Mourning Reign

by Edward Hancock II

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice somewhat labored.

  “You can’t stay in that thing. And I don’t have any other clothes handy.” Looking down he said, “I’m not giving you my pants. This will have to do for now.”

  Lisa regarded him rather suspiciously, like Wicket the Ewok in his first encounter with Princess Leia. Putting a hand across her chest, taking the shirt in the other hand, Lisa pursed her lips as if contemplating the meaning of Eric’s chivalrous gesture.

  “You can put the shirt on,” Eric assured her. “Then tie the gown around your waist like a skirt. It’s not exactly fashionable but it will keep you from being as exposed as you are. I just hope it fits.”

  Nodding in acknowledgement, Lisa said, “You’ve thought this through.”

  Before he could respond, Eric erupted into another coughing fit, sending sharp pains down his spine and into his legs. They twitched suddenly, but it took only a moment to realize the movement was anything but voluntary. His ribcage felt as if a caveman were attempting to use them as a xylophone.

  Breathing had become a luxury in the last several moments. A luxury that, between the uncontrollable coughing fights and the sharp, shooting pains in his spinal column, God must have decided Eric could do without.

  The ditch became very crowded under the mass of two pain drenched strangers, each writhing in respective agony. Tears flooded his eye sockets as his breathing became more labored. His chest felt like a lead weight was being slowly lowered upon it. The stabbing pains combined with a throbbing that made him feel like he was being repeatedly pummeled with a baseball bat, maybe a sledgehammer.

  Painful then not so painful, to bitterly painful to intolerable, finally to something akin to a prayer for death. A nerve triggered in his leg. A pain shot from hip to foot, sending his leg involuntarily flailing about.

  He kicked something, but couldn’t be sure what it was.

  He looked over at Lisa. Through the tears he could see her cradling the side of her stomach where he’d seen the blood earlier. At least he thought it was the same side. He couldn’t be for sure. She was attending to her wound in some way. Or was she? He blinked but his vision got no clearer.

  “Hang in there, Eric,” he heard her say. “We’re going to be okay.”

  Her voice was horribly shaky.

  Again the stabbing!

  White-hot imaginary knives stabbed at his back and legs.

  “Can’t move!” he screamed, choking again, coughing, though fighting against jaws clinched tightly shut.

  Suddenly he could see her face. She was leaning over him. She had donned his shirt, or at least it appeared so. Though swimming in and out of focus, Eric caught a look at Lisa’s eyes again. He couldn’t be sure what, but something wasn’t right.

  “Eric,” she said with urgency, almost as an EMT might address you. “Stay with me, Eric. Focus. Focus on me now. Squeeze my hand.”

  Funny, he thought. He hadn’t remembered her grabbing his hand.

  Weird, he still couldn’t tell she had grabbed his hand.

  He complied.

  “Squeeze my hand, Eric.”

  “I did!” he thought, but choked again before the words got out. He squeezed again.

  “Listen Eric! Squeeze my hand! Focus!” He heard her cough yet again, followed by an uncomfortable grunt-like sound.

  Another dark figure appeared behind Lisa. The figure swam beneath an ocean of tears, confusion and mind-numbing pain. He appeared to disappear and reappear faster than Eric could blink. Eric’s stomach prickled with the menacing sensation he was seeing the ominous figure of the Grim Reaper himself.

  Whoever it was moved very sharply. Quick. Too quickly for Eric to make sense of it all. Again, the figure seemingly blinked in and out of existence.

  When her head fell into his chest, knocking the wind out of him, Eric was finally able to comply with Lisa’s command. Though more reflex than conscious thought, Eric finally managed to squeeze Lisa’s hand for all he was worth. He knew it because he felt it. Finally, mercifully, he knew his body. Aware of things he hadn’t realized he’d been unaware of just moments ago. As much out of fear as a base human response to stimuli, Eric squeezed to the point he thought Lisa’s hand might break. As before, when his body seemed either unable or unwilling to comply with her command to squeeze, Eric now seemed unable to relinquish the vise-like gripe he’d taken.

  He heard someone speaking but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Were they speaking English? What the heck were they saying?

  He never heard the sound of whatever hit him in the head. But the echo of metal against bone followed him deep into unconsciousness. In his last moment of awareness, Eric felt Lisa’s hand slip from his.

  CHAPTER 23

  Morning Rain

  The echo of Lisa’s frightened screams followed Alex out of the land of slumber. His frantic exigency from the flight of his imagination launched Alex from the orange leather couch right onto the hard linoleum floor.

  Just a dream, he kept repeating to himself. It was just a dream!

  He rubbed his face, which contained sharp whiskers, several days old. He hadn’t really realized how far he’d let himself go in the last several days. He hadn’t showered, shaved or changed clothes in… well he didn’t know how long. Two, maybe three days minimum. His mouth felt and tasted like he’d eaten road kill without the benefit of a beverage with which to wash it down. Despite getting some sleep, Alex imagined his eyes looked as puffy as they felt, probably red with worried tears and restlessness.

  He looked around the office in which he’d taken temporary refuge and realized it was daylight. The gentle tick-tick of a slow but steady rain drumming against the window drew Alex’s attention. The partially-opened mini-blinds allowed just enough sunlight to let Alex know the sun was not just now making its presence felt behind a veil of clouds. However long he’d been sleeping it had likely been more than four hours.

  Rubbing his eyes, he found himself cursing Danny and yet cursing himself for not emerging from the land of dreams better rested. He rubbed his face vigorously, trying to clear his mind of the horrid dream that had denied him true rest. He checked his watch. It was pushing 10:00 in the morning, even later than he thought. The rain clouds had thrown him off.

  Shaking out his hands, rubbing his neck, Alex struggled to escape the lingering clouds hanging over his unrested mind. He wasn’t one to drink coffee anymore but a caffeine craving seized his fragile consciousness like never before. In that moment, a nice, cold Dr Pepper seemed like just the thing to rouse him.

  He grabbed his cell phone from the small nightstand and dialed home. Voicemail answered on the first ring, which was weird to Alex. In the event no one was home, the voicemail allowed four rings before kicking in. To pick up on the first ring either meant the phone was off the hook, the lines were down because of the storm or Alyson was talking to someone with someone else beeping in via call waiting.

  “Hey Alyson, this is Alex,” he began, trying not to sound as drained as he felt. “Just checking in with you. I guess you guys went out for breakfast or maybe you’re on the phone or something. Give me a call when you get this. Tell my mother I love her. Tell Christina that Daddy said hi and I love her too.”

  He finished off with the usual half intention of being home eventually, wondering when he was actually going to be able to honor that promise to his young daughter.

  “Now,” he said, brushing the wrinkles out of his clothes, smoothing back his hair as best he could—wishing he could do the same to his tired eyes. “Danny boy, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

  ***

  Lisa had long prayed for clarity of mind. To remember: to remember Alex, to remember Christina, to remember herself. Now, as she awoke to find her prayer answered, the vague contemplation that clarity was not always merciful weighed down upon Lisa. Alex’s face no longer existed as the sexy, unknown stranger. Now the image of his smile both calmed and alarmed. Too, the image of her
young daughter served as a double-edged sword—providing both strength and helplessness. Finally, the little baby to which she’d given birth just days before. She’d seen his face for little more than mere seconds. She didn’t even know his name. When last they’d met, on the fateful day of his introduction into the violent world in which he now lived, he had no name.

  How much time had she lost? How long had she been gone? How long was she out? How long…?

  The questions kept coming. No matter how hard she tried to shut them off, the questions kept burning her mind. She’d gotten her memory back and it had left her with as many questions if not more than she’d had before. How many sunrises? How many sunsets had come and gone since her last moment of clarity? How was Christina?

  How was Alex? How was the baby? How much time had she really lost? She’d thought maybe just a few days but could she really be certain? What was to come of her family now? Could she fight her way out of this situation? Where the heck was she anyway?

  She looked around and realized she was in familiar surroundings.

  The room was decorated with rows of chairs, barely large enough for their intended inhabitants. A single wooden storage closet set off to the left-hand corner, near the back of the room. It had aluminum door facings and a padlock, which currently forbade entry. Lining the back wall of the room were several lockers, each with its own combination lock. Behind her was a huge dry erase board, resembling the green chalkboards she had endured during her youth. In the tray, where chalk would have otherwise been, were three black markers. Though she half-expected some cryptic message to be written, some alarming set of instructions perhaps, the board was blank. The ceiling tiles were covered in mildew and dried brown watermarks.

  The Gilmer Elementary School had not aged well in the last several years. Built some thirty years prior, Gilmer Elementary had long ago found itself overrun by the population it had been originally designed to serve. The new building was almost complete. With any luck, Christina would be starting her kindergarten year in that building rather than the rundown remnant of an era long-gone. Lisa was thrown off as to why she was there. Though this part of the building was not being used, pre-k was in session in the building across the walkway. Kindergarten, first and second grades weren’t to start for a while now, but Prekindergarten went year around. What on earth were these guys thinking? It was clearly daytime. There was a morning session and an afternoon session. Clearly somebody was in the building near the one in which she was currently kept. She wasn’t tied to anything. Any one of these desks could have been used to break out the double-pained storm windows lining the wall to her right. Of course, judging by the size, the openings themselves were not likely to provide much of an escape even if the panes were carefully removed from their fixed positions. The small wooden swivel window facings would prove difficult to remove and virtually impossible to maneuver through.

  To her left, she could see the Pre-k building. Gilmer Elementary formed a big L around the playground, which was guarded on the backside by a simple chain-link fence. She could always scream for help, but her last would-be rescuer was still paying the price for the sin of his chivalry. What good would it do to involve another innocent soul, this one likely to be some 20-something teacher with a husband and family at home?

  Only one door led to the hallway. A large wooden door that, Lisa guessed, would likely either be locked or guarded.

  No longer in the torn hospital gown; gone was Eric Reid’s t-shirt.

  In their place was a single bulky orange jumpsuit bearing something akin to a black barcode stitching across the right forearm. In proper circumstances, Lisa guessed this to be a way of tracking prisoners. Her feet stood bare. She noticed the scratch on her ankle had even been tended to.

  A sick revulsion overcame Lisa as she realized someone had changed her out of the torn hospital gown and into the orange jumpsuit.

  In bandaging her wounds, someone had seen her at her most vulnerable. Some stranger had touched her skin. In her comatose state, there would have been no way to prevent a total violation of her person. Though covered in the orange jumpsuit, Lisa suddenly felt very exposed. Though buried beneath layers of orange fabric, Lisa felt what must have been fresh bandages on her side, stomach and arm.

  Every cut seemed to have been tended to. Judging by the bruising near her bicep muscle, a needle had come into play at some point.

  Despite her sudden clarity of thought, she still wondered what parts of her memories were fake and what were real. Impressions of needle sticks sent a sudden chill through her body. She couldn’t tell if the images dancing through her mind were real or products of her own imagination. Perhaps the result of drug-induced hallucinations.

  Her thoughts were definitely clearer now, if still laboring behind the confusion of fantasy vs. reality. The injections had worn off. She was able to grasp hold of coherent thoughts. Whether or not coherence wished to grasp her was another story.

  Busy thoughts fought for her attention, working so rapidly that she could scarcely hold a single one in her head, coherent or otherwise, for more than a few seconds. She had to escape. She might die.

  Someone had seen her naked!

  She had her memory back!

  Christina. Her wonderful husband. His touch. His loving eyes.

  Some stranger had seen her naked!

  She knew she was imagining it when her skin crawled with the sensation of rough, calloused hands touching her skin, but the revulsion she felt at the imagined assault was nonetheless all too real and overpowering.

  The opening door jarred her senses, ridding her of the urgent sense to vomit, but filling her with an all too familiar trepidation. One she’d felt virtually every moment since being abducted from her hospital room by men claiming to be doctors.

  She recognized the man immediately. Dr. Death, as she had taken

  to calling him. The man that had appeared chief among her abductors and the same one that had tried to question her about the destruction of the police station.

  Now of course she didn’t need any type of serum to jog her memory. She had the details fresh in her mind. Oddly, as the man creature, the beast of a human being, walked in to the classroom—a room crowded with furniture if not with people—Lisa felt tremendously intimidated, though a sense of undeniable determination had begun washing over her. Clarity added to her weakness as well as her strength. If they knew about Christina, Alex, the baby or anyone else she loved, they knew how to get to her. She would not be able to hide her emotions if one of her family was endangered.

  “I am glad you are awake Mrs. Mendez,” he spoke in surprisingly unbroken English. “I trust you are finding your clothing more suitable than the tattered hospital gown in which we found you.”

  “I trust you had your hands in places they had no right to be, pal and when my husband finds out… .”

  He raised a finger—more of a craggy talon—silencing her. “Your husband will find out soon enough, Mrs. Mendez. I assure you, he will be joining the rest of your family very soon. But if it makes you feel better, I had nothing to do with changing your clothes. I would not soil myself by touching such a filthy mongrel.”

  “What do you mean the rest of my family?” Suddenly, Lisa grew fearful. He hadn’t said it as matter-of-factly as he seemed to say most things. The statement had been made with purpose. A thinly veiled threat designed to ensure compliance from the outset. “What have you done, you sick twisted...?”

  Immediately Lisa was filled with a rage she could not control. The very mention of her family, the uncertainty of their faith. His cryptic monotone, nonetheless direct and possessing undeniable intent. She was incensed!

  His eyes filled with psychotic glee. A slight smile appeared on his face. “In due time,” he whispered.

  “If you’ve harmed them…”

  “I assure you, Mrs. Mendez, no harm has befallen your precious child yet.” The venom with which he spoke the word yet sent shockwaves through Lisa’s body. Where
was Christina? Where was

  Alex and...

  She couldn’t think. Suddenly she’d lost any capacity to be rational. Any cop instinct she had inside exploded into a thousand jigsaw puzzle pieces at the very mention of her family. Mom was in charge and Mom was inconsolable.

  “You take me to my daughter now!”

  “I thought you would never ask,” he whispered, the smile growing increasingly menacing.

  Though the cop inside her was trying desperately to talk some sense into the despondent Mom, Lisa prepared herself to greet the dead body of her beloved Christina.

  As Lisa got to her feet, two men and a woman entered the classroom. The men were carrying ropes and what looked like a roll of duct tape. The woman was carrying a small sack, much like the one that had been removed from her head when she was trapped in the SUV.

  Dr. Death nodded to his associates and spoke something in what Lisa assumed to be Arabic. The three minions nodded in response and moved toward Lisa much like a horde of mindless zombies, obeying their master’s command. It was clear by the glazed look in each zombie’s eyes that none of them were under self-control. Whoever the guy was, he had complete authority. Complete sovereignty. It appeared as if he were more their kingdom than merely their king—as if his very wish was more than their command, perhaps their very purpose. The very reason they existed.

  Lisa backed away, knowing the futility of her effort even as the fight or flight reflex pushed her further backwards. She was prepared to fight, because she knew flight was not an option.

  “Just a precaution, Mrs. Mendez,” Dr. Death said, taking note of Lisa’s trepidation. “We must prepare you for transport.”

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but…”