by Scott Blade
"Mr. Lasher?" a strong, familiar voice asked, but it wasn't Terrance's.
"Yes. Who is this?" Shane asked, confused. I sat at attention in Shane's head, curious as to whom the caller was, but I still was on strike.
"Shane, this is Sean Striker––the President of the United States."
Shane's jaw dropped, and he peered through the one-way glass, staring Ally down. She leaned up against the opposite side of the window, trying to see in.
It was the President. We had heard his voice enough on CNN to be sure of that.
Shane covered the receiver and cleared his throat.
"Mr. President, what can I do for you?"
"Eline Kline says that she has been trying to call you this morning and to no avail."
"Ah, yes sir."
"She is a personal friend of mine, Shane. I want you to know that I love that woman and her sons. What has happened to Alex is a tragedy. She believes that boy is innocent, and I take her at her word," the President said, strongly.
"Yes, sir."
"Now, I realize that you can't discuss with me the details of your defense, and I don't want to know."
"Right, Mr. President," Shane said. I was coming to the forefront of him just enough so that I could hear the conversation. I still wasn't going to help him today.
"Mr. Lasher, I am not going to call your boss, Terrance Graves, or use any of my considerable power to interfere in your defense. You have quite a reputation for getting men off of these kinds of charges. So, I'm going to let you do your thing.
"But Shane, I will be following this case closely. I expect that you will do the right thing. I expect that you will give the Kline family your undivided attention. If you can do that and win Alex's freedom, I will consider it a great personal favor to me.
"Shane, I don't forget favors. Do you follow my drift?"
"Yes, Mr. President," Shane said. He realized that during the entire conversation with the President, he stood while holding the phone as if that was protocol.
"Good. Now Shane, call Eline and get her off my back. I'll be seeing you son," the President said. He hung up.
Shane remained standing for a moment and then looked at the phone. He returned it to the receiver and shook his head in amazement. Neither of us expected to start our day by taking a phone call from the President of the United States.
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Resting in my hiding place from Shane, I did nothing but dream. I dreamed of the StoneCutter, only it was real. I saw him in his life. I never saw his face, only his figure.
He stood in his own lair. He sanded a large, wooden box. Carefully, he ran his gloved hands along the sides of it, feeling the smooth edges of the box. The wood shimmered like it was freshly cut from the mill. It smelled like newly opened paper.
He leaned back for a moment and basked at the completed box. He worked on this project for weeks. He cut the lumber especially for this. He hauled it himself. He transported it in a rented truck.
Exactly four weeks ago, he rented a pickup truck under an alias and drove out beyond the city's outer edges. He drove until he was in West Hampton Beach.
The truck's engine buzzed silently like he had wanted. He pulled up to a gated manor and got out. A padlock secured the gate. He picked the lock in a matter of moments. Afterwards, he slid the chain out from around the gate and opened it.
He drove into the empty manor. He drove slowly to avoid leaving tire tracks. He was careful not to leave any trace that he had been there.
He backed the pickup truck into the yard, past the house, and into the backyard. The tailgate of the truck stopped a meter from where the dense tree line met the house's private beach.
The StoneCutter stared out over the beach and remembered a night that changed his life forever. He remembered killing that particular family.
A moment later, the voice inside him urged him to focus on why they were there. He reached into the truck and pulled out a chainsaw and a pair of goggles. He waded through the forest, looking for the perfect tree and found one.
He ripped the cord on the saw. The motor buzzed to life. The blade turned ferociously and ripped through the tree's thick bark. He stood back as it fell to the ground.
The StoneCutter studied the beach and saw that no one seemed to be coming to investigate the sound of the falling tree or the chainsaw.
He cut the engine on the chainsaw and returned it to its resting place inside the truck. Then he pulled out an axe and began hacking away at the tree. He wanted to make thinner more manageable pieces out of it.
The whole process took the entire day. Nightfall approached and he was ready to return to his regular, high-powered lifestyle. So he assessed that he had met his quota of wood and left the rest.
I still could not make out his face.
He lifted the long, slender boards and piled them in the back of the truck, filling it up.
Finally, he was ready to leave, but not before he said goodbye.
The StoneCutter walked calmly past the pickup truck. He stopped at a mound of dirt where bushes and weeds had sprouted up over the years.
He knelt down close to the mound. It was a grave. With a muffled voice, he whispered, "I have very special plans for your son. Very special."
He returned to the truck and drove past the manor and out of the gate. He stopped and stepped out of the truck. He relocked the padlock.
Before he drove off, the StoneCutter walked over to the old, unkempt mailbox and opened it. He reached in with gloved hands and pulled out the cobwebs and several poisonous spiders. Then he reached back in and pulled out some old mail. The envelopes were moldy from the rainwater that had seeped in over the decades.
None of the mail was legible, so he tossed it back into the mailbox. As he walked back to the truck, he glanced back at the mailbox one last time, and even though some of the letters were missing, he still could read the name on the old, rusted plaque. It read:
S. Lasher
The memory faded and the StoneCutter returned his focus on the present. He smiled at his finished, wooden box. As he stared at it and took in the whole thing, he realized that it was one of the finest coffins that he had ever constructed.
He stood up from his stool and walked past another workbench. Now, he had to finish his other project and the time would be ripe for him to act.
Sitting on the workbench was a large headstone. He had only begun carving into it. So far it read one single word:
Lawyer
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Shane sat by a nervous Alex Kline in a large, empty courtroom. They picked jurors for his case. I was glad that I had avoided Shane, jury selection bored me. Besides, I needed to focus on my vision, study it, and determine my next move against the StoneCutter.
Shane usually needed my help. This would be a good opportunity for him to fail and realize how badly he needed me. Unfortunately, Terrance Graves made it hard for him to fail. He hired a very expensive jury consultant, the kind of man who picks the perfect jurors; ones that will mostly likely side with our defendant.
The jury consultant's name was Barry O'live. He sickened me with his attempts to be everyone's friend. Of course, I knew him differently. I could see that there was something more sinister in him. Then again, I suspected most lawyers of having something dark inside them, just like Jack Crush, even Terrance had a dark side. In a world where I went around lying to everyone, hiding from everyone, even I didn't trust lawyers.
Barry was an older man, late fifties. He had a bald head and square glasses. Some lawyers considered him a genius in disguise. He acted goofy, but I never underestimated his ability to read people. It was probably a good thing that Shane was on his own today. Barry was one of the few people who were always uncomfortable around me. It was as if he could see me and sense my dark presence.
Shane and I had only met the man once before. We met him at the Shutter trial. He was there to help us with the jury selection. Barry's instincts were right on. Without him, we would have had a much har
der time during the trial. His juror picks did not guarantee a win for us, but they were the right picks to hear Gillard Shutter's insanity defense.
Barry leaned in and said, "Shane don’t pick the woman on the end with the black handbag. That handbag cost $26,000. It is a Gucci. Her husband has money. Judging by her prejudicial manner, I'd say she is conservative. Her husband probably donates money to the Republican Party. The Kline’s are a famous Democratic family. She's already decided that Alex is guilty."
Obviously, Shane was not going to need me today. Not as long as he had Barry by his side. I grew more and more frustrated at my attempts to show my vessel that he needed me. I grew impatient waiting for the moment that Shane realized how valuable I was to him. Jury selection was not going to help me show him his mistake in disobeying my orders to kill Det. Sun Good. Leaving her alive would one day come back to hurt us.
Suddenly, like an angel of mercy, she entered and stood near the back row of the courtroom. I hate angels.
Shane noticed her. He nodded in her direction and then returned to jury selection.
Following Barry's advice, he dismissed the conservative juror. She stormed out of the jury box and pranced out of the courtroom. Her high-heeled shoes clopped on the floor with every step, revealing her disappointment.
Afterward, Shane leaned over to Ally and said, "Take over for a moment. I need to talk to Det. Sun Good."
"Are you sure?" Ally responded. She glanced beyond Shane, jealously glaring at Sun Good. She was very protective of Shane. She had an undeniable attraction to him. She thought that it was hidden from us, but we both saw it. She has a schoolgirl crush.
Shane rarely gave her responsibilities beyond writing briefs and answering phones. However, she was a qualified paralegal as well as his personal assistant. Ally spent her nights taking law classes both online and in class at Howard University.
"I will be back shortly," Shane said.
He began walking towards Sun Good. She stepped away from the last pew and walked towards the rear courtroom doors to meet him.
Shane stepped through the doors and into the hallway. He stopped and gazed at Sun Good's amazing torso. While he thought of her different pieces, I thought of her in pieces. Shane liked her body in a sexual way. My way was much different, much more perverse and violent.
"I'm sorry that I left so abruptly last night," she said.
"That's okay. That's what I used to do to you. Remember?"
"That's not why I did it. To be honest I'm not really sure what happened. In the middle of the night, I remembered waking up at your place, but this morning I woke up in my own bed. I don't remember how I got there. I can't remember much of anything," Sun Good said.
"I know. We must have drunk a lot more than I thought. I don't remember a lot of what happened. I remember you, but the details are scattered," Shane lied.
"I'm sorry. I'm really mad at myself for letting us get physical. It shouldn't have happened. It was unprofessional given our recent business," she said. "Right now you are the object of my investigation. I could have really messed it up with this shit."
"I wanted it to happen. Not to hinder your investigation. I know that you are only doing your job. I know that you think that there is something going on with my past clients.
"I assure you that my clients are out there somewhere. They were both victims of wrongful charges. You think that Paul Verize is going to return to teaching after the entire country called him the 'Paul-Verizer'? I mean would you?"
"I see your point. And I don't regret last night. Under different circumstances I would even want to see you again.
"By the way, I know that you had the complaint against me retracted this morning. I appreciate that," Sun said.
"I never meant for it to get that far anyway. My firm wanted to threaten you, but I was never going to let it play out. I told them this morning that you were no longer going to cause me problems. Right?"
"I'm still worried about your missing clients, but I will back off of you and your rich friends for now.
"I will need to know about Gillard Shutter soon though. This is important. You should be helping me anyway since he was your client. Having a new suspect could clear Shutters' reputation, and he could have a civil suit on his side," she said.
"I will do what I can, but really I can't help you find a man who has gone underground," Shane said.
Literally, I thought.
"Besides, I'm a criminal lawyer. I could care less about civil suits. My associates may not like that, but I don’t care. They have plenty of money and cases," Shane joked.
"Anyway, last night was a mistake. I don't think that we should see each other again. Not like that anyway. Our professions are at stake. My investigation is at stake, I still like you," she said, leaning in closer to him.
"I like you too," he revealed. He told the truth. He wanted to see her again. Deep down in parts of Shane that I dare not visit––his heart––Shane wanted to be with her. In our entire span of life, she was the only one who had come this close to breaking us apart.
"We can't though. I'm sorry. I will stop following you. Call me if you can think of anything else. I better get back, and you had better get back to your jury selection," Sun Good said.
"Friends then?" Shane blurted out as she turned away.
She looked back over her shoulder, continued walking, and said, "Yes, but I am still suspicious of you and your firm."
Shane watched as she put her sunglasses on and strolled down the hall and out of the courthouse.
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Shane scored a victory today, or so he thought. I knew better. He always needed me. A dark and violent event had fused us together. I was the force that he would never escape. At the moment, he flew high and was satisfied with himself. I let him enjoy his feelings of "victory" over me. Soon he would realize who his true master was.
After a long day of jury selection, we returned home. Walking into our building, Shane smiled. Today, he managed to get Det. Sun Good off of our trail, at least for the moment. And we did it his way, leaving her alive against my will.
Everything seemed like it was going to work out for him, and with little help from me. At least that was what he thought until we returned home.
"Your package is already in your penthouse Mr. Lasher," the building doorman said as Shane strolled by the front desk, feeling accomplished. This feeling sank as soon as he heard the doorman's words.
"What?" Shane asked, stopping cold in his tracks. He turned to the doorman, a stocky man who sat so low behind the counter that it was easy to miss him.
"Your friend, he had a surprise for you. He said he had a key. He was just going to let himself in," the doorman said.
"Is he still up there?" Shane asked, remembering that he had forgotten to lock up this morning
"You know, I'm not quite sure. I never saw him leave."
Immediately, Shane turned and hopped on the elevator, riding it impatiently up to the penthouse. The metal doors slid open into our living room. Shane stepped off of the lift and took two steps in. He gazed around. Someone had definitely been in our home. Who was our mysterious visitor? He might have still been lingering around. Whoever, he was. He was not friendly. He was dangerous. At first, I suspected Sun Good, but that made little sense.
Shane reached into his briefcase and pulled out a three-inch retractable knife and whipped the blade out. It glimmered in the penthouse's low evening light. The sun was setting outside. It provided sharp, amber slivers of light for us to see, but left plenty of shadows, plenty of hiding places.
Shane quietly put down his briefcase and waited for me to seep out of his skin. With the low levels of light, Shane needed me. He needed my senses to help him navigate the approaching darkness. He needed my powers to deal with the unknown intruder. He expected me.
After all, I had always been there. I had always protected him, but not this time.
This time I remained dormant. For now, his mind was a bomb shelter and I
hid in it, deep below the surface. If he really needed me I would come out. I wasn't going to let harm befall him. He was only mine to harm, but he needed to learn who was in charge. So I abandoned him to take the risk alone.
Shane began to tremble when he realized that I was not coming to the surface to help him and that he was on his own. He clutched the knife tightly. He looked around and saw no signs of anyone. He checked up the stairs. He found no signs of the strange intruder.
Shane breathed a sigh of relief.
Maybe the doorman made a mistake, he thought.
He went into the kitchen and looked out of the window. A violent and sudden panic came over both off us. Someone was in our secret lair across the roof. The door was wide open. Shane gripped the knife and leapt into action. I leaned forward and prepared to intervene if necessary, to protect us.
We went out into the yard. Slowly, the lair's door flapped open. Someone had pried it open with a crowbar. The lock was completely destroyed. The door barely hung on its steel hinges.
Cautiously, Shane entered our lair. He checked each room thoroughly. We searched past the walk-in freezer and the large, steel furnace.
In the next room, we investigated our desk. It nested undisturbed. The computer's keyboard remained dusty. We rarely used this terminal.
He searched the last room, my equipment room. This was where our trophies used to hang before we destroyed them all. The only thing that remained was the cold, steel table in the center of the room.
Nothing seemed to be out of place except for one foreign object, something that definitely did not belong. A large package rested on the table. The intruder had wrapped it up in thick, brown paper.
The package nested on the table alone taunting me. The invader of my sanctuary left it like a calling card. It identified him as the invader of our secret, little world. Shane glared at it like he had uncovered a booby trap. At first we thought that our intruder had been Det. Sun Good returning to gather the evidence that was robbed from her, but this was different. We stared at the package and knew that the intruder was someone else, someone deadly.
