by Kipjo Ewers
Compound the medical examiner’s testimony of how the forty-one stab wounds on her husband’s body were slow, deliberate, and with precision hitting major veins and organs so that he bled out slowly, and with her skill and knowledge of a neurosurgeon she was capable of doing it; it was a major slam dunk for the prosecuting District Attorney.
She feverishly denied everything despite the mountainous evidence against her admitting to only thing. She did make love to Robert the night he was murdered.
She could still remember the cries and wails of her family especially her mother when the lead juror read the guilty verdict on all charges, a week later, she would hear the chilling words during her sentencing.
“Has the jury reached a verdict on sentencing?” demanded the judge.
“Yes your honor,” announced the lead juror.
The judge motioned for the bailiff to take the paper from the lead juror so that he can read their judgment against Sophia. Time literally stood still for her in that moment, after reading; he looked at the jury one more time, then back of a trembling Sophia waiting for sentencing.
“Usually I would disregard what is on this paper, and hand down a life sentence with no promise of parole, being that this is your first brush with the law Mrs. Matheson,” the judge started to say.
“But the evidence of the crimes in which you have committed is so …disgusting…so heinous…I have no choice but to make an exception here today,” he continued to say shaking his head.
“You not only planned out the murder of your husband, but you butchered him while he laid very much coherent and defenseless…as a former Marine myself…I find this to be the most dishonorable and cowardice way to be murdered,” he continued with his sentencing.
“And so I have no choice but to go with the decision of the jury and levy the ultimate punishment against you…Sophia Matheson….you will be remanded to Mountain View Unit for Women in Gatesville where you will be sentenced to death by lethal injection…May God have mercy on your soul, remand Mrs. Matheson into custody. This court is adjourned,” was his judgment as he slammed the gavel down.
She had collapsed at the word “death” as the wails grew louder in the courtroom; her mother rushed to the hospital for a mild heart attack. After three months of prison time she had cut off all contact from her family and friends, so they could not see the state she was in. She changed her name back to Dennison, and after her first and only appeal that took an agonizing three and a half years, she did not have the strength to go through another appeal and decided to wait to die.
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She did not know if it was one of her abilities, but her mind was like a DVD operating in 4D mode, playing back events in her mind in clear detail where it felt like she could literally smell, hear, and touch things as long as she focused on that time. She tested it by concentrating on the night in the hotel. She remembered waking up, literally feeling the grogginess and massive cottonmouth taste like it was happening again. She did not understand how she went from being naked in her bed wrapped up in Robert’s embrace to one of her business suits as she tried to sit up on the bed.
Looking around the room the only things she recognized was her laptop on the desk and her luggage. Who packed her luggage, and why was it there? Why was she there for that matter?
Bathroom she thought to herself, running her face with ice-cold water would wake her up and shake the fogginess so she could figure out what the hell was truly going on. As she got to her feet, her soul leaped out of her body from the startling sound of the door to the room slammed open, men flooding in and screaming at her. As her focus became clearer, she could see that they were police officers with their guns pointed at her.
“What…what’s happening…?” Sophia managed to get out amid the chaos.
The officers ignored her as they just barked at her, “On the ground! Get on the ground now!”
Sophia raised her hands in the air terrified, “I don’t understand…what’s happening? What’s happening?”
Realizing she was not armed two officers rushed her throwing her violently to the carpet floor of the room. It felt like they were attempting to snap her arms in half like twigs. She sobbed and wailed uncontrollably. Why was she in that room? How did she get into that room? Why were they hurting her, and why was no one answering her? Most importantly, where was Robert? She tried to search her memory but everything between the night she slept in Robert’s arms and when she woke up in that room was completely blank.
As she felt the cold steel of one of the officer’s handcuffs clamp down hard on her wrists, the officer with the words “Detective” written across his bullet proof vest finally gave her an answer, “Sophia Matheson…you are under arrest for the murder of your husband Robert Matheson…you have the right to remain silent…”
She did not hear him reading the rest of the Miranda rights to her, as she screamed incoherently asking, “What? Robert is dead? No! No! No! Tell me what happen?! Tell me what happened?! Please! Please!”
She went on like that, as they pulled her to her feet and dragged her out of the hotel, back to Houston through the horde of reporters who asked questions, she could not answer all the way to the police station.
She did not bother reliving the hours and hours of brutal and relentless grilling from a chain of detectives, and the sleepless nights of bitter crying in a cell.
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She tried to focus on what happened after that night in the hotel, but once again, it was all blank. The length of the blankness told her she was probably out for a day or two. She focused harder to get to that night, on the verge of giving up out of frustration an image appeared in her head.
It was blurry and dark; but an image was still coming through. She could see the moonlight coming through the windows of their room. The cottonmouth had comeback just like in the hotel; but this time she was home in her bedroom.
She was not lying next to Robert in their bed. She was propped up against a wall covered in her bed sheets, sitting on the cold cherry oak floor that they redid together. She looked around wondering how she got there, it was then she heard the voices. Three distorted and one muffled, she looked up to see Robert laying on the bed looking straight at her.
His eyes were full of tears; it looked like he was fighting to move but could not. Why could he not move? Why could he not even speak for that matter?
His mouth looked like it had a case of lockjaw. She then realized she could not move either; she did not feel paralyzed, but her body felt like it weighed a ton. Her voice was gone as well, filling her with fear. It felt like she was in the middle of a nightmare, and she could not wake up. She tried to calm herself and focus on what the voices were saying.
“Of all the things…a fucking wedding cake knife…,” said the first distorted voice, which sounded like a man.
“What?! It’s symbolic!” returned an entirely different distorted voice, which sounded like another man in the room.
“Whatever…let’s get this over with,” fired back the other man, their voices sounded Vader like without the heavy breathing.
“Playtime big boy…” came a third distorted voice that sounded definitely like a woman.
Sophia concentrated on the female voice; she could make out a slender dark figure straddling her husband. She could not see her head because she could barely raise her neck up, but she could see what appeared to be a patch on her shoulder. It was dark and embossed, but the moonlight revealed to her what appeared to be the Grim Reaper sitting on a large skull holding a scythe in one hand and holding a skull in another hand. Sophia’s eyes traveled lower to see her running something silver and pointy across her husband’s stomach. It appeared to be the cake-cutting knife from their wedding.
Her eyes returned to Robert who remained fixed on her, while he mouthed the words, “I’m sorry…I am so sorry…”
Still not able to find her voice she let out a groan catching everyone’s attention in the room
.
“Holy shit…she’s awake…” came from man #2.
“Impossible…” said the man who was apparently the leader of the group, “She should be out for at least thirty-six hours…”
“Just cut her fucking head off…,” hissed the woman of the group.
Sophia struggled to lift her head to see who the bitch was at that point, only to see that she was wearing some high tech looking helmet that covered her entire head attached to an equally tech like suit.
“No you idiot, we need her alive for this to work,” the leader reminded the woman, “Just hit her with another dosage and some of the pink stuff…that’ll make sure she won’t remember any of this…”
She struggled to move, tried to make her voice louder so someone could hear her but it was no use. The next thing she felt was a leather hand grabbing her arm, and a sharp prick. She groaned again as things began to get foggy, what little consciousness she had was focused on the female figure.
She could feel her looking at her before everything went black, and she was sure she heard her say, “Get ready for your life to change…”
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She woke up from her trance with a gasp and her eyes blinded with tears, as she scrambled to her feet in confusion she crashed into the nearest wall effortlessly caving it in; she steadied herself, forced herself to breathe normally, and to stop the damn shaking. As crazy as it was, it was now clear what had happened on that night all those year ago.
Raged now stoked her heart, somehow, some way she had to find out about that morbid patch, and then she would find them. First, she grabbed the cash out of the box, counted it taking half and putting the rest back in the box. She then tore a piece of paper from a tablet, grabbed a pen and wrote, “I’m so sorry for taking your money and the damage. I promise I will pay you back and fix everything. You have my word.”
As she finished her letter of apology, an earth shaking crashing sound of metal on metal from outside made her leap out of her skin.
“Jesus!” she screamed startled by the noise.
She quickly stuffed the money into the bag and zoomed from out of the office through the store. She broke through the emergency exit door without thinking setting off the alarm. Not that it mattered, the sound of sirens blared getting closer. Sophia cupped the top of her head gritting her teeth, as she was the first to witness the destruction of the fire escape ladder, which had finally ripped from its fixings on the wall and crashed into the alleyway on top of the drop box.
“Not…good…” she said to herself, before turning on her heels using her newfound ability for speed and jetted, preferably out of town before anyone could see her. Her destination was the only place she knew she could find the answers she needed. Back home.
CHAPTER SIX
September 2, 2008, 11:56 AM, several hours before Sophia’s visit to Cypress, the jet-black twin engine Sikorsky private helicopter from the Mountain View Unit in Gatesville, Texas, now soared over the gigantic trees of Upper Klamath Lake, except it no longer made the loud whirling sound that came with its entrance at the prison. It appeared to have some type of stealth mode as the blades continued to spin without emitting any noise, while reflective panels at the bottom of it made it a ghost to virtually anyone looking up.
Its destination was the top of Mount McLoughlin, carved right into the base of the mountain; a sixty-foot security wall masked the only entranceway for transports carrying equipment to enter or exit when needed. On top of the wall, holographic projectors and reflective panels provided camouflage against unsuspecting hikers or campers looking outside as it hid the security detail guarding the wall in high tech armor, gear, and weapons never seen before in modern warfare.
Not that they really had to worry, three hundred meters ahead of the wall were patrols on off road highly advanced ATVs minus the loud obnoxious sounds they usually emit wearing similar armor to the ones on the wall, but with cameo color that allowed them to blend in perfectly to their environment. They along with the network of hidden cameras, mini-bird like drones, and motion sensors ensured that no one either unintentionally or deliberately got within eyesight of the facility. Finally, two hundred meters ahead of them were a security detail of phony park rangers that intercepted hikers and mountain climbers feeding them false information or redirecting them to the other side of the mountain not located near the facility.
The aircraft made its final descent at the top of the snowcap of the once volcanic mountain; the very top though covered in snow was also a large platform type helipad, which the copter easily landed on despite the wind conditions. Upon confirming a secure and safe landing, the platform lowered the helicopter down into the mountain. As the helicopter descended via the platform, a massive lid type door on hydraulics ascended closing the entrance to the mountain base while new snow spewed out through vents to cover the entrance.
A woman in her late twenties stood waiting near the main entrance of the helipad for the platform to fully descend clutching a computer tablet dressed in a jet black slightly form fitting business dress suit. She wore her silky brunette hair in a bun, as she adjusted the black and silver high priced name brand glasses on her face, which amplified her bright green eyes. Her demeanor commanded professional respect despite her wearing bright pink flip-flops, which revealed her rose-colored toenails. Briskly she walked to the Sikorsky as the platform finally came to its resting stop, and the lights turned from red to green confirming the platform locked and secured. She stepped onto the platform now waiting at the entrance of the vehicle quickly scratching the back of her left leg with her right big toe. The door opened as the Director stepped out followed by Agent Slater, the Santa looking man with the German accent along with his staff and the agents under the Director that accompanied him.
“Welcome back Director,” greeted the young woman.
“Status Ms. Barrett,” asked the Director getting down to business.
Ms. Barrett fell in line with Agent Slater, as they followed the Director who made a beeline into the facility.
She began her report, “A couple of hikers came close to the parameter; our “park rangers” met them and sent them to the “safe side” of the mountain. They were informed they were too close to black bear territory and a family of bears, and then Mr. Dunbar showed up again…”
Director Rosen drew a sigh, “Did the men stomp him out as ordered?”
“Yes sir,” she confirmed, “Before the usual “tranq and wipe” followed by dumping him on his lawn for an umpteenth staged drunken stupor…”
Director Rosen smiled and asked, “We have it recorded?”
“Yes sir…” she nodded.
“Good I’ll watch it later,” he said as he continued on to his destination within the facility.
“I still don’t understand why we continue to do this instead of eliminating him all together,” Ms. Barrett questioned, “He just won’t stop.”
“I keep telling you Ms. Barrett,” Director Rosen lectured her, “One local drunken conspiracy theorist nut keeps the regulars skeptical and away…also reduces an unnecessary body count…not to mention I just love fucking with him…remember we’re in the business of killing the enemies of our country.”
“Not our citizens…except when necessary…,” she recited.
“Correctamundo…now are they here?” he asked.
“Yes sir, they arrived an hour ago,” she confirmed, “They’re in debriefing room one with the updated files.”
“Thank you Ms. Barrett,” Director Rosen motioned to the others following, “Mr. Slater go grab breakfast, Dr. Zimmermann I believe we have no further need of each other till later.”
“Of course…” Dr. Zimmermann nodded as he broke off with his staff following him to run further tests on the samples in their possession.