The End of Slavery

by Craig Maciolek

Chapter Three

  Dave hunched over the freezer and leaned on the counter of his diner. It was his usual late morning posture; crookedly leaning on his right elbow and supporting his head with that hand under his chin so he can talk to his regulars and see the television. Dave always laughed at how uncomfortable he must look to other people, but after eight straight hours of hustling, his old body didn't really care anymore. His part was done. The early morning set up through breakfast. He could hear his niece working away in the back setting up for lunch. He thanked God for that. It was always in his mind that he would pass down this diner to his children, but they didn't want it.

  When he was their age he was all hustle, constantly looking for a way to be secure. He took the risk of borrowing money from his grandmother so that he could borrow money from the bank and open up his diner. He worked his fingers to the bone and lost many nights of sleep to get it established, where it could be sustained by it's regulars. Now it was just a matter of following through. He often got frustrated thinking about it, but he knew that maintaining this diner was not a risk for his children. When he was young security may have been the goal, but it was the hustle that drove him. His children were no different, off hustling their own adventures in life. His niece didn't grow up working in the diner, didn't grow up with this kind security, so it was something she appreciated and valued. Dave was just happy that his children will have someplace to fall back on if they needed to. However, whether they liked it or not, it was his niece that was in his will.

  All the ten O'clock regulars were in attendance, sitting in there usual spots and having the same conversations. The one difference today was that Michael was in a booth. On a normal weekday, Michael would come in earlier and sit at the counter, eating quickly before hopping on the bus to go to work. Only on some weekends would Michael sit in a booth. He would bring his box of cards with him so he could work out whatever he had to work out. Michael was in a booth with cards spread out all over the table and working intently. When Michael was like this everyone seemed to keep an eye on him out of interest, but nobody dared bother him. Which was a shame because an FBI official was on the TV talking about the terrorist attack that happened the day before and everyone wanted Michael's input.

  Dave and all the other regulars knew Michael to be “gifted”, but he was also a walking lie detector. Dave could not count how many times Michael had told them that someone on TV was lying or not telling the entire story, only to find out later that he was right. He knew that Michael was at the Federal Building the day before, but what he really wanted to know was if the guy on the TV was lying. Dave felt like he was.

  Michael had explained to Dave many times over his theories about emotional energy and our ability to transmit and receive, but Dave was still unsure of what he meant. Michael explained that everyone was capable, to some degree, of feeling other people's emotions and projecting their own to other people, but our society conditioned people to ignore this ability. It was a result of it being the first sense to evolve after our ascension into consciousness. Millennia of building community structures around five senses had made the emergence of a sixth sense impossible. Impossible because success was measured, in part, by a person's ability to ignore that sixth sense. Leaving people for whom the sense was too strong to be ignored out in the cold. Michael got excited when he explained that it takes work to understand it, and heretofore, nobody had been willing to put in that work. For the world, it was far too easy to simply dismiss emotionally sensitive people than try to understand and nurture them.

  Everyone loved to listen to Michael talk about this stuff because he would get so excited about it, and there was something about listening to Michael when he was excited. It was like listening to a musician who was lost in the groove. Dave was certain that, like him, nobody fully understood what Michael was saying. It sounded like it made sense because it was so intricate and thorough, but no one really knew for sure. They all simply took his word for it, because the excitement was contagious. However, Dave had made the effort to at least try and trust his instincts more, to notice his feelings at times, but it was tricky. As Michael once told him, “it is hard to discern between what we feel and what we want to feel.” Which reminded Dave of something else that he had said off handedly one morning, and even though Dave was busy over the grill he had to take a moment and write it down; “It is alright to trust what you think, and it is alright to trust what you feel, but never trust what you think you feel.” And Dave was unsure if he was feeling that the guy on TV was lying, or if he wanted the guy on TV to be lying. As if on cue, another regular started talking about how he didn't trust the guy on the TV. Dave immediately recognized the desire to believe that he was lying. It was like believing that the referee's were biased against the Bronco's. It somehow made it easier to cope with the disappointment. He decided to let it go.

  All the while Dave kept an eye on Michael. He was sitting in a booth with his back to the front door, sitting all the way in next to the wall with his box of cards on the seat next to him. He had a pad of paper and pen on the outside corner of the table next to him with the rest of the table completely covered with cards. Dave knew that some of the cards were Tarot cards, but the majority were made by Michael. Some were drawings in various colors of pencil or marker, and others had photographs attached. Dave watched as Michael, with the focus of a laser, arranged and rearranged the cards, searched through his organized box of cards for one or two, then reorganized again. Then, he would reach a certain point that was obviously important to him and take up his pad of paper to record the arrangement. Or that was how it seemed.

  Dave had a chance to study Michael's writing once and it was nothing he could make any sense of. It was a mix of recognizable English and pictographs, which obviously represented the cards, but it was all arranged in a weird way that looked like musical annotation. At that time, Michael was in one of those excited states talking about language being a manifestation of our thought process. He went on and on about how we communicate is the result of how we think. So, if a person thought in a different manner than everyone else, the language they naturally communicated in would be different. And if people were not aware of this, they would condemn those different people as being unwanted, stupid, or broken for no other reason than that they couldn't understand them. As a result, the different thought processes, or languages, battled in our society like animals in the jungle. Science vs. religion was his favorite example. Michael had gone to use the restroom and left his pad out on the counter. Dave was looking it over when Michael returned. Dave had recoiled and apologized for being so nosy, but Michael dismissed it, happy to have an opportunity to talk about this stuff with someone who didn't look at him funny. Dave continued to not really understand anything Michael told him even though it all seemed to make sense.

  Michael went on explaining about how life had many different levels of individuality and each level of individuality interacted in many different ways, and in large and small cycles that worked at different rhythms. The first example he had used was that of marriage. A marriage between two people was a small Super-individual comprised of two Prime Individuals. Each Prime individual had their own day to day emotional process and development, and the marriage, the Super-individual, also had it's own emotional process and development that it went through. Thus, sometimes a couple would argue about something stupid, and if the marriage were in a good place the argument would have a completely different flavor and meaning than if the same argument was had while the marriage was in a bad place, or out of alignment. The whole thing would get far more complicated when it was extrapolated to the Super-individuality of a family. Because then, not only are the prime-individuals of the children and in-laws added to the game, but also the Sub-individual traits of the house and cars and all the other items that cannot exist alone, but were a necessary part of the family, came into play. And the complication grows exponentially the higher the level of individuality is considered; a super-individ
ual neighborhood, town, state, and country. Then, at the opposite end of the spectrum, inside an individual there were many different levels of Sub-individual traits that were different aspects of our personality and consciousness that moved in their own cycles and patterns.

  So, Michael tried to explain his writing by first defining the levels of individuality that were to be represented. Each level had it's own line; an individual person or a family. Then, once those levels were understood, he noted each lines individual rhythms and sculpted how those rhythms moved, cycled, and interacted; starting with the past, moving through the present and into the future. This was where his cards came into play. But, Dave had no idea about any of that. He remembered that when Michael was explaining that part he was lost in memories he had of his late wife. How they would have those stupid arguments, and sometimes it would end up making them laugh, and other times it would expose a deeper issue; a misalignment in their shared intention is the way he later thought of it.

  Dave was snapped out of his ruminations by seeing Michael become stiff as a board. He felt his attention get pulled to the front of the diner where he saw a black SUV with tinted windows slow to a quick stop out front. Dave didn't need to wonder about this feeling. All the alarm bells inside of him were going off. Michael was getting it too apparently, because he was quickly trying to get his cards back into the box, in their organized way, and rapidly becoming more and more agitated. The front passenger door opened on the SUV, and a man in his middle thirties, who looked like a soldier on leave, got out in a very succinct and professional manner. Michael let out a little yelp and put his box of cards on top of all the other cards on the table and quickly got up from the booth. He stole a quick look towards the front door to see the man open the door. Dave was frozen as he watched them make eye contact for a split second as the man put his right hand into his partially zipped jacket under his left arm. By the time the man was fully through the front door Michael was in the little back hallway where there were two restrooms across from one another and a door to the back alley. In his panic, Michael tried the Men's room door, but found it locked and occupied. He let out another little yelp and lunged for the back door. Dave watched Michael slide through the door and into the alley, and just as his shoulder disappeared the wall next to the door exploded twice. As the diner filled with the loud reports of the gunshots Dave found himself reflexively falling to the floor. He hit the ground and forced himself to get right back up, but by the time his head got back over the counter all he could see was the back door of the diner swinging closed again, and all he could hear was the sound of the SUV screeching away.

  -----

  Michael didn't notice the gunshots as he left the diner, he was too focused on running. He was interested by the fact that he didn't have his fingers in his ears. In a moment he concluded that it was because the volume of the emotional energy was not that loud, but the focus of it was piercing, causing him to react and run. In a fraction of a second his mind was comparing it to the experience he had of running the day before. He could not help but notice the next gunshot that hit the brick wall right in front of him, spraying little pieces of brick into his face as he rounded the corner to the left, out of the alley and onto the side street towards his house.

  The diner was situated on the corner of a main street and a side street. Michael lived two blocks up that side street and three houses down the road to the left. He was in a full run when another bullet hit the car parked just to his right. He heard the foot steps pounding behind him and then the screeching tires and the guttural roar of a big engine coming up the road. He made the left turn onto his road with another bullet hitting the telephone pole in front of him. Parked in front of his house there was another black SUV with tinted windows. He could make out two figures in the front seat as he ran straight for it. Both doors swung open and the driver was the first to get out and pull his gun, leveling it between the open door and the vehicle. He fired twice in Michael's direction, but Michael was unshaken.

  Instinctively he ran straight for the passenger side of the parked SUV along the sidewalk. The passenger was out and standing with her gun pointed right at Michael. He ran right past her to her left. As he did, the screech of the other SUV coming to a stop at the corner came first then a barrage of gunfire coming from the two FBI agents and the other SUV. Michael ducked behind the agents SUV and by the time he came to a full rest it was all over. All he could hear was the other SUV racing away and the voice of Agent Spencer talking into her phone. Then, a moment later he noticed the sirens and wondered how long they had been screaming in the background, slowly getting closer.

  -----

  Agent Spencer finished with her phone call and came to the back of the SUV where Michael was sitting on the ground and rocking back and forth a little.

  “Are you alright?” She asked Michael.

  “Yes.” was the reply she heard, and she was surprised and shocked by it. Michael's voice was calm and mature, even though he was sitting all balled up and rocking back and forth on the ground. In fact, Michael's response had made her a little embarrassed because she had asked if he was alright as though he were a child. She didn't realize it at the time, she was still on autopilot. But he had answered like an adult, which snapped her back into being aware of herself.

  As she stood there simply looking at Michael in wonder Agent Gonzales came to the back of the SUV breathing heavy and securing his firearm back into it's holster. He had run after the other SUV.

  “No plates at all... I'm certain the police will find it abandoned soon enough... but I do know I hit the shooter on foot at least once.”

  “It is probably abandoned already” Agent Spencer said, happy to return to familiar ground, “I put enough holes in the engine to make it useless fast.”

  Agent Gonzales leaned against the SUV with a big exhale that signaled his body was aware the situation was over. Agent Spencer noticed this and decided it was time for a little leadership. Police cars were just coming around the corner, and as she checked to make sure her badge was visible she said to Agent Gonzales, “Do you mind taking the lead here and lining out the locals? I'm going to stay here with Mr. James and make sure everything is OK with him.”

  While Agent Spencer was technically his superior, it had never been something that made itself apparent – most of their work had been boring paperwork. He, however, was no idiot and understood what was going on. He immediately became aware of his posture and demeanor and got himself off the SUV and standing upright. The truth was that it was his first time firing his weapon in the field and was learning, quickly, that there was more to it than just squeezing the trigger. Up until this point he understood the importance of projecting professionalism, and now he understood that there was no excuse to let that lapse. In fact, the more tense the situation, the more important it became.

  Reading the look on his face as he pulled his badge from his belt and turned to head towards the arriving police cars, she called after him, “John.” He turned real quick, anticipating some reminder of procedure or something, “You were real impressive during that confrontation. Right there, fully commanding the moment.” Again, not being an idiot and realizing that she must have a good reason for the way she was talking to him, he decided to trust her and figure it all out later. He responded with a quiet thanks, a nod, and continued towards to the police cars. Agent Spencer watched him go for a moment and then sat down on the curb behind the SUV, facing Michael who was sitting on the pavement with his back to SUV.

  Agent Spencer pulled out her tape recorder and pressed record. Then asked Michael to tell the story of the last ten minutes. She was not surprised that Michael's story of the last ten minutes took thirty minutes for him to tell. Neither was she surprised that she was going to have to listen to the tape many times to catch every detail. It was obvious when he was finished and she simply turned the player off and put it away.

  She let a few moments pass and tried to get herself to calm down a bit so sh
e could ask some other questions. It wasn't working. Anyway, Michael beat her to the punch. “Why did you come here?”

  She took a deep breath, “We finally got to see the footage of the security cameras early this morning and there were a few small things that made us want to talk to you again... things that we would not have looked for if it wasn't for the account you gave us yesterday.”

  “What did you see? Did you see the van?”

  “No, we didn't see what could be clearly identified as the van you told us about. First, we saw in the video that the bomber looked beaten. Which made us look closer through the parking lot footage and found that several cameras were recently put out of commission that would have made it possible for a van to come and go without being recorded... if they knew which cameras were out.” Agent Spencer picked up a pebble and played with it in her hand for a moment and then threw it out into the street. “We were going simply on the fact that we had no other leads and that at least we could take your story a little more seriously this time.”

  Michael looked up at Agent Spencer, “Thank you.” Then, he read her uncomfortable confused face and said, “for admitting that you didn't take me seriously at first. It is really quite normal to doubt someone else's story. What is not normal is to continue doubting in the face of mounting evidence... And that is really what makes it frustrating sometimes dealing with people. Their pride, arrogance, and insecurity... is frustrating.”

  “Well, there is no doubt now.”

  “But, why did they come after me? Why all this shooting?”

  “That is a good question.” It was a good question. One that Agent Spencer had not had the opportunity to think about. After seeing the security camera footage, they started making calls and asking questions based on Michael's account. Somewhere along the line someone must have been alerted. Someone must have known that the investigation was turning in the wrong direction and decided action had to be taken to secure the story. Just then she remembered Michael saying he was visited by the FBI prior to her visit.

  “Where those the same men that said they were with the FBI yesterday?”

  “No. Well, at least not the one that came into the diner. I didn't see the ones in the SUV.”

  “There was more than one in the SUV?”

  “Two in the SUV, one on foot. I saw two silhouettes.”

  She let a few moments pass, not really certain what to do until they got back to the office. She decided to ask what was on her mind. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you know what is going to happen?”

  “I don't know what is going to happen. I am empathic. I feel other people's emotional energy. So yesterday, and this morning, I only knew I wanted to get away. Pure reflex really. I actually don't have any control when the energy is as intense as all this. Just a passenger going for a ride.”

  Agent Spencer thought for a moment, “I don't understand. How does that work? How does feeling someone's emotions tell you to run away?”

  Michael smiled, happy to be getting into something he knew about, “Why does love draw you closer to someone? Yesterday I ran away from the intense feeling of anger and hatred, I felt sorry for the man because I felt his fear, sorrow and frustration. None of those feelings were mine, but they don't have to be mine for me to want to get away from them. It is like a teenager playing his stereo really loud, but with the stereo you could at least ask, or tell him, to turn it down. With emotions there is no volume control.”

  “So these men were angry and hateful?”

  “I guess. I am only really experiencing these things myself for the first time Agent Spencer... consciously that is. I have spent a long time building an understanding of how I work and interact in the normal world, but now the world has become extreme and, in the short term, I can only try to fit these new experiences into my current understanding.” They sat quietly while many police and FBI agents bustled around them. “I would guess that murder requires a certain level of anger and hatred. I would guess that all those movies and books that depict assassins as perfectly emotionless and detached are wrong. Even if a person has the physical control to not show their emotions, certain acts – murder and rape and so on – require a large amount of anger and hatred in their hearts. Yesterday, the anger started as manufactured, like someone was convincing themselves they were doing the right thing,..” He thought for a moment, “or directed inward at themselves, and then it became focused on me. It became organic. I was seen as a threat.” Again they sat quietly for a few moments as they both thought about these things.

  Agent Gonzales walked up and stood across from Agent Spencer. She looked up to him and he reported, “Everything is secure. The police have cordoned off the area and FBI forensics have arrived and have taken over everything the way that they do, and we are ordered to escort Mr. James back to our makeshift headquarters.”

  Agent Spencer looked to Michael, “Michael, I hope you understand that this is for the best.”

  “I do, but my cards are still at the diner.”

  Agent Gonzales snapped to, “I'll get them” and Michael became visibly tense.

  Seeing this Agent Spencer jumped in, “Michael, they probably have that area secured; looking for fingerprints and such. Agent Gonzales will be careful. We can go get some things from your apartment while he goes down to the diner.”

  They both looked at Michael for a moment while he processed his thoughts. Michael let go and his shoulders dropped. He looked to Agent Gonzales, “It's not that I don't trust you to be careful with them, it is just that there are allot of cards and it will take me forever to reorganize them... But, I am going to have to do that anyway, I suppose.” He looked to Agent Spencer directly in her eyes, “Will I not be coming back here?”

  “For your safety it is best to assume not,.. for a little while at least.”

  Michael continued to hold her gaze, nodded and said, “OK.”

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