I know, I don’t just wonder about it, there is more than this somewhere somehow much more than this. The light is here with me and out there too, and I feel great knowing the truth. The present will never scare me again. I am here for a while, and I intend to use every minute as Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell. I am one human body with no split personalities from this day forward. I am Keith Edwards and Keith Sevan Sorrell combined, and I am whole and well. Thank you very much.
“Francis, Grandfather” I hear myself say out loud in a clear voice, “I am ready to get to work.”
Keith thinks to himself in desperation, “Police Detective Sergeant Javier Sanchez Hernandez where are you when I need you?”
Detective Hernandez has been informed of the shooting that occurred outside Keith’s apartment building. Hernandez believes someone finally got to Keith Edwards. Javier Hernandez is almost at the scene of the crime as the ambulance carrying Keith and Francis departs for the emergency room at Rockford Memorial Hospital.
Katherine Kate Miller, a Triage Nurse at Rockford Memorial, has been on her two hour break and will soon resume her emergency room shift.
Katherine Kate will enter the nurse’s parking lot and return to her assigned station within the hospital. Kate, is suffering from shock, but will return to work and discover that Francis and Keith Sorrell are being treated in the emergency room. Kate will resume shift duty and be called upon to help Keith.
Kate is angry with Keith’s ambusher, remorseful that Keith has been caught in an ambush and might possibly die. “His ambusher must pay for this,” Kate thinks.
Chapter 19
Six is Devilish
Six is ecstatic about the harm his ambush has caused Keith Edwards and his Sorrell family. Only a sick sadistic mind could take pleasure in harming and killing fellow human beings, and Six is evil and sadistic.
I, Six, must remain calm. “I must stick with my plan, and not deviate in any way from any of my original plan. I will ride this bus to the next scheduled stop. Everything thus far has gone much better than I could have ever hoped for,” Six gloats to himself.
Six’s deranged thoughts race forward, “This is like a stage play, a tragedy being performed before an audience. This is amazingly wonderful. Just outside my bus window, in plain view, everyone is going down, and I am rolling away, free.”
Six continues with his out of control thoughts, “I want to get away from here, but I must patiently pull forward, drive away slowly from the crosswalk, and drive to the next designated bus stop.” As his thoughts rage on, Six softly presses the accelerator giving the big bus enough gas to move slowly down the street. He thinks, “I do not want to draw undue attention to the bus.”
I continue to smile and gloat as I look in the side mirror and see Francis Sorrell and Keith Edwards lying on the sidewalk in agony. I give a slight snicker and say softly, “Roll on Six, roll on!” I also see my Mother with the Baby Carriage and The Guitar Lady, my ladies, lying dead in the street. The Guitar Lady is a real mess. I saw her fall directly in front of the bus and knew that she was there when I moved the bus forward. I knew that she would be run over finishing her off if she were not already dead.
“No clean-up, their deaths save me the trouble of killing them myself,” I giggle at this thought. As I drive slowly toward the next scheduled stop, my thoughts continue racing.
I realize that smirking and smiling is not acceptable at a time like this, so I try to control myself. My disguised accomplice sits four seats behind me and will exit the bus at the next stop and resume a tough daily work schedule. The individual has no idea who I am.
The authorities will never determine the architect of the ambush at the Forest City Park bus stop. I have perpetrated all this misery and will never be punished for my crime. I continue thinking to myself, “I, the bus driver, I am the architect; me, me, me, Six the genius; a true master of crime and a genius extraordinaire.”
I desperately need some buttermilk to soothe my throat. I am sure this extreme dryness is caused by excitement. I must buy some buttermilk as soon as possible.
“The animals in the park are disturbed. Their peace disrupted. All of the people, pedestrians, occupants of the bus, individuals around the Edwards apartment building, other people walking the streets and sitting in the park, all are not sure what just happened. They are shocked, upset and miserable. They cannot comprehend or believe what they witnessed. Keith Edwards and his Grandfather are either dead or miserable; even the red dog they call Dillon is miserable. So much misery, I have had so much misery and now I have inflicted misery on many,” I think these thoughts and smile to myself. I have to be very careful about smiling so much, but I cannot help myself. I have noticed that the passengers are not watching me they are all looking back toward the ambush scene. They are in shock, and will not remember who was driving the bus.
The Korean girlfriend of Sis’ will hold Dillon and run him through the government process, supposedly for his protection. I ponder, “Dillon has more protection and rights than I do. He is a dog; I am a human being.”
My throat sure is dry and burning. I have a scheduled seven minute stop ahead and I have arranged for a colleague to take over the remainder of my shift. Before my relief comes on board, I will go into the quick shop at the corner and purchase some buttermilk. My throat is on fire.
Arriving at my scheduled stop, my accomplice leaves the bus when I do and we go our separate ways. My accomplice will walk a few blocks to a convenience store parking lot where the SUV appropriated by Devon Carter has been parked. My accomplice will drive the SUV to the Rockford Memorial nurses parking lot where it will be available for further use.
After I buy my buttermilk and re-enter the bus my relief driver is waiting to take over the rest of my route.
I pre-arranged for a relief driver; I never planned to abandon the bus. Abandoning the bus would draw unnecessary and immediate attention to me. I know that the authorities will want to talk with the bus driver and all occupants of the bus. I will be in a new disguise and long gone by the time they realize the necessity to question the bus driver.
I have a promise to keep to CeCe, but as-soon-as possible after that I will begin my disappearance from Rockford.
I cannot help myself as I wonder how the dog Dillon is doing. It is a shame, but I care more about little Dillon than I do the humans.
Chapter 20
Dillon Feels Miserable and Hopeless
I do not know where my masters are. All I know is that I was taken from Keith’s apartment by a lady and put in this car and driven away from my family. I do not know if someone has hurt the old one and Keith, or if they are still home waiting for me to return.
I am very much afraid and feel that my situation is hopeless. I know that they are in trouble; I sense this very strongly. I think, “Where are they? How can I get away to help them? They need me. They need my help, but this woman is taking me farther and farther away from my masters my friends my family. I am very much afraid that we are all involved in a hopeless situation.”
Through the back window of the car I see my building and Forest City Park disappearing from sight. The car turns a corner and begins to move faster taking me farther from home. I grow evermore sad and weary as my loneliness increases, growing worse every second. I cannot help it; I grow sadder and angrier as the car moves along the streets. I grow even lonelier as the distance between my pack and me grows wider and wider.
I think to myself as I grumble and whimper, “Where is our Nana Marguerite when we need her? Where are you Nana? What are you doing? I hope that Nana comes to help us.”
I gather myself together thinking, “I am no wimp; I must get tough and not wimp out. My family needs me to be strong. Nana will need my help when she gets here. I believe Nana will come to us; I just know she will.” I continue planning and I know that I will be able to escape my captor, the lady in blue.
Chapter 21
Marguerite Heads for O’Hare
Necessary teleph
one calls completed, I start packing for the trip to Illinois. I need to pack light, but I must pack enough clothing for an extended stay. I have a plan, and now I need to get moving.
I have to get a cab and get to the Charleston airport; I am going to have to wait for an available seat for my flight to O’Hare. After arriving at O’Hare I will rent an SUV, and drive to Rockford which is seventy six miles from Chicago.
As I reflect back on the strange telephone call from Francis, I do not know what the SWAT team was doing in Keith’s apartment, the call was disconnected and I did not get to speak with Francis. Francis would not have called me if he did not want me to immediately leave Charleston and head for Rockford. We had previously prepared for such an occurrence. I know something awful and out of their control, out of my control, is happening. I have to get to my family, to Francis. My intuition tells me they all need me desperately.
I cannot move any faster, and yet I feel I must try. My knees hurt and my mind is racing with apprehension while I fear that my family is being unfairly arrested.
I think to myself, “If my knees were not so arthritic I could move quickly, but I know that I must take care not to injure myself further. I must properly use my cane and depend on the braces I wear on both of my knees. I have noticed that any stress causes me more arthritic pain. Waiting around the airport and then sitting on the plane for two hours is going to be difficult. I will have to try and keep my knee joints as limber as possible.”
When I was in my late fifties while living in our mountain home in Virginia I had a bad fall on ice. I fell extremely hard on both of my knees. I have had some difficulty over the past years, but recently I have begun to move more slowly as age is creeping up on my knees in addition to the trauma from the injury.
Every move I make seems to be in slow motion. I slowly finish packing my last bag and put on my shoes; I hear the cabbie blow his horn outside my townhouse.
As I open my front door I see the cab driver walking to the trunk of his cab; he appears to be moving in slow motion. I call out to him, “I am ready. Would you please help me with my bags?” Stepping back into the foyer of my townhouse, I reach for my luggage and set it on the front porch just as the cab driver approaches to help me.
The driver, in what appears to be even slower motion than before, places the bags in the trunk, and as I reach the cab he opens the back door of the cab for me. I realize that nothing and no one is moving in slow motion it is just that I want to be in Rockford before I even leave Charleston. I endeavor to settle my mind and body into a healthier pace.
I notice the absence of the usual sounds of birds chirping and passing cars. There seem to be no people moving about. Everything is quiet and seemingly dead. My world has stopped, and I alone can get it moving again.
I think to myself, “Self don’t wimp out now, Francis, Keith and Dillon need you.” I say a prayer and find the will and strength to raise my head. I know that I must take charge of our situation. “Airport please,” I say to the cab driver as I enter the cab.
The driver enters the cab, starts the engine and I notice that everything seems to be continuing in slow motion as we head for the airport.
I begin to question myself, “Did I close all the windows and lock the doors?” I did not realize that I spoke out loud until the driver said, “I don’t know ma’am, did you?”
I, Marguerite, head for O’Hare.
I think, “I will telephone Kristen and ask her to make sure I left the townhouse secure and in order.” Kristen, our dear friend and neighbor, lives next door and has a key to our place; I know she will not mind checking up after me. I know that I can rely on Kristen; we try to look out for each other.
I continue thinking to myself, “I will be there in the morning fellas. Hold on, I’ll be there soon.” My sense of slow motion seems to have stopped as time progresses at what now seems normal speed. I hope to arrive at O’Hare before midnight tonight, April 14, 2013 and I remember that Francis and I have a wedding anniversary on the sixteenth.
I remember our anniversary and this is when I take control of my fears and our newest family crisis. I say to myself, “I can handle this, I am in control.”
Francis will probably be in jail and will not be at the airport to meet me. I am not planning on Francis meeting me at the airport; I know that he and Keith will be together, wherever that is.
I think, “I will try to rest on the plane flight so that I can drive onto Rockford after landing at O’Hare.”
When I see Francis he will greet me and say, “Marguerite, I have missed you, and I love you.” Again I think to myself, I know I must stay strong and take control for the sake of Francis, Keith, myself and little Dillon.
I try not to worry, but I do as I finally board the plane that will take me to Illinois. I sense there is more going on in Rockford than I am aware of, and that I must get to my family. I am very concerned and lonesome for Francis, and I am so looking forward to meeting Keith and Dillon.
Chapter 22
Entering Triage Keith Reflects Again
The ambulance has reached Rockford Memorial Hospital, and from my prone position I see the hospital emergency entrance. As I float in and out of reality, I am aware that emergency personnel are rolling me very quickly into the hospital. My mind reflects back to the ambush; I am looking for answers. I know now that when I left my apartment, I nearly caused the death of myself and Francis’.
Mentally I transport myself back in time. I am outside my apartment building lying on the sidewalk watching the ambush scene, reviewing every action. I am looking at everything checking for pertinent details. I realize that there are sirens blaring, these sounds are coming from all directions as police cars, ambulances, and fire engines arrive in front of my apartment building and the entrance to Forest City Park. Blue and red pulsating lights appear from every street as they approach Francis and me.
I feel for wounds on Francis. I grab for his chest as he groans in agony. I grope for the wetness of blood, but find instead two punctures in his chest approximately one inch deep. As his shirt separates in my hands, I see and feel just beneath it a Kevlar bullet proof vest.
The vest has protected Francis from the otherwise fatal shots. I feel the deep holes in his vest, but no blood. My Grandfather is hurt from the impact of the bullets, but not dying, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Grandfather Francis is gasping for air from the impact of the bullets, but I know that he is not fatally injured.
“You are going to live Grandfather” I say to him.
He replies to me very loudly, “I don’t feel like I am going to live Keith! The pain is terrible. It is a good thing that I have been wearing my Kevlar vest.”
I swoon a little and everything is blurry as I see his arm extend upward toward my face. “How are you?” Grandfather asks. Suddenly I feel Grandfather’s hand affectionately push back the hair on my forehead. His touch is warm and tender, soothing. I smile into Grandfathers upturned face and he smiles back at me. We are overwhelmed with emotional joy that we are both alive.
I continue to swoon and feel very faint, but from exactly what I don’t know. I manage to maintain my composure and my balance. “Chi, balance,” I think to myself.
We both hear then see the SWAT team exiting our apartment building. The officers are coming toward us, and we see them scatter. They surround us in all directions. We hold onto each other as the SWAT team is preparing to set up a crime scene barrier around the entire ambush area. From what I can see a large area from the front of my apartment building across the street to the bus stop and entrance to Forest City Park will have to be cordoned off.
SWAT team personnel are continuing to point their weapons in mine and Francis’ direction.
I am aware of someone looking down from my apartment window. My vision is blurred, and I cannot focus, therefore I do not know who is standing in my living room window. While mentally revisiting the crime scene, I question myself, “Is this what I missed? Is this what I am looking for?”
I must focus; I do focus and realize it is the cleaning lady, who detained me in the hallway. It was she who through clumsiness or by design detained me and interfered with my catching up with the female officer who was taking Dillon. It was also she who helped me up and possibly in doing so held me back.
The cleaning lady seems to be watching the ambush scene and intently looking at the slow moving bus or someone on the bus. I cannot stay focused and lose my vision.
As I lose my vision I do not panic, because I know that I am in the capable hands of EMTs from the Rockford Hospital. My mind continues to reflect back to the scene of the ambush searching for answers or perspective. I find no answers reflecting on the recent past and my mind returns to the here and now in the emergency room.
Once more, I mentally transport myself back to real time in the hospital emergency room, and I am conscious enough to know it must be like a combat zone back at the ambush scene. I expect I will be visited soon by Detective Hernandez with questions about this new incident or attempt on my life and or that of Grandfather Francis; I do not know which at the present time.
I am just glad Francis and I are not lying dead back there on the wet street. It must be pure pandemonium in front of my apartment building.
I thank God Francis and I live.
I lose consciousness.
Chapter 23
Back At the Scene of the Ambush
While the Rockford Memorial Hospital triage team is caring for Keith Edwards and Francis Sorrell the ambush scene takes on an organized look as the SWAT team exits the apartment building and establishes order out of chaos.
The bus has slowly departed the scene. The SWAT team members continue to position themselves on one knee and others in various other military type positions. They are alert and ready for further attack. They alternate positions and placement in an ever moving circle. Their weapons are out and pointed away and mostly down at the ground or at the fallen women. Members of the team rotate their positions, crouching and turning here and there with fluid motion perfectly synchronized being directed by hand and voice control.
Signal to Murder Page 13