She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) (30 page)

            “Yeah, I saw your speech the other day, Henri.”
President Kirkland reflects sarcastically.  “Thanks for that, by the way…  This
is one hell of a mess, and I thought your program was meant to stop that sort
of violence.  Now we have the worst series of gun tragedies in the history of
this country.  Worse yet, they happened within such a short time of one
another, the conspiracy theorists are already getting their camera crews ready
to make a movie.”

            “That’s a good point, Henri,” Iverson says as he
folds his arms across his chest, challenging The Congressman’s position, “I
also thought your program was supposed to contain this type of violence?”

            “The program works.” Henri replies with a dignified
stance.  “Our goal was to red flag and monitor people who might be a threat to
this country.  Given that all four of our subjects have either been arrested or
killed for such acts, I’d say the program is fairly damn airtight.”

            “Yeah, and we can see that,” President Kirkland
admits, “but how do you explain three shootings in two days?  I mean, what type
of circumstances led up to that much violence- all within a few days?  It just
doesn’t make sense, Henri.  So help it to make sense for me?”

            “Well, it’s like you said, they were all under
the influence…” Henri begins with a serious demeanor, his pale-blue eyes showing
stone cold under a slicked-back mass of fine, silver hair.  “I think it’s well
established that people under the influence are prone to violence, don’t you? 
That said, I do know the program works, and I’d like to go back to the drawing
board to get you the hard data… With some subjects who are free of drugs and
alcohol.”

            “We’re not going to have another mess like this
here.” President Kirkland declares, slapping down Henri’s proposal like a
deflated volleyball.  “I do agree with the theory behind people being under the
influence… There is a lot of hard data that will support what happened this
week.”

            “I agree with you, Sir.” Henri replies
immediately, flicking his jacket nervously with his fingers.  “This cannot
happen again on American soil.  That’s why I’d like to run some studies with
subjects who are not under the influence,” he continues, holding up his index
finger, “and in an environment that is outside of our borders.”  The
Congressman displays his index and middle fingers for the Vice President,
showing him that their major concerns will be addressed.

            “Okay, Henri,” President Kirkland agrees with
cautionary authority, “you have your hunting party, but only if the DOJ doesn’t
find anything that points to your involvement in this mess.  Further, I want
hard data, not something that comes from people being watched from hundreds of
miles away.  We need intimate details, and I want your people as close to this
as possible to see how it mushrooms out, and how we can prevent it in the
future… Don’t manage this from an ivory tower like you did in Chicago!”

            “Yes, Mr. President.” Henri says with a
convincing smile toward Iverson. “Thank you, Sir!”

            “What about your rogue agent, Devlin
McConnelly?” Vice President Iverson asks with a keen appearance, raising his
eyebrows at The Congressman.

            “Yes, I’m glad you asked about that,” Henri says
as he reaches into his jacket pocket to retrieve a piece of paper folded neatly
into thirds, “I’m afraid Devlin McConnelly is a domestic terrorist.  We found
this letter in his duplex rental with statements that are anti-American, and
with promises of violent action against The United States.”  He takes a step
closer to the desk and hands the letter to Iverson, pointing at it as he
confirms his report.  “Now that letter is signed by Devlin, and it bears his
fingerprints.  It is the one piece of evidence you need to get that mall
shooting off of the administration’s back.”

            “Thank you for this, Henri,” Vice President
Iverson says as he looks the letter over in his well-manicured hands, “this
will be extremely helpful.  I believe Devlin’s actions also led to some of the
other gun violence we had… Because he poisoned your team and kept you from
doing your job?”

            “That’s right,” Henri says with rogue austerity,
immediately understanding what Iverson plans to do, “he attacked us with
chemical weapons on American soil, which prevented us from responding to these
shooting threats in time.” 

            “Good work, Henri,” President Kirkland evokes
proudly from the speaker, clearly sounding more relieved, “you’ll have all the
support you need for a new series of studies.”

            “We’ll take care of Mason.” Iverson adds with
smiling eyes, looking at Henri like the savior of the city as he walks up to
shake his hand.  “Go have some fun, Congressman, you’ve had a hell of a day.”
He asserts with luminous satisfaction, gripping Henri’s hand tightly.  “The
country appreciates your service.”

            “Yes, we appreciate your service, Congressman.”
President Kirkland parrots in a flat tone, his voice fading fast.  “Good luck
on your new operation; just get me the hard data that I need… Well, time to get
back to my family.  Is there anything else?”

            “No, Sir, have a good night!” Iverson exclaims
formally.

            “Well, good night then.” President Kirkland
replies.

            “Good night, Mr. President.” Henri says with a
satisfied grin.

            “Bye.” Iverson mutters as he hangs up the
speakerphone, raising his head to look at Henri with a calm smile.  “We’ll take
it from here, Henri.”

            “Good night, Mr. Vice President.” Henri concedes
with a dispassionate stare as he walks toward the exit of the Oval Office.

            “Ilene,” Vice President Iverson speaks into the
phone on the desk, waving Henri away casually, “get in touch with our contacts
in the media, I want to hold a press conference tonight… We have a domestic
terrorist on the loose.”   

            ‘Her eyes look up at him filled with love, but
they don’t see anything,’ Henri thinks to himself as he stands naked in the
corner of the bedroom.  The Congressman is watching Maurice and Leslie with
intense desire, feeling the need to release some pent-up frustration.  After
investing over $20,000 on dates for these two lovebirds, and waiting over six
months, the young lady has finally conceded to give up her treasure.  His head
twists slightly to the right as he gazes at Maurice with admiration, a man that
women can truly fall in love with.  Maurice has a tender heart, and a gentle
way about him, like a protective shepherd wanting the best for every member of
his flock. 

            As a French artist in his mid-forties, Maurice
has a build very similar to that of Henri.  His eyes are brown, and he has a full
head of hair that is akin in texture to the Congressman’s, except for the short
ponytail that lays even with his shoulder blades.  The younger man has a
distinct crucifix earring from his 80s hair-band days; a shiny silver relic
from the decade of excess.  His soft eyes are focused on young Leslie in the
bed beneath him, lying there in a welcoming state of warm affection.  She rubs
her hands up and down his chest, feeling nervous about being with a man for the
first time.  During the past half-hour, she has been extremely vocal with her
concerns, ensuring that Maurice tells her that he loves her every step of the
way.  Although she cannot see Maurice, her affection has grown for him over
these past few months.  With time and effort, he has been able to convince her
that they can be intimate without getting married, and he loves her so much
that marriage is inevitable.  She feels a bit of discomfort, lying on the bed
in just her panties, unable to see her magical love, but knowing that he is
unmistakably real.

            Henri watches the two with eager anticipation as
Maurice removes her panties and displays the incredible beauty between her
legs.  The old wolf can feel the tension in his throat along with a throbbing
erection that is more prescribed than inspired.  He looks down at her small
eighteen-year-old body, feeling waves of shame washing over him for the first
time.  A cold sweat begins to develop on his brow as Henri remembers Devlin’s
interruption of his last session.  His heart is racing, and he feels a distinct
fear creeping down the back of his neck like some ghastly force is coming for
him.  He remembers the horrified look on Devlin’s face when he saw him touching
the young, blind woman in the most intimate way.  Henri’s hands begin to
tremble, and he is suddenly enraged at Devlin, realizing that he never had
these thoughts in previous encounters with other women. 

            He recalls that night when they were at a five
star hotel: Henri, Maurice, and a young blind woman named Giselle.  They had already
made the switch after Maurice got the young woman worked up enough to perform,
and Henri was just starting to indulge himself in the fine pleasures of her
tight, young body.  However, before he was able to get to the main event,
Devlin burst through the door with his pistol drawn and forced The Congressman
to the floor, bringing the festivities to an immediate halt.  ‘Sit your old,
fat ass down,’ Henri recalls Devlin saying as he pointed the pistol between his
eyes.  He thinks back to the objectionable stare that Devlin gave him when he
saw what was happening.  The look of both a betrayed son and a judgmental
father, taking away Henri’s most prized source of pleasure and emotional
satisfaction.  Devlin called him a ‘coward’ and ‘pathetic puke,’ which would
not have bothered Henri if he didn’t respect the man so much. 

            Henri is having a hard time breathing now; thick
drops of sweat are running down his neck and chest.  He doesn’t know what is
causing him to feel so terrible.  ‘There is nothing wrong with what we’re doing
here,’ he tells himself, ‘the girl is consenting to intercourse.  She can say
no up until the point of penetration,’ Henri coaches himself silently, continuing
to feel sick inside.  He looks down with a terrified revelation; his erection
has gone away.  Henri tries to stare at the young woman to make the flesh
willing again, but his body is shivering with anxiety, and he feels this
overwhelming coldness in his stomach and the back of his throat.  ‘I’m feeling
guilty,’ he thinks to himself, watching his hands starting to tremble.  The
shaking becomes spasmodic, as though he has Parkinson’s disease.  His entire
body feels cold, sweaty, and peppered with shame.  As he stands in the corner;
he can see himself for the first time as a predatory pervert, remembering
Devlin’s horrified stare.  Henri tries to calm himself, but his heart and lungs
are pumping like the engine of a steam train with a fully stocked fire.

            He looks over at Maurice, his young brown eyes
staring at Henri with confusion.  Maurice gestures toward the young, naked
woman with his face, raising his eyebrows at Henri and tipping his head to the
side, indicating it is time for them to switch places. 

            Henri looks down at the young woman as she
writhes in the bed.  She is clearly turned on, with both of her hands between
her legs, moving in a sensual manner, but still cautious and fragile in this
new act.  He nods his head for Maurice to exit the room, and walks over to the
bed, kneeling down to wipe the sweat from his face and chest with the bedding
and sheets. 

            The young woman is ablaze with lust and love. 
Henri tries to calm himself, watching those loving eyes looking up at him as he
caresses her.  His heart is ablaze with the desire for another person to look
at him with so much sincere affection.  He places his hands on her beautiful
knees, feeling the soft skin and hoping that his internal conflict will soon
dissipate.  His hands move down the soft skin of her inner thighs, slowly
massaging her muscular legs.  He looks up at her beautiful, young face, and
curly brunette hair, watching how inviting her movements are.  Henri basks in
the overwhelming approval of her soft touch on his shoulders, this incredible
sensation of belonging somewhere, as though someone cares whether he lives or dies. 
He kisses the young woman’s knee and begins to caress her stomach, enjoying the
dream of being wanted and adored.  His eyes move down to her perfectly formed
labia, knowing that a man has never been there before; a place sacred and
exclusive.  He smiles wickedly, knowing that he will be her first, and $20,000
is well worth the price of admission. 

            She begins to pull his hands further between her
legs, and Henri pulls back, wanting to be immersed in this feeling of love and
adoration.  He continues to touch her slowly, massaging just her muscles and
soft skin, needing to have a pure moment of mutual, sensual desire.  The young
woman begins to shake her hips a bit, impatient that he is not touching her
most sensitive areas.  Henri sneers with frustration at her animal desire,
wanting to spend a few more minutes being adored and admired by her light
touch.

            “Stop teasing me, Maurice!” She begs, rocking
her hips as she rubs herself between the legs.

            “Slow…” Henri mutters in his best impersonation
of Maurice.

            “No, I want it now!  Give it to me now!” She
begs in a very unattractive manner, looking novice and weak with her inability
to contain her lustful libido.

            Henri feels a sense of rage building up inside
of him, wanting the young woman to just enjoy this sensual massage.  He needs
her to look at him with that singular face of pure, unconditional love, but she
is already demanding the hot and dirty sin.  His mind starts to race, realizing
that this may be another wasted $20,000, and more of his valuable time gone. 
He tries to massage her slowly and get her to cool off, but she refuses, and
starts bouncing more lustfully on the bed, making sexual noises that break his
concentration.

            As he raises his head, Henri is met with a
haunting scene, just inches from his eyes.  The young woman’s head has been
severed at the neck, grisly, jagged cuts, with blood dripping all around the
cylinder of skin.  The severed head is being held in front of him by an older
woman with her entire face painted white, bearing dark black circles around her
eyes, and ten black stitches painted on her lips.  As the intruder turns her
sinister green eyes upon him, the black paint on her nose is illuminated by the
soft lighting of the hotel bedroom.  She looks at him with fierce rage, holding
the young woman’s head in her left hand and a bloody knife in her right.  This
ghastly creature is wearing a long, black, ceremonial robe, with knots tied
over her shoulders and fabric that droops all the way to her feet.  Her hair is
wild; a mane of long, strong brunette locks that completes a beautiful and
deadly woman.  She is kneeling on the bed to the right of Leslie’s body, holding
the severed head just six inches from Henri’s face.

            “You will never touch innocent flesh again!” The
woman threatens with her furious gaze and a voice that would cause lions to
tremble.

            Henri jumps backwards off of the bed, slamming
his buttocks hard against the rough carpet.  His vision suddenly goes dark, and
he blinks several times, horrified by the realization that he cannot see.

            “Maurice?”  Leslie calls out from the bed. 
“Maurice, what’s wrong, we were just getting started?”

            Henri begins to tremble as he hears someone get
up from the bed and approach him.  He slithers backwards until his shoulders and
head smack into the wall. 

            “Maurice!” The young woman says unexpectedly
from within a few inches of his face.

            Henri is terrified now, feeling that the demon
woman is pretending to sound like Leslie so that she can kill him more easily. 
His breathing elevates as she puts her hand on his chest, seeming compassionate
and concerned.

            “I am Henri! My name is Henri; not Maurice, and
if you’re going to kill me, you twisted bitch, then let’s go!” Henri spews out
with enraged satisfaction, waiting for the knife to come down on his chest.

            “Who the hell are you!?” The young woman asks in
a voice full of betrayal as she stands up and takes a few steps back.  “Where
is Maurice?”

            Henri begins to breathe easier as he realizes
that Leslie was not decapitated, and the vision he saw was just a
hallucination.

            “You’re still alive!” He says with a smile,
feeling a small foot come down hard on his chest   

            “You sick bastards!” Leslie yells, as she begins
to stomp on Henri’s naked body, delivering strong blows to his chest, stomach,
and genitals, forcing him to gasp and protect himself.

            Henri rolls onto his side, protecting his organs
instinctively, and the young woman stops kicking after a few seconds.  He
remains curled up on the floor, still unable to see anything but darkness as he
listens to her stomping through the room while she gathers up her clothing. 
His pain is much more than physical, as being rejected by the young woman
destroys his fantasy completely, leaving him in a catatonic state of emotional abandon. 
Henri begins to cry as she slams the door, feeling cold in his aging skin, and
knowing that his erotic adventures will never be enjoyable again. 

            Within a few minutes, he rolls over and sits up
on the floor, feeling a bit better as he gets ready to return to regular life
after another wasted $20,000 investment.  His vision returns as he leans
forward, and the devil woman is right there, leaning over him with her eyes
fixed upon his.  She grabs his throat with her mighty hand and slams his body against
the thick wall of the hotel bedroom.  Henri feels his larynx being constricted,
and he tries to pry her fingers away using his left hand while jabbing her in
the face with his right fist. 

            She releases his throat and punches him in the
stomach with both hands, causing him to double over.  Then she grabs the back
of his neck, squeezing with the strength of a powerful man, dragging him into
the bathroom where she smashes his head against the hard surface of the tub. 
Henri feels an immediate sting on his brow and forehead, echoes of pain
reverberating through his skull at the speed of light. 

            There is a ringing in his ears now and he senses
that the end is coming soon.  Henri gets to a position on all fours, looking
wildly at the woman’s powerful legs.  He opens his mouth in a fevered panic and
bites hard into her thick calf muscle, feeling his teeth tearing through her skin
and sinewy muscle tissue.  Like a ravenous dog fighting for survival, he shakes
his head back and forth, and continues to tear the flesh of her leg, watching
blood flow down his chin and smear his cheeks. 

            As she drops to her knees, Henri rises to his
feet and leaps onto her back, wrapping his arms around her throat and squeezing
with all of his strength.  She spins around fiercely, rising to her feet again,
despite the bite wound in her calf.  Her muscular legs send them both into the
wall of the shower.  Henri holds on tight, constricting her airway further as
the powerful, demonic creature continues to smash him into the shower with her
back and legs.  As she does this for the third time, he feels the stainless
steel handles and shower head smash into his back and skull.  The Congressman
winces at the intense sting of blunt metal hammering against his spine and
kidneys like a reverse battering-ram.