She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies)

by Adams Irish, Travis

  Miguel opens his eyes again, astonished to still be alive. He is breathing in panicked gasps, and his stomach becomes uneasy as he can still feel the dog’s teeth puncturing his windpipe. Each time he breathes there is the slight copper odor of blood mixed with a hint of putrid vapors from the dog’s mouth. His chest is pounding with alarm as he gently grabs the upper and lower portions of the jaw, pulling them apart slowly to remove the teeth from his throat. One of the canines has become lodged in his skin, and he squirms with discomfort as he has to close the jaws a bit, and open them again to remove the tooth without tearing his windpipe. Miguel’s patience pays off as the extra spurt of blood lubricates the tooth enough to get it out of his throat.

  He pushes the dog off of him with his right arm, and then uses his left hand to inspect his throat for bleeding or damage. As he breathes, his trachea lets out a small whistle, indicating how close the dog came to ending his life.

  Miguel lies on his back looking up at the gray sky and the many droplets of rain pouring down without mercy. His left hand shakes fiercely from the trauma of nearly dying by the might of his once loyal pet. He breathes the air slowly; feeling like each short gasp is a gift. The pain in his leg is raw and deep; a throbbing reminder of his poor decision to pursue the woman.

  As he gazes at the sky, savoring each breath, a face appears about twenty feet above his head. Jose leans over the side of the earthen mound to look down upon the broken cartel leader and his three dead Rottweilers. When he sees the cartel chief is this state, Jose cannot help but smile; an almost toothless, broken smile.

  With a sudden feeling of panic Miguel tries to flee, but his badly broken leg only causes him to tremble. He thinks about grabbing his pistol, but seeing the smile on Jose’s face causes him to cry with remorse, shaking and sobbing in the mud with the three dead dogs.

  XI. The Cases – Devlin in the Details

  Henri watches Lorabell as she bends over to retrieve her ID badge from a small, black gym bag on the floor at the far side of the OBDAT platform. He gazes at her short skirt as it brushes lightly against the middle of her healthy tanned thighs. His eyes move up her body to a white tank top and her youthful strands of dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail. The older Congressman sits back comfortably in his black suit, facing her rear end without shame. He glances down at his black-and-white, striped tie with a smirk and feels an erection forming within his custom-tailored pants.

  “So what is the status of our operation?” Maxwell asks, feeling the need to interrupt Henri’s daydream and Lorabell’s naughty tease session.

  Henri turns to look at Maxwell with a frustrated expression as if to say ‘can’t you see that I’m busy,’ but is also feeling exposed by the interruption, and a bit guilty. Maxwell is clad in black jean shorts with a yellow shirt that has a black stick figure on the front with the letters ‘D.R.I.’ printed at the top. He rubs his bald head nervously as Henri gives him a look of daggers, feeling like the third-wheel in a bizarre love story.

  “There it is…” Lorabell says with a naughty girl laugh, bending all the way to the floor. “These things are so hard to find sometimes.” She turns around to face the two men and leans forward again in front of Henri, playfully twisting her hips while pulling the lanyard over her neck and letting the ID badge dangle to her stomach.

  “For the love of God!” Maxwell mutters after she shows off her cleavage to Henri before standing up straight and fixing her hair. “Would you like me to get you some ones?” He asks with a sneer, glaring up at Lorabell.

  “You’ll have to forgive Maxwell,” Henri says with a youthful smile, “he’s not used to working with powerful women.”

  “Well, he’ll get used to it- I think.” Lorabell answers in a condescending manner as she takes her seat at the far right of the control panel.

  “Let’s get up to speed, shall we?” Henri asks Lorabell with a playful smirk, showing that she has won his favor.

  “Yes,” Maxwell begins with a sigh of relief as he turns back to the control panel on the left side of the OBDAT platform, “I’ll bring you up to speed on the activities of Doctor Mindfuckenstein- as she has become affectionately known… Julia Wellheim, age 46, suffered her daily trauma with no implicit or explicit distress beyond the norm.”

  “We’re going to change that today,” Lorabell retorts with a sober gaze, “it’s on the docket first thing this morning. She won’t know what hit her.”

  “Fantastic.” Henri says to Lorabell with a warm smile, and then turns back to Maxwell with his fingers intertwined and resting on his stomach.

  “Ned Lawhorn had an impromptu disruption to his lovemaking when a noose was found tied to the rafter in his daughter’s room at his Texas home.” Maxwell reads dispassionately from his notes. “It was a nice parlor trick, and had some impact that resulted in a bit of distress.”

  “That was more than a parlor trick!” Lorabell sits up in her chair with eyes aflame, raising her right eyebrow as she looks at Maxwell. “I exposed his weakness to his girlfriend; it is the first step in removing her from the picture so that he is abandoned and alone.”

  “Next we have Phillip Belfort,” Maxwell begins with a dismissive sigh, “who is now only mildly distressed after his wife suffered what appears to have been a psychotic episode. We used three field operatives, and remote surveillance to achieve some very basic results.”

  “That’s just bullshit!” Lorabell argues with sincere fury. “Phillip wants to hurt the men who raped Letisha. By making her regress into a childlike state, she is going to seek him out for comfort. From there, it’s only a matter of turning the screws to move him towards action.”

  “I’m going to have to agree with Maxwell on this one.” Henri says with a grin that begs preemptive forgiveness. “Just because you pulled back your arm into a fist; doesn’t mean you’ve hit anything yet. The Belfort’s need more distress in their lives. Please continue…” He says with a calm confidence, watching a smile grow on Maxwell’s face with the knowledge that his female counterpart is seething in frustration.

  “May Ivory was accosted at her home, which did result in her using a weapon to deflate the situation.” Maxwell continues to read from his notes slowly. “But the risk to assets in the field with local authorities was too much for that type of response. Also, a direct assault on the subject is not part of our protocol since it construes self-defense rather than crimes of passion.”

  “I think you mean diffuse the situation, dipshit!” Lorabell retorts with a smug expression. “Jesus, where did you go to school?”

  “Let’s stay on topic; shall we, children?” Henri interrupts with frustration. “Look, Lorabell, it was your first day, and I threw you right into the frying pan. Let me establish a few ground rules for assets in the field and proper use of case study protocols… We cannot do anything that involves the local authorities having to interrogate our agents. If that happens… the operation is blown. Secondly, I need to ensure that we are trying to deliver on crimes of passion instead of acts of self-defense. The only way I can make a strong case to The President for this program… is if these turn out as crimes of passion. Lastly, I hear you loud and clear on Phillip Belfort, and perhaps making his wife distressed will lead to him riding in on a white horse… Just be sure the narrative unfolds that way.”

  “Let me ask you something, Mr. Edwards,” Lorabell inquires with a motherly tone, “do you trust me to run this op?”

  “I do,” Henri replies, “but now that you know the ground rules, I can trust you even more.”

  “Fair enough,” Lorabell asserts with a look of radiant pride, feeling empowered after this perceived trial by fire, “then let’s get back to work so I can show you the tidal wave of distress I have lined up for our subjects today.”

  Henri raises his eyebrows and winks, feeling a great deal of confidence as Lorabell gestures for him to watch the LCD screens while she issues orders to assets in the field. Maxwell folds his arms over his chest, leering up at the large screens w
ith a pouty, callous expression.

  JULIA WELLHEIM

  “Risperdal,” Julia reads the label of her antipsychotic medication before popping two of the light orange pills in her mouth.

  She looks over at the clock and reaches for a glass of water with her right hand to wash down the long, round pills. Julia drinks from the large glass, glaring at the bright green digital numbers on her alarm clock from across the room. ‘It is only three-forty, and John won’t be home for three hours,’ she thinks to herself.

  Her hands grip the bottle of medication tightly as she gets up from the table and carries the glass of water to the kitchen sink. Julia is wearing a pair of gray cargo shorts and her infamous pink, running shoes, while her torso is covered up by a black, hooded sweatshirt. Although the afternoon sun in Florida is making her feel uncomfortable, she refuses to show any skin above her knees during daylight hours.

  The doorbell rings, and Julia freezes, holding the half-empty glass of water just above the kitchen sink, mortified at the news that might be waiting outside the door. She sets the glass down quickly, and tosses her medication against the backsplash of her kitchen countertop. The bottle bounces a bit and rolls into place between the grout of two tiles. Julia holds her breath for a moment, feeling like the person outside the door can hear her breathing, and stopping will make them go away. The doorbell chimes again and she opens her eyes wide, showing an expression of shock and discomfort on her pale face.

  After a few seconds, she breathes easy and makes her way to the front door, watching her pink sneakers as she walks, gathering strength by looking at their consistent colors. Once she reaches the front door, Julia uses her right hand to undo the deadbolt and pulls gently on the handle. The heavy, cedar door opens just enough to show a bit of the world outside before it is stopped by a short, gold chain.

  “Good day, ma’am,” a cheerful FedEx delivery driver states from the patio, “I have a package for you.”

  “This is not good!” Julia says immediately and closes the door, putting her hands delicately against the familiar wood with its carefully carved indentations.

  “Ma’am, do you want me to leave this package out here?” The driver asks, waiting for a response. “Look, this package is pretty heavy; I can carry it inside if you want?”

  The driver waits on the porch, counting to sixty as instructed by his supervisor, and the door opens when he gets to forty-one. He turns to the side with relief, his young frame strained under the weight of the large box in his arms. An older woman appears as the door opens, looking left and right suspiciously as though the world is going to come crashing into her home all at once. The young, Hispanic FedEx driver walks dutifully into the home and sets the box on the soft, brown shag carpet. He stands up straight, looking with curiosity at the woman’s black sweatshirt in the eighty-five degree heat.

  “Please sign here!” The young man says with urgency, handing his digital tracking unit to Julia after scanning the package.

  “What is it?” Julia asks with an uncomfortable stare, looking at the box as if is about to give birth inside her home.

  “I have no idea.” The young man says with a smile, gesturing for her to use the small digital pen and sign for the package.

  “Is it something bad?” She asks with fear and confusion, looking at the young man through a cloud of helpless psychosis.

  “Not on my truck,” the young man says with a crafty smile, realizing that she is fragile and ill, “I only deliver good things from my truck.”

  Julia smiles and scribbles on the digital tracking screen at the signature line, handing the unit back to the young Hispanic driver as she stares at the large box.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the young man responds with a smile, “have a great day!”

  The young driver walks with spirit and strength out of the home, closing the door gently behind him. Julia moves carefully over to the kitchen, seeking out the drawer where she keeps all of her knives and utensils. After a bit of fishing in the drawer, Julia finds a small steak knife that feels safe in her hand, and carries it with her back to the package in the middle of the living room. After a bit of hesitation, she bends down, holding her right hand tight against her stomach in a fist as she uses the steak knife in her left to saw through the clear tape on top of the package.

  Within a few seconds, the box pops open, released by cutting through one last strand of clear tape. Julia sets the knife down gently on the carpet, and then kneels next to the package, staring at it with wide eyes like a little girl. Finally, after a few moments of contemplation, she pulls open the folds of cardboard to reveal what lies inside, flipping each panel open rapidly as her patience fades to inane curiosity.

  There is a red, wicker gift basket inside the large cardboard box, its round handle protruding up to the top of the space. Julia grabs the handle and gently lifts the adorable basket, placing it on the carpet at her side. With fresh excitement, she lays down on her belly, staring in awe at all the gifts presented by the red wicker, holding her hands under her chin with childish delight.

  The first thing she notices is a photo of John within the basket, balanced against the backside of the wicker oval. She snatches the photo with her right hand like an eagle snapping up a fish from the water for sustenance. Her eyes immediately moisten with tears, admiring the happy expression on her husband’s loving face. The photo paper separates a bit in her fingers, revealing another photo of a young man in his twenties.

  “Sammy!” Julia says with a shocked expression, amazed at how her child has grown over the years, but certain of his facial features.

  The basket also contains a few boxes of assorted chocolates and candies, a stuffed dog, and white envelope labeled ‘Julia.’ She knocks the stuffed dog out of the basket as her hand darts in and clutches the white envelope. Julia tears through the decorative white paper, still staring with tremendous affection at the photos of her husband and son. As she pulls the card out, the front cover depicts a beautiful flower arrangement and the words ‘For Mom.’ She closes her eyes with relief, holding the card tight to her chest, basking in the intense satisfaction of being wanted by those she loves for the first time in over twenty years.

  Julia is blossoming with excitement as she opens the bi-fold card, enjoying the glossy paper between her fingers.

  “Dear, Julia,” She reads aloud as tears roll out of her delicate eyes, dripping like innocent rain on her black sweatshirt. “Sammy and I have missed you a great deal over these past twenty years. I am sorry that I ever left you, my love. It was my mistake to put you in such a cold, dark place for so long… I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me? Sammy has been talking about you and we’d really love to spend the Holidays with you again; to be together as a family.”

  Julia stops reading and wipes the tears from her eyes with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, unable to see through the deluge exploding out of her tear ducts. Her hands are shaking as she holds the card, a miracle of love fashioned on glossy white paper, near her chest.

  “It was a mistake for me to marry Evelyn,” Julia continues reading despite the immense amount of tears, “she was not the right woman to raise our family. I hope you will forgive my betrayal, and want you to know that Sammy and I are coming home. We are coming home to you, my love. Sincerely, -John.”

  Julia releases a cavalcade of frustration from her eyes, feeling vindicated for the first time in two decades. She enjoys these loving words from her husband; having wanted them for so long like a life-saving fire in the middle of the arctic night.

  “I forgive you, John!” She nearly shouts with jubilation. “I forgive you, just come home to me with my Sammy!”

  Julia begins to laugh, holding the card up like a piece of her soul; a tribute of glory after years spent waiting for love to reenter her life. She buries her face into the shag carpet, feeling her strength return as she smells the familiar odors of a home once filled with love. Her whole body begins to shake with excitement, and she doesn’t feel the steak
knife when it cuts into the side of her left knee. The elation is so powerful, she fails to notices that blood is streaming in steady drops onto the brown, shag carpet. After a long, spiritual session of rejuvenation, Julia gets to her feet, carrying the card up the stares like a bold soldier returning home from war.

  At the top of the stairs she smiles, noticing a television cart with an old tube TV and a DVD player on the rack space below. A yellow note on the black TV cart reads ‘a message from John’ scribbled in unfamiliar handwriting. Julia powers up the television and DVD player, waiting for the familiar red and green lights to appear, and then she presses the play button, watching the screen with anticipation.

  She gazes forward with confusion as an older man appears on the screen sitting at a fancy wooden desk. His bald head bears a ring of gray hair, and his appearance is distinguished in a charcoal suit with a red tie, complimented by a white button-down shirt. The man smiles at her sickeningly sweet with his wide face, a pair of blue eyes gleaming from the pixels of the old television screen, haunting and familiar. His hands are clasped together on the desk as he begins to speak in a gentle, yet condescending tone.