My lady inside Keith’s apartment building, his neighbor and resident cleaning lady for the apartments, is doing her part for me. I know I can trust her completely. Keith’s neighbor lady will activate and or stop the elevator closing the doors blocking its use. Keith will have to use the stairs. She will bump into him in the hall if and or as necessary stalling him or helping his advance as necessary. This young lady knows what is to transpire and that I will be very grateful for her participation on my behalf. Unlike my other ladies and other helpers she understands me and what drives my need for retribution on Keith. She is my co-conspirator.
Timing is critical if this is to work. Everything happens almost simultaneously while signals govern the outcome. Keith and the old one must be detained in their apartment for at least five minutes. My SWAT officer will check his watch before allowing Keith and or the old one to leave their apartment.
Keith has moved directly in front of the window his face pressed against the pane to watch as the lady in blue coaxes Dillon into the backseat of the car. She begins to drive away with Dillon. Dillon is acting up and attacking the window to get free of the moving car. Keith backs away from the window; I expect Keith will run from his apartment to the street and try to free his friend Dillon.
Timing is near perfect as I see my officer approach and stand in front of the window. He makes a hand gesture as he removes his head gear and wipes his forehead and hair with his shirt sleeve. These actions on his part are my signal to the baby carriage and guitar ladies. The two women know that they must move immediately. I see that my SWAT officer got their attention and they begin to move slowly and casually as planned.
If my plan fails, I may not get another chance for vengeance on Keith in the near future. He is well protected by the old one, Francis. My plan will not fail because no matter what happens Keith will feel pain.
I have considered that I may have to temporarily delay the bus from moving forward. I will have no problem controlling the bus departure schedule. I consider my next moves; the plan becomes real-time action.
The baby carriage mother has advanced into the crosswalk and is now approaching the curb of the road nearest the apartment building entrance; I see Keith Edwards exit his apartment building. Keith walks toward the curb and steps a little to his left and onto a culvert. He is looking in the direction the police vehicle carrying Dillon has driven, and knows that he cannot catch the police car. The vehicle is travelling farther away with every passing second. Keith shouts Dillon’s name even though there is no police vehicle in sight any more, and he knows that Dillon cannot hear his voice. I suspect that Keith must be thinking that Dillon is frantic.
Keith Edwards, the traitor and thief that stole my ideas and plans, is actually crying and shaking his fists at the street where the vehicle departed. It has been a mere moment or two since the car left. I could see the red dog barking and tearing at the rear window of the vehicle in an attempt get out and stay with his master. But, the driver kept driving to her office building only a few blocks from the apartment building and Forest City Park.
Any second now CeCe Brown, my Mother with the Baby Carriage, will fire her shots, and just behind her as back-up my Guitar Lady is now in the crosswalk and Celina will finish the job. They will be shocked as they find that they are partners in crime. I have instructed them to exit the area quickly.
“Let’s go ladies,” I whisper aloud to myself.
“Hurt that bleep for me,” I say to myself.
“Hurt him bad,” I whisper. I hear myself giggle quietly, but manically. I sound like the Sheriff on the old Dukes of Hazard television sitcom. I appreciate that show much more today, because I now have the same raspy giggle.
If I were to call to the red dog to come to me, he would probably bark at me. I have a feeling he would react as most people do and try to avoid me. The dog could be a problem so I told the ladies to stay well away from him and the old man when they visited the park each day. I like dogs, but this one the Sorrell’s call Dillon is very smart. I planned in advance to remove him from the scene, taking no chance that he might interfere with my plans for master, Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell. Dillon is long gone, taken away by my canine lady.
Chapter 10
Dillon the Therapy Dog
As humans move about their daily early morning activities certain events are occurring simultaneously. Some events such as shadows and vapors accompany life forms, and we recognize them as harmless. Other unknown sinister events are also occurring; we most likely do not see these sinister events, they are unknown to us and surround us.
The sun has been shining the past several days, but I feel a breeze as clouds move in front of the sun. I smell the scent of rain. I like rain, but do not like the descending all-encompassing darkness. This darkness feels sinister and threatening to me.
My name is Dillon, and I am a small red golden retriever. I weigh about forty-five pounds and stand roughly twenty inches tall. My previous master called me Red, and I liked that name a lot. Sometimes people call me Boy and other names. Sometimes humans say, “Come here Boy, or stop Boy.” The name they call me most often now is Dillon, therefore it must be the one they prefer. I like the way the word Dillon sounds when humans say it.
The old one tells me that I have training certificates and my name on the papers is Dillon, therefore I am now to be called Dillon. The old person talks to me as if I were a human. I wish I could speak back, but I respond to his words with woofs and head and ear movements. I have pondered my name change in my mind and accept the changes to my life, and I care for my pack of friends. They say I am smart, and I guess I am. I don’t want to brag about myself; I just know it is a fact.
I usually think of my chores as obligations, my job. It is good to have a job and be needed. I am thinking now of the old one on the bench as well as of my master and friend up there in the window. My master is performing his morning Tai Chi as they call what he is doing. The old one named Francis raises the blind that covers the large window each morning. Earlier this morning, Francis practiced throwing his cane and performing his exercises. He does these things before my master Keith wakes up.
Each morning we have a routine. While we move through our routine, I mostly think of how important they are to me and each other. I worry about their safety and health. If I did not have my friends and their constant companionship, I would be very lonesome.
I frequently hear other names such as Marguerite, Nana, and Grandmother as my friends talk into something they sometimes hold in their hands. They refer to the object that they talk into as a telephone or cell phone. They often look at pictures on what they call their computer and or television. Sometimes I hear them talk sadly about another friend they had called Maxi, but I don’t understand where Maxi has moved to. I just get the idea that she has gone somewhere far away, and they will not see her again anytime soon. They say they will be with her again someday, but I don’t know what they mean by that.
My humans say, “We are fortunate to have Dillon.” “I can hardly wait to meet the little fella,” a female human voice says. I love to hear the voice of the one Francis calls Nana Marguerite. I look around and I cannot find her. Nana is here, but not here. I love it when she says, “Hello Dillon.” Then she asks, “How are you Boy?” I wait patiently for her to appear, but she never does. In dog thoughts I think, “I really want to see my Nana; I know that we will be great friends.”
The old one and I are in a place humans call a park; we witness movement which appears, to me, to be out of the ordinary. Ladies we have seen each morning in the park are moving ever so slowly towards us; they have never done this before. Francis and I are moving from our park bench to the grassy pet island. After my break, I know that we will move across the street and into the entrance to our building.
The ladies are moving very slowly towards one another and closer to the bench Francis and I just left. We pass in front of a bus as we enter the crosswalk; we cross the street and enter our building; I can
no longer see the women.
Francis and I enter the elevator; he presses a button and the elevator moves upward. As the door opens, we exit onto our floor and step from the elevator into the hallway. After we arrive at our door, Francis removes a key from his pocket and opens the door. We enter our apartment and greet Keith or Sevan (I am not immediately sure which personality is present this morning, Keith or Sevan). After greeting each other, we move to our usual places and settle in.
This place where I live with Keith and Francis is very nice. The big room has a large window that allows a lot of sunlight into the space. My favorite spot is in front of the large brown leather sofa. There is a large picture my friends call a television over on the wall and the pictures and sounds are always changing in the frame. I like to watch the colors and listen to the sounds. Sometimes there are only animals on the picture. I have heard my humans call this the Animal Channel; I really like these pictures. Sometimes my humans watch a channel that has many pictures with what they call horses in the pictures. Some of the horses are running very fast, Francis calls this racing. Other times the horses are jumping over things and sometimes there are humans on horses chasing animals with a rope. Keith says this is rodeo competition.
I sense and witness many activities simultaneously taking place. I do not like the feeling of pending danger that I am currently feeling. My ears are up, and I am very alert. The room darkens from the loss of sunlight that usually comes in through the large window. I look towards the window and see darkness and water dropping from the sky. My humans are talking about the sudden rain showers. I think, “The water must be rain showers.”
I feel sorry for our young roommate, my Master, as I see him struggling to remember us every day. He tries so hard to move about with confidence, but I can tell he is tormented by not knowing or understanding himself. I sense his inner most frustrations.
Chapter 11
Sevan Reflects on His Immediate Past
Every day begins with the customary rising from bed and making it to the window to exercise and stare into the park hoping that at least the old man and the red dog will be there as the solitary constant in my life. At least they will be there, I hope. I try my best to reflect on my past, but find my mind is in an ever present fog of confusion. Every day is like being born again with no past and only the present and a possible future remaining lost to me. Each day, I require assistance from the old one.
My fog is occurring less often. This malady lasts a day or so and is occurring less frequently. I stay busy performing physical and mental work which challenges my mind. The old one is helping me to resurrect my memory of myself and my life, as well as, my memories of everyone and everything around me. Sometimes I have some memories and other times I do not have even one memory.
Where do my dreams end, and my reality begin? I do not know. In my dream I recall that to occupy my mind, I must stay busy reading and or having conversations with the old one. I also find the red dog to be a comfort as he is quite courteous and respectful of almost everyone. Occasionally, I have noticed that the red dog keeps individuals away from me. He does this with evident but slight movements of his head and body; sometimes he emits a very low growl. The dog is friendly, but does not allow strangers to enter the old man’s personal space or more especially my personal secure space. I sense, but do not know for sure, that the dog has been especially trained as a service animal, a therapy dog. The dog performs his duties with dignity.
My mind races as I recall that my only two close friends are the old man and dog who go to the park each morning and then return to my apartment. Well, there is also Katherine Kate Miller. She is a friend the old one occasionally invites out to dinner with us; she has also joined us for walks. Kate never visits this apartment, but meets us in the lobby.
Francis tells me that Kate and I grew up next door to each other. He says that Kate and I attended the same schools, but I was a couple of years older than her and two grades ahead. At some point in my schooling I was advanced in classes due to my comprehension.
Kate is quite easy to remember because she is very attractive. She stands five foot four inches tall and weighs about one hundred and ten pounds. Her light olive complexion, brown eyes and dark curly hair are enhanced by the attractive clothing that she wears.
Katherine Kate works full time as a triage nurse at Rockford Memorial Hospital; she also attends college part-time working toward becoming a physician.
Kate has her own apartment and inheritance from her deceased grandparents. Francis tells me she does not have any financial concerns. Kate was reared by her maternal grandparents; her mother left her with them after her birth. She has never met or heard from her mother; her father is listed as unknown on her birth certificate. I have been told that Kate has no living relatives.
I sense that Kate and I were very close before the attempt on my life, but I feel from my heart that I did not love her as a life mate. Kate looks at me in a way that leads me to believe that she feels deeply for me and assumes that her feelings are reciprocated. If I had been committed to a close relationship with Kate, I believe I would sense it now. I just know that a romantic relationship and marriage was not and is not in our future. I see my friends, the old man and the dog, basking in the rays of sunshine that peek through the leaves of the many tall Elm and Birch trees lining the numerous winding paths in Forest City Park. All of these various paths culminate at a large round water fountain which has a statue at its center. The base of the fountain supports at its top the aggrandized depiction of a cavalier. The cavalier’s sword rests in a long scabbard attached by a belt at his waist. Perhaps this statue has some historical relevance which I do not remember. For some reason, I do not care to explore the history of this fountain statue.
The old man, assisted by his heavy swirling wooden cane which is two inches thick and over thirty inches long, rises from the park bench. Simultaneously the red dog rises from the ground. The old one gently grasps the handle of the harness attached to the dog and they begin to walk toward the pet island. The three of us understand that the harness attachment is especially fitted on the dog to assist me when walking outside my apartment. My unexpected attacks of vertigo are very debilitating. I am told by my physicians that this condition will subside in time.
Without preamble, my friends look toward my window just as though they understand, somehow, that I am looking at them. The man and dog turn and walk slowly toward me looking directly into my window and into my eyes as the sunshine begins to fade and a shadow is cast onto us. I know them and they know me. I comprehend their significance and they mine. We have necessarily become companions to each other.
I know that the old man will make his way through the front entrance of my apartment building up the elevator and to my apartment door and then into my home and into my presence. He will advise me that I must begin some positive work in order to mentally survive. As he talks with me and advises me, in his slow mellow voice, he will as usual remind me of work to be done and assure me of his affection and continued companionship. He will address me as Keith Sevan, and not simply as Keith and definitely never as Keith Edwards until we all clearly know the identity of my personality for the day.
The old one will once again remind me of his revelations concerning some great giant evergreen known as I Am that I Am. The Great I Am, as Francis puts it, is the One we both must communicate with and welcome into our minds and into the intellect of our souls. The old one will remind me that I should consider praying to God and that it could not do anything but help our situation. I do not presume to understand the old one, but I respect his desires for my learning and his further unveiling of certain enlightenment and truths. I know I have come to trust the old one with my life.
The old one often says to me, “You must try to see and hear of something and someone greater than yourself and as you welcome this new knowledge it will strengthen your character, especially against all enemies. All enemies,” The old one emphasizes the known a
nd some of the unknown. I know that I have come to trust the old one and wish to believe in the One he trusts.
To make his point the old one, by memory, often recites to me from The King James Bible, The Epistle of James, Chapter 1, Verse 17, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with Whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”
“The Word is comforting, isn’t it?” the old man asks.
I see my friends exit the crosswalk and walk toward our building entrance, the dog is walking beside and just a step ahead of the old man. They disappear from my sight. The dog is a trained therapy dog; I know this because I remember the old one told me after I woke from the coma that my attorney and friend, Raj Arakkal, arranged for the dog.
After I came out of the coma my physicians discovered that I had vision and balance problems. The medical team told both the old man and Raj that until I fully recovered my balance and vision they recommended I use a therapy animal. These dogs are trained to walk with a harness and lead as well as assist their owners.
Raj also felt that I would need a friend to help me recuperate. He wanted a dog that was not only trained and certified as a therapy animal but one that had a loving and caring nature.
Through communication with a mutual friend Raj heard about a family in Virginia that had small golden retrievers that were trained therapy animals. He communicated with the people and arranged for the recommended dog to be transported from Virginia to Rockford. Raj also arranged for the animal’s care. Francis would occasionally bring the dog to the hospital and also take him to visit my apartment. After I was released from the hospital and returned home, I found that our new family member was waiting for us.
Signal to Murder Page 8