Mourning Reign

by Edward Hancock II

  “Dim-witted Liberals. They’re so cotton picking worried about hurting the feelings of 12 million illegals that they forget it was 20 Arabic illegals that kicked our butts on September 11th. And I’d bet my badge the psychos behind this one are in this country illegally as well.”

  “So I guess we need to get our act together. Quit fighting each other and get every hand involved that we can.”

  “That a request?” The chief asked.

  “Request?”

  “You coming out of retirement, Alex?”

  He wanted to laugh, but the chief wasn’t joking. If only he could, Alex thought. Desperation was written all over Chief Steelman’s face, but in fairness he did nothing to try and hide it.

  “No, Chief. My place is here. My battlefield is Lisa right now. I have to fight for her. To make sure she comes back to me—to us. She may never be a cop again, but I need her. The kids need her. We need her.”

  “That ‘we’ includes the city of Longview, Alex. The town of Gilmer. Your home. The county. The state of Texas as far as I’m concerned. Your family. They need her too. Wife and mother. I understand that, but the people of Longview—its citizenry—they need Officer Lisa Mendez.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “No ‘but’ Alex. We’ve already lost one Mendez. You fight. You fight to make her whole again. I don’t want to lose one of the only remaining decent cops on the force. One of the few left that I can trust to be in this fight till the end.”

  The chief paused, sighed heavily and ran a quaking hand through his graying hair. Alex was suddenly taken aback with how much Tom Steelman seemed to have aged in just the last few days. Alex had met

  with him days before all of the attacks. They’d joked about old times. Chief Steelman—then, Captain Steelman—voiced frustration over the policies of his late predecessor and Alex spoke of his personal relief not to be under the watchful eye of those very same policies. Suddenly, the man before him—Tom Steelman—had become something of a conundrum. A mixture of Buddha and Clint Eastwood. A perfect wisdom hardened by the experiences life had thrown at his feet. Even the fatherly side that had once so deeply endeared Alex to him seemed harsher, more rigid. Far less forgiving, though the love that guided that very same fatherly side did not appear as though it had been gravely touched by the evil that had descended upon them.

  “Alex you know I love Lisa like she were my own daughter. I’d give anything to trade places with her. It’s not often I find myself carrying such affection for my officers but Lisa is very special. I care deeply for every man and woman under my charge but Lisa is not just an officer on my team. I’ve watched her grow up on the force. I’ve watched with great interest as she rose through the ranks and became the kind of cop every other person in uniform should be. In a sense, I’ve raised her. She thinks with her heart, Alex. She trusts her gut. She has instincts as good as you or better.”

  “I learned from the best,” Alex interrupted.

  “I know it’s selfish of me, Alex. But I’m hoping for Lisa’s full recovery. Not just for your family but for the entire family of Longview. For the family that these idiots tried to destroy. The best way to win is when we don’t let them beat us. We don’t let them take from us what we hold most dear. They didn’t take Lisa from you, Alex. And I pray every day they don’t take Lisa’s badge. I know you need her Alex, but please understand so do I.”

  The chief’s hard edge had softened as he spoke of Lisa. The Tom Steelman Alex had come to admire had shown himself after all. Desperate, Chief Steelman had done what needed to be done. Said what needed to be said. He’d shown his true colors, labeled them as selfish, though there was more desperation and admiration than pure selfishness. As if he needed another example, Alex was bearing witness to just how far the effects of this tragedy had reached. How many innocent lives had been touched. It was coming together for Alex.

  At some point, he’d put his Dr Pepper bottle down. His hands now sat clasped in front of him, as he rested his elbows on the small round table. Nearby, at a table to his right, Alex noticed two young medical personnel wearing teal scrubs. Both males, one had dirty blonde hair and a pudgy tummy. Judging by the whisker growth, bags under his eyes and tussled hair, he must have been in the middle of a 48-hour shift. The other was a freckle-faced redhead, tall and almost unhealthily gaunt. What had appeared to be an intense conversation between the two young men had suddenly turned to silent interest in the exchange between Alex and Chief Steelman.

  Realizing Alex had caught their attention, the young redhead nervously spoke.

  “Are you cops?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Chief Steelman said, before Alex could explain his civilian status. “I’m Chief of Police Tom Steelman and this is Lt. Alex Mendez of the Longview Police Department.”

  “I’m proud of you,” the young redhead said, smiling. “I hate what happened. And I want to thank you.” He got up and cautiously approached, his hand extended toward Alex. Alex shook the young man’s hand. He followed up offering a hand to Chief Steelman who reciprocated the young man’s gesture. “I’d like to thank you for protecting the streets—for helping to keep us safe. And if there’s any way we can help…”

  “Just stay vigilant,” Chief Steelman said. “Just keep your wits about you and contact the police immediately if you notice anything that shouldn’t be.”

  “I’m studying for the EMT and Para-meds,” the pudgy young man with the dirty blonde hair said.

  “Me too,” said the gaunt redhead. “I know it’s not much but even medics are needed on the frontlines.”

  “You don’t have to carry a badge and a gun to be important,” Alex offered.

  “All things being equal,” said the pudgy young man, who Alex noticed was wearing a name tag bearing the name George Vick, “I wouldn’t mind having the chance to give medical attention to one of those jack monkeys. It might be fun to watch him die.”

  “Boys,” Chief Steelman said, “you need to think more about how you can help the innocent. Not hurt the guilty. That’s our job. To capture the guilty and let justice be served.”

  “Justice ain’t ever gonna be served,” said the redhead.

  “Sure it will,” Alex said.

  “Not really,” the redhead insisted. His name badge read Eddie Kramer. “You catch one of them and three more pop up in their place. Catch those three and 10 more pop up where they were. Unless somebody gets the balls to bomb every rag-head back to the Stone Age, we ain’t ever gonna win this war.”

  These were exactly the kinds of attitudes Alex was afraid of. Judging a whole race by the actions of a few fanatics. The same was done to the Japanese Americans during World War II, he thought to himself. The same is done by blacks to the white man every time a few white-robed morons get themselves on TV by burning a cross.

  Likewise the entire black race is vilified every time one or two get the bright idea to preach the love of black superiority.

  “Boys,” Chief Steelman said, “the best way for folks like you to help is to remember one thing. These guys that did this don’t speak for a whole group. Not every Saudi or every Iraqi or every Muslim period hates America. Heck, we don’t even know if these guys were truly Arabic or affiliated with any Arabic terrorists.”

  “That’s what the news says,” the redhead grumbled. “But I think the police are holding something back. I think they know more than they’re telling us.”

  “We always have to hold something back,” Chief Steelman said,

  “To protect the integrity of the investigation. But I promise that there is nothing held back that would change what we know of these people, their motives or their plans. You know enough to keep yourself safe, vigilant and on the lookout for other activities. But don’t assume anything. Don’t assume every turban-wearing American is a terrorist and don’t assume every blue-eyed blond with a mullet and a gun rack is your brother. I’m gonna offer you three names. You tell me if any of them ring a bell.” The chief paused before continuing.
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  “John Walker Lindh,” he said. Neither boy spoke. The young pudgy one with the dirty blonde hair furrowed his brow as if thinking.

  “Richard Reid?” The young redhead almost said something, but remained silent. Still, Alex watched his expression change as he nodded ever so slightly.

  “Timothy McVeigh.”

  This time both of them nodded.

  “Now I have three more names for you. Tell me if any of these ring a bell.”

  The two young men sat silently.

  “Jim Jones.”

  “Who’s that?” The redhead asked.

  “David Koresh,” the chief continued, ignoring the question.

  The two boys maintained silence but it was clear they’d heard the name.

  “Charles Manson.”

  Anyone that didn’t know that name had to have been under a rock for the last fifty years, Alex thought to himself. He thought he knew where the chief was headed so he simply stayed quiet, hoping the youngsters would follow suit.

  “Boys,” the chief continued, after a slight pause. “Terrorists come in many shapes and sizes. And America has produced some of the world’s most heinous. If you don’t learn to check your attitudes and rid yourself of preconceived assumptions, you could be well on your way to being America’s next terrorist. And personally I don’t want to be picking up your body parts amid the rubble of a burned out mosque.”

  Alex wasn’t sure if the chief’s point had hit home with these two, but it hadn’t been lost on Alex. It was important not to overreact, even though Alex had to admit a true desire on his own part to join the crusade designed to purge the world of anyone that might hurt him, his family or any innocent being living on his planet.

  “Mr. Mendez!” The urgency in the nurse’s voice nearly knocked Alex out of his chair. He hadn’t even seen the young black nurse running up to him. “Come quick!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, lurching his body fully vertical. “Is it Lisa?”

  “Come quick!” The nurse repeated. “They’re back! They came back!”

  “Who?” Chief Steelman asked, though Alex already knew.

  “Tucker,” Alex hissed. “I’m gonna kill him!”

  “Boys,” Chief Steelman said to the two youngsters in teal scrubs, as he jogged forward to keep up with Alex “If you’re looking for a chance to back us up, consider yourself temporarily deputized. And follow me.”

  Without a word, the two youngsters darted toward their chance at heroism.

  Turning toward the nurse, Chief Steelman said, “Call security. No one enters or leaves this building without my authority. I don’t care what kind of badge they are carrying. Tell your security men we have people pretending to be CIA Agents. Tell them Chief Steelman says these men are not to leave until I can verify their identities.”

  “Chief?” The nurse asked. “They’ve already gone.”

  “They’ve what!?” Alex said, stopping cold in his tracks.

  “They came in with two doctors and the next thing I know they were gone. And when I went in to check on Mrs. Mendez, she was gone too.”

  “What do you mean, gone?” Alex said, grabbing the nurse rather roughly. Composing just enough to remember his manners, Alex instinctively released the wincing nurse from his powerful grasp. He wanted to shake her but he knew that there would be nothing to be accomplished by such things.

  “Go,” Chief Steelman said to the nurse. “Get on the phone immediately and inform your security that I want this entire hospital locked down!”

  He pulled out his cell phone as the nurse bolted from the busy cafeteria.

  George Vick and Eddie Kramer, the two youngsters in teal scrubs, stood stone-faced, anxiously awaiting orders.

  Alex reached for his own cell phone before realizing he wasn’t sure who he would call. This wasn’t a homicide—at least not yet, not until Alex had his hands around Agent Tucker’s throat. There wasn’t any point in calling Danny. Still, somebody needed to be called. Somebody needed to do something. Watching the chief dial his own cell phone, Alex felt more like a civilian spectator than he had since the day he retired.

  “Who are you calling?” Alex asked.

  “I’m calling in a favor,” he said. “Yes, Mayor?” The chief continued, “I apologize for bothering you at home, but it’s an emergency. We have a situation.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Game On

  Even if she hadn’t been gagged, her mouth would have felt as if it were host to a humongous wad of cotton. Her eyes might have more clearly focused had it not been for the blindfold and whatever cloth covered her face. She knew nothing else except that her hands and feet were bound uncomfortably tight. She clung to the word “kidnapped” like it was the most important revelation ever.

  She didn’t know her name. She couldn’t comprehend why the skin on her hands prickled, nor was she able to understand why she felt like she had been repeatedly stabbed in the stomach with something hot and sharp.

  She knew fear. And she knew the word kidnapped. She didn’t understand why it had happened but a strange miniscule comfort blanketed her with the realization that she wasn’t totally lost.

  Could she get away? Did she have the strength to fight off her kidnappers? How many were there? What had they done to her? Why?

  Who was she? What horrible crime had she committed? If she could get away, where would she go?

  Her head swam uncontrollably. She felt as if she had been given a sedative. More than likely somebody had given her something to make her more agreeable. Easier to manage. It had definitely made her groggy.

  She found herself growing increasingly angry, despite whatever drugs might be flowing through her veins.

  Did they not understand who they were dealing with?

  Wait. Who were they dealing with?

  “Who am I?” she thought.

  Sounds flashed through her mind. Explosive sounds at first, but then gentle sounds.

  A child’s laughter. A crowd cheering.

  Explosions!

  A baby crying.

  A man’s voice. “Honey?”

  A soothing voice, distant. Imagined.

  Sexy.

  A caring face danced before her imagination. A man’s face. A face she knew but one she could not identify. She felt inexplicably comforted by the stranger’s face. It seemed to match the voice. Was this the voice she had heard? The face was as sexy as the voice. That was for sure. Hard, but not evil. Kind, but hardly soft.

  Trouble. What if he was trouble? Maybe his charm was what had gotten her into this predicament. Where was Mr. Sexy now? Obviously he was no hero. He had done nothing to prevent her from being taken.

  “Hang in there partner.” Who was that?

  Definitely not Mr. Sexy.

  A dog barking.

  “Mommy!”

  “Just relax, Mrs. Mendez.”

  A hand on her shoulder ignited shards of pain throughout her entire torso. Instinctively she jerked away from the hand. She whimpered.

  Though her eyesight was still obscured, she realized she was wearing a hospital gown. Thankfully, she could tell she was at least wearing underwear.

  Voices echoed off of her skull, fighting against the sounds her ears were registering.

  “It’s alright, Mrs. Mendez,” came the voice again. A man’s voice.

  Not like the voices she’d heard in her head. A deep voice. Vacant.

  Emotionally dead.

  Not imaginary.

  She fought to ask where she was but couldn’t articulate with tape on her lips and something soft stuffed into her mouth.

  “I’m going to take this off.”

  She felt a gentle tap on the top of her forehead. In a couple of seconds, the blanket or whatever had covered her face was gone. Her eyes still couldn’t quite focus. An odd shape swam in and out. A man’s face. An ugly man. A man whose face mirrored the vacant, emotionally dead voice that still bounced off her throbbing skull. There was no guessing. This was the face that match
ed the unimagined voice. This vacant expressionless zombie was the owner of the unfeeling, emotionally dry verbal counsel. Though smiling, nothing about the man appeared jovial, friendly.

  “There now,” he said. “Isn’t that better?”

  Still unable to talk, she did the only thing she could. She mustered the most hateful glare she could manage. She would have growled had it not been for the mysterious cotton object masking any noise she might attempt to utter.

  Without explanation, she suddenly became very aware of her knees. They were cramping but she’d felt a sudden rush, as if circulation had been denied and suddenly returned to them. The muscles in her back throbbed and pulsed in rhythm with the rushing of blood through her knees. In a matter of seconds, her feet went from a sense of numbness of which she’d become aware to a prickling sensation, as if she’d just stepped ankle deep into a cactus bush. As the prickles subsided, she began to suspect her feet had been untied. If only the feeling would return, she could confirm one way or the other.

  Looking around, she realized she was in a vehicle of some sort. It looked like a van or perhaps some sort of SUV. What did SUV stand for? A few precious seconds of incoherent obsession distracted her. It wasn’t important. She was not safe.

  The vehicle was big, whatever it was; big, dark, and cavernous.

  There were doors on either side leading to the outside world, but neither seemed to have a handle. An exit to the rear provided the only sense of a handle, her one route to escape, should it come to that.

  Maybe—for all she knew, her eyes were playing tricks on her.

  The entire innards of the vehicle had been essentially gutted down to a bare bones state. Nothing but metal frame and overlay occupied the area behind the cabin, which had been blocked off by the addition of a metal partition. It smelled of alcohol, cologne, rancid body odor, sweat and something that she could only guess might be chemicals used for cleaning. The combination made her already swimming eyes burn. She fought against a weakening gag reflex, afraid she might choke amid a futile attempt to force vomit past whatever was being used to silence her. The faint sound of an engine vibrated through the metal hull, though it didn’t feel as if they were moving.