I look across the street and note that a SWAT vehicle has pulled up at the curb and that a police car being driven by a female police officer has pulled in at the curb behind them. The SWAT team exits their vehicle followed by the female officer exiting her car. The SWAT officers followed by the single female officer walk up the sidewalk and enter the front door of the apartment building.
I am not sure what I should do about this unexpected unrehearsed situation. Considering the police presence I decide I must not stay where I am waiting for the signal. I must make myself more visible and available for a signal.
As the bus comes into my sight I begin moving to assure my unobstructed view of the second floor window and the young man. I have been instructed that a signal from a policeman will come from that window.
The sun disappears and the sky begins to darken. I think, “It will begin to rain soon. The flowers will begin to bloom later this month.” The darkness is ominous as it descends over the park.
I continue rolling the carriage ever so casually toward the park bench where the old man with the red dog had been. On our same path in the distance beyond the old man and the dog I can clearly see and hear a young woman strumming a guitar. I see the young man in the second floor window lower his head ever so slightly; he appears to be looking at the approaching bus. He stares towards me as though in a stupor.
I note the bus is almost at the stop, and I continue walking keeping the bus parallel with me and on my left. I stop short of the entrance to the crosswalk and lean over the baby carriage seemingly to check my baby. I slowly move a few steps toward but stopping short of the park bench where the old one and the dog had been. I stop again and check the blankets in my baby carriage. I notice a woman with a guitar is walking slowly in my direction. I have noticed the woman in the park on the mornings that I have been here. We have never acknowledged each other.
Having gained an unobstructed view of the second story window, I turn my head ever so slightly waiting for my signal to murder. The special hand signal will be given by a uniformed person. He had better make the signal soon because the bus will begin moving again in approximately eight or ten minutes, and I may appear stupid just standing here in the open. The rain will begin soon. I note that darkness envelopes the park and apartment building. I am terrified with apprehension and great fear.
Chapter 6
Swat Team Arrives
I, Baby Carriage Lady, consider my options by evaluating what has just transpired. A SWAT Team vehicle arrived and parked a half block from the entrance to the apartment building across the street. As soon as the SWAT vehicle parked a police car driven by a female officer pulled up behind it. The SWAT team quickly entered the apartment building entrance followed by the female officer.
I wonder, “What is going on? Did I miss the signal, the signal to murder?” I feel scared and think about running, but where would I run. I remind myself, “No matter what happens, I must remain visible and alert. I must wait for the security guard’s or policeman’s signal.” The bus is approaching; I decide I must move forward toward the bus stop to be able to view the apartment building windows, otherwise the windows will be blocked by the bus when it parks.
“Prince my sweet Prince, my Son, where are you?” I ask no one in particular.
I look across Elm Street at the building entrance and worry that the old one and the red dog may be in danger. I ask myself, “Did they make it home before the SWAT team entered their building?” I have grown to like seeing the old one and the dog in the park; they enjoy each other’s company.
I don’t know how much longer I can pull this charade off. I was told to wait for a signal to approach the apartment building across the street and make the hit. I am told the person I am to shoot will be pointed out to me. I will know exactly who it is when the time comes.
I think, “This is not who I am, but I can do nothing to avoid this ill-conceived tragedy. Prince, Prince where are you my Son? Where are you my Prince?”
Satisfied that I have missed nothing while my thoughts wandered, I notice that a great darkness has fallen. I hear rumbling from the dark sky as light rain begins to fall. I immediately zip on the baby carriage inclement weather cover, and slip into a light rain jacket. My rain gear is carried in a special bag attached to the carriage.
Just a few minutes ago the sky was clear and suddenly the ominous clouds appeared, and then the rain started to fall. I think to myself, “The showers will help the plants bud. Why am I thinking this at this time?”
Reaching an unobstructed position just beyond the front of the bus, I look up toward and into the second floor window across the street. The young man has been replaced by one of the SWAT team officers. I watch the officer closely, but there is no signal. I wonder if I have missed the signal. No, I have not missed the signal. The SWAT officer moves back away from the window. Less than a minute passes without incident. Perhaps I look foolish standing around in one spot, in the rain, fiddling with the baby carriage. I must make a move soon.
The SWAT officer reappears in the window. He pauses, half turns into the room and turns back to the window looking out the window and down directly at the bus. The SWAT officer turns slightly once more and looks into the apartment. He pauses then turns to face the window exactly where he had been before and lifts his arm and hand to his head. There it is that must be my signal. I think and groan, “My signal to murder. I must wait for verification and make certain of the signal. Prince, I hope that you are safe; I will see you soon. How did my life bring me to this moment in time?”
I observe the lady officer as she exits the building with the red therapy dog on a leash. She is leading the dog to her car. The patrol lady opens the back door of her patrol car and coaxes the red dog to jump into the back seat. She enters her car, starts it up and drives away, tires squealing on the damp pavement.
The rain and darkness increase. I look back up at the window and see the second hand gesture. This is the signal, the verification I have been waiting for. The signal of the hand and arm extended to his forehead is held in place briefly, but surely. He drops his hand slightly and repeats the signal a third time leaving no doubt, this means let’s go. I bend slightly at the waist checking inside the baby carriage making sure everything is ready.
The signal has been given. I know this hand gesture is the agreed upon signal for me to prepare to move into the crosswalk. I must not get nervous now. I have no choice but to carry this horrible act out. A young man comes running out of the building entrance and turns left. He is attempting to catch the patrol car that is carrying the red dog away. I can see that the young man realizes that he cannot stop the car; the dog and car have disappeared around the corner. Exasperated he begins shouting it is evident that he is upset over the dog being taken away.
The young man is standing there on the curb; the sunlight has disappeared and darkness has descended. As I walk into the crosswalk, a heavy ominous darkness envelopes the entire area. The rain increases to a steady downpour. I begin to slowly, but deliberately cross the street looking as though I need to find shelter. I am walking just in front of the lady with the guitar. I hope she does not pass me and get in my way, if she does I will have no choice but to shoot her.
I sense and notice with a slight turn of my head that the lady with the guitar is very patiently walking slower than me. I think to myself once more, “I hope she does not pass me and get in my way, I do not want to shoot her.” I was told to wait for a police officer to point his Glock at the one I need to kill. I hope I am not supposed to kill the young man.
My mind races as I remember that after I complete the hit, I am to leave the baby carriage and back up toward the bus, then enter the bus. I was instructed to not turn and run. Sounds like a plan to me, I just hope everything works as planned. I don’t know the person to be shot. I dread the killing of a person. I dread the loss this person’s family will suffer. This person’s loss means nothing to me compared to the loss of my son. I am a loving mother
having to do a bad thing. I will do whatever I have to do to protect Prince.
I cannot possibly stall much longer. The lady with the guitar is politely waiting behind me. The downpour has become a thunderous driving rainstorm accompanied by bolts of lightning. The darkness mixed with flashing lightning and claps of thunder is leaving me with an ominous sense of foreboding. The lady with the guitar must also be getting very wet and impatient.
I watch as the old man with the cane exits the apartment entrance shouting at the young man or at me to get down. I think he is telling the young man to get down, fall to the ground, but I realize that I must obey his orders also. Directly behind the old man I see a police officer pointing his gun at the man’s back. Before I drop to the pavement I fire my gun which is hidden in blankets in the baby carriage. I aim toward the old man’s chest. I try to fire a second shot into the old one, but as I duck the carriage begins to roll over on its right side toward me. I fall onto the pavement and my shot appears to have hit the young man instead.
My mind registers panic as I feel a sting in my back and a blow to my shoulder, then excruciating pain. I review the situation as my life seems to be passing before my eyes. I think, “What has just happened? What has just happened to me? Have I been shot? Who shot me? Will I ever see Prince and Devon again? Am I going to die?”
I revisit the last few seconds and recall more clearly that I detected movement behind me and in front of me. I saw a police officer behind the old man and he was pointing his Glock at the old man, but he was not saying anything. I saw the old man throw his walking cane at me, and then he immediately fell back into a security guard. He fell back so hard it was as though he had been struck by a car. When the man threw the cane, I ducked my entire body and rolled to the ground with the carriage. The cane flew over my head as I fired a shot which struck him in the chest. Or, did I shoot him in the chest and duck the cane, I am not sure which. He staggered in place rocked side-ways to his right and moved slightly backwards again toward the same security guard. The security guard was slightly in front of the police officer and to his right.
I continue revisiting my last seconds remembering the security guard behind the old man seemed to be holding the old one erect. I reflect that with one swift continuous motion the old one relieved the security guard of his weapon and fired it with amazing accuracy over my head. The old one appeared to have been hit in the chest by another shot, but from where I do not know. The old man fires the gun again, but misses me again.
My mind is a speeding blur as I recall hearing the officer with the pointed Glock shout at the old man freeze and drop the gun. Before I could get my second shot off I felt the sharp sting in my back. As the baby carriage and I fell over the jarring impact with the pavement caused me to pull the gun trigger. I saw the young man’s arms flail helplessly as he fell to the pavement. I think, “I shot him.”
I realize that the last moments of my life have been passing before my eyes; my eyes are open and I feel powerless to blink them as I feel another impact to my body. I wonder if I was shot again. I stare up at the old one; my body unable to move. The man is standing over me and pointing his Glock in my face. He is very calm as he fires the gun. I feel an impact on my face; I feel no pain, but remember hearing the blast of the gun.
In disbelief I realize I am letting out my last breath and it appears as a puff of cigarette smoke (I think, I do not smoke). With this my last breath and rain falling on my face I say or try to say, “Please Devon, please locate our Prince.” My lips will not form the words while my throat feels restricted and cannot follow my mental command. No sound escapes my lips. I see light, but my final thought is imprisoned in my tormented mind. I try once more to revisit what has just happened to me, but I no longer can.
Six has used CeCe Brown to inflict pain and torment upon Keith Sorrell and his family.
Chapter 7
Six, Keith Sorrell’s Nemesis
The old one, Francis Sorrell, has re-named Keith Edwards, my enemy, Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell. Two can play at that game. My name is now Six. I choose to be addressed by the singular name Six, the number of man. I am a bad man, a genius whose character is cunning, devious, conniving and diabolical. When I hear my own voice or look at my face in the mirror, I do not recognize my own voice or the face that I am looking at. I hear and see evil, evil incarnate.
I hate Keith Edwards with my whole being. We were both born in Rockford, Illinois and met while attending middle school. Keith and I attended high school together, and after graduation we went our separate ways. While in school we were school mates, and played on the same sports teams. We did not socialize outside of school or at school activities. Keith Edwards and I were never close friends; he was not unfriendly, but he was always absorbed in his studies.
Keith is very intelligent; he was two years younger than me and the other students in our grade. He received a scholastic scholarship from Aurora University when he was sixteen years old. Aurora is located in South Chicago, Illinois. Keith completed his studies in journalism and computer technology in three years. I attended a local technical college in Rockford and completed a two year course in photography, in two years.
At age nineteen Keith received a scholastic scholarship to attend Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. He completed his Master’s Degree in Sociology/Public Policy when he was barely twenty-one years of age.
Mine and Keith’s paths crossed again when we both became employees of The Daily Herald, a large Chicago newspaper.
Keith hired onto the Herald staff as an investigative journalist and war correspondent (when and if needed). I was a staff photographer. News events started bringing us together and our abilities complimented each other. Keith’s articles accompanied by my pictures were liked by Herald management. Keith Edwards was highly regarded by the Herald staff and co-workers for his exceptional reporting.
Our Editor gave Keith an assignment to do a series of articles, in conjunction with the Department of Defense, on the use of unmanned equipment being tested and used in Afghanistan. The unmanned equipment was/is controlled by computers. The United States Military was testing/using unmanned all-terrain vehicles, unmanned anti-personnel carriers, unmanned drones, plus other secret designs.
Keith met with representatives of the Department of Defense and it was decided that he should, under the protection of the military, visit Afghanistan. Keith advised the DOD representatives that he needed to take along a staff photographer, and he gave them my name. He told the DOD that I was an excellent photographer. The newspaper agreed to our working together on the assignment.
Edwards and I went on assignment to Afghanistan; the military took us into all the areas where they were using or testing unmanned equipment. They were clearing these areas after active fighting had ceased. Some of the primary pieces of unmanned equipment being used were minesweepers. They were being used to clear areas of buried explosives, IED’s.
Keith wrote his series of articles on unmanned military equipment; I took pictures of the equipment as it was being used. My photographs accompanied Keith’s articles and both his articles and my pictures were instantly popular with Herald subscribers. Keith’s articles were not to cover the atrocities of fighting in Afghanistan, just the testing and use of the unmanned equipment; he was not to go into actual battle zones.
I periodically went out with a combat unit and took pictures of their encounters with the enemy. My trips and pictures were not authorized by the lead correspondent, Keith. Unknown to Edwards, I sent some of my graphic war pictures to the paper under separate transmission from his articles.
Keith, as was our routine, reviewed my pictures and approved the ones that supported each article; I then cropped the pictures, and sent them to the Herald. After I started including some pictures of my own choosing, Herald administrative staff and the Chief Editor became disturbed about the graphic content of my photographs, and they told Keith to have a talk with me. Keith told me that our employers thought that the
photographs I was sending without his approval were in poor taste, outright disturbing, and did not compliment his articles. I was told to cease and desist in the taking and transmission of graphic war pictures.
Keith did not defend my right to take the pictures and submit them to the paper, but instead agreed with the Editor and Staff. He told me, “You are to crop your pictures and give them to me for review and approval as per your original directions. I will transmit all data to the home office. I will send your pictures when I send my article.”
From that point forward, my hostility toward Keith Edwards and my hatred of him grew daily. Keith was receiving rave reviews about his series. After each article was published he became more well-known, but nothing was said about my photographs. I knew then as I know now that I am a world class photographer.
Keith and I no longer rode in the same armored vehicle when on equipment testing trips; I was relegated to advanced columns on the ground ahead of the Humvees. Our military contingent took us to Kabul. Special Forces were working with ground troops to clear areas of the city that the Taliban had secured with mines.
When we were in camp, Keith and I still talked a great deal about the unmanned equipment. Keith, being a computer geek, said he thought computer games involving unmanned land; air and sea equipment would be interesting and popular in the war game market and could be utilized real time by our DOD. We discussed different game scenarios. I noticed that in his free time Keith started making sketches of his ideas.
I remember that on one particularly sweltering day, our military contingent was sent out with unmanned small mine sweepers. The mine sweepers were sent out followed by ground troops, and me. We were followed by Humvees and armored trucks.
I was following the minesweeper and troops, but I decided to step toward the remains of a building and take a picture. I wanted the picture for my own personal collection. All of a sudden there was an explosion and I was thrown back onto the ground. I immediately gripped my throat while pain overcame me, then I lost consciousness.
Signal to Murder Page 6