Authors: David Kempf
“Can I help you with anything else?” asked the other librarian.”
“No,” he answered her.
“Okay, have a good evening.”
“Thanks.”
Should Luther get back to his cat… that terrible Moose who did a betraying thing to him or should he continue his quest for academic American history?
“Thank you,” said Luther to the new librarian.
“You’re welcome.”
“What happened to Jennifer, who had your last shift?”
“Oh, she went home,” she answered him.
“Okay,” said the man who would kill her. Why the hell should she keep living with all her unpatriotic deception?
America was a dream and a delusion but it was also something infinitely more. This country was created as an idea or even an ideal. This was a country where everyone was free to do as one pleased. Well, fuck, he was kind of wondering about that. Perhaps this librarian was exactly what she appeared. He was not thinking that right now, oh no! This woman was working with them and under the guise of free speech was helping this terrible excuse for an educational institution turn its students against American and her greatest ally England. One sided was an understatement. There were lawyers who worked extensively with men in charge of suicide bombers referring to themselves as “freedom fighters” despite fighting for treachery. The hypocrisy of those who sides with the enemy was unbearable. The ones who secretly directly supported them as sleepers were simply unspeakable. He went back to the parking lot, forgetting about academic education for the future people’s movements for the time being.
The cat was conscious again.
“Yes,” he answered him.
The cat’s gaze was unrelenting.
“Look, I know that what you did was simply a matter of military discipline, to maintain order,” he said sincerely. “You see, sometimes I get so emotional, I make bad choices. That’s why they refused to let me stay in longer, you know that. Hell, you know my whole history.”
The cat seemed to calm down, he even licked his hand.
“I have it right here,” he said.
The cat looked up at him, almost lovingly this time.
“You know, I wouldn’t lose sight of you. Hell, even an ordinary dog and cat gets that chip inside of them. I can track you.”
Moose purred out loud.
He couldn’t recall now when they put the tracking chip in the animal. Luther could not remember when he had purchased the cat, if he was even present when it occurred. It was not clear to him that he was receiving the thoughts that were required to be transmitted into his head. The message was clear.
“What are you doing now?”
That familiar voice of the old lady didn’t take long to recognize.
“Well?”
“I’m done with the library, for now,” Luther answered her.
“I see,” she replied.
The old librarian had apparently not gone home just yet. She was walking around in the evening; it was getting later and darker. The old lady was alone.
“Good evening, Jennifer.”
“Hello, Luther.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I still feel bad about out long, drawn out fight.”
“Oh?”
“I loved my son and I admire your bravery.”
“Luther?”
“Yes?”
“I want to offer my apologies but I need to know are you okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“The way you were talking to that cat, it was frightening me.”
“How so?” he asked sincerely.
“You were talking to it; like it was your best friend or that you were taking orders of some kind,” he said, laughing.
“I am.”
“What?”
“Witness the ultimate in cloak and dagger, the feline.”
“Luther, you need help. I mean, I think I can see how going to war can affect people in a bad way. You need help. Soldiers returning from war can feel isolated and alone, sometimes this can lead to…”
“Spare me.”
“What?” she asked him.
“There are a reason people like you just relish the opportunity to question your country. You weaken us all and call it dissent. I think I know whose side you are really on.”
“I’m not on any side, no, I mean…”
Luther starred at her with a look that indicated either hate or detachment. She could not tell from where she standing, which one it was. Jennifer only knew she was standing too close to him for her own personal safety. She had made a grave error in judgment. This man was unstable.
“Oh, like C.N.N., don’t want to take sides, just want to express moral equivalence. Like the mother of the Iraq soldier who died and blames American instead of the evil dictator who put his own people into meat grinders.”
“No.”
“Then what then, Jennifer?”
“Luther, you’re unbalanced, you need help, look there are some fine counselors… on this campus…”
That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. No more nonsense about the enlightenment of thinly disguised Marxist academia. No more nonsense. He couldn’t take it. No more. It was time to end the circle of insanity tonight.
“I’m truly, sorry, Jennifer.”
“Please.”
“I will be haunted by this. Probably will be, I think. Still, you should not have given aid and comfort to the enemy. I’m right, even if it was merely in spirit and intellectual dishonesty that poisons the soul, the American soul.”
“I have a soul and so does everyone who lives and dies,” she shouted defiantly at Luther, almost maternally scolding him.
“That’s fine.”
“Now back off,” she said, obviously terribly frightened of the man.
“You do have a soul, I know. That’s why I think you will haunt me.”
She looked at the cat’s bright yellow eyes, reflected in the dark. The feline seemed to come out of nowhere. Luther grabbed her rapidly by the throat and broke her neck before she could let out a single scream. It was quick and it was painless. He had done this before in Iraq. The effect was the same as being hung like Hussein or Mussolini but without all the theatrical drama. It was right to the point without even giving the victim a chance to savor a final few moments for reflection of panic. Then the guilt hit Luther Knox. He was already being haunted by Jennifer. She had literally just given up the ghost and that spirit was immediately tormenting him as he held her lifeless body in his strong arms. Perhaps there was no need to warn her, teach her a lesson prior to her assassination. She would never think she was wrong and even if she did, it would obviously be fear induced. Christ, for all he knew, she had been brainwashed or had family waiting to have their heads cut off if she disobeyed orders. This doing one’s duty was hard as hell. This was particularly true when he could empathize with good people who had simply gotten involved with the wrong people and made permanent mistakes against their own country. Unless, of course, there was more to her story than that, something could always be hidden. She could have taken the outrage of losing a son……
Dr. Clark Reilly was not someone who could be ignored any longer. Luther Knox had already killed an additional person… the plot thickened… the conspiracy was bigger than he had thought… he had taken a calculated risk. Still, Dr. Reilly was the bigger threat and once again, old Luther allowed his emotions, fueled by patriotism and sheer outrage to cloud his judgment. The tragedy of all this was that was that his decisions were typically based on sound reason. Decisions were seldom the whims of his feelings at a given moment. The cat was in charge and he had forgiven Luther his moment of unstable emotion. This was, after all, a hell of a thing to put a man through. Even a good man, a stable soldier, had his limits. For God’s sake, everyman had to know what his limitations were.
The professor was now done teaching his night class. He would soon take the long drive home, back to his grand condominium, almost two hours away. That might seem like a long commute to many people, but the man only worked three days a week. Tenure and a rep for controversy went a very long way indeed at Donnis University.
“Good evening,” said a strange voice from out of nowhere.
“What?”
The darkness of the office seemed to come alive with that man’s sudden voice. Dr. Reilly was very, very disappointed. This was the time of night when he had his whiskey and thought about what a great humanitarian he was. Then he would go home and get really drunk. He only did this one night a week, after an excellent night class. The other days and nights, he was literally a teetotaler, he really was. When he was hot, he wanted to transform his consciousness and feed his ego like it was a hungry, great white shark.
“Sorry, I said good evening,” said the odd voice again.
“Good evening.”
“Yes, it’s good to be here.”
“Who are you and what do you want?” asked the infamous professor.
“Glad you asked; let us get straight to the point, sir.”
“Yes.”
“So much for your Marxist, suicide bombing sympathetic ways, it’s time for your students to get an education in freedom instead of anarchy.”
“What?”
“Let me make this simple.”
Luther grabbed the man’s throat with all his strength. Then something unexpected happened. Someone was behind him, grabbing his throat.
“We need to talk,” said a familiar voice.
“Thank God,” said the professor. Luther’s hands were off of him and he was walking towards the door.”
“Hand me something sharp,” said the stranger.”
“No, the police…”
“Please, its self-defense and I did save your life.”
The professor handed the stranger a small pair of scissors from his desk. He turned the lights in his office on.
“You?” said the stunned professor.
Doubting Thomas pushed Luther into a chair with one hand and then plunged the small scissor blades deep into the professor’s throat. It gushed blood, flowing. Reilly attempted to stop the blood from pouring out of his throat. His surprise killer kicked him in the head and he died nearly instantly. The last thing he heard was “thanks for the scissors, memento mori.” Doubting Thomas’s smile was the man’s final dying vision.
“You?” said a stunned Luther, trying to regain consciousness.
“Howdy, neighbor. Thought we already established that or maybe you were a bit too hazy or something.”
“Oh.”
“You aren’t here to kill me, then?”
“Why should I do that, I have nothing against you?”
“Oh.”
Then a sudden epiphany, what his serial killer neighbor’s dad may have once referred to as moment of clarity. Luther was the one with the issue, not him. Thomas never wanted to hurt him, they were not enemies. God in heaven though, the man was so evil, so sinister. He was worth more than a thousand scoundrels and a hundred sociopaths.
“Now you realize that to be true, old friend. What you don’t know is why I’m here.”
“No, well, yes.”
“You see…”
“Wait, what I don’t know is how the hell you managed to get here.”
“Open up the window, please.”
“What?”
Please step over the dead America hater’s corpse and open the bloody window, please.”
“Okay.”
“Excellent.”
“It looks like…”
“Yes?” asked his old neighbor with an even bigger body count to his credit.
“It smells like…”
“Yes?”
“The entire town is on fire!”
“It is!”
“Did you do this?”
“No, Jack Smith did. He’s really pissed off about his wife’s death.”
“Really, he’s that mad?”
“No, it wasn’t our old pal Jack. He’s far too busy drinking himself to death in Mexico to worry about us. It wasn’t anyone else you know, either. It was me. John the Baptist had to go, well, hell, the whole town maybe should burn. I’m here now.”
“Why?’
“How did you survive all of those tours of duty?”
“I guess I was lucky.”
“Yes, that would have to be it.”
“I’m also a great killing machine.”
“I’ll take your word for it, do we have a truce?”
Doubting Thomas was in deep, dark uncharted waters now. He had to know what he could get away with. Now he would have to go in for the kill, so to speak. He had to match wits with his old neighbor, which wasn’t especially difficult. Once the man was off the battlefield or our out of his delusion, he could put Amish people to sleep with his riveting conversational skills.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Look at all of those innocent people you killed and you knew better, damn you!”
“Oh, sorry about that, I guess I must have been…”
“What?”
“Look, if I told you the real reason behind all of those deaths, if I told anyone… they wouldn’t think that I was merely pretending to be mad.”
“What?” he asked inquisitively and skeptically.
“Look, I had a dog and if you spell the name of that animal backwards it’s…”
“God, its name is…”
“Yes.”
“I don’t follow, Tommy.”
“I’m really running out of time to explain it to you so why don’t I give you the cliff notes. Something tells me you’re familiar with them. We have no time for the unabridged story this evening.”
“Sure, I’m familiar with cliff notes. Just make a long story short, don’t be pretentious or condescending, either. Tell me what the hell you mean to say,” he said with almost threatening authority.
“Fair enough, old friend.”
“Do it!” Luther commanded Thomas.
“The government has hired me to kill people, who very much appear to be normal assimilated American citizens. They told me that if I messed up and were caught, then I was on my own. I tried to make irrational excuses. First I said that God needed to prove himself because of his lack of divine intervention…”
“I thought you hated your parents.”
“Oh, everyone knows that. Can I finish?”
“Sure.”
“You see my dog, this special dog…”
“My God…”
“My dog…”
“You don’t remember even purchasing him from Mr. West or putting this special tracking system into him, do you?”
“Well, no, can’t say that I do.”
“I understand. Now they say you’re a psychopath when you were actually an assassin who went after sleeper cells.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So sorry to doubt you… old neighbor, very sorry,” said Luther.