirk, showing a few wrinkles on his clean shaven face, “here you are on the end of a losing battle, trying to fight History in the making. And yet… you’re a good man, Devlin. I’ve got to hand it to you; you’ve really become an apple pie and honest-to-God husband. The only problem is… you don’t know how to manage your paper trail, and you don’t know how to manage your anger.”

  Henri kneels down and winks at Devlin, putting one knee on the soft, red carpet as he continues talking face to face.

  “It’s funny to think,” Henri repeats, rolling his tongue over his teeth, “of all the vile shit I’ve stuffed down inside of me that they can’t see… People feel safe having me in their homes; they trust me with their deepest secrets, and give me their hard-earned money. Every day I ask myself, Devlin, do these blind sheep have any idea what type of alpha wolf I am? Do they know that I don’t value anything above my desire to succeed? That I would tear them to pieces if they got between me and my goals?”

  Henri smiles and shakes his head for a moment, the bright lights shining on his forehead under his silver hair.

  “But you know what I am… You caught me pissing on a tree in the forest, about to do my dirty deed. It’s sad that you’ve done such a poor job managing your paper trail. With two felonies, Devlin, I could lock you up in the deepest darkest pit in these United States. No one would miss you; not a convicted felon with a history of violence. It would just be business as usual. Goodbye baseball husband and apple pie. Hello playtime in the showers. Three strikes… and you’re out. You see, it doesn’t matter that you’ve changed, Devlin, or that you’re a ‘good man. ‘ The American people only believe your paper trail… and my paper trail.”

  “I guess your paper trail is easy to manage when you’re victimizing someone who can’t see your face!” Devlin snaps back in a threatening tone, eyeing the older man like a cobra watching a mouse urinate in his nest.

  These words cause a shiver to flow through Henri’s body, and his stomach begins to burn with guilt, feeling a sudden need to leave the room. He stands up slowly and adjusts his suit, being sure he looks good enough to make an appearance, checking his clothing and skin carefully for any blood.

  “When I come back here, Devlin, we’re going to get you ready for an assignment in Mexico. With your felonies, and recent appetite for violence, you’ll be a great subject for my gun control lottery. In the meantime, you should be thinking about how you’re going to impress me, and whether you want prison showers in your future… or apple pie.”

  Henri stares into Devlin’s eyes for a moment, ensuring his threat hits home, and then he turns his attention to the door where his security agent is waiting to escort him. He squeezes his eyes a bit with irritation, smiling wide as he walks with a brisk stride to the door, his long legs making him appear wholesome and ready to lead. One agent steps out of the office with Henri while the other stays behind with Devlin, closing the door to keep him contained.

  XIV. Let’s Talk Pressure

  Henri Edwards and a member of his security detail emerge from the outer doors of The House of Representatives where a crowd of reporters have gathered. He smiles wide as he steps forward to a makeshift podium and pseudo press conference that has been organized at the top of the stairs.

  “Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” Henri speaks warmly with a friendly gaze, waving his right hand respectfully at the reporters. “I know you want a follow-up on the speeches that I have been giving regarding the horrible gun violence that has been festering in America these past few years. This is an important priority to me as The Speaker of The House, a responsible citizen, and a father. I have committed to make radical changes for gun control that will limit collateral damage and bloodshed in our streets, while still allowing God-fearing Americans to bear arms and protect their families.

  Today, I ask you ladies and gentlemen of the press why we didn’t catch the gunman in the Colorado theater shooting. Why have we missed so many of these folks who go out and shot up schools? How could we, with such a large budget for national defense; have missed such terrible people who were stocking arsenals with ammunition purchased on the Internet?”

  “I’ll tell you why…” Henri’s voice becomes quiet for a moment, and then builds back up. “These men were not caught ahead of time… because they’re white. Since Nine Eleven, our country has focused strictly on bad men with turbans, or bad men with dark skin. We have become so ethnocentristic in our approach to security and profiling, that we are letting psychopaths slip right through our fingers. A man shouldn’t be able to buy full body armor on the Internet and over 3,000 rounds of ammunition without popping up on some sort of screen… as a red flag. This should be the case regardless of the color of his skin or his religious beliefs. It’s time for us to all sit down as Americans and realize the hard truth, that… there are bad Americans among us, and we need to find them… before another school gets shot up, or a movie theater, or a football game. The violence is not going to end until we look for the violent people stalking our own backyards. This type of action doesn’t require any new laws. All I need from The President of The United States is the funding and the executive approval to make it happen. And as a father, The Speaker of The House, and a citizen of the greatest country on earth, I feel it is my right to know these protections are in place. No one has questioned random screening and checks at the airports, and look, we haven’t had a hijacking or incident since those policies were put in place. Let’s keep doing our job to keep America safe, but not just from men in turbans or people of dark skin. Let’s agree that every color of people and every religious group possesses the potential for evil, and we need to monitor them to keep our children… and our future… safe.”

  XV. The Cases – Not Your Ordinary Block Party

  “We’re working late!” Henri says with an ambitious stare as he hangs his jacket on the back of the leather swivel chair at the center of the OBDAT platform.

  “I gathered that…” Lorabell replies with frustration as she stretches in her seat on the right side of the control panel.

  “We’re still a few weeks out,” Maxwell says with drastic pessimism from his position on the left, “even having our teams on the ground, there’s no way we can get three subjects to boil over in two days!”

  “We’ll be getting some extra hands.” Henri beams with childish energy. “Mason is on the ground in Texas with Ned and Sally. He’ll be helping us to quarterback assets in Virginia and California as well. With him commanding the assets on the ground, our time will be cut in half. He also has the ability to improvise, so all we need to do is tell him what we’re trying to achieve.”

  “When did Mason leave for Texas?” Lorabell asks with some confusion. “I thought he was still here in his office…”

  “Nope, he flew out to Texas last night after The President ordered him to assist us by any means necessary.” Henri affirms with a supplicated ambition. “All you need to do is tell him what effect we’re trying to have on the subjects and he’ll add enough aggression to the formula to put this baby to bed. So where are we?” Henri asks, clasping his hands together in preemptive triumph.

  “May and Ned are in severe states of depression; they could easily be pushed over the edge if we do it right.” Lorabell reports with a bit of doubt in her voice. “Phillip was jacked up after the gang members drove by his home last night, but he’s not as broken as the other two.”

  “How do we make him as broken as the others?” Henri demands with an intense glare, showing off his lack of patience. “I know you have an idea… Tell me!”

  “There is something I was planning to do, but wanted to wait a few days to see-“ Lorabell stops short as The Congressman blares over her like an emergency vehicle.

  “Do it!” Henri interrupts, not wanting to waste another minute. “Whatever you’ve got to make Phillip vulnerable- use it!”

  “I don’t know that I feel comfortable-“
Lorabell begins with a look of despair and shame, still feeling overwhelmed by the loss of Julia.

  “You’re not here to feel comfortable!” Henri retorts with a scornful stare. “I don’t know what kind of creampuff you’ve turned into, but we’re very close to getting the results that we need. Here you are; standing on the edge of a psychological breakthrough, afraid to take a leap from the lion’s head because someone got hurt. Well, what happens when these people go nuclear on us, Lorabell? Will you feel sorry for Ned when he guns down an unarmed man for a crime that was already passed through our courts? Do you want to watch him shoot someone who already spent years in prison for what he did? What about when May snaps one day and starts to shoot up her neighborhood because the only thing she has left is to spread her misery across the entire community? How about our dear Phillip? An ex-marine who can barely hold a part-time job? How are you going to explain to Letisha’s mother that Phillip went over the edge and killed her baby girl because some primal part of him wanted to end her suffering?”

  “How does this really help the case study data?” Maxwell inquires, looking at Henri with suspicious eyes. “I don’t really understand how the data is useful if we are manipulating these people into-“

  “Because if these people,” Henri interrupts, gesturing toward the LCD displays, “execute an attack on American soil, without it being self-defense… Then we have a legal reason to suspect all such people. I don’t hate Phillip, Ned, and May, but I do know that they are emotionally unstable. Julia already demonstrated how volatile they can be with only a little bit of coercion. You people need to realize that life can be as bad… as it can be good. For one person who is winning the actual lottery, and watching all their dreams come true; another person is losing the emotional lottery, and watching their nightmares come true. It takes a strong stomach to serve your country, and that’s what I expect from both of you…” Henri glances at Lorabell and turns slowly to gaze at Maxwell, looking inspirational and patriotic in his tall chair. “But I’ll give you a choice…” Henri says with sincerity in his pale blue eyes. “If you believe that it’s impossible for someone to lose the emotional lottery, and have a life filled with shit on top of shit, then go ahead and walk away. If you’ve never heard a story about someone getting hurt over and over again because of the lifestyle or place they happen to grow up in, then go ahead and leave. If you feel that there is no such thing as ultimate despair, sure as there is ultimate bliss, then you are welcome to go…”

  Maxwell and Lorabell look at one another; both of them knowing that Henri is playing an emotional game of chicken, but neither wanting to flinch. They consider his words for a moment, weighing out the possibilities of how much pain life could deal out to one person. After perusing through so many case studies, reading snippets from history about mass genocides, and understanding the nature of evil; neither dares to walk away. Lorabell considers The Holocaust, thinking about what she would have done during such dire circumstances; there is no way to predict human behavior under that type of pressure. Maxwell thinks about his own past, the things he put people through in the name of pride, realizing what he might have become had Henri not recruited him for this program.

  “It looks like you’re both onboard.” Henri points out after a few minutes of silence. “This is your show, Cardigan; let’s see how far we can go… and if these people are strong enough to withstand the worst pain that we can dish out…”

  NED LAWHORN

  ‘A steady hand breeds a reliable cowboy,’ Ned thinks to himself as he drinks down another shot of Jack Daniel’s Whiskey. The house is silent without Chemo running around; his tail wagging that typical canine greeting. Ned looks down at his hands, holding the shot of whiskey out in front of his face as he lets the hours go by, ticking away at his life like a train barreling down the tracks towards an inevitable last stop. He glances down at his recent text messages from Sally who has been calling him so many names, but not saying what she really means… It’s over.

  Ned pulls his head back hard as he shoots the whiskey down, wanting to finish poisoning his soul after a long bout with hope.

  “Hope is the worst thing in the world…” Ned announces in a whimsical, drunken slur. “The world is a beautiful mess… I wonder why people get rewarded for going off the rails like they do…”

  He looks down at his recent log of text messages, wishing for some last echo of hope coming from his beloved redhead.

  Ned thumbs through the messages slowly, which read:

  7:43 am: WHERE ARE YOU? I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED WITH YOU AND THAT SLUT, TRAITOR!

  7:56 am: ANSWER ME! IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE ME AGAIN YOU BETTER ANSWER ME!

  8:19 am: YOU’RE A COWARD, NED LAWHORN, AT LEAST BE MAN ENOUGH TO TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED.

  9:27 am: WHAT DOES IT MATTER..?

  Ned uses his thumb to flip the last text message to the right, triggering the phone to automatically dial Sally’s number.

  “Where have you been!?” Sally demands, answering her phone with a mix of concern and rage.

  “Chemo is dead…” Ned says slowly, holding the bottle of Jack Daniel’s tight against his forehead. “A drunk driver ran him over.”

  “Chemo was not run over, Ned,” Sally says quickly, dismissing his claim, “you’re just drunk and reliving old, painful memories.”

  “No,” he replies softly, shaking his head from side-to-side, “the dog is dead. He’s still up on the road… Got run over by a drunk driver yesterday afternoon.” Ned begins to sob as he continues to speak. “It’s so quiet here without him, Sally; too quiet without anyone...”

  “Ned, I need to know something,” Sally asks, holding the phone tight to her ear, “did you have sex with Mary recently?”

  The elderly oil worker begins to laugh at the thought of having sex with a woman half his age; even in his drunken state, it seems impossible.

  “I didn’t call for you to humiliate me and laugh, Ned,” Sally replies with outrage, “you could have just said yes or no! I guess you’re not the man I thought-“

  “Sally, you must be drunker than me…” Ned says with a flattered smirk, staring out at the evening sky, “if you think that a woman like Mary would ever be with me. Who the hellll, told you that tall tale, anyway? Some old gal that I used to date, trying to get your goat..? Guess she fooled you!”

  Sally begins to chuckle as she holds the phone pensively to her ear, realizing how ridiculous the whole story sounds when discussed aloud.

  “Yep,” Ned says with a broad, intoxicated grin, “I got with: Mary, Danica Patricks, and that sweet little country singer- old whatersname… Just can’t keep my hands off all the young women folk that show up on my doorstep these days.”

  Sally’s eyes begin to water with pure joy, realizing that she was deceived by the angry, young vixen.

  “But it don’t matter none,” Ned declares with an open mouth, “this ole’ cowboy is getting on the road tonight… Gonna’ find out what all this excitement is about- drunk driving-”

  “Ned!” Sally interrupts, trying to get his attention. “Ned, please listen to me, this isn’t you, honey; someone is pulling your strings.”

  “A drunk driver took my daughter… A drunk driver took my dog.” Ned says with a hopeless stare, holding up his index finger and thumb above the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “It’s time for ME to go out drunk driving and destroy someone’s life… Maybe that’s what it’s all about; just learn to be free and reckless behind the wheel… To hell with everyone!”

  “Ned, please stop!” Sally commands with frustration. “I’m getting in my jeep and I’ll be there soon. Just stay there so we can find out what’s going on!”

  “It’s over, Sally, this world is too painful for an old boy like me.” He says with a wild stare, leaning away from the table and almost losing his balance. “I’m going to pay Ralph Epperson a visit… maybe shoot him down, run him over, set his house on fire… I’m not sure yet…”

  “Sweetheart, don’t go anywhere,”
Sally urges him in desperation; “you still have me! You’re not alone!”

  “Goodbye my lovely little Sally; my red hen…” Ned says with despair as tears stream down his face. “I’m no damn good. I’m a coward; like you said! I should have finished this with Ralph a long time ago! Goodbye, baby…”

  “Ned, please! Don’t destroy your life, we can figure this out!” Sally pleads as the call ends and the phone goes silent.

  From inside her jeep, Sally tries to call Ned over and over again, driving rapidly to reach his farmhouse as she continually gets his voice mail. When she is making the last bend to the left on her way to Ned’s home, Sally sees a small, brown and white, fur-covered body off to the side of the road. Her headlights are aimed directly at the animal as she comes to full stop. With a distraught expression she exits her jeep, stepping over toward the lifeless animal.

  “Oh my God!” She exclaims, immediately recognizing Ned’s half-crushed dog pushed off to the side of the road.

  Sally looks down at the massive tire track that ran over the dog, thinking that there is something odd about Mary’s recent lies and this sudden tragedy. As she walks back to her jeep and jumps into the driver seat, Sally ponders any potential enemies who would do this to Ned. Her heart leaps in her chest as she realizes that Ralph Epperson may be involved, and if so, Ned might be in serious danger. Sally puts the gas pedal to the floor; she drives a few hundred feet to the farmhouse and slows down to see if Ned’s truck is outside. She inspects the area and speeds up immediately after noticing the truck is not there. Sally proceeds down the road in earnest, trying to reach the Epperson home in time.