I had to be flown to an Army hospital in Germany and later back to the States. Keith remained in Afghanistan to do more research and complete his series. An army photographer assisted him with the necessary pictures to accompany his articles.
Keith and I lost touch. I had received serious burns to my body and my throat had been affected. My worst problem was post-traumatic stress. The doctors told me that I was emotionally unstable. My body healed, the doctors told me that my throat and voice should get better, but my mind was traumatized.
The doctors did not think that I would ever sound the way I did prior to the IED explosion. My doctor’s recommended I drink buttermilk to soothe my throat. The buttermilk would reduce the burning and allow my throat to heal. They reemphasized that they did not think that my throat would return to its normal pre-explosion state. The doctor’s also said that my voice would never sound the way it did before I was injured.
Keith completed his Herald series about the unmanned military equipment and received journalistic acclaim. He also patented his computer war games. He used unmanned equipment and vehicles in the games, and also created a different concept of the games which he sold to the Department of Defense for training purposes. Keith Edwards became well known and extremely rich, very quickly I might add.
I know that Edwards stole my ideas and sketches for the computer games. I was the brains behind the ideas which brought him fame and fortune. I remember our discussions; the ideas were mine, not his. Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell patented and copyrighted my designs. He did this while I languished in military and private hospitals suffering and eventually recovering from physical and mental wounds. Keith Edwards got rich off of my ideas. I know this for a fact that is why I hate him so.
It was I, Six, that originated the concept of the all-terrain vehicle and submarine combat computer games. True we conversed and originated these ideas together, but he has forgotten I was to share in the recognition and any possible profits.
When Keith and I would sit around and talk about the computer games, he told me that my ideas bordered on diabolical. He said his envisioned games would never use computers and military equipment in such outlandish diabolical ways. Causing impressionable minds to do evil outlandish acts was never in Keith’s plans.
By not including my name on his patent, Keith openly renounced my conceptual sketches and me. While still in Afghanistan, Keith called my ideas hate filled and a misuse of technology. He felt such games would never bear his name or his support. He said, “Young military and civilian gamers should see the assistance unmanned equipment gives to our military, private enterprise, and citizens of the world. I feel the graphic violence should be kept to a minimum.”
I have contacted Keith’s attorney, Raj Arakkal and he says there is no proof to what I say. My claims cannot be substantiated and Raj said that I made no physical or mental contribution to Keith’s designs. Raj Arakkal claims the DOD will not discuss me or my DOD history, if any, with him. Raj Arakkal says Keith and I were never partners. We only had casual discussions. Arakkal will no longer accept my phone calls. The DOD avoids contact with me.
When I reflect on this history with Edwards, my hatred grows.
Sometimes, I think that I was merely dreaming when Keith and I talked. Perhaps, Keith was inventing and doing while I talked. Keith Edwards is an idea man that pulls everything together and makes it work in reality. Never the less, he owes me big time for my input, my listening to him. I feel we collaborated as partners although there was never anything such as a contract between us. Keith knows this to be true. I know he avoided acknowledging me through his attorney, even as I suffered physically and mentally. I continue to stay poor while he becomes wealthier.
Thankfully, The Herald stood by me with financial and moral support until I was officially released from the hospital, but Keith never called or visited me. I received an official letter from the paper stating that they no longer were obligated to pay my salary or medical bills. The letter informed me that by stepping away from the minesweeper and troops to take personal pictures I had broken Herald instructions and military protocol.
Keith maintained silence in the matter. I know without being told that he received these instructions from our employer The Herald, and The Department of Defense (DOD).
Keith Edwards, very conveniently, has no memory of any partner, friends, or associates. I suppose I can blame myself for his complete amnesia. I attempted to kill Keith.
I arranged for Keith’s next door neighbor (she works as the part-time resident cleaning lady for the apartment building) to inject his milk with a sleep drug when she cleaned his apartment. We agreed that after several hours she was to return to his apartment to retrieve cleaning equipment that she had accidentally left behind. If Edwards did not answer the door, she was to use her key to enter the apartment.
Although the cleaning lady lived next door to Edwards, they never met. He was never home when she cleaned his apartment, and they never ran into each other in the hallway.
The above was accomplished and when she found him unconscious on the floor she hit him on the head with a small iron skillet. She did this not to outright kill him, but to ensure that he did not wake up prematurely from the drug. She poured the tainted milk down the drain and placed the milk carton and used glass in a bag for disposal outside the Edwards’ apartment. She then turned on the valve to the gas oven, ensured that all windows were closed and locked, and exited the apartment. The plan was for the gas to fill the apartment and kill Edwards.
After leaving his apartment, the last thing she did was to dispose of the bag with the milk carton and glass in it along with the iron skillet (she told me about the skillet) that she had struck Edwards with. I giggle to myself as I think, “I always thought Keith Edwards was hard headed.”
Later the same day, Ms. Seemore, Edwards’ landlady, noticed that he had not gone for his afternoon jog. She knew that Keith was a stickler for routine and fitness. Ms. Seemore knocked on his door, and then rang his number with her cell phone, and because there was no response to either, she used her pass key to enter the apartment. She immediately smelled the gas and found Keith Edwards unconscious on the kitchen floor. Quickly, she turned off the gas to the oven, opened windows and dialed 911.
Edwards was in the hospital for weeks. He was in a coma for most of that time. The news media reported that Edwards was fortunate that his landlady had checked on him; she saved his life.
I think, “I wanted to eliminate him, but now I want to punish him before he dies.”
I am unable to shirk by hatred of Keith Edwards. He enjoys an easy life, he has money and luxuries. My job and financial support from the Herald abruptly ceased. I now work part-time and must subsist on government handouts. This makes me so angry. I must make Edwards pay for his crimes against me.
I failed miserably in my first attempt to kill him, but that worked out well anyway; he is miserable. He does not remember who he is, what his occupation was, or anything about his past. He does not even remember his childhood friend Kate. I am not certain, but from observation I think they are lovers. I feel that they have a very close relationship. She is keeping her distance staying away while he tries to remember his past, including her.
I know that he and the old one sometimes have dinner with Kate. I have been told that she poses as a friend of the old man’s in the hope that Keith will recover from his amnesia and recognize her. I know that she was not a casual friend as Francis has told Keith. When Kate joins Keith and Francis for dinner, she always meets them outside his apartment building entrance. She never visits his apartment.
I do not deceive myself; I care nothing about Kate. I have no plans to harm her provided she stays out of my way. My plans are about vengeance on Keith for hurting me. Keith has to know about me and how I feel. He has to know I deserve a share in his royalties. Keith and his attorney are close friends. Arakkal should have informed Keith about my ownership claims prior to the murder attempt and resulting am
nesia. Perhaps I would not have attempted the murder of Keith Edwards had Arakkal informed him of my claims.
Fate intervened and the drug in his milk, hit on the head, and gas combination did not work, but my new attempt will at least cripple him mentally for life. I now prefer crippling him physically and mentally instead of causing his death.
My ladies in waiting have the training, and the abilities to carry out this task. My hidden ladies are loyal to me as well. They are loyal because if they do not do as instructed I will punish them just as I am punishing Keith.
Keith has been incapacitated and I am helpless to take his place. Even if Keith Edwards were dead and the DOD had to turn to me for advice I realize that I am no longer physically or mentally able to meet their rigid expectations. I know that my name does not appear on the patent papers for Keith’s designs. My intense hatred of Keith, my one time associate, roils inside me.
I say out loud, “I hate you Keith or whatever your name is today. I hate you.” I giggle as I enjoy my new voice. Although my voice is improving it is still hoarse and raspy. The sound of my voice makes my words more threatening.
I don’t blame Keith Edwards for my accident, but I do hate him for forgetting me and deserting me. These thoughts are on my mind constantly, whirling like a merry-go-round. I know that these thoughts are the thoughts of an insane mind; I regretfully know this to be true. I am damaged.
I think of my one time school and working relationship with Keith; we were not close before working together at The Herald, but I thought I was one of Keith’s friends and a true partner sharing in failures or rewards after we got to Afghanistan. I was his greatest admirer.
I pull out my small carton and take a long sip of my cool buttermilk. The buttermilk helps take away the burning dryness in my throat. This physical relief in my throat seems to help me gather my wits. I toss the partially filled buttermilk carton into a trash basket.
My throat has been better since the weather has become warmer. The sun is shining now although a few dark clouds seem to be approaching. There is no rain predicted.
It is time to call the troops. One more phone call to my contact in the police department and the SWAT team will begin helping to shatter your life Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell.
Today’s plan is for a SWAT team to hit a few minutes after the old one and the red dog return home to your apartment. One of your neighbor’s is another one of my contacts, and that neighbor will telephone my SWAT contact saying the SWAT team has hit the wrong apartment. That call will be too late.
After the SWAT invasion of your apartment, a Canine Officer will remove your friend Dillon from your life forever. I like dogs so no physical harm will come to your beautiful red pooch. If you react in the manner that I predict you will, I will have the chance to further cripple and or exterminate you.
My ladies are in place. I am headed your way on the local bus that stops across from your apartment. I am in my uniform disguise. “Let’s go,” I say to the SWAT officer on my disposable cell phone as I witness the old one and the red dog disappear into the apartment building entrance.
Everything is right on schedule. In a few seconds the bus will actually stop in front of Forest City Park. The approaching bus and its stop is the signal for the two ladies to stay alert. They have been instructed to keep their eyes on the second story apartment window and wait for their Signal to Murder.
The ladies are moving into their places precisely as agreed. Francis and the dog should be in the apartment and the SWAT team should knock on their door very soon. Any moment now, the SWAT officer’s signal will be given from Edwards’ apartment window.
This is when the fun begins for me, for Six.
Chapter 8
Six, Dorian Gray
When I look in the mirror I see ugly distorted Dorian Gray type facial characteristics.
The Picture of Dorian Gray was the only novel written by Oscar Wilde, 1890. The young male character is obsessed with his looks. After Basil Hallward paints his portrait, Dorian expresses a desire to sell his soul so that the portrait ages and not him. His wish is fulfilled. As the years pass, Dorian does not age, but because of all his debauchery the portrait becomes heinous. In the end Dorian destroys his picture, and his body grows old immediately and decays. The picture is intact and still beautiful, Dorian is dead, his corruption revealed as his flesh body decays.
When I see any reflection of myself I see ugliness and feel an evil presence within myself that is filled with bitterness and hate. I am so hate filled that I scare myself; all this hatred is directed at Keith Edwards. The hate within me causes me to perceive myself as ugly; I am ugly inside. My soul is black and hate filled.
I am told by female associates that women find me attractive and sensuous. I do not have time for these flatteries, and concentrate on my hatred of Keith Edwards and getting even with him.
My ladies, the ladies that I have enlisted (against their will) to help me eliminate Edwards, know me only as Six. When they have finished their assignments they must be swiftly eliminated.
I hate Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell, my first attempt to eliminate him left him alive, but with amnesia. My next plan will eliminate and or torture him the rest of his flesh life. I think to myself, “Edwards, you thief.” I want him to suffer great mental agony before he finally dies.
Although they do not yet know their victim, my ladies hate him. He is the reason I require their assistance.
Chapter 9
Six, Let’s Go
I use my disposable cell phone and call The SWAT team officer.
“Yes,” says the SWAT officer answering the telephone.
“Let’s rock and roll, let’s go. Give the signal to murder,” I say into my cell phone. The SWAT team officer’s phone goes dead, and I disconnect also.
The officer and I previously agreed to wipe clean and discard our disposable cell phones immediately after my call to him. We are not to just drop the disposables in a trash can; I have instructed him to crush the cell phone. I think, “I have not decided if I will let him live or not.”
As previously planned, after the SWAT officer enters the Sorrell apartment, at a pre-determined point, he will give a hand signal to my ladies in the park. The two women do not know each other and are not aware of each other’s assignments. They will begin their moves as soon as they see the city bus come around a corner and into their view, but they will do nothing unless there is a signal, a definite clear signal.
My operatives know their mission and also know what they must do to be free of me. If they have received a call from me they must move just as the bus approaches the crosswalk. The bus will continue and come to a complete stop at the designated bus stop. By this time the old man and the red dog should be settled in Keith’s apartment.
From my seat on the bus, I can see my ladies moving into place near the park bench which was vacated moments earlier by the old one and the red dog. I have made certain my ladies do not know one another and do not converse. They were told not to engage or befriend anyone in the park. The people that I have watching them tell me that they have followed my orders.
There is an ominous darkness as clouds begin to cover the sun. It will begin to rain soon. The weather report said clear weather. I think, “Guess not.”
Having received my call, my lady with the baby carriage is set to move toward the bus and the crosswalk in front of the bus just as the bus comes to a complete stop. Passengers will be disembarking and other passengers boarding the bus.
My ladies casually step toward the curb and with nonchalance look up at the large second story apartment window directly across the street. They are waiting for a signal to murder from either a security guard or police officer. The signal from that individual indicates for them to begin, ever so slowly, to cross the street. I see CeCe Brown prematurely, but slowly, move toward the crosswalk and then I see her abruptly stop. She bends over at her waist checking on the baby in the carriage.
Suddenly there is a breez
e which moves tree branches. The trees sway like ballet dancers in the breeze. Simultaneously, a light rain begins to fall as clouds move in and completely conceal the sun causing darkness to descend.
The SWAT officer arranged for a drug bust in Keith Edwards’ building. The officer gave Edwards’ apartment number for his team to raid. As pre-arranged, I know that the unit is at Keith’s door, they have a key that they obtained from Mrs. Seemore, the apartment building manager. After knocking on the apartment door, the SWAT team will wait a few seconds and then enter the apartment.
I visualize my SWAT officer detaining Keith and or the old one he calls Francis as a female officer removes the dog, Dillon, from the apartment. The SWAT team will call in the bust and find out that they hit the wrong apartment. By this time, Dillon will be long gone.
My SWAT officer has accomplished his mission. The canine officer has removed Dillon from Keith’s apartment.
After discovering that they hit the wrong apartment, the SWAT officer will explain and apologize to Keith and the old man. By the time Keith is free to leave his apartment, Dillon will have been gone from the apartment for at least five minutes.
I know that Keith will, as soon as possible, leave his apartment and chase after the female officer that has Dillon. Keith’s only concern will be to retrieve his friend. The SWAT team officer and Keith’s neighbor will detain him for several minutes after he enters the hallway.
The bus stops for a maximum of eight minutes at this stop. The driver will close the doors on schedule and begin on time to his next destination. I have it on good authority that the driver will depart on schedule no matter what. My Guitar Lady has her assignment as back-up to the Mother with the Baby Carriage. In this case redundancy is a good thing.
Signal to Murder Page 7