Feature Presentations – Page 6

TASER | Episode 2: The Trap

WRITER’S NOTE: Hi there! Emmanuel here! The nature of the plot of this story requires that you have read the previous episode. So, if you have not, please read the previous episode first. Just my advice. Here’s the link:

Episode 1: The Cop

‘Reports within the county corroborate the existence of the anonymous vigilante known to law enforcement forces only as the ‘Taser’.

The vigilante has been known to go after criminals over the last decade. His ostensibly well-intentioned reason for not working along with the police or the Justice Department is reminiscent of the antiheroic comic book vigilantes of popular culture. The moniker attributed to this vigilante, analogizing him with the trademark stun gun used by the police, is based on rumors claiming that he terminates his victims by electrocution. While this method of crime-fighting is inhumane and outside the boundaries of the law, the Taser has thus been branded persona non grata with the public, and is declared wanted by the police.

No one knows when or where, or even why he might strike next…’

From the Towne Times

8:14PM

Quigley Diner in Towne.

Gigi’s surprise for his birthday was a breath of fresh air to Jerry’s otherwise gloomy weekend. He had not been expecting it, but in her characteristic manner she had set the stage, breaking the ice.

Strangely, dinner with his sister did not feel as awkward as he had expected. She did not beat him up, perhaps because she knew it was not what he needed at the moment. She just seemed glad to meet up with him again. When she mentioned his avoidance of her calls, and he had apologized, that had been the end of it.

It was then that Jerry realized how much he had missed his sister. No one else understood him as much as she did. She knew just the right questions to ask to make him speak. For any other person, that would be hard work because Jerry tended to prefer sarcasm to actually expressing his feelings.

He felt free to be himself here, not trying to impress her with stellar stories about his career as a cop. She asked about his wife, and Marty, and about life since then. It had brought a solemn mood to an otherwise happy reunion. It was not that it made him feel better, no. It was just that he had never known that he really needed someone to listen. Or that he really had a lot of stuff to say worth listening to, bottled up inside.

“So the whole ‘mean, big guy’ façade is your shield?” Gigi asked.

Jerry shrugged. “One could say that.”

“So … what do you think you’re protecting?”

He thought about that for a moment. “My sanity?” It was meant as a statement, but he was also asking himself. He shook his head as he chuckled. “I’m sorry, that makes me sound like a case.” He had not planned to say so much.

“No, no, Jerry. It’s alright. I’ll understand.”

“Really, the world is not as perfect as you’d want it to be. Sometimes you have to be tough to get some respect. You earn it. Pull your weight.”

“I see.” She sipped her juice. “But then, you know the other ‘tough’ guys are also trying to protect something.”

An image of the talkative Eddie actually taking a moment to think about something serious crossed his mind. He chuckled. “Nah…”

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. Everyone’s real on the inside. The stuff we see on the outside are just loads of layers to hide what’s going on inside. That’s the real person that feels love, joy … that’s got fears, that worries … the real you. When we expose that person, we feel vulnerable. We only do that to people we trust.”

She leaned toward him and whispered. “Everyone is struggling with something, Jerry. There’s stuff that bugs them, that makes them realize that they’re not so tough on the inside.”

Jerry thought of his addiction to drugs and alcohol. He always told himself it was just a low he sunk into when depressed, a secret burden he could deal with. He had chosen alcohol to keep him distracted from the cravings he felt for the dope anytime he was depressed. He took all that to keep him from dwelling on his regrets, from thinking of Marty and of his failure as a father. But in the end … it was all still there. He tried not to bat an eye as he stared back into his sister’s piercing eyes.

He shook his head. “Listen, Gigi, I’m a cop. It’s a crazy world out there. You have no idea the kinds of people I meet. Nutcases without a—“

“Actually, bro, I meet a very wide variety of people every day. I think I have a good idea the kinds of people you meet.”

“I’m sorry, I keep forgetting. You’re a prison therapist, right?”

Gigi cocked her head. “Something like that. I engage in … restorative techniques for the prisoners.”

Jerry remembered when Gigi used to bail him out whenever he was bullied. She had always had a way of commanding respect, even from the older bullies. It did not take a stretch to imagine her talking to huge, heavily-tattooed criminals and listening to them baring their minds during her therapeutic exercises. “Still, I doubt you’ve experienced what I have. It’s different on the frontlines. When you’re out after real dangerous criminals, all illusions of ideals are gone.”

Jerry was thinking about Kraven Moore. He believed that if he could legally prove him guilty, he could effectively make a difference. Get the Dope out of circulation. Deal with the problem. Redeem himself. He was out trying to do something. Yet everyone else on the force was certain he was getting into dangerous waters with this case.

“I may not know about the people you deal with,” Gigi said. “But I do know enough to be concerned.”

Jerry stared up at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“I mean it, bro. There’s more at work out there than meets even the keen investigative eye.”

He squinted. “You’re not talking about angels and demons and stuff, are ya?”

She paused to think about it. “There’s that too. But I’m talking about something much deeper.” She thought for a moment, making Jerry wonder what was on her mind. “Light and Darkness have always been at war.”

For some reason, Jerry’s mind went to the weird nightmares that had been plaguing him. The gloom and deadness he felt in his dreams never left him even after he awoke. Darkness. He avoided her gaze and shook his head.

“There’s a whole network of evil and darkness out there, Jerry. It’s what operates in the hearts of men. The Darkness. You can’t fight it on your own. Only the Light can.”

“Gigi, please, you know I respect you and all. But please, don’t bring God into this. I’ve tried it, been there, done that, yeah I even know the lingo. We grew up in the church, remember? But I’ve moved on since then.” He shook his head. “It didn’t work for me.”

“Jerry, this is not about going to some building or obeying some rules. It’s more than someone giving you a clean slate. It’s about God, the Writer and Maker of your life, giving you a totally new and different one.”

Images kept running through his mind. Thoughts he preferred to keep away. “Yeah, so I can totally mess it up again?”

Gigi stared at him, pursing her lips. Just when Jerry thought it would all end up in a stale staring contest, she said, “He’ll help you be what’s right. That’s the only way you can do what’s right.”

Jerry exhaled. “Well, He should just keep this wonderful plan coming.”

She placed her hands on his own, staring into his eyes. “I need you to listen to me here, Jerry. Are you listening?”

His gaze lifted from her hands to her face. “Sure.”

“Are you? Are you really listening?”

“Yeah, sure I am.” He was going to raise his voice, but it felt inappropriate.

She nodded, but she looked really serious. “Remember how in the movies, when a character’s dying, they usually call out ‘Whatever you do, don’t look into the light’.” He smiled at the reference. “You will see the Light one day, Jerry. Whatever you do, you must look into the it. Sure, it’ll draw you in. And probably end your life. But that’s the only way you’ll ever truly live.”

Jerry slightly arched a brow. While that did not make much sense to him, Gigi had seemed extremely serious there. She was definitely not kidding.

“I’m not dying anytime soon, Gee,” he said slowly. “I’ll be fine.”

Gigi rubbed an eye. “I’m really glad we met today, Jerry. I’ve missed this.”

Jerry was stumped. How could he express his own gratitude? She had just celebrated his birthday for him. Could she know the great import of what she had done? “No thank you. I truly am grateful. I mean, I honestly was not expecting to come here today … mostly because, well, it’s been a long time since we met an’ all. I was expecting this to be awkward but you just … blew me away with this … birthday thing. I mean, even after I … after I didn’t take your calls and or answer your text messages and stuff. It’s been much more … it’s been much better than I expected it to be and …” He caught himself and shrugged. “Thanks.” She looked amused.

Man, he had missed this. What had he been afraid of for so long? There was no use trying to impress or be good in front of Gigi. She knew him all too well. It was as if this moment would not end.

And that’s when the report came in.

His radio was chirping so he placed it on the table. Some officers were reporting suspicious sightings The dispatcher came on air, “… A possible attack is imminent. I repeat, the Taser might strike tonight.”

The chills of his normal regular life came crashing back with those words.

Jerry gasped. Uh-oh. Not the elusive vigilante…the Taser?!

He had heard numerous tales and reports about the Taser. The self-appointed purveyor of justice on lawbreakers had just left his calling card again. The graffiti. There had been reports of his activity in the surrounding area, but there had been no casualties in Towne so far.

More reports corroborating the announcement came over the radio. This was going to be one long night. On nights like these, there was intense activity in Town. All patrols would be focused on the rooting out of this self-acclaimed vigilante, who was considered nothing but a criminal.

When he stared up at Gigi, she was smiling. “I’m sorry, sis. I … I really wanna stay—”

“It’s OK—“

“I’ve had a really wonderful evening, I’ll admit…”

“I know…” The radio still chirped with more reports.

“But I’ve got to get back to work. There’s—“

“I understand, bro. Go.”

“I mean, thank you for—“

“Jeremiah Tyler Jenson! Go! Get back to work. Shoo.”

He stood and they embraced. “You’ll be alright, bro.” she said.

He certainly hoped so as he left.

8:45PM

As he drove past, Jerry noticed that the Uptown Pub had been lit up with spotlights and cordoned off. A crowd had been evacuated from the building and was now standing outside the area taped off. Some officers were taking pictures of the writing on the wall. That had been the Taser’s signature ID ever since he started his professed rain on crime. It was said that he had assaulted many criminals, but the rumors said he electrocuted his victims, earning his popular nickname as a not-very-accurate description of his methods. He operated outside the law, and was therefore a target thereof.

The dispatcher came over the radio. “Dispatch for Jenson?”

“Over,” he replied.

“You’re needed at the precinct. Chief’s office.”

Uh-oh. “Already on my way.”

Clint had warned about this. Funny how a great night could just be ruined by a meeting with the Chief. Gonna meet the principal…

Not surprisingly, the streets were more active this night with more police activity. Every street had the occasional flashing red and blue lights and wailing sirens.

The elderly police chief, Lenny Baynes, was speaking with a press crew in the parking lot when Jerry arrived. “The buildings have been evacuated, and citizens have been cordoned off from the perimeter.”

“Thank you sir,” the lady from TNN said. “But we have questions about the Taser himself.”

“Ah, well our investigations on this case have been as in-depth as possible, within available resources, ma’am.”

“Is it true that no one has seen the Taser’s face?”

“That is correct.”

“Not even sketch artist impressions?”

Baynes scratched the back of his neck. “The Taser is a very intelligent mastermind. He knows how to operate under the radar. No one, and absolutely no one, has come forward with an image or a description of an image that we can work with.”

“Not even the victims?” Baynes cocked his head. “Oh, I’m sorry, the victims aren’t … uh, alive. So, for all we know, we could pass the Taser every day and not know it?”

“For all I know, ma’am, even you might be the Taser.” That earned a chuckle. “But all security is on high alert tonight, and we can assure the wonderful citizens that they can be at peace. There has been no recorded death at the hands of the Taser in this town, thank God, but we are ready for the worst scenario.”

“What would constitute a worse scenario, Chief?”

Bayness chuckled. “Let’s hope we don’t see one.” He tipped his hat. “I would love to talk some more, ma’am. But duty calls. Just stay indoors tonight. Things could get really dangerous. Your faithful men in black and blue will cover the streets for ya.” And with that he walked away, waving off any further questions.

He motioned Jerry over. “Walk with me.” The latter prepared for the worst. He was not one to back down from a challenge. Baynes was a levelheaded man that could take a good explanation. But he did not say a word to him until they got to his office. On the way they passed a couple of staff in the reception and dispatch units, doing afterhours duty because of the imminent threat.

Soon, Chief slammed his door and motioned Jerry to take a seat. “Please.” He then sat in his high back chair. He placed a folder on the table and stared up at Jerry. He knew full well what that folder contained – all Jerry and Clint had gathered on Kraven and his criminal network— but then he had not been expecting less, had he? But was this really the best time for Chief to bring this up?

“What’re you doing, Jenson?” Baynes asked. He seemed really concerned, not angry.

Jerry stared at the folder, thrown off by this line of question. Sarcasm was always the easiest way out. “I’m currently sitting before you, sir.”

Chief did not bite. “Don’t push it. You’ve documented quite an extensive report of your crackdown on the drug dealers. You’re after something, Jenson. And you’re fueling it with all the energy you’ve got.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, it’s not a compliment. You’re on a rabbit trail, Jenson. And I don’t know if you’re gonna get out of this without acquiring some dirt. Or worse.”

Jenson leaned close to him. “Sir, I think we can get Kraven Moore. He’s the criminal mastermind in the under—“

“Do you know this for certain?”

“But I can prove it, legally. With documented evidence and witnesses.”

Baynes tapped the folder. “Your ragtag group of detainees?”

Jerry nodded. “Sir, Moore has a hold on our youth. He’s poisoning the lives and futures of young men and women, enslaving them through drug dependence. They’ll do whatever he tells them to. That’s why he’s so powerful, and the criminal element would still go on unchecked. If we keep ignoring this, sir, the risk is much too high. Lives are at stake.”

The chief stared hard at him and lowered his voice. “Is this because of your daughter, Jenson?” Jerry was stuck for a moment. He could not lose this case over emotional attachment, and Baynes was definitely playing that card. He simply shook his head slightly. “You do know that policy officially does not support your involvement in this investigation,” Baynes said.

“My daughter was not officially linked to Moore. This case has got nothing to do with her. “

“You would have a motive for retribution,” the chief said. “Revenge. Clouded judgment. But this is the police department, Jenson. We administer justice according to the law. I cannot allow you to go on with this, I’m sorry.”

Jerry sat back, considering a slightly different tack. “Sir, if it was your daughter, wouldn’t you do what I’m doing?” There, he had accidentally leaked his emotional attachment to the case. But was it not helping?

The chief leaned forward. “I’m gonna forgive you for that line, officer. Unlike you, I’m a good father. And my daughters have never been, nor will they ever be, junkies.” Jerry just stared at him, trying to contain the anger welling up within. “Jenson, I only want to help you here. We have no idea just how far Kraven’s influence goes. There are many on his payroll in Towne, people of great influence. Even if we got him to court … we could be goners before he even got to the stand. Or worse. Besides, Towne’s doing just fine as it is. We don’t need to ruin that balance because we wanna be heroes.”

Jerry was still reeling over the chief’s jab at his daughter. “I’m not afraid to die. That’s why we’re the police.”

“Oh, COME ON! We’ve got bigger problems to deal with than the drug issue. The Taser’s out there, and here we are arguing about going after some untouchable drug dealer?” He inhaled and paused. “Let’s not get over-excited. You’ve done an excellent job gathering data on Mr. Moore. This would surely help us in our investigation. You have earned it. As of this moment, you’ve been reassigned to be our representative on the county’s task force investigaing the Taser problem. Anything, just … stay away from Kraven Moore!” They stared at each other. “It’s a dead-end.”

Isn’t Chief overreacting to this? Something kept prodding Jerry’s mind, but he ignored it. Perhaps he was reckless, living on autopilot. Perhaps he really did not care if he died anymore, even if it was at the hands of people like Kraven or of those in their networks of influence. “I’m come too far, Chief.”

After a stale pause, Baynes stared at his desk and exhaled. “No use negotiating…”

That thought kept running through Jerry’s mind. This was not going to end well.

Baynes looked up at him. “You’re fired.”

And then it hit him like a freight train. It felt like all the air in the room was sucked out.

But he couldn’t really be fired. His voice came out choked. “I’m sorry?”

“This folder will never see the light of day. Every last one of your supposed ‘witnesses’ has been cleared and released—“

“What?!” Your life is over, Jerry. He’s with Kraven.

“You’ll get your payment for the month, but then that’s it. You’ll have to leave the force.”

Jerry Jenson’s world was crashing all around him in one fell swoop. Baynes had been working for Kraven all along! Could it be a dream he would wake up from? He was not even strong enough to bite his lip to confirm.

“You’re letting me go?” he whispered.

Baynes stood and walked over to a window. “Oh, and we don’t expect you to cause any trouble, Jenson. You’ve already got many strikes against you, as it is.”

“Sir?”

“Let’s just say there’s more than one way to fly, isn’t there, Jeremiah Jenson?” He stared hard at him, his face expressionless.

The Dope. He still had enough stashed in his room, for the lows. He knows … dear God, he knows!

Jerry wished the ground could just open up and swallow him in that moment.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Jenson. Good luck with the rest of your life. Oh, and don’t bother clearing your office. Keep the uniform. Let it be a, uh … a souvenir. A goodbye gift from the Towne Police Department.”

It’s Kraven.

Jerry pushed himself to his feet, on wobbly legs as it was. It felt hard to breathe, or to even say anything intelligible.

Kraven killed your daughter. Kraven took your job. Kraven ruined your life… Is ruining your life…

He walked over to the door and placed his hand on the handle. Baynes just watched him, unsmiling.

It’s been Kraven from the very beginning. The bane of your existence. The scourge. The evil.

“Dear God, my life is over…”

And he walked out the door, lacking even the strength to slam it in anger. He felt like a terrible failure. He really should have seen this coming.

Marty…the Dope…Kraven…Marty…my job…my life…Kraven…Marty….failure…I’m a…I’m…

I will get you, Kraven Moore.

He grabbed his phone, the only thing within his reach, and slammed it against a wall.

The only thing he could think of was the moment he saw Marty’s body in the gutter, eyes staring into the distance. Gone. Dead. That had been the moment his life was turned on its face, the moment he realized that nothing would ever be the same again. The moment he realized that he had failed as a father. It had taken much to bring him up to this point. But now, he had been slammed against rock bottom. And now, he did not know if he could rise any more.

He sank to the floor and cried.

TO BE CONTINUED … in THE ULTIMATUM

Tune in for the continuing drama of TASER, coming up shortly.

If you’re new to this site, you might as well check on some of the other amazing stories here, filled with humor and unforgettable lessons. They include Bill’s Car, Unchurch, The Elevator, and many more articles. You might also want to check up on the first feature presentation on this site, The Love Revolution Trilogy. You’re gonna love ‘em.

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God bless ya!

TASER | Episode 1: The Cop

It’s a dark room. So dark. And silent. Ceiling lights flicker overhead. And that’s when he sees them.

Bodies. Lying side by side along a wall. Lifeless.

Dead.

Not a single one moves. Propped against the wall, their heads sagging, their eyes shut.

Dead.

And then he sees a familiar face. Dried skin. Unmoving. The resemblance was striking … is striking … It was … it is …

It is him.

Dead.

Jerry sat bolt upright in his bed, panting. The clock glowed red in the darkness of his room. 02:39AM. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled. It was just a dream.

He shut his eyes and sank back into his bed. Not that silly dream again, not now. Please, not now.

It was roughly another thirty minutes before he finally settled in to anything close to a nice sleep.

6:03PM

Russell Road in Towne

Evenings on the Russell thoroughfare were usually calm despite the bustle of shop owners closing for the day. It was not unusual for one or two persons to be running across the road at that time, since most children still played around. But a police chase was out of the ordinary. A young man in jeans and a hoodie ran across the road with a burly policeman hot on his tail, drawing beeps from vehicles that stopped abruptly on both lanes.

The policeman keyed his radio. “Jenson, you got my back?”

The radio squawked. “What’s your ten-twenty?”

“We’re uh…” he paused to take a breath. “He’s heading up the Ramp.” His sides ached. He knew he should’ve taken those morning jogs more seriously.

“That’ll put you guys on Carlyle. He’s headed for the old ghetto. I’ll cut him off.”

“I still think we need more back-up!”

“No! We’ve got this, Clint! Don’t lose him.”

You’re one to talk, he mused. Ahead, the teenager slipped into an alley behind a building, setting a couple of other kids running off. If Clint knew that place well enough, it was surely a dead-end. He halted for a moment, but the kid did not come out. He either thought he’d found a good hiding spot, or was planning to spring him. I’m getting too old for this. Clint placed a hand over his gun.

“Alright! Show’s over, kid!” Clint called out as he approached. Suddenly overcome by a foul odour, he covered his nose and mouth. The alley was strewn with newsprint, mostly littered around the dumpster along the wall on the right. Cigarette smoke still hung in the air. His shadow extended before him into the alley, urged on by the rays of the setting sun. It was all quiet. Too quiet.

Clint sauntered in, wary of the shadows. “Okay,” he muttered in a nasal voice, his hand still covering his nose and mouth. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” The fire escapes ran up high to the roofs of the adjoining buildings. He could have climbed up there. But he’d have to have been extremely fast to…

Something scurried behind him. In a flash, Clint turned with his gun raised before a fist hit him flush in the face. He landed with a grunt on the ground, his gun sliding away. A cold blade pressed gently on his neck. “Don’t move!” the kid rasped.

Now crouched and on his knees, Clint’s pulse thumped in his ears. “It’s OK! Don’t do anything hasty!” It was all rushing from his mouth. Where are ya, Jenson? He tried to reach for his radio, but the move would have been too obvious. His best play was to be calm.

“Don’t make me kill ya!” the kid said with a slight whimper in his voice.

Clint’s experience in the force was enough to tell him that the kid was visibly scared. He had not killed anyone before, and he clearly wasn’t about to start now. Still, riling him up would be dangerous, tense as he already was. “That was a mean swing. But it’s OK, we don’t have to—“

“No! It’s NOT OK!” That blade was pressing a little bit too hard now. “I’m not a criminal. I-it was an accident!”

C’mon, Jenson… “Hey,” Clint tried to be calm, but kneeling and crouching on the hard ground was becoming more uncomfortable. And that horrible smell from the dumpster … ugh. “It’s up to the courts to decide now, kid. But what we saw you doing was illegal.”

“I was just selling the stuff. It’s…you’ve got nothing on me, man—“

“Newsflash, son: Dope is illegal! Selling it is a crime. And so is evading arrest.”

“I don’t even do the drugs, man. This is the only way I get any dough.”

This kid wouldn’t stab a stop sign! He was concentrating more on talking than on threatening Clint. This was to Clint’s advantage. “And this is what, your way of pulling your weight, proving you’re a man now? What do you think your parents feel about you hanging with that crowd? Or paying your bail?”

A pause. “They’re dead. I got no one.”

Clint was stuck there. Well, you’re not the first one. “I’m sorry, kid. Really. But … how’d you end up with these guys? You’re not like all the others. You seem like a smart kid.”

“This was supposed to be my last run. I wasn’t gonna do this no more. Now that he’s let me go.” He suddenly gasped. “I know why you guys are after me. He sent you, didn’t he? The Big Guy?”

Clint was going to say something but he was suddenly interrupted by a buzz followed by a gut-wrenching scream. The blade dropped to the ground and the kid fell to the pavement, yelping. Clint scampered toward his gun and turned. There behind the screaming kid stood Jerry Jenson, all six-feet and over 250 pounds of him.

“Now he shows up!” Clint said.

“It burns!” the kid wailed, grabbing for his back. “It HURTS, maaan!”

Jenson replaced the stun gun in its holster as he stooped. “Kid, by order of the Towne Police Department, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—“ the kid was still screaming “—and anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Seriously?!” Clint squinted at him.

“You also have the right to legal counsel during questioning, but in the event that you are unable to afford one, an attorney will be provided for you by the—“

“So that’s it?” Clint asked, getting to his feet. “You show up late, and now you’re just gonna ignore me now?” The kid was still writhing in pain. Some citizens peered through the windows overhead. “And what did you do to this kid?!”

Jenson was busy placing the kid’s hands in cuffs. “What’s it look like I did?”

“You tazed him?” The kid still lay on the ground, and Jenson was still avoiding his eyes. “Why’s he screaming like that?”

Jenson inhaled. “Junkies have high pain thresholds. Had to up the voltage a bit. My bad.” He reached into the kid’s pocket and pulled out a big white ball of dope wrapped in a bag. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t even think of ditching this along the way?”

“I’m not going to jail!” the kid cried. “I’m not a criminal!”

Jenson pulled him to his feet. “Yeah, and I’m the queen of England. Hey, if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

Clint arched a brow. “That’s a little cliché, don’t you think?”

“Let’s go.” And Jenson single-handedly bundled the struggling kid to the squad car. The rage that fueled that man…

“So no apology?” Clint asked as Jenson thrust the kid into the backseat and slammed the door. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

The crowd that gathered watched as they pulled away from the scene.

“I hate cops!” the kid mumbled in the backseat.

Clint turned in his seat. “Oh really?” But the kid just stared at him with cold eyes. Clint ignored him and turned when the kid continued.

“You’re phonies! Hypos! Cons…”

“Hippos?” Jenson arched a brow.

“Hypocrites…” Clint explained.

“…they call you the law but you’re all as rotten as the rest of us!”

Jenson had had it. “Will you SHUT IT back there?!”

“Easy, Jerry,” Clint gave him a look.

“This kid will drive me nuts!”

“You can’t take me back to the Big Guy,” the kid screamed. “I’m not going back…”

“Yeah, the Big Guy,” Clint turned to Jenson. “He keeps saying that.”

“You think I’m a felon,” the kid’s rant continued. “At least I’m trying to change! While you, cops, break the very laws you—“

“I’m gonna hit that kid!” Jenson said, fuming by the wheel.

“Easy, Jerry! Hey, kid, who’s the Big Guy?”

“The Big Guy?” Jenson turned. “He say that?”

“Weren’t you listening?”

“All I heard was blah-blah-blah-hippos-blah-blah-annoying junk-blah blah…”

“Yeah, I get it. Blah. Duh.”

“That’s what their Inner Circle calls Moore. The Big Guy.”

“Kraven Moore?”

“I wasn’t really gonna skip town,” the kid cried. “I wasn’t gonna. I’m solid.”

Clint cocked his head. “But I thought you told me that this was your last run…”

“He thinks we work for Moore,” Jenson surmised. “He’s covering his tracks.”

“It’s OK, kid. We’re the good guys.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny,” the kid muttered.

Clint gave him a look. “What’s your name, kid?”

The kid paused. “Jamie.”

“Well, Jamie,” Jenson said. “Whether you like it or not, you’re going to jail. And you’re gonna regret it, too. Momma’s gonna have to pay for bail. Oh no, wait I forgot … she’s dead. Boo-hoo, get used to it.”

The car was silent for a moment. Clint squinted at him. “You didn’t have to do that, Jenson. That was just mean.”

Under his breath, Jenson muttered, “Story of my life.”

Jamie Gustav refused to say anymore about ‘the Big Guy’ even at the precinct. Fair enough, their stream of ‘info gathering’ had ended three arrests ago. The more recent ones kept spilling out the same things. Jamie was booked and placed in a cell until trial. Tired and already working after-hours, they spent the rest of the evening watching the news in the pub across the street, over doughnuts and coffee.

“Chief will not be pleased,” Clint Barker said, referring to the chief of police. “Soon as he gets back, he’s gonna whip our behinds.”

Jerry Jenson shrugged. “Won’t be the first time he’s been peeved. I really think we’re on to something here, Clint.”

“No, you’re on to something. I’m just the mascot. Going after them drug pushers was a wild goose chase from the very beginning, and you know it.”

Jenson’s cell beeped. He stared at the screen and shut it. He lowered his voice. “Look, Clint, I need you to trust me on this one. Kraven Moore’s guilty. Once we get all the evidence we need to bury him—“

“What more do we need? And what makes you think we’ll make it out alive? Wake up and smell the Starbucks, man. Haven’t you been listening to the witnesses we’ve been gathering?”

“Clint –“

“I don’t know about this. Moore’s syndicate may have more influence than we can even imagine. We may be getting in too deep.”

“We expected this right from the ‘git-go’, Clint. This was what we signed up for.”

“Haven’t you noticed that we’re the only ones following this case? Hey, you may be reckless all you want, good luck. I got a family to pro…” His voice trailed off. His face registered his shock at his mistake. “…tect…”

Jerry took a sip from his coffee. Yes, he had no family. Not anymore, at least. The only family he had had died two years earlier. But he was not going to think about it now. He would not hold it against Clint for bringing this up again, however unintentional his bringing it up had been, in context.

“Bro, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

Jerry held up a hand. “It’s all good. You don’t have to keep apologizing every time you talk about it…”

“No, I mean it. I was … that was insensitive and uncalled for—“

“Hey! Let it go.” Clint still winced. “Really.”

They ate in silence, watching the news. This was the part Jenson dreaded, the awkward-silence bit. No one wanted to say the wrong thing at that moment. Perhaps it was best to keep quiet then. Besides, some said it was alright for friends to have occasional quiet moments. But they could not remain silent. Jenson never liked awkward pauses. Time for a save, Jerry.

He sighed. “You know … sometimes I wonder why our founding fathers just called this town … ‘Towne’?” Jenson said, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, couldn’t they come up with a better name? A real name?”

Clint chuckled, still wary. “Towne, huh?” The TNN news correspondent on TV was now introducing the weather segment.

“Yeah? I mean, they might as well have called the country ‘The Country’? Or they could just call us … what, ‘Metropolis’?” Now Clint laughed. “Like they just wanted to get on with the story they wanted to tell.”

Jerry’s cell beeped again. This time he simply clicked it off.

Just then the door chimed as the big Edgar ‘Eddie’ Maxwell bounced in. “Hey, Jerry! Clint, my man!”

“Here comes the bulldozer,” Jerry muttered in a sing-song voice. He never liked Eddie’s knack for long pointless conversations. They pumped knuckles with Eddie, just before he grabbed Jerry’s last doughnut. “And now he’s got my dinner.”

Eddie grinned and held the remaining crescent up in thanks. “I hear you guys pulled another one in today.”

Jerry sighed. Yeah, like I need an announcement anytime you hear something new. He avoided Clint’s side-glance. “You never miss a thing, Eddie.” He took a sip from his cup of coffee.

“I’m not trying to be nosey or anything, but the rest of the guys have been talking,” Eddie said, leaning closer. “You two should be careful out there.”

Clint jumped on that one. “Wait, what’re the guys saying?” But Eddie was already walking towards the counter.

“Just be careful,” he called back.

Jenson knew Eddie had a point. He really had reason to be careful. Kraven Moore’s monopoly on the market for narcotics gave him a lot of influence, especially in the criminal underworld. And out in the open, he was the wealthy philanthropist donating to charities, dedicating monuments, and kissing babies. But in the intelligence community where it mattered, everyone knew he was the drug baron of Towne. Many said that he held his customers by a form of mind control. Jenson just assumed it was the drug dependence of his customers that kept them beholden to him. With Kraven, no one knew where the facts ended and where rumors began. But the only thing Jenson was sure of was that Kraven was a criminal, the type of person that must be brought to justice.

He knew he was being reckless here. But he had to do this. He stared up and caught Clint staring at him. He sighed. “Go ahead. You can’t keep tip-toeing around me.”

Clint kept his voice low. “Is this about Marty?” Yup, he was going to bring that up sooner or later. “You can’t keep beating yourself up because of that.”

“I’ve gotta redeem myself, Clint.” That was the most he had said about his situation to anyone. Clint paused as he held his gaze.

“You’ve done enough already.” Jerry’s phone beeped again. “And don’t cut that call. Could be a good girl, you never know.”

Jerry didn’t bat an eye as he punched the ‘Silence’ button. “It is. And I know. And I’m not looking for a girl now.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s my sister.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “Gigi? The amazing sister you never stop talking about?”

He held up his cup, but the coffee was finished. “Yeah, well she’s in Towne for the weekend. Wants us to meet up tonight. For dinner.”

“You need a dinner to talk with your sister?”

“That’s her idea, apparently. And I don’t ‘need’ to talk with her.”

Clint gave him that look again. “You haven’t talked with her in a long time, have you?” Jenson only shrugged. “C’mon, this is your sister we’re talking about, Jerry. I’ve never met her before, but if all the stories you keep telling me from when you were young are something, then this is what you need.”

“No.”

“Look, we’ve both had a long week. I have no idea what you’re going through like you do. But a return to normalcy is what you need right now.” He held up a hand to shut Jerry up. Like that would work.

“There is no normalcy to return to.”

“Hey, just trust me on this one,” Clint said with a smile. “Go, meet your sister tonight. Call her. You need this more than you know.”

“Clint, I … I’m not the guy she thinks I am. Not anymore.”

“Jerry, you’re a cop. You’re a decent man. Haven’t seen you with a bottle in months now. You always wanna do what’s right. You’re a father … trying to honor the memory of his daughter. Don’t you want Gigi to see the man you’ve become?”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

Jerry knew Clint was right.

But the truth was he also knew the man that he had become, and he was not proud of it.

After his wife had died during labour, Marty had been the only ray of comfort in his life. Growing up without a mother had not been easy for her, Jerry knew, but he had not been the best of fathers either. He had focused on his job in the force, and spent much time away from Marty and her teenage angst. Way too much time, he realized in hindsight. But then, he felt he had pushed her out into the big bad world outside. Clueless, he had misinterpreted her preference for dark clothes, tattoos and cutting and stuff, as simple adolescent rebellion. Later perusal of her diary opened up her world of gloom and pain to Jerry. How had all of this happened without him seeing? She had been hanging out with druggies, and had done some experimentation herself. He would never forget the day her fifteen year old body was found in a gutter, the result of an overdose.

Drowning in depression, Jerry had sunk into his old habits of drinking and smoking. As much as he denied it to his colleagues, he had also gotten into the drug scene. He had felt like a mess. He did things he tried really hard to forget. It had taken months for him to return to the man he was today. But some of the pain still haunted him.

He had never really gotten over the drugs, but he still never got relieved of depression. In his frequent low times, he got high and drowned himself in a bottle. But that usually left him feeling high and dry, the ecstasy gone. Alone, feeling like a ‘hypo’, as Jamie called it. He fought and fought to come out of this, but he always returned to the lows.

Maybe that was why he wanted to deal with Kraven Moore. If he was really the drug baron everyone talked about, then he was Jerry’s enemy. Everything he was fighting against was embodied by that man. Kraven.

What would Gigi think of the man you’ve become? He thought as he drove through the streets, headed home.

And in all that time, Gigi had never stopped trying to reach him. While he avoided her deliberately, her messages of encouragement never ceased on voicemail, texts, even on Facebook. Gigi…how do you do that?

He was now at an intersection. He could either continue home on the right lane or turn left down to Quigley’s, where Gigi said she would be waiting.

They were not related by blood, actually. They had both grown up at the Irene Williams Home for Orphans. But with no other family, Gigi had become the closest thing to a sister he could ever have. She was so nice to all that everyone liked her. She was always there to defend Jerry— who was older— whenever he was bullied. And, oh, he was bullied more often than not as a kid. Not every young boy with a pot belly survived the jokes from the bullies back then. Maybe that was why he had always wanted to be a cop in the first place, to deal with the bullies of the world.

But now, he was simply an organ in the system, living in reaction to whatever happened around him. He was neither deep nor superficial, keeping others at arm’s length. Sometimes, some would consider him mean. But none of them really cared what was going on with him.

What would Gigi think of the man I’ve become?

He was just a man fighting for his peace. Fighting to live.

He parked outside the Quigley’s Diner. Better get this over with. He stepped out of his car, locked it, and made his way to the door. Ok, how do I say it? I’m sorry for not picking your call? Yeah, that’ll do. If she won’t accept it, I’ll just shrug…I’ll just…

An old man in rags held up a can by the door. A sign by his feet read ‘FEED THE HUNGRY KIDS’. Jerry rolled his eyes as he approached him. “Oi there, guv. Drop a li’l coin for the young-uns tonight, eh mate?”

“Out of the way, gramps,” Jerry pushed past him, leaving the man stunned.

Now, you don’t have to be like that. While Jerry was not used to giving to causes, he most definitely didn’t like people shoving cans in his face; especially those with bogus British accents. He knew the man meant well, and did not deserve to be treated badly. Why do I do these things?

But he was not prepared for the sight that met him as soon as he entered the diner.

All around there were tables with people seated. But Gigi’s was not hard to miss. Her table had a very prominent cake in the centre, and was decorated with red ribbons. And there she sat, her eyes twinkling as she flashed that impossible smile at him.

“Happy birthday, bro!” she exulted. Everyone turned to see who it was, and as one the diner applauded the man whose birthday Gigi was celebrating. Me?

Jerry’s mouth was suddenly dry. It’s my birthday…my… He had stopped celebrating anything ever since Marty died. There just never seemed to be a point to celebrate. But here he was, having forgotten that this was his birthday. Gigi would not let the day pass. Gigi, how do you do all this?

The fact that someone still cared about him to celebrate his birthday, to remember this … when he had even forgotten it, made his eyes water. He blinked the tears away. He was a cop, after all. In his mind, at least.

Gigi stood and hurried over to him, her silky black hair flowing down to her neck. Beautiful as ever. He embraced his sister, but he could not speak. What could he say?

“Thanks for coming, bro,” she whispered in his ear. That did it. The sobs came.

Thank me? Thank YOU!!! But nothing came out of his mouth.

How could he thank Gigi for this? He did not deserve this, after shutting her out for so long.

Somehow, he knew Clint had been right. This had been what he needed.

In one small way, he felt like he was home.

Later that night, a couple of police officers stumbled out of a pub. It had been another Friday night rave. Who cared that they would be driving drunk? They were the law; deal with it! As they entered their cars, one of them stopped.

“Hey, guys, come check this out!” He pointed his flashlight up the side wall of the pub. It was not unusual for them to see graffiti on walls in Towne, but this was different.

For a moment the policemen were silent. It couldn’t be…

“This fits his M.O.,” another cop commented.

“Anyone see this when they were coming in?”

“Nuh-uh. This one’s fresh.”

“We’d better call it in.”

“You sure? Could just be some kids messing around.

“Too risky. Killers of his type don’t tolerate copycats.”

Up on the wall was a big T with one word written underneath.

TONIGHT!

“Better spread the word. This is gonna be a long night.”

He keyed his radio. “Dispatch, we have a scribbled threat on Twenty-Fourth and Downey, Uptown Pub, west wall. Fits the M.O. of the vigilante.“

He was interrupted by another transmission. “We got the same thing over here on Yak Avenue. Big T with the word ‘TONIGHT’ scribbled under.” The cops exchanged glances.

The dispatcher’s voice came over the radio. “Dispatch to Unit on Yak. Are you certain?”

“Affirmative.”

“Downey?”

“Ten-four.”

A third report came over the radio. The dispatcher asked for clarification. An awkward pause followed.

One of the cops blinked. “What’s going on?”

The dispatcher came back on. “All units be at alert. Code Red. We are at full-scale security tonight. A possible attack is imminent. I repeat, the Taser might strike tonight.”

And somewhere in Towne, the one they called the Taser was smiling. The message was out.

TO BE CONTINUED…in THE TRAP

Tune in for the continuing drama of TASER.

Please don’t hesitate to leave a comment.

God bless ya!

TASER

SYNOPSIS
As the elusive vigilante known as ‘the Taser’ comes to a small town, the police are suddenly riled up. In the midst of ever-changing stakes and an investigation that goes awry, one man is brought face-to-face with questions he never thought he would ever consider.

Written in the tone of a TV serial, this 6-episode story of grace and redemption in the midst of gloom and darkness is sure to rock your world.

Episode 1: The Cop

Episode 2: The Trap

Episode 3: The Ultimatum

Episode 4: The Alternative

Episode 5: The Real World

The Finale: A New Story

In this world, nothing is what it seems.

THE LOVE REVOLUTION III: INFIDEL’S CAUSE

Dear Brave one,

That you have returned in search for more is evidence of your courage. I must conclude my story. I could not continue my account of what transpired when my friend, Marcus, was crushed for I was overcome. But if you have not read the first or second volumes of this missive, I urge you to seek them. You alone know where you shall find what you seek.

But I must conclude.

There we stood before the cracked ground on which Marcus had been crushed. My dear friend, the closest thing I had had to a brother was gone, crushed into the broken pavement.

I stared at the Great Cross before me. For God’s sake, this had to mean something. For that brief moment, the Cross was no longer a sacred symbol. It was a horrible thing to me, foreboding in my sight. It was a sign of God’s judgment. Just like the judgment meted on Marcus. Was God so cruel?

The broken pavement was an icon to us all that said: ‘Beware! He loved, and was crushed for it’.

So also was the Cross, Arnold. So was the Cross.

Was this what God had done for us? Was it what He demanded of us all? To put our very lives at stake? To present ourselves for crushing, by loving others? Like Agnes, who had just spat on Marcus’ dead body? Agnes, the woman he had loved. He had dared to love, and died because of her. But she spat on him.

Had I spat in God’s face before? Have I rejected God?

The lords had decided to burn Marcus’ remains, to remove all records of his existence and of the proceedings of his trial. They would not make a martyr of him. The only memorial would be the broken pavement by the Cross, as a deterrent. His name is now a warning. The message had been passed. No one should dare utter or consider the Forbidden Word ever again, or they would be crushed.

But the full import of that message did not resonate within me until I retired to my home. I kept wondering why God would demand this from us, to risk death so that another undeserving one may live.

As soon as I got to my door, a couple stopped me. “We’re very sorry for your loss,” the man said. I turned to them, trying to understand his message. He seemed truly concerned.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you very much.” I was amazed and shocked that they had considered me.

“Here,” the woman gave me a bouquet of flowers. I took it, wondering what had prompted this. No one had given me flowers before, for any reason! My heart soared.

“What should I do with them?” It was a stupid question, really. I just did not know what to say.

“To let you know that you’re on our hearts,” the man said, mustering a smile. Then he whispered, “And so is Marcus.” I smiled at him and dipped my head.

They were a very queer couple. As they walked away, I noticed they were holding hands. The norm was for the man to walk ahead of his wife. Everyone knows that. But this couple held hands. I did not know then that something more was happening.

A boy and his mother came later with some pie. “In case you needed to eat,” the woman said. “I know I couldn’t eat when my husband died.” I welcomed them in, wondering what had prompted this. I had barely spoken when I heard another rap on the door. And that is how it began. Friends, fellow soldiers, neighbours, different kinds of people came to my house that day, to simply ‘apologise for my loss’. But it was more than that. These were people that I had seen every day, and not given a second thought. Here they were, showering me with such kindness.

Love. We had all grown up without hearing or knowing that word. Now we had all seen it on radical display for all to see.

I love you, Arnold. I remembered Marcus’ note to me.

Perhaps we had been capable of love for so long, but had not pursued it. We cared for our families and friends. But how far were we willing to go? Even for those we did not know?

It was new not just me, but for everyone. It was insane. They had all come, just to share a kinship with the memory of my friend, Marcus. They did not see him as a heretic. They saw him as a hero who dared to rebel, because he finally understood something called ‘Love’. Now here we were talking and laughing as friends do. There were no differences between us for the moment. We all had shared in the horror of watching Marcus’ selfless death. The implications were burnt into our hearts forever.

“And the lady did not appreciate his sacrifice,” I heard one woman say.

“No,” her husband said. “He, uh … you know … had that word for her.”

“The Forbidden Word.”

“Yes,” the man said, carefully staring into her eyes. “That … word. But we all know what it means now, don’t we?”

“Death,” his wife intoned. “It can only mean death to whoever is foolish enough to utter it.”

And he held her hands and stared into her eyes. “I love you, my fair queen.”

It was a commitment, right there. He was committing himself to die for her, if the need arose. It was a commitment to live his life so that she could live fully. His wife let the tears flow. “I love you too,” she whispered.

I walked away to hide my own tears.

Something was being stirred in our hearts. I was not the only one that felt it. Marcus had been on to something after all.

We had all thought the Forbidden Word was vulgar, but now we saw it for what it was.

It is so divine, that it is dangerous. No one can forget the cracks. Love is death, we knew. It is not a word to be used lightly, except death is meant.

It had taken one man to dare to seek Love, and to proclaim it for us to know.

I heard no one else say the word, but for that moment we shared it. All around, here were people apologizing for past hurts, laughing over awkward situations, crying, talking, and sharing. That was Love. We could not say the word in public, but we could live it. Because we knew it was right.

I was in heaven that day. Marcus had not died in vain.

But it only lasted that day. By the next day, everyone returned to their secure lives. Yesterday was forgotten. Reality had dawned. There really was a law that still banned even the very thought of the Forbidden Word. I saw people on the streets walk by each other, as though they were strangers. I saw husbands walk ahead of their wives. I saw young men argue with one another. I held out hope that none of these were the ones that had come to my house yesterday. I hoped they had understood what love is, and vowed to follow God’s way of Love. Like I had.

I could bear it no longer. Mortals are incapable of continuous love. But I wanted to be capable. I could not bear to live if I knew I was not following God. Marcus’ death could not be in vain.

I had to leave Duchinson that day, vowing never to return. I wanted to be free to pursue God and His love in a land where freedom to love is not denied. Not just to honour Marcus’ memory, but for myself as well. I too was incapable of love. There I was criticizing the townspeople, instead of loving. I needed to find God’s love for myself.

I have been free to find Him. I have leafed through the pages of the Holy Bible, and they burst with such love and justice. Now I see what it was that Marcus’ saw. I cannot live without loving, for God wants to love through me.

Jesus did not remain dead. He arose, and came with an even greater life for us to live, if we accept it. I have, and now my heart burns with such love for others. Now I can love without condition, without precedence, without expecting reward. I am filled with God’s Love, and I must share it. This flame cannot die.

In this time, I have seen how ‘love’ is said in the most appalling ways in other lands. I am even more broken at this. ‘LOVE’ is said so flippantly and leisurely. Everyone says it, but few mean it. It tears my heart every day. They do not know. They are free to pursue God’s Love, and to express it. Why must they pretend to love, keep speaking about it, but not show it? I began to understand why our fathers had put a ban on the word, however wrong they were. It is too sacred for mortals, without the spark of the Divine.

But now I know that I must return. This Light must shine in the darkness. My home is Duchinson. For here, we have seen the risk that love is. The cracked pavement by the Great Cross remains for all to see that Love is Death. But there is no better way to live. I know we know what love is. We experienced it that day. Why not forever?

I urge you, dear brave one, to join me in this cause. Find God’s Love. We may be denied the right to speak the Forbidden Word, but we are surely not denied the freedom to express it in every way. We will not be silent, for we cannot hide the truth that changes everything. We will be seen, even if not heard.

Be sure of this, we will be crushed.

It may not be by the mallets of the Crushers, but worse – we will be rejected. Many will not see or understand our sacrifice. Most will despise our acts of love toward them, and the rejection may be as gut-wrenching as the Crushing. But we will take the risk. We will remember our Lord’s words when he urged us to deny ourselves, take up our crosses, and follow Him. We will take our deaths with us. For it is God’s way.

We will bring death upon ourselves so that others may live.

We will let the light shine through the darkness.

For LOVE’S sake.

For God is LOVE, and anyone that does not love does not know God.

And I hope that, one day, when I finally meet my maid, I will be willing to give my all for her. I know that when we stand before our Master, He will tell us that we were right to follow His Way of LOVE, as He instructed us.

Redeeming Love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.

I leave you with the words of one that found our Master’s love, and learned to live it.

Love suffers long and is kind;

Love does not envy;

Love does not parade itself;

Is not puffed up;

Does not behave rudely;

Does not seek its own,

Is not provoked,

Thinks no evil;

Does not rejoice in iniquity,

But rejoices in the truth;

Bears all things,

Believes all things,

Hopes all things,

Endures all things.

And be sure of this:

Love never fails.

Fare thee well, Brave one.

ARNOLD.

THE LOVE REVOLUTION II: INFIDEL

This is the continuing account of matters pertaining to my brother and friend, Sir Marcus of Gaulea. The man that dared.

If you have not read the first volume of this chronicle, please seek it, however dangerous it might be. For this is even more dangerous. I shall have to let go of all restraint in telling this story, concerning the Forbidden Word.

Marcus was brought before the Council for inquisition. There he stood in chains before all seven lords, all in their ceremonial robes. The lady Agnes was seated by her father, Lord Morrison’s side. She gazed on Marcus with utmost contempt.

I was disguised in a hood and stood with the crowd beyond the barricades. My sword was sheathed, but I had not the strength to draw it. All around me, the commoners whispered wondering who was on trial.

He had left a note before leaving my house. I will narrate it here, but remember I warned you that I will no longer hold back in writing the Forbidden Word.

You will not understand

But I hope, one day, you will.

There are some things that are more important than life itself.

Like LOVE.

I love you, brother.

I folded the paper in my fist. It made no sense to me. It seemed vulgar. How could he ascribe such a word to me? He was mad! He needed help, not excommunication, or whatever it was they had in mind.

What are you doing, Marcus?

Lord Arian stood with a scroll in hand. “Men and Women of Duchinson!” They all hailed him. “Welcome to this Assembly! You should know that this is a sad day for us all. For one of our own, a man sworn to protect and defend your very lives with dignity and respect for law and justice, this very man has turned against all that we hold dear!”

They jeered. It was all I could do to keep myself from drawing my sword to cut off their tongues.

“He has committed high treason,” he yelled, and they jeered even louder. “He is a rebel! A deviant! A …” His words were drowned out by the shouts of the throng. A tear ran down my cheek as I gazed on my brother. He stood there; eyes fixed ahead, his jaw set. He was still strong. He could break out of those chains (I’ve seen him do this on many occasions). But he did not. He would not.

“He is one of our very own,” Lord Arian finally said. “I give you Captain Marcus of Gaulea, of the Sixteenth Regiment.”

For a brief moment there was a collective gasp over the din. Perhaps they had just realized who it was that was on trial. I could tell many were wondering what he had done.

Lord Arian unrolled the scroll and read out loud. “’None shall speak the Forbidden Word. For it is henceforth banned from the lips of all men, for your fellow man’s sake.’ Are you aware of this law, Captain?”

Marcus turned to him and nodded. “Yes sir. I am.”

“Do you admit that you have committed wrong in breaking this law, and thereby incurred the wrath of God?” he asked.

Marcus stared at him for a moment. The people fell silent. Could he really have uttered the Forbidden Word? Had someone finally broken that law? I noticed Lord Morrison’s brows furrow. Truly, I had never seen him smile before.

“Sir,” Marcus said, his voice carried over the crowd. “I have done no wrong.” That caught us all off guard. Even I wondered what would happen. Marcus had known that the word was forbidden. He would not give a false statement here, before God and man.

Lord Arian cocked his head. “Have you not admitted to the efficacy of the law?”

“My lords, if our laws require us to do wrong, then right must be done, even if it deviates from your law.”

What was my friend saying there? I was expecting that they would dismiss the case as one of infatuation, but Marcus was directly defying tradition. He was on a warpath, and was not backing down.

Lord Arian winced. “Are you implying that our laws are wrong? The very laws ordained by God for the sustenance of balance and order, are wrong?”

Lord Morrison stood then and silenced them. He was the oldest on the Council, and the only one with much at stake here. It was his daughter that had been Marcus’ target.

“Captain Marcus of Gaulea,” he said. “You are aware that you are on dangerous ground here, are you not? But you’re better than this. You’re a champion, a war hero. A man of valour. A scholar above your peers. I hear in your voice something that tells me that there is more at work here than mere interest in my daughter.” The other lords stared intently at him. “You have the countenance of a soldier bracing for a fight. You knew this moment would come, did you not?”

I stared at my friend. Lord Morrison was right. Marcus had known this would happen. I still held his crumpled note in my hand.

What I did not know until then was that the love letter he had sent was not the first. He had sent many before. She had been aware of him for a long time.

The lord unrolled one of Marcus’ many letters to Agnes. He then read it out loud, substituting the Forbidden Word with ‘blank’. The crowd screamed in excitement and shock anytime it came up. Mothers covered the ears of their sons. Marcus had poured out his heart for this woman. If I was Agnes, I would be swooning. I was appalled that my friend would lavish such pure poetry on a woman like her.

“You were deliberate,” Lord Morrison said. “You used the Forbidden Word with abandon. Now tell us, why did you do this?”

Marcus dipped his head. “I am grateful for your wisdom, sir. While I do have great interest in your daughter, what has overtaken me goes deeper. I truly want what is best for her. If I cannot win her heart, then I will let her be, as long as she is happy.”

“Noble,” Lord Morrison conceded. “But let’s talk about that word. That Forbidden Word. You used it over and over again. Why?”

“I could find no better word to describe this, my lord. You see, I found it explicitly pure while reading in the … the … the Holy Bible.”

Father Antigon stood then, muttering. He was the Bishop at the Chapel, representing the Church in the Council. Lord Morrison urged him to hold his peace. The only Bible in the village is the old codex chained to the pulpit in the Chapel. Only clergy read it, and teach from it. But I knew that Marcus, never a stranger to danger, had taken a fancy to sneaking in there to peer into the pages since last summer. Ever since then, he had been speaking strange things and expounding foreign thoughts. I had not connected this fascination of his with his current madness, until now.

“If I have committed a crime, let it be that I sought God in His Book. He said that we should LOVE our neighbor as ourselves…”

The court was filled with murmurs and gasps. Some elders placed their hands on their chests, begging God for mercy. Many leaned forward, asking to hear what he had just said. The lords were visibly shocked.

“You will not desecrate this Council with your accursed tongue!” Lord Morrison said, clearly irritated.

“But sir, doesn’t it say in the Bible, which we revere, that God Himself is LOVE?”

That did it. I respected my friend, but how dare he utter such a blasphemous statement? There were gasps and shouts. Everyone wanted to hear what he had just said this time. The audacity! How could he…?

Father Antigon stood. “Yes, that is true.” We were all surprised. “But it is here that we must explain the reason behind the law. But I must add that this is clearly why Scripture interpretation is reserved for clergy, not for laity.” He stared Marcus down.

“A long time ago, the Forbidden Word was used in every way by just any person. But its meaning was corrupted by the evil and conceit of man, and was used loosely. In its name, many have been violated, jilted, deceived, and cheated! The Holy Bible states that it is an appellative of God alone, as you have all heard. Our fathers deciphered that God is beyond knowing or understanding, and thus agreed that the Forbidden Word was also beyond fully understanding. It was to preserve its sanctity that it was forbidden from the mouths of mere mortals as we.”

“Thank you, Father,” Lord Morrison said. “Our fathers made this law to protect us. Why misuse such a sacred word when we can directly state our intent. Say you desire my daughter. You could have said ‘desire’, or ‘longing’, or ‘craving’? That’s how I wooed my very own wife,” he turned to his fellow lords, and they shared a laugh. “I crave you, darling!” They laughed even harder. Agnes rested her chin on her fist, bored. Marcus just stared at them. “No need for deceit there. But the Forbidden Word must stay that way. Forbidden!””

Marcus put in then. “And where has that gotten us, my lords? No one understands what ‘love’ is anymore. And, yes! I will say it again. If I am going to die, then let me be courageous and sincere for once in my life!

“No one knows what ‘love’ means. We regard women as objects of desire. It has been nothing but superficial. Carnal! Selfish!”

“That is all we are capable of,” Lord Morrison said. “We are mortals!”

“But God demands more from us. Sure, when the word was abused, many were violated. But now, it is much worse. We now think it right to take any woman we … ‘crave’ and lie with her, as long as you are fulfilling your carnal desire! Marriage has lost its value, but is now just another outlet for sexual relationship. The value of friendship is lost. How many of us came from full homes? How many of us knew our fathers?”

They all exchanged glances.

But he was not done. “And what about our relationship with our fellowmen? Since we do not LOVE one another, we simply ‘do a good deed’ by tossing a coin to the beggar on our street, so that we can be judged good. We don’t care. We are afraid of breaking out of our comfort, and risking it all for another. I think we are capable of more. He says that we should LOVE our neighbour.”

He was turning as he spoke. His gaze now fell on mine. “I too was trapped in this lie until I saw that God loves. He loves us. Dearly! He defined LOVE for us all!” He pointed to the Great Cross in the courtyard. It was so huge that we could see it through the window. “That’s what the Cross was all about. He was God, and He died on that cross so that we would not have to, for we were to be punished for the evil within us. He took that away so that he could change us so we could love. That is what LOVE can do. God does not want to be angry with us anymore. He LOVES us.”

I felt his note in my hand.

He turned to Agnes. “You deserve better than this, my fair lady. It is not about what I want. Love is not about what I can get? It’s about what I can give. My all. My life. Even to the death.

“LOVE is sacred. But that is because it is God’s expression to us and through us. But to deny its true expression is a bigger curse.”

Agnes shot to her feet. “Then you are as mad as they say you are!” Her voice echoed in the silence that followed. Marcus fell silent. In that moment, I felt him cringe. I felt the rejection too, and it hurt. Marcus…

The lords were fuming. Father Antigon tore his robe in anger. “HERETIC!” he yelled.

The crowd was silent in shock. Never before had we seen this! Even for me, it was horrible. I knew my friend would not lie. Neither was this the diction of a mad man. Why did he do it? Why? Did he have to qualify God with such vulgar terms? Unless he was right, and the word meant something deeper. Who could know?

The punishment could only be severe. This would surely not end well.

“Such is the curse upon you,” Lord Morrison intoned. “You have brought the death upon yourself.”

I could not listen as he declared the verdict. Crushing.

Oh Marcus! Because you dared to love, you were crushed.

I held on tight to the hilt of my sword, but I could not muster the strength to wield it. I was shaking with tears. My own friend would be killed like a heretic!

He was taken to the courtyard, past the crowd. I stared in horror as he was stripped before us all. And then the crushing. That was the worst part. We had never seen it before, for none had dared inquire into the meaning of the Forbidden Word, nor even said it. Huge burly men, soldiers of the Order of the Crusher, came forth. I had always regarded them as an unnecessary Order of rejected soldiers, whose only assignments were to eat and build their muscles. They towered over us like giants. Their purpose had until now been unknown to me, but I now understood that they were trained for this very moment. The Order had been established for this very cause. To crush the heretic that dares break the law of the Forbidden word.

And he was crushed. With each strike of their huge mallets, his bones were broken. BAM! BAM! His skull. His arms. His chest. His legs. Crushed. He screamed. He wailed. His blood was splattered every which way. What a coward I was! It was then that I should have charged in and delivered him. But I was too fearful. I did not move.

My brave reader (I call you brave for venturing this far out into my account, for only the brave would dare read this despite the glaring risk) LOVE’S power is so strong, it must not be made light of. A conqueror, my friend, let the blows of death overshadow him, because he chose to LOVED. His cries had been incoherent to me until I heard. He had been crying for Agnes.

And they left him there. His body lay within the cracked pavement, splattered with his blood. He was dead. And the cracks would remain in the ground for a very long time.

Agnes walked over and – oh, the horror – she spat on his body.

Marcus my brother! Was it worth it? Was it?

One by one, the crowd dispersed. But some remained. His body was soon dragged away, leaving a trail of blood. It took a great while before I could muster the strength to draw closer to where he had died. I would be identified with him. They would recognize my face. It did not matter to me anymore.

With my fingers I traced the cracks in the ground, crying. My friend was gone. My brother… Dear God, why?

I lifted my face to wail at the sky. It was the cry of my heart. Why God?! Why?

And it was then that I realized it.

I was kneeling in the shadow of the Great Cross. The same cross that Marcus had pointed at.

If you have followed me through these chronicles, please seek the third volume. Where it may be found, only you will know. I shall conclude my tale, and you may decide what you wish. Remember, none of these volumes must be found in your possession. Keep its message in your heart. But my account must be told.

For LOVE’S sake.

ARNOLD.

THE LOVE REVOLUTION

Beware! Reading this may be dangerous for you. There are those who would kill to get rid of this missive. But my message must get through. This voice, crying in the wilderness of blindness and deliberate ignorance, must be heard! For I write of things that must not be spoken of. Things that will change everything, if accepted. It is with quivering hand that I pen these words.

My name is Arnold, son of Heimich the lumberjack. Our town of Dutchinson in the hill country of the Scots is famous for its iron stand on law and order. Everyone knows their place. The young defer to the elders. Our wives respect their husbands as the head. Even our beasts have learnt who is boss. Everyone knows their place. There has been peace for as long as we all can remember. Everyone knows that disobedience to the Church and the Council will be punished.

Especially if the Forbidden Word is uttered.

Like any village, we have our own criminal elements. There are drunks, molesters, thugs – the worst of the underworld. But our soldiers have been worthy protectors. I know because I am one of them.

The man whom this script concerns is one of controversial record in our village. His very name is deemed a curse. I may be fearful of many things, but the loyalty of friendship is one thing from which I shall never recoil.

He is my friend and brother-at-arms, Marcus. Son of Gaulea.

(I have warned you. You have my blessing to rip this paper now, while you have the chance)

A truly great man he is, if there ever was one. We have fought back-to-back in battle, slain many beasts, and vanquished many foes in the name of the king. I know he is a great man of valour, but not as others know him to be. For I know that there was never an enemy that could take him down, never a foe to weaken his resolve, never a cause to bring him to his knees…

Until he told me the very words that will forever shake my world.

“I’m in ____,” he said. I hesitate to pen the exact word he said. For it is forbidden.

I gasped. I could not believe my ears. I pulled him away from the thoroughfare and dragged him into my house.

“What did you just say?!” I yelled in his face as soon as the door was slammed shut.

The usual smart expression on his face was gone. He was as sober as could be. “I said that I am in –“

“I heard what you said!” I whispered hoarsely. “Have you lost your mind? Have you no sense of the danger lurking behind those words? What do you think you’re doing?”

“I cannot pretend any longer, brother,” he said, a hint of a sob in his voice. “I ____ Agnes.” May the Lord have mercy on me for even thinking that word.

It was all clearer to me then. Marcus’ eye for the beautiful, but pompous, daughter of Lord Morrison had not been lost on me. No man in the village, however, gave her a second thought for she was legendary for her sharp tongue. The barracks rang with distorted tales of her pride and arrogance. No man considered her for a wife. But my friend saw something none of us could see. I just thought it was madness.

I knew my friend was of strong countenance, but also gentle at heart. He would not give himself to a dream (and that is what I considered this to be; nothing more) were not his heart pulled by it. If it were not worthy of consideration, he would not yield to its pull. He did not deserve to be crushed so.

“‘No one shall speak the Forbidden Word’,” I reminded him of the law.

“That is irrelevant,” he said. “I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t hide this—“

“Longing, yes I know.”

“It’s more than that,” he whispered. I sat, trying to stare him in the eye. His eyes were glistening with tears. Oh, Marcus.

“I know. You’ve told me for so long. I know you want Agnes –“

“I ____ her, Arnold!”

I stood to check the windows as I tried to tell him to be calm. “You can’t go around using that word, Marcus! It’s Forbidden!”

He was shaking his head vigorously. “No. No! I will lie no longer. What I have for her goes beyond wanting, or longing. What has overtaken me is different. The words you speak of are superficial. Carnal. It’s not her body I’m after. It’s her heart…”

He was losing himself. I had good reason to be worried. And worried I was.

“Have you seen this woman you speak of? She has no heart! She spites the poor, ridicules our fellow men-at-arms, curses all that is right and true! You’ve heard about her! It is only a matter of luck that God saw it fit to bring her forth into wealth.”

“We all have things we need to change—“

“No, I will listen to you no longer. You listen to me! She’s a devil in woman’s skin, however comely and delicate to the eye she may be. You have a good heart, Marcus. At best, you pity this woman. You cannot … desire her!”

Marcus was shaking his head. “I’ve gone beyond desire. It has stripped me of all I have held on to, of all I regard as honour, until there is nothing left but this. I –“

I held up a hand, but he said the word anyway. I sighed. “You are in great need of help, my friend. I can help you no further. You’re sick.”

“Sick with –“

“BAH! Do I look to be in a gaming mood? If you deteriorate any further, I’d soon have you writing…” I lowered my voice to a hush. “____ letters!”

It was meant to be a joke. But then I saw it in his eye. That distant twinkle as he tried to avoid my gaze.

I held his gaze. “You didn’t…”

He winced. “I couldn’t hold back—“

“WHAT?!” I was too late. He had written a letter to her describing his … madness! He had just sealed his fate. I couldn’t help it as tears flowed from my eyes. “What kind of spell has this … witch placed on you?”

“She’s not a witch!” he retorted.

“Why did it have to be you, Marcus? Why? You’re done for!”

He was also crying. “I brought this upon myself, brother.”

I had a mind to draw my sword right then and strike the heartless woman that had done this to my friend. But there was nothing we could do. He had delivered the letter to her already. I paid him no heed then. I resolved to hide him in my house for the night. We would escape together. I would never leave my friend. Never.

But I was wrong. This thing, whatever it was that had grabbed my friend, was stronger than friendship itself. For that very night, he was gone. He had escaped, hoping to see her that night. Such was his insanity.

He had taken the old-fashioned ways, of calling her out by throwing pebbles at her window. His mind was already made up, for his heart was already gone after this … woman. What would make a good man, of whom the world was not worthy, to go after his enemy?

She drew her curtain and opened the window. “Who calls for me?”

Marcus stood from behind the bushes. “It is I, Marcus of Gaulea.”

She stared him down. “So you did come?”

“I came to see you,” he said. “Even in the moonlight, you truly are beautiful.”

She held up a hand. “You think your words move me? Have you no idea who I am? If I did seek a man – and I definitely have found none that suit me – why would he be you? What makes you think you have anything to offer me?”

“I know full well who you are,” he called out. “And I may look to be of poor estate, but I have something more that no other man could ever offer you.”

“Oh, really?” She said in her bewitching playful tone. “And whatever may that be?”

“I truly ____ you.” He said it there again, right by her window. Oh, Marcus…

I can imagine the horror on her face as she looked around. “You dared speak the Forbidden Word?! Are you mad?!”

“If giving you all I have and all I am is mad, then yes. I am mad. But my heart goes out for you, Agnes. I want to get you out of your prison —”

She humphed. It pains me to imagine that she did not know what this man had lost to come to see her. “Sad that you should waste such words on a dame like me. Go to one of the servant girls. They are practically dying to hear such.”

“You like my words?” he actually was hopeful.

“They are the words of a fool!” she snapped. “One foolish enough to break the law, just to prove his folly.”

He squinted. “You wouldn’t call the guards, will you?”

She smiled and shrugged. “I already did.”

And out of the bushes leapt the guards, spears in hand as they surrounded him. They had all heard his words. They beat him with their spears till he was on his knees. All this while, Agnes stood in her window chortling like the witch she was. My friend and brother, Marcus, was taken away in chains.

It is here that I must drop my pen for the night. For the words that follow in this account are of the highest treason. They can kill. I have warned you.

If your heart yearns for more, then you may dare to open the second volume of my message. You alone know where to find it, for I must not be seen with it. And neither must you. The message it conveys must remain in your heart.

For LOVE’S sake.

ARNOLD.