Kaleidoscope

by Chariss K. Walker

  “How may I help you?” Sensei asked.

  “I recently trained with Sensei Fukui in Roussillon, France, but my job there finished, and I returned to New York. I seek more training.” I replied.

  “What type of training?”

  “Sensei Fukui trained me in hand-to-hand combat techniques to defend and protect myself. He introduced the art of Kali, but there’s much to learn,” I politely replied.

  “Show me,” Sensei demanded and pointed to the room on the right.

  We began a slow dance of defensive hand and foot movements so he could assess my previous training. I managed to block some of the blows, but Sensei Wakahisa took me to the mat many times. Still, he was impressed that I showed some skill. He relentlessly and systematically tested my defensives for weaknesses. In the end, I saw how vulnerable I am with a skilled attacker—and I became more determined than ever to learn.

  “Yes, you have much to learn,” Sensei dryly commented when the evaluation was complete.

  He agreed to train me six days a week. We would meet at six o’clock on the weekends and at eight during the week, but never on Fridays. The training would officially begin the following Sunday evening.

  I researched how to run and hide, but the information was discouraging. I could change my identity, but nothing was permanent. Sure, I could legally change my name and social security number, but the new name and number would leave a paper trail from the old one. Uncle Sam didn’t want to make it easy for anyone to disappear. The old days of being able to buy a new identity were over; they had been since 2001 when George W. Bush signed the Patriot Act into law. Very little could escape the eyes of the government these days.

  This understanding took me back to the conversation with Adom. He’d said the best way to disappear was to have help from someone in the government. I had a book on The Federal Witness Security Program. It confirmed that new identities were provided through the U.S. Marshals Service, but it also stipulated that only certain people qualified for their help. It was clear that only those whose testimony was essential for prosecution of a criminal case were eligible. I didn’t qualify for that. My life might be at risk, but I didn’t even know who was after me.

  I needed help. Joe was the only person I knew who might provide that help. After all the lies I’d told during the interrogation, I didn’t know if Joe would lift one finger to assist me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I was starving for information and I fed that hunger with research. I studied Nelson’s list and the art of stealth. I wanted to know how to walk silently, how to blend into a crowd, and how to hide in plain sight.

  What good will it do to run and hide if I can’t stay hidden or evade those looking for me?

  I regulated soft breaths and breathed slow and steady, in a controlled manner. I learned the advantage of slow, steady movements. I walked silently by placing the heel down first and then gently rolling my foot slowly towards the toes. I was like a mouse, walking against the wall where he’s less noticeable. Moreover, everything I learned gave me additional confidence, more power and a sense of self-control.

  I went to the gym to practice strengthening my upper body. My goal was to ascend a twenty-foot rope in less than five seconds. It sounded impossible, but it wasn’t. Sensei had done it. To assist in that goal, I needed to do 10 repetitions of twenty pull-ups or chin-ups without breaking a sweat. To strengthen my grip, I threw a towel over the pull-up bar to see how long I could hang there. When I was ready to collapse, I did more pull-ups. I was determined to continue the work Sensei started. I practiced mentally and physically. I visualized the routines. I saw myself doing the steps and practices learned in Roussillon. The visualization sped up my training efforts because the body doesn’t know the difference in actually doing and seeing. I advanced quickly.

  When I stepped into the ring with Troy, I’d changed, but no one knew that yet. When Troy threw his first punch, I turned slightly, using the footwork. Troy lost his balance when the punch didn’t connect. During the rest of the bout, I sidestepped, shuffled, and pivoted. These moves drove Troy crazy because he couldn’t hit a moving target. It further increased my confidence. By the end of the bout, Troy was frustrated and furious. His face contorted in a grimace and twitched erratically as he tried to control his anger. He wanted to punch me in the mouth but hadn’t been able to get a glove on me.

  “Mike, don’t ever suit up with me again!” Troy shouted like an angry bear with his shoulders hunched forward, slapping his gloved fists together threateningly. I shrugged it off, showered, and then went home.

  The late-night news revealed a blackout in Crystal River, Florida. The nuclear power plant located about sixty miles southwest of Gainesville was struck by lightning. It caused a power grid blackout in the small nearby town. The power plant, a Pressurized Water Reactor, had many safety features, including three separate cooling systems, but only one of those was radioactive. The news station used many methods to twist terminology, a trick to make something that should frighten the populace sound less frightening.

  In a perfect world, the safety features should have kicked-in during the unlikely event of a lightning strike. However, as it often happens in real life, the switches that were supposed to automatically trip, didn’t. They were frozen shut from lack of use. To complicate matters, an off-site generator, designed to keep power stable until repairs could be made, was also faulty, leading to the black-out in Crystal River. It was an isolated event only affecting that small community, but the citizens didn’t know that.

  They realized that lightning struck the power plant, and fearing something similar to Chernobyl, panic ensued. One woman was trampled to death in the stampede to leave the area. The report continued, stating that Crystal River could be without power for up to a week while the failure of the safety features was investigated. As most things do, the vision made more sense in hindsight. Tonight, I’d see a new event in the kaleidoscope.

  I noticed the light on the telephone answering system was red. Magin, my cousin, had left a message at nine-thirty urging me to call regardless of the time. It was almost midnight, but I returned the call. He answered the phone on the second ring and his ‘hello’ sounded slurred. He hadn’t yet learned that alcohol was only good in moderation, and although I sympathized, I knew that it was a difficult lesson to learn. Sometimes it must be repeated many times before the instruction is complete. In this instance, Magin learned slowly.

  “Hello, Magin, it’s your cousin returning your call. What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait for a proper spell to sleep off the booze?”

  “Oh, Mike. I’ve haven’t been drinking, but I sure feel like it,” He replied. “It’s Dad, Mike. He’s dead. I just got in from offshore and found him. He was dead in his bed. The coroner said he didn’t suffer. The old man slept right through a ruptured appendix…”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I responded, true sympathy softening my tone of voice.

  “Yeah, it looks like you and me are all that’s left of the Lewis family now.”

  “What have you done about the funeral arrangements?”

  “Nothing yet; I don’t even know where to begin,” Magin responded glumly. “They took the body to the morgue because I didn’t know which funeral home to use. They’ll hold it there until I can make arrangements. I don’t know what to do or where to start. Can you come up to Albany and give me a hand?”

  “I’ll leave in the morning. Get some sleep. There’s a lot to be done.”

  I tried to follow the advice given to Magin, but as I closed my eyes, the new kaleidoscope vision began. Images of freezing rain coating grass and trees in an ice glaze and then a storm system swirling in so quickly that the temperatures plummeted, freezing everything in only a few minutes. Trees, grass, everything turned into solid ice.

  Is it possible for a living thing to freeze solid?

  I distanced myself from the images to observe the horrible scene. I asked key questions as Nelson suggested.
<
br />   Where is it?

  The area looked barren to begin with, not much growing there. A few scrub bushes and scraggly trees.

  When did it happen?

  It appeared to be early evening because of the light in the sky. I could clearly see that there were fresh buds on the trees and the grass was new, so it must happen during spring. There hadn’t been much spring to talk about this year, especially in the northern part of the States. Maybe, this was in the southern part of the country.

  What happened to cause this?

  At first, there was glaze ice on the trees and grass, but then the temperature dropped suddenly and the plants and trees beneath the ice had frozen solid, so brittle that they snapped off like toothpicks.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Enterprise car rental delivered an Infiniti G37 the next morning. I threw everything needed for the trip to Albany in the trunk of the rental car and headed northwest towards Interstate 787 North. From there, I found my way to Henry’s home.

  Magin had never married and still lived at home with his father. Henry needed assistance, and with Magin’s work schedule, fourteen days on the rig and twenty-one days at home, it made more sense to share the maintenance of the home they shared. It made sense to them and that was enough.

  When I arrived at the residence, Magin was a wreck. His father’s death was unexpected and he was overwhelmed. They had depended on each other for many years.

  Somehow, I was able to lead Magin through the required steps of funeral preparation. I gently prodded and pushed him to gather his father’s personal papers, birth certificate, social security card, and death information.

  “Magin, do you think Henry would want to be buried or cremated?”

  “I don’t know. We never talked about it, about dying, or about what we wanted after,” Magin replied.

  “Ok, that’s fair enough. If it were you, what would you want? Would you rather be buried in the ground or cremated and kept in an urn?”

  “I liked the way your parents did it, Mike. Both of them were cremated and then had a small wake or memorial at their home, right?” Magin perked up a little.

  “Yes, they did. It was very simple.”

  “Dad and I never talked about what we’d want if it was us,” Magin said, “but I did get the sense that he admired Uncle Patty for the way he took care of your mother. It wasn’t really a funeral, but it allowed a time for everyone to gather and remember her. I think he’d like to have his done the same way.” Magin remained thoughtful for a while. “Do we call that a wake?” he finally asked.

  “I’m not sure it’s the same as in the traditional Irish terminology, but that’s what we called it.”

  “Did you have to handle all the arrangements for Uncle Patty’s funeral?” he asked.

  “No, Dad and Mother made the arrangements several years before their deaths. They went together and took care of it at the same time. They were like that, always thinking ahead and about me. They didn’t want me to have to make those kinds of decisions while grieving, so they set it up according to their own wishes. The information was detailed in a separate document attached to their wills,” I softly replied.

  “So, this is the first time you’ve had to do this and you’re doing it like a pro,” Magin said. “Mike, I really appreciate it. I felt lost until you got here. It’s good to be able to depend on you right now.”

  “No worries, Magin. It’s best to make the decisions you want before our appointment with the funeral home. If you already know what you want, they’ll set it up for you. If you’ll find Uncle Henry’s address book, I’ll make the calls when we get back from the funeral home. They’ll give us a specific time to pick up the urn. Since you want to have the wake here, all we’ll need to do is let his friends know what time. We’ll order lots of food and drink to be delivered.” I smiled and Magin smiled back.

  “I think I feel the light at the end of the tunnel,” Magin said with a sigh of relief.

  “It’s going to be ok. You’ll see,” I encouraged. “Would Aunt Sandy be a good source to ask about catering?”

  Magin shrugged his response; he didn’t know what his mother would do. Things hadn’t been easy since the divorce. Magin was ten years old when his folks separated. Both Magin and his father felt that Sandy abandoned them. She’d had an affair with a wealthy businessman who was up and coming in Albany’s political arena. They were married three days after the divorce from Henry was final. Aunt Sandy had simply left them behind and never looked back.

  Surely, now that Henry is dead, she’ll want to help her only son in some small way.

  I made a pot of strong black coffee, fried bacon, scrambled some eggs, and toasted several slices of bread. Magin needed to eat and I was nearly always ready for a meal. He insisted he wasn’t hungry, but I urged him to come to the dining table and have coffee while I ate. It smelled good and soon Magin was eating what I’d prepared with relish.

  The funeral home appointment went smoothly. The assistant director listened to the guidelines that Magin wanted and made notes. She also took care of the paperwork necessary after someone died. She filed for Henry’s death benefits and sent copies of death certificates where necessary. Once that was finished, she confirmed that we could pick up the urn after noon the next day.

  We dropped off a black suit at the dry cleaners and then went back to the house to make phone calls. The first call I made was to Aunt Sandy, or rather, to Mrs. Sandra Dubois, the wife and avid supporter of Congressman Anthony Dubois. Aunt Sandy was too busy to be bothered by nearly everything that wasn’t directly related to her husband or his career. It took several minutes to convince her assistant that it was a family matter.

  “Hello, Michael,” Aunt Sandy greeted.

  “Aunt Sandy, it’s nice of you to speak with me. I’m here with Magin helping him arrange Uncle Henry’s funeral and wake.” I paused.

  Does she even know he’s dead? Well, crap, too late to worry about that. If she didn’t know before, she knows it now.

  “I need your advice…Who should I call to cater the wake? I know its short notice, but we’ve planned it for tomorrow evening at eight o’clock. I could really use a woman’s guidance about the food,” I said and not knowing where to go from there, I hesitated again. She hadn’t said anything after the initial greeting.

  “Where will the wake be held, Michael?” Sandy finally asked.

  “Here at his home.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” She asked.

  “I don’t see why not…Is there a reason why it might not be a good idea?”

  “Well, it’s a small home,” she explained, “and Henry had a lot of friends, most of them retired from the railroad, and then there are the neighbors. He kept close with all the neighbors. The funeral home would accommodate more visitors, and there, the visitors would be free to pay their respects during a longer interval of time. If you have it in Henry’s home, the window will be much shorter. You’ve set the hours from eight to ten o’clock, am I correct?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what we did. Magin wanted something similar to my parents’ wake, so we followed the same schedule.” It occurred to me that she might not want to pay her respects in the home they’d shared.

  “It sounds as if you two have things well in hand, Michael, and as far as the catering goes, please allow me to make the arrangements,” Sandy responded with a tremor in her voice.

  “Thank you, Aunt Sandy. That’s very kind and thoughtful of you. The cremation urn will be ready tomorrow at noon, but we aren’t picking it up until around six-thirty.”

  “Oh?” she asked with a hint of hopefulness in her voice.

  “Yes, that’s just how it worked out. Perhaps, we could ask the funeral home to open a room for visitors from noon to six o’clock? I’m not sure they will at this late notice, but as you said, maybe some people would like to pay their respects there. I can ask them,” I offered.

  “Michael, would you allow me to contact them to work
that out?” Sandy asked. She’d pull whatever strings she had to in order to make it happen.

  “Thank you, that would help out quite a bit.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Please, tell Magin he has my deepest sympathies, but I’m not yet ready to see him,” Sandy said as she struggled with those emotions.

  “I’ll tell him. Don’t worry. I don’t think he’s ready to see you either,” I said and then hung up.

  After that, I went through Henry’s personal address book. I didn’t know which names were good friends or only acquaintances, but I called everyone, telling them the time for visitation at the funeral home and the memorial service at Henry’s home.

  Magin was still sitting in the living room, lost in thought, and needed some cheering up. After the calls were made, I encouraged him to get a shower and clean up. It was only natural to grieve, but Magin had a tendency to slide into a blue funk and then hit the bottle. I hoped to pull him out of that cycle if I could and urged him towards the bathroom.

  Once he’d showered and dressed, we went out to get a bite to eat. We found a pizza parlor only a few blocks from the residence and had pizza and a pitcher of ice-cold beer. It was exactly what we needed, but I didn’t let Magin get lost in the alcohol. When the pitcher was finished, I declined a refill and asked for the check.

  Saturday morning, I prepared a light breakfast and was surprised to hear a knock at the door. On the stoop stood a middle-aged woman dressed in a house cleaner’s uniform. There were two boxes of supplies at her feet. I accepted the note she handed me and stepped aside to let her in. Aunt Sandy had sent her. It read, “Please accept Suzanne’s help today. She’ll clean and help when the caterers arrive. I’ll send a car for her at ten-thirty. Aunt Sandy.”

  Suzanne came in and started to do her magic on the home. I allowed Magin to sleep for another hour and then got him up so Suzanne could safely work in any room and in any order she chose. Magin and I went out to the ‘Florida room.’ It was essentially a back porch encased by windows. There was a ceiling fan over a glass-topped patio table. We sat in silence for some time.