She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) (16 page)

            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. 

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 with 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.