Richard grabbed the pistol. He removed all the bullets except one. He then spun the pistol chambers.
“Russian Roulette,”
Francois suddenly realized how stupid he was to think members of the Order actually cared about him.
“You broke the one rule; don’t contact us. So here’s the deal. Fate will decide what happens to you,” Richard said.
“Are you serious? You’re going to kill me after all the work I did for the Order?” Francois yelled. Richard shook his head.
“I’m not going to kill you. You have one chance to pull the trigger. If there’s no bullet in the chamber, I’ll fly you to a safe place in Italy, until Frederick has been handled. However, if there’s a bullet in the chamber…Oh well, it’s fate” Richard said bluntly. Francois’s eyes roamed the room for possible means to run away.
“Ah ah ah. Don’t make matters worse by trying to do something stupid. Be a man! Take the Damn gun and pull the trigger. You have one in six chances of committing suicide, right now!” Richard added in a cold tone. Francois paused. His thoughts were racing.
He grabbed the gun from Richard. He thought about shooting Richard, but there was no point. Richard and Frederick had identical gifts. They were fast and resistant to human bullets. He spun the bullet chambers again and pointed the gun at his head.
“One more thing just in case this doesn’t go well for me,” Francois said.
“Yes?”
“Why Clara? Why kill a fellow member’s fiancé? Was it because of JFK? Why!?” Francois asked with a high level of curiosity.
Richard smiled. “Well, JFK might be a reason, but…you know, Clara isn’t at all truthful. I don’t know why Frederick didn’t see it or why he hasn’t seen it yet...” he paused dramatically. “Well, knowing Frederick, he is too blinded by emotion to use his gifts,”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about infidelity. The newest addition to his family, his son, doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to another man – a soon to be dead man,” Richard replied. Francois was confused. It wasn’t the answer he expected.
“She cheated! So fuck what!? Why does it matter? They could have dealt with it or he could have killed her by himself. Why was I sent? There’s always more to the story…I know that,” Francois said. Richard smiled impatiently. “You can’t understand the intricacies of preserving blood lines,” Richard replied bluntly. “Now pull the trigger,”
Francois was optimistic. At least, he knew he could explain his reasons to Frederick and Frederick could forgive him. “Fate is on my side,” he thought to himself, trying to veer of thoughts of negativity. He closed his eyes, hoping to open it again.
“One in six chance of dying right now,” He said to himself. He pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on the walls as Francois’s carcass slumped on the floor.
“The universe has decided. Such a shame. He who lives by the gun dies by the gun,” Richard said to himself as he walked out of the apartment.
Frederick decided to take a walk around his large compound. His sons were safe, inside the house, with their Nanny. He took out a cigarette, lit it then inhaled deeply. He felt the dark nicotine flush into his lungs. It was soothing, yet disgusting. The good thing about being a member of the superior species was the ability to regenerate his organs into a brand-new state. Every five seconds, his cells, organs and blood, became brand-new.
He glanced around the compound to observe his vast wealth. He thought about everything he had done and everything he was expected to do. He was waiting. Waiting for someone he hadn’t seen in years—someone from the Order. He sat down on a garden chair, patiently.
“Hello, Mr. Bradford!” Frederick said as soon as he heard footsteps and the loud thoughts of Richard Bradford. Frederick faced Richard Bradford—Head of the inner circle, Dragon Order of the Illuminati. He wasn’t surprised at Richard’s ability to pass through his tight security.
“Frederick! Can see your senses are getting better than ever,” Richard replied. Frederick smiled in return as he sought through Richard’s memories. Richard did likewise. They were like two computers sharing and downloading information from each other’s heads.
“Francois is Dead,” Frederick replied. “Yes! I’m sure whatever happened to him was better than what you would have done to him,” Richard replied. Frederick scoffed. He wanted the personal vendetta he was owed. Frederick sighed. “What now?” Richard asked.
“I have fixed your misgivings with the Free Masons. They won’t be coming after you,” Richard said. “Tell me what I don’t know, Richard,”
Richard sighed then smiled. “You think you know everything? You should have stayed in Rome much longer. Let us help you maximize your skills. You’re an asset to the illuminati,”
Frederick didn’t reply. He was focused on his mundane anger.
“You need to control your emotions. Emotions have a funny way of blinding people like us,” Richard said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means ever since Clara died, you have been behaving like a puppy who just lost his bone,” Richard said as he paced around the compound.
“Fuck you, Richard!”
“See – that’s another example right there. The thing with seeing the future and reading minds is, you have to want to see it, you have to have a deep need to see or hear something. Your emotions can interfere with those necessary signals,”
Frederick knew where the conversation was leading to. Things he couldn’t see or hear before, he could now see it – the future – the past.
“Clara was just using me to stay safe. My second son isn’t mine. She was sleeping with Puccini all this while” Frederick nearly choked on his thoughts. He felt deceived. He felt stupid. He realized he wasn’t as smart as he thought.
“So why kill her? You should have just told me,” Frederick said.
“Figure it out yourself Fred. The Order only has a few seers – people who can tell the future and past of an individual. You’re one of them. You need to help yourself be better!” Richard said sternly, in a commanding tone.
“You have to switch it off Fred – switch of your emotions and you’ll be more powerful than ever,” Richard added in a low voice. Frederick stood, dumbfounded. His cigarettes were burning through and so was his anger towards the illuminati.
His anger slowly faded – his sixth sense was becoming more powerful like a partially blind man wearing glasses for the first time. “The pills I helped recover from Don Patricelli….”
“That wasn’t a mistake Frederick. Everything happens for a reason,” Richard said.
Frederick paused as he ruminated on how well planned his supposedly trivial life was. “So you guys planted the pills so I would take it. You killed Clara. Those events led to now,” Frederick thought. “Yes,” Richard replied via thoughts.
“She betrayed me twice. But that’s not the reason you killed her. The assassination of JFK isn’t a reason either. It’s not me you want, it’s my future grandson,” Frederick said as the one thought of a future Thomas Olivetti popped up in his head.
“Exactly! If we didn’t kill Clara, you would have married her. If you marry her, that’s it, none of your future bloodlines will express your superior genes. Killing her led you to kill Senator William, the political scumbag. Killing Williams led you to a beautiful young woman who you would have never met if you didn’t kill Senator Williams” Richard narrated.
“Cecilia – she is the one you’re talking about?” Frederick replied half surprised.
“Yes. She is the only woman on earth who can transfer your superior genes to a future offspring.” Richard replied as he backed away slowly. Frederick was astonished.
“Where are you going?” Frederick asked.
“My work here is done! I’ve gotten rid of the anger that blocks your senses. You can handle yourself from here on” Richard said as he disappeared into the darkness.
18
Present day
<
br /> Tom and Nina had managed to spend three weeks as friends. Tom occasionally visited his mother while still trying to recover his memories, but was unsuccessful. He was seated on a deck chair on Sunny Isle Beach, basking in the sun. He ignored the man on the left playing a Frisbee with his disruptive dog. He could tell he was only trying to impress the lady tanning by his side, unaware of his intentions.
He imagined what his life would have been like if he didn’t get on the plane. He imagined the lost time he would have spent with Nina. It was a good thought, but without his death, he’d be ordinary. He couldn’t imagine a life without the ability to read thoughts, see the future or heal rapidly. There were more perks about being super human than being an ordinary being.
“Hey! What you thinking about?” Nina asked. She could sense his unhappiness. She was wearing a bikini, a semitransparent beach cover-up with a hat and sun glasses, stylishly enjoying the evening’s sun. Her skin glistened erroneously. Her bikini top could barely hold her breasts and her thighs distracted every male species within a five mile radius. The smell of her hair swayed with the wind.
Tom smiled, but said nothing. He was fully clothed; wearing cargo shorts, slippers and a light blue long sleeve shirt. Nina sighed. She placed her cocktail drink on the sand, next to her.
“I know you still want to remember. What if not remembering is a good thing?” Nina asked. Tom looked at her. “She might have a point,”
“What if your memory loss was an avenue to start afresh? Tabula Rosa. Blank Slate. New Tom Olivetti! New Life! New…” Nina added then paused. Nina knew Tom was inexplicably ridiculed by the idea of walking around without knowing who he was. Tom was aggravated. Over the weeks, he had tried to remember as much as possible from the one person who knew him. She could sense that Tom was beginning to give up. She could sense Tom’s yearn for the truth.
“What will the old Tom do?” Tom finally asked. Nina turned away.
“I don’t know,” She replied. Her inability to help him caused an unexplained guilt. “C’mon let’s do something fun to take your mind off the edge,” Nina said.
Tom managed to smile. “Thanks, but we have kinda done everything doable in Miami – the nightlife, parasailing, jet skiing – everything,”
Nina laughed. “Well, yea you wanted to rush the experience of living in America. That’s what life is like in America,”
Tom laughed. “Look I know I may seem like an ungrateful nuisance, but….”
“I don’t think you’re a nuisance,”
“Let me finish…” Tom said gently as he faced Nina. Nina was quiet. She was turned on by his gentle commanding tone.
“…I just want to tell you I’m grateful for all you have done in the past couple of weeks. I mean, thanks to you, I’m reunited with my mother – well at least, my biological mother – and I really wish I…” Tom paused. Nina curiously gazed at Tom.
“You wish you what?” Nina asked. Tom shook his head then sighed.
“Don’t worry; let me walk you up to your apartment. I could find other ways to remember. Perhaps, save you the trouble,” Tom said. He got up, dusted his pants for any left-over sand, and then walked towards the Trump Towers Condo building without saying a word. She was upset, but followed.
Two weeks earlier at James Carlton’s Condo. James heard a knock on his door. He smiled. He was expecting a buddy of his from college. He sprung up from his sofa, grabbed a remote then pushed the pause button on his DVR. He rushed to the door. He looked through the peep hole. He frowned. It was an unfamiliar face.
“Who are you?” He yelled. “Detective Hernandez,” the voice said. Detective Hernandez flashed his badge through the peep hole.
“Shit!” James said as he dashed back to his living room. He brought out a bag of cocaine. He ran to the bathroom to flush it out. He rushed to his walk-in closet. He searched for anything that could implicate him. There were three more four ounce bags of cocaine worth thousands of dollars. He ran to the bathroom again then flushed all down the toilet. He adjusted himself then walked back to the front door.
“Hold on. I’ll be right there,” James said as he took one more look at his well-lit apartment; white floor, white walls, black furniture and wide windows. His kitchen had ten empty bottles of alcohol. His mini bar was well stocked. Everything looked okay.
He opened the door. Detective Hernandez stormed in.
“What took you so long?” Detective Hernandez said as he glanced around the apartment for anything suspicious.
“Uh N-no-Nothing. I wasn’t wearing enough clothes,” James lied. He was nervous. In the past three years, he had been to jail almost four times. Luckily for him, his family was powerful enough to pay law enforcement to sweep it under the rug.
“If you keep getting into unnecessary trouble, we will eventually decide not to help you,” His father said to him the last time he was bailed from jail. He could still remember his father’s scorching look of disappointment.
Detective Hernandez looked around for any signs that showed that more than two people lived in the apartment. There was nothing.
James’ white sleeveless shirt and black shorts gave him a young preppy look. The kind of men Detective Hernandez hated. He couldn’t stand white privilege, among all else. His hatred escalated when he once arrested a kid from the University of Miami with a Heroine needle and a dead woman by his side. After months of tireless investigation, the kid was let go due to ‘insufficient evidence’. The case never made it to trial and it was surprising how fast his superiors swept it under the carpet.
“Uh – how may I help you officer?” James stammered, noticing the Detective’s wandering eye. Finally the detective turned towards James.
“You’re a hard man to find, James Carlton,” the Detective said.
“Y-yes. I just arrived from the Bahamas a day ago,” James said, trying to sound casual.
“Would you like a drink?” James asked, walking towards the mini bar.
“No – no thank you. I don’t drink on the job,” the Detective replied. James smiled and poured himself a drink.
“You went with your girlfriend, Nina?” Detective Hernandez asked. James was alarmed and confused by the question.
“Nina? No,” he replied with a look of disgust.
“Why? Wasn’t she your girlfriend?” Detective Hernandez asked, noticing his look of disgust.
“I mean, yes she was, but we broke up. She seems overly preoccupied with some dude from her past,” James Carlton replied. Detective Hernandez’s face lit up.
“Do you happen to know that dude?” Detective Hernandez asked. “No,”
“Not even a name?”
“Uh I think. Hmmm I don’t know his name – starts with a ‘T’ I think,” James replied. His curiosity shifted. There was a glimpse of hope. If this mystery guy was a criminal, he’d have another chance with Nina. Detective Hernandez pulled out a picture of Tom.
“Was this the guy?” Detective Hernandez asked, showing the picture to James. A look of familiarity sprung through James face.
“Yes that’s him. Although he looks a little different now! He has a beard and much longer hair,”
A grin emerged on Detective Hernandez’s face.
He was excited. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number right in front of James. James was more curious than ever.
“What’s going on?” he asked. Detective Hernandez ignored him as he waited for the dialed number to pick up. Suddenly, it did.
“Yes Boss! It’s confirmed, he is alive,”
He waited for a while. “I’ll find him…”
Suddenly, there was another knock on the door. James was startled. Detective Hernandez paused. “Expecting anyone?” Detective Hernandez asked. James shook his head then walked towards the door to see.
“Who is it?” James asked.
“FBI Agent Weaver,” the voice said then flashed a badge at the door hole. “Shit! This guy Tom must be an international criminal,” James thought as he opened the do
or.
Three individuals dressed in suits walked in; one woman and two men. They all had their badges dangling on their chest like kids showcasing their new art project. They scanned the apartment for Detective Hernandez.
“FBI? What are you doing here?” Detective Hernandez asked as he hung up the phone. “Same reason you’re here,” Agent Weaver replied with a frown that could make a newborn cry.
“We are looking for Tom Olivetti,” Kimberly added. Agent Parker walked around the apartment, looking for any signs that another male was living in the apartment. Nothing. James was exhausted with worry. He wasn’t used to the attention.
“Uh it’s a dead end,” Detective Hernandez lied. He didn’t want Tom in FBI custody – if that happened, he wouldn’t get paid by the Mexican Cartel.
“Stop lying to me,” Agent Weaver said with a stern face. “We’ve been following you. You lead us here and your telephone conversations and unsanctioned investigation say otherwise,” Kimberly replied briefly.
The look on Detective Hernandez’s face changed. “That’s right! This is a federal investigation,” Agent Parker added. James stood behind, watching the drama that occurred between the two law enforcement agencies.
Detective Hernandez was speechless. His throat felt heavy with guilt and fear. He didn’t want to go down as a corrupt cop.
“We know you are being paid by the Cartels. We have all account and wire transfers that have occurred in the last seven and a half years. I’m surprised a common detective can earn six solid figures a year,” Agent Weaver replied abruptly, determined to get to the truth. It answered his question. They knew. Detective Hernandez knew his life was over. He drew out his gun, pointing it at each of them, afraid and desperate not to end up in the same prison he had vowed to lock criminals in. James hid behind the kitchen counter. The agents drew out their weapons without hesitating.
“Drop your gun Hernandez!” Agent Parker yelled.
“No! No! I’m not going to jail!” Detective Hernandez yelled in a state of frenzy.
Olivetti: Illumination Page 14
