Signal to Murder

by Rhone Sonnier

  I remember my morning ritual, and I have grown to appreciate that ritual very much. As I rise out of my Tai Chi stance and simultaneously come out of my mental stupor (reflecting on and contemplating such things as my names), Francis enters my apartment and greets me with the salutation, “Hi Sevan (sehv ahn).” He speaks to the red dog, “Dillon, go drink some water and find a spot to rest your legs.” Dillon just stands in place looking at Francis.

  I think to myself, “I had forgotten that the dog’s name was Dillon.”

  As I continue in and out of my reflections, today feels like another Ground Hog Day. A slide appears and I reflect on a movie Francis told me about which starred Bill Murray, the comedian. Each morning the same day repeats for him, and the cycle never ends. My cycle begins each morning when I wake up from a night’s sleep; but sometimes, I can just be standing somewhere, anywhere and my mind drifts and I must look like some zombie just standing in place not knowing where to go or what to do with myself.

  Coming out of my most recent stupor, suddenly with the blink of an eye I am brought back to the present time, reality. I see that the sun is no longer coming in through the large window. There is darkness in the room and the darkness seems to grow deeper casting shadows around the living room, ominous shadows; I shudder for no reason and feel a twinge of fear accompanied by emotional apprehension.

  I notice, as though in a fog, that Francis turns to me, looks me in the eyes and checks my posture. My carriage is ever so slightly relaxed (not stooped) and shoulders are not pulled back or chest pushed out, I am Sevan. I know that Francis senses and sees my continued improvement; he knows that I am my kinder and gentler personality. He smiles at me, but I think he has noticed that I am fearful.

  “Sevan,” Francis says his smile disappearing and concern beginning to show on his face and in his voice. He has noticed my fear and apprehension. I respond to him with, “Yes!”

  Francis smiles again, and takes a seat on our dark brown leather couch. He places his back-pack and cane immediately in front of but to the side of his seven string guitar. The guitar is beside him on the couch. Francis greets me again exhibiting concern saying, “Sevan, are you ready to do some work?”

  Dillon has not gone into the kitchen to get a drink so Francis begins removing the harness from him, but reconsiders and leaves the harness in place. Although Francis has eased into the room like an old cat, his movements reveal he is still cautious and formidable as he performs his undress ritual. Francis exudes self-confidence, capability and intelligence. Sevan admires these traits in his friend.

  With his right hand Francis slowly removes a Walther PPK/E .22 caliber ACP, L.R. U.S. pistol from his right ankle placing it in easy reach on the side table to his right. From behind his back he reaches for and removes the brother Walther PPK .380 ACP U.S. light weight placing it beside his right thigh on the sofa. Taking no break or wasted motions with his left hand he removes a Glock 9mm from out of the left side pocket of his green squall jacket and bending slightly forward while spreading his knees he places this weapon on the coffee table immediately in front of him. Finally, he produces yet another gun (some kind of 45 as he usually refers to it) from within a pocket of his back-pack (I presume this to be his last gun) placing it carefully on the right arm of our sofa in easy reach. This Francis says is a Safe Action Colt 1911 A1 BBL U.S. Army late 1944 pistol with compact laser grip and has certain quick draw features. This Glock is the first choice of plain clothes and protection personnel.

  All of his weapons are loaded and locked and will remain so. There is even something about the position of both his cane and guitar that tells me he has placed them in a strategic location. Lethal use of the cane or the guitar eludes me, but I am certain Francis has ulterior motives for carrying them. I have observed Francis swiftly changing a guitar string then shaping it and utilizing it as a French garrote. (In war this weapon is used for a silent killing.) This both amuses and frightens me even as I understand Francis will without hesitation protect us using these very weapons, and or other weapons as he deems necessary.

  Observing Francis relax, Dillon walks a tight circle and finally lies down in his customary place. He assumes a prone position at the end of the sofa near Francis. Dillon strives to recognize my voice and mannerisms. He looks questioningly at me to see which of the Jekyll & Hyde (characters based on the 1886 novella “Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde” by Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson) personalities I am wearing today.

  Immediately observing Keith Edwards shoulder holster and gun hanging on the coat rack over his head (Keith has not touched his weapon since the attempt on his life), and seeing my more slightly slumped and not rigidly erect posture, Dillon peers into my eyes and understanding my kinder spirit is present rises up and walks swiftly over to me with a smile on his face. (When Dillon smiles he bears his teeth and sneezes.) Dillon knows that Keith characteristically stands very erect, but when even remotely agitated becomes slumped over like a bear or a thug. Sevan is now only slightly slumped and relaxed in his friendlier demeanor.

  Dillon knows Keith’s voice quality has a harsh guttural (though not raspy) sound and also has somewhat of an authoritative military clip. Sevan has a slower and softer deliberate even speech. I can tell Dillon knows that Keith is appreciative of him, but indifferent to him. I think, “He loves us both, Keith and Sevan.”

  Keith may be the most defensive protective and alert one of our pack. I know that Dillon loves both of my personalities, but rests easier in the presence of Sevan my kinder gentler meditative, contemplative, analytical soft spoken personality. Dillon knows from experience that Keith never pets him or offers him treats. He has been known on occasion to remember to give Dillon a little water, but Keith never takes him for walks.

  Dillon knows and accepts Keith being my rather harsh abrasive other personality. He both loves and tolerates Keith knowing his indulgence is necessary to help mentally cure us and keep the peace. I believe Dillon understands us better than we understand ourselves and acts accordingly to keep the peace. “Peace, be careful what you wish for,” Francis says this every time the word is used. I suppose it has biblical connotations and so I leave this subject alone knowing Francis will clarify it in his own time; however, the word peace for some reason disturbs me. I am sure, in time, I will understand my strong feelings toward the word peace. Just the word alone and what it means should not be disturbing, but it is.

  Dillon senses and sees that I am physically much healthier. I can see Dillon is ready for whatever may come next. Only after we exchange greetings does Dillon, our good soldier, walk into the kitchen to satisfy his thirst with a long noisy drink of water.

  As I continue standing in front of the window, now turning and facing into the room as Sevan, Dillon comes to me for another touch of kindness, another pat on the head. I notice that his chin fur is wet from his drink.

  Dillon knows for certain that I am Sevan and relaxes as I continue to stroke his soft head. He raises his head and looks toward the darkening sky and then to the front door. I bend down at the waist and then to my right knee and hug him affectionately. I know that therapy dogs accept affection, but service dogs that function only in that capacity are not to be coddled. Dillon has training as both a therapy and service animal and his personality accepts and gives affection. In addition to these attributes Dillon is extremely loyal to his family.

  Suddenly, and without apparent cause, Dillon tenses and breaks free of my hug. He turns toward our front door the hair standing on the back of his neck and his ears going crazy. Dillon growls at an imperceptible sound or movement outside the door and acknowledges that there is an unknown presence behind the door. He crouches as he looks at both Francis and me and then toward the door.

  Francis turns his visual attention to the door and with his body square to the front entrance he instinctively reaches his right hand out for his 45 ACP. Francis grips the handle and just as swiftly opens his hand resting the gun back down on the arm of the couch
and instinctively in a continuous split second motion places the back of his hands on his knees palms up brandishing only a cell phone. I can see that Francis is pressing a button on the phone and then I hear Nana Marguerite’s voice coming through the phone’s speaker. Nana is trying to get Francis to respond, but he is sitting very still and closely watching Dillon and the apartment door.

  Suddenly there are loud indecipherable shouts and echoes coming from the hall just outside our door. We can hear garbled words like warrant and open up coming from outside the thick steel door.

  I hear Nana Marguerite as she speaks loudly into her telephone, “Is that you Francis? What is all that background noise?”

  Francis sits very still and does not answer Nana.

  Dillon initially smiles at the sound of Nana’s voice, but then freezes in place slightly bent forward on his front legs as he gets serious.

  We hear more voices and then a shout, “Police, police, open the door!”

  A voice shouts, “We have a warrant.”

  Sevan shouts, “I am coming to the door, and again even louder, I am on the way!”

  Rain has started hitting our living room window and more darkness envelopes our living room. We have not had a chance to turn on any inside lights. Eight or ten seconds pass as I, Sevan, move slowly with great trepidation toward the door. Before I reach the door to open it, I hear a key in the latch, see the door begin to open and then note that someone is entering the apartment.

  Dillon gets up and steps toward the door growling; he stops his forward progress as the door opens. An armed man in black appears.

  Dillon’s growls fill the dark apartment. Fear and apprehension envelope me, but I also feel an inner core of strength as I stand ready to protect my pack. Dillon quickly looks at me and then back at the door. I think, “Dillon recognizes Keith.”

  Chapter 15

  SWAT versus Marguerite Sorrell

  A group wearing full black military style outfits and helmets with face guards rush into my apartment. They are brandishing various weapons; Francis and I immediately recognize them as a Rockford SWAT team.

  Thankfully, Francis and Dillon both have the good sense to stand down. They both do nothing but gaze, as do I, in disbelief at the intrusion.

  A lead officer shouts out, “Do not move. We have a warrant and reason to believe that there are drugs and weapons in this apartment.” We do not move, because we cannot move. We are temporarily frozen in time and space.

  Marguerite is trying to get Francis to respond, he does not answer her, but hearing the speaker an officer realizes that someone is on a cell phone and asks, “Who are you ma’am?”

  Marguerite calmly responds back with, “I may be your worst nightmare!”

  The officer says, “I am a law enforcement officer on a drug bust, who are you ma’am?”

  Marguerite responds with, “I am Marguerite Sorrell, and you will soon be speaking to my lawyer.”

  “Francis, I am on my way to help,” Marguerite says loudly into her phone and hangs up. We all hear the telephone disconnect.

  In case of an emergency, Sevan knows as previously rehearsed with Francis, that his Grandmother will speed dial Raj his Chicago based attorney. Raj will know that his presence will shortly be required in Rockford; he knows that there are very real threats still working against me. The police have no leads in the gassing attempt on my life. In essence, my case is a cold case; my enemy is still out there ready to pounce at any time.

  Next Nana will speed dial a travel agent, pack, and board the earliest possible direct flight to Chicago. Marguerite is well organized and has already packed a bag, but will pack more clothes for an extended stay in Rockford.

  I believe that my Grandmother’s plans will be to reach my apartment as soon as possible. Nana Marguerite knows having a SWAT team in my living room is very unusual and very serious business.

  Chapter 16

  SWAT versus Francis

  I look at Francis and he is calmly sitting on the sofa with a smile on his face. He continues to keep both of his hands in sight of the SWAT team; his hands are resting on his knees with palms facing up for all to see, non-confrontational.

  “Mind returning my cell phone to me?” Francis asks the officer that removed it from his hand.

  The officer says, “This is evidence,” and tells another officer to bag the cell phone.

  I start to speak and Francis says directly to me, “Don’t say a word and don’t move at all, either of you.” I assume that he is referring to Dillon as well as me.

  Francis slowly turns his head and looks toward Dillon and says calmly, but with authority, “Stay Dillon, stay Fella!”

  Dillon does as he is told. He lies down, spreads his front and back legs and after positioning himself he moves his head inquisitively to enquire as to what is going on. Francis says again, “Stay Dillon, stay.” Dillon makes no move or sound.

  As soon as I shut my mouth, I know that Sevan has gone and Keith is present. None of the SWAT team notices any difference in my persona. I look over toward Dillon, and I can tell he has witnessed the switch in personalities and recognizes me as such; I am now Keith and not Sevan. I am aware that this transition has not occurred during the day since my coma. As Keith takes over Sevan Francis relaxes. Keith is an extremely strong, capable, shrewd personality.

  In real time: Francis begins to assess our situation; he sees that a canine unit has entered the room. The SWAT canine dogs are sniffing everything, especially Francis’ backpack.

  Detecting nothing suspicious in the backpack, the dogs turn their attention to Dillon, sniff him, he touches noses with them, and the dogs move on.

  A female SWAT Canine Officer dressed in a blue black uniform enters the area and calls to Dillon. Dillon walks obediently to the nice female with the coaxing voice, and she escorts Dillon out of the room into the hall. Another congenial female officer (she appears to be of Korean descent) in a blue uniform with a canine insignia takes hold of Dillon’s halter. I, Keith, can only assume she is going to carry Dillon away to destinations unknown.

  Keith’s more aggressive personality has surfaced as he realizes his family needs him and that Dillon needs him. Keith has lost so many people in his young life that he does not want to lose more family. Keith considers himself the resident bad top dog. Keith is not a person to fool with when he feels his territory is threatened.

  Keith speaks out loudly his voice becoming only slightly agitated, “Dillon is my therapy dog; I am Keith Edwards Sorrell! You cannot have my dog, don’t take him from me, I need his assistance.”

  “You will have assistance shortly,” another officer says.

  Dillon is in the hall and I watch as he is pulling back in resistance not wanting to leave me, but he is removed from my sight.

  Francis and I look at each other as we hear shouting coming from down the hall. “Wrong apartment,” is shouted several times, each time the words are shouted more loudly and panicky.

  “We hit the wrong apartment,” says an excited, embarrassed and apologetic officer as he enters my apartment door.

  In my peripheral vision, I see the Lead SWAT officer by the front window. He is standing with his arms by his sides, hands in his pants pockets; he appears to be searching for something and seemingly not finding what he is looking for. He suddenly backs away from the large window.

  I note that the sky is still very dark, rain is falling and my apartment is filled with shadows. The darkness and shadows continue to cause my uneasiness to increase. The eeriness and tension are thick enough to cut with a knife.

  I, Keith, move into the space the officer vacated. Looking down at the street, I see the lady canine officer in blue next to a vehicle; she has Dillon. She puts Dillon in the back of the police vehicle, enters and pulls away from the curb.

  My attention is drawn to the park entrance and I see that the mother with the baby carriage and the woman with the guitar have moved to a point in front of the park bench where Francis and Dillon had bee
n earlier. My mind’s eye is taking everything in at warp speed.

  The two women are moving again toward the bus and the crossing. I have watched them perform this action before, but they usually stop at the bench vacated by Francis and Dillon. I feel that their movements are harmless; I rationalize that there is nothing out of the ordinary or a threat down there.

  I move away from the window and get detained by the lead SWAT officer; he wants to ask me some questions. Just as I finish with him others physically block my path preventing my exit from my apartment. Although the SWAT team realizes they are in the wrong apartment, I notice the lead officer has continued prompting the SWAT team, with gestures, to momentarily detain me. I question myself, “Why is he detaining me?” Why did they remove Dillon from my home so quickly? What is going on? There is something very wrong about this SWAT intrusion.”

  “Dillon is my family, if you have entered the wrong apartment, why has he been removed from my residence?” I shout this question at everyone? Heads turn, my voice sounds loud and firm.

  Francis looks at me; he knows that Keith has taken control of my body and he is worried. He is aware that both Keith and Sevan love Dillon very much, and he has been kidnapped by the police.

  Chapter 17

  Dillon is Kidnapped

  Some of the SWAT officers notice that I am becoming more frustrated as they continue blocking my path. I, Keith, move toward the apartment entrance. More precious moments have passed, and I need to get out of here, get to Dillon. Keith reflects, “Sevan thinks that I do not love Dillon, but I do.”

  I shout “Get out of my way!” But, they block my path out of the apartment even more. I hear Francis saying, “Do not leave the apartment Keith, do not leave the apartment, it is dangerous.” Time is passing; the female canine officer in blue has taken Dillon away from me. As minutes pass, Dillon moves farther away.