Chapter 78 – Revenge in Motion
Wednesday evening June 18, 2008 – 8:30 PM
While Marianne Plante and Tome Willis were engaging in a domestic battle to end all battles, somewhere miles away, Tracy Stone and Cam Miller were engrossed in a much more tranquil discourse; a dialogue that revolved around a much more simpatico, although perhaps no less deadly, joint venture.
Tracy rang up Cam’s home phone number, “just to check in” as she put it, and once again his unconcerned saint of a wife, Susan, didn’t have a clue as to the unforeseen infiltration of the mind that was about to take place.
“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about the other day?” purred Tracy, but at the moment Cam was having trouble remembering exactly what it was she was referring to. He wasn’t quite sure whether it was the turmoil of the trial, or whether there might be a more holistic explanation for this nagging mental block, but nevertheless he sensed that there was something unusual behind his abrupt memory loss, and on top of that, all of a sudden, he felt as if he were falling into some sort of paralyzing stupor.
And what was even more peculiar about this billowy lethargy, which was creeping into Cam’s soul like a caterpillar up a grapevine, was the fact that it appeared to be triggered merely by the whispering sound of Tracy’s soothing voice; it was as if her voice and her voice alone was putting him into this dreamlike state.
Yes, there was no question about it, Tracy’s lenitive intonations were having a medicating affect on the unwitting Cam, and as much as he resisted it, as much as he fought it, he could feel his body going limp; he could feel his heart growing weary; he could feel his eyelids slipping into a droopy slumber; he could fee his mind falling into a sleepy unconsciousness, and furthermore, he felt totally helpless to do anything about it.
Cam hung up the phone after about a half hour, and although he was as wide-eyed and alert as could be, somehow he felt as if he were missing a 25 minute block of time from his life, a block of time that was completely unaccounted for; a seemingly nonexistent 25 minute chuck of his life was gone, vanished and apparently lost forever in the astronomic void of purgatory.
In fact, Cam had absolutely no recollection of what he and Tracy had just discussed, not even the faintest idea. However, regardless of his selective amnesia, he found himself involuntarily heeding her unspoken words. He found himself making his way down to his basement office. He found himself pulling up a chair. He found himself sitting at his desk. He found himself scouring the internet. He found himself searching though the depths of cyberspace…but for what he wasn’t sure.
Cam fingers were pounding away relentlessly at his laptop’s clicking keyboard as if they had a mind of their own, as if he were absorbed in a symphonic piano recital, when out of the blue, a photograph depicting the inside of a prison cell flashed across the screen, and it didn’t take long for him to come to the conclusion that the image would make a fine addition to his brother’s memorial website. It didn’t take long for him to come to the conclusion that it was high time he began a taunting campaign aimed squarely at the Breslin faction, aimed squarely at the Breslin camp. It didn’t take long for him to come to the conclusion that his latest blog entry should be entitled as follows:
JOHN BRESLIN’S FUTURE HOME!!!
From the Eyes of a Juror Page 91
