by Kipjo Ewers
“Yes sir,” acknowledged the agent, “But the agents in the field just indicated that she’s leaving to see someone else.”
“Who?” Dustin asked.
“She didn’t say,” answered the agent.
“Tell them to continue surveillance on her,” Mark instructed, “And to not engage her under any circumstances, is that clear?”
“Clear sir, will maintain surveillance,” confirmed the agent before cutting off.
Armitage and Mercer looked at each other with some form of relief.
“Well at least we now know where she is,” Dustin sighed.
“Yeah,” Mark added a heavier sigh knowing a bigger problem was ahead of them, “Now we just have to figure out how we’re going to bring her in.”
“Yeah…you think about that,” Dustin having screamed from the mountain top this question, decided to leave to his partner to figure out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
11:15 PM, the constant ringing of his door bell forced former Marine Second Lieutenant Kenneth Scott to walk out of his den and find out who was stupid enough to come to his door this late in the night when his children were in bed. The Lieutenant finally home after serving three tours in Iraq was trying his best to assimilate himself back into regular society. Although he was one of the lucky ones to return physically unscathed; the horrors of war ravaged him in other ways; tonight was one of the few nights he was able to sit quietly and feel at peace. Whoever was disrupting it would find him completely pissed off when he came to the door.
“Ken…who is it?” asked his wife Elizabeth with irritation at the foot of the upstairs steps of their two floor house.
“I’m about to find out,” shot back Ken, “Go back to bed.”
She ignored his order; it was hard living with Kenneth since his return. She understood the duties and burdens that went with being a soldier’s wife; enduring the unknown possibility of being a widow with children, or the wife of a cripple was not easy after almost three tours. Sadly, although spared the first two, the Kenneth that returned was not the man she married almost six years ago. The body had returned intact, but the soul never made it back, and it was marching their marriage to the grave as well.
“Who is it?” Scott barked standing at the door, not bothering to open it.
The person on the other side did not bother to answer as they continued to lay into the buzzer. He reached into the silver chrome umbrella stand pulling out the jet-black Louisville Slugger ball bat among the row of umbrellas as his military instinct took over.
He asked again a bit more forceful, “I said who the fuck is it?”
“Ken…” Elizabeth emitted a nervousness feeling that something was not right.
“Liz, I said go back to the bedroom…now,” he snapped at her not in the mood to deal with both her and the asshole disturbing their household this late at night.
She refused to move, just as the person on the other side refused to answer and stop ringing the bell; having reached his limit Lieutenant Scott flew the door open to come face to face with the intruder on his doorstep. A very tall figure in a jet black hooded Gothic like midriff jacket, which covered their face, in a white tank top shirt underneath; blue jean like leggings and black and white Converse sneakers stood at his door. A great uneasiness came over him as he gripped the bat in his hand.
“You want to tell me, why you’re on my damn door step ringing my bell?” he barked again demanding an answer from the hooded person at his door.
“Long time no see Ken,” rang out a familiar voice from the person who was obviously a female at his door, and even though Ken’s face read irritation, a cold chill ran down his spine as he clutched his bat tighter.
The height and build threw him off, not to mention he could barely see her face under the oversized hood, but there was no mistaking the voice.
“Sophia?” he asked with a quiver of rage in his voice.
She lifted her head up so that he could see her face in the porch light. He could feel his body trembling uncontrollably fighting the temptation to take her head off with the bat in his hand and beat her to death on his porch.
“Stopped by to see how the family was doing…and to talk,” she said ending the awkward silence.
“You’re supposed to be…,” he began to say.
“Dead?” Sophia finished his sentence confirming that the Intel from almost five days ago was not true, “Yeah I been dodging that bullet a lot lately…but I didn’t come here for small talk…I came here for answers…I want to know who murdered my husband.”
Kenneth looked at her in disbelief that she had the audacity to come to his house on any night asking such a question, “You did you crazy bitch…and I hope you burn in hell for it.”
“Ken! Who is it?!” a frustrated Elizabeth raised her voice demanding to know who was at their door.
Ken shot back officially losing his patience, “Go back to bed Liz…now!”
“Still see you haven’t changed much,” Sophia sighed, “You’re still a prick.”
Ken narrowed his eyes at her as he pointed his bat at her chest nearly touching her, “The only reason I’m not beating the shit out of you till the cops get here…is because my kids are upstairs. When I slam this door in your face I will be calling them…so you best not be here before they get here, or I change my mind.”
True to his word, Kenneth backed up, and slammed the door in her face before locking it; he then turned and looked up with irritation at his nervous and equally irritated wife at the top of the steps looking down at him before heading back to his den. What he did not expect was his door smashed open causing him to jump forward and for his wife to let out a terrified scream. Ken turned around shaken with disbelief as Sophia walked through the now disheveled doorway into his home.
“What the fuck?” he stood there with eyes widened in disbelief.
Sophia casually strolled into his house and reminded him, “I thought I told you last time you and I got into it and you spoke to me that way… I’m not your wife…”
“Are you out of your damn mind bitch?!” Kenneth approached pointing the bat at her again.
She calmly snatched it out of his grip with her left hand using slide of the hand speed, “Don’t point your damn bat at me…”
Not impressed by her unbelievable speed and newfound jail muscle strength taking him by surprise, he went to grab for her, only for her to grab him by the wrist during mid-reach.
She proceeded to both bend it back while apply pressure equivalent to a mechanized vice grip forcing the larger and highly trained Marine to his knees.
Scott hollering in pain, “You’re…breaking…my…fucking wrist…”
“Sorry…still don’t know my strength yet,” returned Sophia with a girlish smile.
Kenneth watched in disbelief as Sophia proceeded to crush his Louisville Slugger into two with just her bare left hand; he was so fixated on the spectacle of power he forgot his wife watching terrified at the top of the steps.
“I’m calling the police!” she screamed.
“Go ahead Liz!” Sophia sarcastically advised not looking up at her, “While you’re at it make sure they bring the SWAT and the National Guard too!”
Sophia dropped what was left of the bat on the floor looking Ken dead in the eyes to let him know that it was really her, and that she meant business, “But I’m not leaving till you tell me who killed my husband…and where I can find them. So you decide now if you’re going to tell me…or if you want a firefight right here on your doorstep. Either one is fine with me.”
“Okay…okay…let’s talk,” Ken finally gave in, “Liz…no…no cops.”
“Ken!” she yelled in disbelief that he would actually talk to Sophia after everything that had happened.
“Mommy!” a frighten child cried; one of the Scotts’ two children awaken from the commotion going on in the house.
“Liz! The kids…please…go see to the kids,” he begged, “And no cops…do not call the cops�
�Sophia and me are just going to talk.”
Upon hearing his agreement to talk to her, Sophia released Ken allowing him to get to his feet nursing his wrist.
“You’re taller then I last remembered,” he noticed giving her a quick glance over before motioning to his house entranceway, “You wanna get what’s left of my damn door?”
She watched him head into his den as she walked back to the entrance way closing the broken door; the weight of it made sure it did not swing back open, but the entire door frame would have to be replaced. She made her way to Ken’s den, and felt Elizabeth looking down at her from the steps.
She addressed her not looking up, “Nice to see you again Liz…”
She was not sure Liz would call the police despite Ken telling her not to, at this point, she did not really care; she did hope for the sake of her children and their house she would not do something stupid.
As she walked through the house, memories of bridal and baby showers started to appear before her. She also realized how many football party games Robert dragged her to, and she did not really like football. Though the mental bombardment was not as bad, she realized being the slightest bit unfocused and in a familiar place, memories would jump at her like gangbusters. Nearing the den, she did the counting game to push it down.
She walked in to see Ken placing his injured hand into an ice bucket while holding a Beretta M9 cocked and ready to fire with his left. She was worried about the wrong person doing something stupid, and she officially hated that gun. The scene did help get her focus back.
“Figured you’d do something stupid like this,” she shook her head both disgusted and disappointed.
“Who the hell are you?” Ken demanded taking the safety off the gun now.
“Thought we settled this at the door,” she glared at him, almost wishing he would pull the trigger.
“Bullshit!” he bit back, “The last time I saw Sophia Dennison she wasn’t no goddamn Amazon bitch kicking in doors, catching punches and crushing bats with her bare hand…so for the last time,” Scott officially lost his cool taking aim, “Who…the…fuck...are…you?!”
She could have just rushed him and taken the gun away, or walked right up to him while he emptied his clip on her, but that would have the police there in minutes, and she needed answers not more violence.
Slowly she walked closer to him looking Ken dead in the eyes, as she prepared to run down their history, “September 21, 1994; we were at Christian's Tailgate, Rob spotted me on campus two days before that and liked me so he came up to talk to me. You weren’t with Liz at the time; you were busy hitting on a waitress with Strawberry blonde hair and a huge rack. You and Rob had joined the Marines ROTC program together, you met Liz your second semester of college at the Kappa Gamma/Sigma Alpha Epsilon party; you both broke up at the end of that semester because she caught you cheating with Becky Olson, but then you both got back together the start of senior year.”
Scott pretended to be unimpressed by her run down; he still lowered his gun as she continued to go through their history, “And even though you and I couldn’t stand each other because I thought you were just a self-centered womanizing son of a bitch who never took life seriously. You gave one of the most beautiful speeches at our wedding, you proposed to Liz that same night. Then you almost cheated on her again with the stripper at your bachelor’s party two days before your wedding because you wanted to have Grave Digger instead of a limo at your wedding. Rob threatened to end your friendship if you did…and walked out of the bachelor party early; and then you showed up in one of your drunken stupors on our doorsteps in tears begging for forgiveness, and swore on Buster…your prize black Labrador Retriever’s life… you didn’t do it.”
As she spoke truth and secrets only the real Sophia would know, he slowly released the hammer to the gun putting on the safety, while she continued, “On April 15, 2003 when you and Rob were to be deployed for the first time I said to you, “Remember that you have a wife, and a newborn son. And that’s not just your best friend; he’s my husband, the love of my life and the father of my future children, so make me a promise on your worthless friggin life…”
“To make it home…safe…the both of us…” Ken finished her sentence.
“I can’t explain to you what happened to me,” she said sternly, “I don’t even know what happened to me. What I do know is I did not murder Robert. What I need to know from you right now, is what military, mercenary, or terrorist force sports a symbol of a Grim Reaper sitting on a large skull while holding a scythe in one hand and a smaller skull in its other hand.”
Her description of the symbol visibly shook Ken which made Sophia know that she came to the right person, what caused her some concern was when he almost dropped his gun trying to lean against his liquor cabinet for support...Ken wasn’t easily shaken by anything, and this shook him to the core.
“Say that again,” he asked swallowing hard.
“The night my husband your best friend was brutally murdered there were three individuals in our bedroom decked out in black like a bunch of sci-fi ninjas,” she began to go into detail, “I managed to see the symbol embossed in black on the left shoulder of one of them. Barely able to make it out with what little moonlight was in the room that night… it was of a Grim Reaper wielding a scythe and sitting on a large skull while holding a smaller skull in its palm…and I know you know damn well what I’m talking about.”
Ken took in a good amount of air before laying his gun down on the top of the cabinet. He took some of the ice out of the bucket he had his hand in dropping it into a Scotch glass. He then grabbed a bottle of Black Bush Irish Whiskey and proceeded to pour.
“Want some?” he offered her.
“This isn’t a social call Ken,” she said impatiently.
Scott ignored her taking a sip of the Black Bush, licked his lips enjoying the taste as he took another deep breath, “What I’m about to tell you.”
“Is confidential bull…” she started to say rolling her eyes.
“No…no confidential bullshit,” he cut her off; “Because there is no record of this…anywhere…it’s more of a military urban myth…bogeyman type shit.”
“What are you talking about?” she sneered not in the mood for riddles.
“The symbol you described,” Ken paused thinking of the best way to explain to her, “Belongs to the D.E.A.D.”
“The… “Dead”?” she said with a completely confused look on her face, “What some Special Ops Team with the flair for George Romero friggin movies?”
“They’re not Special Ops,” he said fighting to make her understand, “They’re not even black Ops…they’re not even fucking soldiers…they’re highly trained killers that do not exist.”
“Make some goddamn sense Ken!” Sophia finally lost her patience, “I don’t have time for the word play!”
Ken locked eyes with her again, there was part irritation and part fear written all over his face as he clutched the half drunken glass in his hand, “Jesus, you gain muscle and lose your brain locked up?! There’s no other way to explain this! These guys are said to be the fucking hell hounds of the United States government…a rumored Death Squad,” he whispered in the end thinking someone might hear him.
“Death Squad?” she repeated in disbelief.
“They’re said to kill mercilessly on command, there is no record of their origin, no “official” record of their exploits if you want to call them that,” he swallowed hard, “Who they are, who commands them, or what branch they fall under. They’re deadlier than any military unit in the known world…no one even knows what the fucking D.E.A.D stands for! I don’t even think Bush knows they exit.”