Lords of the Lash

Lords of the Lash Page 11

by Frank Kale

  Chapter Nine

   

  Jeffersonian Elite Headquarters:  The phony PBS documentary team, composed of Jeffersonian Elites, had installed cameras throughout Zachary’s home and had also bugged his car.  The Jeffersonian Elite team assigned to monitoring Zachary’s actions decided that he posed no threat.  After all, Zachary had finished his testing of their associates – the Thurmonds – and had found them to be a normal American family. 

  Dufus!

  Therefore, they stopped analyzing the audio and took a break from their work by watching an old favorite, an intense love making session between Zachary and Jasmine that had occurred on Zachary’s bedroom floor.

   

    Montana:  As Zachary and Jasmine hiked past the boundaries of their park map, they joked that they should have followed the Blackfeet’s example and retreated.  There was eeriness afloat: too many craggy trees, too many unknown sounds, too many cloudy surges of gnats.  The weather had turned with dark skies seeming ready to rain but then never raining.  And a group of foreboding birds had begun periodically appearing, disappearing, and reappearing again.  They were blackbirds, not ravens, but Zachary thought the opportunity too good to miss and from time to time gloomily whispered to Jasmine, “Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’” 

  Although they had allocated carefully, their food had begun to run low and so they took a short rest and considered whether they should return. 

  “These bugs want us to keep going.  They like my blood,” said Jasmine.

  “Mine too,” said Zachary, slapping a mosquito on his neck.

  Unlike Windsor these bugs enjoy the flesh of all races.

  They decided to hike until day’s end because Jasmine estimated that they could reach the mystery coordinates before nightfall.  The dreary landscape gave way to depressing conversation and Jasmine began speaking about the difficulties that African Americans have experienced since their forced arrival in slave ships. 

  After speaking about slavery and various post-slavery-injustices, Jasmine continued by saying, “…So then African Americans were corralled into metropolitan areas through discriminatory housing processes.  There is a good book you should read Zachary, called American Apartheid.  It talks about how we have some national myth that, say Italians or Russians, lived in ghettos but then made their way out.  And the fact that African Americans have not made their way out of ghettos is due to some failing on their part – some lack of motivation, some character deficit.  But the reality is that, say Italians or Russians, never lived in ghettos.  They lived in poor immigrant areas that were never as densely populated with say only Italians or only Russians as black ghettos have been with only African Americans.  All sorts of statistical research in the book display this.  The authors make the point that you should only call a place a ghetto once it is densely populated with a single race and that this has only occurred in American history with African Americans.”

  “Okay, so African Americans are corralled into one area, then what?” Zachary asked.

  “Well, then it is pretty easy to discriminate against them isn’t it?  How will the schools in that area be?  How will that local economy be?  Will employers hire someone who hails from that area?” said Jasmine.

  “Okay, so the ghetto is a vulnerable spot…”

  “Well, to take us to present day, it presented a great opportunity for politicians.  Nothing sells like fear – companies know this.  Therefore, it was only natural for politicians to eventually apply this principle.  Who are the majority of voters?  White people.  What do the white people fear?  Black people.  So Regan pushed the War on Crime and the rest has been history,” said Jasmine.

  “Yes, I remember hearing you talk about this on your show.  But overall why has the War on Crime been bad for African Americans?” Zachary asked.

  Jasmine replied, “Another good book is ‘The New Jim Crow.’  It’s clear and straight to the point and you should really read it --.”

  “I will,” said Zachary.

  “But what it explains in a nutshell is that…”             

  As Zachary listened he became depressed about the state of affairs in America, and it occurred to him that while he passed judgment upon Thomas Jefferson and others for owning slaves, he wondered how his own progeny – if I ever have children -- would judge him for failing the African Americans of present day America. 

  I feel like I don’t consciously contribute to the difficulties of African Americans, but what have I done to change things?  Worse, I just made a boat load of money from an employer who wishes to eat their flesh.  Maybe I should change my priorities…        

  Jasmine continued, “And a lot of white people today think that everything would be fine and dandy if everyone were colorblind, as if colorblindness is what we should strive for.”

  Windsor has achieved it…

  “That would be good wouldn’t it?  If instead of looking at someone and saying, ‘Hey that is a black person’ or ‘Hey that is a white person’ just saying ‘Hey that is a person.’”

  “The problem is the underlying baggage that comes with race in American and because of that baggage race is not a neutral division, such as the division of whether a person has blue eyes or brown eyes.  Furthermore, you know as a psychologist that humans make a vast amount of decisions below the surface, subconsciously, and our culture is inundated with negative stereotypes about black people.  So when white people make decisions about black people, like whether they are qualified for a job, they might really be relying on subconscious stereotypes – but all the while thinking they are not because they are so-called colorblind.   So rather than professing to be colorblind it would be better if people, both whites and blacks, would recognize someone’s race and then recognize how this might affect their thinking about them.”

  Ironically, Windsor has recognized that when he recognizes someone as being black it causes him to strongly desire to eat them and therefore for their safety and for his ability to function in the world he must be colorblind.

  “Okay, I follow you,” said Zachary.

  “The problem is that many people don’t.  They don’t realize…”

  As Jasmine continued speaking, Zachary noted that her argument could be bolstered by his trace CMR data, data which indicated that many whites have trace CMR – and though Zachary was confident that these minute longings of the general public to murder and eat blacks would never rise to the surface of consciousness, the fact was that these trace longings were nevertheless commonly buried deep within the white psyche.

  And I wonder how that affects how whites interact with blacks on a day to day basis?       

    

   

  Grey Cliff, Area Two:  After the skinning procedure had concluded, Charles drained Lily’s blood, butchered Lily’s body, and prepared her meat for Ralph’s inaugural feast.  The feast would not begin for another two hours and Ralph could take the opportunity, as Charles put it, “To continue wallowing in your already obtained glory.”  In actuality, Ralph and his father retired into the Grey Cliff Tea Room to share a few of beers.

  “I don’t like the taste,” said Ralph.

  “Unlike that first taste of black flesh people never like the taste of their first beer,” said Mick 

  As they each drank a few more, Mick told Ralph highlights of his Grey Cliff achievements. 

  Eventually Ralph said, “I don’t think I’m ever going to measure up to you.”

  Mick replied, “Son, you don’t have to.  All you have to do is grow into your own man.  Just because I achieve certain kinds of glory here at Grey Cliff doesn’t mean you have to achieve the same kinds of glory.”

  Their beers concluded, Mick instructed Ralph to arrive at the feast with his hair neatly parted.

  Ralph replied, “Father, you no longer have to treat me like a boy.  I know this is a ceremonial occasion and so of course I will brush my hair.” 


  “Son, I have wanted you to be a man for some time.  But now that the time has come I feel some sadness that you have grown so quickly.  And I have found myself looking back upon your formative years, and thinking about the milestones in your life, your first word, first step, and first day of school.  I’d always hoped that all of that would lead here.  But then with Kolby things changed --.”

  “Father, what happened with Kolby and the others?  How did they fail?  In what area were they deficient?” Ralph asked.

  “Their failure is a matter that has long confused the members of Grey Cliff.  It seems that not every Thurmond is suited for everlasting Thurmond glory,” said Mick.

  “How so?” Ralph asked.

  “Your brother and the other Thurmond family failures had difficulty performing their duties here at Grey Cliff,” said Mick.

  “Hunting, skinning, and butchering?” said Ralph.

  “Yes, and more than that.  They recoiled from these duties.  They became hysterical.  They acted as if their own family were composed of monsters.  As if --.”

  “I can’t imagine such a thing.  How could it be?” Ralph asked.

  “That’s the way it son.  And when you have children you will have to be careful with which children you take to Grey Cliff.  That is why I delayed so long in taking you – for how could I be sure that you would take to your duties?”  Mick asked.

  “I’m glad you did, but then why did you?  Was it because I fucked up so royally?” Ralph asked.

  “Partly, but in the end it was Zachary Dunbar.  Your test showed that you possessed covert racist tendencies.  And after you took that test I figured that you made a good prospect for the killing of Negros and the consumption of their flesh,” said Mick.

  “So what happened to Kolby and the others?”  Ralph asked.

  “We had to put them down,” said Mick.

  “What do you mean?” Ralph asked.

  “Their lives needed to be expired,” said Mick.

  “Killed?”  Ralph asked.

  Mick nodded.  “But a Thurmond does not kill a Thurmond, he only places upon him the Hand Of Mercy, or at least that is the tradition.”

  “But how could you kill Kolby?  He was your son!” Ralph exclaimed. 

  “Kolby will always hold a place in my heart.  And of the Fallen Children we have a saying here at Grey Cliff: that though they did not share our taste for Negro Flesh and Negro blood they will always be our flesh and blood,” said Mick.

  “Then why?” Ralph asked.

  “For his own good --.”

  “I can’t believe that!  You didn’t give him a chance!  You just assumed!” Ralph exclaimed.

  “Ralph follow me to the Entertainment Room.  There is something you need to see,” said Mick.

  “I don’t care what it is!  You killed Kolby and you didn’t give him a chance to eat Negro flesh and that isn’t fair!  He should be here eating Negro flesh with us!” Ralph exclaimed.

  “Ralph you are acting like a child,” said Mick.

  “I thought you wanted me to be a child again?” said Ralph.

  “Just follow me and man-up.  You’re a Thurmond man now and with that comes Thurmond glory but also comes some tough reality,” said Mick.

  “Such as the fact that you killed Kolby?” said Ralph.

  “Yes, such as the fact that I killed Kolby!  Do you think that was easy for me!  Do you think I enjoyed killing my first born son!” Mick shouted.

  Ralph became silent.  It was the first time that he had observed his father lose control of his emotions.  Mick said no more and Ralph followed his father through Grey Cliff’s white halls until they reached the Entertainment Room.

  “These videos are some of the older recordings.  We still haven’t converted them all to DVD,” said Mick, as he searched through the videocassettes. 

  Noting that his father had returned to his normal relaxed temperament, Ralph asked, “What do we record?”

  “All the ceremonies here at Grey Cliff,” said Mick.

  “Why?” Ralph asked.

  “Sometimes after a day of hunting and feasting, it’s nice to sit back and reminisce with old memories, such as a Negro eaten a few years back,” said Mick.  

  “Was my first skinning recorded?” Ralph asked.

  “Of course, would you like to see it?” asked Mick.

  “Yes…”

  Mick found the DVD and they watched as Ralph separated Lily from her skin, bit by bit.  At first the Homeland agent had turned his head to watch and for a while it appeared that he had been trying to scream something.  But when approximately 25% of Lily’s skin had been removed the Homeland agent closed his eyes and stopped watching.  Because Lily had never been gagged she had continuously begged for the procedure to end. 

  By the end of the procedure she looked like a burn victim and was shouting over and over, “Kill me please!  Please!  I can’t take anymore!  Please!  Please kill me!  Please!”

  “Isn’t that a nice transition son?  When they transition from begging for life to begging for death,” said Mick, leaning back in his movie style chair.

  “I did quite enjoy that.  Is that common?” Ralph asked.

  “It’s common when you have done a good job,” said Mick.

  “So then I did a good job?” Ralph asked.

  “Believe me son, many toasts will be made tonight at your inauguration,” said Mick.

  “So what was it you wanted to show me?”

  Mick sighed and then played the videocassette that he had earlier located.  On the screen was Mick’s brother Kolby.  He was standing in the same white room where Ralph had skinned Lily, and he was crying hysterically.

  “Father why is he crying?” Ralph asked.

  “So he finally killed a Negro.  But only because he hadn’t eaten in three days and by this point we made the kill very easy for him.  So now he has had some food and drink and it is time for him to skin a live Negro.  But he begs and begs not to skin.”

  They watched as an increasingly hysterical Kolby shouted comments such as, “Why did you make me kill that black man? “I want to go home!”  “I don’t want to do anything to this man’s skin!”  “Where is my mother!”  “I want to talk to my mother!”  “Mother help me!”  “Mother!  Mother!”

  “Turn it off, I can’t watch anymore,” said Ralph.

  “Just a little more son, I need you to understand,” said Mick.

   

  Kolby took the knife and thrust it at a somewhat younger Charles while shouting, “Take me out of here on that helicopter.  You are all crazy!”

  Charles said, “Kolby you are a Thurmond!  Please compose yourself!  Do not wave that knife at me, thrust it into the Negro’s flesh!”

  Kolby shouted, “I want to go home.  I want mother!  Dad take me home please!”

  Mick said calmly, “I can help you do this son.  Put your hand in my hand and together we will peel the skin from the Negro.”

  “I don’t want to peel his skin dad.  I want to go home,” Kolby shouted.

  “We can go home, just as soon as our vacation here at Grey Cliff Lodge is over,” said Mick.

  “This is the worst vacation ever!  You said we could play baseball here!” Kolby exclaimed.

  Mick replied, “And we can, just as soon as you do this.  We will play baseball in the Great Field.”

  “I just want to play baseball now!” Kolby exclaimed.

  “I’ll throw you all the batting practice you want once this is over.  But you have to do this first,” said Mick.

  “Dad, I can’t do this.  It is disgusting.  That guy never did anything to me.  I don’t want to torture him,” said Ralph.

  “Negros have a higher threshold for pain.  He will scream.  But it isn’t like when a white person screams,” said Mick.

  Ralph began to shake, the knife in his hand wobbling.

  Mick continued, “Kolby, put your hand in my hand and together we can do this.”

&nb
sp; “No!” Kolby shouted, and he tried to run from the room, but he was seized by the members of Grey Cliff, the knife pried from his fingers.

  Suddenly Donald said in a booming voice, “Kolby Thurmond you will not be a member of Grey Cliff until you have skinned your first live victim!  Kolby Thurmond you cannot leave Grey Cliff unless you are a member of Grey Cliff!  Kolby Thurmond if you do not skin this man you will be touched with the Hand of Mercy.”

  For a moment Kolby stopped sobbing, and he looked up through his tears and said, “What is the Hand of Mercy?”

  Mick knelt down and whispered in his ear.  Immediately after which Kolby began screaming, “I want to go home!  I want to go home!”  Mick pleaded with Kolby, trying to put the knife back into his hand, but he refused to take it. 

   

  “Okay I have seen enough.  I understand,” said Ralph.

  “No, you must see the Hand of Mercy.  You must understand what happens to those who do not become members of Grey Cliff.  Someday you will have children.  And I want you to be careful before you bring them here, for it is the father who must place the Hand of Mercy upon their child,” said Mick.

  “And what is the Hand of Mercy?” Ralph asked.

  Mick fast forwarded the tape and then stopped it, saying, “When I play the tape again you will see the Hand of Mercy.  I show you this so that you will hopefully never have to do it to your own child.”

  Mick played the tape.  Now Kolby was blindfolded and tied to a chair, shouting:

   

  “What is happening?”

  Donald boomed, “This child is the Hand of Mercy!”  Then Donald and Charles together chanted, “The Hand of Mercy!  The Hand of Mercy!  The Hand of Mercy!”

  Mick stood in front of Kolby, holding a sledgehammer which he then lifted over his head and with a guttural scream brought it down upon the top of Kolby’s skull, his skull instantly exploding like a watermelon, brains flying about, and all while Charles and Donald continued chanted in unison, “The Hand of Mercy…”

   

  Mick ejected the video tape.  He sighed and for a minute no words were spoken.  Finally Ralph said, “Father, I do not judge you for that.  Kolby brought that judgment upon himself.  I can’t understand his actions.  I can’t believe that was my brother on the videotape.  I thought we were the same.  But he seems to be of a different family.”

  When Mick lifted his head, Ralph could see that there were tears in his eyes.  It was the first time he had ever seen his father cry. 

  Mick said, “I understand how you might feel like Mick is not your brother, but he was – he just was not ready for Thurmond glory.  But maybe somewhere beyond he is achieving the glory he missed here on earth.  It was my duty to place the Hand of Mercy on Kolby, but it was not easy.  And some days I find myself thinking about his lifeless body, made lifeless by the swing of my sledgehammer, and I think, ‘Why couldn’t he have just peeled that damn Negro for such a thing to me is as simple as peeling a banana.’ But it is useless to think such thoughts.  Some things just are the way they are – just like you are the way you are son and that is a damn good thing.”

  “So if Kolby and all the others died by the Hand of Mercy, which is actually a sledgehammer to the head, then how come our family has never gotten in trouble with the police?” Ralph asked.

  “Good question son, and you will learn at you inauguration about the importance of keeping things like what I am about to tell you secret.  Grey Cliff continues because we operate in secrecy.  So you will take the Oath of Secrecy tonight.  But even before you take the oath I know I can trust you to keep this secret --.”

  “Of course,” Ralph interrupted.

  “It may look like we randomly pluck Negros from the street and kill our children at will.  But that isn’t the case son.  We are very well organized in all matters, and the Hand of Mercy is no exception.  You saw me use a sledgehammer to the head, but the Hand of Mercy takes many forms.  Alburt has informed you about the Jeffersonian Elites and our union with them.  We are our own entity, but owe our complete allegiance to the The Jeffersonian Elites.  Their highly specialized, adaptable, and far-reaching supremacist network is why we are able to eat black flesh year after year.  We consult with them when it seems a Thurmond child may not successfully become a Grey Cliff member.  They tell us what form the death should take, and their specialists handle the rest – in this way the death seems natural.”

  “So they are more powerful than us?” Ralph asked.

  “Very much so – but they respect the work that we do.  And there would never be any reason for us to butt heads, for we want the same thing: an advantageous position in the world through African American exploitation, and that we eat their flesh as well is just a bonus --.”

  “So the Jeffersonian Elites don’t consume them?” Ralph asked.

  “They may or they may not.  It is all up in the air.  They are very secretive.  Our family has only one contact with them, a man we know as Mr. X.  But we don’t even know his position in their group,” said Mick.

  “Mr. X. is a strange name,” said Ralph.

  “That’s obviously not his real name.  But I find the name fitting because he is rather strange.  We Thurmonds have long ago learned that to effectively function in the world we must appear the same as others.  So I assume the Jeffersonian Elites do this as well.  Yet it is hard for me to imagine Mr. X. blending into the world,” said Mick.

  “Why does he look strange?” Ralph said.

  “I’ve never seen him.  I’ve only talked to him on the phone.  But he often gets angry.  And it seems that he can never stop thinking about black destruction.  I imagine that the way Mr. X. thinks, a single minded thinking of black destruction is similar to how Windsor thought as a boy, with a single minded thinking of black consumption,” said Mick

  “How so?” Ralph asked.

  “Remember yesterday I told you that Windsor had to be separated from the family because his urges were so strong.  My grandfather realized that he needed help.  That he needed to be taught to live as a normal person lives.  He did not have the Hand of Mercy placed on him because the Thurmond glory that he achieved was so astounding and because there was never any danger of Windsor revealing the secrets of Grey Cliff that he had observed. 

  But through mind-control and intensive therapy he was taught to function without consuming black flesh.”

  “How did they know he wouldn’t reveal the secrets of Grey Cliff?” Ralph asked.

  “Because if he ever remembered, he would just do everything in his power to come back to Grey Cliff,” said Mick.

  “I don’t understand how someone could have urges that are too strong – I can’t imagine my desires to peel and eat black flesh being any stronger,” said Ralph.

  “Let me put it to you this way.  When Windsor was 5 years old, he cornered a black servant with a steak knife, killed her, and proceeded to eat the fetus she was carrying, a fetus no one else even knew she was carrying.  You don’t know this yet but fetus flesh is the best flesh of all --.”

  “It is?” Ralph asked.

  “The gold standard – he was a prodigy,” said Mick.

  “Then why did his father agree to let his mother take him away?” Ralph asked.

  “Because being a prodigy in black flesh consumption is not the same as being a piano prodigy – sometimes with black flesh there can be too much of a good thing.  Norman was worried that Windsor wouldn’t be able to blend into everyday society – that he would constantly be looking for his next kill,” said Mick.

  “But Alburt told me that we kill away from Grey Cliff – you took Lily,” said Ralph.

  “Yes, but we are smart about it.  We plan heavily.  Norman was worried that Windsor would kill spontaneously, and if he ever got caught that might spell an end to the Thurmond family glory,” said Mick.

  “I still have so much to learn that my brain hurts,” said Ralph, smiling.  

  “You have
only just arrived…”

  Late for the feast, they rushed to the grand hall, and while running, Mick asked, “By the way, what did you think of the knife that your grandfather gave you?”

  Ralph replied, “That it turned skin to butter…”

   

  Montana: The brush had grown thick and Zachary and Jasmine would not reach the coordinates by nightfall.  They decided to make camp and while searching for a spot to pitch their tent Jasmine made a chilling discovery -- bones – a small pile, and stacked neatly.  

  As Zachary examined the bones, he explained that the femur was the largest bone of the lot, and the largest bone in a human is the femur, and the sacrum and coccyx were fused, also human bone traits.

  “This was a human,” Zachary concluded.  

  “Why are they so organized?” Jasmine asked.

  “Someone must have done this after the person’s death,” said Zachary.

  “That’s even more gruesome.  This needs to be reported,” said Jasmine.

  “I agree.  Having made such a discovery it no longer makes sense to push onto the coordinates.  In the morning we should make our way back and report this to the authorities,” said Zachary.

  “Agreed…”

  That night sleep was difficult and there was no love-making.  In the morning they packed their gear and prepared to return.  However, the more they discussed the matter, the less sense turning back made.  The bones were so worn that they had probably gone unnoticed for many months, perhaps years, and so one more day would not make a difference. 

  “We will finish what we started.”

  They sighed in succession. 

  “Were you just wondering as I was, if we will find more?”  Zachary asked.

  Jasmine laughed nervously. 

  Zachary said morbidly, “Yes, I guess that is the main drawback of moving forward.  What if we find more bones?  Worse, what if we become bones?”

  “Stop it,” said Jasmine, laughing and punching him in the arm. 

  “Ouch,” said Zachary and pointing to the bones he added “Well, I know you didn’t do that.  Your punch is too weak.”

  “Show a little respect,” said Jasmine.

  “For you or the bones?” said Zachary.

  “Both,” said Jasmine.

  After leaving their camp (which they named Camp Bones), Zachary said, “What if those were Blackfeet bones?  What if that was a burial ground?”

  “Roger didn’t say anything about a burial ground.  And he said that his people don’t come this way.  So that wouldn’t make any sense,” said Jasmine.   

              “Why is there no skull anyway?” said Zachary.

              “Obviously whoever killed this person took the head,” said Jasmine.

              “Okay, let’s stop talking about this,” said Zachary.

              “Oh, it is okay for you to joke around, but once I joke around you get all scared,” said Jasmine.

              “I didn’t watch enough horror movies as a child,” said Zachary.

              “And?”

              “So whenever anything scary happens I get more scared than I should,” said Zachary.

              “How does that make any sense?” Jasmine asked.

              “I wasn’t desensitized to horrors – to the worse case scenarios of the world,” said Zachary.

              “Like what?” Jasmine asked.

              Like Windsor being covered with another man’s flesh…

              “I don’t know the bad things that can happen in life, the gruesome things: the worst case scenarios,” said Zachary.

              “Yes, you already said that, give me an example of what you mean,” said Jasmine.

              “I don’t know, like Jeffrey Dahmer,” said Zachary.

              “The guy who ate people?” Jasmine asked.

              “Yes,” said Zachary.

              “So what about him?” Jasmine asked.

              “If I was a police officer and I had been called over to his house and I had been the first to discover all the chopped up bodies or whatever they found, I think that I would not have been able to handle it.  I would have had nightmares for months…I would have started sleeping with the lights on…”

              “And what does that have to do with horror movies?” Jasmine asked.

              “Well, people who watched a lot of horror movies as children, that sort of thing doesn’t bother them as much because they have already been desensitized to the worst case scenarios of the world, you know, chopped up bodies, decapitated heads, horror movie stuff,” said Zachary.

              “Where did you get the PHD in psychology anyway – from a Cracker Jack box?  Zachary that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.  I did happen to watch a lot of horror movies as a child.  So you think that if I happened upon a gruesome scene of, say, dismembered bodies that it would not bother me?” Jasmine asked.

              “I didn’t say it wouldn’t bother you – I said it wouldn’t bother you as much.  But more significantly, your mind is better able to conceive of the horrible possibilities.  To use Jeffrey Dahmer as an example again: did you know that one of his victims, a 14 year old boy escaped naked and bleeding into the streets at night?  Two women found him and called the cops.  Dahmer then found the boy with the cops and the women.  Dahmer convinced the cops that the kid was 19 and that they were boyfriends and had had a fight.  The cops did not check the kid’s age.  They did not look Dahmer up and find out that he was a registered sexual offender.  They gave the 14 year old boy back to Dahmer and the boy was dismembered later that night,” said Zachary.

              “Wow, that really is a worst case scenario.  The cops turn you over to a serial killer,” said Jasmine.

              “Yes, and I bet I know why – those two cops didn’t watch enough horror movies as children, so their minds couldn’t conceive of the worst case scenario: that Dahmer was a cannibal,” said Zachary.

              “That is ridiculous,” said Jasmine.

              “The world is ridiculous.  But if I had a chance to assess those officers I bet I’d find that as children they watched less horror movies than average,” said Zachary.

              “Why don’t you design a study?” Jasmine asked.     

              “Trait Theory is my passion—plus the science of horror movies doesn’t interest me,” said Zachary.

              Which is why I think I was so relieved when the Thurmond case finally ended…

              “Yeah you should stick to that.  I think your instinct is wrong on this one,” said Jasmine.

              “Well, not to belabor the point, but I couldn’t sleep at all last night.  I kept waking up.  Do you know why?  Those bones!  I couldn’t get a comfortable night sleep with a pile of bones right outside the tent.  But every time I looked over you were sleeping like an angel,” said Zachary.

              “And you think that is because I watched a lot of horror movies as a child?” Jasmine asked.

              “You just admitted it.  So perhaps this theory isn’t so far off the mark,” said Zachary.

              “That might have just been a coincidence.  But it sounds like you came up with this theory last night,” said Jasmine.

              “Yes, I did,” said Zachary.

              “And so now you can’t get it out of your head,” said Jasmine.         

              “That is both a strength and weakness of mine: I can get single-minded
about a subject.  Sometimes this single-mindedness allows me to succeed in an academic sense because I can consistently pursue one subject with a strong focus, such as Trait Theory.  But this single-minded focus also means that I am not well-rounded.  So I admire people like you.  People who can have successful careers…Yet you maintain your interests in other areas, like orienteering, hiking, and archery –  and American History,” said Zachary.

              “Yes, but one also does not want to become a dilettante.  So I make sure that I focus the majority of my attention on my work.  But thank you for the compliment,” said Jasmine, and they kissed for the first time since they had found the bones.  The kissing turned into something more and they dropped their backpacks, ready to make love in the dense thickets.  But just as Zachary pushed Jasmine against a tree, Jasmine screamed and covered her mouth.

              “What?” Zachary asked. 

  Don’t tell me…

              “Bones,” said Jasmine, pointing at the bones and stepping away.  These too were organized into a neat pile and again the skull was missing.

              “See, that freaked me out,” said Jasmine.

              “Well, it was just a working theory,” said Zachary.      

              “What should we do?” Jasmine asked.

              “I don’t know.  But has just occurred to me is that perhaps we have stumbled upon an odd burial right,” said Zachary.

              “Not the burial ground thing again,” said Jasmine.

              “Hear me out on this…Whoever owns this land, maybe when a family member dies, instead of burying the deceased, the bones are placed on the ground, and arranged neatly.  The skull maybe somewhere else – but because of the openness of all this I doubt that we have discovered anything sinister.  Property rights are very strong in America, and someone may have decided to scatter the bones of their ancestors on their land: that would not be against the law,” said Zachary.

              “I think it is hard to say when you find human bones out in the open that something sinister is not going on,” said Jasmine.

              “Yes, but the world is a relative place – in Boston we bury people yes, but this is the backwoods of Montana.  We are not familiar with their customs.  Perhaps there are people here who do not bury bones but scatter them,” said Zachary.

              “This is still America, not, say, some strange jungle in Africa.  Have you ever heard of any such thing happening anywhere in America?” said Jasmine.

              “No, but America is a big place.  We are well known for our diversity – and people here have diverse beliefs,” said Zachary, adding, “I’m just saying we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions...”

              “You are right,” said Jasmine, pulling away.

              “What?” Zachary asked.

              “You do have difficulty conceiving of the worse case scenarios…”

             

  They walked on in silence, and at every turn Zachary expected to find another pile of bones. 

  And I bet Jasmine does too… 

  However, no further bones were discovered and Zachary’s mood began to lighten.  He noted to himself that he was glad that he had come on this slight adventure with Jasmine and predicted that by the time they returned to Boston their bone discovery would be something they looked on with amusement. 

  As Zachary imagined these safe and happy occurrences, Jasmine said, “You know who else couldn’t imagine worst case scenarios?”  

              Zachary searched for a witty response, but before one came to mind, Jasmine answered her own question, saying, “Thomas Jefferson.”

              “You take that guy with you everywhere!”

              “But it was mostly intentional.  He had this theory that if he wished good things to happen good things would happen.  When you have such a belief system, thinking about worst case scenarios actually becomes a fault,” said Jasmine.

              “Yeah, there is a recent branch of psychology called positive psychology, and most of its premises revolve around the same idea.  Theories such as: merely thinking good thoughts makes you healthier and more successful.  These theories do have some empirical support.  And lots of authors have made millions by writing positive psychology best sellers, which is fitting, because they sort of prove their own point: ‘Hey look at me.  My theory is that thinking positive makes you successful and I’m thinking positive and successful,’” said Zachary.

              “Interesting, but Thomas Jefferson really did live by that philosophy.  For example, one day his dam broke and fixing it would have cost an exorbitant amount of money.  He needed the damn for practical reasons but did not have the money to fix it.  A visitor to his home that day noted that the news did not bother him at all.  The way Jefferson saw it no good could come of brooding.  So when a tragedy occurred he put it out of his mind as fast as possible.  And when he wanted something good to happen he tried to wish it so – it didn’t always work, but he kept at it,” said Jasmine.

              “Sounds like he was a half-glass full kind of guy,” said Zachary.

              “He also often didn’t think about the worst-case scenario when it came to other people.  But this was somewhat cultural.  As a self proclaimed gentleman farmer he lived by what is known as the gentleman’s code,” said Jasmine.

              “And what is the gentleman’s code?” Zachary asked.

              “I’d had my suspicions, but now I know that you definitely aren’t a gentleman,” said Jasmine.

              Zachary laughed.

              Jasmine continued, “It is the idea that if you are a gentleman you always do what is right, or rather your intentions are always to do what is right.  Therefore, if two gentlemen are in a room each would assume only the best about the other and his intentions.  And if one gentleman did not assume the best intentions about the other, the other could say something like ‘You have offended my honor Sir!’ and a duel might be fought.  So to put this in perspective, Jefferson’s home, Monticello, eventually got a reputation as being a place where the guests slept with the slaves --.”

              “The guests too?” Zachary asked.

              “Yes, believe it or not.  But Jefferson never would have been able to call them out on it because they were all gentlemen,” said Jasmine.

              “Which means that he knew no one would call him out for sleeping with his slaves either,” said Zachary.

              “He knew no gentleman would.  Therefore, if anyone did call him out, the world would identify that person as not being a gentleman.  Eventually a news reporter did make the allegation that Jefferson had coupled with Ms. Hemings, and soon after that new reporter died in an alcoholic stupor, which is a pretty ungentlemanly like way to go,” said Jasmine.

              “Thus proving Jefferson’s point that the person making the allegation was not a gentleman so perhaps the allegation was unreliable: he really knew how to hide his tracks, but your point here is that gentlemen did not look at the worst case scenario concerning other gentlemen,” said Zachary.

              “Right,” said Jasmine.

              “So maybe that means I am a gentleman and that whoever arranged those bones was a gentleman, and that’s why I just assumed the best about the situation,” said Zachary.

              “Right, either that or you didn’t watch enough horror movies as a child,” said Jasmine, laughing.     

              After breaking for lunch, Jasmine consulted her GPS nav
igator, calculating that they were only one hour from their destination.

   

   

              Grey Cliff, Area Two:  The next morning Donald instructed Ralph to choose the day’s hunting prey.  Ralph’s head was still spinning from the glory of his Grey Cliff inauguration, and he was having difficulty focusing on his task.  As a child Ralph had been forced to listen to opera and it had always caused him to feel sleepy.  But last night during the ceremony, as he sat covered in Negro flesh and blood, and Wagner started playing, he understood that opera could be a transcendent experience. 

  Finally, he replied, “The logical choice would be the Homeland Security agent.  But I like the idea of leaving him strapped to that table.  Perhaps if we do another live skinning we can have him watch that skinning too.”

              “I like how our newest member thinks,” said Charles, tearing into a bloody slab of meat that he had been carrying around all morning.

              “So who will it be son?” Mick asked. 

              Again Ralph played their stories through his mind. 

  “How about the couple?  Can we hunt them together?”

              Donald said, “Yes, you have good instincts.  That’s the way to do it.”

              Charles boomed, “The Newcomer has spoken!  The prey has been chosen!  Prepare the box!”

              As Alburt prepared the box, the rest of the Grey Cliff members packed their hunting gear and headed for the hills.

              “Where are we going?” Ralph asked.

              “To the House in the Field,” said Mick.

              “What is that?” Ralph asked.

              “You’ll see soon enough,” said Mick.

              “I thought no more secrets since I am a member now,” said Ralph.

              “Grey Cliff always holds secrets.  I’m still learning things to this day son,” said Mick.

  As they walked into the crisp morning, clouds gently moved across the sky.  A cool breeze blew across the Grand Field and Ralph wondered if he had worn enough layers for a day of outdoor hunting and asked his father if he should run back inside and grab a coat.

              “We’ll be inside the House in the Field.  So I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Mick

              Ralph decided to simply accept his newcomer status and not ask a follow-up question. 

  But how will this all work?  Father told me to bring my bow and a small axe and yet I am going inside a house? 

  The Grey Cliff members made their way into the woods in order of hierarchy: Charles and Donald side by side and then in single file: Mick, Chase, Alburt, Prestin, Dwade, and finally Ralph.  Ralph did his best to pretend that walking behind the two boys did not bother him. 

  They reached the top of a small hill.  Still single file (except Donald and Charles who were side by side) they marched down the back of the hill and into the field below: in the middle of the field, a white house. 

  The House in the Field…  

  A dirt road led to the house, the road winding out of view and wrapping around the side of the hill.  The house appeared to have been recently painted and was surrounded with a white picket fence.  A leashed dog barked happily as they approached.

              “Sparkles!” yelled Prestin and Dwade, and sprinting forward out of rank they passed the remainder of the Thurmonds.  Charles signaled for the line to dismantle and Ralph walked beside his father.

              “Whose dog is that?” Ralph asked. 

              “That dog belongs to Grey Cliff.  His name is Sparkles.  He is a white German Shepherd,” said Mick.

  “Where does that road go?”

  “That’s Death Road.  Once we have taken our position in the House in the Field I will explain everything to you,” said Mick. 

  Ralph tried not to roll his eyes.  Soon they reached the House in the Field and Mick, Ralph, Prestin, and Dwade entered the house while Chase, Alburt, Charles, and Donald continued down Death Road. 

  The inside of the house smelled like lavender.  Homey arts and crafts and framed pictures of Ralph, Prestin, and Dwade hung on nearly every wall.  Suddenly Ralph remembered that they ate primarily “venison” during their family barbeques. 

  Is that why I have always looked forward to those summer barbeques so much?  But what are these pictures doing here?

              “Father, I don’t want to keep asking questions, but come on, what’s going on here?” Ralph asked.

              “I was really confused the first time I was here last year too.  But we’re lucky.  This place is way better than Death Road,” said Dwade.

              “Go ahead,” said Mick, “You tell him what this is all about Dwade.”

              Ralph sighed.

              “Okay, check this out,” said Dwade, leading Ralph by the hand into the living room and turning on the television.  The screen displayed a grainy image of two boxes in a dark room.  On the lower half of the screen there were two blinking dots in the middle of a map.

              “I don’t understand,” said Ralph, taking the occasion to sit on a sofa.  Dwade sat across from him.         

  “This stuff is super cool.  So we learned in Area One how to hunt bucks and we used mostly still hunting, decoys, and stalking techniques.  Well, the same things apply here.  Let me explain…”           

   

              Grey Cliff, Area Two:  Aysha had lost track of time.  A small slit opened in the side of her box to provide food and water and she estimated that she was being fed twice per day.  But as time passed, the intervals between feedings seemed random and she recoiled in horror as she realized that that was the same lackadaisical manner in which she fed her dog: usually two times per day, but sometimes only one time, and sometimes three. 

  It’s like I’m an animal! 

  If she were fated to die, she hoped that at least Darnell would live.  She wondered if he had been placed inside a box as well.  She hoped that he hadn’t.  At the prospect of death, she guessed that Darnell would turn crazy faster than most. 

  He’s already so angry at the world about everything that a couple days in a box might be the nail in his coffin.  But what does it really matter if he is clear of mind or crazy when he dies? 

  Aysha had stopped trying to figure out why she had been imprisoned in a box, reasoning that any experience this horrible had no rational explanation.  She had long ago come to the conclusion that people were both mostly good and somewhat bad, but that in rare occurrences pockets of pure evil existed in the world, and she guessed that these pockets were hell’s demons who had somehow traveled beyond their borders and had found habitation inside human minds and hearts.  That she believed in such evil had never before caused her to despair.  Her theory was that if she stayed on the straight and narrow that she would probably never come eye to eye with such accursed realities.  But whatever the odds, she had lost, and was now housed in a pit of hell somewhere on earth.  She prayed that her death would be quick and more than once had decided that if the chance arose she would take her own life.

  For whoever has planned to imprison me in a box and feed me through a slit in the box must have much worse things in mind… 

  She did not try to imagine what her captors had planned, reasoning that such imaginings would do her no good.

  She’d felt the box move on multiple occasions, but she could not hear sounds, only feel vibrations.  And now feeling her box vibrate again, she tried to calm her emotions, and she prayed to God and asked Him to forgive all her sins.  She swore to God that if she were to survive this ordeal that she would become a better person: that she w
ould better follow the example of the Lord Jesus Christ; that she would quit the Great Falls social clubs and donate all her free time at the church; that she would donate more to charity; that she would do more free podiatry for the poor; that she would attempt to repair broken connections with relatives; that she would adopt a child and bring it up as best as possible; that she would rescue abused animals; that she would give her paper boy a better tip; that she would no longer drive fast when she was late; that she would be more patient when waiting in line – I’m really scrapping the bottom of the barrel here -- and finally she prayed for Darnell’s life to be spared.

  Suddenly as if her prayers had been answered, the box opened and with heavenly blinding light.  After her eyes adjusted, she cautiously peered out.  Across the room, also peering out of his box, was a man who resembled Darnell, and she whispered, “Darnell?”                     

              “Aysha?” whispered Darnell, his eyes only half open.

              “Yes it’s me,” said Aysha.

              Darnel quickly sprung out his box, but his limbs in an atrophied state, his knees collapsed and he fell upon the floor with a loud thump.

              “Are you okay?” Aysha whispered, still not having left the confines of her squalid box, trying to stretch her limbs first.

              “Yes…what is happening,” said Darnell.

              “I don’t know.  How were these boxes opened?” Aysha asked.

              “I don’t know.  Do you know where we are?” Darnell whispered.

              “No,” whispered Aysha.

              “Do you know anything?” Darnell asked.

              “No, I’ve just been imprisoned in that box,” said Aysha.

              “Me too,” whispered Darnell, adding, “So you haven’t spoken to anyone.”

              “No, have you?” Aysha asked.

              “No,” whispered Darnell.

              Darnell helped Aysha out and they embraced as tears streamed.  Aysha held Darnell even after he released her, and he whispered, “Baby, baby, we have to figure out what is going on.  We have to be smart about this...”   

              The room was small with a dirt floor and stone walls.  Approximately two feet from the ceiling a bulb hung on a course black wire.  Excepting the two black boxes, the room was empty.  A brown door was shut and Aysha suspected that it was locked.  At the top of one of the walls was a small tinted cellar-type window.

              “I think we are in a basement,” Darnell whispered.

              Aysha nodded.  Darnell twisted the doorknob, locked.

              “Should I try to kick it open?” Darnell whispered.

              “Maybe we should try the window first,” Aysha whispered.        

              “It’s too high,” Darnell whispered.

              “We can stack the boxes,” Aysha replied.

              Darnell nodded and they wedged one box into the wall corner below the blackened window space and lifted the other box on top. 

              “I’ll give it a try,” said Darnell, climbing.  He shoved the window.  It did not budge.  “Locked,” he whispered.

              “Is it glass?” Aysha whispered back.

              Darnell placed his hand on the blackened space, whispering, “Yes, I think so.”

              “Can you break it?” Aysha whispered.  Darnell climbed down and they searched for an object to break the window.

              “Why don’t you just put your hand inside your shoe and punch it?” Aysha whispered.

              Darnell nodded, took off a shoe, and climbed on top of the boxes.  He punched until glass shattered and Aysha saw bright grass.   Punching until no shards remained, he stuck his head through the window.

              “What do you see?” Aysha whispered.

              “A lawn and behind it, trees,” whispered Darnell, climbing back down.

              “Anything else?”

              “No.”

              “How many trees – enough to hide us?” Aysha asked.

              “Yes, woods,” said Darnell.

              “How far to the trees?” Aysha asked.

              “Maybe 15-30 feet, something like that,” Darnell whispered, adding, “Who should go first?”

              “I don’t know.  What do you think?” Aysha asked, trying to stop her legs from shaking.

              “I think you should go first,” said Darnell.

              Aysha nodded.

              “Once you get outside run for the trees.  I’m going to come right after you.  But if you hear anything, anyone yelling or anything just keep running, don’t wait for me,” said Darnell.

              “No --.”

              “Yes, promise me that,” said Darnell.

              Aysha hugged Darnell.

              Darnell kissed her and whispered, “We should hurry.  But you must promise me.”

              Aysha nodded, tears clouding her vision.

              “Baby, baby we’re going to get through this,” said Darnell,

  His love flashed into her mind: he was always ready to center his actions on her wishes, comforts, and pleasures.  Darnell loathed Great Falls the moment he set eyes upon it.  Yet because he perceived that she might be happy there, he had agreed to the jarring relocation. 

  Was I being selfish?  Was I taking advantage of a man who always seems so capable of putting me before himself?  We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t pressured him to move to Great Falls.  And he was right, that place was not the oasis that it appeared to be…

              “This is all my fault,” whispered Aysha, still not having climbed onto the box.             

              “Aysha listen to me.  We have to be smart about this and just think about what we are doing, nothing else,” whispered Darnell.

              “I know,” whispered Aysha, quietly sobbing.  She put her foot into his hands and he lifted her onto the first box and she climbed onto the second.

  “I’ll push you out – wedge yourself into the window.” 

  Aysha nodded and put her arms through the window.  Her heart pressed against the window frame, she expected to see something nightmarish outside but there was nothing and she pulled with her hands as she felt Darnell pushing, a moment later she was more than half way through the window and scrambled the remainder.  Sprinting into the trees and ramming through bushes, she took cover and knelt.  Looking back, she saw Darnell sprinting and frantically motioning for her to continue running. 

  Is someone chasing him!

  He caught her and they both stopped.  No one was pursuing. 

              “Who knows how long it will be before they, whoever they are, figure out that we are missing,” said Aysha.

              “How did those boxes open?  They were sealed shut.  And then both of our boxes just miraculously opened at the same time.  I think we were purposely let out.  But why?” said Darnell, adding, “I’m going back down there.”

              “Why?” Aysha asked.

              “I want to see what is around that place,” said Darnell.

              “That’s a bad idea we should just keep going,” said Aysha. 

              “Yes, but do
n’t you see? They let us out.  Something is going on here and we have to figure out what it is,” said Darnell.

              “What we need to do is to escape before it is too late…”       

              “Trust me baby, I’ll be back in a minute, you just wait here,” said Darnell.

              Aysha did not argue because she did not want to waste time.  She searched for a weapon, eventually finding a large stick.  Aysha had taken a self-defense class.  The main point of the class had been that self defense is a frame of mind and that the best self defense is to avoid the sketchy situation altogether. 

  I failed that lesson.

   She also remembered that an attacker’s eyes and groin were the two most vulnerable areas. 

  But these fucking people imprisoned me inside a box so they are probably going to have guns.  Therefore, this stick is absurd.

   Yet Aysha held it tight. 

  Although more as a security blanket than anything else…

  Finally Darnell returned.  He was out of breath and covered in dirt.

              “What happened to you?” Aysha asked.

              “I was crawling.  Listen, yeah that place is like a big mansion.  In the front and on the other two sides there is a huge field.  I also saw a helicopter on the front lawn --.”

              “Why a helicopter?  Where are we?  You don’t think we are on an island do you?” Aysha asked.

              “I don’t know, anything is possible: but I saw no roads leading to the house --.”

              “No, roads.  Fuck Darnell.  We can’t survive in the wilderness,” said Aysha.

              “Yes we can and we will --.”

              “Did you see any people?” Aysha asked.

              “No.”

              “Why did our boxes just open like that?” Aysha asked.

              “I don’t know.  Maybe it was a malfunction, maybe the same software for both boxes.  I don’t know.  Glad as I am to be out of there we have to stay on our toes,” said Darnell.

              “What if they want us out here?” Aysha asked.

              “We escaped,” said Darnell.

              “But that was too easy,” said Aysha.

              “I know and it has me worried too.  But what can we do?  We can’t think our way out of this, we have to keep going.  Why are you holding those sticks?” Darnell asked.

              “Weapons, here I got one for you,” said Aysha.

              “If they have guns or anything it is not going to do any good,” said Darnell.

              “I know but --.”

              “Thank you,” Darnell interrupted.

              “Where should we go?” Aysha asked.

              “Like you said before, I think we should keep going forward,” said Darnell.

              “What if they want us to go this way?” said Aysha.       

              “Why do you say that?” asked Darnell.

              “It’s just seems the most logical way to go, with the fields on the side and the front – like maybe we were set up to go this way,” said Aysha.

              “I think you are over-thinking it,” said Darnell.

              “You do?” Aysha asked.

              “Yes, let’s just keep it simple and push forward,” said Darnell.

              “Okay, you lead and I’ll follow,” said Aysha.     

              They jogged to the top of the hill and saw a white house and a road below.

              “Thank God!  Should we go to the house or the road?” Aysha asked.

              “Or neither?” asked Darnell.

              “Why neither?” said Aysha.

              “I don’t know.  But I feel like we should put as much distance between ourselves and where we were just imprisoned as possible before we ask for help,” said Darnell.

              “Maybe, I don’t know.  Is that what you think?” Aysha asked, trying to ignore the almost unbearable weight of each decision they made.

              “Yes, let’s stay in the woods.”

              At that moment they saw two children run out of the house.  The children started playing fetch with a dog.  Although a good distance away, the children’s laughter could be heard.     

              “What do you think?” said Aysha.

              “I don’t know,” said Darnell.

              “There must parents home and we could phone for help,” said Aysha.

              “Yes, but something doesn’t feel right to me,” said Darnell.

              “What?” Aysha asked.

              “It’s just a feeling,” said Darnell.

              “It’s difficult for us to trust people right now.  But we are going to have to trust someone eventually,” said Aysha.

              “I would feel more comfortable if those were black children down there,” said Darnell.

              “Me too,” said Aysha.

              “But it isn’t just because they are white.  It is something about the whole situation.  Look at it: white house with a white picket fence, white children dressed in all white playing with a white dog, and throwing the dog a white ball.  I mean, what is that a cricket ball?  Who plays cricket in America?” said Darnell.

              “Maybe we’re not in America anymore,” said Aysha.

              “That doesn’t look strange to you?  It looks strange to me.  I feel like someone is toying with us.  I feel like that is one big sign that says stay away,” said Darnell.

              “You’re being paranoid.  If their mother had dressed them in jeans and a red shirt you would be fine with it then?” Aysha asked.

              “I don’t know, maybe not even then; but that looks ridiculous to me,” said Darnell.

              “You’re being paranoid.  Let’s go talk to the children and get help,” said Aysha.

              “Let’s look before we leap baby.  These could be life or death decisions we are making.  Let’s just talk about this for a little more.  Also, those children are laughing a lot, too much, there is something strange about it --.”

              “About children laughing?” Aysha interrupted.

              “No, but something about their laughter, almost like it is staged: listen,” said Darnell.

              “Well they are not laughing now,” said Aysha.

              “No, but let’s just listen for a minute,” said Darnell.

              “We have to keep going.  They could be coming any minute,” said Aysha.

              “I know, but I don’t want to rush into anything, just listen for a little bit…”

   

   

  Grey Cliff, Area Two:  The two dots on the screen had stopped, which meant that Darnell and Aysha were again talking about something.  Ralph guessed that they were probably talking about Dwade and Prestin.

  Mick said, “It’s just like when you send a mating call or any type of call to a buck son.  Beginners will overdo it.  But you want to let the right amount of time lapse before you send out another call.  Prestin and Dwade their laughter is the buck call, and this whole place is the decoy.  But they know their laughs should come at lon
g intervals.  They don’t want to make that scene seem too perfect, or in any way phony.”

  “This seems like a lot of work.  Why don’t we just follow them and hunt them down?” Ralph asked.

  “Son, one of the biggest elements of big game hunting is to give the big game a sporting chance.  That’s why bucks have a hunting season.  The older bucks know the season by the day and will leave the area the day it starts and will come back the day it is over.  And that’s why we Thurmonds usually hunt our big game, bucks and Negros alike with the bow.  A bow gives big game much more of a sporting chance than the riffle.  You can shoot a buck or a Negro from hundreds of yards away with a rifle and a scope.  But the maximum distance on a bow is about 30 yards,” said Mick.

  Ralph nodded. 

  But I think my kill on Jeremy was about 40 which made it even more spectacular…

  Mick continued, “If they want to waltz right into this place of pure white, well that is their prerogative.  I mean honestly Ralph have you ever seen an entire family dressed all in white?” Mick asked.

  Ralph laughed.

  “It’s absurd and the alarm bells should be going off in their heads.  If it isn’t that isn’t our fault, we have given them a sporting chance.  But if the alarm bells do go off and they continue on down Death Road, then they’ll come to a dead end, and meet up with your grandpa and the others,” said Mick.

  “What if they don’t choose either, and just keep making for the woods?” Ralph asked.

  “Then we switch gears from calling and decoy hunting, to stalking, and we follow their paths and we hunt them down,” said Mick.

  “Has anyone ever gotten away?” said Ralph.

  “It’s happened a couple of times,” said Mick.

  “Really?” Ralph asked.

  “Yes many years ago and not when I was a member of Grey Cliff, this was the time before the national sports teams integrated races.  Your ancestors used to scoop up some of the best Negro athletes, and a couple of those fleet-footed fellows did get away,” said Mick.

  “What happened?” Ralph asked.

  “Nothing, they didn’t say a word about it,” said Mick.

  “Really?” Ralph asked.

  “Things were easier to control back then because Negros knew their place.  That they were kidnapped and hunted did not surprise them at all.  They were just happy to survive.  Besides whom could they tell?  Police would have laughed at them.  No newspaper would have listened.  They were on their own.  They might have griped about it with other Negros but no one was going to listen to those other Negros if they tried to pass it on either.  Of course once things started to become more equitable between the races -- though only on the surface of course -- we killed them.  We couldn’t risk them talking about it in their old age to some scandalous newspaper or anything like that,” said Mick. 

  Ralph replied, “I see.  But I have to say that I almost feel like if someone gets away from all this, and avoids all the gruesome things that are going to happen to them, like a meeting with a skinning knife, well just like the buck that makes it away, I feel like the Negros too should be able to keep their freedom, that they’ve almost earned it at that point.”

  “Son, I agree, but the world is not a perfect place, and the fact of the matter is that if any of these Negros do get away we are going to have to hunt them down and kill them.  But we have those GPS trackers in their sneakers, so even if they do get away they aren’t getting away too far,” said Mick.

  The two dots began moving again and it seemed that they were heading straight for Prestin and Dwade.

  “They are on the move.  You remember your part right?” said Mick.

  “Yes I just sit at --.”

  Mick interrupted, “Okay I don’t need a play by play announcement.  I was just making sure.  Help me get this cream of wheat ready.”

  “Dad that looks really lumpy,” said Ralph, laughing.

  “I don’t know what to say, I’m usually positioned on Death Row, so I really don’t have that much experience making cream of wheat…” 

   

  Grey Cliff, Area Two:  Aysha and Darnell walked out of the woods and into the field.  They noted that the two children had stopped playing and seemed to be watching them.  The dog did not bark, instead standing silent at the side of the children.

  “The dog isn’t barking,” said Darnell.

  “It must be trained,” said Aysha.

  “What if it’s trained not to bark at black people?” said Darnell.

  “What are you talking about?” said Aysha.

  “Something just doesn’t feel right,” said Darnell.

  “Will you stop saying that, and let me do the talking.  You’ll probably start swearing at these kids,” said Aysha.

  “You’re right I hate these two little brats already,” said Darnell.  As they came within shouting distance, Aysha and Darnell waved and the children waved back.  The children turned and again played fetch with their dog.

  “Remember, let me do the talking,” said Aysha.

  “Okay, okay,” said Darnell.

  Aysha waved again, saying, “Hello, I’m Aysha and this is Darnell.  Are your parents home?”

  “My father is home.  But not my mother,” said Prestin, smiling.

  “Where is your mother?” Aysha asked.

  “At church,” said Prestin.

  “What are you names?” Aysha asked, smiling.

  “I’m Prestin, this is my brother Dwade, and this is our dog Sparkles,” said Prestin.  The dog barked once, as if in acknowledgment. 

  “What is your father’s name?” Aysha asked.

  “Mick,” said Prestin, still smiling.

  “And what does Mick do for work?” Aysha asked.

  “Business,” said Prestin.

  “What kind of business?” Aysha asked.

  “None of your business,” said Prestin, and Prestin and Dwade started laughing hysterically. 

  Dwade whispered to Aysha, “Let’s get out of here.  These kids won’t stop smiling and they are creeping me out.” 

  Aysha elbowed him, whispering, “Calm down.”

  Suddenly the front door of the house opened and a man stepped onto the front steps.  He shouted, “Can I help you?”

  Darnell whispered, “What the fuck he is dressed all in white too!”

  Aysha shouted, “Hello, yes.  Would it be okay if I used your phone?”

  “Certainly, my name is Mick.  What brings you this way?  We don’t get too many visitors here,” said Mick, smiling widely.

  “It’s a long story but if we could use your phone it would be much appreciated.  I’m Aysha and this is my husband Darnell,” said Aysha.

  “Yes, by all means, come in, come in,” said Mick, the smile not leaving his face even as he talked.

  “Thank you,” Aysha shouted.

  “His teeth are glowing all the way from here,” said Darnell.

  Aysha shrugged.  As Aysha and Darnell walked towards the house, the children ran around them in circles, and as they did so laughed every so often. 

  Darnell is right, their laughter does seem odd, like they are laughing for no reason, like they are laughing just to laugh, almost like they have been instructed to laugh.  Maybe we should continue on down the road.  This is odd, all this whiteness. 

  “Have you noticed the flowers in the field?” said Darnell.

  “Yes, I know, I know, they are white,” said Aysha, adding, “I don’t know should we continue on down the road?”

  Darnell replied, “Fuck it – he says he has a phone.  But if anything strange happens let’s just get the fuck out of there.”

  “Well I’m talking my stick inside with me,” said Aysha.

  “Good idea, me too,” said Darnell.

   

  Grey Cliff, Area Two:  Zachary and Jasmine stood at the edge of the tree-line, baffled by the large field and the grey mansion.  For one thing, the Google map had shown no such structure, inst
ead portraying a thick cover of trees.  And for another, how had it been built?  There were no roads leading to it.  Two helicopters were in the field, but they didn’t have enough storage space to accommodate such an undertaking. 

  Zachary wondered aloud if planes filled with building materials had been flown into the field.

  “The costs would have been prohibitive,” said Jasmine.

  “Or maybe builders were flown in, and they cut down the lumber here,” said Zachary. 

  “In any case, whoever built this mansion he must have been one of the wealthier people in the country,” said Jasmine.

  However, Zachary began to suspect that the structure did not have a single owner but rather a family of owners. 

  This has to be Grey Cliff.  It is grey and Philip was obsessed with Grey Cliff.

  “What is it?” Jasmine asked.

  “I might have figured something out,” said Zachary, almost apologetically.

  “That’s great!  What is it?” Jasmine asked.

  “Sorry, it still has to do with --.”

  Jasmine interrupted, “Don’t worry, I understand, you take your ethical obligations seriously, as do I.  But surely you have realized what this means?”

  “I think I might, have but like I said --.”

  “No, I’m not talking about your confidential matter.  I’m talking about the bones.  Since we have stumbled upon a house we can use a phone,” said Jasmine.

  “Yes,” said Zachary, though worried how the Thurmonds would react to his arrival if this actually was Grey Cliff. 

  They stressed time and time again the importance of Grey Cliff secrecy, and though Grey Cliff information would have been nice for my final report, I had really hoped to just put this whole Thurmond assignment behind me.  Still, Jasmine is right: we have to inform the authorities about the bones and the sooner the better.           

    “But you don’t think anything illegal is going on there do you?” Jasmine asked.  She had taken off her backpack, resting it against a tree.  Zachary followed suit, the mansion remaining approximately 500 yards in the distance.

  “Why would you say that?” Zachary asked.

  “I don’t know this place just seems strange.  This big place in the middle of nowhere and we did find the bones,” said Jasmine.

  “Yes, but those were miles back,” said Zachary.

  “True, it’s just that we wouldn’t exactly be able to phone for help if we have stumbled upon some cocaine production facility or something like that,” said Jasmine, grabbing a water bottle from her back pack and squirting a stream into her mouth, “So I know you have to respect medical confidentiality in your work, but if you think that we could be walking into any sort of a dangerous situation that you would let me know right?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” said Zachary, accepting the water bottle from Jasmine and taking a quick drink. 

  This is similar to the Bruce situation.  Jasmine is African-American, well half, and she like Bruce would be walking into a Thurmond situation, which is to say a situation containing individuals with dormant CMR.  So on the surface it might appear to be a risky situation but just as Charles was hospitable with Bruce (until he refused a background check) I expect the Grey Cliff Thurmonds to be hospitable to Jasmine. 

  Zachary handed the water bottle back, saying, “What I am a little worried about is that if this home does belong to the people that I just worked for -- and I can tell you without breaking any confidentiality that it appears a strong possibility that it does belong to them -- then I am worried how they will react to me being here.”

  “Why wouldn’t they be happy to see you?” Jasmine asked.  They walked into the field, the yellowish grass up to their hips, and circled around each other performing a sort of monkey-grooming tick check that they had perfected by this point of their journey.

  “My work entailed assessing a whole family and the family member who sent that odd letter with these coordinates.  And I can tell you this as it doesn’t have directly to do with a medical situation: well, he sent out another document that hinted that the family had this really cool vacation spot.  For reasons relating to my report, I wanted to know some details about the vacation spot.  But whenever I asked they quickly let me know that it was a family secret.  So I am worried that if they see me here they are going to feel like I am barging in on their family secret,” said Zachary.

  “As opposed to just randomly stumbling upon this place,” said Jasmine.

  “Exactly, they are going to recognize me immediately and perhaps feel betrayed,” said Zachary.

  Suddenly Jasmine said, “Hold still --.”

  Zachary stopped.

  “Got it,” said Jasmine, having brushed a tick from his leg. “Well, if you want I could just make the call to the authorities alone.  You could wait outside and they would never have to know that you were here.”

  “You would do that?” Zachary asked.

  “Sure, but if it takes a while, if they offer me lunch or something you might be waiting for God knows how long because I am starving for some real cooking,” said Jasmine.

  And if she gets to eat some of that heavenly Thurmond venison while I have to continue subsisting off trail mix, I will admittedly be jealous...

  “That’s fine.”

  “You take your professional responsibilities very seriously don’t you?” said Jasmine.

  “My life is my work,” said Zachary.

  That sounded way too cold considering you were just thinking about asking Jasmine to be your girlfriend.

  Zachary added, “But as you have reminded me that is not necessarily such a good thing.  And Jasmine really I appreciate that you made me do this; I think that I have grown on this vacation, and it has really allowed me to refresh my spirits.”

  “I could see it in your eyes that first time we dated.  They were blank and glassy, and I knew you needed a break,” said Jasmine, smiling.

  “Watson, you were spot-on with that analysis --.”

  “Watson?  Why don’t I get to be Sherlock?” Jasmine asked, laughing.

  “My deductive skills – actually that is a fallacy Sherlock used inductive skills – my skills of inductions are obviously superior,” said Zachary.

  “I thought Sherlock deduced things not induced them?” said Jasmine.

  “Ah, I finally get to be the professor --.”

  “Don’t get used to it --.”

  “In the simplest terms possible, which I know you need,” said Zachary, then laughing, “Deduction means from the general to the specific, while induction is from the specific to the general.  Sherlock found specific clues that then led to a general conclusion.” 

  “So you think you induce better than me?” said Jasmine.

  “Sometimes my job demands that I be quite good at that,” said Zachary.

  And my knack for induction is something that Samantha also has difficulty admitting at times…

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your thought, you were just in the middle of complimenting me,” said Jasmine, having grasped onto Zachary’s arm.

  “Yes, this last job caused me to view the world from a cynical angle, which isn’t my style.  You’ve caused me to see the bright side of things again…”

  Jasmine stopped walking and they kissed.  Standing near the helicopter they were mostly shielded from the view of the house and she said, “I want to make love to you right in this field.”

  “Here?” Zachary asked.

  Jasmine nodded.

  “But the ticks --.”

  “Fuck it,” said Jasmine, throwing off her backpack.

  “But what if someone is watching from the windows?” said Zachary.

  Jasmine looked around.  “Yeah, I suppose you are right.  That view is mostly blocked but someone could perhaps…What is that red?”

  “Where?” Zachary asked, now looking.

  “There in the high grass,” said Jasmine, pointing.

  They w
alked towards the high grass, perhaps 20 yards from the helicopter.  The tips of the grass and random lower areas had a deep red hue, red trails which led to a concentrated area of red, a packed down grass clump approximately the size of a large animal.

  “What do you induce from this situation?” Jasmine asked.

  “Actually now this would be deduction.  I’d be running general principles through my mind to reach a specific conclusion, which is that I think this is blood,” said Zachary, adding, “And a lot of it.”

  Zachary further examined the grass.  He was no forensic specialist, but the bones and now this blood were testing the limits of the forensic knowledge that he had gained from watching endless reruns of CSI.   

  “So what does it mean?” Jasmine asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Zachary.

  “I think it is fairly certain what this means,” said Jasmine, having bent down to examine how far the blood had spread throughout the weeds, “I think something died here, either a person or an animal.”

  “Why would you even say a person?” said Zachary, but he noticed that they had both crept down farther in the high grass, using it to shield them from the view of the house.

  “The bones,” said Jasmine, running her finger against some of the blood.  “You don’t think there is a connection do you?”

  Zachary remembered that the primary Grey Cliff activity was buck hunting and laughed inwardly at his irrational bout of fear. 

  “What is it?  You look like you have realized something again?” said Jasmine.

  “I have,” said Zachary, now heartily laughing.  “But were I to tell you I would be pushing the limits of confidentiality.  The family I was working for wanted all the activities of this place to remain confidential – I think even the one activity that they would tell me.  I don’t think they wanted that activity to be public knowledge.”

  “But whatever it was that they told you: that would explain this blood?” Jasmine asked.

  “Yes,” said Zachary, and kissing Jasmine on the cheek he added, “And you can rest assured that it has nothing to do with human bones.”     

  “It just seems like a lot of blood.  Are they hunters?” Jasmine asked.

  “Since you guessed it: Yes, they hunt deer,” said Zachary.

  “Why would that be confidential?” Jasmine asked.  They had begun walking towards the mansion again.

  “This family, they are peculiar and secretive.  But by the way, if when you go in there they do offer you any of their deer meat, their venison, would you mind trying to take a little with you so that I can eat some too?” Zachary asked.

  “Sure, no problem: I’ve never had venison before.  Is it good?” Jasmine asked.

  “The way they prepare it – it is spectacular…”

  As Zachary watched Jasmine plod up the stairs, her backpack looming over her head like a human-exoskeleton, he had the sensation that this would be the last time that he would ever see her. 

  But what you are really feeling is separation anxiety.  We’ve been peas in a pod since this trip began.

   Zachary hoped that his feelings for Jasmine and her seemingly reciprocated feelings were not some kind of vacation euphoria.  As a psychologist Zachary knew that vacations took people outside the realm of the ordinary and caused them to make decisions and declarations that they would not perhaps make if they were still within the hum drum of ordinary life.  So he wondered if this fairy tale romance would end once they returned to Boston: that what they thought was the spark of love would be identified as the influence of Montana’s beauty. 

  And perhaps that is why the Thurmonds keep their vacation spot so secretive; it is a place that takes them away from the ordinary and as such they don’t wish to diminish its meaning by trying to define it with words.  In fact hadn’t Donald said something of the sort?  That Grey Cliff couldn’t be spoken about because it needed to be experienced? 

  Donald’s words had not made much sense when Zachary first heard them, but in the breathless Montana landscape those words seemed wise.  At times he had thought the Thurmonds odd, but now he wondered if it was only his lack of world experience. 

  Sometimes you assume things about people too fast.  You need to step away and give people the benefit of the doubt.

  Back in the woods, Zachary snacked.  He felt himself purposeless and wondered what to do.  However, this self-reflection soon ended because he spotted Jasmine and called out, “Jasmine, I’m here.”

  “There is no one there,” Jasmine shouted.

  “That’s impossible, the helicopters,” Zachary shouted back.

  Jasmine held up her hands as if to say, ‘I don’t know.’  They met midway between the stairs and the edge of the trees.

  “What do you think we should do?” Jasmine asked.

  “I don’t know.  How do you know that no one was inside?” Zachary asked.

  “I was knocking on that door forever, and I began lightly, but eventually I started banging on it,” said Jasmine.

  “They must be out hunting,” said Zachary.

  “Ah, must be, well the door was unlocked,” said Jasmine, smiling widely.

  “I don’t know if that is a good idea Jasmine,” said Zachary.

  “It would be a risk,” she replied.

  “Oh, so you are going to call me out as a chicken, so that I then go do the stupid thing,” said Zachary.

  Jasmine laughed, “Who knows how long they will be gone for?  They could be gone all night.  Do we really want to wait?  We could just go inside, find a phone, call the authorities and give them coordinates of the bones, and then we could start to head back.”

  “You make it sound so simple, and not like it would be breaking and entering,” said Zachary.

  “It wouldn’t be.  We aren’t going to take anything,” said Jasmine.

  “Well, technically it would still be breaking and entering --.”

  “Chicken, bark, bark, back, Chicken, bark, bark,” said Jasmine, thrusting her fists under her arm pits and waving them as if they were wings. 

  “Now you aren’t even subtly calling me a chicken, this is an overt chicken calling,” said Zachary.  And as he laughed she continued with her chicken noises.  Then he said, “I feel like I am 8 years old and I am being called out by the neighborhood bully to commit some stupid act.”

  The chicken noises did not cease.

  “Fine, fine, I’ll go in.  But quickly, we are in and out,” said Zachary.

  “Being quick and efficient when you break and enter is the name of the game – duh,” said Jasmine.

  “That isn’t funny,” said Zachary.

  “It wasn’t a joke,” said Jasmine.

  “That isn’t funny either,” Zachary replied.  They had begun to ascend the mansion stairs.

  “Hey, you were the one who told me that you liked it when I took you out of your comfort zone,” said Jasmine.

  “That was a hindsight-statement made about events that had already occurred and were therefore deemed to have been safe.  But I don’t like it in the moment,” said Zachary.

  Jasmine laughed, poking Zachary in the ribs.  Zachary allowed Jasmine to open the door and enter first, and as soon as she did so she yelled, “Hello?” 

  There was no answer.

  “I don’t like this place,” Zachary whispered. 

  The entrance chamber had few windows, grand stairs led to a dark second floor.  Scientific curiosities, eerily anachronistic, abounded: navigation devices, prehistoric fossils, a monocle, a yellowish map, a hearing trumpet, a phonograph, fading animal furs, jarred insects, a brass chandelier, human skulls, collections of black dolls, and gaunt portraits in the same style that Zachary had seen in Charles’s home.  He even believed that he might have recognized a couple of the faces.

  Which would make sense if this was Grey Cliff.

  “You don’t think these skulls have anything to do with the bones do you?” Jasmine asked.

  Zachary exami
ned the skulls.  There were over 50 inside a glass case.  “It is quite normal for a scientist to have one skull.  And this room does seem to have a scientific motif.  A skull is a reminder that we are mortal.  Skulls are actually used as tools by some Masonic lodges.  Masons believe that meditating in front of a skull reminds people that their days are numbered and that therefore you should accomplish what you can when you can.  And for a scientist a skull is a reminder of the importance of anatomy, and of getting to the crux of things so to speak --.”

  “But why so many?  That looks like a tomb,” said Jasmine.

  “The sheer number of skulls in this collection is perplexing.  I don’t have an answer for it.”

  “What if a couple of these skulls go with the bodies out there?” Jasmine asked.

  “It is certainly possible, but I don’t think it is likely,” said Zachary.

  “Why?” Jasmine asked.

  “Because of what I said before, this room has a scientific motif, and though objectionable to some people, a human skull is actually a symbol of science,” said Zachary.  

  “Why the black dolls? How is that science?” Jasmine asked.

  Zachary shrugged. 

  Possible sublimation? 

  Get over it: your contributions to the report are finished…    

  “In any case, it doesn’t look like much has changed here in a while… I don’t see a phone,” said Jasmine.

  “Neither do I,” said Zachary, adding, “Let’s find the kitchen, everyone has a phone in their kitchen.”      

  They walked down a long hall, suits of armor displayed at twenty feet intervals and ancient weapons upon the walls.  Some of the swords looked too heavy to lift. 

  “Who the hell were these people that you worked for?” said Jasmine.

  “Don’t ask?” said Zachary. 

  Really, don’t…

  “These weapons are too much!  Do you think this stuff is real?” Jasmine asked.

  “They certainly look it,” said Zachary.

  “What is the ball with the chain thing called?” Jasmine asked.

  “I get to be the professor again --.”

  “That doesn’t count – trivia, knowledge like that is the lowest form of intelligence, no matter Alex Trebek would have you believe,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary laughed, “You are referring to Bloom’s taxonomy, the belief that intelligence can be arranged in progression: knowledge, comprehension, application, analysis, synthesis, and evaluation.  And you are right, knowledge or just simply knowing facts is the lowest on that totem pole --.”

  “Yes, I know I am right,” Jasmine interrupted.    

  “Had you been one of my students I have the feeling that you would have been one of the ones who was constantly questioning the supremacy of my teachings,” said Zachary.

  “Had I been one of your students this would be a really messed up relationship,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary pointed.  “That, you wanted to know, is called a mace.  It was a medieval bludgeoning weapon.  This type of mace is more specifically known as a flail, or a ball and chain.”

  “How do you know this?” Jasmine asked.

  “Immediately after puberty I had a crisis of manliness and my solution, though unfathomable to me now, was a brief descent into a pit that can only be known as Dungeons and Dragons,” said Zachary.

  “You are a Dungeons and Dragons, nerd?  It all makes sense now.  Do you know how lucky you are to be dating me?  I mean seriously,” said Jasmine, grabbing at Zachary’s crotch. 

  Zachary pulled away.  “I might have to defend myself with one of these weapons.  No, I don’t want you to associate me with D & D.  It was only about a three months black hole, but some of the learning remained.”

  Jasmine examined the next weapon that hung on the wall, “This place is like a museum.  And what is this called, Sir Dorkiness?” 

  “That,” said Zachary, pointing to a large spiked ball attached to a club, “Is known as morning star.  It is similar to a mace and was usually used by warriors on horseback.”

  Jasmine touched a spike.  “It is sharp.  What is this next one?  How do you even use that?”

  Zachary nodded, “Yes, that one takes a little more skill.  That is a Chinese weapon known as a meteor hammer.  Two heavy balls separated by a chain --.”

  “So how do you use it?” Jasmine asked again.

  “It can be used offensively or defensively.  You could swing it around your head and then launch it at someone by letting it go.  You could swing it in a figure eight motion.  You could try and wrap someone up in it.  You could try to swing it straight down at someone.  Then defensively you could use it to block,” said Zachary.

  “That you know so much about these dorky weapons is admittedly a major turn-off,” said Jasmine.

  “Then why do you keep asking me?” said Zachary.

  “Because you are like the tour guide in this museum, and this?” said Jasmine.  

  “That is a bola.  That is often a Spanish weapon, though some would not call it a weapon.  It is used to wrap around the legs and trip a running person or an animal,” said Zachary.

  “Well, you don’t have to tell me what these are: swords,” said Jasmine, sticking out her tongue.

  “Yes, but do you know what kind?” Zachary asked.

  “Oh so you want to turn me off even more, while showing off that lowest form of intelligence trapped there inside your brain,” said Jasmine, poking Zachary in the head.

  Zachary laughed, “I think this first one is termed a Great Sword, obviously because of its size.  They usually weigh about 10 pounds, which means that unless you are Arnold Schwarzenegger you have to hold them with two hands, and you can’t do fancy Errol Flynn swordsmanship type stuff with them but you can cut off a man’s head in one stroke, literally.”

  “Charming, and the Errol Flynn reference was lost on me,” said Jasmine.

  “Errol Flynn?  The best Robin Hood?  He wore the green tights, no?”

  Jasmine shook her head.

  “Really?  Well, you’ve been deprived --.”

  “No, I was born into modern times is what happened,” said Jasmine.

  “This is a Long Sword --.”

  “Let me guess, because it is longer,” said Jasmine.

  “Okay, tour over, we really better get going.”

  “But there are so many more weapons here to teach me just how nerdy you really are,” said Jasmine.

  “Oh, so this isn’t about learning about these weapons it is about learning about me?” said Zachary.

  “Exactly,” said Jasmine, slapping Zachary on the butt.

  “You are frisky in this place,” said Zachary.

  “Breaking and entering makes me horny.”

  “Stop saying that,” said Zachary.

  They had nearly reached the end of the long wall of weapons when Jasmine stopped.  Zachary stopped too, watching her peer at a sword.

  “Is that blood?” Jasmine asked. 

  Zachary moved closer.  The edge was red. 

  “Fuck,” he said.

  “What?” Jasmine asked.

  “I really didn’t want to see that.  The skulls and now blood on a sword, what the fuck?” said Zachary.

  “What does it mean?” Jasmine asked.

  “I don’t know.  But that does look like blood and it’s on a sword,” said Zachary.

  “Do you think maybe they used it to carve a deer?” Jasmine offered.

  Zachary considered this.  It did seem plausible.  He replied, “I really don’t know much about hunting.  But it does seem like a sword might do the job.  Maybe the knife was dull.  And then someone said, ‘Hey, let’s use one of the swords.’”

  “You don’t think that would be overkill?  Using a sword to carve up a deer?” Jasmine asked.

  “Like I said I don’t know much about hunting, but I like that you didn’t just jump to a conclusion there.  That you looked for a reasonable solut
ion – that’s how I think too.  Yeah, it’s possible, and honestly it puts my mind at ease.  I was starting to get nervous there for a minute with the blood outside, and the skulls, and the blood on the sword.  But things --.”

  Jasmine interrupted, “And the bones in the woods.”

  “Oh yes, and the bones in the woods: right, these finds are starting to add up.  But they probably all have reasonable solutions.  We have gathered some data, but as of yet we don’t know where it leads,” said Zachary.

  “Who are these people?  The bones and the blood aside, they’ve got this mansion in the middle of nowhere with all these weapons on the walls.  Is this a normal family?  I mean you said that you might have to tell them things that they might not want to hear?  That leads me to believe that --.”

  Zachary interrupted, “Jasmine, Jasmine – you’re not a scientist.  You work in the media.  The media is built around finding sensational stories and jumping to conclusions.  For example, in the winter, every time I turn on the news and it’s going to snow, ‘This is going to be the worst storm since the blizzard of 78.  Do you know how many times I have heard that?  How can every storm be the worst storm since the blizzard of 78?  It doesn’t make any sense --.”

  “Zachary you are rambling,” Jasmine interrupted.

  “It may seem that way but I am making a point.  My point being media people sensationalize.  Scientists, we move slowly.  We use the 7 steps of the scientific method --.”

  “Please Zachary you aren’t going to bore me with those 7 steps that I had to memorize in high school are you?” Jasmine asked. 

  Zachary laughed, “No, but I’m saying that we don’t know yet what is going on.  We have gathered some data, but we need to gather more.  We can form all the hypotheses that we want.  But before we gather and analyze the data, we cannot reach a conclusion.” 

  Jasmine rolled her eyes, “Suddenly I feel like I am dating my tenth grade chemistry teacher.”

  “Is that a bad thing?  I mean aside from the fact that you shouldn’t date your teacher in tenth grade, or any grade for that matter, what was he like?” Zachary asked.

  “He was old.  I’m pretty sure he was a virgin.  He was very boring.  And I think he went home every night and masturbated directly onto his Dungeons and Dragons memorabilia --.”

  “Jasmine, that is not fair…” 

  They continued walking until the hall split.

  “I have an idea,” said Jasmine, pointing to the left.  “I’ll go left and you can go right.”

  Zachary felt a cold shudder upon his spine.  “Let’s just stick together.”

  “Yeah, but we can cover more ground if I go left and you go right, okay?” said Jasmine, kissing Zachary on the cheek.

  “Jasmine I’d just feel better if we stay together, for one thing --.”

  Jasmine interrupted, “I was just kidding!  You should have seen your face.”

  “That wasn’t funny,” said Zachary.

  “You sure did get nervous for someone who thinks that everything is just hunky dory,” said Jasmine, walking ahead.

  “I didn’t say everything was hunky dory.  All I said is that we don’t know what is what until we --.”

  Jasmine interrupted, saying, “I know, gather more data.  Well maybe we will luck out and find a decomposing human head or something like that.  Would that be enough data for you to start worrying?  Or would you rationalize that away too?”

  “I’m not rationalizing away.  I’m just saying we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.  Why are you starting to get nervous about all this?” Zachary asked.

  Is this our first lovers’ quarrel?   

  “Fucking A yeah I am,” said Jasmine, stopping.  “I’m not saying that I know for certain anything bad is going on here.  I’m just saying we should be on our guard.  We’ve been finding a lot of odd things.”

  If this was Grey Cliff Zachary knew he had nothing to worry about, but perhaps he was in some strange place with strange people.  Therefore he said, “Okay, I see what you are saying.  And honestly I don’t know if this is the vacation spot of the people that I worked for.   Do you think we should grab one of those swords off the wall?”

  “You’re serious?” Jasmine asked, laughing.

  “Well, you know, better safe than sorry,” said Zachary.

  “A minute ago you though everything was fine.  Now you want to get a sword?” said Jasmine.

  “Hey, I told you earlier that my mind has a hard time conceiving of worst case scenarios.  Just in case this is one of those situations, maybe, you know, we should weapon-up,” said Zachary.              

  “Weapon-up?  Is that even a word?” asked Jasmine.

  “Why are you giving me such a hard time?” Zachary asked, a film of sweat forming upon his forehead. 

  Have we entered into a worst case scenario?

  “I’m just fucking with you.  No, I agree.  I’ll get my bow you get a sword and if anyone comes home and they are like why the fuck are you in my home carrying those weapons, we will just explain that we are freaked the fuck out, but that we are just looking for a phone,” said Jasmine.

  “Agreed.”

  They had started running, but Jasmine stopped.

  “What now?” Zachary asked.

  “Suddenly I’m pulling a you,” said Jasmine.

  “What do you mean?” Zachary asked.

  “I’m just thinking in my head how utterly preposterous we will look if anyone comes home and I am holding a bow and arrow and you are holding a sword.  More than that, they might fear for their lives.  And most states do have that homeowner law where they can just shoot you --.”

  “Actually with that homeowner law I think they can shoot us even if we don’t have weapons,” said Zachary.

  “Really?  Maybe this is all too much of a risk.  Maybe we should just hike back and tell the authorities when we return,” said Jasmine.

  “Agreed, let’s get out of here,” said Zachary.

  “Yes –wait do you hear that?” Jasmine asked.

  “What?” asked Zachary.

  “That music, I hear music coming from somewhere…Is that Wagner?” Jasmine asked.

  Zachary listened.  “I don’t hear anything.”

  Jasmine walked left and after 30 paces, exclaimed, “Yes, it’s Wagner.  I love Wagner.”

  Zachary had not followed.  “Okay, so now we have an anti-Semitic composer to add to the mix as well.  Let’s get out of here.”

  “Yes, that’s true but his music was beautiful.  Let’s find out where this is coming from,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary reluctantly jogged down the hall.  “That’s the Liebestod solo from Tristan and Isolde where she sings herself to death.”

  Jasmine nodded, saying, “Yes, I know.  I think that is Shirley Verrett.”

  “Shirley Verrett?” Zachary repeated.

   “Yes, you know the famous African-American soprano, big in the 70’s.  No?  I may not know Errol Flynn but you don’t know Shirley Verrett.  I’m guessing that you are the more deprived -- you should YouTube her – though I like Leontyne Price better, another African-American soprano,” said Jasmine.  Zachary informed Jasmine that he was familiar and quite fond of the latter.

  They had reached a black door and it seemed that the music was originating from the room beyond, the opera becoming much louder as the solo reached its climax.  Immediately after Jasmine opened the door, she exclaimed, “What the fuck!” 

  A projection camera displayed a perplexing scene: a naked boy was covered in slabs of bloody meat.  The Wagner solo, Liebestod, blasted loudly.  The boy lay in the center of a large dining room table while six men in white hoods sat around him, their lips red.

   Probably from drinking too much wine.

   Suddenly Zachary realized that he recognized the hooded men in the video and that he also recognized the boy covered in meat. 

  These are all Thurmonds!  What the fuck are they doing!  And
this is strongly reminiscent of the scene that Windsor described – which would mean that that boy is covered in human flesh!

  “You look like you have realized something again and you better tell me this.  It is freaking me the hell out,” said Jasmine, glancing at the room’s plush chairs, though sitting in none. 

  “I have, I have, and I hate to keep withholding information from you but you’ve got to give me a chance to piece this together.  I don’t want to jump to any conclusions,” said Zachary. 

  Like my initial panicked thought…

  “Jump to conclusions!  There is a kid lying in the center of a table covered in what appears to be blood and meat.  So if you know anything it better be a strong reason why we are not sprinting out of this house right now,” said Jasmine.

  “Just give me a moment to figure out what is going on.  The good news is that I can tell you right off the bat that these were the people that I worked for so I don’t think that we should have anything to worry about as far as them thinking that we are intruders or anything like that --.”

  Jasmine interrupted, “You worked for these people!  They are covering a boy in blood and flesh!  They are dressed like druids!  What the fuck is going on?  That combined with everything else, what the fuck Zachary!”

  “First off we don’t know if that is blood,” said Zachary.

  “What else could it be?” said Jasmine.

  “Wine,” said Zachary.

  “Then it would be the thickest and reddest wine on earth,” said Jasmine.

  “Yes that does look remarkably similar to blood.”

  “That’s because it is fucking blood!” Jasmine exclaimed.

  Zachary replied, “Well even if it is we don’t know if it is human blood.”

  “Human blood!  Why would you even say human blood?  Why would you think that boy is covered in human blood?  What the fuck!” shouted Jasmine.

  “No, that is what I am saying we don’t know that.  If that is indeed blood it could be any type of blood is all I’m saying,” said Zachary.

  “What the fuck is going on?” shouted Jasmine.

  Zachary knew that if there was ever a moment where he needed to call upon his wide range of book learning and analytic skills to solve a practical problem, that this was it. 

  I have over 14 years of secondary education and therefore I should be able to figure this out…But what is going on? 

  Suddenly a theory flashed into Zachary’s mind.  They had already identified the music as Wagner, the opera as Tristan and Isolde, and the scene as the Liebestod solo.  Zachary knew that Wagner had been highly influenced by the philosophy of Schopenhauer and had used it as a basis for Tristan and Isolde.  Schopenhauer believed that humankind’s desires caused them to live in constant misery and that therefore the only way to reach contentedness was through the abandonment of desires.  In the Liebestod solo, Isolde does not abandon her desire, and sings herself to death in a fit of singing ecstasy.  Zachary theorized that the Thurmonds must have used this opera as the basis for some ritual in their secret family society.  And by applying the principles of the opera to the present situation Zachary reached the conclusion that the Thurmonds knew as Schopenhauer had stated that it was only through the renunciation of their desires that they could achieve contentedness.  Therefore this must have been some bizarre yet harmless ritual of their secret society, symbolizing the importance of renouncing desires, for if they did not renounce their desires then they would be covered, so to speak, in human blood and human flesh, and so had done so symbolically, with symbolic human blood and symbolic human flesh. 

  Zachary’s mind having been put at ease, he gently smiled at Jasmine and told her that they had nothing to worry about. 

              “Why not?” Jasmine asked.

              “I’ve pieced it together and this is not what it appears to be,” said Zachary.

              “I don’t even know what it appears to be; I don’t even know what we are looking at,” said Jasmine.

              “Don’t worry, everything is good.  In fact, I feel comfortable continuing to search for a telephone at this point.  Although this family may not be happy to find me in their vacation home, we don’t have to worry about any bodily harm coming to us.  First off, they will recognize me immediately, and as I said, realize that we are not intruders,” said Zachary.

              “The boy is now eating the meat from his body,” said Jasmine.

              Zachary turned to the screen.  It was true, Zachary noted, Ralph was now eating the bloody flesh covering his body. 

  However, this makes sense as well because as good as that venison might taste there is too much for one person to eat.  Yet he might desire to eat it all himself.  However, if he does give into his desire and independently consumes all the meat covering his naked body then he will invariably get sick, and so again these clever Thurmonds have proved Schopenhauer’s point that it is only through a renunciation of desires that one can become truly content.  

  “I think that his meat eating is part of the ritual as well,” said Zachary.

  “What ritual?  What are you talking about?” Jasmine asked.

  “I don’t want to get into the specifics because I will be closely towing the line of confidentiality, but you can rest assured that this is simply a harmless family ritual.  But I feel like we are invading their private matters, let’s leave this room and look for a phone,” said Zachary, heading for the door.

  “A harmless family ritual how so?” Jasmine asked, as they walked back into the hall.

  “I told you they were a peculiar family.  Let’s just leave it at that,” said Zachary.

  “I really don’t see how that is harmless,” said Jasmine.

  “Jasmine I would tell you if I could, but please don’t pressure me to cross over that ethical line --.”

  “Ethical line?  We just saw a boy being bathed in blood?  They, my friend, crossed the ethical line,” said Jasmine.

  “As a professional, my code of ethics promises family confidentiality.  Those may not have looked like mental health matters to you --.”

  “No, they definitely seemed like mental health matters --.”

  “But they were mental health matters related to my testing, and it would be impossible to tell you what that all signified without breaching that confidentiality.  And I have taken an oath as a psychologist to uphold my code of ethics,” said Zachary.

  “Do you know how ridiculous you sound right know?  We found two piles of human bones, an ocean of blood in the field, enough human skulls to fill a crypt, a bloody sword, and a boy bathed in blood and covered in meat, and you are lecturing me about I don’t even know what,” said Jasmine.

  “Please Jasmine don’t be frustrated, but if I were to say this to you what would you think?  A equals B.  A equals C.  Therefore, B equals C,” said Zachary.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You are rambling again,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary smiled lightly while chuckling.  Then saying in an avuncular tone, “Jasmine I can see how this would all seem frightening to you.  But allow me to play the professor for a moment and give you a lesson in logic, now is this statement true or not? A equals B.  A equals C.  Therefore, B equals C.  True or false?”

  “I don’t fucking know,” said Jasmine.

  “True or false?” said Zachary, raising his eyebrows.

  “I don’t know, I’ve never taken logic,” said Jasmine.

  “Okay, listen closely because this is interesting and completely pertains to the current situation.  Here is the statement: A equals B.  A equals C.  Therefore, B equals C.  That is false and is known as the association fallacy.  If you have ever watched any of the films of Micheal Moore they are primarily built on the association fallacy.  Saudi Arabia is a evil place.  George Bush is friends with Saudi Arabians.  Therefore, George Bush is evil.  That is a false stat
ement.  Now, George Bush may or may not be evil, but guilt by association just does not prove things --.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Jasmine shouted.

  “This whole present situation: you are making associations.  Bones outside, blood inside, and so you are making the association that the people who vacation here have done bad things: but that is a logical fallacy.  Jasmine, I hardly ever in life pull the trump card of my Ph.D. but I feel like this situation does call for it.  My knowledge of logics, psychology, and everything else that I have learned over a lifetime of intensive learning indicates that this is a situation where things are quite under control,” said Zachary.

  “Among other freaky things, beyond that door there is a video of a boy, who in this house, was covered with blood and meat,” said Jasmine.

  “Not to pull that trump card again but what we are ultimately dealing with here is relativism versus absolutism --.”

  “You are really going to proceed to lecture me again?” said Jasmine.

  Zachary laughed.  “Only because this situation seems so strange.  Trust me I hardly ever pull this trump card in everyday life.  I don’t tell the aging miserable waitress that she is miserable because she has not become actualized.  I don’t tell the angry police officer that he so desperately craves order because it took him longer than average to become potty trained.  I don’t tell balding middle aged man who has bought a convertible that he has done so because his penis now produces less sperm.  Do you know how frustrating it can be to understand why everything ticks and yet have to stay silent about it?  Why do I stay silent you ask?  Because I have the inter-social knowledge that no one likes a know-it-all, and I have the intra-social knowledge that I have an inherent desire to be liked, and by combining these two types of social knowledge, inter and intra, the only reasonable conclusion is to zip my lips, so to speak.  But in this current situation, given the emotional overtones, I feel it important to lay out how things really are and so at the risk of you not liking me, though only for a moment I am sure, allow me to explain --.”

  Jasmine interrupted, “Relativism holds that there is no absolute truth and that everything depends on context.  Absolutism holds that there is only one truth, no matter the context.  You were about to say that you are looking at the boy bathed in blood and covered in meat from a relativistic point of view – that for contextual reasons this ritual is moral.  And you were then going to say that I am looking at the boy bathed in blood and covered in meat from an absolutist point of view, that there are no contextual reasons that could make this ritual moral.”

  “Yes, very good, but I also would continue to say, that over the course of history that relativism has proven to be the more robust and durable theory.  Absolutism has led to dictators, to Nazis, and to Hitler.  So I don’t think that is a path that you want to go down,” said Zachary.

  “In my experience as a radio host, when people need to invoke Hitler to win an argument, unless the subject is WWII, then it is usually a weak argument,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary laughed gently. 

  Jasmine continued, “And why are we arguing about this any way?  We are just wasting time.”

  “That’s where you are wrong again,” said Zachary, now following Jasmine down the hall.  “You see, we don’t have any time to waste because everything is copacetic.  We could wait for this family to return or we could continue to search for a phone.  It would make no difference.  Which, incidentally, is the opposite of a situation determined by the theory of Path Dependence: which is the theory that the path you take does influence the outcome.  However, the situation in which different paths lead to the same outcome also has a scientific name and is quite interesting when you get into the details, known to some as --.”

  “Zachary enough with the lecturing: I’m opening another door, this one, so prepare yourself, because who knows what the fuck we will find on the other side,” said Jasmine, swinging the door open.  The room was filled with shelves and an assortment of objects.

  “This seems to be a storage room,” said Zachary.

  “Okay, well, no telephone here, let’s move onto the next,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary nodded his head in agreement but just before he was about to leave he noticed the name “Kolby” on a gold plaque.  So he held up his hand and entered the room.

  “What silent conclusions are you making now?” Jasmine asked.

  Zachary chuckled. 

  I can see how my educational merits could begin to wear on Jasmine: she is an ambitious girl and does not like to be outdone.  Therefore, I should strive to stay humble, much as I did during the start of the week when I allowed her to lecture me on Thomas Jefferson and other matters…

  The “Kolby” shelf was filled with toys, stuffed animals, and school documents such as report cards and a class project.  The adjacent shelf had a gold plaque which read “Aldric,” and held similar contents as the Kolby shelf, except that the toys and stuffed animals were obviously older.  Adjacent to the “Aldric” shelf there was a “Manfred” shelf.  Zachary examined the shelves and the names. 

  These are all the Thurmond children who have died young! 

  The shelves continued and there were names which Zachary did not recognize.  Corresponding with these names were toys which were no longer plastic but had been whittled from wood and carved from stone. 

  How long has this Curse of Herod lasted? 

  However, Zachary pushed this last thought from his mind. 

  The testing has concluded.  And you don’t really know what to make of these other names.  In any case, this shows that the Thurmonds have constructed remembrances for their children, which would seem to indicate that dormant CMR does not prevent the grieving process from occurring.  However, this is all narrative information and because you were not able to implement the Philadelphia Grieving Inventory this information is less useful than it otherwise would have been.

  “What is it this time?” Jasmine asked.

  “Nothing that I can speak of specifically, but I will say that it is further evidence of the humanness of this family: come let us continue and find a phone,” said Zachary, exiting the room.

  “Humanness?  Why wouldn’t they be humane?  What are we dealing with here?” Jasmine asked.

  “Sorry, poor word choice, which I guess proves that even sometimes an egghead like me can make mistakes,” said Zachary. 

  Yes, staying humble is the name of the game…         

  They continued down the hall, reaching a large black door.  Inside they found a room that looked like the perfect setting for a ball. 

  I would not have expected to find a ballroom considering that Grey Cliff is a boys only club.  But these Thurmonds never cease to amaze.

   At the end of the room was a small pink door and after squeezing through they discovered a room filled with black boxes.  

  Zachary counted, “There are…”

  “These two are open,” said Jasmine, adding, “And they both smell bad.”

  Zachary examined the box, saying, “These are extraordinary boxes, very thick, and they look like they could be sound-proofed as well.  But I agree: they smell putrid.” 

  “What do you think is inside the rest?” Jasmine asked.

  Zachary considered the question.  “I really couldn’t say.  But as soon as the family comes back we could ask them.  Yet I wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be another one of their family secrets.  However, I do feel like we are intruding on their privacy.  Let’s find that phone.”

  “You don’t think we should try and open one?” Jasmine asked.

  “I don’t even see how we could.  There is no handle,” said Zachary, examining an unopened box. 

  “Yes, I suppose not.  I just get the feeling that something is not right here,” said Jasmine.

  They walked back to the main hall, past the weapons, and to the second floor.  On the second floor they found 14 bedrooms.  
Jasmine commented that the second floor seemed more like an ordinary hotel as compared to the first floor which she felt had resembled a museum.  

  “You know we still haven’t found that kitchen,” said Zachary.  Therefore, they walked back to the first floor and retraced their steps.  Remarkably, the next room was the kitchen, but there was no phone. 

  However, Zachary discovered that the kitchen’s three refrigerators were filled with venison and he said, “They have been busy hunting.”

  “Hunting is what they must be doing now,” said Jasmine.

  “It is strange, but we haven’t seen any mounted buck heads yet.  They have them all over their homes,” said Zachary.

  “They must take them home,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary nodded.  “Let’s check the rest of the rooms.  There has to be a phone here somewhere -- unless they all have cell phones.”

  They walked back into the hall and Zachary opened the next door. 

  Holy fucking shit!

  Fucking shit!

  Shit!

  Restrained in the middle of the room on a wooden table was a gagged and naked black man.  Jasmine screamed; Zachary screamed; the man screamed.  And as Zachary read the pure terror in the man’s eyes, he traveled back onto the Thurmond testing circuit. 

  What did I miss?  The Thurmonds clearly had a dormant version of the CMR.  All my data and my theories pointed to that conclusion.

   Yet Zachary realized that in this moment of pure tragedy it was not proper to occupy the role of an ambitious scientist.

  And even more than that I need to become just as Windsor suggested empathetic, caring, and human. 

  Therefore, Zachary stopped trying to figure out where his data, theories, or analysis had gone wrong. 

  For at this point in time my scientific failings are of zero importance and what is of paramount importance is that I focus all my physical energy and my entire metal prowess upon one objective: helping the poor wretch upon the table…        

  Jasmine and Zachary ran to the man’s side, Jasmine reaching him first.  She unbuckled his gag, his screaming did not cease.

  Jasmine placed her hand on the man’s chest, trying to calm him.  Meanwhile Zachary unfastened the man’s leg restraints but Jasmine stopped him, saying, “Don’t you think we should figure out what is going on here first?”

  The man became suddenly intelligible, screaming, “Yes unbuckle me!  Unbuckle me!  Unbuckle me!”  The veins in his neck bulged and his sinewy body rose and fell in fits. 

  “I know what is going on and it’s horrible,” said Zachary.  The man’s screaming became more frenzied, his eyes pulsing.

  Jasmine pulled Zachary away from the table.  “Is this one of the people you worked for?”

  “No, but I know what is going on.  I’m almost positive of it,” Zachary repeated.

  “What is happening?” Jasmine asked.

  “Horrible things – I don’t know what we should do – I have to think,” said Zachary, realizing that like Hamlet in his famous soliloquy “to be or not to be” that this was not a time for thinking; it was a time for action.  Yet how could he take action without planning an action?  The trick would be to plan an action but to not take too much time in the planning.  Hamlet had taken too much time planning and while he planned, further bad events had occurred.  So the one of the main points of Hamlet, as Zachary saw it, was not to blindly take action without forethought but to make use of efficient planning and then to take speedy action. 

  For if Hamlet had taken speedy action then isn’t it likely that among other possible tragedies that might have been averted that Ophelia might not have taken her life?

  “What are you thinking about?” Jasmine asked, squeezing the man’s hand while he continued to scream.

  “Hamlet, but hold on here and give me a second,” said Zachary, starting to run the plot through his mind.

  We are in Denmark and a ghost that resembles the recently deceased King Hamlet…

  “Zachary stop it!  This is some odd defense mechanism that you have.  You are trying to intellectualize matters that should not be intellectualized!  The only issue here is that there is a naked man strapped to a wooded table,” said Jasmine. 

  Is she right?  Am I trying to protect myself from directly viewing the crass vulgarities of the world through the obfuscating properties of the intellect?  If so, I can actually, I think upon an initial gut-level pondering, postulate this to be a natural and expected reaction.  And if so, therefore a somewhat forgivable reaction, given that the reaction is both natural and expected: for isn’t it true that humans are most apt to forgive that which they find natural?  For example we do not blame pre-14th century artists who displayed in their works only humankind’s beatific qualities.  Leonardo da Vinci was one of the first artists to draw the grotesque.  This is because – wait!

   Stop, and turn your mind to the matter at hand…    

  As the man continued to scream, Jasmine released his hand, whispering to Zachary, “And frankly, he doesn’t seem right in the head.  Maybe there is a reason that he is restrained here.  Maybe he is the one who is responsible for bones, and the blood on the sword, and the skulls.  He looks like a psychopath.  Look at him, he’s flipping out.”    

  Zachary replied, “No, this is not his fault.  It’s the people that I worked for they did this to him.  They are planning to do horrible things to him.  We have to unbuckle him.  But first we have to calm him and make him understand that we mean him no harm.”

  “Zachary what is going on?  Tell me what is going on first -- that is if you actually know this time -- so that I can help you to explain it to him,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary was breathing heavily and he said, “Okay, obviously confidentiality is a moot at this point so I am prepared to disclose everything.  However, we have to work quickly because we aren’t safe here and there isn’t time to explain everything to you, but in a nutshell, those people you saw on the video: they are cannibals and they wish to eat this man.”

  Jasmine took a step back, nearly tripping over a chair.  Asking Zachary if she had heard correctly, he assured him that she had.  With noticeable terror in her voice, she asked if these cannibals would wish to eat them as well.  Zachary nodded.

  As the man screamed, “Yes fucking free me!  Fucking free me!” Jasmine attempted to further question Zachary, but Zachary waved off the questions and explained that they had to take immediate action by freeing the man and fleeing into the woods, an explanation which caused the man to scream even more hysterically for his freedom.

  Zachary turned to the man and said, “I will I just need you to be calm first.”

  The man screamed, “Calm how can I be fucking calm?  They took the fucking flesh right off her body.”

  “What! Who did?” Jasmine asked, and with such a level of heightened alarm that Zachary wondered if he should ask her to sit and gather her senses. 

  “Those monsters, the people here: who are you?” the man asked, finally seeming, if only slightly, to have calmed.

  But Jasmine did not answer.  She had grown quiet and looked contemplative.

  “My name is Zachary Dunbar and I am a psychologist.  This is my friend Jasmine.  We are going to let you out of your restraints.  You may be suffering from post traumatic stress disorder so your decision making may be impaired.  I want you to know that we mean you no harm, but you must stay with us.  We must work together.”

  “Yes, I understand, just get me the fuck out of these restraints,” said the man.

  “I’m going to get us all weapons,” said Jasmine.

  “No, we have to stick together,” said Zachary, while unbuckling the man’s right leg.

  “It’s a chance we are going to have to take,” said Jasmine, shoving a chair from her path as she began to run.  

  “She’s right get weapons these people are fucking crazy!” the man shouted. 

  Jasmine had already sprinted from
the room.  Zachary considered following but he realized that leaving this man alone while still restrained would be inhumane.  A few moments later the man was completely unfastened and with some effort he managed to sit upright.

  “What is it?  Are you hurt?” Zachary asked.

  “Yes, one of those crazy people bashed both of my legs with a hammer.  I think they are both broken,” said the man.  Zachary knew that he could not begin to fathom that the hell this man had been through. 

  And yet his sanity is still intact; I think that I would have broken by this point… 

  “So you can’t walk?” Zachary asked.

  “No, I don’t think so, but I wish I could sprint, sprint the fuck out of here,” said the man.

  “What is your name?” Zachary asked, while he looked around the room for the man’s clothes, finding them tossed in a ball in the corner.        

              “Joseph Louis, I am a special agent, Homeland Security,” said Joseph, his breathing – out of the blue – had begun to grow heavy again.

              “Homeland Security? How did you get involved in this?” Zachary asked, handing the man his clothes. 

  I hope Jasmine hurries.  Who knows when these Thurmonds will be back and we are going to have to help Joseph out of here.  He isn’t going to be able to walk on his own.  For that matter how are we going to get him back to Glacier with us, considering that he can’t walk?

              “I was kidnapped,” said Joseph, his whole body shaking.  “There was another.”

              “Was?” Zachary asked. 

  This is becoming more complicated.

              “They killed a girl in front of my eyes.  I don’t know where she came from,” said Joseph.  Zachary helped Joseph with his pants and he grimaced as his legs were shifted.

              “How did they get you here?” Zachary asked.

              “Some awful box, soundproofed, lightless,” said Joseph, and then glassing over, perhaps in a chilling return to the experience.

              Then there are many more!  Fuck!  Fuck!

              “We found a room with black boxes.  There were about thirty,” said Zachary.

              “Thirty fuck!  We have to help them,” said Joseph.

              Just at that moment Jasmine returned.  She held two massive swords, her bow, and a spear. 

              “Where the fuck did you get all that?” Joseph asked.

              “Right out there on the wall,” said Jasmine.

              “We have a problem,” said Zachary.

              “They fucked up my legs, I can’t walk,” Joseph explained, beads of sweat rolling down his face.

              “Then we will carry him into the woods,” said Jasmine.

              “No, first release the others,” said Joseph.   

  “Others?” Jasmine asked.

              “The black boxes, they are filled with people,” said Zachary.

              “Fuck!” said Jasmine.

  “We tried to open them earlier.  They wouldn’t open,” said Zachary.

  “Find a phone, call the authorities,” said Joseph.

  “We’ve been searching for a phone.  We haven’t been able to find one,” said Jasmine.

  “Damn it!  Just leave me here.  Sprint to the closest house and call the cops.  Tell them to send SWAT, tell them to send everything,” said Joseph, beginning to breath heavy, perhaps at the thought of being left alone again.

  “We can’t, the closest house is over a four days hike,” said Jasmine.   Suddenly Zachary saw how dire their situation had become. 

  And all because I analyzed my data incorrectly!  But that isn’t of importance now and you must stop thinking of it…

  “Where the fuck are we?” Joseph shouted.

  “Somewhere in Montana,” said Jasmine.

  “Fuck, we have to figure out how to open those boxes and fast,” said Joseph.

  “Yes, I agree,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary nodded.

  “You two go and pry the boxes open with your swords.  Hurry!  Hurry!  We don’t have a moment to lose,” said Joseph.

  “Here, take the spear.  You can at least try to do something with it if they return,” said Jasmine.

  Joseph thanked her with a pained nod and again repeated that they had to leave.

  “We’ll be back soon,” said Jasmine.

  Joseph shouted them off and Zachary and Jasmine sprinted to the room with the black boxes. 

   

  Jasmine positioned her face close to the first box, shouting that she was there to save them.

  “It’s no use.  He said they are sound-proofed,” said Zachary.

              For the next fifteen minutes they banged, prodded, and pried at the boxes, but the boxes held fast.  Eventually they stopped their fruitless tinkering and closely examined the structure of the already opened boxes, determining that the boxes were fortified and probably could not be opened without special tools.  

              “Fuck, what now?  We can’t even try to carry them out.  They probably came down on that elevator and we don’t have the key to use it.  We could try to smash a hole through the wall with one of those weapons,” said Jasmine.

              “We don’t have the time.  We don’t know when they will be back.  Joseph is Homeland Security, maybe he has come up with some plan,” said Zachary.

              “Okay, let’s go back,” said Jasmine, and they sprinted back to Joseph.

             

  “What happened?” Joseph asked.

              “It was no use,” said Zachary, fighting to speak through his loss of breath, “The boxes are mechanized and metal and they can’t be opened without a key or something to get through the metal, and we obviously don’t have the key and even if we could find, say, a hacksaw that would take way too long.”

              “Can we at least carry them out of here?” Joseph asked.

              Jasmine pointed to the elevator, saying, “That leads down to the room, but it can’t be activated without a key.”

              “Fuck!” said Joseph.

              The mathematics of their situation flashed into Zachary’s mind.  “The way I see it, there are only two of us who can fight.  There are seven of them.  If we stay and fight we will probably lose.  When we lose we will die and also the others in the boxes will die for certain as well.  However, if we flee, we will survive and perhaps when we gather help some of the others in the boxes will still be alive and will be saved.”

              “No, they will know something is wrong when Joseph isn’t here,” said Jasmine, adding, “And then they will just kill everyone and cover their tracks.  It won’t work.”

              Joseph said, “You didn’t understand his point.  There are only two to fight or two to flee, either way I don’t come into the equation.  I have to stay here so that they don’t think anything is amiss.  I will be tortured and die a gruesome death but I’m prepared to do that.  I became a Homeland Security agent so that I could serve my country and I knew at that at some point I might have to make a decision just like this.  Well, I’m prepared to make it and I’m prepared to die.”

              Jasmine had begun crying and she hugged Joseph and kissed him square on the lips.  Zachary replied, “He’s right it’s the only way.  It’s the only way the math makes sense.  And I hate to fucking say it, but I have to say it.  We have to put him back into his restraints.  He won’t be able to do it himself, at least not the last one anyway.”

              “I’m ready, strap me up,” s
aid Joseph, his face as sunken as if he were voluntarily jumping from a plane without a parachute. 

  Which is exactly what he is doing in essence…

              Zachary fumbled with the right leg strap, his hand shaking as he began fastening Joseph back into his nightmarish position.

              “No, no, I won’t allow this to happen.  I couldn’t live with myself.  No, there has to be another way,” said Jasmine.

              Zachary replied, “I’m sorry baby, this is the only way.  Joseph is a professional and he knows that.  He’s prepared for what will come, however horrible, unimaginable, or painful.”

              Joseph had begun hyperventilating and he said, “Quickly strap me up before I change my mind.  I don’t want to change my mind because I know that this is the right thing.  But if you don’t do it quickly I might crawl right the fuck out of here.”

              Zachary began to quicken his pace.

  Jasmine shouted, “Stop it Zachary!  I’m not going anywhere.  You go if you want.  But I’m staying.  I’m fighting.”

              Zachary had only fastened one restraint and he held up a finger towards Joseph, gesturing that he needed a minute, but Joseph ignored the gesture and continued to scream that they had to restrain him quickly before he changed his mind.  Zachary did not respond to Joseph’s implorations and pulled Jasmine to the side, whispering, “You can’t stay here.  You will die.”

              Jasmine spoke loudly, “You know you should have tested me for RMT like you said you would.  At least then I would know what my chances were.  At least then I would know if I would be able to stay calm at the moment when the rubber meets the road --.”

              “Jasmine you know that the odds of fulfilling the Trait Theory Theory of Exceptions are more than 1/1000.  This is ridiculous!  We have to get out of here while we have a chance,” said Zachary, though doubt had already begun to creep into his mind. 

  I don’t know if I would be able to live with myself if I fled either…

              “You know it is funny.  The closer this moment of reckoning comes the calmer I find myself becoming.  I really think there is a good chance I might have RMT – which if I read my ancestor’s narrative correctly, means that in my moment of chosen bloody chaos that I will be quite clear-headed, and make use of all opportunities presented to me,” said Jasmine, flexing her body with anticipation, her biceps and triceps much larger than Zachary had realized them capable of expanding.

              “Jasmine don’t jump to conclusions here.  Let’s data gather data first and figure out our odds,” said Zachary.

              “You gather whatever data you want but --.”

              “Jasmine even if we are going to fight them we need to gather data,” Zachary interrupted.

              Science may have failed me up to this point but that doesn’t mean that I have become so disillusioned with my chosen profession that I am ready to abandon the scientific method…

              “Then you are staying?” said Jasmine, now kissing Zachary.

              “If after analyzing the data that this seems to be the reasonable conclusion,” said Zachary and then turning to Joseph he said, “Tell me about their weapons.  Are their guns automatic or what?  What are kind of firepower are we looking at?”

              “They don’t use guns.  I’ve heard them discussing it.  They only use arrows.  They hunt with arrows,” said Joseph.

              “So what is their deal?  They hunt for bucks during the day and then skin and eat black people at night?” Zachary asked.

              “Black people?  Why do you say black people?” said Jasmine.

              “He’s right, that girl was black.  He’s probably one of them.  I’ve noticed they like to play games.  Who the fuck are you man?” said Joseph, now shouting.

              “I told you I told you, my name is Zachary Dunbar.  Everyone calm down, I worked for this family okay, so that gave me an idea of what was going on --.”

              “You knew this was fucking happening!” Jasmine exclaimed.

              “Jasmine this is a worst case scenario.  But yes, when I saw Joseph here strapped down, I realized that reality was the worst case scenario --.”

              “You better start talking and telling me what the fuck is going on here!” Jasmine shouted, thrusting her pointer finger into Zachary’s chest.

              “Calm down okay, explaining all this would be like a 50 page research paper.  We don’t have time!  We have to focus on fighting, and saving those people,” said Zachary, glancing from Jasmine to Joseph and noting that they both seemed to be seething. “No firepower, that is good news that they don’t have guns:  There may be eight of them and only two of us who can fight, but apparently Jasmine here is a dynamo with the bow.”

              “Is that true?” Joseph asked.

              Jasmine nodded.

              Zachary continued, “And they have two kids and two old men so that almost takes four people out of equation.”

              “Kids what do we do about that?” Jasmine asked.

              Joseph replied, “Don’t be fooled by their youth.  They are horrendous little fucks.  I saw them eating the girl’s skin.”

              “They should not be a target unless it appears that they are about to use deadly force and self-defense is an absolute necessity,” Zachary declared.

              “Says the man who knew his clients were eating black people,” said Jasmine.

              “Jasmine, I knew no such thing!” said Zachary, and sighing he added, “We have to be agreed on this fact.  I won’t enter this fight with the objective of killing children.  And furthermore protecting those children should be a clear objective.”

              “Says the man who knew his clients were eating black people,” Jasmine repeated.

              “Will you stop saying that it isn’t true!” said Zachary, though the thought flashed into his mind that his Thurmond conclusions had been too cavalier. 

  Still this is not the time for such analysis and self-doubt…

              Joseph told them to stop bickering.

              Zachary replied, “Can you tell us anything else about what you heard?”

  “One of them had a key around his neck.  He must have been the one who opened my box.”

              “Think, what did he look like?” Zachary asked.

              “He was one of the middle aged ones.  He had balding brownish hair,” said Joseph.

              “I think that was probably Alburt,” said Zachary.

              “You know the names of these monsters?  That is disgusting,” said Jasmine.

              “Of course, I know their names.  I worked for them.  Will you get over it?  We have to work together,” said Zachary.

              Joseph said, “He’s right we have to be completely united.”

              “Well you are the homeland security agent, what do you think our strategy should be?” Zachary asked.

              Joseph replied, “Our best bet will be to ambush them when they are alone or in pairs.  Better yet, we should make Alburt our primary target.  If we can isolate Alburt then we can…”  

   

   

  Grey Cliff, Area Two:  It seemed to Aysha that these people never stopped smiling and she wondered if they were part of some odd religious sect.  Mick offered them seats in the kitchen.  Aysha and Darnell
both sat.  Aysha observed their surroundings.  The white motif continued with white walls, white rugs, white furniture, and white decorations.  Darnell looked at her with a pained expression, as if saying, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  “So the phone?” Darnell asked.

  “I just remembered that my wife has the cell.  We share a phone you see.  But she will be back from church shortly,” said Mick, and predictably, smiling.

  “It must be difficult to keep everything clean?” Aysha said.

  Darnell kicked her under the table.

  “How do you mean?” Mick asked.    

  “Everything is so white, your clothes, this house, not to mention your children’s clothes.  It must be difficult to keep everything clean,” said Aysha.

  “Luckily my wife, she loves cleaning, so it works out well.  But we do use a lot of bleach,” said Mick, laughing as if what he had said was quite funny.  The children were all standing behind Mick and they laughed too.    

  “Drinks?” Mick asked.

  “Water would be nice,” said Aysha. 

  “And for you, Darnell?” Mick asked.

  “I’m good,” said Darnell.

  He has to be thirsty.  And so his mistrust continues...

  “Aysha, I just remembered that we are having trouble with our plumbing, all we have is milk,” said Mick, while talking through a smile.

  Aysha swallowed hard.  “Milk will be fine.”

  Darnell kicked her under the table.

  “So what happened?  You said it was a long story.  I love long stories,” said Mick.  The children had wandered from the kitchen and were now out of sight.

  Darnell replied, “Basically, we were kidnapped.  So we need your phone to call the cops.”

  “Kidnapped by whom?” Mick asked, the smile leaving his face for the first time since they had met him. 

  “We don’t know.  But that big house not too far from here that’s where we came from,” said Darnell.

  “Really?” Mick asked.

  “Yeah, really,” said Darnell.

  “Well, that isn’t a fun occurrence,” said Mick, smiling again.

  “What are you smiling about man?  Aysha let’s go,” said Darnell.

  He’s right!  Something is wrong here.

  She gripped her stick tightly and turned to leave, but to her horror the three children stood before the door, holding axes.

   

   

  Grey Cliff, Area Two:  Working as fast as possible Jasmine and Zachary stripped Joseph from his clothes and fastened him back into his leg restraints; his arms, though free, would appear fastened (through the use of some tape found in the room).  They had taken a dagger from the wall and secured it under Joseph’s table: it could be reached with his right hand.  If the Thurmonds decided to skin him he would attempt to inflict upon his skinner a mortal wound. 

  “Remember the plan,” said Joseph.

  Zachary and Jasmine nodded.  The plan was simple.  They would hide in Alburt’s bedroom, wait for him to fall asleep and slit his throat.  Then using his key they would free the remaining prisoners, arm the prisoners with the weapons in the hall, and all work together to overpower the Thurmonds – though with the aim of sparing the children’s lives. 

  Alburt’s bedroom had been located and they had chosen to hide underneath his bed.  Zachary had a sword.  Jasmine had her bow and a dagger.  She had volunteered to slit Alburt’s throat and would use the dagger to complete the task.  

  For the first hour underneath the bed Zachary and Jasmine did not talk and Zachary wondered if Jasmine would ever talk to him again. 

  Finally Zachary whispered, “You know I can’t allow myself to think about where I went wrong with everything right now because despair wouldn’t help anything.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Jasmine replied.           

  “But if we survive this and I do get a chance to think about it, I’m certain that my regret is going to be devastating,” said Zachary.

  “I mean it, I don’t want to talk about it,” said Jasmine.

  “Do you think you are ever going to be able to forgive me?” Zachary asked.

  “I don’t even know what it is that I am supposed to forgive you for because I still don’t even know what is going on,” said Jasmine.

  Because they had nothing to do besides wait and because Zachary realized that he had already withheld too much information, he told her the Thurmond story from the beginning and included all details no matter how seemingly insignificant.   

  Jasmine listened without interrupting and when Zachary had finished she said, “You’re right, now isn’t the time to think about all that.  I’m going to have to think about it later and think about what all that means for the future of us.”

  “I understand,” said Zachary.

  “But what the fuck Zachary, how could you be so imperceptive?” Jasmine asked.

  “I fucked up worse than I ever would have thought possible, that much is apparent…”      

              Jasmine replied, “Zachary I believe in the interconnectedness of the world.  I think everything has to do with everyone.  So when a duty comes along I don’t shirk it.  This has just as much to do with me, as it has to do with you, and as it would have to do with anyone else were they in this situation.  Sometimes we don’t choose situations they choose us but the actions then taken are the ones that define our character…”    

              Zachary considered her words.  “Yes, that makes sense.  I just wish that right before facing death I didn’t have to feel like such a loser.”

              Jasmine sighed. 

  “Maybe it is because we are both under this bed and potentially about to die.  Maybe it is because I am a girl falling in love and love is capable of overlooking a lot.  Maybe it is because you have fucked up so bad that you are going to need at least one person to forgive you.  I don’t know and I don’t care, kiss me,” said Jasmine. 

  They kissed: a sword and a dagger rattling between them.  For Zachary the utter horror of their situation now seemed more manageable and he had the desire to be as almighty as a movie action hero and protect Jasmine and save everyone. 

  But you don’t have those skills.  You can’t expertly kick, punch, and break a man’s neck with an able snap.  And if you do need to swing your sword at one of these Thurmonds it will also be the first time you have ever swung a sword in your life…  

              “How do you think Joseph is taking it down there all alone?” Zachary asked.

              “It’s tough to say,” Jasmine said.

              “I don’t know if I would have had the guts to allow someone to strap me back in.  I think I would have crawled out to the woods,” said Zachary.

              “You don’t know that, nor does anyone else know what they would do.  We can’t know until we find ourselves there in that spot.  I mean look at our situation.  We will be attempting to kill 5 and potentially 8 cannibals --.”  

  “It’s crazy isn’t it?” Zachary interrupted, suddenly having the urge to run from the house and sprint into the woods until Grey Cliff was a distant memory. 

              “No, Zachary, it is the right thing to do.  But if I had said to you a couple of nights ago as we were peacefully roasting marshmallows that you would soon have to make a decision whether you would run to safety and away from 8 cannibals or stay and fight these cannibals to the death, which would do you think you would have chosen?” Jasmine asked.

              “I probably would have chosen to run and live,” said Zachary, again wondering if that wasn’t perhaps the option that he should take now.

              “Yet, here we are, waiting for these monsters to come home, so that we, two ordinary tourists from Boston, can fight them to the death.  You just don’t know what you will do in any
extraordinary situation until you are there in that extraordinary situation.  We can all judge Thomas Jefferson, just as I have done many times, for living lavishly and not freeing his slaves.  And we can all say, ‘I wouldn’t have done that.  I would have lived humbly and I would have freed my slaves.’  But how do we really know?  It’s all speculation.  But this right here, us under this bed and waiting for the moment of truth, this is what counts and this is what defines us,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary tried to imagine himself thrusting his sword into a Thurmond’s chest, but the image felt unnatural.

  I hope I can do this… 

              The front door slammed: the Thurmonds had arrived.  Zachary was unsure whether the Thurmond’s boots upon the floor or his heart thumped louder. 

  Images flashed through his mind; his major life accomplishments; his various lovers; life paths not taken; his childhood friends; the reflection in his first girlfriend’s piercing blue eyes as she viewed her first sunrise, a sight she and Zachary had both viewed only moments after losing their virginity.  And then he stopped reflecting, as aware and alert as if entering into the focused zone of thinking that he conjured when writing an academic paper.

  Except my focus will be used for killing, not questioning. 

              Zachary was passably athletic.  It wasn’t that Zachary was not competitive it was just that he liked to compete in his areas of greatest talent, and as he grew older he realized that for him these areas were not contained within the realm of sports but rather the realm of the mind. 

  However, sports allowed him to make friends.  The folks Zachary usually befriended did not have (or chose not to use) the focus necessary for mind-work.  Most of his friends were laborers: mechanics, carpenters, drivers, bartenders and so on.  He had made friends in academia but they usually put him off.  Zachary’s most lasting friendships had been made when he was a young man and active in the realm of sports, and sports was the common thread that kept these friends tied over the years. 

  So Zachary continued to follow sports.  Yet Zachary had always assumed sports an impractical social diversion.  However, he saw in this present situation a possible practical use for his sports dabbling. 

  Zachary believed that inadvertent tightening to be the core-substance of the legendary sports choke: a player sensed the immense gravity of the situation, say an important World Series at bat, and their body tightened and did not perform as effectively as if it had been loose.  A-Rods’ life coach had suggested that he use mantras during game at-bats, a method which Zachary found interesting because Buddhists have two types of meditation to empty the mind: one is through the use of mantras and one is through a willed blank state – but either way a blank mind leads to a relaxed and loose body.     

  For Zachary this Thurmond death match was comparable to a sports game because he reasoned that if he were to successfully fight and stay alive that it would require the non-thinking attitude of a sports game rather than the thinking attitude of a sports practice.  The tricky part was that Zachary had never had a chance to actually practice swordsmanship or killing, so he had not acquired the muscle memory. 

  Therefore, he again tried to imagine these activities, knowing it crucial that he imagine himself, say decapitating a Thurmond before he attempted to actually decapitate a Thurmond.  And even more than imagining a decapitating swing of his sword, he imagined that he was loose and non-thinking in the decapitating moment and that the act had come as naturally as a returned tennis serve. 

  The head is severed from the neck and though the brain stem spurts blood forth I am not concerned… 

  Although, Zachary believed this exercise necessary it had caused him to sweat and his heart to race.  Yet Zachary had also learned that at least some butterflies in the stomach are a good sign before a sporting event because this manageable nervousness signified that the sympathetic nervous system had begun pumping adrenaline and that one would not begin the game flat-footed.

  And when the game is one of death, an initial mistake could be my end… 

  This thought reminded Zachary of a fight that he had lost in middle school, a fight lost to a boy he had known to be his athletic inferior.  The boy had become enraged over some snide comment on Zachary’s part.  Zachary had no wish to fight and had stood frozen, thinking that the boy would calm.  But the machinations of the boy’s mind were not like the machinations of Zachary’s mind and therefore Zachary’s theory of the boy’s mind -- that the boy would calm because he would calm were he in the boy’s shoes -- had proven incorrect.  And meanwhile, the boy worked himself into such a frenzied state that when he eventually did fall upon Zachary he did so with a sprinting start and Zachary was caught flat-footed.  The end result of this flat-footedness was a bloody nose, a black eye, and the knowledge that most everyone in school was talking about how Zachary Dunbar had lost a fight to what’s-his-name (Zachary couldn’t remember because they had barely known each other). 

  But here at Grey Cliff, the end results of flat-footedness could easily be death. 

  Like that boy who bloodied my nose and blackened my eye, I must work myself into a crazed warrior-like state…                                               

              Zachary had observed that most so-called motivational experts wrote in their best-selling books that one of the secrets to success is first visualizing that success.  But conversely, Zachary had recently watched a Mike Tyson documentary titled ‘Tyson’ in which the boxer’s career was analyzed by the boxer himself, and at one point Tyson spoke about his pre-fight routine, part of which involved not visualizing success but visualizing defeat.  And perhaps by visualizing defeat, Zachary surmised, Tyson began to work himself into that you-have-done-me-wrong-Sir frenzied state that allows one to begin a fight, not flat-footed, but like a pit bull unleashed and thinking only of the jugular. 

  Therefore, Zachary began to imagine the Thurmonds killing him and imagined the unjustness of his death at the hands of a family of cannibals. 

              Jasmine whispered, “I want those fuckers now.”           

              As time passed, the noise of the Thurmonds stopped.

              Jasmine whispered, “What have you been thinking about?”

              “Sports theory, I’m hoping I can apply it to the workings of this sword,” whispered Zachary

              “Still intellectualizing?  I thought I might have talked some sense into you,” Jasmine whispered.

              Zachary tried not to laugh, but chuckled slightly.

              Jasmine whispered, “My advice would be, don’t think, act.”

              “That’s the conclusion that I ultimately came to – you see I --.”

              Jasmine whispered, “Zachary, I may have warmed back up to you, but a cooling is still possible.  Let’s just be silent until Alburt enters the room.”

              The light of day began to fade.  Neither Zachary nor Jasmine had a flashlight and they wondered how Jasmine would locate Alburt’s neck if the room became completely dark.              Suddenly Alburt’s door swung open. 

  How didn’t we hear him ascending the stairs! 

  He entered mid-conversation. 

  Who is he talking too?

  Charles!

              “…Yes that is exactly what I thought,” said Alburt. 

  Zachary could see Alburt’s slippers.  They were red and frilly.  Alburt remained near the threshold of the door. 

   It is all happening now.  Don’t get caught flat-footed…

              Charles replied, “Oh, Alburt, but her expression, that was priceless and worth more than the price of admission.  And when Ralph cut off the Negros foot and the Negress began screaming, I though
t that moment sublime.”

              Cut off his foot!  Then they were not hunting bucks!  Fuck…

              “I’m just glad they told us to come up from Death Road and join in,” said Alburt.

              “Yes, I thought that was very thoughtful of them.  And this Ralph he’s a good one.  Catching them alive so that we can skin them together, and feast while we skin, very good idea, very very good idea,” said Charles.

              Alburt replied, “Well, it’s his show.  He is the newcomer.” 

              “Yes, well I didn’t have nearly that much imagination when I was a newcomer,” said Charles.

              “When you were a newcomer you were much younger,” said Alburt.

              “That’s true.  Yet I do think this to be a glorious moment in the Thurmond family chronology.  And I’m really happy for Mick.  He has taken the Kolby thing hard for such a long time.  He shares in this triumph.” said Charles.

              “That is true Dad.  But it is also true that this is a glorious day for all Thurmonds.  For when one Thurmond shines we all shine!” said Alburt. 

              “Here!  Here!” said Charles.

              “I need to get a drink myself,” said Alburt, adding in a quieter voice, “By the way, what did you think of Chase out there drunk today?”

              “I thought it deplorable.  Hunting and drinking don’t mix, especially when hunting Negros.  You know me Alburt: I’m a typical Thurmond and not afraid to get rowdy, but only after the hunt is over, not before,” said Charles.

              “Well, maybe you and Donald should talk to him about it.  I’d hate to see this go on all season.  You could always propose a rule,” said Alburt.

              “I’ll talk to him, but tomorrow once he is sober,” said Charles.

              “So when is the feast, or should I say skinning feast?” Alburt asked.

              “We are expected in the Grand Dining Hall in fifteen, and we shall be wearing our red robes because this one will get bloody,” said Charles.

              Alburt laughed and Chase left.  Zachary watched Alburt walk to his closet.  He was whistling some old tune and Zachary finally recognized it as Stephan Sondheim’s “Send in the Clowns.”  Alburt’s pants dropped to the floor and after he stepped out of them, his shirt followed.  He dressed in his red robe and left the room.

              Jasmine whispered, “What the fuck is going on?”

              “They were hunting people,” Zachary whispered.

              “Black people?” Jasmine asked.

              “Yes,” Zachary whispered.

              “But it sounds like they have captured two, and have injured them, and are going to kill them now,” Jasmine whispered.

              “Yes, I think so,” whispered Zachary.

              “We can’t let that happen,” whispered Jasmine.

              “We have no choice.  Joseph explained that we cannot confront them all at once and they will all be in that dining room together,” whispered Zachary.

              “So what then?  We just allow those people to die?” whispered Jasmine.

              “I think that is what Joseph would want and he is the expert,” whispered Zachary.

              “No one is an expert in this situation,” Jasmine whispered.

              “We should stick to the plan,” Zachary whispered.

              “They are going to skin them alive and then eat them while they are there skinning them,” whispered Jasmine.

              “It’s awful, but we have no choice,” whispered Zachary.

              Jasmine was silent for a moment.  Then she whispered, “The dining room had only one door in.  So if we block it they won’t be able to get out.”

              “They will have us outnumbered,” whispered Zachary.

              “They won’t have any weapons with them while they are eating dinner.  We could perhaps convince them to surrender,” whispered Jasmine.

              “We should stick to the plan,” Zachary whispered.

              “We can do this Zachary.  We will catch them by surprise.  I will have my bow and a dagger and you will have your sword.  If they try to fight us they will be fucked,” whispered Jasmine.

              Zachary pictured the scenario in his mind and though it seemed plausible that it could succeed his mind rejected it as an unsupported argument.  The previous plan had been based on the advice of a Homeland Security special agent, and one who had probably studied the major war theorists such as Sun Tzu, Machiavelli, Mahan, Corbet, Douhet, and Pape.  And while Zachary had read some works by these war theorists he had never read war theory with the aim of learning military strategy or tactics but rather war psychology – and that was of little use now. 

  Zachary had no intellectual framework upon which to choose an action.  Jasmine was a radio host.  Zachary was a psychologist.  What did they know about warfare or fighting? 

  Nothing! 

              Zachary whispered, “Jasmine your plan is not evidence based, it has no scientific merit.”

              “Stop, please stop using your intellectual functions as a defense mechanism.  We cannot let those people die.  And this plan makes sense.  But I need your help.  One against eight even if they are unarmed might not work.  But two against eight, I think we could make it happen,” whispered Jasmine.

              Shrieks were heard from below.

              “They’ve started Zachary.  We must act…”

   

   

  Grey Cliff, Area Two:  At the precise moment when Ralph’s axe chopped through Darnell’s right foot, Ralph had been overcome with immense pleasure.   And as the foot fell and Darnell’s leg began painting that house of white a spattered red, Ralph remembered that Aysha was a foot doctor and so had repeatedly asked her in as innocent a tone as he could muster what remedy she suggested for the patient: a statement which caused his fellow Grey Cliff members to roar with laughter. 

  Time seemed to freeze: he gripped his bloody axe, his eyes focused and his mind clear, and the abstract Grey Cliff principles that his father had previously espoused clicked into place as if bullets entering a chamber.  He had been at Grey Cliff less than a week and yet he was certain that he never wanted to leave. 

  “Why must we?” he later asked his father, as they walked into the Grand Dining hall, Darnell and Aysha bound and gagged upon the table.  The prisoners were naked and their bellies heaved as they breathed exhaustedly.  Part of Aysha’s thigh had been skinned in the House in the Field by Preston.  Darnell’s leg had been bandaged, though at spots the blood was showing through. 

  “Because the world is not a perfect place: and so we work hard during the year so that we earn this time, so that it can be ours, and so that we can feast upon Negro flesh unabated,” said Mick, running his hand in a tickling motion over Darnell’s leg, Darnell screaming through his gag.

  “But our family has money and if Windsor returns, we will have much more.  Surely we can afford it,” said Ralph.

  “But there is more to life than money and the freedom that money buys.  You must also think of the future generations of Thurmonds, as those Thurmonds in the framed pictures thought of you.  For they are the reason that you can enjoy so blissfully the taste of Negro flesh; and while it is true that the Negro is a dull and slow creature fit only for exploitation and consumption, the moment we stop fighting, the moment we stop performing our duties, at that mom
ent we give them a chance to rise.  Maybe not today, tomorrow, or even ten years hence, but at some point they could rise and challenge our dominant status.  So we must never become lazy and loosen our grip upon the chains that bind them, and therefore we must work and then work harder still,” said Mick.

  “I want to poke Darnell’s leg stump with a hot poker.  Is that something I could do before he is fully skinned?” Ralph asked, poking at Darnell’s bandage with his hand.  Darnell’s head rose in anguish.

  “Were you listening to a thing I said?” Mick asked.  He had taken his seat at the Grand Table, Ralph then sitting to his left.

  “Yes, I was,” said Ralph, though smiling.

  “No, you weren’t you were just thinking about the hot poker,” said Mick, laughing.

  “Well, can I?” Ralph asked.

  “Yes, of course.  Later, I’ll help you make a fire and we’ll heat up an iron poker,” said Mick.

  “Thanks, Dad,” said Ralph.         

  Ralph wondered how he would ever return to the drudgery of school life.  But it occurred to him that once home perhaps he and his father could take on a joint project, such as a wayward Negro to skin and feast upon.  Ralph sensed that he had grown closer to his father during this short vacation than he had previously during his entire lifetime.  And he knew that the Grey Cliff members were quite pleased with his progress.  Donald and Charles had applauded his innovative qualities, such as his idea for joint skinning and feasting.  As Charles had said, “Grey Cliff is built upon tradition.  But sometimes it is acceptable for things to change and to make way for the next generation and their progressive ideas, and a joint skinning and feasting activity is one such acceptable change.  Bravo Ralph Thurmond! Bravo!”

  The members, all dressed in red robes, had taken their seats and a cornucopia of butchering and skinning instruments had been laid upon the table.        

  As Donald and Charles stood, talking stopped and heads bowed.  Then the co-presidents of Grey Cliff said in unison, “Though we be but the mere Thurmonds here, we forget not the dead Thurmonds there.  In life through life we feast on Negro flesh, but once dead still we feast upon the Negro in death!  And so to the Thurmonds long past and to the Thurmonds yet to come, we say this feast not for us alone but for Thurmonds every one!”

  “Here!  Here!” said the members, their heads still bowed.

  Donald and Charles continued, “So prepare your knives and prepare your spoons, for there be Negro bones to crack and Negro guts to consume!”

  “Here!  Here!”

  “Slurping their blood and licking their brains, popping their eyeballs and sucking their veins!” Donald and Charles continued.

  “Here!  Here!”

  “This feast be sublime because Thurmonds feast best but while feasting we never forget the children fallen to the West!”

  “Here!  Here!”

  Then Donald and Charles sat.

  “Can I start skinning now dad?  Is that okay,” Ralph whispered, though not looking at his father, his gaze instead fixed upon Aysha’s left leg.

  “Be patient son, dinner hasn’t started yet,” said Mick.

  “Before the feast we have official business!” Donald boomed.

  “Official business be thy will and may official business bring glory to Grey Cliff and its lands,” said the other members while Ralph picked up the statement midway, still not fully versed in all Grey Cliff’s ceremonial procedures.

  Donald boomed, “Official business be this: Windsor Thurmond long lost brethren be he, has begged for reconsideration, reappointment, and readmission after many decades separation from Grey Cliff and its glory.  What say ye Gray Cliff?”

  Donald pointed a butcher’s knife at each member and they stated either “Aye” or “Nay” When the voting had concluded Windsor had been unanimously readmitted.  And so Donald boomed, “Official business is now official!  Windsor shall be informed tomorrow at the dawning of the sun!”

  Donald sat and Charles stood, Charles saying, “Ralph Thurmond this feast was your notion and so it is only fitting that you be the one to begin the carving of the meat!”

  Charles sat and Donald stood and once standing, boomed, “Ralph Thurmond!  Choose your skinning device!” 

  Ralph walked to the butchering and skinning instruments.  He picked one up and tested its weight in his hand.  He picked up another and felt its grip.  Finally he said, “Donald I have brought the skinning knife that you gave me and I would like to use that.”

  Donald nodded.

  Ralph said, “But if possible I would first like to bring to our feast a new dish.  Joseph has been here alone all day and I feel that we have not paid him sufficient attention.”

  After a vote it was decided that Joseph should also become part of the joint skinning and feasting activity, and a minute later his wooden table was rolled into the Grand Hall and positioned at the far end of the Grand Table. 

  Ralph said, “I would like to start with Aysha, her left leg specifically, and I would like to do her ungagged.”

  Donald and Charles boomed in unison, “Ralph Thurmond, your proposals are accepted!”

   

   

  Grey Cliff, Area Two:  As soon as Zachary heard the shrieking he realized that Joseph’s plan, waiting, had become unthinkable and the only reasonable option had suddenly become Jasmine’s plan, immediate action. 

  Those shrieks change everything. 

  Another shriek and Jasmine whispered, “Please, Zachary we must, it is time to make our stand.”

  “I agree,” whispered Zachary.

  They crawled out from underneath the bed.  The sword felt heavy in Zachary’s hands.  Don’t be flat-footed. 

  He walked into the center of the room and practiced swinging and imagined himself hacking limbs. 

  A Ph.D. on the road to a bloodbath…

  They concocted an attack plan and Zachary said, “I didn’t want to say this before because I hadn’t been sure.  But I now believe with high certainty, due to factors that have unfolded, that you have the Righteous Murder Trait.  If the trait has been dormant this stressful situation will cause it to rise to the surface.  It is highly probable that like your ancestors, that in the moment of battle you will be transformed into an extremely focused and efficient killing machine, aka a warrior with RMT.” 

  His entire speech had been based upon zero science.  It was impossible for Zachary to know if Jasmine had RMT before she was properly assessed.  True, her profession and her hobbies could be sublimation for dormant RMT, but that was only speculation.  However, Zachary felt this white lie condonable because it could only help the situation.

  “Really?  Why didn’t you tell me before?” Jasmine whispered.

  “I didn’t want your confidence to be too high,” whispered Zachary.

  “Well, this does make me feel much more confident,” whispered Jasmine, an arrow in her right hand and her bow in her left.

  “Ready?” Zachary whispered, though feeling hardly ready at all.

  Jasmine nodded and in her eyes a happy innocence glimmered.

  And yet in a matter of moments she will be attempting to slay monsters…

  “Are you with me?” Jasmine whispered.

  “Until the end,” Zachary whispered.

  Another shriek…

  “We have to move,” whispered Jasmine.

  “I’ll go first,” whispered Zachary.

  “No, I’ll go first.  If we see someone, I’ll shoot them, move to the side, and then you can finish them with the sword,” said Jasmine.

  “Good strategy,” said Zachary. 

  Maybe she does have RMT?  Or is that just wishful thinking?

  As Jasmine opened the door, it occurred to Zachary that much of life is a game of waiting and that like Chinese acrobats juggling an increasingly absurd amount of kitchenware we learn to hold more and more waiting times: this long drive will end and my destination will have been worth th
e driving, these shoes will wear out and better ones will be bought, this nagging girlfriend will be upgraded and perhaps with a blonde.  And while waiting we build dream-houses in our minds, places where the waiting has ended and only fulfillment remains, our brains the stick and carrot machines and we the gullible donkeys. 

  But will all my waiting soon end?

  They walked down the grand stairs and when they reached the bottom and were approaching the hall, Jasmine stopped, and so Zachary stopped.

  “Did you hear something?” Jasmine whispered.

  “I heard nothing,” said Zachary.

  They continued walking.

  Another shriek…

  Jasmine’s arrow was fully drawn so that it could be released, if necessary, in an instant.  Zachary walked behind, the sword positioned to his right and pointed vertical.

  They began walking through the wall of weapons and decided against gathering more.

  The shrieking was now mingled with the celebratory sounds of the feast.  They turned left.  The final hall was upon them.  They passed the storage room.  They passed the projection room.  They stood in front of the double-sided dining room door.  The sounds from inside the room were muddled because so many Thurmonds were speaking.

  “You swing it open and I’ll go through first,” Jasmine whispered -- her eyes deadened. 

  Zachary nodded.  And suddenly it occurred to him that the moment was comparable to a moment of many years past, a car accident, an accident in the snow where the car fishtailed and slid straight into a tree.  Einstein held that time was not linear; that time was actually the fourth dimension.  And Zachary was familiar with a recent study in which rollercoaster riders estimated their descent time longer than they estimated an equally timed yet ordinary task.  During that slide into the tree Zachary too had felt time slow and knew death a strong possibility. 

  And here again, in the moment when he swung that dining room door open and the possibility of death greeted him as unabashedly as a door-to-door proselytizer, he felt his heart steady and his mind enter a state of slow-time clear-headedness.

  He became aware that the noise from the room had ceased and that Jasmine had begun yelling.  In a fraction of a second his mind had mapped these components: the dining room table faced them lengthwise; two naked people were strapped upon the table; Joseph was positioned beyond the Great Table; eight Thurmonds were seated at the table which meant that they were all contained within the room, and in facing pairs, were Donald and Charles, Alburt and Chase, Prestin and Dwade, and Mick and Ralph. 

  They were lounging on cushioned seats while disfigured humans writhed before them, and with blood dripping from their faces and red hoods upon their heads they looked to be a table of seated demons.  Some Thurmonds still chewed and Zachary shuttered as he noted the clump of thigh carved from the naked women’s leg.

  Jasmine’s words finally registered as she repeated while pointing her arrow directly at Alburt, “You will put down your butchering equipment.  You will put down your butchering equipment.  You will put down your fucking butchering equipment…”

  None of the Thurmonds released their knives.  And Charles, his expression indifferent, though his eyes dark, interrupted Jasmine’s orders, saying calmly, “Zachary?  What are you doing here?  And why is this woman pointing an arrow at my son?”

  Zachary’s voice was strong.  “Why do you think Charles?  You’re eating people – these people right here.  We can’t let that happen.  Put down your butcher’s knife.  It’s all over Charles.  It is all over for all of you.  Grey Cliff is over!”

  Charles replied, “But the night is still young, join in our feast Zachary, join in like you did many times before.  Strike down the Negro to your side!  Strike her with your sword and join the feast!  Her meat looks supple!  Her meat looks firm!”

  Jasmine shouted, “You are a family of sick fucks and if you don’t put down your fucking knives this arrow is going straight into his chest.”

  Charles replied, “If you think our family sick than you must think Zachary sick too, for he has partaken in our feasts on more than one occasion.”

  Don’t tell me!  The venison…                      

  Jasmine shouted, “Enough with the lies!  Put down your knives or he is getting it in the chest!”

  Charles replied, now intermingling calm statements with wild exclamations, “It isn’t a lie.  Zachary highly complimented Thurmond venison -- I mean Negro flesh -- and on more than one occasion.  Isn’t that right Zachary?  Which means my dear that he would find your flesh just as tasty.  So Zachary I say brother in arms brother in blood and brother in flesh, chop off her head and we’ll all lap her blood!  And Zachary brother is a brother who knows our family tidings well and so he knows what Thurmond camaraderie means!  That we Thurmonds are always prepared to die, just as our children have been prepared to die, so that other Thurmonds can live in the fullest meaning of that word, glory! Yes live with Thurmond Glory, the only kind that matters and that makes our lives worth living!  We the members of Grey Cliff will never fall!  You may try to strike us down but our spirit will forever rise, and rise again!”

  Jasmine told me not to strike until she had released her first arrow, but what the fuck why isn’t she releasing an arrow?  Charles is galvanizing them to action!

  As if reading Zachary’s thoughts, Jasmine’s arrow flew straight into Alburt’s chest and he fell from his chair.  Instantly the Thurmonds bounded from their seated position with butcher’s knives, scalpels, hacksaws and other various already-bloodied skinning and butchering instruments. 

  Zachary charged at Donald because Donald was closest and swung his sword like a bat straight into his chest, screaming as he hacked until Donald dropped his knife and fell to the ground in a lacerated heap. 

  Then Zachary swung his sword wildly, and though striking none (for most of the Thurmonds had fallen back) he created a protective space so that Jasmine was shielded from potential attack as she let a stream of arrows fly, into Mick’s neck, Chase’s chest, and a second into Alburt’s chest.  Donald was motionless and seemed to perhaps be mortally wounded and Zachary took the opportunity to momentarily abandon his protective position before Jasmine, thrusting his sword into Donald’s gut.  Donald howled in anguish apparently not yet dead at all.  

  The fog of war completely upon him, Zachary continued to drive his sword into Donald’s chest and in his bloody passion had positioned himself dangerously close to a hoard of Thurmonds.  Ralph launched a butcher’s knife that barely missed Zachary’s head and gouged a chunk from the wall.  Meanwhile, Prestin and Dwade jumped upon the Great Table, sprinting across it, stepping upon the strapped naked people and each holding a butcher’s knife and screaming wildly. 

  Jasmine shot Dwade in the leg and he fell off the table and onto to his head in an awkward position, one that looked capable of having broken his neck, but like a possessed soul capable of ungodly contortions, he sprung to his feet and with an arrow protruding from his calf he charged again, the butcher’s knife held over his head, his red cape trailing him, and perhaps now screaming from both mania and pain, he appeared suddenly to have become the most menacing of all in a room of cannibals.

    But Dwade’s inflamed-blitz ended as he was clasped by his father Alburt, who, although wounded with an arrow, dragged his son away from the danger of Zachary’s sword and the absurdly close range of Jasmine’s arrows.  Charles had retreated to the room’s rear and somehow managed to lift his voice above everything else, as he shouted impassionedly, “The arrows are the danger!  Flip the table!” 

  Suddenly the scattered Thurmonds had become of one mind, and with the exception of Donald who appeared dead and Prestin who was leaping from the table straight at Zachary, the Thurmonds arranged themselves into something resembling a pharynx complete with meat platter shields and they headed to the rear of the Great Table. 

  Meanwhile, Prestin, now mid-air, and towering over
Zachary was in the midst of an attempt to strike Zachary from above.  It seemed likely to Zachary that the almost-Olympian-archer to his side would not miss the leaping target and that therefore he would not need to use his sword upon the boy.  But it still registered as something of a shock as the butcher’s knife fell from Prestin’s hand and Zachary realized that Jasmine’s arrow had pierced directly through the boy’s knife wielding hand.  Prestin landed in a screaming ball upon the floor. 

  This time it was Zachary clasping a Thurmond child and he tossed him into the corner of the room while shouting, “Move from that spot and she’ll put another arrow into you.” 

  Prestin did not answer as he screamed continuously in pain. 

  Dwade could be heard screaming in pain too.  But both boys had been struck in non-lethal spots which meant that thus far Jasmine had managed to conform to the war-plan.

  By this point the Great Table had been flipped and turned sideways, and because of its extended length it divided the room in half.   So besides Prestin who remained screaming in the corner and Donald who lay in a bloody heap upon the floor, the Thurmonds had managed to locate themselves behind a makeshift wall – not only that, but the two naked folk had become human shields because, still fastened upon the table, they were directly facing Jasmine and Zachary so if a Thurmond were, say, to peak his head above the table it would be a risky shot for Jasmine to take with imprisoned bodies just below. 

  But the Thurmonds were a wounded bunch.  Jasmine had landed more arrows during the Great Table turning and in the moments prior to the Great Table flipping.  And she said to Zachary, “They have almost all been shot and most at least twice.  But they are back there strategizing now.  I think we should charge.”        

  “I’ve only managed to strike Donald,” said Zachary.

  “You’re doing fine,” said Jasmine.

  Suddenly Charles said, “Enough!  We surrender!  Zachary we surrender.”

  Jasmine and Zachary exchanged a doubtful glance.

  “Then come out, one at a time, you first Charles,” said Zachary.

  This may not be over…

  “How are the others beyond the table?  How do these other Thurmonds fare?” Charles asked.

  “They are trying to buy time I think,” whispered Jasmine.

  “I think Donald is dead.  But Prestin will be fine,” said Zachary.

  Charles said, “My brother Donald has fallen?  This is a sad day in the Thurmond family history.”

  “This is the last day in the Thurmond family history -- this crazy cannibal shit is over!” shouted Jasmine.

  Charles replied, “If we surrender will you guarantee our safety and the safety of our children?”

  Jasmine replied, “We shouldn’t.  But we will.”

  “So come out here Charles, no more stalling.  If you want to surrender come out now.  This is your only chance,” said Zachary.

  Scuffling could be heard from behind the table.  Zachary thought that perhaps Charles was preparing to stand.  But precious seconds passed and Zachary whispered to Jasmine, “What should we do?”

  Joseph was on the Thurmond side of the room and so little did the Thurmonds value African Americans that perhaps they had forgotten Joseph’s existence at all because he had apparently heard their plans and he started shouting, “It is a trap.”

  The Thurmonds pushed the Great Table forward and thus blocked from Jasmine’s arrows, they gradually approached.  Zachary reasoned that if these Thurmonds rushed at once and from a close position, Jasmine’s arrows would be useless and he would probably be overpowered after his first couple of hacks.

  “Quick, put me on your shoulders,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary lifted Jasmine into the air and from this position she began raining arrows upon the Thurmonds, and eventually enough Thurmonds had been sufficiently injured that the table became stalled at a spot perhaps eight feet away.

  “Here,” said Jasmine, handing Zachary her dagger.  “Trade me.”

  Zachary handed Jasmine his sword and without hesitation Jasmine leapt over the Great Table, landing on the Thurmond side.  At first Zachary was too shocked to follow as he watched her hack while the Thurmonds screamed in agony, blood cresting like breaking waves.  But finally Zachary gathered himself and jumped over the table too, though as soon as he landed he was met with such a gruesome scene of blood and hacked bodies that he shouted, “Jasmine, enough!”

  Jasmine had been hacking Mick, but hearing Zachary’s words she stopped.  Mick looked dead, positioned on his side with his eyes rolled back, his left arm missing a hand, an arrow through his cheek, his right leg chopped half off and the remaining leg stump riddled with arrows.  Charles looked dead, hunched against the table, his face dripping blood, sword punctures scattered about his torso, an arrow through his neck and blood bubbling from his body in odd places.  Alburt looked dead, sprawled on the ground, arrow ridden, both arms amputated, and motionless as blood continued to gush from his body.  Chase looked dead, collapsed, not seeming to breathe, a mess of blood and slashed clothing, two arrows in his face and one straight through his eye-socket.  Ralph looked seriously injured, two arrows in his chest, missing fingers with arm blood pouring forth, a battered head, and he was crying hysterically as he grasped onto his father’s motionless body.  Dwade also looked seriously injured; an arrow through his arm and an arrow through his leg, blood dripping from his mouth, and he was crying hysterically too.  Prestin, a single arrow through his hand, and still crying in the corner of the room, had fared the best of all the Thurmonds.                

  Jasmine’s hiking apparel was covered with blood as were the exposed parts of her body, her arms, her face, her neck.  Joseph had released himself from his restraints and was sitting up on his wooden table and he shouted, “Search the bodies for a cell phone!”

  “Yes and free us!  Free us!” shouted the man fastened to the Great Table.  “I am Darnell and this is my wife Aysha!”

  Zachary took the sword from Jasmine’s hand, kissing her bloodied cheek.  A cell phone was located in Donald’s pocket and Jasmine gave it to Joseph so that he could phone Homeland Security.  As he dialed he said, “But where the fuck are we?”

  Zachary replied, “We have the exact coordinates…”

   

  One Week Later

   

  Arlington:  Zachary had taken his home off the market because he could not imagine leaving his bed, never mind his home.  The Thurmond affair had been a disaster ten times worse than the Capobianco affair, and while the Capobianco affair had rendered Zachary temporarily sluggish, the Thurmond affair had turned Zachary into something like a zombie – though a zombie with the events of Grey Cliff constantly playing through his mind and thus a zombie able to teleconference with government agents so eloquently about this single subject.  But if these same government agents asked Zachary to describe the weather outside his window or to tell them his opinion on abortion, he would have withdrawn into a mental cocoon. 

  After Joseph, Aysha, and Darnell had been freed and the injured surviving children had been secured, Zachary located the black box key on Alburt’s corpse.  Then Zachary, Jasmine, and Aysha ran into the room containing the boxes to free the others, others who appeared like figures wandering from a concentration camp -- malnourished, wizened, and breakable – and though they emerged from their boxed-prisons in all imaginable ways, Zachary seemed to have repeating flashbacks concerning those who upon leaving the confines of their box had been punching, crying, laughing, pleading, and even one who had been calmly waving as if freedom had all along been expected. 

  Zachary, Jasmine, and Aysha quickly set up a system where Zachary worked the locks, Aysha attempted to reassure the survivors, and Jasmine supplied them with water and bread.  Zachary kept expecting to find a corpse but fortunately everyone had survived.  And it was quite a shock when Zachary saw Bruce pop his head from his box, and once Aysha’s calming words, and the calming words
of the other survivors had coaxed him out, Zachary said, “We meet again!” 

  They embraced, Bruce immediately crying.

  “It is okay.  It is all over now,” said Zachary, who tried not to look shocked by Bruce’s substantial loss of weight.

  “I’m not a photographer,” said Bruce.

  “I know your name is Bruce.  Everyone thinks you are dead because the police thought you committed suicide.  Your detective agency and your family were both mourning you the last I knew.  But everyone will be so thrilled to hear that you are alive!” Zachary exclaimed.

  “I thought I was dead too, so they were right.  My wife, I can’t believe I am going to see her again.  I’m sorry about lying to you about the photographer thing,” said Bruce.

  “That is such a zero concern right now.  Your nightmare is ending.  I can’t believe you are here!  Windsor is going to be happy too,” said Zachary.

  “I have to sit down,” said Bruce.

  “Yes, yes, right over here.  This is Jasmine, tell her whatever you need,” said Zachary.

  “What is the place?” Bruce asked.

  “Hell or it was – it’s just a mansion in the middle of nowhere now,” said Zachary.

  “What happened?” Bruce asked.

  “I just have about fifteen more of these hellish boxes to open and I’ll tell you everything I know…”  

  While these survivors were being cared for, Joseph talked to the head of Homeland Security and explained the importance of immediate medical support.  Homeland Security coordinated an evacuation with the FBI.  The arriving support personal discovered that many of the survivors were heavily dehydrated but that none had sustained life threatening medical injuries -- mental injuries, however, were rampant: the solitary confinement combined with the fear of death had pushed many to the brink.    

  Joseph handled the authorities for Zachary and Jasmine.  So although Jasmine had hacked up at least five people and had riddled even more with a slew of arrows, Joseph ensured from the moment the military helicopter landed that she would never face uncomfortable questioning.  Zachary heard him constantly repeating the refrain, “Self-defense is an understatement.” 

  After Zachary finished his interview, in which he explained Trait Theory and its ramifications -- but before he was evacuated from Grey Cliff -- an obvious question was posed by Stephen Smith, Joseph’s superior at Homeland, (and a question seconded by the coordinating FBI officials), “So what you are saying is that these 8 individuals are the only Thurmond males who tested positive for this so-called CMR.  Obviously, as a law official having come in contact with a family run operation, we are already seeking immediate search warrants for a wide array of Thurmonds, and we will be raiding homes shortly.  But let me ask you this: what about the females?  Are there CMR positive females?  And if so, shouldn’t we make them the first priority of our search warrants?”

  Why didn’t I think of this!  It must have been the shock of it all that caused me not to consider this clear implication!  But luckily not much time has passed.

  “Yes, fuck, yes!  Um, I know who they are: think Zachary, think,” said Zachary trying to recall the names of all the CMR positive Thurmond females.  He had populated half the list in his mind when he suddenly exclaimed, “The Yellow Daisy Lodge!  Holy Christ, all the females are together right now at the Yellow Daisy Lodge.  Also, I believe that Virginia Thurmond, mother to Charles was also CMRpositive.  That’s a lead we should probably follow up on.”

  “So there are more people, you think, out in the general population eating black people?” Stephan asked.

  “My research has shown very minute traces in the general population.  So I’d say no.  But we should follow up with Virginia’s family.”

  “Where is this Yellow Daisy Lodge?” Stephen asked, the underlings around him rushing to attention.

  “Shit!  My partner Samantha at Dunbar and Associates has the address, unlike Grey Cliff it was not a family secret and they gave me that address.  Her phone number is…” said Zachary, spitting out Samantha’s number.  Stephen commanded the man to his left to immediately call Dunbar and Associates and turning to the man to his right, he commanded him to commence raid preparations.

  It occurred to Zachary that he was breaking his confidentiality with the Thurmonds but that agreement had become essentially moot the moment when he had discovered Joseph strapped to the table.  Yet Zachary believed that Windsor needed to be categorized separately.  Having had no contact with his kin for more than half a century he had essentially removed himself from the extended Thurmond family – and it was Windsor who had been the most adamant about confidentiality.  But first things first -- he needed to find the address for the Yellow Daisy lodge: an agent handing him a cell phone, “She is on the line.”

  “Hello, Samantha?” said Zachary.

  “Zachary?” said Samantha.

  “Yes, Samantha, quickly, I need you to go through the paperwork.  I need you to find the address for the Yellow Daisy Lodge,” said Zachary. 

  “Was that really the FBI?  What the hell is going on?” Samantha asked.

  “It’s a nightmare, but there is no time to talk about it now.  I just need that address,” said Zachary.

  As Samantha searched for the address she continued to question Zachary and Zachary repeated that if possible he would call her later that night to inform her what was happening, but he assured her that he was perfectly safe.  As Samantha read Zachary the address, Zachary relayed it to the agents.  Stephan informed Samantha of an FBI fax number where he needed her to fax the addresses of private homes of the Thurmonds.

  “So, Dr. Dunbar, what do you think we are dealing with at this Yellow Daisy Lodge?  Another situation like this?” Steven asked, seeming remarkably calm. 

  He probably would have been much better with that sword.  He probably would have decapitated everyone…

  Zachary considered the question, realizing that Steven probably would not have asked it had he grasped the full scope of Zachary’s failings with his Thurmond analysis.  And as insecure as Zachary had suddenly become with his scientific abilities, that did not mean that he was ready to abandon the scientific method and answer the question with, say, a gut reaction.

  Nevertheless, Zachary noted his gut reaction, a gut reaction was data after all (even if as purely subjective data it was data that was not usable in a scientific sense) and he found his gut reaction:Fucking A!  We are going to find more horrible atrocities! 

  But then he thought about the question logically, mentally turning to his gathered Thurmond data and recalling the specifics of selected charts:     

  First he recalled that Thurmond males and females were comparable in their overall CMR positive and CMR negative occurrences, which meant that the Yellow Daisy lodge had a similar CMR positive population, in terms of total numbers.  However, another piece of data occurred to him:

  That all the early Thurmond male deaths had occurred to bloodline Thurmond fathers: this data piece combined with the Thurmond storage room -- a storage room containing mementos of Thurmond males who had deceased early -- caused Zachary to theorize that when the CMR negative male children at Grey Cliff had not successfully blended with their CMR positive peers, that they may have been murdered by their own families and that even if their fathers had not been present that they would have at least been accomplices. 

  Filicide! 

  It suddenly occurred to Zachary that Herod’s Curse would have been better termed Abraham’s Curse -- for although Abraham did not kill his son Isaac, he had been prepared to commit the act.  But what did this indicate for the CMR positive Thurmond females and the Yellow Daisy Lodge?  Zachary recalled another chart:        

                  

   

  Zachary’s previous conclusion had been that CMR positive male Thurmonds had a better developed ability to bury their CMR urges deep within their subconscious tha
n did the CMR positive female Thurmonds.  And Windsor’s final data had seemed to lend further support to this theory.  But Samantha had disagreed.  Her theory (and biting words) flashed through his mind:

   

  “Or maybe the CMR positive Thurmond males have sublimated their desire to eat black flesh by eating their male children who they sensed to be weak, aka CMR negative – and therefore they are happy and content with their place in society, while the CMR positive Thurmond females have not done this and therefore they are not happy and content with their place in society…” 

   

  While Zachary saw no evidence to indicate that the CMR positive male Thurmonds had eaten their children, it was obvious that she had been on the right track.  The CMR positive male Thurmonds had been unequivocally, Zachary noted, engaging in repeated acts of Cannibalistic-Murderous-Racism.  Therefore, they had no need for sublimation, and therefore they seemed quite content because they were quite content! 

  Contented, by acting exactly as they wished to act: as Cannibalistic-Murderous-Racists.  Thus the CMR positive Thurmond males had personal adjustment scores even higher than the control group’s score.  But where did this leave the CMR positive Thurmond females and Yellow Daisy Lodge?            

  Mentally synthesizing his new personally gathered (though admittedly horrific) Grey Cliff data, with his previous Thurmond analysis, Zachary reached the conclusion that the CMR positive Thurmond females presently posed no threat to society.  And although Zachary was no politician, he immediately sensed that this would not be a popular answer, especially with Jasmine.  Yet the data was the data.

  Therefore, he replied as confidently as possible to Steven’s question concerning the Yellow Daisy Lodge, “Mr. Smith, raid the Yellow Daisy Lodge if you feel it necessary.  For I am a research psychologist and I am not going to tell you how to do your job, but I can tell you with the complete backing of my data, and the ad-hoc revision of my previous data analysis, that you will find no incidences of CMR there.  My data indicates that the CMR positive Thurmond females have not engaged in CMR.”

  Steven looked doubtful, but he asked, “And how sure of this are you?”

  “Data is data and --.”

  Jasmine interrupted Zachary, “Steven, he also thought that these Thurmond males were harmless.  So what the fuck Zachary!”

  Steven nodded and gave the order to raid the camp.  Zachary sighed but made no protest, instead asking Stephan if he could make a phone call of his own.

  “Who do you need to call?” Stephan asked.

  “My employer,” said Zachary.

  “You are kidding me!” said Jasmine.

  “Jasmine, just give me a second here, this is important,” said Zachary.

  “As you just told it – that would be one of these people,” said Stephen.

  “Yes, as he told it to me too,” said Jasmine.

  “Yes, but I signed a confidentiality agreement with him.  If I’m going to break that confidentiality agreement, I think it’s right that I at least inform him,” said Zachary.

  “What the fuck!” said Jasmine, throwing up her hands.

  “Jasmine, please,” said Zachary.

  I don’t want to further ostracize the girl who I think I’m coming to love, but I made a commitment with Windsor and one bound by my professional word…

  “That’s very honorable of you, but he will be part of an investigation now.  I can’t have you giving him a heads-up that his home will momentarily be raided,” said Stephan.    

  “He’s an old man: the shock could conceivably kill him,” said Zachary.

  “What about the people he could be killing at this very moment?” Jasmine asked.

  “I saw two old men included in those corpses,” said Stephan.

  “Yes, as I told you they are his brothers.  But Windsor has resisted his CMR.  If he hadn’t, then what was the purpose of all my testing?” Zachary asked.

  “Zachary, I don’t see how you can make any further assumptions about what this family has or has not done after what we have just witnessed here.  That you would even attempt to do so is almost inconceivable!”  Jasmine exclaimed.

  She’s right I am jumping to conclusions.  I haven’t even objectively considered Windsor’s results in light of these recent events.

   Therefore, Zachary recalled Windsor’s CMR data.  First, Zachary considered the magnitude of Windsor’s CMR: recalling that Windsor’s magnitude was considerably more intense than that of a typical positive CMR rating for a Thurmond family member:  

   

  Windsor’s extremely high magnitude would seem to be cause for concern, especially considering that Zachary could now qualify what an average of 3.5 meant: exactly what he had observed on the Thurmond testing circuit and Grey Cliff: endless meals of African American flesh labeled as venison and naked African Americans strapped to a table with flesh already severed and soon to be consumed alive.  If these were the sorts of actions that a CMR magnitude of 3.5 equaled then what types of action did a magnitude of 26.8 equal? 

  However, Zachary realized that this was an unanswerable question.  Unanswerable because these answers were contained within Windsor’s darkest thoughts, and even Windsor would never be able to describe his darkest thoughts unless he started to put his CMR into action – and no one wanted that to happen, not even Windsor.  So it seemed almost a useless question to ask.  Therefore, Zachary considered Windsor’s personal adjustment data:        

   

  Zachary remembered that Windsor’s personal adjustment score was not nearly as high as his CMR positive male peers.  Erroneously, Zachary had previously concluded that the CMR positive Thurmond Males (excepting Windsor) and Windsor had personal adjustment scores which had diverged because of different external conditions, i.e. Windsor was CMR active while the CMR positive Thurmond males were CMR dormant.  However, now that it had become clear that both groups were CMR active this conclusion needed to be revised. 

  And after Zachary considered the mentally conjured data it seemed that Samantha had again been on the right track: Windsor had a low personal adjustment score because he did not give into hisCMR desires and thus was not contented, while the CMR positive Thurmond males had high personal adjustment scores because they did give into their desires and thus they were contented.  But why the difference between Windsor and the CMR positive Thurmond females?  Why was Windsor more contented than females?  Suddenly Zachary realized the obvious conclusion. 

  Of course!  Both Windsor and the females do not act on their desires.  But the females have CMR which is dormant.  But the females do not know why they feel discontented and thus can do nothing to alleviate the situation.  Windsor, on the other hand, as an individual with a positive CMR status is able to at least imagine as he put it, ‘scenes of black death and black destruction,’ and these imaginings likely relieve some of his frustrations – similar to a pimply teenage boy wishing for but having no sexual partner and thus attempting to imagine away the burn of his desires through masturbation.

  Thus far the data indicated that Windsor remained a non-threat to society and that a raid would be an unnecessary allocation of tax dollars.  However, Zachary remembered that Windsor had had wild variability between his CMR scores from one moment to the next.  If a person had tested in a comparable manner with an IQ score they would have ranged from an imbecile to a genius depending on the hour that they were tested:    

   

  Furthermore, Zachary had never been able to formulate a conclusion for why Windsor’s scores ebbed and flowed with such ferocity, and given current events Zachary could ill-afford to make any assumptions concerning his data. 

  Therefore, he replied to Stephan, “Actually, I have just considered the matter and though on a personal level I felt it almost inconceivable that you will discover anything nefarious in Windsor’s home, for the man has been a pinnacle of self restrain
t, and because he’s aware that he has these problems, these urges, but he states that he has always been able to control them – And I believe that he was telling me the truth.  And thinking of it now, it’s probably the reason he has separated himself from his family and has not talked to them in over 70 years.  But that is all subjective and the objective side of this, the data, is not 100% conclusive.  Some of the data I am not sure about.  So while on a personal level I would advise against raiding this old man’s house, I can’t say with absolute 100% scientific certainty like I can with the Yellow Daisy Lodge that you should not.”  

              Stephan nodded.  “We’ll have to talk more about this Trait Theory later, I’m still not sure I really understand it.  But what I do understand is that we have a family of psychopaths on our hands...”

  After Stephan told Jasmine and Zachary that he might need them for further questioning, but that they could rest for the time being, Jasmine immediately pulled Zachary aside saying, “That is fucking irresponsible Zachary!”

  “I know it seems like I am making the same mistake all over again but --.”

  “You are making the same mistake all over again!  You think you know things that you don’t know.  Then you get so confident.  How could you tell them those things – don’t raid Windsor – don’t raid the women – these people are CMR positive too! What the fuck!” Jasmine said.  

  “Listen, I have learned from the mistakes of my data.  You are right that I really can’t say for certain, objectively, with Windsor, and I don’t exactly know where I went wrong with the rest of the Thurmond males.  But, the females they weren’t adjusted in society like the males.  And the female children, they don’t die young.  So things aren’t happening at the Yellow Daisy Lodge like they were happening here.  I only know all this because we have seen what is happening here.  But by combining my observations here with my previous data, I know they aren’t going to find anything at the Yellow Daisy Lodge --.”

  “Your observations here, you make it sound like you were observing an amoeba under a microscope and not people who were being tortured to death!”

  “Jasmine, I didn’t mean it like that.  Jasmine where are you going?  Jasmine…”

   

  Zachary and Jasmine spoke briefly during their military flight back to Boston.  But the conversation quickly soured and Jasmine punched Zachary and they did not speak a word for the remainder of the flight.  At home Zachary slept for 16 hours straight, and once awake he remained in his bed, though from time to time scanning online newspapers and channel surfing news stations for new developments:

   

  After the Yellow Daisy Lodge raid and the Yellow Daisy Raid analysis had concluded, Zachary was proven correct: there was not a shred of evidence connecting the Yellow Daisy Lodge with a single incidence of CMR.  And as the news outlets had gleefully reported, the descending SWAT team had found the shocked Thurmond women engaged in a knitting competition.  Also, nothing was discovered at Windsor’s mansion (and Virginia was found to be the last of her bloodline). 

  Alexus, Windsor’s black housekeeper was interviewed by Fox News, and she expressed shock that Windsor’s brothers and other relatives had murdered and eaten an undetermined number of African Americans, but she also explained that Windsor had not been in contact with his relatives in decades, adding, “Windsor is a very private man.  He said that he did not mind if I spoke about my situation in his home but he does not want me to talk about him.  But I will say that I have never felt in danger there.  Windsor is a nice old man…”

  However, the private homes of the CMR positive Thurmond males (excepting Windsor) produced an array of corpses and hundreds of pounds of frozen human flesh, and while the raids on the Thurmond female houses produced no corpses, refrigerators stock full of human flesh were discovered. 

  Over the following days, Zachary found himself again the professor as he addressed Trait Theory and its relation to CMR during umpteen conference calls with government big-wigs.  One call was from a team of government officials curious about Zachary’s take concerning Thurmond females; a team who, Zachary quickly perceived, were unable to believe that these women had truly thought themselves to be eating deer meat and not human flesh.

  But Zachary tried to dissuade them from pressing charges – if that was their intent -- saying, “Listen guys, I am going to tell you something in complete confidence -- I don’t want this being spread around -- but because I have already been cleared by the authorities I feel comfortable telling you that it isn’t as difficult to accidently eat human flesh as you might think.  Gentlemen I have accidently ingesting human flesh on more than one occasion.”

  “Yeah we know, we’ve been informed,” said an official

  “You, do?  Well, what is so different from my situation and the situation of the Thurmond females?” Zachary asked.

  “You were invited over for dinner during your work capacities.  They had refrigerators full of human flesh in their houses,” said an official bluntly.

  “Yes, that was given to them by their relatives at Grey Cliff.  They had no idea,” said Zachary.

  “No, idea they were eating human flesh?  No idea that there was something odd about the taste of what they were eating?  As I understand it for you it was only three occasions, but for them it was meal after meal.  They had to have known, they had to have picked up a peculiarity in the taste,” said an official. 

  “Gentlemen I can tell you from personal experience that that human meat that I thought was venison -- was quite delicious and far from being peculiar, so if they also thought it was venison it is quite understandable that they would keep fridges full of the stuff,” said Zachary.

  “By stuff you are referring to the chopped up bodies of African Americans?” asked an official.

  “I feel like I am on trial here,” said Zachary.

  “So you liked eating African American flesh?” an official asked.

  “I wouldn’t have if I had known what it was, but not knowing yes I quite enjoyed it,” said Zachary.  

  In the end the prosecution decided to press charges against the Thurmond women.  Eventually Zachary was contacted by an attorney for the defense; Zachary informed the defense that he would be willing to testify as an expert witness.

  “I know that you are a highly renowned psychologist, but specifically what are you thinking?” the lawyer asked.

  “I’m the founder of Trait Theory, and I think it indicates that these Thurmond women did not realize that they were eating human flesh,” said Zachary.

  “Just as you did not know that?”

  “Yes, exactly, wait how do you know that?” Zachary asked.

  “Discovery, the prosecution had to give me what they have come up with so far, including some facts determined by the government.  But I think that your testimony could really help my clients’ case.  The fact that you were almost killed by this family and yet you think these women are innocent: that is a strong argument.  What about Jasmine?  Do you think she would take their side on the stand too?  It would really help if you two quasi-American heroes were to take the stance together in defense of these women,” he asked.

    “No, we don’t exactly see eye to eye on this issue…”

   

   

  Eventually the authorities interviewed the Thurmond children (after they had recovered from their injuries) and due to these interviews, a homeless man named Jeremy, a Washington area high-school student identified as Lily Smith, and various others were pronounced dead.  The Thurmond children would face a slew of charges, though in what jurisdiction or in what capacity was still unclear.  Zachary and Jasmine were informed that they would be summoned as witnesses at some point.  A mountain of bones had been discovered inside Grey Cliff and also in the surrounding acres, piecing together identities was proving to be a nightmare for forensic investigators.  

   

  The Thurmond affair had become a medi
a orgy and Zachary had further learned during his scattered news-watching that Aysha had recovered fully and that Darnell was being fitted for a prosthetic foot.  And reportedly, Darnell had also landed a million dollar book deal.  Of course that meant that Zachary could probably land a bigger deal but he didn’t plan to cash in on the tragedy. 

  I didn’t lose any body parts after all.

   Also, he felt responsible. Responsible because he believed that he should have suspected that something was amiss and that therefore he should have acted faster. 

  And if you had then lives would have been saved.

  A few nights earlier Samantha had brought over Chinese take-out.  It was their second meeting since Zachary’s return, but on the previous visit Zachary had been mostly comatose and so they had discussed nothing of importance.  But this time Zachary broached the subject that he knew would eventually have to be broached, saying, “You were right.”

  Samantha smiled and squeezed Zachary’s hand.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything about it?” Zachary asked, feeling like an old man begging a young relative to converse.

  “For once, no,” said Samantha.

  “Dunbar and Associates is fucked,” said Zachary.      

  “You’d be surprised.  The media is divided on your verdict.  In some quarters you are being hailed as a sword-wielding research-minded hero, and in others, well the comments are not so nice,” said Samantha.

  “It is okay, I’ve been partially following the news and I know what they are saying,” Zachary replied, while running his hand over his stubble.  He had not shaved since he had returned and for that matter he had not brushed his hair either.  (Earlier in the day a trespassing paparazzi photographer had gotten quite the glamour shot.) 

  Samantha hugged him.

  “You did your best.  And if you hadn’t killed all those crazy fucks it would have been a lot worse.”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t even really my doing.  If it was up to me I would have run for help.  Jasmine and the Joseph, they had to talk me into it,” said Zachary.

  “But you didn’t run and you did the right thing,” said Samantha kissing Zachary on the forehead.  “You know psychologists see other psychologists for therapy all the time.  You should see one and we both know there are great ones in this area who specialize in post-traumatic stress.”

  “Everything happened so fast.  I don’t even know if it is PTS.  I think it is more the guilt -- though now that I think of it guilt is one of the major symptoms of PTS isn’t it? Samantha, I did definitely kill a man and that is strange.  I sliced him right through the gut with a sword.  And before that I hacked at him like a wild beast,” said Zachary.

  “You did what you had to do to protect yourself and the others.  Those cannibalistic Thurmonds were the beasts, not you,” said Samantha.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t feel that way.  I know one thing for sure – I contain no dormant violence traits that have come to the surface,” said Zachary.

  “Yes, but then again, that situation was probably sufficiently stressful that according to Trait Theory --.”

  Zachary interrupted, “Yes, I know I’ve thought of it too.  I may have developed something like a Righteous Murder Trait, which means that now if I have children they may be susceptible.  But I suppose there are much worse things a father could pass onto his child.”

  “Maybe your children will be crime-fighting big-brained killers,” said Samantha.

  Zachary laughed for the first time in over a week.      

  “The news reports say that Joseph observed you both to be fearless, but that Jasmine was something of a superhero,” said Samantha.

  “That’s accurate, but I would add that she was fearless the whole time.  My courage came about a split second before we entered that room.  When it became clear that they would not surrender and that they needed to die, I fought as best I could, but the majority of the carnage was her doing.  If there had been another person just like me in there, I don’t think we would have prevailed,” said Zachary. 

   “So how is Jasmine?” Samantha asked.

  “She still hasn’t talked to me,” said Zachary.

  “She’s probably just in shock as you are in shock,” said Samantha.

  “I don’t know: once the Thurmond cannibals informed her that I had been a cannibal too, I think that was the end,” said Zachary.

  “I’m surprised she believed them,” said Samantha.

  “She didn’t.  During our military helicopter ride home she was telling me that she didn’t think that she could ever be more angry with me than she was at that moment, though at that moment it wasn’t the cannibalism she was mad about --.”

  “What then?” Samantha asked. 

  Zachary noted that she seemed to be suppressing a smile. 

  She of all people would find this amusing.

  “Well, before we left they wanted to know my opinion of Yellow Daisy Lodge and by synthesizing various data, one them being your previous theory, I reached the conclusion that those women posed no danger --.”

  “Yes, I always said it was those sicko Thurmond men.  Their adjustment scores were too good,” said Samantha.

  “I thought you weren’t going to give me that I-told-you-so moment?” said Zachary, laughing.

  “I had come over planning not to do that, because I worried that you were blaming yourself for all this --.”

  Zachary’s expression grew serious.  “No, I do and I shouldn’t be laughing.  So anyway I was trying to explain this to her in the helicopter and she said that whole ‘I don’t think I could ever be more angry with you than over this thing --.”

  “You didn’t?” Samantha asked, apparently having guessed the turn of events.

  Zachary nodded, “I knew it was a rhetorical question.  But everything had gone so haywire that I figured that if there was ever a time to lay everything on the table that this was it.  So I told her that Charles Thurmond had not been lying about my flesh consumption, and after I had explained all the details she started slapping me in the face.  But I knew that I could not hold that fact from her.  She is mixed-race and half African American, and I, even if unwittingly, have on more than one occasion digested large amounts of African American flesh.  And more than that Samantha, like the Thurmonds, I genuinely enjoyed the taste.  I really don’t know if I would react to white flesh in the same way --.”

  “Well, you are never going to find out, either,” said Samantha.

  “True, but I thought that if I our relationship had any chance to continue and to continue on a foundation of honesty, that she needed to know that about me: that I had eaten more than one plateful of African American flesh and that I had quite enjoyed it --.”

  “Zachary, I did not come over here to lecture you in matters of love, though I know you know that that is one of my favorite pastimes, but come on!  Sometimes you are too high-minded!  You don’t have to admit everything!  All relationships are built on a certain degree of secrecy.  You have to draw a line somewhere.  It probably would have made sense to have denied that you had ever eaten human flesh, but you definitely should not have told her that you enjoyed it,” said Samantha.

  Zachary quietly poked the Chinese vegetables around his plate (for the last two weeks his meals had been completely vegetarian).   

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so,” said Samantha.

  “Yeah, I probably fucked up,” said Zachary.

  Samantha smiled.

  “You know I don’t like cheating on Omar, and I have never cheated on him with anyone but you, but it’s the combination of your sporadic genius combined with your clueless moments, such as this moment, that cause me to continue loving you.  You and this girl saved something like 30 people together.  And I hate to give you advice that might drive you away from me, but you shouldn’t give up so easy.”

  “Yeah, but like you said, the flesh part,” said Zachary.

&n
bsp; “Females have an amazing capacity to forgive and to overlook faults.  If we didn’t this human species probably would have become extinct long ago.  We are hard-wired to make poor decisions when it concerns males, so you should never count yourself out…I’m only telling you that because you just had a near death experience, but know that I still consider you mine.”

  Zachary replied, “Don’t you ever wonder what will happen if Omar finds out?  Aren’t you afraid of losing that?”

  “Not as afraid as I am of not having you…”       

       

  Zachary knew that eventually he would have to meet with Windsor and explain to him where his research had derailed.  But at this point Zachary did not have the stomach to analyze his CMR data.  One night he tried opening his folders and analyzing his failings but his data only brought flashbacks of blood and carnage.  Also, Zachary thought it likely that Windsor would feel animosity towards him for two reasons (1) he had broken confidentiality (though he had received no threatening missives from McGrubb and Partners) and (2) he was a participant in the slaughter of Windsor’s family members. 

  Although he has not talked to them in decades, he probably still cares for them…    

  Having finally shaved his stubble and washed a crusty pile of dishes, he decided to call Windsor.  As he dialed it surprised him that his hands were not shaking: Thurmond thoughts usually brought him into a panicked state of mind. 

  Windsor answered on the first ring, “It is more than good that you have called!  I’ve been wishing to talk, but I understood that you needed time to recover.  What a terrible occurrence!  But let me say first before I say anything else that it brought me to tears when I learned that you had survived.”

  “Hello, Windsor, how is everything?” Zachary asked.

  He does not sound like he’s angered with my actions…

  “I’ve seen better days old boy.  When this all started, and you sat in my library, patiently listening to the stories of an old man, I never thought that it would end like this.  But more than that, I never thought that my family would end like this --.”

  “I’m awfully sorry about how everything turned out,” said Zachary.

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry about old boy.  They brought this upon themselves.  You are a man of science and so you know that for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction.  You and your friend Jasmine, you were the reaction, the reaction to all those barbarous actions my kin had so shamefully committed,” said Windsor.  

  “Yes, it needed to be done.  But I didn’t think when I took this job I’d be killing your family.  It’s ridiculous when you think about it,” said Zachary, though trying not think about it: the gruesome mental images of the Thurmond family slaughter continued to haunt him.

  “Old boy you have nothing to be sorry about --.”

  “Actually I did want to apologize for breaking the confidentiality agreement.  I tried to call to warn you that I needed to break it – that I had to handle all my documentation over to the FBI.  But I was prevented from doing so.  And worried about your safety when I learned that they would raid your home: I’m sorry,” said Zachary.

  “Nonsense, old boy!  That raid merely got my blood flowing.  It had been a while since I had been up off my rump, and had been exercising my limbs – a good old pestering by some federal authorities was just the ticket.  Besides, any inconvenience that I’ve been put through is nothing into comparison to what happened to those poor souls at Grey Cliff.    Yes, I’ve been watching the news, and thoroughly,” said Windsor.

  “You’ve been watching the news?” asked Zachary. 

  “Yes, but this is all too important to ignore, and to be quite straight forward and to the point, I’ve mostly been racked with guilt.”

  “You? Why?” Zachary asked.

  “As soon as I learned about Trait Theory I reasoned that there might be the potential for things to be this way.  I should have acted sooner – countless lives could have been saved,” said Windsor.

  How different is Windsor from his CMR positive relatives!  They used their CMR positive status to feast upon human flesh, while Windsor uses his CMR positive status to do good and charitable works.

  “I feel the same way.  Obviously my research did not stand up to actual events, my conclusions about the dormancy --.”

  “Old boy, speak no more of it!  Your research was a great step forward for humankind!  True, it was flawed in its specifics, but its generalities are simply spectacular!  You do realize that because of Trait Theory you have essentially saved 30 people.  I contacted you because of Trait Theory.  Therefore, your theory saved those people.  You once told me that you thought that Trait Theory could do much good for the world, and look, it already has!  You even saved the PI!  You saved Bruce!” Windsor exclaimed.        

  “I appreciate it Windsor.  And yes, I was quite happy when I saw Bruce.  But unfortunately I hold my research to a higher standard --.”

  “That you do old boy!  If there is one thing that I have learned about you Zachary it is that you hold all matters to the highest of standards!” Windsor exclaimed.

  “Well, as I have recently learned, it is one thing to hold things to high standards and another to actually live up to the standards that you have set,” said Zachary.

  “Enough of the melancholy speech, you are a genuine hero!  Now the last time we met you promised that we would meet up, and meet up soon.  Well, it’s time for this old soul to hold you to your promise.  I wish to throw a celebratory feast in your honor – you just tell me the day,” said Windsor.

  Zachary sighed. 

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that.  I really haven’t been leaving the house much, actually at all.  But yes, at some point, though I don’t know when.”

  “Good!  Good!  Your heroics shall be celebrated!  And bring the other hero, that one Jasmine Jackson.  I’ve heard that you were quite the team,” said Windsor.

  “I don’t know if that will be possible.  We have been out of touch actually,” said Zachary.

  “Oh, I see.  Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Windsor.

  Zachary was silent, the gloom having descended again. 

  Perhaps Samantha is right.  Perhaps I should go talk to a professional.

  “I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with what I read in the papers,” said Windsor.

  “What did you read in the papers?” Zachary asked. 

  Why did you even ask that?

  “Something of a gruesome irony: that you committed that act that I have so long both dreamed and have dreaded to commit; that my relatives tricked you into eating the flesh of African Americans and that while eating this said flesh that you quite enjoyed the taste,” said Windsor.

  That’s in the papers now!  Fuck!  It must have been the prosecution.  They must have leaked it.  They are probably trying to discredit my character before I take the stand in defense of the Thurmond women.  But fuck, how am I going to look people in the eyes? 

  “No, no, you pretty much guessed it.  Well, listen Windsor I really should go --.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand.  I know that you must have important things to do.  But call me as soon as you feel able,” said Windsor.

  “I will.  But one more thing, how has this been affecting you on a personal level?  I know you don’t like to go back to the past, but because you have been watching the news, it all must be taking you there,” Zachary.

  “Zachary, I’m no longer going to avoid the world – I’m going to live in it!  I’ve turned over a new leaf.  I’m a new man.  And you helped me to get there.  Things are changing for me Zachary old boy, things are changing every day!” Windsor exclaimed.

  “So it sounds like the death of your family members has not been a traumatic event,” said Zachary. 

  I hope that did not sound harsh…

  “No…I’m sticking with my routine, and trying to look at t
he bright side of things – like the people you have saved.  There have been some simply heartwarming stories.  And I’ve been continuing to push forward charitable efforts – those things are the things that have kept me grounded in this time of terrible tragedy,” said Windsor.   

  “Well I’m glad to hear that you’ve been maintaining your structure, because I know that you do important work for the world.  By the way at some point I probably will need to talk about all this, and to talk to press about CMR, though I can’t imagine doing so now.  But when I do I want to hold you up, though anonymously of course, as an example of an individual who has successfully managed to live with CMR and to not give into its demands,” said Zachary.

  “Thank you Zachary, I hold your esteem in the highest esteem…”  

   

  After having been home for a few days Zachary finally ventured outdoors.  A peppering of news reporters still outside, he attempted to sneak to his car before they had a chance to prod him for a comment.

  “Zachary Dunbar,” said a lightning fast reporter while shoving a microphone reading CNN into his face, “You helped save over 30 people, but it has also been alleged that you partook in cannibalistic rituals during you research activities --.”

  “No comment,” said Zachary, wishing that his house had an attached garage so that he did not have to walk outside to reach his car. 

  And for the money I paid it should…

  A further circling of reporters shoved microphones into his vicinity and they also shouted straight-to-the-point questions.  Zachary held up his hands and tried to maintain a calm disposition as the camera lights flashed.  However, before entering his car he reacted spontaneously by grabbing the nearest microphone and saying, “I really hadn’t planned to make any sort of a statement today.  But I would simply like to send out my prayers to all of the families of those who were imprisoned, to the victims, and to the victims’ families.  I would also like to apologize to any of the families of any of the people I accidently ate.  That was obviously not my intention, and as I have explained to the authorities, I thought myself to be eating deer meat.  Nevertheless, I feel awful about what has happened – words can’t even describe my feelings.  I would like to add that I realize that there are reports circulating that I enjoyed the taste of the human flesh, and though I do not deny having made this statement, I think that to focus on this fact only brings sensationalism to a subject that is one of human tragedy.  Thank you, that’s all I have to say.”

  As soon as Zachary returned the microphone, the bombardment of questions continued, but Zachary held up his hands and entering his car, he added, “I have no further statement to make at this time.”

  News vans followed his sedan and so he took a jarring succession of turns until they disappeared from his rear view mirror.  Then he drove to the New England Aquarium in Boston.  Contemplating fish had always relaxed Zachary and though Samantha would not have thought it so, he was actually following her advice and seeking therapy – though therapy through fish.  His therapy session began as he became mesmerized by a tank of translucent moon jellies, their glowing patterns resembling flower petals.  These simple membranous forms appeared as if floating minds yet were beings completely mindless and therefore incapable of anchoring, through thought, their lightness. 

  I look at you moon jelly fish and I think myself superior.  But if given the chance I wonder if I would be more likely to trade places with you, or you with me?  Of course you have no brain to consider the matter, but perhaps a brain is not needed for such a choice, for I am clearly not glowing, floating, or meandering and perhaps that would be all that you need to observe…       

  Zachary thought his existence the exact opposite of these drifting creatures and if possible he would have submerged himself into the tank and floated away with them into the darkness. 

  But these jellies would sting me right back to reality… 

  And Zachary noted that all living forms have their places in the order of existence. 

  And yet Zachary’s qualities had failed him.  He had discovered through many years of research, the mathematics of Trait Theory.  And yet during his two human applications of the theory, first with the Capobiancos and then with the Thurmonds, the applications had proved a disaster. 

  Yet it wasn’t Trait Theory that failed it was me! 

  This seemed to be an odd paradox because Zachary had discovered Trait Theory. 

  It is as if I have invented the trumpet but cannot play it… 

  The moon jellies spoke no words in response.  But Zachary read an answer in their drifting.  It was the same answer that Jasmine had taught him through her wandering.

  Don’t take yourself so seriously – we are all eventually ashes and dust. 

  But she had taught him this lesson in the days prior to Grey Cliff, and Zachary wondered if now her priorities had changed.

  He still had not called her.  He thought it pointless.  She had assaulted him on the helicopter and when they landed she had insisted on taking a separate vehicle home.  If she wished to speak to him, she would call.  But he remembered Samantha’s advice.

  That women are a zany lot capable of coming to all sorts of unexpected conclusions…

   He called.  Jasmine did not answer and while her answering message beeped, he wondered if he should leave a message.  The beeping ended while he was still deciding and so similar to his spontaneous statement to the reporters, he once again felt trapped in a spot where it seemed necessary to off-handedly explain his failures, but this time he resisted the impulse, instead saying “Jasmine, hello, this is Zachary.  Although I am sure that you know my voice by now so that was an unnecessary identification on my part.  I’ve never been good at leaving phone messages, I think perhaps because when one uses a phone one usually engages in a communicative act, and communication is usually a two way activity.  But here there is no one to respond to what I am saying either with a comment or with body language.  In any case, I believe that what I need to say I would fail to adequately express in this message format, a format that lacks the benefit of human, and specifically, your human feedback, and so I will not even make the attempt, please call me.”

  Satisfied that the olive branch had been extended he entered into an unfamiliar restaurant for lunch.  Zachary had often marveled that Jasmine had so quickly pegged his character: he believed that she had been correct when she had stated that his psychology research led to a life lived too monomaniacal and that in general he was laughably risk adverse. 

  Although Jasmine, together we endured enough risk for a lifetime, didn’t we? 

  During their trip she had constantly prodded him for his interests outside psychology and he had claimed that these were all contained within the realm of sports.  Yet he could have mentioned the aquarium (he went at least twice a month). 

  The food was delicious and halfway through his meal his cell rang.  It was Jasmine.  His internal monologue swore and he suddenly felt as brainless as the moon jellies. 

  “Zachary I just listened to your message,” said Jasmine.

  She does not sound ill-tempered.

  “Yes, I just left it,” said Zachary.

  “You were rambling again,” said Jasmine.

  “Yes, maybe I was.  I was caught in one of those limbos were I couldn’t decide if I was going to leave a message – and so then my message was just about why I did not want to leave a message.  But you know what?  Phones should have stock messages for people to automatically leave, like my phone could say in a robotic voice to your phone, ‘This-is-Zachary-Please-Call-Me-back.’  But that is probably already invented, because the world invents everything so fast ---.”

  “Zachary, you are rambling again,” said Jasmine.

  “Yes, and now I have no excuse, except the excuse of my existence,” said Zachary, now standing and beginning to pace.

  “I’m sorry I should have called you before this, I’ve just been so --.”<
br />
  “Jasmine, this is all my fault.  And I know that we were only dating for an absurdly short amount of time, but I don’t know, I feel you connected with me in a way that people usually don’t: that you understood me.  And in the midst of all that understanding, we killed people and saved people.  I feel like so much has happened with you.  I think I’m rambling again,” said Zachary.

  “No, go on Zachary, I was just joking before you know,” said Jasmine.

  “Well, I’d like to meet up with you again.  I’ve had a little time to process what has happened, and I would like to talk to you about it…I’m not saying that I want to meet up with on a date…I know you are really angry with me…if we could just meet up and talk as friends that would be great,” said Zachary. 

  Why did you even say that?  Of course you want it to be a date, and she hasn’t sounded mad at all…                 

  “Okay, let’s meet up later tonight…”       

   

  Before dinner Zachary shopped for a new outfit, buying a black shirt and black pants.  However, on the drive home he realized the subliminal undertones of his choice.  He sighed wondering if Jasmine would think him dressed for a funereal. 

  And perhaps one of our making… 

  But there was no time to further shop.  He called a neighbor who informed him that his home remained under siege by the news corps and so he changed in a coffee house bathroom.  Still having an hour to blow, he took a seat, and there, dressed completely in black and with a tea in hand, he realized that he also resembled one of his least favorite types, the pseudo-intellectual. 

  At least I’m not wearing a turtleneck. 

  One of Zachary’s biggest pet peeves (other than his ironic pet peeve, a loathing of the term) was having time to kill without a worthwhile book.  Smart phones and E-readers had solved this problem for many but Zachary found the glare of a screen while reading to be disconcerting.

  Especially when I’m considering complex arguments. 

  He knew it would be useless and a complete waste of time – as if time can be wasted – but he grabbed a local free paper at the front of the coffee shop, the Boston Phoenix. 

  Most of the paper concerned the Thurmond Affair and he avoided these articles.  However, once the non-Thurmond contents had been consumed, he apprehensively began reading its Thurmond analysis.  Eventually he stumbled upon a Grey Cliff editorial, the editorialist beginning with a simple question:

   

  Because Grey Cliff, as we currently understand it, existed as some sort of African American torture camp for a super-rich old-money family, then isn’t it possible that more of these atrocities are presently occurring?   

   

  Zachary thought this a fair enough question to pose yet an impossible one to answer (through a mere pondering).  Furthermore, Zachary recognized in this statement an erroneous theory of argumentation, the slippery slope theory.  The slippery slope theory held that because A was happening then it should be assumed that an exaggerated version of A was either happening or would likely happen. 

  It is a logical fallacy.  Politicians use it all the time when they make arguments such as ‘We can’t allow homosexuals to marry because next we would allow people to marry their pets and inter-marriage with pets is sickening!’

   The editorialist continued:

   

    The Thurmond children have been clear with the authorities, all maintaining that the Thurmonds acted alone. 

   

  Yes, Zachary remembered new reporters echoing this statement.  And it seemed fairly obvious that three children who had just survived a bloodbath and were suffering the loss of a significant portion of their immediate families would be incapable of aligning stories and shielding conspirators.  Moreover, if conspirators had been involved wouldn’t the authorities have found some kind of trail?  But the authorities had stated that nothing, not even a finger print, connected Grey Cliff with anyone outside the Thurmond family.  And fittingly, the editorialist noted, Obama had made Grey Cliff a campaign issue:

   

  Thus far, Obama’s campaign strategy has been to make race a non-issue, which prior to Grey Cliff has proved a cunning maneuver.  Clearly, if Americans were to elect their first President of African American descent this would be a landmark moment for the country.  Benjamin Franklin, in his autobiography, noted that people become stronger supporters of the conclusions that they (think they) have made themselves rather than those explicitly thrust at them by others.   And Obama, by making race a non-issue in his campaign, has allowed Americans to reach their own personally-derived conclusions about what his election would mean for race relations in this country: in other words, Obama, by remaining generally silent about race, has given Americans the chance to make their own internal Martin Luther King speeches.

  But Grey Cliff has rendered this strategy ineffective.  Grey Cliff was an unimaginable event and as such, an event that leaders are expected to comment upon.  Therefore, it has forced Obama to make his first race-themed speech of the campaign.  And as the continued details of Grey Cliff continue to be sorted and analyzed, Obama decided to focus his speech on the authorities’ conclusions that have pointed towards American unity rather than American divineness, as he stated,

   

  “Over two hundred years ago the people of the American colonies banded together to fight tyranny and oppression, and though greatly outnumbered, vastly undertrained, and highly outgunned, these men and women, a rag tag assortment of farmers, laborers, and aristocrats alike, united in mind and spirit to achieve a revolution of both place and ideas. And our American revolution is still, over two hundred years later, sending shockwaves around the globe.  This experiment, the American Experiment, an experiment in self governance has been based upon the belief that humankind is capable of determining as a general population how best to live in peace and harmony with their brothers and sisters. 

  Fellow Americans I say the American experiment is an experiment no more!  It is a proof!  It is a principle!  It is a blueprint!  America has proven that a people needs no King!  That a people needs no Queen!  The people need only the people!  And so America needs the people!  We the people!  The united people!   

  And it is upon this day, a sad day, that I find it necessary to address my fellow Americans.  The events in Montana have been beyond tragic.  It is only natural to seek a reason for such atrocities, to seek an explanation of any kind.  My fellow Americans I can offer no explanation for such unspeakable horrors, but what I can offer is what I have observed in the days following the unthinkable.   As the facts have unfolded and we have learned that this family, these alleged cannibalistic murderous racists, acted alone, and as I have observed the reactions of my fellow Americans and from the Americans I have spoken with, I can say, with the full force of my soul, “That this family did indeed act alone!  That here in America they will find no backers!  That here in Americans we are united in our belief that no matter an American’s race that we all fly the same flag, that we all share the same rights, because we are The People, the American People!”

   

  As Zachary read the last paragraph he was stunned to discover that a presidential candidate had used his term ‘cannibalistic murderous racists’ in a campaign speech.  Before his evacuation Zachary had been extensively interviewed by the authorities and had explained Trait Theory and how it related to his Thurmond family research.  Although the authorities became aghast when Zachary explained the scientific reasoning for his incorrectly concluded Thurmond family CMR dormancy, Joseph quickly came to his rescue (having demanded that he be present during any interviewing of Zachary and Jasmine) saying, “Gentlemen, it is obvious that Zachary made some mistakes in how he studied this matter.  But hindsight is twenty-twenty.  This morning when you woke up I doubt that you would have thought these acts possible either.  And it must be noted that nothing this man did was willfully m
alicious.  I can attest to that.  And as I have stated he saved my life and the life of many others.  He needs to rest as do we all…” 

  Yet it was at this meeting, Zachary postulated, that ‘cannibalistic murderous racism’ had begun its path into the public consciousness.  For Zachary, this realization was both thrilling and unsettling.  Thrilling because Trait Theory could quite possibly be catapulted into the mainstream and thus provide the opportunity for it to flourish, but unsettling because if Trait Theory became a common discussion point, it also seemed likely that Zachary would be called upon to publicly explain his Thurmond Research failings. 

  Windsor magnanimously refused to listen, but the power hungry talking-heads of the world will not be so forgiving, and I imagine that they will demand an answer. 

  And Zachary still had not fully considered the matter himself.  He groaned and continued reading the editorial:                                                  

   

  It may have made good political sense for Obama to stress the unity that this atrocious calamity has fermented, for I have observed it as well.  But in seeking out this theme of complete unity against these alleged killers, Obama, a graduate of Harvard Law, may have laid out his case before having examined all the facts.  It has been reported that in a joint effort Homeland Security and the FBI have been furiously analyzing the contents of this hunting lodge with the so-called name Grey Cliff.  And in press conference after press conference they have been assuring the public that no evidence leads them to believe that these acts were aided by conspirators.  Yet never in the history of public discourse do I remember authorities so rapidly reaching such a shaky conclusion.  Why the rush?  For one, I believe it to be a public safety measure.  That Grey Cliff has not caused a race riot is nothing short of a divine miracle.  If it were to be discovered that the Thurmonds worked with others then the racial tensions would only rise and perhaps erupt. 

  But not all the evidence at Grey Cliff leads to the conclusion that there were no conspirators.  While some of the survivors have stated that they recognize in pictures of the Thurmonds, the faces of the kidnappers, other survivors have not.  Yet the government has not pursued this lead.  Instead they have disseminated the report of a trauma expert who stated that it was highly likely that trauma had caused loss of memory and therefore loss of facial recognition.  And so the neat and tidy story continues that there were no Grey Cliff conspirators, and in the hope of rosy harmony and blissful non-violence, the government continues to spew this public-speak. 

  Yet I wonder if behind the scenes, the FBI, Homeland, and perhaps other organizations, are pursuing the possibility that there were conspirators?  And even if they are not pursuing this possibility they might be pursuing the possibility that there are other Grey Cliffs.

  And why not?  We have learned that this old money family dynasty was created through slave-holding origins.  Is it so absurd to speculate that at this very moment that other old money family dynasties -- and perhaps also with slave-holding origins -- are committing even more abhorrent anti-African American acts?

   

  Zachary shook his head.  The conclusion of the article was exactly as Zachary had earlier predicted, a conclusion resting on the false logic of the slippery slope theory. 

  If this author wrote an article about me he would probably say: ‘Zachary Dunbar has accidently eaten human flesh.  Therefore, he will soon commit an even more atrocious act and… 

  Zachary sighed as he realized his difficulty imaging a more atrocious act than human flesh consumption.  He was not sure the dirty feeling would ever leave him. 

  Shortly after agreeing to work for Windsor, Zachary had researched cannibalism and discovered that humankind has never universally condemned cannibalism, that cannibalism is presently practiced by some tribes in Africa, and that in most counties cannibalism, surprisingly, is not explicitly illegal.  Furthermore, some modern cultures completely accept certain forms of cannibalism, such as the Chinese who practice placentophagy, or the practice of eating for nourishment the placenta after a child’s birth. 

  But as he recalled these facts, he found they offered little solace, worried that his accidental cannibalism would always be cause for sully in the eyes of his collogues, friends, relatives, and acquaintances. 

  And I’ll never be able to find solace through the common and shared experiences of others, say the way that a room of drunks can swap moralistic stories at AA about boozing…

   It occurred to him that the unwitting Thurmond females were the best positioned to understand his plight.  But other than spending time as a witness at their trials, he did not expect to come in contact with these moneyed Thurmonds – and that trial would only, Zachary predicted, rend further the divide with Jasmine.  Would Jasmine ever love him again or would, if they kissed, she taste the remnants of his mistake? 

  But perhaps Samantha is right and Jasmine is capable of putting this matter out of her mind… 

  The coffee house was full and Zachary sat alone in a booth.  As a young man he had traveled to Europe and knew that there strangers routinely sat at the same tables, that this was part of their culture.  

  But here in America we situate ourselves only with known people.  

  And it seemed reasonable to conclude that Grey Cliff would add to the fear Americans felt when considering strangers, because Americans as a group, for whatever reason, have a well developed capacity to envision the nightmarish. 

  But as Zachary explained to Jasmine during their trek, he diverged from the standard group-think in this aspect, seeming to continually look at the brighter side.  Usually this optimism was a boon, and just the type of thinking that had, say, propelled him through seven lonely years of Trait Theory mouse research.  However, with the Capobianco and the Thurmond Affairs it had proved disastrous. 

  Yet as Zachary sat sipping his tea, he realized that he felt no desire to change the workings of his mind, to become more sullen, more world-weary, more doubtful of his neighbor’s intentions; Zachary had survived a terrible slaughter in which people he had assumed to be upstanding citizens were actually bloodthirsty killers who had acted without provocation.  But Zachary sensed that no useful lesson could be taken from either the Capobianco or the Thurmond Affair, because by following the implications of these events he would start barring his windows, carrying a gun, and ignoring the nods of strangers.   

   Moreover, by following the implications of the Capobianco and Thurmond Affairs it would be necessary to view with suspicion even the most established of figures.  Last year Zachary had met the mayor of Boston, Mayor Menino, a genial fellow who had accomplished a long list of major civic improvements, such as miles of well-marked city bike lanes.  They had spoken for hours and Zachary had judged Menino to be a chivalrous public servant of the old school, one ready to sacrifice his personal comfort for the good of others. 

  Yet, if the logical conclusions of the Capobianco and the Thurmond Affairs were followed then Zachary would have to assume that while Menino appeared chivalrous that perhaps when the spotlight vanished his Hyde-side materialized and he committed unthinkable acts, such as lethal liquor stores robberies or sniper shots at children. 

  And that is not the type of thinking that I wish to engage in on a daily basis… 

  He looked around the coffee shop, wondering if now he had the ability to better read the face of evil.  But the patrons looked harmless and he found himself suspecting nothing.  Zachary knew that humans have a highly developed flight or fight response, a holdover from our caveman days, a time when we had to continually battle unforeseen terrors such as wild beasts and invading tribes.  However, over the course of millions of years humans have evolved and civilization created the rule of law, and so now fighting physically was essentially an anachronism tolerated only as organized sport.  A citizen of a developed country, all Zachary needed to do in a moment of unforeseen threat wa
s exercise, not elaborate fighting techniques, but a few motions of his fingers and dial 911. 

  Yet I saved myself through the sword, how strange… 

  The dedication that some people spent learning to fight had always struck Zachary as misspent energy.  But he guessed that these people had a better ability to suspect the lingering maliciousness of life.  For Zachary a dark alley was merely a space absent light, but he doubted that these kung fu sorts would take the same perspective. 

  However, the question begs asking: could a bit more cynicism potentially do me some good?  And if so, how does one develop cynicism? 

  It seemed to Zachary that if the Capobianco and the Thurmond Affairs did not implant the seeds of cynicism within his mind then nothing would.  Through Trait Theory the development and inheritance of traits had become Zachary’s specialty and he wondered why he was so lacking in the cynicism trait.  And unlike Cannibalistic-Murderous-Racism, cynicism was not a rarity; instead it seemed to be flourishing wherever Zachary turned: the articles that he had just read in the paper a perfect example.  The editorialist had not praised the fast action of the government in evacuating Grey Cliff or in providing medical support to the survivors, but instead had imagined the possibility of more killing camps. 

  But what purpose does such imagining accomplish?  Only to make it more unlikely that a stranger will wish to sit by my side…

  The conversation in the booth behind caught his awareness.  They were discussing Grey Cliff and their comments were becoming louder, a disagreement having occurred.  Curious Zachary turned, noting them both to be white, perhaps in their twenties, college students probably, and because they were sitting on the same side of the booth, Zachary assumed them to be boyfriend and girlfriend or at least dating.

  “All I’m saying is that it is convenient that these two just magically showed up at this spot.  They knew what was going on.  There were privy to certain facts.  So obviously, some rift occurred there and they decided to take matters in their own hands.  But they aren’t innocent, not by a long shot,” said the guy.

  Is he talking about Jasmine and me?  Does he think we were involved?

  “I don’t know how you could say that,” the girl replied.  “Jasmine is black.  These people ate black people.  Why would she be involved?”

  “Oh, so you think white people can eat black people but black people can’t eat black people?” said the guy.

  “No, I’m not saying that at all, I’m just saying that what you are saying makes no sense.  Because Jasmine is black she could not have been on their side.  The white people there, the Thurmonds, would have eaten Jasmine.  So it’s absurd when you say that she is like on their side,” said the girl.

  “Vampires eat humans right?” asked the guy.

  “What are you talking about?” said the girl.

  “Just answer the question,” said the guy.

  “That’s like the dumbest question ever.  That is like not even a question.  That’s like the questions that teachers ask in class and then say, ‘why isn’t anyone participating and answering my questions?’  Well, most people don’t answer questions that contain the answer in the question,” said the girl.

  She’s got a point, during class I often struggled with asking questions that weren’t too obvious yet were also not too complicated…

  “So anyway vampires eat humans,” the guy continued.  “Yet in like every vampire story there are humans who help the vampires, who like drive around their corpses in the day light and stuff like that.  Jasmine was obviously like one of these humans helping vampires…”

  Their conversation became increasingly far-fetched. 

  And I thought the news was bad! If people are hypothesizing like this it is worse than I suspected.

   Once again it occurred to him that he would need to set the record straight and probably on national television.  He finished his tea, the final sip having become almost insufferably cold, and walked, head-down, from the coffee shop. 

  Inconspicuousness had never been one of Zachary’s concerns – after all, research psychologists are not celebrities.  But his photograph had begun appearing on news outlets and he wondered if strangers would start recognizing him in a crowd or perhaps asking him pointed questions. 

  Zachary believed that in America three main motivating factors drive people: fame, wealth and power.  (He considered these fool’s pursuits.)  A theory of motivation with which Zachary was familiar held that fame conglomerates in L.A., wealth conglomerates in New York, and power conglomerates in D.C.  But where did that leave Boston?  A conglomeration of knowledge perhaps?  If so, Zachary had settled into the right place. 

  The odd thing about fame in America, Zachary had noted, is that it made little distinction between illustriousness and infamy.  Zachary knew that a certain percentage of the population would be jealous of his national news coverage, regardless that the discussion revolved around his role in a series of horrific acts and not, for example, some great scientific achievement on his part.  Although he wanted Trait Theory to be well known by the public because he believed that it could achieve much good for the world, he wished to always retain his ability to blend into the background.  Fortunately thus far, as in the coffee shop, he had not been noticed.  Potentially this was because the one picture of Zachary that the news stations had obtained was grainy and over ten years old: the picture actually made him look more fugitive from justice than former Harvard professor.

  Jasmine and Zachary had decided to meet at the location of their first date, the Joshua Tree, a Davis Square pub.  Sometimes the pub featured bands but not tonight.  The same as their first date, Zachary sat alone waiting for Jasmine to arrive.  And although much had changed since that first date, Zachary sensed the emergence of familiar patterns.  During that first date Zachary was grief stricken from the Capobianco Affair and now he was grief stricken from both the Capobianco and the Thurmond Affairs; during the first date, Zachary’s most recent lover, Samantha, had been angered by his actions and their future seemed rocky.  Now the same could be said concerning Jasmine, and during their first date Zachary was drifting professionally and now again. 

  However, when Zachary first met Jasmine, he never would have dreamed that they would experience so much in such a short time.  First through her charms she had seduced him, and then through travel she had caused him to question his life’s priorities, and finally through her example she had demanded his allegiance.    

  This third event, the Thurmond bloodbath, remained in his mind as an unconcluded story.  Yes, the Thurmond bodies had been hacked and the corpses had been buried.  Yes, the kidnapped had been saved and the government had begun to tie-up loose ends.  But where did that leave Jasmine and Zachary?  Or rather: what does joint-carnage mean for the prospects of a traditional relationship? 

  It wasn’t as if Zachary could ask “Meredith” his local love columnist for the Boston Globe; a lover’s vacation which had ended in a slaughter was an event that he guessed to be outside her scope of expertise.  He wondered if Jasmine blamed him for not better playing the role of a male and killing more effectively, or if she now blamed him for the blood that she had on her hands, or if her worldview had changed and now she would desire the blatantly macho.  And of course he wondered about the flesh situation…  But these were not questions that he thought prudent to ask. 

  Here again I think Samantha would advise self-censorship.  But what about me?  Have my feelings about Jasmine changed now that she has hacked more than 5 people?

  Jasmine had posed a similar question to him during their first date, asking him if he would stick around were she to test RMT positive.  Dauntlessly, Zachary had stated that this would make no difference.  But was this true? 

  Breaking him from his reverie, fingers snapped by his nose.  Zachary looked up.  It was Jasmine.  She wore a glimmering black gown and she looked breathtaking.  Taking a seat in the booth, she smiled and reached across
the table.  Zachary reciprocated, thinking that she wished to embrace, but she grabbed his beer and finished it in a gulp.

  “I’ve been drinking a lot these past few days,” she said, slamming down the empty glass as if the table was a Thurmond head.

  “So how have you been doing?” Zachary asked, realizing that he loved her more than ever.  After facing the reality of his flesh consumption, he had felt himself an irredeemable social deviant and yet in her eyes he saw no judgment. 

  Perhaps because she too strayed from the constraints of society when she hacked the Thurmonds limb from limb…

  “I think okay,” said Jasmine.

  A waiter approached and Zachary ordered a round, though whispering his order and keeping Jasmine’s drink a secret.

  “Why all the drinking?” Zachary asked.

  “I don’t know.  It’s been hard to sleep without it,” said Jasmine.

  “I haven’t been sleeping much,” said Zachary.

  “Then you should be drinking more,” said Jasmine.

  “Yeah, this is my first.”

  “I’ve missed you,” said Jasmine.

  “I’ve missed you so much.  I didn’t want to call because --.”

  “I shouldn’t have slapped you on the helicopter.  What happened was not your fault,” Jasmine interrupted.

  Don’t cry: she will think you even less of the macho sort… 

  “Thank you for saying that.  But I do blame myself for failing to analyze my data correctly.  At least two lives were lost and maybe more on that account,” said Zachary.

  “You don’t know that for sure…We had, as you put it, all the sick Thurmond males in one place.  And the females are being put on trial, so they will get their just desserts as well,” said Jasmine.

  Fuck, I really don’t want to tell her about my position as a witness for the female Thurmond defense team, like Samantha says some things are better kept as secrets.  But what a stupid secret because eventually she will find out…

  “I appreciate your support.  Is there any way that I can support you?” Zachary asked.

  Jasmine was silent for a moment.  “I’ve done a lot of soul searching these last few days.  We are both, to put it crassly, hot commodities right now.  What offers have you had?”

  “Offers?”

  “Books, television, that sort of thing,” said Jasmine.

  “I really haven’t been paying attention,” said Zachary.

  “You haven’t been paying attention?  How is that possible?  Grey Cliff,” said Jasmine, now lowering her voice, “We are everywhere – it’s the national discussion.”

  “I’ve gathered that, but it’s also a discussion I’ve been trying to avoid.  I have been conversing with the government quite a bit and explaining Trait Theory, but I have not made myself available to anyone else,” said Zachary.

  “I’ve had offers all over my answering machine and email,” said Jasmine.  “But I haven’t made myself, as you put it, available either.  I’m still coming to grips with all of this.”

  “Right, well the government provided me with a secure phone and I’ve been talking to them on that number.  But I’ve taken no incoming calls on my cell, other than the numbers that I recognize, and I haven’t checked my email.  But what offers have you had, I’m curious?” Zachary asked.

  “Really what offers haven’t I had.  They are everywhere: Random House, Hollywood, the New York Times, Oprah --.”

  “Oprah Winfrey?” Zachary asked.

  “No, the other Oprah…”

  She still isn’t afraid to deride me – that’s probably a good sign…

  “…Why does that surprise you?  We were just referenced -- or rather our situation was just referenced -- in a landmark campaign speech by Barak Obama,” said Jasmine. 

  “I know it’s probably just a little different for you.  You were a genuine hero and nothing anyone can say can take that away from you.  You acted bravely and valiantly in a situation which you were completely just tossed into unaware.  In retrospect you were the perfect person for that situation.  And if I believed in a higher power, I might be inclined to see the hand of God in what occurred --.”

  Jasmine interrupted, saying, “Zachary I am not religious but this situation has been bringing me face to face with God, it is something that I am still grappling with…”

  Some people use fish for therapy others use buildings with high towers, to each their own…

  Zachary continued, “But my position is different.  When I try to step back and objectively view the situation my analysis reads something like this: that I was a bumbling professor who had reached completely incorrect conclusions which had mortal implications.  Furthermore, I look like a complete buffoon.”    

  “Then what are you going to do about it?” Jasmine asked.

  “I don’t understand,” said Zachary, though sensing that she was, once again, questioning his manhood. 

  Fuck...I know what she is saying: are you going to continue cowering under the bed or are you going to barge through the door and slay the monsters? 

  Therefore, before she had a chance to reply he added, “No, you are right.  I do have to face my critics.  But like you I’m still coming to grips with all this.  I just don’t feel confident in my voice right now.  I will soon.  I’ll get up from under the bed and I’ll take the sword --.”

  “Zachary I get the sense that you think I look down on you for the way you fought.  I don’t, not at all,” said Jasmine, grabbing his hand and squeezing it.

  That touch – it feels like peace…

  “You don’t?” Zachary asked.

  “No, not at all: you know it is funny -- well nothing about this is funny -- but you are going to think me weird, but I played all my past boyfriends through my head, and I put them under that bed.  I’m not sure that any of them would have actually followed me into that cannibal-filled-room.  They would have talked a big talk, but I don’t know…The point is, you did – and that means a lot – you didn’t want to – but you helped save me and those people, and I’m always going to feel close to you for that no matter where this relationship goes,” said Jasmine, releasing Zachary’s hand.

  Here it comes, the part where she tells me that from now on we should just be friends, and though she doesn’t say it we both know why: it’s because I’ve consumed human flesh…Think, what would Samantha do?  Maybe she’d make a preemptive attack…

  “Well, that’s good I’m glad to hear that, I am.  But what about the other thing you learned about me from the Thurmonds.  What does that do?” said Zachary, thinking it better not to directly identify his mistake.

  “Accidental Human Consumption is what the press corps has termed it you know – that is something I have had to come to grips with too, and I have.  The Thurmonds put you into that situation.  You were a victim.  I can’t hold that against you Zachary and I think anyone who does is a narrow-minded fool, and I’ll tell them that to their faces too,” said Jasmine.

  Good – just so long as you don’t hack them to pieces. 

  God!  Why would you even think that?  Yet this is a perfect example of just the sort of moment that Samantha referenced, where silence, not admission, is the best policy. 

  But what about your position on the defense team?  You are going to have to tell her about that…

  Jasmine continued, “And actually this is something that I wanted to talk to you about.  We faced a lot together and though we had our differences, we made a good team.  I don’t want this to be my big break.  But then again, it is inevitable that I am going to have to talk about what happened.  Anyway, I guess what I am trying to get to here is that when I do talk about what happened at Grey Cliff, I want you to do it with me.”

  “You do?” Zachary asked. 

  But what does that mean for us?  Are we just a professional pair now?  Like loveless married politicians, appearing together at public events and sleeping in different beds…

  �
��Yes, I do,” said Jasmine, smiling. 

  I feel like she wants me to kiss her…or am I just imagining that?

  “Okay, how do you want to do this?  Who do we talk to?  But let me say from the start that I don’t want to profit financially from this so if we sign a book deal for instance, I’ll need to donate my half to charity,” said Zachary, though trying not to sound too-stuffy.

  “Then I will too,” said Jasmine.

  “Really?” Zachary asked.

  Now I feel like she definitely wants me to kiss her…

  “Yes, we are a team,” said Jasmine.  “And I was thinking the same thing.  I mean I’m already going to benefit from this in some professional sense: that is just going to happen…”

  As Jasmine finished her statement, Zachary stood up and sat beside her.  She stopped speaking and he grabbed her face and they kissed.  The moment brought Zachary back to Montana, not the Montana of death and misery, but the innocent Montana when Grey Cliff still lay in the future, and they were like the two lone souls on earth.

  But Jasmine brought him back to the present, as she whispered into his ear, “Don’t look back, a man has been watching us.”

  Zachary said softly, “And what would be out-of-sorts about that?  Our likenesses are all over the news.  I think it is something of a miracle that we have not yet been accosted by strangers.”

  Jasmine smiled and touched Zachary’s face with her hands, kissing him again, whispering, “Act normal and keep kissing me.”

  So this is all a show?  Not reconciliation?  What about when I first kissed her?  Was that kiss feigned too?

  They broke away and Zachary said, “What are you worried about?”

  “He’s gone,” said Jasmine, glancing around the room.  “He left his beer.  It is only half drank.”

  “Maybe, he just went to the bathroom,” Zachary offered, still following Jasmine’s instruction not to look behind.

  “No, his cash is on the table,” said Jasmine.

  “What was his deal?” Zachary asked.

  “Probably nothing, forget about it,” said Jasmine.

  “No, tell me.  I want to know,” said Zachary, feeling as if he once again held the sword and that this time around he was ready to behead. 

  Or maybe that’s just the booze talking…

  “Well, it was just the way he was looking at us.  It was the same look that I saw in their eyes, a look of total disgust and hatred, like he wanted to consume me, us, I don’t know,” said Jasmine.

  “Oh,” said Zachary, now feeling as if the sword had slipped from his hand. 

  This is all over isn’t it?  Isn’t it!     

  “But I’m sure it was nothing.  I’m just being paranoid,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary eagerly accepted this view, saying, “And that is only natural given all that, you, we have been through.”

  But she looks doubtful. 

  Zachary added, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.  But I have been thinking that maybe I should get a gun to carry around,” said Jasmine.

  “A gun?  No, that’s not a good idea, especially not for someone who, well, you know,” said Zachary.

  “What?” Jasmine asked. 

  Did she just slip a steak knife into her pocket? 

  Zachary finished his thought, saying, “Potentially has the Righteous Murder Trait, I should really test you for it now like I was going to before.  You need to know.”

  “So you don’t want me to have a gun because you think that if I see someone doing something bad I will kill them?” Jasmine asked.

  “Basically, yes,” Zachary replied.

  “But isn’t that the point of a gun?” Jasmine asked.

  “No, it is most certainly not – that is what the police are for --.”

  “Shooting people?” Jasmine asked, adding, “You’d have been a more popular guest on Blinded Justice if you had stated that view during your interview.”

  Zachary laughed, “No I mean handling things like that – a gun is protection of the last resort – but you know that.  I just don’t think it is a good idea – get pepper spray – get a Taser.”

  “I want a gun,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary shook his head.

  Jasmine said, “I am not convinced that the Thurmonds were all that there was to all of this.  It does not seem likely, regardless of what the government is saying, that this was all the act of one family.  I feel like they are covering something up.”

  She sounds like the editorialist…   

  “Jasmine, I’m a psychologist, not an officer of the law.  But when the government and their law offices state something I generally believe it,” said Zachary.

  “Generally?  Okay, give me an instance where you haven’t?” said Jasmine.

  “Haven’t what?” Zachary asked, buying time, but he could think of no examples.

  “When you haven’t trusted something that the government has told you,” said Jasmine.

  “I mean I can’t think of something right now, but I’m sure there must have been something over the course of my lifetime,” said Zachary.

  “You are so naïve.  The government lies to us all the time – politicians lie to us all the time – that’s how they keep everything running.  But you know what else this makes me think?  My ancestor and the Jeffersonian Elites: I had assumed that because they had accomplished their mission that therefore they had disbanded.  However, after this, I mean Grey Cliff, I am not so sure,” said Jasmine.

  “So you thought that was a member of the Jeffersonian Elites spying on us?” Zachary asked.

  “I don’t know, but if not, couldn’t there still be other groups doing these sorts of things right now?”

  Here we come slippery slope theory…But I’m not going to mention it: the last thing our reunion needs is some academic lecture by Professor Dunbar…

   “So you want to buy a gun?” Zachary asked

  “Yes, exactly, I want to buy a gun,” said Jasmine.

  Zachary frowned.  “We really should test you for the Righteous Murder Trait.  These urges that you are having seem to be right in line with what your ancestor’s narrative described.”

  “By all means test me, I’ve wanted you to do it for a while,” said Jasmine.

  “I will, but promise that you won’t buy a gun until we have,” said Zachary.

  Jasmine took a big gulp of her drink.  

  “You still haven’t told me what this is anyway and it’s delicious. “

  “Don’t change the subject,” said Zachary, his eyes narrowed.  “Promise me.”

  “Okay, I promise you.”

  “And if there is anything that I have learned about you it is that you are not a damsel in distress,” said Zachary.

  Jasmine laughed.

  “So you don’t need a gun, and no, I’m never going to tell you the name of that drink – which means that if you ever want one that you are going to have it with me,” said Zachary.

  Jasmine laughed again.  “I wasn’t sure how this was going to go.  But I’m glad I came.  I still think we could work – even though you can be pig-headed.”

  “Pig-headed?” Zachary laughed.

  “Yes, oink, oink…pig-headed by thinking everything in Grey Cliff was fine when everything there seemed to state otherwise.  Pig-headed by, at first coming to the defense of those Thurmond women…”

  Zachary swallowed hard.

  “What?” Jasmine asked.

  “Well, you know, I still think that they, like I, were unwitting participants in all of this, especially in the, you know, eating part,” said Zachary, though looking into his drink as he spoke. 

  Zachary heard the sounds of the bar whirling around him: laughter, shouts, clinks of glasses, the shuffling of feet.  But he heard no words from Jasmine.  And when he looked up he half expected her to have left.  Instead she sat with her arms crossed, scowling.

  Fuck…

  “The news said that you
are testifying for the prosecution,” said Jasmine.

  Prosecution?  The news must have mixed it up… 

  Zachary looked down at his phone.  He had five new messages and he guessed that they were probably from the defense team.

  “Jasmine, they must have that wrong.  I’m sorry, I wish that we saw eye-to-eye on this but --.”

  “But nothing!  What the fuck!  How do you come to the defense of these people?” Jasmine asked, shaking her head.  “They were hacking people up and eating them!  Seriously, what the fuck!”

  Why does life have to be so complicated?

  “I dreaded telling you that I did.  But it isn’t because I feel bad about it.  I just know how opinionated you are about this matter --.”

  “Yes, I’m fucking opinionated!  Opinionated because they were fucking eating people!  Answer why you are coming to their defense – and if you say one word about your data this drink is going all over you,” said Jasmine.

  “It’s simple: because in defending the Thurmond women I am defending myself.  Don’t you see?  I am the same?” said Zachary.

  “You are all women then?” said Jasmine, not smiling.

  “No, I mean they were unwittingly eating African American flesh just as I was unwittingly eating African American flesh.  And if the authorities are going to let me off, then they should let them off.  But if the authorities send them away they should send me away – I did it too,” said Zachary.

  “So if they are convicted then you are going to volunteer to go to jail?” Jasmine asked.

  “Perhaps,” said Zachary. 

  “The justice system in this country does not apply to all people the same and innocent people, usually black, go to jail all the time.  Zachary, I don’t care if these rich-bitches knew what they were eating or not.  According to news reports the Thurmonds have been eating black people for years.  And while their husbands are dead and their brother’s are dead, a public face still needs to be put on trial and made an example of,” said Jasmine.

  “Even if they are innocent?” Zachary asked.

  “They aren’t innocent.  They knew something was going on,” said Jasmine.

  “Just like me?” Zachary asked.

  “Fuck you Zachary, you are twisting my words – don’t call me again until you have some sense…”

   

  Washington, Jeffersonian Elites Headquarters:  The sky was blue and clear.  Mr. X had many tasks that he could have been accomplishing at that moment, but he decided to pause and sip upon a cold beer. 

  The Thurmond family had fallen.  There were other financial players in the network, but the Thurmonds had been one of the biggest.  Also, they had perhaps the keenest sense of how to continually profit from the supremacist policies of the United States, and over successive generations of their family run firm, had turned this manner of investment into something of an art form.  But now they were gone and the government was scrambling to delicately handle the Grey Cliff mess that they had left behind. 

  Mr. X was a bit player in the Jeffersonian Elites organization, and his official government job demanded the bulk of his time.  Still, he knew himself to be well-respected within the Elites.  And he had been told more than once by his higher-ups that if it were not for his inflammatory temper that he would already have risen within the hierarchy. 

  Yet it was at times like this -- chaos -- when he felt most at peace.  There are a small minority of men, soldiers and generals alike, who feel perfectly at ease within the madness of battle.  It is not that these men take solace from the bullets whizzing by their heads, but where other men see insanity, these naturally born soldiers see possibility, and right now Mr. X saw possibility everywhere he looked.

  By calling in favors the hemorrhaging had been contained and the authorities had declared the Thurmonds to be an isolated incidence.  Apologists had been sent to their usual destinations, to Reverend Sharpton and Jessee Jackson, so as to pull apologies from thin air, apologies with the theme, “Yes, racism is bad.  Yes, we should have done more.  Yes, we should have seen this coming.” 

  Thus, Grey Cliff could be used to prove to America (and the world at large) that America was no longer racist and that America condemns such atrocities. 

  Thurmonds you have been martyred for our cause… 

  And it gave ordinary Americans an opportunity to vent and declare their non-racist status.  And with this venting having concluded they would need do no more, for they had already proven their non-racist status, and meanwhile the War against the Negro could continue unabated, that silent war that had yielded such a plentiful bounty for the Jeffersonian Elites and white America at large.

  The beer tasted good.  The breeze through the window was crisp and all seemed right in the world.

   And those Thurmonds were busy beavers. 

  Mr. X knew that there were others in his network bloodier than the Thurmonds, but he admired the Thurmonds originality. 

  The hunting – the feasting – the imposing nature of Grey Cliff itself… 

  And the Thurmonds did business quite efficiently, never missing payments for services rendered and yet when offering their services providing only the savviest financial tips. 

  Furthermore, Mr. X admired Donald and Charles on a personal level, and had been highly entertained when they phoned him the details of their “venison” feasts.  But that chapter in his life had now concluded and Mr. X promised himself that he would cease his sentimentalization of the Thurmonds once he had finished his beer. 

  Earlier in the week, Mr. K had consulted with Mr. X for possible policy maneuvers, and as Mr. X watched the news he noted that many of his suggestions had been acted upon.  He had told Mr. K, “Fear will be our main currency.  If any of our connects balk at your suggestions, just keep repeating the words ‘race war.’  No politician wants to see a race war.”

  Mr. K replied, “But I don’t understand, you are always pushing for the instigation of a race war.  It seems that right now it would be quite easy to ignite one, and you want to back away.”

  Mr. X replied, “Right now a race war could prove disastrous.  It would bring more scrutiny to Grey Cliff.  I’ve always advocated for the implementation of a race wars when they originate from a source that has no possibility of being connecting back to us.  Rodney King – that was a spontaneous event – and the police had no connection to any of our organizations – so it was a perfect opportunity for us to ignite that riot and to further bury in the collective white psyche the crazed and dangerous reality of the Negro.  We need to use Grey Cliff as an opportunity to shore up our resources, to unite, but also to act defensively.”

  And as Mr. X watched the news reports he noted with satisfaction that it appeared that a race war was not being pursued and that all policy pointed towards an American kumbaya moment.  Mr. X had also suggested that Peter Graham (the assassin and previous owner of the now manumitted slaves) and Zachary Dunbar and Jasmine Jackson (the two tourists responsible for the Thurmond carnage) should all be eliminated, saying, “Peter must be put under ground.  The freed slaves could somehow identify him…” 

  And in making his case for the murder of Zachary and Jasmine he stated, “The government is an organization that we have so thoroughly infiltrated that we can be confident of controlling its actions in regards to racial policy.  But these two lone individuals worry me.  They have no superiors for us to influence, and we don’t know how this event will affect them.  And we don’t know what information they may have withheld at their interviews.  Perhaps they learned something that they did not talk about.” 

  Mr. X knew that both these suggestions had been accepted because he had been put in charge of organizing the operations.  His plan was to first manipulate Peter Graham (a man still seething in disgust over the failure of his slave plantation) into killing Zachary and Jasmine. 

  And Peter accepted the job eagerly, saying, “It’s been awful Mr. X.  I can’t even describe it to yo
u.  After having been a slave owner, and now not being a slave owner, the feeling is disastrous.  Southern Pride had always struck me as absurd, and I’d never really bought into it.  But now I understand it utterly.  Southern Pride is a defense mechanism for the humiliating loss of our slaves.  I’ve heard it said that it is better to have loved and to have lost at love than to never have loved at all.  Well, the same can’t be said for being a slave owner – having lost my slaves, I feel a shell of myself – and I wish that I had never owned them at all”

  This was the part that Mr. X knew would come, the part where Peter would try to convince him that none of the slaves had ever seen his face and so the slave plantation could never be connected to him.  In essence, Peter was begging for his life.  Of course, Mr. X would never be able to give it to him – it was not even his call to make – but he did his best to convince him otherwise, saying, “Peter, listen, I’m fully behind you.  This whole thing has become chaos and I need the support of all my allies.  Those 25 who were freed they are going to have to be killed.  That much is obvious.  Don’t worry I will get help from other sources.  You won’t have to kill them all.  But first we need to start with Jasmine and Zachary, the two who found them.  They are the biggest threat at this point.  So I’m glad you have agreed to the job…” 

  Peter expressed his gratitude and Mr. X added, “One more thing – we can no longer leave anything to chance, not after the fall of Grey Cliff.  Therefore, I will need you to keep a suicide letter in your pocket just in case you should fail – I know you won’t, but just in case…” 

  In reality, it was simple mathematics.  It would be easier to kill Peter than to kill 25 potentially under government surveillance, the survivors of the African American torture camp.  Thus Peter had to go. 

  Another martyr for the cause…

   

   

  Washington: Jeffersonian Elites Headquarters:  Mr. K’s thoughts were racing.  The Thurmond Affair had become the single biggest threat to their organization since…well he couldn’t remember more threatening time.  And yet it was Mr. X who had offered a string of useful ideas.

  If it wasn’t for his temper and his peculiar sensibilities… 

  Mr. K rapped his fingers along his desk.  By day he was a well-respected federal judge, an expert in constitutional law.  He looked at the large portrait of Thomas Jefferson that hung above his fireplace and sighed.  A decision had to be made much like the decision of a difficult court case. 

  Is it finally time to promote Mr. X?

   He dialed a number from his desk phone.

  “Yes,” said a man with a weak voice, almost speaking in a whisper.

  “How are you?” Mr. K asked.

  “Dying,” said the man, managing a weak laugh.

  “How long do you have?” Mr. K asked.

  “Not long enough…”

  “I want to promote Mr. X,” said Mr. K.

  “He’s smart, yes.  But his temper?”

  “I think with age it has stabilized.”

  “To what department?”

  “Misinformation.”

  “He would be well suited, you make the call,” said the man.

  “Have you decided upon a successor?” Mr. K asked.

  “My son.”

  “A good choice.”

  “Good bye Mr. K.”

  “Good bye…”

   

  Washington, Jeffersonian Elites Headquarters:  Mr. X nearly fainted.  He was fifty-five years old and had long since abandoned the idea of promotion.

  “You look surprised,” said Mr. K.

  “I had given up,” said Mr. X.

  “It would have happened long ago, if it weren’t for your temper tantrums.”

  Mr. X nodded.

  “But I believe you have those under control now,” said Mr. K.

  “Yes,” lied Mr. X, swallowing hard.

  “You have been a good contact for this organization, keeping up to date with various entities such as the Thurmonds.  But the time has come to move you inside the organization.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “You’ve been a member for over 30 years, and in all that time what have you learned about our inner branches?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And that’s the way it should be.  Do you know that I don’t know nearly everything about the Jeffersonian Elites?”

  “No.”

  “It’s true, but through joint ignorance our secret is tighter.  You’ve been promoted, given your knack for policy suggestions, to the Misinformation branch.  It is a small but very important wing of the Jeffersonian Elites.  You will coordinate with the media and others, to continue the deluge of misinformation to the American public,” said Mr. K.

  “What will my responsibilities consist of?” Mr. X asked.

  “Primarily cover up.  Let’s say a white person commits a hate crime and kills a Negro in the ghetto, it will be your job to present misinformation – it was a gang killing for instance.  And as you can imagine, right now that department is quite busy.” said Mr. K.

  Mr. X nodded as Mr. K handed him a plastic card, “this will give you clearance...”

   

  Arlington, MA:  Had Peter been imagining it?  Or had the sensation been real?  Because one hour earlier, as he sat watching Zachary and Jasmine booze together in a bar, it seemed that his penis had tingled and transformed from a flaccid-lifeless-dangling into a semi-soft state of being.  Back in his hotel, he had removed the bubble wrap that kept his member in its punished and constrained position, and the putrid smell which emerged from his pubic area nearly knocked him onto his back. 

  Deciding that it was time to finally scrub that damned area, he prayed that his massive 14.5 inch cock could again rise. Yet how many times had that hope proved false hope? 

  Too many times to count…

  However, that image of Jasmine at the bar still burned strong, a glittering graceful creature both serious and sensuous -- this mixed-race woman had slaughtered men and yet spoke with intelligence and her sexiness surrounded her like an entourage.  She would be the ultimate conquest for his penis and he suspected that if he offered her up for sacrifice his penis would finally obey the commands of his mind.  Yes, to plunge his knife into her heart at a moment of ecstasy – if such a thing were to occur it would surely snap his cock back into position, its mushiness forever regaining its ability to change to a sinewy bulge of pleasure from the merest of glances at some sexual object of desire. 

  And yet now I know those sexual objects of desire to be the black female.  But what a cruel twist of fate that ever since I have had this awakening I’ve been rendered into something like a eunuch, a twist of fate as tragic as the one imposed on Larry Flynt -- the porn magazine king paralyzed by a fanatics bullet, though ironically, that shooting was funded by the Jeffersonian Elites – for Joseph Franklin was paid through an intermediary and it is well known the reason for the shooting: that Flynt published a nude interracial photo -- and it is the unimaginable sway of the Jeffersonian Elites that has also caused Joseph Franklin to never have been brought to trial for the shooting…

  Yes, the Jeffersonian Elites would have killed me long ago if they had known that it was not only hatred for the Negro but also lust for this wretched being that so fully encapsulates my soul… 

  But if Jasmine’s death could accomplish what I believe that it could accomplish, then I could live as a man in this world.  I could put the collapse of my slave plantation behind me.  I could fully bury the memory of my brother.  And I could again whisper to women – though now black women -- with complete belief in my words, “Have you ever seen a dick larger than fourteen inches, larger than a ruler, larger than a foot?” 

  And then after seducing them, I would strangle them at that moment of my climax, and continue strangling them until their gasps for air turned to silence…

  Peter knew that even the arrival of this fantasy was a good sign: ever sinc
e the fall of his slave plantation he had not even considered his sexual impotency -- his mental state had been too despondent to glimpse at this apocalyptic reality. 

  It would have been too much.  I would have taken my life… 

  Although this hope brought him the possibility of bliss, he turned his thoughts away from sexual imaging, noting their unprofessional nature as he stood hiding in Zachary Dunbar’s closet, sword in hand. 

  The plan to murder Zachary Dunbar by sword had been formulated by Mr. X, who thought it the easiest way to stage the murder, explaining, “We will pin it on some fringe neo-Nazi group who evidently wished Zachary and Jasmine to die in the same manner that the Thurmonds had been killed, though absent the arrows...” 

  Peter thought the plan absurd.  But while on such thin ice with the Jeffersonian Elites, it would be foolish to voice his opinion.  And if he was going to win back their trust and convince them to spare his life, he knew that he needed to blindly follow their instructions, and thus he, a modern hit man, prepared himself mentally to use a weapon that had been forged in the 17h century.     

  He bought the sword at a consignment shop, though deciding upon a Samurai rather than a medieval sword (medieval having been the type of sword used by Zachary and Jasmine). 

  If I have to use a fucking sword, I’m using one with style… 

  He had never killed a person with a sword, and had never suspected that he would ever kill a person with a sword. 

  But life has a way of throwing curve balls…I also never thought in my heyday, my twenties, that one day my cock, legendary within my Mississippi county, would come to this…Yet maybe that will soon change because of Jasmine – Jasmine that wonderful glittering creature…Focus, you have a job to do…

  Although Peter held a sword from ancient times, he himself looked anything but ancient, a hair-net and then a shower cap over his head, Zachary’s ill-fitting shoes on his feet, and rain gear over his upper and lower body.  It was crucial that he leave no evidence of his presence.  (Mr. X had provided him with planting-material, finger prints and hair samples from a local area neo-Nazi.)

  Peter hoped that Zachary and Jasmine arrived together.  Zachary’s bed would make a perfect location to attempt the reawakening… 

                   

      

  Arlington:  The night could have been worse, Zachary mused.  It was true that Jasmine had stormed from the bar, but she had also forgiven him for the accidental flesh consumption. 

  And that was what concerned me the most… 

  Zachary believed that Jasmine was being irrational about the Thurmond women.  Condemning people to jail did not make sense when his data so clearly pointed to their non-involvement in the Thurmond affair.  But then again, she was a radio host, not a scientist, and therefore a person whose judgments were probably more emotionally influenced than data informed. 

  And if she gives me another chance, and we end up together, that is something that will probably always be different about us…

  As Zachary parked in his driveway, the reporters rushed from their news vans like Thurmonds charging.  

  At least with all these pests around I don’t have to worry about my house getting burglarized…

   Zachary ran from his car, saying, “No comment,” the barrage of questions continuing anyway.  Reaching his front door, he excused himself with a wave.

    Removing his shoes, he slid into his slippers, and though his home was under siege, he was happy to be back.  He searched his refrigerator for leftovers, but there was nothing. 

  He wondered how a pizza delivery guy would react to making a delivery at a house surrounded by reporters.  Deciding to find out, he called his favorite local place, Andrina’s, and ordered an eggplant and spinach pizza (Zachary still hadn’t eaten any meat since Grey Cliff), cost: $13.  So he checked his wallet to make sure that he had a $20 (he did) and then plopped onto his couch.

   Once there, his eternal debate raged: television or book? 

  He chose television, deciding to watch ESPN.  Currently, the station was rebroadcasting Mike and Mike, a morning sports radio show.  The two Mikes were interviewing Vince Wilfork, a New England Patriots player. 

  However, it soon became clear that the subject was Grey Cliff.  Vince’s third cousin, a man named Roger Towne, had been among the survivors. 

  Zachary remembered Roger, a skinny guy perhaps in his mid-forties who had nearly collapsed as he left his black box, a small group of survivors rushing to his aid.  With Roger, Zachary had only exchanged a few words, but he remembered Roger’s dissociated look.

   

  Vince: He loves your show, but he told me he was too shocked to come on here with me.  So I told him I’d come on alone.

   

  Mike Greenberg: Well, we are glad you did and our prayers are with Roger for a full recovery.

   

  Mike Golic: So what else did he tell you?

   

  Vince: Okay, so besides all the details of everything: he is under the same impression as many of the survivors: that they were taken to Grey Cliff from some work camp, and that the work camp was far away from Grey Cliff.  These government officials seem confident that Grey Cliff was the work camp, but Roger and some of the others are not buying it.  They think that that place is still out there somewhere, which is awful when you think about it.  That right now at this very moment there could be enslaved people in America.  And that if there are then perhaps there is some group of people organizing all this.  Some evil-master mind kind of group.

   

  Mike Golic: Vince if there is one thing I have learned in life it is to expect the unexpected.  But all this, it is just so completely unimaginable that this type of thing would happen in this day and age and it honestly has me flabbergasted.  So what’s going on, why aren’t the authorities pursuing this lead?

   

  Vince: They told Roger and the others, so far as I have heard, that they are pursuing all leads.  But that these leads are all leading back to the Thurmonds and Grey Cliff.  Also, the Homeland agent who was captured did not spend any time at this hair-brush work camp, so he can’t add any credibility to the story…

   

  Zachary turned off the television, wondering why it was that people so desired to see hare-brained conspiracies when they should have been analyzing the situation with scientific rigor: the editorialist, Jasmine, and now Vince Wilfork, were all seeking to explain horrific events by appealing to the fantastical idea of a conspiracy network. 

  But before science, humankind looked for answers to perplexing questions in magic and myth.

  The ancient Greeks believed that lightning flashed because Zeus had hurled a lightning bolt, but science eventually proved lightning’s cause: the uneven distribution of a storm-cloud’s positive and negative charges.  

  But isn’t a conspiracy theory comparable to magic? 

  A conspiracy theory seeks to make sense out of the perplexing.  If one does not believe in science, then it is hard to imagine that man is capable of building a machine that can land on the moon.  Therefore, a conspiracy theory is formed: that the lunar landing was staged. 

  And this is a conspiracy theory that millions of Americans believe!  As recently as 1999 a Gallup poll discovered that 6% of Americans believe that the lunar landings were faked!  Best-selling books have even been written on the subject – books which then make wild speculations about the motives for the so-called lunar deceit, such as (1) landing before the Soviets and (2) distracting the public from the horrors of the Vietnam War. 

  Zachary also considered the issue of global warming, an occurrence that all major scientific organizations agree is occurring.  Yet because some Americans do not understand science they believe the conspiracy theorists who claim that scientists have worked together to falsify their conclusions -- and again the conspiracy theorists have created a wide range of motivations for the collabor
ators such as (1) an attempt by shrewd politicians to target a common enemy after the Cold War (2) an attempt by America’s executive branch to propagate socialism and (3) an attempt by the super-rich to drum-up support for nuclear power. 

  Grey Cliff was a horrific event, and perhaps one that will never fully be understood.  But it seemed to Zachary that the full-scope of the tragedy was diminished when blame was placed on some behind-the-scenes and all-powerful team.  Furthermore, with science Zachary could at least present a way for the Grey Cliff discussion to begin: that the Thurmonds were a family under the influence of an inherited trait: cannibalistic-murderous-racism. 

  Although Trait theory could never provide a detailed explanation for every event that had led to Grey Cliff, it could at least provide a framework for its analysis – but that scientific framework was razed the moment ignoramuses started blabbing about conspiracy theories. 

  Nevertheless, Zachary could see the appeal of a conspiracy theory to explain Grey Cliff: a conspiracy theory used simple explanations. 

  To understand jet propulsion, to understand the minuscule breakdown of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, or to understand why people inherit their specific traits, an understanding of science is required (and Zachary suspected that much of the general public had daydreamed their way through science class).  But to understand the hare-brained theory that colluding groups pull the puppet strings of the world stage: for that, no science understanding is needed. 

  And how will Trait Theory ever compete with conspiracy theories?  Conspiracy theories take no concentration to grasp and seem to explain everything.

  Still, it frustrated him that Jasmine had not risen above the ranks of the easily influenced.  And by this point in her life, it seemed unlikely to Zachary that she would return to school and earn a science degree.  However, Zachary wondered if perhaps he could teach her the basics of metacognition, or thinking about thinking, a brand of analysis of which critical thinking is a major component.  But as he imagined this scenario (and used critical thinking to internally debate its merits) he decided the idea to be unwise. 

  She would just think I was just trying to play the role of the professor again and that would bring us no closer. 

  The irony of the situation was that Jasmine had become obsessed with the notion that Zachary used educated-thought to make defense-mechanism-induced “assumptions” and yet it was through the application of his rigorous thinking principles, principles such as critical thinking, that Zachary sought to remove the unsupported and thus the assumed from his thoughts.  

  It seemed obvious to Zachary that anyone who believed a white-supremacist conspiracy, or for that matter, that any vast conspiracy was the determining force behind an exceptional event was a person who had not engaged in critical thinking.  An argument based on an assumption is either a weak or a false argument, and a belief in an outlandish conspiracy theory requires making a host of assumptions -- yet assumptions that would be seen as preposterous were the matter seriously considered. 

  For example, the 6% of Americans who believed that the lunar landings had been faked needed to make the assumption -- because no one within NASA had ever said that the original lunar landing was a hoax -- that all of NASA was capable of keeping this elaborate secret.  Yet that would be over 400,000 NASA employees!  By applying critical thinking to the matter, even a child could determine that the odds of 400,000 people keeping a secret are practically zero. 

  It can be difficult to convince even your best friend to remain a faithful confidant…  

  Someone would tell someone who would tell someone.  Or perhaps the money would be too hard to resist and a tell-all book would be written.  Or someone would reveal the details in a suicide note.  Or someone would wish to be momentarily famous.  Besides what did 400,000 NASA employees have to gain by keeping such a secret?  Their jobs perhaps – but what about once they had retired?  Why not tell the world then?

  And more disturbingly, the conspiracy theory that Grey Cliff was only one of a number of African American torture sites was not the only conspiracy theory that Zachary had heard regarding the Thurmond Affair. 

  One newspaper article reported the story of an internet site devoted to the quickly mushrooming Thurmond Affair conspiracy theories.  Thus far Zachary had resisted visiting the site(www.whattheydonotwantyoutoknowaboutGreyCliff.com) but he had read the daily papers, one story reporting the Thurmonds had been the first settlers of an invading alien species and another that Grey Cliff had been faked by a small group of liberals determined to increase Affirmative Action funding. 

  These were clearly absurdist creations.  Yet the understanding required for a simple narrative explanation was much less demanding than that required to rigorously consider the scientific backbone of Trait Theory. 

  Furthermore, a number of recent psychological studies indicated that humans are naturally lazy thinkers and that we often accept the instinctual easy answer rather than engage in the type of thinking which coats sheens of sweat across the brows. 

  If Zachary ever needed to explain this concept to Jasmine he would use the following mind puzzle from a recent psychology study:

   

  If a piece of chocolate and a watermelon together cost $110 dollars, and the watermelon costs $100 more than the chocolate, then how much does the chocolate cost? 

   

  Over ninety percent of the people questioned stated that the chocolate costs $10 dollars.   But if the chocolate cost $10 then the total would be $120: $10 for the chocolate and $100 dollars more for the watermelon, or $110, which when added together is $120.  Yet here is the really interesting part of the study: once a participant had answered incorrectly they were then presented with the choice to either (a) take as long as necessary and figure out the correct answer and be rewarded with a 60 minute back massage or (b) abandon the problem and immediately receive a 30 minute back massage.  Over 97% of the participants who were given this choice chose to abandon the problem and receive the immediate back massage.  It probably would not have taken them much time to work out that the chocolate cost $5 and that the watermelon cost $105.  But most people prefer to avoid difficult thinking.             

  Furthermore, besides being lazy thinkers, humans also seek to make sense of the world through stories.  A recent book, The Black Swan, focused on what is known as the narrative fallacy: that people construct narratives to explain occurrences that can be more accurately explained in a statistical fashion. 

  People love stories that affirm their worldviews because these stories help impose order on the chaotic events of life.  And for most Americans, a people who generally look favorably on the hard working loner, the so-called self-made millionaire fable fits these parameters and serves as a telling example. 

  Successful Americans get paid thousands of dollars at conferences to give speeches detailing these worldview- affirming tales, tales usually including comments such as, “I succeeded with my company because I never gave up and because I worked twice as hard and twice as smart as my competitors.”  And many conference attendees take lessons from the tales such as “If I too work hard I too will be a big success.” 

  But thinking of the matter in a statistical, rather than a narrative fashion, rags-to-riches stories are more accurately understood as outliers upon the bell curve of life, because perhaps 99.9 percent of people who work hard to relentlessly pursue their dreams do not succeed wildly and make millions of dollars. 

  And their stories are quite different -- stories of people who go bankrupt, who go insane, who are murdered by their spouses, who are betrayed by partners, who die in horrible car accidents, who lose hands in meat grinders, who become paralyzed after falling from ladders, who are blinded in chemical explosions, who contract flesh eating funguses and so on and so forth. 

  But their stories contain no worldview affirming morals.  And therefore, when considering the outlier success story, before one concludes that, “
If you work hard you will prosper” all the other stories with their random seeming morals should be considered as well, morals such as “If you work hard you will lose a hand in a meat grinder” or “If you work hard you will be blinded in a chemical explosion.”  But no one wants to hear such things.  People want to hear the stories where the world is seen following intuitive cause-and-effect patterns, and yet like the ancients using Zeus to explain lightning, these intuitive cause-and-effect patterns are often of our own making. 

  Grey Cliff was horrific; Grey Cliff seems inexplicable; therefore, Grey Cliff was probably part of some villainous network targeting African Americans: this thinking is easy thinking and the type that seeks to explain the world through a narrative.  Thus, conspiracy theories, because they are both based on easy thought and narrative stories, are quite attractive to the masses.                                   

  To fathom Trait Theory, on the other hand, requires deep concentration and Trait Theory does not neatly explain the world through some popular and easily grasped narrative creation.  Therefore, Zachary thought it highly-unlikely that he would ever be discussing the subtleties of Trait Theory with, say, his mailmen or the local barista. 

  So while Zachary knew that Donald Thurmond had eaten hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds of human flesh because of an inherited trait, for how many Americans would this knowledge forever remain misunderstood?  Because rather than ponder Trait Theory they would chose the soothing immediate back massage of a conspiracy theory. 

  True, Trait Theory was capable of providing a semblance of a cause-and-effect explanation for some of the Grey Cliff occurrences, but the explanations were not the kind read in a sexy paperback page-turner but were rather the types of explanations painstaking gleaned from a dry science text, the land of Bunsen burners and uncomfortable safety goggles. 

  And rivaled against wild conspiracy theories, my explanations will probably never receive wide spread acceptance. 

  However, Zachary wished that he could at least convince Jasmine.  Yet it seemed that her mind had already become infatuated by the false logic of the conspiracy theorist.  At the bar she had suspected that they were being watched and that some hidden racist group meant to monitor their movements.  Zachary laughed, thinking Jasmine like a baby, innocent to the realities of the world and trying to make sense of the surrounding jumbled noises.

  And did someone just poop?

  In the hills of Montana, Jasmine had explained that she ascribed to what was called the Critical Race Theory: a theory which asserts that racism in America is institutionalized, meaning that it is built into the very structures of society, structures such as schools, occupations, and the law system.  Therefore, a person does not need to be actively racist in the sense of being an overt bigot, and yet by merely participating in the dominant power structure that person would be facilitating a racist agenda.  Furthermore, this theory postulates that the reason the white majority engages in exclusionary practices is to benefit itself as a group. 

  At the time, Zachary remembered, that as he listened to Jasmine explain the theories subtleties, he realized that Critical Race Theory contained elements sometimes found in conspiracy theories, elements such as, a vast number of involved people (in this case the white race) and a collusion that benefits one group to the detriment of another group (in this case the white race benefiting to the detriment of African Americans).  However, Zachary noted that it was undebatable that these exact elements had occurred during at least two points in American History, slavery and segregation.  So perhaps Critical Race Theory was not so far-fetched after all. 

  The Holocaust was an extraordinarily horrific event.  And it seemed likely that most people in, say, 1920 would not have deemed it possible.  The murder of more than 6 million people by gas, oven, and otherwise, was obviously a crime that took considerable planning and collusion.  Furthermore, most of the world remained ignorant while it was occurring, which meant that somehow, although thousands of Germans were involved, the secret was kept.  This was the exception, the reason that the odds of 400,000 NASA employees staying silent about a faked lunar landing is practically zero, not zero.  So while the Holocaust had started as a horrific conspiracy, once known to the world, it became a horrific reality.  Could institutionalized racism, which began during slavery, now be a horrific, though silent, reality? 

  Zachary was not convinced but at least it seemed arguably possible.  For one thing, institutionalized racism would not require the collusion of powerful men attending secret meetings.  As a psychologist, Zachary understood the mind to be a commanding vehicle of both conscious and subconscious thought.  For researchers the matter was still up in the air, but some theories held that for many people when making the majority of their decisions – and especially when making important decisions such as which presidential candidate to elect or which car to buy – that they were more influenced by subconscious than conscious thought.  So while some ordinary Joe may believe that he voted for a presidential candidate because their views aligned on federal spending and illegal immigration policy, what had actually swayed his vote was the soft voice in his head that had whispered, “He has the same nose as your uncle Herb, and you always liked your uncle Herb, so this guy is probably a good guy too!” 

  Therefore, it seemed at least slightly possible that perhaps when making important decisions, such as creating public policy or deciding upon a hire, that the white majority might be influenced by subconscious racist beliefs, such as, “I should not hire him because he is black and black people make me nervous, and I think they make me nervous because they are sometimes dangerous.  I don’t know if he is dangerous but I also don’t know him.  And I don’t think I want to get to know him.  And didn’t a black man kill someone last night in Dorchester?  Yes, a child, a little girl who had been sitting on her porch and reading ‘Charlottes’ Web.’  That’s awful!  And his palms look strange.  Why are they a different color from the rest of his skin?  My hands aren’t like that are they?  That’s freakish.  Yes, his palms make me uncomfortable and I don’t like being uncomfortable.  But I cannot tell him to wear gloves that would not be appropriate.  And so if he works here I will just have to look at his palms and I will have no recourse.  His palms could quite literally hold my mind prisoner and like a prisoner I’ll have to stay silent about the whole matter, and like a prisoner I’ll have to do my time with him until my time is done, and only then at the end of the work day will I be released from the sight of his palms.  But then in the morning he will be back and with his freakish palms again.  And what if he’s a prisoner too, but an escaped one?  And what if Shelly thinks he is attractive?  I’ve been trying to sleep with her for months.  Maybe she has never slept with a black man and she would like to give it a try.  And I’ve heard that white women never again sleep with white men once they have slept with a black man.  And he looks too clean, like he is trying to hide something.  And I feel like he made too much of an effort to be articulate.  Plus, I’m voting for Obama anyway…” 

  But Critical Race Theory made no mention of some secret collusion, and a secret collusion would be needed to support the existence of a network of African American torture locations.  So why had Jasmine abandoned her belief in the Critical Race Theory, a theory at least grounded in some sensible logic, for conspiracy theory, which balances upon the weak logic of unsupportable assumptions?

  The doorbell rang.  Zachary grabbed his $20 from the coffee table and opened his front door.  The delivery guy was smiling and Zachary invited him inside.

  “Hey, how are you doing?” the driver asked.  He wore ripped jeans and a shirt displaying a witty remark.  Zachary observed that he appeared stoned, but stoned in a friendly, not paranoid way.  He made no effort to determine where to place the pizza, and seemed to be dancing slightly as his head bobbed. 

  It occurred to Zachary that here was a human version of the mindless moon jelly, a human with
little mind and who floated through life on the wheels of his rusty sedan, though gathering upon his meanderings not nourishing microbes but cash tips.  Zachary guessed that that this twenty-something still lived with his parents and that if he had a girlfriend that she was even more lacking in long-term goals.  Perhaps he had spent a semester in community college but had dropped out because the ceaseless dorm-room weed smoking catalyzed his ghrelin, inducing a bottomless appetite, and so he abandoned his studies and found employment at a food establishment with munchies he liked and where he could eat for free, or at least with a discount.     

  “That’s a difficult question to answer,” said Zachary.  The driver nodded slowly as if Zachary had said something wise, and as if all pondering of this deep matter had concluded, he began smiling again and bouncing on his feet.  Zachary tried to picture himself occupying this young-man’s existence, and while doing so he remembered Jasmine’s instance of the importance of natural rights, those inalienable rights that no entity, government or otherwise, can strip from a person, and mused upon that peculiar natural right listed by Jefferson in the Declaration, “The pursuit of happiness,” a phrase that that had always caused Zachary to pause with wonderment.  What exactly is the pursuit of happiness?  It would seem to merely be an engagement with the pursuits that makes one happy.  But what exactly makes one happy? 

  Zachary had assumed buying a house would make him happy.  It had not and as real estate values continued to plunge it had become a nightmare, and so had actually made him quite unhappy.  And many times over the course of Zachary’s life he had noted that the goals he so faithfully pursued and that he had believed during the pursuit would eventually lead to a state of happiness, that once obtained did not make him happy and often had the opposite effect: his first car in high school, which he had dreamed would be some magic carpet upon which to whisk beauties to the beach, had been a money pit; his graduate studies, which he had dreamed as undergraduate would be a time of consultation among like-minded professors eager to create a familial atmosphere, had been a pressure cooker so excruciatingly tense that he had often thought himself at risk of spontaneous combustion; and Samantha an enchanting woman who he had, at first, dreamed would be his life partner, best friend, and confidante, had caused him to pass many days in his Harvard lab in a love-sick stupor and feeling as if his work day consisted of mining coal with a pick ax.        

  Conversely, it seemed that the unexpected more often caused happiness than the planned, such as unexpected good news from a relative or the sight of a rainbow after a downpour, and during these happy occasions there had been no pursuit at all.  Yet perhaps that was not the point of Jefferson’s belief in our inalienable-happiness-pursuit-right.  Perhaps the point was not whether, once achieved, the achieved goal made one happy but that a continuous desire to be happy and achieve dreams, that this was the basic chemistry that kept both individuals and the entire the human race plodding on and doing things like building buildings and making scientific advancements. 

  It seemed hard for Zachary to believe, but the clamoring reporters gathered around his property boundaries, perhaps hundreds of miles from their families, each competing for some new morsel of information, that at a core level these individuals had convinced themselves that this clamoring, this pursuit of their reporting dream, that this would make them happy.  And although Zachary felt partly responsible for the death of innocents and remained continually cognizant that he had accidently consumed human flesh, he thought it unlikely that he would trade places with any of those reporters if given the opportunity, because their chances at happiness, from what he could glean during their quick exchanges, seemed even slimmer than his own:

  Each time I leave my home they shout questions.  But they don’t ask the right questions, the questions that I would ask if I were in their shoes, such as, “Do you think I would gain personal satisfaction were I to stop assaulting you, harassed Sir, with sensationalist questions, and if I were to take my leave of these hectic surroundings and dedicate the day to one of quiet reflection, perhaps pondering the enigmatic paradoxes posed by the ancient Hindu mystics?

  But what about the delivery driver?  He sincerely seemed happy and yet what was he pursuing?  Of everyone in the immediate vicinity, the reporters, the camera men, the paparazzi, and Zachary, this buoyant driver seemed the least ambitious and therefore the most pursuit-less.  Of course, this was completely unscientific speculation, and so Zachary decided to gather data through conversation, saying, “I bet people offer you a slice of their pizza all the time.”

  The driver laughed, saying, “They do.  But I always turn them down.  I already eat so much pizza back at the shop that it isn’t even funny…it came to thirteen fifty.” 

  He handed Zachary the box and Zachary placed it on his kitchen table.

  “My name is Zachary Dunbar,” said Zachary, holding out a fist for a fist bump, guessing this greeting form to be more commonly used by the driver than the handshake.

  “I’m Mike Dupree, nice to meet you,” said Mike, bumping his hand.

  Zachary added, “You know I got to admit, I like the fist bump just as well as the handshake.  But what I don’t like about the fist bump is that it has introduced so much confusion into the greeting situation.  Sometimes people fist bump sometimes they handshake, things just are not as clear cut as they used to be.”

  The driver laughed.  “Do you need ones, or is a five and two ones better?”

   “Nay, you can just keep it,” said Zachary, waving his hand as if a twenty was simply a shred of paper.

  “Thanks, man,” said Mike, thrusting the bill into the middle of his wallet. 

  No organization there: his executive functioning could be lacking…

  “Let me ask you a question Mike,” said Zachary, sitting upon the edge of his couch, trying to create an informal air. 

  “Shoot,” said Mike, his pizza bag tucked under his arm. 

  “I think most people would have asked me why I have a bunch of reporters surrounding my house but you didn’t, why not?” Zachary asked.

  “You have a bunch of reporters surrounding your house?” Mike asked, looking outside.

  “Yeah, you didn’t see the news vans?” Zachary asked.

  Mike shook his head. 

  “But I see them now.  What, are you famous?”

  “I’m Zachary Dunbar, the Grey Cliff guy,” said Zachary.

  “Grey Cliff?”

  “Haven’t you been watching the news?” Zachary asked.

  “No man, I hate the news.  Those newscasters are always so insufferably cheery and they make stupid jokes – whatever the last news item was they will make some stupid joke about it.  I do sort of like hearing the news, but their cheeriness and those jokes, it just ruins it for me.  So no, I don’t watch.  But what’s Grey Cliff?” Mike asked.

  “You’re stoned aren’t you?” Zachary asked.

  Mike laughed.

  “Don’t worry I’m not going to tell anyone, I don’t care.  I’m just curious,” said Zachary.

  Mike laughed again.

  “What’s so funny?  You are stoned aren’t you?” Zachary said, smiling.

  This time Mike laughed even harder, finally he said, “No, man sorry, that just sounds funny ‘stoned’ I think I’ve only ever heard it called that in old movies.”

  Zachary smiled.  “I must sound like a real square mixing up my terminology.  But the reason I’m asking you this stuff is because I’m at a crossroads in my life.  I’ve obviously been pretty successful -- I live in a big house.  But I don’t know if I’ve been happy.   But there is this girl and she causes me to view the world in different ways.  And I wonder if perhaps I shouldn’t make concessions to win her back,” said Zachary.

  “I don’t mean to sound impolite, but I’m the pizza delivery driver, shouldn’t you maybe be asking a professional these questions?”

  Don’t you see, human moon jelly, that you are the professional?
>
  “That is a fair statement.  Would you think it odd if I told you that I am a professional, a psychologist?” said Zachary.

  “Wow, now I feel really stoned,” said Mike.

  “But professionals ask others for advice all the time.  It is much easier to give other people advice than to provide it to yourself,” said Zachary.

  “Yeah, I’ve had that thought before,” said Mike.

  “So what do you think?  I think I love this girl.  But I also think that if I abandon my work for a little while it might make it easier to get her back,” said Zachary.

  “Love is over-rated.  Women come and go.  I like women.  But they need too much commitment you know what I mean?”

  Zachary nodded.

  Mike continued, “It’s like this.  I used to have dog.  I loved that dog.  I did, great dog, never bit anybody, played with the neighborhood kids, could even catch a Frisbee and would bring it back, wouldn’t try to keep it like most dogs do.  Well, eventually, Dozer, that was his name, he died.  Man, I was broken up about it.  I thought: how am I ever going to get over this?  But once I did get over it, you know what, things were better.  I didn’t have to listen to him bark anymore.  I didn’t have to feed him.  I didn’t have to listen to the neighbors complain when he, you know, did his business in their yards.  So you know, I guess what I am saying is just let things happen.  You don’t have to force it.  You don’t have to make some big life altering change you know?”

  Drift, moon jelly, drift… 

  “Yeah, that makes sense.  But Mike I’ve never really lived my life like that.  I’ve been very goal oriented.  There has always been some accomplishment just over the horizon that I’ve been trying to attain.  But for all my striving, I don’t know that it has made me happier.  Yet at the same time I just really can’t imagine separating myself from my work.  It’s a dilemma,” said Zachary.

  “Why don’t you tell me your story man, like why those news vans are out there and maybe I’ll be able to give you more specific advice,” said Mike.

  Zachary began summarizing the Capobianco Affair, but only a few sentences into the story, Mike blurted out, “Fuck!  You’re the guy who killed all those cannibals!”

  Zachary nodded.

  “Holy shit!  Yeah man, I heard about that!  Everyone is talking about that.  Yeah man someone told me that you live in Arlington!  That was some fucked up shit man.  You sliced those fuckers up with a sword right?” Mike asked, holding out his hand for handshake.

  “I guessed wrong on the fist bump?” Zachary asked.

  “A fist bump is insufficient for this shit man.  Can I get your autograph or something?” Mike asked, eagerly shaking Zachary’s hand.

  Zachary laughed.  “Sorry Mike, I don’t think that would be appropriate.  If someone saw that they might think that I was proud of my actions.”

  “No one is going to believe this!  What are the odds?”

  Zachary shrugged.

  “Zachary man, you have got to give me something so that I can prove to everyone back at the shop that I met you.  Seriously dude, you are like all we have been talking about, like day after day.  I mean how fucked up was all that shit?  You’re hiking, in the middle of nowhere, you’ve got not phone to use, and you discover some horror show, where people are eating people.  And then you’ve got the big balls man to stick around and fight them with a sword?  Dude that shit was ill!  I’m fan Zachary.  I’m a big fan,” said Mike.   

  This was not the response that Zachary had been expecting.  It seemed that Mike viewed Zachary as a type of vigilante hero.  But hadn’t Mike been listening to the details of the news stories?  Didn’t Mike know that Zachary had thought the Thurmonds a safe-bunch, and his job had been to test their mental states?  Hadn’t Mike heard that Zachary had accidently consumed human flesh? 

  “I’m honored that you would say that.  But I’m still just trying to make sense of it all, you know?”

  “Yeah, I do.  So you are talking about the girl you were with, you are falling for her?” Mike asked.

  Zachary nodded.

  “I mean that is different.  You two are like peas in pod.  You should stick together, you know, if you can,” said Mike.

  “Thanks, Mike, I appreciate your advice, I do.  Here, let me get you my second book.  Do you like to read?” Zachary asked.

  “Yeah, I do,” said Mike.

  “What type of stuff?” said Zachary, as he pulled his book On Decisions from the bookshelf.

  “Philosophy usually,” said Mike.

  “Really?  Are you in college?” Zachary asked.

  “No, I don’t want to go in debt.  I just read on my own, when it’s convenient.  But I’ll read your book for sure,” said Mike.

  Zachary handed him his book, having just jotted on the inside cover, “Mike, thanks for the life-advice, and I think that you were right on the mark.  Zachary Dunbar.”

  “Thanks, Zachary.  Are you going to go out there and talk to all those people?” Mike asked.

  “What would you do if you were in my shoes?” Zachary asked.  

  “I’d probably just stay in bed and wait for them to go away…”

  A minute later the driver left and Zachary shut his curtains, considering what to do.

   

  Arlington, MA:  From inside the darkened closet, Peter sensed that the light had slightly altered.  It occurred to him that a text message must have flashed upon the screen of his disposable phone.  Mr. X was the only person with the number.  It had been incredibly unprofessional for him to text, Peter noted.  Of course Peter had silenced the phone, but what if he had forgotten?  He shook his head.  He had only the most utmost respect for the Jeffersonian Elites, but sometimes they acted like impulsive teenagers.  He sighed, taking the phone from his pocket.  The text read:

   

  Abandon mission: Do not kill Zachary Dunbar -- Zachary is an asset -- New Mission: Kill girl, Jasmine Jackson, and then kill Windsor Thurmond.

   

  Peter nearly swore.  Hit men may live outside the law, but they live by a code.  The Jeffersonian Elites knew the code and that once a job is initiated that it cannot be abandoned.  This part of the code was often used as a plot device in popular movies:  Private citizen hires a hit man to kill target X.  Hit man accepts job.  Private citizen has second thoughts and decides to call off job.  Hit man explains to private citizen that once he has been paid for a job that he always completes his mission.  Popular movies use this part of the code for three reasons (1) to make a moral point: be careful of what you wish for because you just might get it (2) to add a plot twist and (3) to characterize (a) the private citizen as a hot-head with a conscious and (b) the hit man as a cold-hearted professional. 

  In reality this part of the hit man’s code had been created for none of these reasons.  The non-abandonment clause had been derived of purely practical concerns.  Working as a hit man -- killing someone without leaving a trace -- is extremely difficult work.  There can be no second thoughts.  The possibility that the job might be abandoned introduces second thoughts.  Furthermore, abandoning a job can prove to be more risky than completing it. 

              However, there was no possibility that Peter would ignore the Jeffersonian Elite’s request: to do so would be to sign his death certificate. 

  Another fucking day at the office…    

  Why had they changed their minds?  How could Zachary possible be an asset?  And who was Windsor Thurmond and why had they decided to kill him?  Obviously, he was a Thurmond.  And if Peter had correctly read between the lines, the Thurmonds had made the Jeffersonian Elites a boatload of money over the years. 

  Those Thurmond fuckers had also been feasting on my slaves. 

  In any case, these matters did not concern Peter.  He had his orders and they had to be followed.  The whole thing was an odd situation and so Peter reasoned that it would require an odd solution. 

 
; But what? 

  The Elites had provided Peter with access to the cameras that had been installed in Zachary’s home by the fake documentary team.  But it seemed too risky jaunting from room to room as Zachary changed positions.  He considered climbing out the second floor window and lowering himself into the lawn.  However, the only route with ample blind spots was from the back door.  It was crucial that no photographer snap his photo.  It seemed that he would have to approach the target.  That was also a breach of the code.  But -- as he had already considered -- it was an odd situation.  He could cover his face but that would make it more challenging to win the target’s trust.  Yet could he ever win the target’s trust?  Zachary Dunbar was a psychological expert – how could he be fooled? 

  Like anyone – with an absurd and unflinching confidence…. 

  Peter sighed, noting that the whole situation would be much simpler if he didn’t have to explain the sword. 

  Then again, maybe the sword is the key…

  Peter left the closet, removed his hair net, pocketed his plastic body covering, and as he descended the stairs said in a loud clear voice, “Zachary Dunbar, my name is Captain John Harris, and I don’t want you to be alarmed.  I am inside your house.”

  Silence.  Peter slowed his pace, saying, “I repeat, my name is Captain John Harris and I do not want you to be alarmed.”

  This time Zachary responded, “Excuse me.  Who is inside my home?”

  Arlington, MA:  Zachary grabbed the nearest object, a vase, and considered whether he should run outside and face the reporters or remain inside his home with an intruder. 

  Yet intruders, at least dangerous ones, don’t introduce themselves – or I don’t think they do. 

  Suddenly Zachary remembered his last conversation with Jasmine.  She had been convinced that the Thurmonds were part of a larger conspiracy.  What if she was right and there was someone inside his home with the intent of killing him right now? 

  But again, why would a murderer introduce himself?  However, maybe the safe course of action is to flee outside and call the police…

  On the other hand, if this intruder is harmless and I stay and determine his purpose, I can later tell this story to Jasmine, and offer it as further proof that we do not have to worry about some kooky conspiracy…

  “Excuse me.  Who is inside my home?"

   A Frankenstein-like man appeared at the bottom of the stairs.  His chin was weak, but his forehead was massive.  And though Zachary was a good thirty paces away, he noted that the man’s left hand, a hand which held an object, was perhaps the largest hand he had ever seen, an almost Baroque hand.  Suddenly, Zachary realized the object which the man held: a sheathed sword.  Zachary’s senses expanded as rapidly as the first second of the Big Bang – and he noted that the flight or fight response of his body had been initiated. 

  And I suppose that is the question: flight or fight?  A week ago it would have been flight surely.  So then why do I feel the urge to hurl this vase at his head?

  The man smiled, but this smile did nothing to ease Zachary’s mind. 

  Another cannibal perhaps?  Where do these people come from? 

  The man laughed.  To Zachary’s ears it sounded forced, almost as if the man did not know how to laugh and he were imitating a laugh once heard.  The strained laugh having concluded the man said, “I know how this must look.  I am in your home.  I have a sword.  And let’s not beat around the bush: my appearance is not dashing.  But you are Zachary Dunbar and you are a world renowned psychologist.  You know that people cannot be judged on their appearances, only their actions.”

  “Yes, and that is the reason that I have not yet called the police.  I am giving you a chance – ten seconds perhaps, to explain your action of breaking into my home,” said Zachary. 

  “My name is Captain John Harris.  I am two things.  I am an American and I am a capitalist.  I know that you Zachary Dunbar are an American.  What you have done for this country the country will never be able to repay you in kind --.”

  “And just what have I done?” said Zachary. 

  His words should have caused me to relax, but for some reason I have not…

  “You have purged from this country a family of villains and I salute you for that --.”

  “Why have you broken into my home Sir?” Zachary asked, the grip around the vase tightening.

  “When I was seven I made my first hundred dollars.  I did it with free enterprise.  And I didn’t do it by being bashful.  I set up a lemonade stand on the nicest lawn in town.  When the owner of the home told me to scram, I moved next door --.”

  “You have ten seconds,” said Zachary.

  “In short, I knew I wouldn’t be able to obtain an interview with you.  But I came here to present you with a capitalist opportunity.  I own a samurai sword shop.  I’m offering you fifty percent ownership,” said Peter.

  “For what?” Zachary asked.

  “For nothing: if you are connected to the shop sales will go up tenfold and we will both make out,” said Peter.

  Zachary wondered what Jasmine would have to say about all of this.  She probably would have connected it to Thomas Jefferson somehow.  Zachary remembered that Jasmine had explained that when Jefferson had helped to draft France’s constitution that he had included private property as a natural right. 

  People like to cry about the wealthy, and people like to look for a hand out from the government.  But in the end, private property is the engine that keeps things moving.  It is the incentive that motivates hard work.  The possibility of having a larger pool and a larger home than your neighbor may be considered by the rest of the world as ugly American attributes, but they are also part of the attributes that makes America great.  And this man, Captain John Harris, is both a patriot and a capitalist, and I can respect that.  However –

  “John while I admire the risk you have taken, I can’t take you up on your offer.  It would be wrong for me to personally benefit in any way from this tragedy,” said Zachary.

  “Is that your final word on the matter?”

  “I’m afraid it is,” said Zachary.

  “Well then, I don’t wish to take any more of your valuable time.  But if you need to call the police I understand.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

   “Then I will see myself out and I wish you only the best…”

  “Hey – by the way, how did you get in?” Zachary asked.

  “Through the front door – you left it open.”

  Strangely, the man left through the back door.  But Zachary was just happy to see him go.  He wondered if, after all, he should call the police.  In the end he decided against making the call. 

  This episode can be used as a lesson to teach Jasmine that her conspiracy fears are unfounded…    

   

  Washington:  As promised, Zachary met with the Thurmond defense team during their discovery proceedings, outlining his theories and why he felt that it would be a grave error of justice to incarcerate the Thurmond women. 

  “You truly believe that the wives of these alleged cannibals had no idea of what was happening at Grey Cliff?”  asked Ted Trout, head of the Thurmond defense team.

  “Yes, and I have charts and data to back it up,” said Zachary.

  “Would you be willing to testify in court as an expert witness?” asked Ted.

  Zachary had already told them that he would, but because this would be put on the record he took a moment to consider how this would change his relationship with Jasmine. 

  It could really fuck things up.  But this is right and it is time to do what is right!

  Zachary nodded.

  “Please note that Zachary Dunbar has agreed to appear as an expert witness,” said Ted.  Turning to Zachary he added, “Now we have to talk about a more difficult subject, the surviving Thurmond boys.  Zachary your own report to the police puts them right at the scene of the crime, at the so-calle
d Thurmond African American feast.  By your own account, you fought to the death the Thurmond men and then captured these Thurmond boys who were also attempting to eat two African Americans.  Is that true?”

  Zachary shuddered.  He could still see Prestin and Dwade’s blood-spattered faces, the look of pure evil in their eyes. 

  They would have shown me no mercy…

  “Yes,” said Zachary, trying to keep a steady voice.

  “And yet you have stated to me, and other members of the defense, that these children deserve the court’s sympathy.  Why?”

  Because whenever I find love I get self destructive and I fuck it up.  I’m sorry Jasmine. 

  “These children were being controlled by an inherited trait, a trait which I have earlier spoke about and which I have termed Cannibalistic-Murderous- Racism.  In all probability this trait would have lain dormant, just as it has for certain Thurmond women.  But the Thurmond men, engaging in a cycle of violence, systematically triggered this trait in their sons.  These children never had a chance.  These children need help.”

  “You yourself have said that these children have probably eaten many African-Americans?” said Ted.

  “Yes.”

  “And yet they deserve our sympathy?” asked Ted.

  “Listen, we are all products of genetics, heredity, and environment.  The environment component means that we all usually have some choice, but these children never had the chance to make a choice.  Listen, I’ve told the police that all my data has pointed to the fact that if Thurmond children did not engage in this behavior they were killed by their fathers.  There was no way out for them.  They are victims and they need counseling, not jail time.”

  “You spoke of a room where the deceased Thurmond…”

  Zachary began to zone out, the horrors of Grey Cliff still fresh in his mind.  But as the meeting continued he did his best to answer the questions as a scientific expert and not as a shaken up survivor.  The meeting concluded and Ted pulled him aside, “I have an odd request.”

  Zachary nodded. 

  What now?

  “Ralph Thurmond would like to meet with you,” said Ted.

  “What?  Why?” Zachary asked.

  “He wouldn’t say.  But he said that he had information that he would tell only to you.”

  Zachary sighed.

  “Okay, when do I meet him?”

  “Right now...”

  A limo drove Zachary to the penitentiary.  The ride was short but Zachary managed to down two complimentary drinks, entering the penitentiary with a slight buzz.  The warden met Zachary inside, shaking his hand, and telling him that Ralph had been separated from the rest of the prisoners.

  “…and not just for his own safety, he could likely start a race riot.  A lot of the white gangs here have held him up as a sort of folk hero, and the black gangs would like to tear him to pieces.  Things have been tense.  I’d like him somewhere else honestly.”

  The warden led Zachary to a large metallic door. 

  “He’s in there with a couple of guards.  He’s chained to his seat, but keep your distance.”

  Zachary shrugged.  “I’d like to keep my distance a lot farther than this.”

  The warden laughed.

  “Any idea what he wants?” Zachary asked.

  The warden shook his head.  As Zachary entered the room, Ralph Thurmond locked eyes with Zachary and smiled.  Zachary almost smiled back but he checked himself. 

  Smiling is so conditioned that it almost happened…still, why shouldn’t I smile at him?  By my own account the blame lies not with Ralph…

   However, Zachary maintained a straight face, deciding not to return the smile.

  “It is nice to meet you,” said Ralph.

  Zachary nodded.

  Ralph continued, “Actually it is nice to meet anyone.  The confinement here is difficult.  I am all alone.  The guards usually don’t talk to me.  I think I understand what it was like to be inside those black boxes.  They were waiting alone to be killed, as I too am waiting alone to be killed, if not by society than by the general prison population…my life is over and it hasn’t even begun.”

  Zachary chose his words carefully.  “Your lawyers have probably told you that I don’t blame you for this.”

  “They have and I want to thank you for taking my side.  So thank you.”

  “Is that why you asked to meet me?”  Zachary asked.

  “Sort of, but there was something else that I wanted to get off my chest…solitary gives me a lot of time for thinking.  And I’ve been thinking about everything, my whole life from the cradle up until now.  I asked you here because you are the only one who can relate to what I am going through, and I need some support.  It has been very difficult.”

  Zachary again chose his words carefully, “The way life turned out for you was not fair.  You never had a chance.”

  “Yes that is exactly what I have been thinking!  Grey Cliff has been around for generations and generations of Thurmonds have had the chance to enjoy Negro flesh for their entire lives.  I had a few short weeks.  Now in here there is no chance to again eat the flesh of a black man.  There are some black guards like this one to my left,” said Ralph, nodding at the guard behind, “But I’ll never get a chance to sink my teeth into him.”

  The guard did not respond.

  “That isn’t what I meant.  I meant that you never had a chance at a normal life,” said Zachary.

  “I had a normal life.  But what is a normal life compared with the taste of Negro flesh?”

  “Ralph, I’m the person who helped kill most of your family precisely for eating other people.  Did you really think I would sympathize with you on this issue?  If you need some human contact request a priest,” said Zachary.

  “But you ate the flesh!  You ate of the Negro body and you know its wonders.  You know --.”

  “Ralph enough,” said Zachary.

  “Am I truly alone in this world or are there others who also wish to feast as I have feasted?” Ralph asked.

  Scientifically speaking there are millions.  But their traits are minute.  And I’m not giving you, Ralph Thurmond, the pleasure of knowing that information.  However, perhaps I can use this meeting to finally put Jasmine’s fears to rest.

  “So then, besides your family there are no others?  There is no conspiracy?”  Zachary asked.

  “That’s the one millionth time I’ve been asked that question, and had you related to me concerning the splendiferous action of Negro flesh consumption, I might have given you a revealing answer.  But instead I will continue, as I have vowed, to keep my silence…”

  Zachary was soon gathered by the warden.  But as he flew home to Arlington Ralph’s words echoed in his head, “A revealing answer.” 

  Just what was he getting at?    

   

  Boston, Jamaica Plain:  Peter had learned that to be successful as a hit-man it is necessary to predict with great accuracy seemingly inconsequential events, like when a target will take a piss.  So for the past two days Peter had researched all of Jasmine’s habits.    Yet during this research time Peter had found himself enraptured with Jasmine Jackson’s form, his hand even sometimes absentmindedly running over his cock.

  Could she truly be the one? 

  His van parked outside Jasmine’s apartment, Peter waited.  During the preceding hour she had not appeared in her kitchen window. 

  Perhaps she had been doing the dishes and now she is finished.  If she were my slave, I would have ordered her to wash the dishes in nothing but chains.  

  He rubbed his hand over his genitals and the moment he cupped his balls, Jasmine’s naked image appeared in his mind.  He felt a pulse rocket through his dick.  And suddenly he was not sure what caused him to feel more shock, that pulse or the rapid beating of his heart.  Frantically, he unzipped his pants, unfurling his gargantuan cock, the sight of which -- even when soft -- would have caused most men to be
come limp with envy.  As if considering the photo of a long-deceased love, he tenderly gazed at his shaft.  The giant mass remained motionless.  Still, Peter had felt that pulse and now he was certain that Jasmine had been the cause.  Killing her would not be simple. 

  Yes, she is the cure!  The sacrificial lamb that my gargantuan cock has been waiting for!  When her blood is shed upon my member it shall rise again, born from the blood of black lust, and with my manhood restored I shall fuck and kill to my heart’s desire. 

   

  Arlington, MA:  Staring at the reporters through a slit in the blinds, the only decision that Zachary had reached was that it was time to grow a mustache.  Meaningless as this decision seemed, Zachary wondered why he had made it.  He had never before grown a mustache or desired to grow a mustache, and he realized that he needed to talk to somebody.  He called Omar.

  “…thank you for your support Omar, but I am really okay.  The reason that I am calling you is, admittedly, a strange one.  I have decided to grow a mustache,” said Zachary without further elaboration.

  There was a pause.  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, do you think I should do it?” Zachary asked.

  “I’ve never grown one before,” said Omar.

  “Neither have I.  It has been a spontaneous decision.  It just happened moments ago.  But I thought I should talk to someone about it.  I’ve known people who once they grew a mustache they never shaved it off – people who have literally been buried with their mustaches,” said Zachary.

  “So you don’t think this is a decision to be taken lightly?” said Omar.

  “Right, I have decided to do it, but before I do it I could perhaps be talked out of it,” said Zachary.

  “But you are worried that once you have actually grown it that it might just be there forever?” said Omar.

  “Exactly, so what do you think?” said Zachary.

  “Well, I’m not going to try to talk you out of it.  I really have no opinion about facial hair,” said Omar.

  “You must have some opinion.  As you yourself pointed out, you have never grown a mustache,” said Zachary.

  “What I meant to say is that I have no opinion about other people’s facial hair,” said Omar.

  “Is that really true?  What if I grew, say a handlebar mustache, I bet you would have an opinion about that, right?” said Zachary.

  “You’ve got me there.  But a standard normal mustache, I probably wouldn’t even notice it.  So this is really why you are calling?” said Omar.     

  “Yes, and you have been helpful,” said Zachary.

  “You know I have a relative with a mustache, if you want to get the real facts I could give you her number,” said Omar.

  “Her number?  Good one,” said Zachary, laughing.

  I wish I could just come clean to Omar about everything… 

   

  Boston, Jamaica Plain:  Sometimes Jasmine felt like she could strangle Zachary.  He could be so obtuse!  What would it take to convince him that there was more to the Thurmond affair than just Grey Cliff? 

  She decided to relieve the stress that Zachary had caused through yoga.  From deep inside her closet, she located her full body yoga suit. 

  Kids wear yoga pants everywhere now, like they are casual!  What’s next, a yoga suit as casual attire?

   The yoga suit fit like a glove and Jasmine nodded with satisfaction as she noted that she had not added any extra weight since it had last been worn.  Scanning through her yoga DVDs she settled upon the most provocative: Sexy Yoga for Busy Women.  It was a ridiculous title, but the yoga positions were relaxing rather than strenuous and the yoga teacher was a super-hot African American stud with a body so toned that Jasmine wondered if he had ever eaten a carbohydrate. 

  First up: downward dog…

   

  Boston, Jamaica Plain:  The yoga moves were too much and something miraculous happened.  As if his penis had been injected with steroids, it bulged and bulked up inside his pants. 

  A stiffy, I’ve got a fucking stiffy! 

  Suddenly, all his recent failures seemed washed away.  It was like God had once again made him his chosen child with a massive cock.  Grinning a smile so wide he felt a long worn mask shatter from his face, he placed his right hand upon his penis and as wave of ecstasy washed over his body like a thousand tickling fingers, he swore an oath upon his member as if his member were a holy relic:

  To live so that you live!  To rise so that you rise! To feed your lust!  To cum buckets of cum upon anyplace you deem worthy of a cumming, and especially upon Jasmine Jackson – Yes I shall cum upon Jasmine Jackson!  And once my cum has landed upon her body and covered her over and she looks like a fly larva, I shall snap her like a twig, I shall break her, and then once she is dead and broken I shall cum until all the cum of these long flaccid years has been emptied from my body and I am reborn as a resplendently awakened penis-Lazarus!   

   

  Arlington, MA:  A mustache, why a mustache?  Some things just had to be done.  That was a fact of life.  And sometimes these things are things not seen from a distance, things like volunteering at a homeless shelter or the growing of a mustache.

  Zachary peered at his reflection in the mirror.  His upper lip looked naked, embarrassed, and even almost ashamed. 

  Why upper lip have I ignored you for all these years? 

  It was like he was coaching a little league baseball team and he had left the best hitter to sit on the bench and all because he looked like an upper lip.

   Have I even ever looked at you before?  And what does it mean that now in the looking I wish to clothe you with hair?  What does it mean that I wish to hide you from the existence of my face?  

  The upper lip seemed to reply (it had many years to observe the mouth after all):  You do not hide me.  You show me respect when you allow the hair to sprout from my membrane.

  And Zachary protested: But you will change the very shape of my face.

  And the upper lip replied: Sometimes in order to see what is true, we must cover ourselves.

  Zachary responded: Like I will cover you with hair.

  The upper lip replied: Yes.

  Zachary laughed.  It had been a while since he had allowed his metaphysical side to roam free, probably since his undergraduate days – now it was all serious science, science with big implications like Trait Theory. 

  If my detractors could see me now, talking to my upper lip, my career would take even more of a nose-dive… 

  Something felt wrong.  He walked backwards to jiggle his mind.  Suddenly it came to him: Jasmine.  If he was going to grow a mustache and change the shape of his face, she needed to be privy.  He called.  She did not answer.  Fearing that she had seen his number and had ignored it, he decided to make an unannounced visit to her apartment. 

  Although his mustache did not yet exist and was only the fuzz of the future, he rubbed his fingers against his upper lip and pondered whether growing a mustache would allow him to ponder better. 

  I could curl my finger into my hairy lips folds and sink into a deep and undistracted trance.

   He pictured Rodin’s The Thinker with a mustache. 

  And what would I think about if I had a mustache? 

  For the next hour Zachary pondered his recent choices.  He thought extensively about how he had withheld Windsor’s mother’s diary from Windsor.  And he also thought about himself and how he would appear to the world with a mustache.

   As a man who is hiding from his past with a thicket of hair on his lip or as a dignified member of society, as dignified as the carefully trimmed thicket of hair on his lip?  

  Ultimately he made two decisions (1) he would reverse course and deliver to Windsor his mother’s diary and (2) he would still talk to Jasmine about growing a mustache.      

  But that meant that he had to dodge the paparazzi.  Again wishing that he had an attached garage, he ran to his c
ar.  As the reporters rushed to his property line, he jumped into his front seat and sped away, Windsor’s mother’s diary carefully tucked into his front pocket.   With another news van following, this time he decided not to drive like a maniac. 

  If that’s possible in Boston…

  Suddenly, he sensed something in the back of the car and when he looked in his rear mirror he saw the form of a man.  Nearly slamming on the breaks, he released a girlish scream.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Zachary shouted, turning back and observing a man in a suit curled up in the back of his car as if napping.

  “I mean you no harm, but for both of our sakes pretend you don’t see me,” said the man, barely raising his head.

  Another nut-bag entrepreneur? 

  Before Zachary had a chance to reply the man continued, “My name is Shawn Smith.  I am a former state senator and I’ve come to tell you that your life is in horrible danger.”

  This isn’t happening…

  “What are you talking about?” Zachary asked, while grabbing his smart phone and googling Shawn Smith.

  “I hope you’re not dialing the police,” said Shawn.

  “I should be, but I’m not,” said Zachary.

  “The police can’t help you, I don’t know if anyone can,” said Shawn.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Zachary asked, having retrieved a photo image for Senator Shawn Smith.  The image seemed to match the man in his back seat.

  Shawn stated quickly, “I’m a member of a powerful underground organization, I’d say former member but there is no such thing as a former member of the Jeffersonian Elites.”

  What the fuck!  That was the defunct group mentioned in Jasmine’s slave narrative.

  “How do you know that name?” Zachary asked.

  “How do you?” Shawn asked, clearly surprised.

  “Nevermind that – But I thought the Jeffersonian Elites no longer existed – You already killed the mixed race progeny of Jefferson right?”

  “Again how do you know that?”

  “Why the fuck should I tell you anything?  I don’t even know who the fuck you are,” said Zachary.

  “I just saw you googling me, so I know you know I am a previous state senator of Mississippi,” said Shawn.

  “And clearly you’ve lost your fucking mind!”

  “I’m a dead man that’s what I am, but I’ve come here to do one good deed before I’m killed.  I’ve come to warn you of the danger that you are in.  Honestly, I don’t know how you are still alive.  They must need you for something that is the only explanation,” said Shawn.

  “Need me for what?” Zachary asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why am I in danger?” Zachary asked.

  “Because you got too curious, because you exposed the Thurmonds.  They don’t know what you learned and to be safe they will kill you,” said Shawn.

  “I don’t understand.  Were the Thurmonds part of the Jeffersonian Elites?” Zachary asked, nauseas. 

  This man sounds credible.  Have I been rationalizing for the sake of my own sanity again?

   Fuck! Fuck!  Fuck! 

  Jasmine was right.

   Jasmine!

  As Shawn explained that the Thurmonds were somehow connected to the Jeffersonian Elites, Zachary dialed 911.

  “Hello, I’d like to report an emergency,” said Zachary.

  “What are you doing!” Shawn shouted.

  “What’s the nature of the emergency?” asked the operator.

  “Just send a car to 157 Main street apt #3 Jamaica Plain,” said Zachary, snapping his phone shut. 

  “Yes, she’s in danger too,” said Shawn.

  “Why have you flipped?” Zachary asked.

  “I was small time in the organization, an elected puppet.  They got me elected.  They got me women.  I did what they wanted.  But once this news broke – it was too much.  They can kill me.  They will kill me.  But I’m not going to be a puppet any longer.  Not when African Americans are being eaten for Christ’s sakes!  It’s one thing to take advantage of them economically.  But to eat them.  Fuck that!  I’m a God-fearing man Mr. Dunbar and I don’t want to go to hell.”

  “Tell me about the Elites – who are they?  What do they do?” Zachary asked.

  “Fuck Zachary, I wish I could tell you more, but like I said, I was small time.  But I know they control a lot.  That’s the scary fucking thing Mr. Dunbar, you don’t know who is one of them.  It could be anybody,” said Shawn.

  “What did you do for them?” Zachary asked.

  “I voted however they wanted me to vote.  I introduced bills that they wanted me to introduce,” said Shawn.

  “You have to tell someone this!” said Zachary.

  “I am -- I’m telling you,” said Shawn.

  “No, I mean a news reporter, the FBI, someone who can do something useful with the information, someone who can put a stop to this,” said Zachary.

  Shawn laughed.  “A stop to it!  That’s never going to happen.  There’s too much riding.”

  “You’ve got to try Shawn.  People will listen to you.  You were a state senator,” said Zachary.

  “Who’s going to listen to me?  The elites have infiltrated the media, they’ve infiltrated the FBI, like I said they are everywhere – inside all institutions,” said Shawn.

  Institutionalized racism, Jasmine was right!

  “So that’s their modus operandi?” Zachary asked.

  “As best as I can tell, but like I said, I was a nobody – just a puppet – I reported to my handler and that was it,” said Shawn.

  “Where are they located?” Zachary.

  “I have no idea, but my best guess would be everywhere,” said Shawn.

  “Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Is this really happening?”

  “I’m sorry.  I wish it were all a joke.”

  “Me too, or a dream, fuck – what should we do?  We’re in this together now Shawn, till the end.  Do you have any allies, people who can help us?” Zachary asked.

  “I’m afraid not, but maybe we do have a better chance together.  But we have to get out of America,” said Shawn.

  “The elites aren’t global?” Zachary asked.

  “No, I don’t think so.  America has so effectively subjugated African Americans that I would think the Elites have no reason to look elsewhere for greener pastures,” said Shawn.

  “Do you have a passport?” Zachary asked.

  “Yes, I was actually planning to flee to Mexico after I warned you – and from there I don’t know where – maybe Cuba, maybe Africa – but perhaps we can flee together,” said Shawn.

  “I have to take Jasmine too,” said Zachary.

  “Of course.”

  “Holy shit, I can’t believe this is happening.” 

  Glancing in his mirror, Zachary sensed that Shawn was trying to convey something with his expression.  Zachary returned a puzzled look.  Rummaging around on Zachary’s floor Shawn located a pen, writing something on his hand.  Zachary turned back and Shawn held open his palm.  It read, “Car Bugged Canada.”  Zachary nodded as Shawn wrote something on his other palm.  It read, “Get Out.” 

  Zachary nodded. 

  Why is it that when life comes at you, it comes at you like a tidal wave?

  Taking a quick turn, Zachary lost the news truck, and after driving down two more streets he came to a screeching halt.  Zachary and Shawn bolted from the car, running across the street and into an alley.  Zachary noticed that Shawn was holding a paper bag.

  “We have to get to Jasmine.  Is my car really bugged?” Zachary asked.

  “Yes, and I hate to say it, but your clothes probably are too.  The Elites try to leave as little to chance as possible,” said Shawn. 

  “New clothes?” Zachary inquired, while pointing at the paper bag that Shawn held.

  Shawn nodded and Zachary changed behind a dumpster.

  He may have been a puppet withou
t a mind of his own, but at least he took the time to research my shoe size…

   

  Washington, Jeffersonian Elites Headquarters, Misinformation Branch:  The first thing that Mr. X noticed was a large round table in the center of the room, and the second thing he noticed was that no one was sitting there.  Yet in a crowded room beyond the empty table feverish men shouted and passed reams of paper between them like brokers on the floor of the New York Stock exchange. 

  “Now is not the time for introductions and I want to get you right into the mix,” said Mr. K.  “Here, let me show you to your desk.” 

  His desk had a name plate that did not read Mr. X, instead reading his real name: Josh Bridge. 

  Mr. K explained, “You are on the inside now.  Here we use real names.”

  “So you’re not Mr. K anymore to me?” Josh asked.

  “I’m Daniel to you now, but we don’t have time for fifty questions.  Ah, here is your immediate supervisor, Larry Jones.”

  A tall man with a strong grip shook his hand.

  “Nice to meet you and let’s get started – please turn on your computer.  You are going to have to switch your password,” said Larry.

  Josh created a password and logged onto his computer.

  “Okay I’ll leave you two to it,” said Daniel, leaving.

  “Josh you are here because we believe that you have a knack for making real-time decisions,” said Larry.

  Josh nodded and tried not to be distracted by all the people running around his desk.

  A man approached Larry and handed him a note.  “Fuck!  How did she read that story? I told you to take that story out of Oprah’s paper – it never should have been in her copy.”

  “We took the story out of her paper.  But then her maid brought in her own copy of The New York Times,” the man explained.

  “Why didn’t we switch the fucking maid’s copy too?”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “Did Oprah notice the switch in her paper?” Larry asked.

  “We switched it back before she had a chance,” said the man.

  “Good.  Okay, well keep me updated, fuck…Josh, as I was saying, we have to make real time decisions here and we believe you have a knack for that…This program on your computer…Yes, that icon, it will direct you to the issues that we currently need you to deal with.  This is how it works.  There are two other people on your team.  You all make suggestions on an issue, but only when two people agree is an action taken.  Your two teammates are at the computers to your left and your right,” said Larry, pausing just long enough for Josh to acknowledge the waves with a nod.  “This is Bill and this is Geno.” 

  Josh nodded again. 

  Larry continued, “Okay, so your program is up.  The first thing that you need to do is look at the memo for any situation.  I can’t stress how important it is to fully consider the memo.  The memo outlines decisions that have been made in other departments.  It is possible to overrule the decision in a memo, but it is complicated and not a subject for right now.  So here is the memo for this situation.”

  Larry double clicked a smiley face icon.  It opened a document which read:

   

  Subject: Zachary Dunbar; Situation: 114

   

  Mr. Dunbar has been declared a person of interest for the court proceedings.  Therefore, Mr. Dunbar has been assigned a protected status.

   

  Subject: Shawn Smith; Situation: 34

   

  Shawn Smith is attempting to divulge Jeffersonian Elite Secrets.  Shawn Smith has been assigned a kill at your discretion status.

   

  “So the memo tells you the subject names and what individual decision number this is for them, meaning that we have made 113 previous decisions concerning Zachary Dunbar and we have made 33 previous decisions concerning Shawn Smith.”

  Josh nodded and Larry opened the situation program, “Right now we have eyes on Zachary Dunbar and former state Senator Shawn Smith.  As the memo has noted, Shawn is an Elite and a turncoat.”

  Josh peered at the image on the screen, “Yes, I recognize him.  This is satellite isn’t it?  We have our own satellite?”

  Larry did not reply. 

  “Do we have ears?” Josh asked 

  “We had ears when they were just in the car.  They are planning to flee to Mexico together with Jasmine Jackson,” Larry replied.

  “And what did he tell Zachary about the Elites?” Josh asked.

  “Nothing we have to worry about,” said Larry.

  “How do you know that?  All information about our organization is so fragmented, so how would you know if was important or not?” Josh asked.

  “Because I received a memo from a branch stating that it was not,” said Larry.

  “So there is a branch that understands all branches, which branch is that?” Josh asked.

  “Memos are anonymous.”

  Josh nodded.  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “Along with Geno and Bill you are going to determine the next course of action,” said Larry.

  “I thought this was the Misinformation Branch?” said Josh.

  “Primarily, but given the scope of this event we have had to tweak our responsibilities – all the branches have,” said Larry.

  “I’m assuming that protected status means that Mr. Dunbar is not to be harmed, what does kill at your discretion status mean?” Josh asked.

  “First off, you will find a manual in the second drawer that explains all these terms and I suggest that later you study it.  Second, protected status means more than we will not harm a subject.  It actually means that we would offer protection, because this asset has become that important to us.  Third, kill at your discretion means that you can make the kill if it is to our benefit, but that it is not a matter of pressing urgency,” said Larry.

  “Why has Zachary Dunbar become important?” Josh asked.

  “Another department made that decision,” said Larry.

  “And they don’t tell us why?” said Josh.

  “No, not only are memos anonymous but their reasoning remains unstated. For example, when we pass on our decision, the next department won’t know why we made the decision or that it came from us.  But if you notice the memo does mention something about court proceedings, so it probably has something to do with that, but again, I can’t say for sure,” said Larry.

  “What is the purpose of being organized in such a fashion?” Josh asked.

  “To keep all branches separate is to maintain the utmost secrecy of our organization.  There are overseers who look at everything, but that is not our concern,” said Larry.

  Josh turned to Geno, “So what do you think?”

  “I say we take out the Senator,” said Geno.

  “How?” Zachary asked.

  “Here, I should have pointed out this key.  See these symbols on this sheet correspond to the listed professions.  The blinking gun in the corner of the screen – that means we have a sniper within range, actually two, see there are two guns,” Larry explained. 

  Josh nodded.  “What do you think Bill?”

  Bill replied, “I saw we let it play out.  We let them run.  They say they are going to meet up with Jasmine, but maybe they will lead us somewhere else first.  Also, Jasmine Jackson is next on our activity list and I say that we send the second sniper to take out Peter after he has completed the job.”

  “That means it is up to you to pick a side,” said Larry.

  “What if I have my own idea?” Josh asked.

  “Then it circles back until someone agrees with someone else,” said Larry.

  “I see.  Well, I think we don’t have anything to gain by letting them run off together.  I agree with Geno: take out the Senator…”

   

  Boston, Jamaica Plain:  Peter remembered the shame that he felt as a boy when he had a boner and there was no way to hide the mountainous bulge.  Later, that source
of shame would become a source of pride, and later still that source of pride would become a source of frustration. 

  But a new page has turned! 

  As Peter jumped from his van, he found it difficult to walk, almost as if walking a rowdy dog that kept pulling on the leash, but there was no dog only his cock, rock hard and free-spirited and which fought to free itself from the constraints of the jeans.   His cock felt harder than he could ever remember and there was no anxiety that the boner would lessen and instead only a slight anxiety that the whole thing would explode, tight and bursting as it felt.  He laughed because he noticed a butterfly fluttering between two mailboxes and it seemed that only seconds after his member had been reborn that the world had again become beautiful. 

  But I still have to cum on Jasmine and then kill her…

   Somehow he had convinced himself that this blood sacrifice was necessary to ensure the future hardness of his proud member. 

  And besides, I have to do it for the Elites anyway. 

  Opening the ground floor common door, he entered her building. 

  Rock out with your cock out! 

  He unzipped his pants, his penis shooting forth and then standing at attention like a retriever waiting for a fallen duck.  Looking down upon it, it seemed to wink at him, as if to say, “Again we ride!”  The death of his brother at the hands of his slaves suddenly seemed less harsh and even like a necessary causality. 

  For it was that path which created this path and this path which created my thumping, vigorous revival… 

  He shook his hips and watched it swing from side to side, cutting a wide berth like the strongest peasant with the biggest sickle.  Placing his hand upon the tip, the flickering light of the hall felt a glorious light upon his face.  He climbed the stairs, his third leg climbing with the most enthusiasm though never touching the ground. 

  I’m going to splatter her with a load larger than a fire hose putting out a five alarm fire… 

  His cock throbbed in agreement as he quietly slid down the hall, his gun in his right hand and his Colt 45 in his left. 

  No more swords…that was ridiculous… 

  Gently, he twisted her doorknob.  It was locked.  He saw no way around it and put his shoulder down and prepared to burst through the door the way that he planned for his cock to burst into her existence. 

  Slow down Romeo…I understand that it has been a while but we can’t lose our minds – both of them that is… 

  Realizing that it would be impetuous to ram through her door because a neighbor might hear, he wedged his Colt between his belt loop and jeans and grabbed two small metal pins from his back pocket.  Although it was a boring procedure, one might have thought the lock getting picked was that of a curvaceous babe and not a wooden door because the Cyclops between his legs never blinked.  Taking a deep breath, he remembered Joe-Bob and what an idiot he was and then he remembered how Joe Bob had been scourged with a minuscule pecker. 

  Yes, it seemed his brain was the same size as his cock.  But Joe Bob – this fuck and this sacrifice of black death – this is for you.

   Inching the door open, he crept into her apartment.  It smelled of roses and, predictably, jasmine.  Having taking a few steps into her kitchen, he could now see her yoga-positioned heel in the living room.  A step farther and he saw the whole of her leg. 

  If I was a Thurmond I would apparently wish to eat that leg, but I instead wish to make it lifeless and as limp as my cock used to be… 

  Another half a step, and he caught the outline of her butt, flexing and tight.  His cock flinched, like a sprinter with a false start. 

  Don’t cum yet… 

  He sighed, but perhaps a little too loud, and he strained for any unusual motion.  There was none and it was time to pounce.  Quickly, he walked into the living room, double fisted, and when she saw him from a yoga position with her head between her legs, she screamed.

  Peter laughed.  “Hunny, it’s intimidating I know, but if you move a muscle I’m going to blow you to bits.”

  “What do you want?”

              “You know what I want?” said Peter, still holding both of his guns.

              “I have a boyfriend,” said Jasmine.

              “A little spunk, I like that,” said Peter, his cock throbbing with anticipation.

              “Are you going to kill me?” Jasmine asked.

              “What do you think hunny?” Peter asked, having slowly stepped closer, and who now held his Colt and his cock only inches from Jasmine’s head.

              “I don’t know,” said Jasmine.

              “Fuck no, you are too beautiful hunny.  I just want to fuck you with my astronomically sized Johnson,” said Peter.

              “I’ve never seen one that big,” said Jasmine.

              Duh…

              “I’d have been insulted if you had,” said Peter.

              “So what do you want from me?” Jasmine asked.

              “You know what I want,” Peter said again.

              Jasmine closed her eyes and opened her mouth.

              She actually wants it, the dumb bitch.  Some of them just melt when they see it – and she is a melter…

   Peter placed the Colt on the coffee table and approached.  An inch before the cock entered her mouth he felt a cold metal against his leg.  He stepped back.  She held a gun and that was the last thing that his mind would ever register.    

   

  Washington, Jeffersonian Elites Headquarters, Computer Branch:   When Alan Lozan had posed as Conrad the IT repairman, he had installed a host of computer viruses into Zachary’s computer. 

  One of the most powerful was an application which caused Zachary’s computer to communicate with his phone via a Jeffersonian Elite satellite, performing constant logistical algorithms created by the Jeffersonian Elite computer team. 

  The team prided itself on being the most racist nerds in the world.  And if there is one thing that is true about a nerd it is that when they focus on an objective it is nearly impossible to expunge that objective from their heads. 

  The Elite big wigs had long ago learned that they had much less use for the brainless skinhead Neo-Nazis of the world than for racist who actually had an IQ.  The problem, however, was finding them.  While skinheads march in parades, write newsletters, and proselytize with such open salesmanship that they even occasionally convince those they profess to hate to join their ranks -- nerds stay more silent about their hatred. 

  Sure, nerds might play racist shooter video games for stretches of days a time, but they don’t go around talking about how much they hate the black man who works at the corner store. 

  However, in 1959, as computer science was beginning to establish itself as a powerful world force, a high ranking Elite hit upon a ground breaking plan: to donate heavily to computer science college projects, infiltrate the computer groups, make connections, and build a racist computer network. 

  50 years later the Jeffersonian Elite Computer Group counted among its members executives from most of the major computer companies in America.  There was almost nothing that the Jeffersonian Elite Computer Team could not do with a computer.

  So when Zachary Dunbar called the police from his cell, Conrad sent Zachary to an automatic artificial intelligence dispatcher, and the AI program had convinced Zachary that he had actually been speaking to a human.        

   

  Boston, Jamaica Plain:  When the bullet hit Senator Shawn Smith directly between the eyes, Zachary had been mid-sentence and he grabbed the Senator as he fell.  Fearing for his own safety, he dragged the senator behind a dumpster.  At first he attempted CPR. 

  What the fuck will this do really! 

  But it quick
ly became evident that Mr. Smith had departed this earth.  Not sure where the bullet had originated, Zachary ran to the rear of the alley and hopped a fence, all the while sensing that his head would be the next head to explode.  It did not and he continued running until he could run no more. 

  This is what is must have felt like to be a slave in the South and to run from the slave catchers.  Why are you even thinking this?  It is because you still feel guilty.  Stop, you have to think about your own life, you have to survive so that you can help Jasmine. 

  Jasmine!  Get to her now! 

  Zachary saw a taxi and he did his best to look calm and composed so that it would actually pick him up.  The taxi pulled to the curb and Zachary gave the driver Jasmine’s address.  For the duration of the ride Zachary remained silent and he wondered if he should again call the police. 

  No, I’ll just tell them everything when I see them at Jasmine’s.

   But when he arrived at Jasmine’s he saw no police cruiser.

  Fuck! 

  Tossing a wad of cash at the driver, he sprinted from the taxi and into the apartment complex.  Although he knew he might be sprinting to his death, it seemed that he could not sprint up her stairs fast enough.  Once inside her apartment he prepared to scream her name, but he bit his tongue as he heard gunfire. 

  Fuck!

  Making his way into the living room, he saw a dead body, and he saw Jasmine with a smoking gun.  Before he had time to take in the scene, Jasmine shouted, “Call the police.”

  “I did.”

  “You did?”

  “I dialed 911 and sent them here at least 15 minutes ago.”

  “I don’t like it Zachary.  Let’s just get out of here.”

  Zachary realized the man on the floor was the man he had seen at his house.

  “You know him?” Jasmine asked.

  “He was inside my house.  Who is this guy?”

  “I don’t know but he tried to rape me and kill me, I don’t know let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “He tried to rape you?”  Zachary examined the body, and as he did so saw the massive penis lying as limp as the dead body.  The sight of the massive penis, bloodied, and sinuous, sent a shiver down his spine. 

  What a monstrous human!

  “Yes it’s big, now let’s get the fuck out of here!” shouted Jasmine.

  Zachary nodded as they clasped hands and fled from the apartment. 

  “Where did you park?” Jasmine asked as they reached the bottom of her stairs.

  “I took a taxi --.”

  “A taxi?”

  “It’s a long story.  But I’ve just learned that you were right and the Elites still exist and I think they are after us now,” said Zachary.

  “I fucking told you,” said Jasmine.

  “I’m sorry,” said Zachary.

  “There’s no point talking about it now.  We can take my car,” said Jasmine.

  “No we can’t,” said Zachary.  “I learned from a source that these fuckers are everywhere.  They had my car under surveillance, I had to abandon it.  So we can’t take yours who knows it probably has a bomb in it or something.”

  “Shit, what the fuck are we going to do Zachary?  What did your source say?”

  “I don’t know.  We should go on foot from here though and then we’ll figure it out,” said Zachary.

  For the next five minutes they ran through the streets of Jamaica Plain and as they rounded each corner Zachary kept expecting to see Jasmine’s head explode.  Finding an alley that seemed to provide sufficient cover, they stopped to catch their breath. 

  “What now?”

  “We get you a change of clothes,” said Zachary.

  They walked into an open apartment and raided a bedroom bureau.  The clothes were much too big.

  “I look frumpy,” said Jasmine.

  “You look alive.”

  They fled from the apartment and once a few streets away, attempted to formulate a plan. 

  “We need cash so that we can go to Canada,” said Zachary.

  “Why there?” asked Jasmine.

  “That’s what my source advised,” said Zachary.

  “Fine, it sounds fine to me.”

  “So cash…”

  They opened their wallets.  They had $200 combined.

  “I have money in the bank,” said Zachary.

  “Then let’s go to an ATM.”

  Zachary scratched his head.

  “What?” Jasmine asked.

  “We can’t.”

  “You think the Elites could see an ATM transaction?” Jasmine asked.

  “We can’t chance it.”

  “What then?”

  “We find a pay phone and we ask Windsor for help,” said Zachary.

  “But won’t they be watching him too?” Jasmine asked.

  Fuck!

  “You’re right.  What should we do?” Zachary asked.

  “You could call him and pretend you are someone else.”

  “You think that will work?” Zachary asked.

  “Probably not, fuck.  I don’t know,” said Jasmine.

  “Let’s just chance it.  If we can get to Windsor he’ll probably give us a whole bundle of money, enough to live off the grid for a while,” said Zachary.

  “Do you really trust him though?  He is a Thurmond,” said Jasmine.

  “Jasmine this man has contained the urge to eat black people for decades.  So yes, I would say he is a man we can trust.”

  “I guess given the circumstances it is our best option.  I mean we could try other people, but he is moneybags right?” Jasmine asked.

  “Exactly,” said Zachary.

  At a corner store Zachary did not see a payphone, so he asked the cashier.

  “Everyone on earth has a cell phone now dude,” said the cashier.

  “Can I use your store phone?” Zachary asked.

  The cashier, a middle aged woman, scowled. 

  “No?” Zachary asked.

  “We have cell phones for sale,” she said, motioning behind.

  Jasmine whispered into his ear, “Just buy one and then we will trash it.”

  Zachary bought a phone and set it up through a pay computer at the store.  Then he sent Windsor a text:

   

  Thanks for your generous donation to our civil rights charity.  As previously arranged, a representative, J. J., will be by your residence shortly to pick up the donation in person.

   

  A few minutes later Windsor replied: 

   

  Of course, come in through the back door.

   

  “Do you think he understood?” Jasmine asked.

  “It appears that way.”

  Zachary used the cell to call a taxi and then tossed it into the trash.       

   

  Boston, Commonwealth Street:  Windsor licked his lips.  It had been two days since he had feasted upon fresh Negro flesh, and ever since he had seen Jasmine’s picture splashed over the news sites, he had wished nothing more than to tie her to his table, cut off her limbs, and cook her into a stew.  He prepared busily.

   

  Boston, Commonwealth Street:  Zachary and Jasmine rushed in Windsor’s back door.  The room was dark and Zachary searched for a light.  He found a switch but once flipped it did nothing. 

  “Windsor,” Zachary yelled.

  There was no answer.

  “I don’t like this,” said Jasmine.

  “We just need to find our way upstairs,” said Zachary.

  “Let’s just go,” said Jasmine.

  “Calm yourself, Windsor is going to help us,” said Zachary.

  “Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me,” said Jasmine, clutching Zachary’s arm in the darkness.

  “This is not Grey Cliff the sequel.  He’s giving us an infusion of cash and then we are leaving,” said Zachary.

  “And he has been a reliable source since?”

&n
bsp; “Just trust me on this one.  For once I am not thinking with my mind.  I am thinking with my heart, and my heart tells me to trust this man.”

  “And trust me you should!” said Windsor as a light simultaneously turned on.  For a moment Zachary and Jasmine were blinded as their eyes adjusted to the light, but when Zachary saw his surroundings he did his best to hide his shock.  They were completely surrounded by hundreds of antique black face dolls.  Jasmine pinched Zachary’s arm and he nodded slightly.

  I guess it is a good thing that Jasmine still has that gun…

  The jolly dolls were piled one on top the other like a pit of dead bodies, their jolly feet, hands, mouths, and eyes all protruding in different directions.  A path had been cleared in the center of the room, from the door to the stair case.  Windsor stood at the top of the stair case smiling.  He held a duffel bag.

  “Come up!  Come Up!  Don’t be concerned by this room.  I bought these from collectors precisely so that they would be locked up down here and not on some hick’s lawn in Appalachia or anywhere else.  And yes, I have your money here and your ticket for a new life!  So come up and allow me to say goodbye to you my good friend Zachary and to say hello to your well chosen partner,” said Windsor.

  Zachary and Jasmine hesitated.  Jasmine whispered, “What should we do?”

  “Let’s just go up.”

  As they walked up the stairs, the smile never left Windsor’s face.  Once at the top, they walked into a large room and a steel cage dropped on top of them.  The cage was approximately 8 feet high and 8 feet wide, the size of a small room.

  “What the fuck Windsor?”

  Windsor’s smile vanished and he put down the duffel bag and unzipped it.  From inside he took out a human head.  It was the mangled head of the black housekeeper.

  “I ate her body.  But I’ve decided to keep her head as a souvenir.  The last couple of days had been tough, so I was thinking about eating it until you called, problem solved old boy.”

  “I trusted you,” said Zachary.

  “My beef is not with you Zachary, or rather I should say the beef is her because soon I will cook her into a stew.  Zachary you have eaten the Negro flesh.  You know how unbelievable it tastes.  You spoke highly of the Thurmond venison.  I assure you that Jasmine Jackson will taste resplendent,” said Windsor.

  “Are you actually suggesting that I eat my girl friend?” Zachary asked.

  “I’ve heard enough,” said Jasmine, pulling the gun out from beneath her shirt.  “Don’t fucking move or I’m blowing off your head.”

  “You do that my resplendent piece of beef and you will never get out from that cage, by the way this is the exact cage that I used to imprison Shanice Cook years ago and then again last week.  Here you can ask her about it,” said Windsor, as he pulled another severed head from the duffel bag.  Zachary could barely recognize the bludgeoned head, but it did seem to resemble the head of Shanice Cook.

  So her luck and her inflation resistant checks have finally run out…

  “Enough Windsor, this isn’t you.  I know you.”

  “You do know me because you know the pleasure of eating Negro flesh, and that is all I am, a Negro flesh eating machine!”  said Windsor, locking eyes with Jasmine.

  “No, Windsor, you are so much more than that.  You are a philanthropist.  You have good in you I know it,” said Zachary.

  “This is not Star Wars Zachary and I am not a reformed Darth Vadar --.”

  “Stop!  Do you forget I have a gun at your head?  Do you know how many cannibalistic racists I have killed?” shouted Jasmine.

  “Yes, but if you kill me you will never get out of that cage.  I know you have no cell phone.  I know because Zachary texted me from a random number so I’m sure you already trashed the phone.  Are the Elites after you?  Ha!  They are!  I knew it.  I knew it.  Ha!  This is delicious!”

  “Why? If they are after us then they will kill you to get to us won’t they?” said Zachary.

  “They won’t kill me.  I am practically one of them.”

              “But you aren’t and that makes all the difference.”

  “Enough!” Jasmine shouted.  “Let us out of here or I am putting a bullet in your head.

  “No,” said Windsor, with a malicious smile.

  “Windsor I stole a diary from your mother’s room and in the diary she talked about her wishes for you,” said Zachary.

  “Liar!”

  “You know me Windsor, you know I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” said Zachary.

  For a moment Windsor was silent.  “Go on.”

  “What she wanted for you Windsor, what she wanted was exactly what you became!”

  “Then maybe she too sensed how sublime a life of Negro flesh feedings can be,” said Windsor, who, oddly, raised Shanice’s head, blood dripping from her brain stem, and kissed her on the lips.

  “No Windsor that is just it!  Do you remember eating the fetus hand?”

  “Now that you mention it – I have recently come to that realization.  And forgive me for being crass old boy, but I think that was my first, once-you-go-black-you-never-go-back moment.  It’s a shame that I had repressed it all those years,” said Windsor, nibbling on Shanice’s nose. 

  “That day Windsor, your mother’s dormant CMR trait came to life.  After you fled the room she ate the fetus.  Yes, it is true.  She too had CMR, which could be why your trait is so strong.  But it is also why she separated and cared for you until she died.  She wanted to teach you right from wrong.  She did not want you to give into CMR.”

  “You lie!”

  “No, Windsor, I speak the truth.  So know that she would have been very proud of the philanthropist you became – this new Windsor, the Windsor who keeps severed heads inside a duffel bag – that is not the real Windsor.”

  “You are grasping at straws.  You are desperate to stay alive.  Just like they are all desperate to stay alive in the moment before I devour them,” said Windsor.

  “I was on my way here earlier to give you the diary.  I have it with me here.  Here is the page.  Read this page Windsor and you will see who you have been your whole life was exactly who your mother wanted me to be.”

  Windsor dropped the severed head.  It plopped onto the ground with a thud, rolling to the foot of the cage.

              “Toss me the book,” said Windsor, pointing at the spaces between the cage bars.

  “Let us out first,” said Jasmine.

  “I will not,” said Windsor.

  “Don’t give it to him,” said Jasmine.

  “He needs to see,” said Zachary, tossing Windsor the book.

   

  Boston, Commonwealth Street:  Windsor instantly recognized his mother’s handwriting and he sat down, reading the words that his mother had placed onto paper many decades ago.

   

  June – August, 1945: Someday Windsor you should read this diary.  Should you find this diary before manhood, remember always that truth never ceases to be a welcome visitor.  Windsor you brighten my days and I have always loved you the most.  Windsor I am much like you.  We both ate of the same dead Negro fetus and in that moment we were forever connected with a bond stronger than that of mother and son. 

  Windsor after I ate that baby fetus’s hand, I never again sunk my teeth into Negro flesh and I hope you can do the same.  Your urges are much stronger than mine.  You managed to kill an adult with a knife when you were not yet five and somehow you sensed, perhaps smelled, that the choicest part of her body was hidden within her belly and you split open her belly and began feasting on the fetus.  Because of the blinding strength of your longings, I think you will have it more difficult. 

  Windsor I daily teach you the difference between right and wrong.  I teach you the importance of charitable endeavors.  And based on all that I have taught, you probably think I expect you to live a perfect life and accomplish great things.  No, Win
dsor, no – I have tried to give you a foundation only, for I know the burden which you must carry; I know the voices of the demons who whisper in your ear; that you think yourself passing the time only until you should again feast as you once feasted on the Negro fetus. 

  Yet these thoughts must be resisted!  Do not fret when you find that you can never banish these thoughts from your mind; accept them as a permanent part of your soul.

  Soon I will die and someday you will find this diary.  When you do, do not think your memories of me wrong.  Think of me as a mother who after eating from the fetus corpse, never again ate of the Negro’s flesh. 

  I have separated us from the rest of the family because we are different.  They would not understand that which we wish to do.  These final words I impart on paper and will impart again from my bed before I die: do not look back.  The past only holds the taste of the dead Negro’s fetus’s hand. 

  Be good my child, do good deeds, and make your mother proud, just as I hope you are proud of me.  Windsor I love you and will always love you, no matter the man you become, no matter the deeds you do, but for your own sake and the sake of your soul, follow me upon the path which I have set before you.

  Good bye my son.  Good bye my love.         

   

  Boston, Commonwealth Street:  Windsor saw his beautiful mother in his mind’s eye, her angelic mouth feasting upon black flesh and he smiled. 

  At least she knew that glory one time...    

  He spoke aloud to the diary, “Mother, sweet Mother, how satisfactory it would have been to eat at the same trough as you, to feast alongside your gracious touch, your humor, your humanity.  But such things cannot be – the world is a place of contradictions: man and women, black and white, life and death.  The life you wanted for me is not the life that came to be.  But I still believe in your judgment above all others.  Mother, I am sorry.”       

  Windsor turned to Jasmine and Zachary, “Old boy, it appears that you were holding the trump card after all, that certainly puts a damper on my plans.”

  “Turn yourself in Windsor.  It’s the right thing to do.  Your mother would have wanted you to do that,” said Jasmine, still pointing the gun at Windsor’s head.

  “That gun has even less meaning now young lady.  I have the key for your release in my pocket.  Zachary you never knew, but it had always been my plan that when you ended your work for me that I would end my life.  It seems that fate has taken me back to my original plan,” said Windsor, smiling nervously.

  “No, Windsor, no – you don’t have to do this,” said Zachary.

  “What value does my life have now?  And if there is a God I would like to meet him, and I would like to ask him why endowed me with this overpowering urge to eat the flesh of the Negro,” said Windsor, tossing the key into the cage.

  As Jasmine reached for the key, Windsor hobbled across the room, all the while Zachary screaming for him to stop.  But a moment later he had jumped through an open window…

  Here comes the end –finally -- five stories will surely kill me – and it’s odd that I do not see my life flashing before me – instead a see one image: a massive plate of uneaten black flesh…

   

    Boston:  Jasmine contacted a friend who had been a previous gang member, now reformed he still knew how to hot-wire a car.

  “It’s got to be an old one though,” said Miles.

  “Why?” Zachary asked.

  “Cause I don’t know what has happened in all the years that I haven’t been stealing these,” Miles laughed heartily, a half hour later delivering them a rusted 1994 Toyota Corolla.  “I don’t know where you are going, and I don’t want to know, but I hope it aint far…”

   

  Canadian Border:  Miraculously, the car had held up.  Abandoning it in the woods, Zachary and Jasmine crossed the border by foot, traveling through a mountain-pass.

  “It’s like we are back in Glacier,” Zachary remarked at one point.

  Jasmine did not laugh.

   

  Jeffersonian Elite Headquarters:  Sebastian Wittgenstein, leader of the Jeffersonian Elites, was known simply as The Master – as in the invisible master of every African American.  The fragmented nature of the Elites was something he had implemented after thorough study of Nazi organizational schemes.  One such scheme: the Nazi branches were famously ignorant of each other’s doings.  This allowed Hitler and his top commanders to wield more power. 

  You never know who is watching… 

  Likewise, Sebastian had eyes and ears in every branch through his centralized command branch, known simply as the Razor Fold.     

  The Razor Fold accounted for all decisions made by the Elites.  Sebastian and his top tier reviewed those decisions.  Recent decisions included allowing Jasmine to live, and closely monitoring Zachary and Jasmine as a unit.  This decision had been made so that if any unknown Elite resistance groups existed, Zachary and Jasmine would (hopefully) lead the Elites to their doorstep. 

  Another recent decision was to keep the Thurmond boys and the Thurmond women alive.  Sebastian had learned through their prison branches that the Thurmond boys all had tight lips.  They had not ratted and told the authorities about the existence of the Elites.  And just moments ago, a decision had been made to force a prominent black man, possibly a well-known college professor, to identify himself to the police on his own porch. 

  The message: It does not matter Negro how high you climb.  We can always take the ladder out from under you. 

  And yet another decision had been made that after this incident was well-known (through their various media branches) a high profile meet would occur with the President and with the stated objective of defusing the incident. 

  But the actual objective will be to give the incident even more coverage so that every African American will remember that they are still, and will always, be ruled by the white man.

  But these matters would soon be left to a younger generation.  Sick from a life of excess, Sebastian was dying.  His son Stanley would soon take over the Elites, and Sebastian, in his raspy voice, spoke to him on his deathbed shortly before passing.

  “If I could do it all over again, I would get out of the business of leadership, and into the business of pleasure.  I’ve never tasted black flesh.  I’ve never desired to eat black flesh.  But what those Thurmonds were doing, it does make me wonder – was I missing out on an obvious pleasure?  I think this is a question that most of America, albeit secretly, is wondering right now.  They are thinking to themselves: wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could eat a Negro, and then having finished, eat another? 

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if my neighbor down the street, that black man I have never trusted, if I could yank him from his house, bludgeon him to death, and eat his uncooked flesh? 

  Ah son, I will never know what it is like, my stomach couldn’t handle it now.  The doctors have me on pureed food and thickened liquids, so it all tastes like mush.  I suppose I could have some pureed Negro meat, but I suspect that would be dismal compared to the real thing.  Ah, it is a regret…it is a regret…There was a girl I should have married, apologizes to your mother, and there were many Negros I probably should have eaten. 

  But all of us son, all whites, we all die with regrets, with choices we could have made.  Had I married that girl, had I eaten those Negros, perhaps my life would have been better.  Yet, I will never know for certain – just as millions of Americans will never know for certain…But what can we do?  We go on, we live, we die, and always, always, we take measures to suppress the Negro…and I can die peacefully knowing that I have done all that I can do to suppress the rise of Negro…”

  “Father if you wish it I could obtain you some pureed Negro flesh,” said Stanley, gripping his father’s hand.

  “Son, you have done me well but that is not necessary.  Some things are better left alone…You have been a good boy and you will make a fin
e Master.  Remember the key to our success.  We, the whites, we evolve with the times.  The Negro will again attempt to rise, though probably not for a while because we have incarcerated the vast majority of the males.  And so hopefully this cycle of fragmented fatherless families will continue well into the future.  But if it does not, we will adapt and rule the Negro in new ways.  Remember son, the moment the Civil War started, a war began that will continue until the end of America.  It is the unspoken war.  It is our war.  It is the War of the Whites!  And the white man will never truly be free if the black man rises to equal status.  For our freedom comes from being able to do as we please and we please to rule the black man.  You will soon be the top general in this war and I know you will do great things…”  

   

  Jeffersonian Elite Headquarters:  Stanley listened silently, letting the wisdom of his father’s words wash over him, and after his father died peacefully in his sleep that night, one thought from his father’s final words remained.

  Maybe those Thurmonds were onto something… 

   

  Serious Sustainable Village, Canada:  Zachary had no idea who to contact in Canada.  But in the grand scheme of things, Canada seemed like just as good a place as any.

  “I just can’t believe we have no idea where we are going.”

  At a library just over the border, they decided to research sustainable villages, deciding to attempt to live at Lofstedt farm in Kaslo, British Columbia, a 60 acre farm with approximately 60 families.  After a short telephone interview, Zachary and Jasmine were accepted as farming interns. 

  The farm seemed less hippyish than Zachary had expected.  The founder, George Baumann was welcoming, and set them up with a small area for a living space.  For the first week Zachary expected to hear gunfire.  But eventually he settled in. 

  One beautiful moonlit night, Zachary and Jasmine, snuggled together in a hammock and discussed their future. 

  “So you are saying that I am the one for you?” said Jasmine.

  “Of course,” said Zachary,

  “Why?” Jasmine asked.

  “Well, for starters you saved my life,” said Zachary.

  “And what else?” Jasmine asked.

  “I can’t imagine living without you,” said Zachary.

  “And what else?”

  “I want to share everything good with you – all my discoveries, all my joys – and I want to shield you from everything bad, disappointments, rain storms, boring days…”

  “And what else?”

  “You’re the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

  “And what else?”

  “You forgive me my faults.”

  “And what else?”

  “You fear nothing and value everything.”

  “And what else?”

  “I find your thoughts fascinating.”

  “And what else?”

  “The idea of having children with you, or rather, beings with your spirit, seems an idea of pure impossible magic.”

  “And what else?”

  “When my mind wanders it wanders to you.”

  “And what else?”

  “You care for the whole world and yet you have more than enough love left over for me.”

  “And what else?”

  “When I wake up at night, and you are there with me, I wonder which is the dream.”

  “And what else?”

  “You’ve got a great butt,” said Zachary, laughing.

  “And what else?”

  “You don’t fish for compliments,” said Zachary with a wink.

  “Liar!  And what else?” Jasmine asked.

  “Because I love you with all my heart and I want to have children with you and I want to settle down in a medium sized house with you and I want to have lots of cozy nights with you and I want to travel with you and I want to share all my accomplishments with you and I want to watch you grow as a blogger and a journalist --.”

  They kissed and then made love in the hammock. 

  “Are we ever going to have a normal life?” Jasmine asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “In Glacier I felt like we were the last man and woman on earth.  I feel like that again,” said Jasmine,

  Zachary laughed.  “I did too.”

  “But I also feel like that is a phony feeling – and like it is a feeling that Thomas Jefferson can relate to --.”

  “Are you kidding me?  Again!  Even after a group with his name has a contract out for our lives – he still travels around with you?” said Zachary laughing.

  “Hey, they just stole the worst part of him and made him their own, you know that,” said Jasmine.

  “Okay, so what is the second President of the country we had to flee from saying now?” Zachary asked.

  “Well, he lived during a tumultuous time.  A revolution against Britain – and he put all his fortune on the line against the mightiest empire on earth – and more than one depression after that where he had real difficulty selling his crops – There were no government subsidies for farmers then –“

  “Okay, okay, what is your point?” said Zachary.

  “Well, through all that chaos, what he wanted most was to live with his family on a farm --.”

  “And with a bunch of slaves to bang,” Zachary added.

  “Yes, true – but he kept getting pulled away from his farm, reluctantly – because he saw America as an experiment in self-government, and he thought that he had ideas to help steer it straight.  So even though he wanted to stay at home with his family and his slaves that he could bang – he often gave up those pleasure to pursue politics.  And he hated politics.  But he felt that politics, particularly these politics at the start of the country were very important for the future,” said Jasmine.

  “Maybe he wanted his great-great-great grandchildren to be able to bang their slaves too,” said Zachary.

  “Okay, I get your point, and it’s true.  But my point is that sometimes we have to do things not because they bring us pleasure – but because they are for the greater good.  This world is so much more than just me or you, or even our – and I can’t believe I’m saying this – our unborn children,” said Jasmine.

  “I don’t know if I like where this is heading.  So what are you getting at?” said Zachary.

  “I’m not sure exactly.  But I think what I am getting at is that so long as we live in a world where white people can eat black people and it really isn’t that big a deal --.”

  “How can you say it isn’t a big deal?  It’s all that is on the news,” said Zachary.

  “True, but there wasn’t enough of an outcry – if there had been a massive groundswell the Jeffersonian Elites would have been exposed.  White people eating black people was great for ratings on the news, but people did not demand answers.  The inquiries were stifled, and people did not fight back.  That state of affairs is not acceptable – and so long as that state of affairs is the normal state of affairs of the world, I’ll never be able to live a normal life with you in a medium sized house, with two kids and a dog.  We could try, but then I would just be thinking about killing the Jeffersonian Elites all day every day,” said Jasmine.

  “You could bury your Righteous Murder Trait.  Windsor did it for decades with CMR,” said Zachary.  But remembering Windsor’s demonic expression as dropped the cage upon them, he noted it perhaps not the best argument to make.

  “This isn’t about Righteous Murder and the reliability of your scientific breakthroughs.  This is about God and revelation.  Ignorance truly is bliss.  But everyday Zachary on this planet we are judged.  And when things are revealed, things change.  Had I never known about the Jeffersonian Elites, things would be different.  But because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they exist and that they are pulling the strings, well that confers a certain responsibility upon me.  If I pretend that I haven’t seen what I have seen then I fear that I will be condemning my soul,” said Jasmine.


  “I didn’t know you were so religious,” said Zachary.

  “I never was.  I’ve still never been to church.  And honestly Zachary I didn’t even believe in God six months ago.  But having come face to face with pure evil, it seems only logical to me, that if there are demons, so are there angels.  That if there is a devil then so is there a God.  I don’t know which God and I don’t care.  But I know he or she is up there and that this God is judging.  This shit on earth is so fucking hard, why wouldn’t we be judged?  What’s the point if we are not judged?  That said, even if we are not being judged I don’t give a shit.  This shit is wrong and I can’t let it stand,” said Jasmine.

  “And you can’t love a man who could allow it to stand,” Zachary added.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it, but I suppose not,” said Jasmine.  “But you don’t seem to me like the sort of man who would let it stand.”

  “I just don’t know what we can do,” said Zachary.

  “Probably nothing and I can admit that.  But we have to try.  Because our lives are not worth living if we don’t try,” said Jasmine.

  “I know you are right.  But I wish you were wrong.  This time we have had here in this sustainable community, just farming, it has been so peaceful.  I don’t want it end.  Yes, the world is crazy.  But why can’t we two be sane?  Why do we have to fight the tide?” Zachary asked, his eyes teary.

  “Because it is not the tide – the tide is natural – this fucked up institutionalized racism that has created a class of undesirables in America is not natural, it is man-made, it was constructed by a group of greedy blood thirsty men – and other men and women and children are still suffering because of it,” said Jasmine.

  “What did you call them a class of what?” Zachary asked.

  “Undesirables,” said Jasmine.

  “Like in India – the untouchables?” Zachary asked.

  “Yes, I suppose,” said Jasmine.

  “You gave me an idea.  Gandhi changed that state of affairs.  How did he do it?” Zachary asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Jasmine.

  “Well, that is what we should do.  We should study all the great revolutionaries in history, and we should learn all the lessons that they taught.  In science, evidence based practice says don’t do something unless what you are doing is based in evidence.  If we are trying to start a revolution, a resistance effort, then there is no better place to look than the people who have already done it,” said Zachary.

  “Always the scientist,” Jasmine laughed.  “That does make sense though.”

  “Yes, yes!  And we could gather other materials too!  I’m thinking --.”

  “Shut up and kiss me with your big bold mustache,” interrupted Jasmine, locking eyes with Zachary.  He quickly found resistance futile…

   

   

                   

          

   

 

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