by T. C. Clover
moment her destiny had been under his control, and the power he felt was tremendous. Now that power was sprinting off toward Brooklyn with unknown motivations. The pale German began to move with a rapid gait, realizing that he was in the same position as her mother. If he never knew what happened to the girl, then he was no better off than her grieving parent, and this concept ate away at his core like a bad virus.
The masked stranger sprinted ahead at a faster pace, and the hefty kidnapper found himself losing ground at an unforgiving rate. There were streams of sweat cascading down the microscopic valleys and imperfections of his skin. It seemed as though someone had poured a bucket of water over his head. He tried to keep up for two hundred yards but doubled over with a severe ache in his side. The man was in poor shape, and his muscles were starting to cramp. He knelt down on the grass and lowered his head to catch his breath.
After several seconds of punishment, the pale German looked to his right and noticed a woman in a green hijab filming his movements with a small device. The woman seemed out of breath as if she had been following him from the beginning. He felt a rush of panic in his chest and forced himself back onto his feet. But this action was futile when he noticed that half a dozen police officers were surrounding him and encroaching on his position. All six lawmen encircled him, and it took them less than sixty seconds to handcuff the kidnapper and read him his rights. The German wasn’t surprised when he saw the masked figure return to where the police had detained him on the grass.
When the police lifted the kidnapper off of the ground, he saw the black man remove the ski mask and glare at him. The muscular man cradled the little girl safely in his arms, and she didn’t seem afraid. A Japanese police officer approached the mighty African-American and put his arm on his unoccupied shoulder in a gesture of celebration.
The kidnapper began to weep, realizing that his fate was set when he accepted a birthday invitation from a seemingly absent-minded mother. He turned his head to the right and watched the Muslim woman getting closer to the site of his arrest. The man shook his head, fearing an uncertain future and cursing his lack of self-control.
The Shots Fired Loft – Manhattan, New York
“Look, Richard, I’m going to make this really simple,” Mike articulated with his hands held high. “All of you signed contracts stating that you’re going to share some intimate details from your lives on our show. Stoney has done his part, and Fassim is going on the air in about five minutes to do hers. So why do you think that I’ll give you a pass? Because you’re Richard? Do you think you’re more special than everyone else? Frankly, Jennifer and I are sick of these conversations. There’s nothing to negotiate, and besides, I doubt your alcoholism is much of a secret after the party at NASA.”
Richard gripped his forehead and stared at the fancy wooden desk that was between him and the director. He had told Mike that unveiling his past as a playboy would hurt his chance at running for political office with the Republican Party. The disgruntled man tugged at the jacket of his dark gray suit, which blended well with his white dress shirt and navy blue tie.
His brown eyes locked on the director in a moment of heated disdain. The man who sat across from him was wearing a bright white suit and black tie that would have been the envy of any 1920s gangster. Richard decided that every man who held sway over his life had been a bully, and Mike was no different.
He recalled growing up with alcoholic parents that never wanted a second child. The couple had exhibited severe favoritism toward Richard’s younger brother Thomas, and as a result, nothing he ever did was worthwhile. This perception led to Richard being raised in a household with three bullies; all of them self-righteous and unyielding.
When he was old enough to attend college, Richard sought comfort in the arms of different women every week. He found himself descending into a downward spiral of hard alcohol and gorgeous females. This hedonistic phase of his life proved treacherous when Thomas came to visit on Christmas Day, and Richard gave him a beating that left him hospitalized. He spent the next thirty days in jail as his brother began the painful physical therapy needed to heal a broken right leg. Richard found himself shunned by the rest of the family and was kicked out of college for committing assault in the dormitories.
He recollected getting a job as an editor at Feature Films for Families and scoffed at the owners for their Christian beliefs. Richard had spent many Sundays playing pool at strip clubs while his colleagues were going to church. However, his life remained incomplete until he got arrested for public intoxication. The troubled man was certain to lose his job and get ousted from the community, but the owners showed compassion instead of aggression. They took the time to understand his problems, and helped him to forgive his family. He was then able to disseminate his anger in peace and live a more constructive life with a group of people that accepted him.
“Whatever, Mike,” Richard replied after a thoughtful pause, focusing back on the conversation, “you can force me to share my demons with the world, but my story is about redemption. I can’t say that the same will be true for you with all of your little…secrets. What is it that you’re into, anyway? Is it drugs?”
“Okay, Richard, that’s enough; I’ve had it with these conversations,” Mike confessed as he slammed his right fist on the desktop. “Fassim, CKB, and Stoney got back from Canarsie Park thirty minutes ago, and they should be getting out of makeup. So I need to get you and your self-righteous attitude out to the set. And believe me when I say this, but I appreciate the drama. However, that said, I need the drama to stay in the show where it belongs and away from my office. Now, we need to get up and move to the set; I have a television show that’s going live without me. Should you decide to breach your contract and go rogue - that’s fine. Go ahead and ruin yourself financially for the next twenty years.” He held up his right index finger and gestured toward the door. “Look, I’m done talking! We need to go.”
Richard sneered at Mike and shook his head with deep regret. He decided that being away from the man for a few hours would be a good change of pace and took his leave from the office as instructed.
When he stepped into the living room, Richard saw Fassim surrounded by the camera crew and other cast members. She was sitting at the center of the sofa wearing a yellow hijab and conservative fuchsia dress that reached all the way to the floor. Stoney and CKB sat directly across from her on tall barstools and seemed genuinely attentive. They had not changed their clothing since the incident at the park, but their hair and faces looked fresh. Litz was seated to the right of Fassim on the sofa clad in a little black dress, maintaining a gaze of compassion. Jazzy occupied the spot at the photographer’s left and wore a royal blue miniskirt with a matching blouse.
Richard rolled his eyes at Mike when the director pointed to an empty barstool near Stoney.
‘Oh, you mean the empty chair?’ Richard mouthed to the director as he motioned toward the set with a blank expression. Mike became more animated after this response and gestured with both hands toward the seat. But when he noticed that the television star was mocking him, the director raised the middle finger of his right hand and ushered Richard to take a seat with his left.
Richard chuckled after this small victory and made his way onto the set, unenthusiastic to hear his colleague humiliate herself for a paycheck.
“So, I was living in Saudi Arabia with my boyfriend Kujhad and we were thinking about getting married.” Fassim spoke into the camera with an innocent demeanor. “He was very romantic and would often take me out for walks at night, or to swim in the river. Kujhad had been studying to become a doctor but was working as a stonemason to pay for school. After a few months of saving, he was able to propose to me with a new engagement ring, and I accepted. Since he had a strong body and was fearless about doing most things, a terrorist group called Bojihat approached him to join them. Whe
n Kujhad refused to help their cause, they threatened to behead him and his family.” The brooding woman paused and took a drink out of an open water bottle from the coffee table before continuing.
“So, my Kujhad joined the Bojihat terrorist faction, but he also contacted the CIA before his training began. A man from the CIA named Paul told my fiancé that he would protect us and help us to escape from the terrorist cell. We were excited by this news, but the CIA wanted Kujhad to get them detailed information before they would agree to help. So he did as they asked for three days, and then a war broke out between Saudi Arabia and Israel. The Israeli army was extremely efficient in destroying the terrorist group, and within less than a week the faction had lost most of their soldiers. But the Bojihat refused to die quietly, and they asked my fiancé to wear a suicide bomb to a hotel where members of the international press were staying. Again, he went to the CIA for help, and Paul agreed to replace his suicide backpack with one that was harmless. The agent promised that Kujhad would be arrested in the hotel lobby, and we would be taken to freedom.” She dipped her head for a moment as the pain of these memories caused her voice to