4
Michael was packing to leave for his trip to Old California the day Eve told him about the impending new addition to their happy family. Mostly stable at the time, Atera was convinced Jacob’s proposal had merit. She believed the new information would provide the people with some closure on the long unsolved mystery, and it would help raise morale with the GAC still incapacitated.
“I am sorry about having to take off again so soon. We never had the chance to enjoy our honeymoon.”
“That’s okay Michael. There are more important things than honeymoons, especially now we have so much more at stake than ever before.”
Michael gave Eve a cocked-eyebrow look as she stood in the bathroom doorway with her hands placed on the sides of her still flat belly. The vanity mirror light brightly shining behind her gave off a glow that illuminated her blossoming beauty.
“You don’t mean…You’re not saying…I am going to be…” Michael stuttered through his words unable to form complete sentences with the dawning realization enlightening his mind, but not his tongue.
“Yes. You are going to be a father. So believe me, I know why you must do whatever is necessary to make this country a safe place to raise our son. You have to be free to be who you were born to be, so maybe one day your son can follow in his father’s giant footsteps.”
Caught up in a moment of realization, Michael noted how nothing could prepare someone for something you planned for once it became a reality.
“You do know it is too soon to tell if it is a boy or a girl,” Michael said.
“I knew the moment you planted your seed in me. I think somehow I have always known.”
“I do not want our son growing up believing he is meant to fulfill some higher purpose just because of the blood that runs through his veins. Nobody needs that kind of pressure over their heads from the day they are born. He should choose his own path and make his own destiny.”
“Yes, it should and will be his choice. I do not want him forced into being someone he is not, but also I don’t want him to be cheated out of his chance to be a great man.”
“Oh, we will provide him with everything he needs to succeed. There is nothing worse than looking back at what could have been, if only you at least tried. Just remember, no one can be of the same mind as their ancestors, unless they are exact clone raised under similar circumstances and surroundings.” Michael agreed.
“I think I would pity them if they were. Can you imagine how it would drive you insane living without the freedom to change? Just look at Jacob, who would have ever thought he would join a rebel cause.”
“Yeah, just goes to show you how people can really surprise you sometimes.”
5
In the month it took to setup the Old California site in Santa Cruz, Michael had the opportunity to study the strange book he found hidden down in the dark, intentionally preserved for future generations to find one day. But it was not until after watching Atera losing it on National television during the New Constitution Day special, Michael had the most prophetic dream of his life, when he could finally see after dark where the path to true enlightenment lay hidden. A surreal fantasy, it sent an urgent alarm to his subconscious mind, giving him the clarity he needed as the book’s title proved prophetically revealing.
The dream started the same as it always did for as long as he could remember dreaming. It was a reoccurring, hallucinatory mind-trip he never fully comprehended until that night. He could tell right off if it was a dream. His subconscious mind would find ways to clue him in on if what he was experiencing was real or not. A discontinuity in logic with color schemes out of place of their natural order, or places in different settings then there actual location, continually let him know what was live and what was Memorex. Providing him with a subliminal path to follow, Michael never clearly understood the dream, figuring his cerebrally prescient message would make sense one day.
The thematic elements of his dream world were always the same, except the locations changed most every time. The dreams were intermittent, and he never knew when he would have one, but they were the only dreams he remembered. They normally began with him heading out on a journey in search of something lost and forgotten, some important mystery he needed to solve to give his own life meaning. It led to him becoming a researcher.
The only other consistency in his hallucinatory slumber was the mysterious figure he came to think of as his mentor-spirit guide. He had been searching for a mentoring father figure since his own biological donor gave up on him at an early age, just because he wasn’t like him. Until then though, Michael relied on guidance from nighttime visions, courtesy of sandman visits.
In the dream, he could hear music playing in the background like a film score helping guide him through his subconscious vision. At first, he could not tell if the thunderous sky was coming from a storm or part of the familiar soundtrack. Moving along to a piano melody with lightning strikes hitting off in the distance, the skies opened up in a heavy downpour. Michael was not afraid of the lightning hitting him or felt a need to get out of the rain. He found himself standing in front of an old, rickety rope bridge with wooden slats laid flat to travel over it.
Dressed in his expedition gear, including his Go-Bag and hat, Michael turned and looked behind him at the old Willy’s Jeep parked in front of the bridge. Shaking his head at the thought of having to try and drive over it, he looked back at the bridge where a horse now stood in front of it, saddled up and ready to go.
Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Michael jumped on its back and proceeded to ride across the wobbly bridge on a windy and stormy night with the thunder and lightning howling and flashing. He never rode a horse in real life. But in his dream, he took to it like an old western gunslinger running from the law.
A near misstep panicked the large beast, sending it into a full gallop as a wooden slat cracked in two and broke away under its hoof. Michael made it safely to the other side of the swinging in the wind, decrepit rope bridge, where the trail ended. He gazed out at a dusty, old ghost town that was once San Jose, California. One, rolling-along, solitary tumbleweed blew across the main road leading into town as the rain stopped. The sun started rising off in the horizon to shine a morning light on the long dead town.
The background music ended with the rain as Michael rode into town, now drawn in by the faint sound of an organ playing a different tune coming from a church located at the end of the road. Its alluring siren melody sounded like it was coming from a large pipe organ mixing in with a piano, drums, violins, chimes, synthesizers, a bass, and electric guitars. It grew louder with a powerfully commanding beat the closer he got to the church.
The timeworn, decrepit buildings in town were late 20th century businesses and residences, along with the decaying, rusted out vehicles lining both sides of the street. As Michael passed by the relic structures at a slow, steady pace, a powerful vocal harmony began accompanying the music, belting out familiar words he knew he never heard before.
The lyrics sang about a man who knew more than you or me, living alone with his vision, not looking fortune or fame. Lost in the deepest enigma, he was off on another plane, searching for the nature of what we are. Some thought he could see into the future with a glimpse of the master plan. But nobody understood him, because the words he said were a mystery, no one was sure he was sane. There was something he never told us that died when he went away, and now there is no telling what he might have said. But he knew.
Riding up and stopping in front of the church, Michael dismounted his gift horse, leaving the reins hanging loose with no hitching post to tie off to or concern over whether the untethered animal would still be there if needed again. Walking up the wooden steps to the large double doors, he shoved them open like an old western gunslinger entering a saloon. The old doors swung inward, creaking loudly on rusty hinges echoing out in the church’s big worshipping hall.
Michael looked down the center aisle past the dusty, empty pews and up to t
he altar, where a large crucifix hung high from the ceiling, suspended by worn wire cables. Built into the wall behind the altar, the huge pipe organ appeared brand new with a high shine coming off the polished brass. A solitary figure sat at the organ with his back to Michael. He wore a long, black leather coat with a rustic brown Stetson resting on his head as he finished playing the insightfully entrancing song.
Even though he could not see his face, Michael recognized the man as his mentor-spirit guide, who he had never clearly seen before. As he got closer to the man sitting at the organ, Michael noticed something strangely out of place. It was one of those odd continuity errors clueing him in on it being a dream. Instead of traditional black and white piano keys, a typewriter keyboard set in place of the missing ivories.
“I see you have found your way back to me again. You must need my help to find something lost and forgotten,” the man said.
“I am here seeking your wise and valuable guidance, but there is much more at stake here than my career.”
“Our time together has never been about your career. It has always been about one thing. This moment, right here and now, when you realize you never needed my help. It has always been all about you, Michael.”
“I don’t get it. What do you mean about me?”
Michael noticed something that wasn’t there before. The sheet music transformed into the two books most on his mind of late. The one he found where the title, When You See After Dark, accurately suggested its location, with the other one being the most important book ever written, at least in its present day incarnation, as its title, The Book of Tomorrows, prophetically stated.
In a moment of clarity, a stunning realization blew Michael’s wandering mind as it dawned on him both books were written by the same person sitting in front of him, who was none other than The Author. Up until now, he suspected his mentor-spirit guide was actually the Prophet Warrior. He never considered it could be the enigmatic Author.
For years, many people thought The Author was a highly educated member of Mensa with a bunch of letters after his name. When in real life, the anonymously infamous writer was really just an Italian-Irish ex-construction worker from New Jersey, who moved out to California at the turn of the century to chase down his dreams of being the next big thing in Hollywood. Michael would soon find incontrovertible proof of this from The Author’s own lips.
A strong breeze blew through the church, coming from the open front doors. It turned the pages on both of the books, and when the blustery air had passed through, the book Michael found was blown open to Chapter Six.
The Author got up from the piano bench and held out a guiding hand to his visiting truth seeker, obviously wanting him to step up to see the written words on the page.
“Welcome back, my friend, to the show that never ends.” The Author invited Michael to become part of the night’s entertainment. “So glad you could attend, I have some things for you to see. It’s a specialty that will bring you right back to reality.”
Stepping by the altar and stopping in front of the organ, Michael reached out and picked up the copy of When You See After Dark, letting out a slight, sighing laugh at the words printed in bold letters standing out on the page. The two little words combined to make one powerfully potent statement—WORDS-KILL.
“What are words but merely letters following each other in long and short distances of space?” Michael read aloud. “They are the most powerful weapon ever conceived or created. But they are also the most easily disarmed, by simply not reacting to the harsh words of others and only direct action against you.”
They were words Michael could truly comprehend the meaning of as if he had written them himself. Closing the book, he flipped it over to check out the author’s photo, worn away on his found copy. Looking up from the photo to the man standing in front of him, they were one in the same. Michael James Carducci was The Author.
“So now that you can finally see after dark what lies hidden below, where will you now go to find what you seek? How far will you travel? What will you sacrifice to achieve it?”
Looking over to where The Author was standing, Michael could see an open trapdoor in the floor, leading down to another dark place where secrets lay hidden.
“Once more onto the breach, my good friend,” Michael said, quoting his favorite author. Well, second favorite.
Walking over to the open trapdoor, Michael had a chill of déjà vu run down his spine as he descended the staircase leading down to another dark hole beneath the earth.
6
Making his way back out from the pit of darkness, carefully climbing the decayed and rotted staircase, cautiously testing the durability of each step taken before placing his weight down on the weakened structure, Michael came up with another unearthed treasure to help shine a clear light on a new day. With only a couple of hours to go before sunrise, he needed to make his way back undetected before the morning light exposed his midnight excursion over the hill.
While this trip took place in the real world, his procured guidance resonated from the journey he took to the center of his mind. The Author’s words played over in his head like a skipping album, repeating the same four words, “What lies hidden below.” From the inference, Michael came to a logical conclusion he might have overlooked, since most California homes did not have basements. Luckily for Michael, paranoid doomsday fanatics, who built bomb shelters and safe-rooms to stockpile supplies with extensive shelf-life for when the day of reckoning finally came, were found all over the country, even in sunny California.
After stumbling upon another hole in the ground, while also avoiding another long fall, Michael made an incredible, unanticipated discovery he never thought possible. In tripping over the basement root cellar converted into a safe-room, the intrepid adventurer uncovered The Author’s—a.k.a. Michael James Carducci’s—burial site. The place where the legendary writer Michael shared his first name with remains lay hidden in the dirt was not just the final resting place of The Author, but the inner working of his mind as well.
He could not wait to tell Jacob about his latest discovery, and how The Author may not have been the popular, well-respected man everyone listened to, which wasn’t even the most groundbreaking news he unearthed that day in the early morning hours. Michael found himself faced with a real Catch-22-type dilemma, clearly realizing how it was a good idea to be careful what you wished for, because you just might get it. He uncovered one of the most extraordinarily significant finds ever dug out of the earth. The news of which could have enormously negative consequences, oddly reminding him of an old, unearthed episode from the Twilight Zone TV series he found, where an alien race landed on earth, cured all disease, ended world hunger, and brought about world peace using their gracious gift of scientific knowledge and superior intellect. Then they ate us. It’s a cookbook, dummy.
7
“So was it as bad as it looked on television?
“Worse.”
“How bad do you think it is going to get?”
“I’m not sure. I would imagine pretty bad. There won’t be any way we can legally stop him. He is sitting in the catbird seat now.”
“We are going to have to move quickly to avoid being snared in one of his mousetraps. If we cannot stay two steps ahead, we will end up falling three steps behind.”
“I know, but it is not going to be easy.”
“Nothing truly worth it ever is.”
Looking out at the ocean standing under a moonlight sky on the displaced and expanded shoreline of Santa Cruz, California, Michael and Jacob tried to figure out their next move with the unsettling news recently witnessed by the whole country complicating an already difficult situation. Jacob had just gotten back from doing his annual live television special for the New Constitution Day, confirming the disturbing development to Michael, who had some interesting news of his own to report. First, they needed to find a secluded location to avoid unwanted eavesdroppers listening for sensitive information to re
port back to their superiors. The relocated beach seemed like the ideal place to talk, which now came all the way up to Soquel Avenue, where the expedition site was setup to dig out the buried address of the author of the book Michael found, but not the address they came to find.
The real site was located in San Jose, thirty miles away from where they setup base camp in what was left of Santa Cruz, California. After arriving at the bogus location, Jacob realized getting to the real site would prove to be a tricky feat. Michael had to ditch his HOUSE escorts before attempting the hazardous journey with no easy, safe means of getting there. The earthquake ravaged mountain pass, once known as Route 17, was a very dangerous road to travel in its heyday, with its many sharp hairpin turns, rising, steep hills, and long winding curves. Shut down for over a month after the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, which measured 6.9 on the Richter scale, the hazardous highway was perpetually under constant construction and had always been a hard road to travel. In its present, obstacle strewed condition, the only way to transverse the old Audubon-type highway was by motorcycle or on horseback.
Ricardo immediately started throwing around the weight his new authority granted him in accordance with Special Executive Order 228-A. It allowed him to implement whatever changes he deemed necessary in the name of national security. He invoked martial law, enforced a ten o’clock curfew every evening, and started conducting Clean Sweep Search and Seizures of suspected FWF members’ homes and meeting places. He ran raids on alleged sex houses and prayer worship sanctuaries as he turned up the heat to stomp out any resistance to his new laws. As for the AFW, they just seemed to vanish as if they never existed once he assumed power.
There were still many different faiths that practiced their respective religious ceremonies in secret as one denomination. Comprised of many different belief systems, they still disputed who worshipped the one true god, but through intellectual debates rather than mindless acts of violence. The sex houses were an urban legend Ricardo exploited to his advantage. Nothing like he described to his underlings existed or ever known to have.
After securing a safe viewing place to watch their extraordinary discovery unencumbered by prying eyes and eavesdropping ears, Michael and Jacob sat there speechlessly held in a trance as they listened to The Author speak.
“Don’t waste precious time with blind faith in religious dogma. And follow your God Part to your fateful destiny instead. Do not question if yours is the one true faith. But ask, what is your fate? What is your purpose? Why are you here?”
The country’s number one celebrity and his top researcher spent years searching for clues about the man who wrote the monumentally important work of literature used to help rebuild a new, superior world from the ruins of the old. And now they were sitting there as the image of the cryptic author of The Book of Tomorrows appeared on the small video monitor of Jacob’s phone in a truly surreal downloaded moment of mindboggling reality.
“Don’t deceive yourself with spiritual beliefs thousands of years old. And find faith in knowing we all have a divine fate, a purpose for being, a God Part living inside each and every one of us. Born with an inherent knowledge of Good and Evil, we are equally capable of both. Originating in our genetic code, this divine gift is what separates us from the beasts that sleep and feed, instilling in us the belief that man was created in the image a higher power—a God to rule and watch over us. But it is really just evidence of our God Part ingrained in our DNA. God exists inside of us, and it is up to each individual to decide his or her own fate. Nothing in life is predestined, except its eventual end.”
As so often with the absent-minded professor forever looking for his glasses resting on top of his head, Michael also failed to notice the obvious. Conversely, Jacob appeared caught up watching a tennis match, diverting his attention back and forth with an astonished look of incredulity at the uncanny resemblance between the dusty, old, rustic-brown Stetson on Michael’s head and the one resting on The Author’s head in the video.
“Nah, it can’t possibly be the same one,” Jacob said.
“Huh, what’s that?” Michael muttered through his confused reply, not distracted enough to turn his attention away from the video.
“Never mind, it’s nothing.”
As Michael listened to his idol speak, he was too enthralled to notice the little things, like the hat The Author wore, or the way the video cast his face in a constant Colonel Kurtz shadow, accented by his long black leather coat.
“Always believing I was meant for something more, the first time I gave some serious thought to my reason for being, feeling wayward and lost, living a wasted life, I experienced an epiphany of purpose. I took great comfort in knowing I did not veer too far from the fateful path my God Part had inherently set me on, and I finally understood my place in this world. Why, I am here, what my fateful destiny was, my purpose for being. The answer was one I subconsciously always knew. I was born to tell a Good Story.”
At the end of The Author’s last sentence, Michael and Jacob turned away from the video in silent, shocked acknowledgement of the stunning philosophical similarities between their previously spoken words and the time-captured recorded words of wisdom they were presently viewing. In a moment of subconscious mental telepathy, the two young men sitting in the dark watching the never before seen, extremely rare footage of someone everyone knew of, but no one had ever even seen a picture of, had the same unspoken thought simultaneously running through their heads. ‘We really are all connected.’
Not wanting to stop the video to give commentary, they continued watching and saved their critiques for after the show. They knew there would be much more to talk about than their precious find. Ricardo was already on a tear back home, and if he got his hands on the video, it could end up making matters much worse.
“Only after leaving behind the trappings of conventional wisdoms found in traditional belief systems on how to live, I could finally clear my mind and learn to think for myself. I started asking questions about the origins of life, wondering how mankind evolved from the primordial slime that crawled out of the oceans around a billion years ago, and I found answers conflicting with the religious faith I was born and raised on. I began to see how these and many other spiritual beliefs were in direct contrast with the science of logic and reason.”
The mysterious Author paused for a contemplative breath.
“The real hypocrisy of truth is simply this. Most human history is a lie agreed upon, except it does not matter if it is all based on lies, no matter how fuzzy the math it took to get there. Because the one thing we love more than anything in life is A Good Story. And miraculous tales about a God or Gods are tailor-made from the stuff of good stories, especially with a species obsessed with ‘what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.’ I just prefer stories that make a little more sense and have some semblance logic, along with a plausible credibility of events, mixed in with a thrilling, edge-of-your-seat entertainment that hopefully enlightens the mind as well as entertains the body. I have often found the best stories are the ones containing some moral life lesson—showing how it is better to spend your time doing something that serves the whole as well as the self, instead of just trying to gain as much as you possibly can because someone once told you whoever dies with the most toys wins. That is just another lie. Because in the end, we are all the same, and you really can’t take it with you.”
With another contemplative pause, the veiled in shadows Author let out an ironic snorting sigh before giving his final words.
“I am an Italian-Irish ex-construction worker from New Jersey, born and raised under the Catholic religion. Spending most of my youth growing up in a small town in the Garden State, I had a resolutely insatiable thirst for knowledge at young age. I developed a love of the written word so strong it became the essence of my very being, and all that I am or ever want to be. Well over fifty, I now realize a rather sad reality that won’t affect me, since I will be long gone by then, b
ut it is my heartfelt belief that if we don’t start living smart, we are all going to die stupid. But, the one way to prevent the inevitable from happening is by simply remembering to never be ashamed of what you don’t know, only what you refuse to learn.”
Staring blank-faced at the monitor screen on Jacob’s phone, they were both at a loss for words as The Author’s image faded away. Leaving the video playing like a finished record still spinning on the turntable, Jacob felt paralyzed by the words he just heard, and along with Michael, had to take a minute or two to let their meaning sink into their blown minds. But much to their surprise, their viewing experience was not over yet.
“What the….” Jacob commented as another face appeared on the screen.
Michael instantly shared Jacob’s shocked reaction as the face appearing on the small screen belonged to another famous person from history, just not from the same time period, which was not even the truly odd thing. The person on screen was a well-recognized figure dating back to the very foundations of New America’s history. Known by many as the Good Doctor, Marc Quincy, M.D. would be the third acknowledged architect in the rebuilding of the country, if properly accredited in its history.
According to new history books, he was the personal physician of General Alexander Cain, who betrayed the general by starting the Free Will Forever rebellion after the mysterious death of the Prophet Warrior. He fled the country with an alleged original copy of the New Constitution. There were some who blamed the Good Doctor for not only the death of the Prophet Warrior, but also his nine-month pregnant wife, too. They accused him of manipulating her emotionally distraught and highly vulnerable state of mind. Some said he filled the grieving window’s head with conspiracy tales about plots to destroy everything her extremely wise husband helped to rebuild, which led to her irrational attempt to preserve his legacy in a desperate decision to sacrifice her own life after secretly giving birth to a son.
Thus began the legend of the Prophet Warrior’s heir, orphaned at birth, growing up never knowing his true birthright. But just the rumor of his existence, like many legendary heroes who defended the oppressed and downtrodden by fighting for truth and justice, was enough to strike fear in the hearts of those who would take part in the evil the men do, and women, too.
8
Eve flew in low over the Mojave Desert in the small twin engine Cessna with Hanna occupying the co-pilot’s seat. They were attempting to remain off the watchful eye of anyone’s radar, keeping out of sight and out of mind. Not wanting to attract attention to their solo flight, they couldn’t afford any slipups that would give their adversaries an opportunity to exploit.
In order to transport their precious cargo safely to where needed most, Eve took the scenic route in order to reach their destination mostly undetected. Coming in from down by Bakersfield, crossing Route 5 after successfully navigating her way over Death Valley, Eve turned north and headed up the coastline using the Sierra Nevada mountain range as a radar blocker. It was not long before she made a safe landing at an inconspicuous, little airport in the border town of Tracy, California, just one-hundred-thirty miles from the Sierra National Forest and Yosemite National Park, where they were supposedly going on a double honeymoon vacation.
With Eve on maternity leave, Hanna arranged for some vacation time for herself so they could fly out to meet up with Michael and Jacob for the honeymoon neither couple ever had. At least that was the reason she put down on the request form. Her job at the Department of Allocations helped serve more than one purpose by working there. Always good with numbers, it was not the career she would have chosen if she never joined the FWF, and while her work no longer had any official link to the rebel group’s original purpose for her employment, it did proved to be a very fortuitous decision away.
Hanna’s job working at the DOA was not just to provide a good cover to be a better match to Michael. As part of her covert duties, she would have been providing FWF members with approved Allocards, permitting them move freely around the country. She would have done this without the direct knowledge of those receiving her help. Nor would those getting it have any idea of where their good fortune came from or who provided it.
Manipulating the process wasn’t too hard if you knew the ins and outs of the system. It was something else the FWF trained her for in preparation for her match to Michael. The rebel group infiltrated the SBP system almost from the moment of its inception, knowing it would be the only real way they could fight back. If they did not have people planted in certain departments of government, the rebel cause probably would have died off a long time ago. It was how they survived.
Just before leaving for Old California, Jacob and Hanna had the small, quiet wedding service Michael and Eve originally planned. Hanna didn’t mind and actually preferred it, not wanting to feel the pressure Eve had weighing down on her. While her concerns were not the same as Eve’s at the time, she did find herself suffering from a dreadful fear of being unable to have children, which she could not understand why. She passed every FPC test, and according to their findings, she and Jacob were fertile and very much capable of conceiving a child. It did not make sense that the FWF, SBP, FPC, and the GAC were all wrong about her.
Long before confessing to Jacob, they talked about having children, and much to her wonderful delight, he wanted two children, too. A boy and a girl, the equally shared gender preference she did. If only fate would be kind enough to shine the beautiful light of life down on them, she felt they would really have a future worth fighting for, along with a strong motivating force to see it accomplished.
Although under their present, uncertain circumstances, Hanna could not be sure if she wasn’t better off not being pregnant. She could only imagine the pressure Eve felt. The stress could not be good for the health of the mother or child, and now she had to fly around the country in her condition. What would happen if they failed? Or worse yet, were found out and caught.
After witnessing Atera’s public breakdown firsthand, Hanna knew things would go from bad to worse. Most people in the country were well aware of the great stress Atera was under, but her nonsensical ramblings on stage gave no indication as to how relevant her words were to the Guardian Administrator’s condition. Hanna never fathomed how deeply guilt could work on someone’s conscience, making the enemy within much more dangerous than the one without.
9
“Australia! You will never get approval to allocate the resources for an expedition all the way down under, Jacob. Even if the GAC was well again and back in office, you still could not get it approved.” Hanna questioned their impossible, new mission objective (should they decide to accept it) after watching the complete video Michael found.
“She is right, you know. It would be a fool’s errand, with little chance of success. You don’t even know what you would find if and when you got there. It has been such a longtime since anybody has had contact with anyone who might still be living there.” Eve agreed with Hanna’s assessment of the proposed trip into newly uncharted territory. “Even if you managed to safely get there, found what you were looking for, and were able to leave the same way, they will never let you back in this country.”
“No one said it was going to be easy, but it has to be done.” Michael avowed with a firm declaration, almost suggesting he would swim there and back again, if the only way.
“Michael’s right.” Jacob confirmed the need to go. “We cannot present Michael’s latest discovery without causing more harm than good. People only want to hear news when it is good, something that affects their lives in a positive way. Most other times, they rather remain ignorant of terrible truths.”
“The last thing people want to know is the truth about their heroes. They allow us to believe in miracles. It is what gives people hope and confidence there is someone out there to watch over them in times of need. So when legend becomes more famous than fact, we tend to print the legend.” Michael offered a poignant, cinematic philosophy on the subject of hero wors
hip.
Michael, Eve, Hanna, and Jacob discussed the tricky situation while getting ready to leave the Tracy airport motel and head out on their honeymoon vacation weekend. They were going sightseeing at Yosemite National Park to take in the natural beauty tourists have been appreciating for years. Strangely enough, this region of environmental wilderness was one of the areas in California generally unaffected by the many hard years.
“I do not think people will take much comfort in knowing the wisdom found in The Book of Tomorrows was not only the root source used to rebuild the new world, but may have also inadvertently prompted the destruction of the old one.” Jacob diplomatically pointed out after sitting in silence for most of the ride up to Yosemite with GP Sally doing the driving.
“It does not change the words he wrote. It doesn’t make anything he said less true. So what if he wasn’t a Rhodes Scholar. He still knew people needed to feel they served some higher purpose other than themselves in order to give their lives meaning or else risk losing yourself to the dark side of your mind.” Michael defended the man everyone highly respected because of his words. Until now known only as The Author.
Driving through the Wawona Tunnel burrowing over four thousand feet through a granite mountain, the two-lane State Highway led right into the Yosemite Valley, and the most visited section of the National Park. The valley opened up revealing the path to some of the park’s most popular tourist attractions, such as the U-shaped Bridalveil Fall perched in the hanging valley; the groves of Giant Sequoia; El Capitan, a three thousand foot vertical rock cliff located on the north side of the valley; along with many other rock formation, waterfalls, glaciers, and granite domes. Remarkably well preserved from the years of decay and earthquake damage the rest of the state suffered.
Many famous cities along the coast were reduced to rubble from earthquakes and flood damage, especially the red herring expedition site of Santa Cruz, which experienced extreme beach front flooding to the point where the boardwalk and wharf were submerged under twenty feet of water. Only the top of the once famous Ferris-Wheel stuck out of the water flowing up to where Broadway and Laurel Street met the San Lorenzo River, which was now part of the Pacific Ocean.
Fortunately, Yosemite remained the perfect place for young couples to go on honeymoon vacations as their trip served a distinctly different purpose.
“This is why now more than ever we need to find the original copy of the New Constitution.” Jacob insisted on their recently expedited need to solve a mystery over one hundred years old.
“Because a deranged madman may have been inspired to dispatch a great pestilence upon the land after misinterpreting The Author’s poignant words, we need to explicitly demonstrate how it does not matter. We need to show how you cannot blame the source material for the terrible acts of others. Crazy people will always find a way to do crazy things. If not the book, then it would have been something else inspiring him. Madness in great ones must not unwatched go,” Michael explained his philosophy, adding the clarifying quote.
“The only way to prove the negative is to clearly show how something meant for the purpose of creating tremendous good can also be the catalyst in motivating someone else to committing great evil. Just as we know how someone born from terrible tragedy can still give birth to a greater good.” Jacob made the logical conclusion.
“But you have no way of knowing if the Good Doctor ever made it to Australia with the original New Constitution in the Prophet Warrior’s handwriting.” Hanna stated facts and obstacles in their way.
“Australia was the only nation at the time with any semblance of government or civilization to speak of, so the chances are if he safely made it anywhere, it would have been down under. He was born there after all, and a native son might be allowed back.” Eve suggested the possibility of a favorable journey’s end.
“Things are not getting any better back home since Ricardo took power.” Hanna informed them of woeful news from the home front. “He is on a crusade to eradicate the FWF and anyone who resists the new laws he has been enforcing. He is conducting raids and making arrests of suspected FWF members without any proof, evidence or due process, enacting laws still on the books from when New America was first resettled, back when some people reluctant to change fought back.”
“He has also appointed a sadistic junkyard dog to enforce his new laws,” Hanna also mentioned a looming new adversary before inquiring if GP Sally had knowledge of the man in question. “His name is Lorenzo Lacy. Are you familiar with the name, Harvey? Do you know him?”
Sitting up front in the passenger seat, Jacob took note of the muffled sigh Harvey tried to conceal at the mention of their perceived new enemy.
“What is it, Harvey?” Jacob asked, noting his Guardian Protector’s reluctance to respond.
“He is the worst of the worst.” GP Sally plainly stated his opinion of the man no one else knew anything about.
10
Held high in the air, the water poured freely from the large glass pitcher, flowing out at a slow and steady pace, splashing down on its intended target. It came out with a precision accuracy as the steady stream brought about the desired effect. When empty, the water bearer briefly paused to retrieve another full pitcher.
The sound of a male voice choking and gasping for breath emanated from under the drenched cloth towel placed over the unseen man’s face. He was strapped down on his back to a table with its end legs propped up a foot off the floor by two small jacks set under the table legs and braced up against the crossbar. With his head jutting over the end of the pitched down table, the unknown man laid helplessly at the mercy of his silent tormentor.
The man pouring the water was not asking any questions. He was not conducting an interrogation. Instead, he just continued with his appointed duty, occasionally pausing to look over at a large, one-way mirrored window in the damp, poorly lit interrogation room before picking up a fresh pitcher from off another table with several more pitchers on it, some empty, some full. Receiving no signal for him to stop, the large, heavyset, taciturn man moved with the methodical, slow pace of a zombie Frankenstein monster, a physical trait he shared with the literary icon, also matching the characteristics of his savage personality.
He was a disgraced, sociopathic ex-member of HOUSE, busted all the way down from Gunnery Sergeant Major to buck private. His extreme training methods and the severe mental cruelty he employed on his recruits was a major contributing factor in the death of one recruit from heat exhaustion and the hospitalization of several others for similar physical injuries. GP Sally busted Lorenzo after getting wind of his antiquated, barbaric methods, eventually having him thrown out of the DOS entirely. Afterwards, Lorenzo instigated several fights with just about anyone who got in his way. One of those people was Harvey, who Lorenzo had the utmost respect for, but choose the losing battle anyway, after which he harbored only resentment toward Harvey.
A red light mounted over the large, one-way mirrored window started to flash out its glowing amber warning, telling him to cease action just a second before the water would have begun flowing out of the pitcher held two feet over the unseen man’s cloth covered face. Almost reluctant to stop, the big junkyard dog of a man would never have halted until the pitcher was empty once he started pouring, even if only one drop fell. Lorenzo Lacy was not the kind of a man who stopped a job once it began.
On the other side of the one-way mirrored glass with a full view of what was taking place in the other room, Jackie’s crying pleas for Ricardo to make it stop fell on unsympathetic ears that were only willing to give after receiving.
“Please, no more, Ricardo. You are going to kill him. He cannot take this. He has asthma. Why are you doing this to him? He has done nothing wrong.”
“You are the one who has done nothing, given me nothing, and yet still ask for everything. Or have you forgotten begging me, promising me, you would do anything I asked if I let you remain free after proving you were a rebel spy.” Ricardo threatened
further retribution if she refused to be more forthcoming with some actionable information.
“But I have told you everything I know.” Jackie continued pleading her case with her eyes fixed on the window. “Please, let Bill go.”
The unseen man with the cloth towel still covering his face was Jackie’s SBP mate, Bill Betty, who she did not have any feelings for when first matched with him, but now realized how much she really cared for him. To keep her attention focused on their conversation, Ricardo closed the window blind, blocking out her view of the other room.
“I honestly believe you are mistaken about him. He seems to be exactly who he appears to be. There is no big conspiracy going on here. His friend has been the one getting most of the attention lately.”
“I know his SBP match was prearranged for him by someone outside the system. He was given special treatment, and I can think of only one reason why.” Ricardo insisted on the merits of his suspicions driving him to near obsession.
“You know that is not true. I am proof of that. Your powerful friend managed to set it up, so I am sure it cannot be too hard to imagine someone loved by the people and considered deserving of special treatment might have some strings pulled by his powerful friend, who happens to be a big fan and beyond reproach.” Jackie suggested a convincing alternative theory.
“I am well aware of what influential friends Jacob has and how much the people favor him. He is their poster boy, a staunch advocate for the New American way, which would also be a great cover for a spy or something more. It would explain an awful lot.” Ricardo dismissed Jackie’s viable explanation, adding. “If he is so special how come Hanna is not pregnant yet?”
“Neither am I. It is not from lack of trying. Believe me, if they are anything like us.” Jackie offered the brief intimate observation, quickly feeling embarrassed by it, before coming back to reality.
“So you have grown to care for him. I thought you said you weren’t interested in that sort of thing. It might make me trust you more, if I could believe you.” Ricardo acknowledged her feelings and the possibility of her theory.
“People can change. Maybe Jacob is doing what Michael and Eve did and decided to wait until after they got married.”
“What are you talking about? That can’t be right, not unless. But why would she lie?” Ricardo’s response seemed disjointed and out of touch.
“I don’t understand.” Jackie stated her confusion. “Who lied?”
“Never mind about that, I have a new task for you.”
“Will you let Bill go home now?”
“No, not just yet. You need to prove to me that you are still useful. Eve and Hanna went to go meet up with Jacob and Michael for a honeymoon getaway. So nobody will be home when you go over there and search both houses tonight. Find me something I can use, and no one has to ever know about Bill’s arrest. There are no reports filed or logged, nor does anyone outside this room know about his arrest. You find me something, and it can be as if none of this ever happened. After all, you don’t want to sully the man’s reputation.”
“I’ll do it on one condition.”
“A condition, she is making demands now. Okay, let’s hear it then.”
“Promise me you will leave Bill out of this, no more torture, no more cruelty. He is a kind, sweet, and gentle man and does not deserve any of this.”
“I give you my word. No one will touch him again. But you better not fail me, little darling, or you will take his place next time.”
Ricardo waited a few seconds until after Jackie left the outer viewing room before pulling up the blind. What he saw on the other side sent him into immediate action.
“What the…” Ricardo expressed his shocked response as he rushed into the room.
Standing over Bill Betty attempting to administer CPR in a futile effort to revive the expire man, Lorenzo Lacy gazed up at Ricardo with a hopeless, defeated expression.
“Lorenzo, what did you do? I told you to take it easy on this one.”
“Gee, I’m sorry about this, Mr. Danielle. But there is no way to take it easy when waterboarding someone.” Lorenzo was completely loyal to Ricardo for rescuing him from the bowels of obscurity, wasting away his considerable talents working a grave shift as a night watchman on a site where nothing ever happened.
“Damn, you left me with one big mess to clean up.” Ricardo said ignoring Lorenzo’s logical excuse about not knowing a gentle way to torture someone. “Take him back to his cell, and make it look like he hanged himself.”