GymPredator Posted February 5, 2021 Share Posted February 5, 2021 44 minutes ago, cregssatx said: Oh, no, don't apologize. I didn't mean my comment that way. Well thought out scene, you definitely captured your intent and evoked a plethora of emotions from me while I was reading it. I saw the dark side and him "coming back to himself" as he finished. I'm just tempering my overall reaction because I want/need to see the aftermath. Reacting now would feel hasty. As voyeuristic as it may sound, I need to see him find his balance again and work through what happened. If the story were to end here, I would walk away with a much different feeling than I think I will once it's done. I hope that makes more sense. I definitely did not intend to sound negative. Just... cautionary. Thank you for exploring this topic with us. Didn't take it that way at all. By the way I have things outlined - this point is just past half way through the entire story. So there is much yet to come and the aftermath will go on for several chapters. And yes, were thing to end here - you would have every right to have a very different feeling than the one I want to convey. The problem with this chapter being over 90 pages is that the aftermath has to wait a bit for you guys to read. I think just one line from early the next morning from the upcoming end of chapter 8 is enough to show - there is much more to this: Quote John reached up, took Gabriel’s hand, and leaned his head back onto his lover’s shoulder. Gabriel couldn’t help but notice. John was trembling... 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dredlifter Posted February 5, 2021 Share Posted February 5, 2021 Amazing storytelling, as usual. Yes it was very intense and hard to read at some points. We could feel the rage of both John and Brenda being released on someone who deserves what he got. Now the big question is, even though he deserved it...did John and Brenda really deserve to doll it out that extent? Did their actions make them just as bad as Jeff? I'm sure they will be facing some sort of self-reckoning soon, especially based on the teaser line you posted: John reached up, took Gabriel’s hand, and leaned his head back onto his lover’s shoulder. Gabriel couldn’t help but notice. John was trembling.. 1 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pumped Posted February 5, 2021 Share Posted February 5, 2021 GymPredator, first the obvious, your writing is spectacular. Your candor and honesty is exemplary, perhaps dangerously so in this format. You, within the context of a fascinating and riveting story, laid yourself bare and I commend your confession although we are left not knowing how much of what transpired in the last chapter you take ownership of (and we don’t need to btw). In your response you seem to admit to being both the victim and the predator. Your chosen name of GymPredator seems to tilt the scale towards the later more than the former. Either way I am concerned what the comment section might bring as you admit this is personal. 4 hours ago, GymPredator said: I apologize for allowing the personal to come out, but I thought it was important. It is important, and thank you for starting the dialogue. I also realize you vetted this ahead of posting it but you also mentioned that flashes and images of that night that still occur. I hope the comments don’t unintentionally trigger memories or the pain you are working through. Rape is complicated and scaring. Some take back the narrative and own their story, some bury it deep, never to revisit it. You are aware your have opened the door to the possibility of very personal responses. You are a brilliant writer and undoubtably smart and aware. I hope your openness doesn’t result in hurt or regret or cause you not to share your stories in the future, that would be a great loss. 3 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GymPredator Posted February 5, 2021 Share Posted February 5, 2021 10 hours ago, Pumped said: GymPredator, first the obvious, your writing is spectacular. Your candor and honesty is exemplary, perhaps dangerously so in this format. You, within the context of a fascinating and riveting story, laid yourself bare and I commend your confession although we are left not knowing how much of what transpired in the last chapter you take ownership of (and we don’t need to btw). In your response you seem to admit to being both the victim and the predator. Your chosen name of GymPredator seems to tilt the scale towards the later more than the former. Either way I am concerned what the comment section might bring as you admit this is personal. It is important, and thank you for starting the dialogue. I also realize you vetted this ahead of posting it but you also mentioned that flashes and images of that night that still occur. I hope the comments don’t unintentionally trigger memories or the pain you are working through. Rape is complicated and scaring. Some take back the narrative and own their story, some bury it deep, never to revisit it. You are aware your have opened the door to the possibility of very personal responses. You are a brilliant writer and undoubtably smart and aware. I hope your openness doesn’t result in hurt or regret or cause you not to share your stories in the future, that would be a great loss. Thank you for posting this. I have mentioned in a previous post long time ago, that this story is sort of therapy for me. I don't think anyone truly understands just how much it is - perhaps until now. Yes, I did vet this - quite a bit actually before I ever posted it. Someone I shared with is a co-author with me of another work (believe it or not, more detailed and expansive than this one, but that one is pure fiction) and he suggested that I might start an author's journal or something such as that. Talking more about what is and is not real in these chapters. He told me exactly, "Everyone who reads this can feel the reality of it. Problem is that the real is blended so well with the fiction that it can be hard to tell for the reader who doesn't know a lot more about you." Probably a very fair criticism. It is something I might do in the future. Since you brought it up, I should explain the user name. That name was given to me by someone who was quite close to me some years ago. It was his description of me in the gym - how I change personalities so completely - go into my own world, pace between sets like a caged lion or tiger. Other gym guys have commented to me (after my workout) that they would think of coming up and saying hi, but that I look so angry that I half look like I would punch them for interrupting me. (I would never do that, BTW) Anyway, he said it was like watching a predator who was bottled up suddenly released. Truthfully, quite appropriate for me in the gym. Someone who knew this was coming quite rightly cautioned me about using the name Predator in the story and that it could connote things that I do not intend - given it's common usage. I stayed with it though. As most of you know already who have read these comments, John is very much a reflection of myself - or who I would be if I were going through what he is. Another real life person who I have written into this as a character would often muse that there are really 3 parts to my personality - and you see that in John quite prominently - being John, Detective Declann, and the Predator. What he called those pieces of me were a bit different name, but the gist is the same. The Predator is a part of me - at least his attitude, the icy hot rage, the ability to dominate everything to a very bad place if it isn't controlled, other things that haven't come out in the story yet. I have had to learn to deal with that. Still do. Knowing that part of me is there is part of controlling it. That trial is also part of what is going on here. As to what is real in that chapter - have I ever done anything like that? No. Only crime I have committed is not coming to a full stop at a stop sign, and speeding in a school zone once, lol. Rather, I suppose, it is what I could do, if that rage were combined with what John is going through physically. Mixed into it as well is some of what I saw in my career that other people have done. Goes to what I have said this story is about all along. 1) What is it that makes someone human, and 2) For all of our fantasizes about growth and superhuman strength and such that we have so much fun with here, what would it really be like if it were to really happen to one of us (something that could be a reality in a few generations with medical and technological progress from my reading and research for this story). Your reflection about the rape experience is very true, and I thank you. It took me 8 years to admit it to anyone beyond the initial investigators and a couple of therapists. And unless it had been for necessities I would not have told them. I suppose though that I decided to be more open about it just to show that 1) it can happen to anyone, being male or muscled or typically being able to defend yourself or your job makes no difference, 2) maybe my sharing might be a bit of a comfort to those who cannot. I do not have a big platform, it is tiny in fact. But it is like my other story on this site about my coming out experience - if by sharing I help one person, it is enough. But knowing what I know from a lot of angles - that is why I was so cautionary - giving the warnings and the summary for people who want to keep going with the reading but not see the "nitty gritty" of that chapter. I do not want to bring bad memories or flashbacks to anyone. But, yes, it does leave me very vulnerable - but I guess everything truly important does that for anyone. 3 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pumped Posted February 5, 2021 Share Posted February 5, 2021 2 hours ago, GymPredator said: Thank you for posting this. I have mentioned in a previous post long time ago, that this story is sort of therapy for me. I don't think anyone truly understands just how much it is - perhaps until now. Yes, I did vet this - quite a bit actually before I ever posted it. Someone I shared with is a co-author with me of another work (believe it or not, more detailed and expansive than this one, but that one is pure fiction) and he suggested that I might start an author's journal or something such as that. Talking more about what is and is not real in these chapters. He told me exactly, "Everyone who reads this can feel the reality of it. Problem is that the real is blended so well with the fiction that it can be hard to tell for the reader who doesn't know a lot more about you." Probably a very fair criticism. It is something I might do in the future. Since you brought it up, I should explain the user name. That name was given to me by someone who was quite close to me some years ago. It was his description of me in the gym - how I change personalities so completely - go into my own world, pace between sets like a caged lion or tiger. Other gym guys have commented to me (after my workout) that they would think of coming up and saying hi, but that I look so angry that I half look like I would punch them for interrupting me. (I would never do that, BTW) Anyway, he said it was like watching a predator who was bottled up suddenly released. Truthfully, quite appropriate for me in the gym. Someone who knew this was coming quite rightly cautioned me about using the name Predator in the story and that it could connote things that I do not intend - given it's common usage. I stayed with it though. As most of you know already who have read these comments, John is very much a reflection of myself - or who I would be if I were going through what he is. Another real life person who I have written into this as a character would often muse that there are really 3 parts to my personality - and you see that in John quite prominently - being John, Detective Declann, and the Predator. What he called those pieces of me were a bit different name, but the gist is the same. The Predator is a part of me - at least his attitude, the icy hot rage, the ability to dominate everything to a very bad place if it isn't controlled, other things that haven't come out in the story yet. I have had to learn to deal with that. Still do. Knowing that part of me is there is part of controlling it. That trial is also part of what is going on here. As to what is real in that chapter - have I ever done anything like that? No. Only crime I have committed is not coming to a full stop at a stop sign, and speeding in a school zone once, lol. Rather, I suppose, it is what I could do, if that rage were combined with what John is going through physically. Mixed into it as well is some of what I saw in my career that other people have done. Goes to what I have said this story is about all along. 1) What is it that makes someone human, and 2) For all of our fantasizes about growth and superhuman strength and such that we have so much fun with here, what would it really be like if it were to really happen to one of us (something that could be a reality in a few generations with medical and technological progress from my reading and research for this story). Your reflection about the rape experience is very true, and I thank you. It took me 8 years to admit it to anyone beyond the initial investigators and a couple of therapists. And unless it had been for necessities I would not have told them. I suppose though that I decided to be more open about it just to show that 1) it can happen to anyone, being male or muscled or typically being able to defend yourself or your job makes no difference, 2) maybe my sharing might be a bit of a comfort to those who cannot. I do not have a big platform, it is tiny in fact. But it is like my other story on this site about my coming out experience - if by sharing I help one person, it is enough. But knowing what I know from a lot of angles - that is why I was so cautionary - giving the warnings and the summary for people who want to keep going with the reading but not see the "nitty gritty" of that chapter. I do not want to bring bad memories or flashbacks to anyone. But, yes, it does leave me very vulnerable - but I guess everything truly important does that for anyone. Thanks for the response. It sounds like you have not only vetted this journey of self exploration but have wisely assembled a skilled advance team, your trusted window to what lies ahead. It takes a village, but sage advice aside, we are still the captain of our own destiny and truth. Whether you story goes there or not I will be fascinated to see how the crumbs of self control and rage you have dropped manifest. There is much written on these blogs about domination and control, those that desire to have it or those wanting to submit to it. You are moving beyond it to the next level. Domination, and control of others pales in comparison to mastering self control. Harnessing ones strength takes lifetime(s) of practice. The gift of limitless power cuts both ways. It has lead to the downfall of rulers, CEO’s as well as personal relationships since the beginning of time. And we all know what they say about absolute power ...... Best of luck on your journey Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GymPredator Posted February 9, 2021 Share Posted February 9, 2021 Chapter 8 - You Know My Name - Part 4 “What doesn't destroy you, leaves you broken instead / Got a hole in my soul growing deeper and deeper / And I can't take one more moment of this silence / The loneliness is haunting me / And the weight of the world's getting harder to hold up.” “It comes in waves, I close my eyes / Hold my breath and let it bury me / I'm not okay, and it's not alright / Won't you drag the lake and bring me home again?” ~ Bring Me the Horizon, Drown John was so fast and efficient at cleaning all the evidence up that it took very little time. When he was satisfied, Jeff was asleep in a pristine, if partly broken bed. They left the evidentiary sanitized bedroom of the Heath home, and closed the door. Neither would ever come into this place again. Three Hours Later The breathtaking, sparkling shimmer of the Milky Way and a multitude of stars were the only things that punctuated the pitch black sky of the rural Colorado moonless night. Scattered along the ground were a few distant gleams from security lights at widely spaced prairie farm homes. Otherwise, all the earth was darkness save one thing -- the glare of headlights from an SUV on a tiny ribbon of a road between those farms. Inside that lone rental SUV winding in the dark were John Declann and Brenda Heath. John came to a stop briefly at a T-intersection and made a right hand turn onto Colorado Highway 14 at a tiny town that consisted of little more than a crossroads known as Raymer. For almost one hundred miles now, they had been driving. John had been preparing Brenda for what she could expect in the days and weeks ahead as best he knew. And now they were here, in the middle of nowhere … a deceptive middle of nowhere. In reality, they were driving quickly into one of the most secure places on the planet. John found the place he was looking for. A small road, like one of any number of access roads that branched off into ranchlands or farm plots, except this wasn't. He pulled up to a fence and shifted into park at a set of gates. "I'm sorry we had to come out here. Maybe it is me being too protective, but I wanted to make sure that as far as the rest of the world is concerned - Brenda Heath just vanished from the face of the earth.” John paused briefly, before looking at Brenda very seriously. “But I need you to be careful here, OK?" Brenda looked up, confused at John’s deadly serious change. "What do you mean, John? What is this place?" John flipped his headlights on high beam and pointed toward the fence - a fence Brenda could now see was topped with barbed and razor wire. Below that she saw a small white sign: ***** Warning: Restricted Area It is unlawful to enter this area without permission of the Installation Commander. Sec 21, Internal Security Act of 1950, 50 USC 797 While on this Installation all personnel and the property under their control is subject to search. USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED ***** "John?" Brenda’s voice quivered a bit. With all that they had done and been through, she trusted John implicitly, but seeing that... it made the hairs on the nape of her neck rise a bit. John reached out and patted Brenda on her hand to reassure her. "These are scattered all around these farms. Fifty of them. More in Nebraska and back toward Cheyenne. Back in the worst of the Iraq war, the Air Force would have some of us come out here to man a post while they had a silo open for maintenance and were short security personnel with so many in the desert. They're normally staffed again these days, and I'm not out here much. Anyway, security will be here in a moment, but I think you’ll understand why these guys can be a bit ‘touchy’ if you do or say the wrong things. Just don’t do anything without either me or security with you once we get out." "So this is--" Brenda said in a bit of shocking recognition. John nodded. "Out there behind that fence, under a big ass concrete door, is a Minuteman missile with a nuclear warhead on it. Not a much more secure, guarded place on earth, and unless you live or work here - or you are the Russians - you would never know it’s here. Seemed a logical place to arrange for you to be picked up by the FBI. Totally secure, but also totally beyond the sight of anyone who might be associated with …” John paused a fraction of a second as an image flashed before his mind. A tiny man, broken, bleeding… No! John crushed the image as quickly as it came and continued, “them. My military boss thought it was melodramatic, but he indulged me." Two pairs of headlights flashed into existence on the other side of the fence and approached from the distance. "These guys will be very well armed and surprisingly young. So young, half of them still have teenage angst, but they’re here guarding a thermonuclear warhead anyway. Don't be afraid." "I'm not -- with you here." Brenda replied. One of the faded pickup trucks pulled beyond the gate and came to a stop once the chain link doors had resealed themselves. An armed uniformed man got out of the passenger side of the truck. He walked up to the SUV, and John rolled down his window. He showed his military credentials and allowed the airman to take the wallet to examine. "Federal agent. I believe my passenger and I are expected." The airman concentrated a moment, looked into the SUV at the people inside, and then handed John back his identification. He seemed to relax a bit. "Oh yeah. Damn, Detective Brady. They said you were a huge guy but fuck, next time they want to move this bitch for maintenance I think they should just have you come out and move the blast door single handed. Save on the electricity bill." As if his mind were a bit slowed by it being the middle of the night, John could see as it occurred to the barely twenty year old his passenger was female. John allowed himself an almost imperceptible smile of sympathy as the airman became red in embarrassment, "Oh, I'm sorry ma'am. I hope you will forgive the language." Brenda just laughed. "It's OK, airman. I'm a Navy brat. I've heard far worse from my Dad’s units, believe me." John smiled a bit wider, relishing one last time this woman and her restored soul. What he had done that evening may have been brutal and… and… It came again. A tiny man, crying, bleeding, hanging from the end of his cock. “Is this what you dreamed about cocksucker? What you lusted after? What you have been searching for for so long? Is it all you wanted? All you hoped it would be? OR Do you want more?” No! NO MORE! John again tried to will himself to stop thinking about what was slowly gnawing at him… What am I? The young airman clicked on his radio. "Sir. Vehicle intercepted at November Zero-Five. Detective Brady and passenger are here." John snapped back to the present as he heard an obviously older voice sound back over the radio, "Very well. Tell the sergeant that his people will be there momentarily." "Roger, copy." The two stripe looked at John and reflexively snapped to attention. "Sergeant. Sorry to speak with you that way--" "Nah, it’s OK son. That’s my law enforcement rank. I'm not active duty. Just call me Detective Brady if you need to be formal, but I prefer just my name." The young man visibly relaxed again. It struck Brenda just how truly powerful John was now. To this point, she had only witnessed how he related to herself and her soon-to-be ex-husband. And that was … well... But seeing John with this kid just out of high school. He had such a way to set someone at ease if he wanted. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him. As intimidating, as frightening, as close to a force of nature as she knew he could be, you couldn’t help but like him when he was like this. It was so easy too…. She stopped. In another time and place, she could fall for him so easily. Maybe she already had… but she thought John already knew that and forgave her. Behind them John saw three more sets of headlights pulling up in the rearview mirror. The airman said, "That’s them now, Sir. If you'll both come with me, I'll escort you to them." John opened his door and, as stood up to his proper height, he stretched out some of the cramptness of sitting for so long in a small vehicle. The sight elicited what John had come to jokingly think of as his new version of hello. "Holy Shit" rang out from the diminutive - the six foot tall airman was diminutive to John - but quite well built security airman. John’s sexy crooked smile crossed his lips as Brenda said, "Does that always happen?" He opened the door for her and she got out. "You get used to it." he replied. “Do you still have your house keys on you? I doubt you will ever need them again, and I bet Sheriff Cook can make good use of them in a few hours.” Brenda smiled as she reached into her purse and gave John a small key ring. John and the airman flanked Brenda as they walked her the fifty odd feet to the lead vehicle. A pair of FBI agents and a representative of the Justice Department were standing just to the side of the driver’s side headlight. They introduced themselves and asked Brenda if she was ready to go. John felt the change in Brenda’s demeanor instantly. She turned back and looked up at him. Just like when she realized who he was on her former front porch, tears were welling in her eyes. She took John’s massive hand into her small ones. "You changed my world in a day. You know I can never repay you for what you've done." The tiny woman launched at John and hugged him around his abs as tightly as she could. John returned the hug with one hand to her back, pulling her close. When she released, John looked at her, "You know you have to live by the rules, but you can break them for one reason. If you EVER need me for anything, you know how to reach me. Don't hesitate for one second." Brenda reached forward again, her hand moving directly in front of her at shoulder height to feel John's titanium hard abs through his shirt one last time. She smiled. "You still own me you know. You better take care of your property." They both share a laugh no one else there would ever understand. She sighed and took John's hand again. "I was right you know. No one will ever measure up and it would be crazy to even try to find someone who could. But for you, I promise to look hard for someone who comes close. Who knows - we might have a double date someday. Just remind that man of yours everyday how lucky he is to have you…" "Nah. I have been and always will be the lucky one where he is concerned. But, thank you." John said. She nodded, grabbed one quick last hug, and walked to the FBI agents. They assisted her into their vehicle and began to reverse down the entrance road and back to the highway. John watched her leave - a torrent of thoughts running through his mind. He had given a part of himself to her, for her. To free her, to save her … it felt so good in the moment. But… He had warned Gabriel of what he might also do in the moment. And in the moment he had-- and so much more. He had given up a part of himself to save her. But how much? He lingered for what seemed like hours in the sensory creep the normal world played at when his mind was fully engaged. He saw the lights fade away to black - so slowly. Every nuance imprinted in his memory. Memories-- A tiny man, eyes crying, pleading, his face turning blue with a massive cock buried down his airway choking him. “I’ve asked you three times cuck. And you still won’t answer. ‘Can You Handle It?’ WELL you stupid fuck?” NO! PLEASE NO! Don’t do it… A tiny man, eyes crying, pleading, barely breathing. The little body goes rigid, a muffled scream. The giant demon feeling that scream… Wet and warm surrounding his massive cock… NO! John swallowed hard and took a long, deep breath. He turned around, walking back to the SUV, his airman escort at his side. "I think you made quite the impression on her, Sir." "She deserved it. Thank you, Son." "Son? You look like my older brother… well he doesn't exactly look like you." The kid laughed. "If you don't mind me asking, and it isn’t out of place. I live in Fort Collins. You think you could work out with us tiny folks sometime? My buds would shit a brick." John laughed at how forward the young airman was. After dealing with Jeff - it was refreshing to see a brave man take the initiative again. John popped open the driver’s door, unzipped the small duffle containing his old uniform, and handed the kid the pen and small memo pad that was always with that bag. John tried to lift his mood, ignore the night behind him, and focus on something fun. "Tell you what. Give me your number and when the case I’m on is done, let's do it. That is… if you think you can hang with me." John smirked in a good natured jock taunt, figuring the kid would eat it up with his read of his personality. The airman pulled out a pocket-sized maglite, quickly scribbled his number, and handed back to John. John folded the paper and put it in his pocket. He cranked the SUV and was about to shift into reverse when something caught his eye. John stopped, his old mischievous streak suddenly coming out for the first time in what seemed like forever, though it had been at best a week or two. John raised his voice a bit - not nearly as loud as he could go, but enough to get the young man’s attention. “You all have a trash can back there?” The airman turned around confused, “Sir?” "Just need to toss a used coffee cup. Rental and all, don’t want to take it back dirty." John said totally nonchalantly. "Sure Si-- Kyle." The airman smiled, "Not a problem." The airman -- John now knew his name to be Bryce thanks to the name and phone number -- came back to the car window, thinking he was going to grab a paper cup. Instead, he looked on in confusion as he saw John pick up an 18-oz Yeti burnished aluminum thermos cup. John waited until he knew he had Bryce's attention, absently hefting and tossing the metal mug. “But that’s--” Bryce said, totally confused but totally intrigued at what John was doing. Then, John wrapped his vein-covered hands around the metal cup, making the entire length of it invisible. He showboated a bit, wiggling his fingers as if he were testing the cup like an old woman squeezing a loaf of bread. There was a pregnant pause for effect and then John's forearms exploded as he clamped his hands down. The Yeti cup groaned, cracked, and popped as the vacuum broke, and then it compacted as easily as if John were squeezing styrofoam. He twisted his hands against each other, rotating the left hand forward and the right hand back like he was rolling up a piece of paper into a tube. The now thin, compacted thermos pulled and sheared cleanly in half. John clamped his thumb and index fingers around the torn ends of each half to compact any sharp edges, making sure that his “gift” wouldn’t accidentally hurt the kid. Bryce stood there, his jaw literally gaping as John held out the two twisted lumps to him. “Don’t want to litter out here or anything …” John smirked as he added in a seeming afterthought. “Unless you want to keep it. I don’t mind … if you have a use for it. Paper weight maybe?” The kid’s hands shook as he took the two pieces John offered him. John laughed hard as the kid seemed to clutch them like silver nuggets, testing the former metal cup to see if it was real. Bryce then looked up and John gave him a wink. “Workout with me, and I’ll have you doing that in no time. Take care of yourself out here, son. Call you soon.” John held out his right fist, and the trembling kid had enough resolve in him to reach out and return John’s fist bump. John smiled inside - Good man. Held your ground, he thought, knowing that he would fit into his cadre of bodybuilding friends under different circumstances. He noticed a flash of a twitch from Bryce’s groin, but chalked it up to the effect he had when he showed off to some straight men, Jack for example. He shifted into reverse and pulled away, while the airman held two bits of metal he would treasure the rest of his life. *** Alone on the empty highway, it began again. Off in the distance, a flash of heat lightning lit the mountains for a moment. And just as quickly, an image flashed before his mind. A tiny man, crying, pleading, shaking from a forced orgasm. His feeble struggles only fueling the rage. Feeling a warm, slightly viscous splash on his hands. “Get your watery shit off of me, you worthless fuck.” NO… John tried to block it out. He reached for his phone, and by a miracle he had a data signal. He switched on his music feed, hoping some of his typical hard metal would keep it away. Something, just something to keep him occupied. But what came out of the speakers… It was rock, but of all the songs, this song, a version he had never heard…. Three thirty in the morning Not a soul in sight The city's lookin' like a ghost town On a moonless summer night Raindrops on the windshield There's a storm moving in He's headin' back from somewhere That he never should have been And the thunder rolls And the thunder rolls He looked at the clock. 0338 hours. Another flash of lightning, and another flash of memory. A wounded piece of his soul, a place he had stepped on over and over the last few hours trying to get it to be silent, screamed at him. He was coming from a place he should have never been. John accelerated, trying to outrun it, as the song continued. Every light is burnin' In a house across town She's pacin' by the telephone In her faded flannel gown Askin' for a miracle And hopin' she's not right Prayin' it's the weather That has kept him out all night And the thunder rolls And the thunder rolls Somehow, someway - as surely as he knew every movement his angel made just from hearing him - John knew that back in Denver, there were lights burning. His angel was awake, waiting. Another image flashed-- A tiny man, crying, shaking from blinding white pain. His feeble struggles only fueling the rage. “Well, what do you think runt? You enjoying having a real cock up that little ass?” NO! Stop...Please… The thunder rolls And the lightnin' strikes Another love grows cold On a sleepless night As the storm blows on Out of control Deep in her heart The thunder rolls John started to weep. The storm blows on / out of control … He gave up. The images started, and he let them come.... John kept pleading with the demon, No. Stop. Please stop. A tiny man, broken, bleeding, barely sane. His gaze dropped down, “Sorry…” A giant MAN, a demigod, watching the memories, horrified, racked with guilt. He pleaded with the tiny man. “I’m Sorry…” A scream of pain. “Did I ask for an apology?” the Demon growled. But, it was too late for no. Too late for an apology. Too late to stop. What have I done? As the storm blows on Out of control Deep in her heart The thunder rolls 0655 arrived with John exactly where he told Dougherty he would be - sitting at his kitchen table. His secure laptop was open and connected to his living room television by an HDMI line. On the 75 inch 4k screen, six rectangles shifted back and forth, displaying AV feeds from the joint incident sector command centers at the FBI field offices in Denver, Las Vegas, Kansas City, Los Angeles, and Seattle and the NORCOM situation room at Peterson. On the table in front of him was a wireless keyboard, his cell phones, and some breakfast he was munching on - a 1 liter thermos of black coffee - the thermos was like standard cup to him - and a stack of five Chipotle-sized chicken and rice breakfast burritos Gabriel had made for him. John had been awake for the better part of two days, but for some reason he wasn’t really tired. Something he would ask Gabriel about later. As soon as the clock on the screen flipped to 0700, John heard one sentence from Jeff Wilson in Los Angeles. “All Teams - Execute. Now, now, now.” *** There was the smallest of clicks from the front door latches as the lock tumblers turned. A mixed team of DEA, FBI, and BSCO temporarily deputized as US Marshals poured through the door. Multiple voices screamed out “FEDERAL AGENTS!!” across the house. The men and women of the team fanned out to secure all the rooms, but most made a direct line for the master bedroom. They had been told that's where the target would be. And upon opening the door, they found him there asleep, exactly where she said. The agents instantly aimed weapons at him as he arose groggily from his bed in apparent shock. The shock also spread to most of the agents in the team, wondering what warzone the obviously bruised body in the bed had just come from. Stepping around one of the FBI men kitted in full tactical incident armor, an older man emerged. “Jeffrey Francis Heath. I have a warrant for your arrest.” Heath slumped, and the tactical team swarmed him. In moments, he was in full restraints. John Cook practically got into the broken man’s face. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him or her present with you while you are being questioned. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you.” And then Cook added, “And it has been a LONG time coming you fucking sonofabitch.” *** John watched as onscreen, a real time list of targets began to shift from red to green indicating a suspect was in custody. Across John’s sector with almost machine-like efficiency starting at 0710 the colors began to highlight and shift. At 0712, his personal cell buzzed with a text. John Cook: We have him, John. We have them all. Thank you for everything. No one will ever know the debt we all owe you. But we need to talk. At the same instant as John read the text, three Boulder County Colorado names shifted to green. “Gotcha you bastards,” John said to himself. Gabriel came around the corner from the kitchen with a couple of soft-boiled eggs and soldiers for himself and a fresh full carafe of coffee to refill John's mug. The fit doctor sat the metal carafe down and glanced at the screen, watching with John as name after name after name flashed red to green. John heard across the links, “Nevada civilian targets complete.” Then another, “New Mexico military targets complete.” The reports began to fall over themselves in rapid succession as more states completed their total arrests. John heard Jeff Wilson, “John, if you are on the call, I have never seen this kind of op involving this many states and agencies go this smoothly. NEVER. I’ll buy you your own gym if you’ll take a logistics planning job from me. Scouts honor.” John heard Rick Lehmann from Northern Command, “Not if I can get his selective service card activated first. I’ll give you two gyms to make up for drafting you, though.” John unmuted his cell, “It’s your people doing the trench work. I just pointed them in the right direction. Thank you both though. Just nice to see this happen.” John’s tone changed, and the pitch dropped, “VERY nice.” In Colorado Springs, Warren Dougherty recognized John’s tone. The part of John he thought of as the Warrior, what others called the Predator, had spoken and he knew why. He glanced to see Jeff Heath’s name in the green. “I imagine so, John. I imagine so..” Wilson spoke up again, “And John. We have her on a private jet heading out of Colorado to a safe house. She is already filling in holes just through casual conversation with the agents with her. Thought you would want to know.” Brenda... John muted his line and his eyes unfocused a bit. He was looking at the screen. The names kept changing, reports kept coming, but he was no longer actually seeing what was there. Something entirely different was before John’s mind. It was replaying again in nightmarish flashes before his light brown eyes. Gabriel didn’t know at first anything was happening. He leaned in and kissed John on the cheek. “You do good work, babe.” John reached up, but took Gabriel’s hand a bit harder than he should have and leaned his head back onto his lover’s shoulder. Gabriel could tell John was smelling his scent, and he couldn’t help but notice. John was trembling... *** In Colorado Springs, Warren Dougherty was conflicted. The op had gone off without a hitch. Without one single hiccup. They had every single target they had set out to get. All of them. It was a damned miracle. Even under the very best of circumstances these kinds of things never worked like this. Wilson was right. John should be some damned strategic planner the way he anticipated every slight detail, down to how the individual targets would react. He kind of kicked himself for the assumption he had the first time he saw John that he would be a … dumb jock cop. That kind of mistake could get you killed on the battlefield. He knew now, if there were any doubt, if there was anything bigger than the body of John Declann, it was the brain inside that body. He should be planning every op in the military - and Dougherty half wondered if John really could. And yet …. and yet…. Dougherty looked down at his desk. He’d done what they'd suggested. It had taken a bit of work to even get far enough to hit the brick wall. More than a bit, truth be told. When they both hinted there was something, he never thought in a million years it would on this scale. Dougherty stared at his personal laptop screen as it flashed an entry…. ***** YORK, GABRIEL, MD, PhD TOP SECRET//SAR-RESURRECTION-M918 M212-L517//NOFORN (TS//SAR-R-M918 M212-L517//NF) Any contact with York, Gabriel MD, contact intelligence liaison with appropriate clearance or call 123-555-1212 on appropriate security telecom. ***** Dougherty put his fist to his mouth and began to rub his thumb across his index finger. He had top secret clearance as a matter of course but this was different. This was the only entry on Gabriel York in the entire Federal military and law enforcement database system that he had access to. And there was no way around an SAR classification without knowing who to ask, and he didn’t even know where to begin. If that had been all there was, Dougherty would have let it go as a one of a million mysteries he had seen in the government. Even those who do classified work have lives outside of the job. What bothered Dougherty so much more than the entry on York was what was flashing next to it. In every background check he had ever run, he had never seen this. Not even a hint of it. But once he saw the classification code entry for Gabriel, he played a hunch. ***** DECLANN, JOHN SGT TOP SECRET//SAR-RESURRECTION-M918 M212-L517/sub0001///NOFORN (TS//SAR-R-M918 M212-L517/s0001///NF) ***** What in God's name had John gotten himself into? What was so deep that it took almost killing a suspect to even get the smallest hint that there was something at work in the background. Christ, John never gave so much as an eye twitch of a tell. Not even a hint of suspicion that this - whatever it is - existed. What could make a man like John Declann so afraid as to… Dougherty's heart sank. He had no alternative. His duty was clear. He would make the call later that day. Federal, Military Law Enforcement Agencies Announce Largest Steroid Bust in US History - June 24, 2020 - AP Staff Writer Law enforcement authorities across federal, state, and US military agencies announced this morning the execution of a sting operation that has resulted in what is estimated to be the largest anabolic steroid bust in United States History. In a news conference held at United States Northern Command Headquarters at Peterson Air Force Base, Colorado Springs, Colorado, numerous agencies including the FBI, DEA, military police, and the civilian law enforcement agencies of all four armed service branches, gave initial details of a daring simultaneous raid Tuesday morning across twenty western States and dozens of military posts from Nebraska to California. While all arrest data has yet to be compiled, FBI Special-Agent-In Charge for California Jeff Wilson told members of the press that well over two hundred individuals have already been arrested in connection with what they call Operation Apex Predator with more arrests to be made in the coming days. Air Force Military Police Commander for US Northern Command, Colonel Warren Dougherty said, “After months of investigation and pain staking police work, military and civilian authorities were able to collapse a smuggling and distribution ring for anabolic steroids that used military bases, active duty military members, and local civilian authorities as cover. Our estimates place the total street value of materials distributed by this ring as approaching 100 million dollars, which easily makes Apex Predator an order of magnitude larger than the largest previous bust for anabolics in the continental United States.” Authorities declined to give names of any of the accused at this time, but said those names would be forthcoming as sealed indictments are made public. Military personnel will face charges in the military court system while civilians will face trial in US Federal courts. Further, while Special Agent Wilson thanked all agencies involved, he stated that much of this operation was the result of the work of one single agent. “For the safety of this undercover agent, we will be withholding his name. However, I can tell you ladies and gentlemen of the press and my fellow citizens one thing. Literally thousands of people in the armed services and in the civilian population of the United States owe their health and safety and perhaps their lives to the unparalleled work of this one agent. This nation owes him a debt of gratitude. We often say that “One man can make a difference.” And this case is a testament to that. And we further state to anyone operating a criminal enterprise inside our nation -- if one good man can almost single-handedly bring down a network this extensive and well guarded, another good man or woman can do the same to you.” Collins came around the corner into their bedroom. “You about finished Will?” he asked. Shaeffer was folding a number of pieces of paper. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know.” He paused and looked up at the Greek god who made his heart jump every time he saw him. “It’s just that - why now Skye? Why so fast? And why me? Wouldn’t it be better from you?” Skye came around the end of the massive custom made bed and sat next to his husband. “Will…” Collins sighed at even bringing it up. But he needed to. It was the only way. “Will, what did it feel like when you found out what Jesse did to me?” Will’s reaction was instantaneous. After all these years, what they had done, what Skye had done, the emotion was visceral. “You KNOW what I felt Skye.” “I know Will. Even if we didn’t have the connection, I would still know. Just think Will. Me - what was I like then? I was already fairly able to take care of myself. And you still felt what you felt. How close you were to ripping that tiny fuck apart. Will, Gabriel York is smaller than I was when we met. I do not know who - from those reports the little man sent me - but someone tried to kill or mame York. That was not random what was on that video. There was someone behind it.” Collins paused a moment and picked up the copy of an AP wire article concerning Operation Apex Predator he had given Will. “What do you think someone who was capable of this would do the moment he found who that person was? Big Man… what would you do?” Will turned and looked slightly downward to look Collins in the eye, “Fuck, Skye. OK, I understand. Then, I think I did it right. What I wrote in this.” Skye put his hand on the gigantic quad stretched before him. “I know you did. That’s why it has to be you. You have felt what John Declann is feeling. Maybe the only person on earth who can relate, not even me. Besides,” Skye held up an envelope. “I had my own to do.” Will smiled, finished folding handwritten papers, and carefully placed them inside the tiny envelope. “Skye, are you sure he is like us?” “As sure as I can be Big Man.” “Is he done yet?” Skye shook his head, “I don’t know what happened to make him like us. I can’t be sure, but… my gut? I don’t think he’s done, not even close.” “Will he--” Skye didn’t have to allow Will to finish the question. “I don’t know, but -- if I had to guess. Yes, he will be.” Will chuckled deeply, “Gonna be hard to think of myself as smaller again.” Skye laughed and patted Will on his beyond cannonball sized shoulder. “He isn’t there yet. You can enjoy being the biggest a little while longer. Come on, I have a favor I need to cash in." Skye smirked as he tossed a quarter coin into Will’s hand. "And you have that little magic trick to do...” Will gave a knowing, sly smile, “SKYYYYE - does this favor include...” Collins flashed a smile back that only John Declann MIGHT have been able to rival. “You know I ALWAYS repay my debts.” John had sat in this conference room so many times over the last two months that in a way it had become his personal office. He had met so many good men and women in this room, taking down a drug cartel in this room. Yet, as familiar as it was, today was surreal. He had spent most of the day debriefing his superiors across every branch of the federal and state governments involved. Sharing with officials who had no idea what was happening before Apex Predator but who needed to know now. John had walked through it all professionally as always. Really, he could do what he needed to do on one cylinder of the V-12 engine that was his mind. The other eleven, they had fixed to this moment. And now, finally, here it was. Only two people sat in the room now - John Declann and John Cook. They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, tried to make small talk, but it was stifled. They were both waiting -- waiting on the real reason Cook was here. After those few moments, Cook decided to finally bite the bullet. “John, you know I owe you. I owe you so much for fixing a problem… Damn it, so much bigger than I ever could have imagined. I meant it when I said I owe you more than I can ever repay. But, we had a deal when it came to this. You do this with my blessing and in exchange--” “I answer your questions.” John completed his sentence. His voice was even lower than normal, and for the first time in what seemed like years, Cook heard apprehension in John. Cook was bemused for a moment. Who would have thought that this man could ever feel apprehension. Despite being larger than life now, almost more than human, under it all, there was some of that road officer he used to know. Cook could see him and hear him sometimes, as if he actually was sitting with the old John - the old John who was one-third the size of the behemoth actually before him. John was even mindlessly fiddling with two large glass shooter marbles, rotating them in his palm like stress balls, trying to maintain his calm. For the ordinarily unflappable John Declann… Cook knew he owed it to John not to make this any more painful than it needed to be. Cook gave a slight, morose chuckle. “Who would have ever thought that one case would have turned a good boots on the ground cop into someone the FBI says we owe a national debt of gratitude to.… damn it, John, it may be a bit of vanity on my end, but you feel like you are my protege. In a way, like one of my own kids. And now it comes down to this…” Cook leaned in close, concern evident on his face. “What happened to you John? What made you into THIS!?!” John sighed. He reached into his laptop case and pulled out a small box. He activated it just like Gabriel had taught him. The RF, cellular, and recording device jammer that he had given to John, the same thing he had used in the hospital room months ago the day of the procedure, came to life. If there were any recording or transmitting technology in the room of any kind, it had just gone dead. Declann’s head slumped slightly. He slid his chair back so that he could lean forward and around so that he was in a direct line to Cook. He put his hands together, elbows on his quads, and leaned down -- old John’s expression of sincerity and concern in a conversation. “I swear to you - if I could tell you, I would. God - I would love to tell you everything. Just to tell someone. It kind of burns you up inside. You lose something …” John sighed, but then went on. “But, I can’t. It takes sitting in this room alone with this machine whirring to even tell you this much.” John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Bite the bullet and let it come, John thought. John opened his eyes and moved with purpose. He reached over, opened his laptop, and put in a flash drive - another object Gabriel had given him for this meeting. John booted up the machine, and the programming on the drive bypassed everything on John’s system. It only allowed one thing to happen. On the screen two pictures popped into existence. Two screenshots of MRI scans of his spine - dated two days apart in January 2020. John pinched the screen between two fingers, rotated the machine toward Cook, and sat back silently. Cook looked at the photos closely. Cook was no doctor, but he had seen many thousands of x-rays, ct scans, and the like in investigations of all sorts from car accidents to severe child abuse to murder. He didn’t have to be able to be a radiologist to understand what the arrows were pointing to on the scans. One arrow pointed to an exploded, fragmented back vertebrae and a close up of a ravaged, frayed spine. The other arrow on the scan dated two days later pointed to the same exact location except it was as if none of it had ever happened. All of that exploded and shredded mass of flesh was gone. Cook looked up, “Oh my God. John….” Cook began to question, but John anticipated what he was going to ask. “Yes, it's me.” John said. “Those two scans are exactly as labeled. Both me, two days apart. First one the day of the accident. The other is … after they finished with me.” Cook was stunned at what he was seeing and at what John wasn’t saying, But had to be true. “I am not much of an expert on these things, but I know what I am looking at well enough. How-” “I can’t tell you.” John anticipated again. “All I can say is they fixed me, but in the process-” “Who is “they” son?” “I can’t tell you.” John repeated. “But in the process of repairing me, something no one expected happened. Something that never entered anyone’s mind. Something no one had ever thought to dream about.” “Is it Doctor York?” “I can’t tell you, Sir. Really. That has to be my answer as far as them. As it is, I am breaking a hell of a lot even showing you this.” Cook sighed. “So … this--” Cook gestured up and down to John’s body, “Change was an accident? A side effect? Some kind of mistake or error?” “An accident, a side effect, yes.” John said. “I can assume then, since this was an accident that no one ever had any idea to even consider, that… there hasn’t been anyone to help you with this change, what's happening?” Cook could see ten million thoughts run through John’s mind as he laughed scornfully - at himself, “If only there were, then I might have handled it better,” John replied. Cook’s own mental wheels spun, “My GOD, what pressure he is under. The operation AND this change and no one to help him. It would break anyone, and I didn’t even see it. Maybe I didn’t want to see it, but it would explain… why.” Cook became very concerned as he said vocally, “Where will it end? Will this hurt you?” “I can’t tell you anymore about what happened than I already have. As for what you have just speculated … it may be true or not. But, will it hurt me...” John turned the laptop back to him and pressed the enter key. The flash drive pulled open two more files. Two photos from Saturday night appeared on the screen. A stop motion from one of the security cameras of John hitting the pavement with his fist and the other a close up of the depression that fist left. John turned the screen back to Cook. John quite purposefully left his right hand next to the laptop. It took Cook a moment to realize what he was seeing, but when he did, he looked at the hand - a perfectly normal hand - then looked up at John. A mixture of awe and fear crept into Cook’s eyes. John then gave a slight nod down toward his right hand resting on the table. Cook’s eyes followed. When he knew Cook was watching, John collected one of the two large shooting marbles in his hand and closed his fingers around it. John’s hand suddenly clamped down, his forearm transforming his hand into a living steel compactor as they flexed. John kept ramping up the pressure until he was ready. Then, he sent a sudden, sharp pulse of power into his hand, his fist closing sharply harder. Cook heard a small ping/crack. John opened his hand, and the once pristine glass ball which only had a couple of very small air bubbles in it, was cracked and splintered throughout the middle. A pattern of small fissures that looked like an exploding firework was running everywhere within the marble, as if it had been designed that way. “There is not a lot that hurts me anymore.” John tossed the glass ball to Cook, which he easily caught. “Give that to your grandson.” Cook exhaled hard as he let the marble roll around in his hand before he closed his own hand in imitation of John. He contemplated as he slightly squeezed the literal vice it would take to shatter a glass ball that way, and without a hint of strain from John as he did it. He looked up into John’s face stunned while John cocked his head a bit intimating he could do even more if he wanted. Cook’s head dropped and slid his closed fist and the marble over his mouth. That was the last piece he needed… FUCK, Cook thought, but never said. What he did say was, “Then, there is a choice to make, isn’t there?” Declann looked at the man who was like a surrogate father and slowly, slightly, nodded yes. “I have one other thing I need to talk about with you, John. Jeff Heath. You know he is on an indefinite psychiatric hold at the state forensic facility in Pueblo. They’re saying he has had some delusional, psychotic break. Paranoia, hallucinations. Couple of them are even talking about some form of schizophrenia. He definitely isn’t competent to answer his charges, and they are dubious he will ever be competent without years of work. He keeps screaming about John Declann destroying his life, having an affair with his wife, beating him, trying to kill him. Raving about how ten bodybuilders from Denver tried to gang rape him and threatened his life if he told. Shit that no sane person could ever believe. Crazy, nonsensical, gibberish. It’s no wonder the doctors have him loaded for bear on drugs... Cook paused for just a moment and leaned in. “Totally unbelievable” he said, his voice now changed... “But, you know it is strange. Brenda Heath gave testimony before she went into witness protection that you had never set foot into their house before the day you made the offer of the deal on Monday morning, and she said Jeff was not there. The US attorney corroborates this from an evidentiary video recording she made when Brenda was placed under oath to agree to the deal. Unimpeachable, but SO strangely unimpeachable ... “You’ve said that you have done nothing that is not in the evidence and statements already submitted to me, the Federal investigation team leading this, and the JAG court. I know you. You are too damned careful to leave out a thing. You do not lie to a court. But some of Heath’s actions in the last few days just don’t make sense given the man… Like, you have been having a lot of lunches with him. You reported every one and what was talked about, but they also correspond to a very odd change in his behavior, as if something had totally cripled his ego and self confidence... Cook sighed… he hated this, but he must. “You know … when we arrested him, the state of him… it was incredible. It was obvious he had been through some sort of hell. The bruises and black eyes. The injuries they found on him later. The docs said that the state of his rectum and other lower bowel areas suggested that a 2 to 3 inch diameter wood or metal pipe or other implement was used on him. Something near the size of a bat was used to sodomize him. That would suggest that he wasn’t sexually violated by anything like a penis but with something inanimate. Something like that, well, it isn’t shocking that he mentally broke. Torture like that could break anyone. But, when I sent the CSI guys into the house, it was so remarkably normal. No evidence of any kind of violence whatsoever - was as if neither a physical beating nor something more sexual in nature ever took place there. Heath was in far too injured a condition to move very far anywhere by himself, much less drive himself from another location back to his home. Someone would have had to bring him back if the crime scene was elsewhere, but there was nothing to indicate that. Nothing at all except what we would expect to find from a freshly cleaned home and some prints here and there of you and the Heath’s that match up with your testimony and hers as to where we might find them as you helped her get ready to leave and presented to offer.” Cook gave a more intense, knowing look, “It’s too normal. I can’t prove it, but my gut says it has been sanitized for anything remotely like evidence by an expert. And I mean a true expert. Someone who can anticipate everything....” John gave away nothing at all as Cook went on. “The state forensic docs ordered a rape kit for Heath when the exams showed those obvious signs of recent and prolonged anal trauma. Perhaps the sex for drugs you reported was the reason for his breakdown or that he really had been raped and it had made him crack or he was raped and that impliment used to try and hide it or make it worse. “You know what they found? The rape kit contained a mix of fragment profiles from at least five individual males. The sample breakdown indicated that he had been penetrated and semen left within the last couple of days on the outside. “Of course all the DNA profiles are of unknown persons. We can find nothing in the databases. One profile though - it is the strangest thing. The preliminary sequencing showed it is remarkably close to a 2019 swab exclusion sample we have on file for one Detective Sergeant John Declann. It was almost a match. Perhaps a very close relative of yours or… You can imagine what that made me think John. So, I had them run a full, detailed profile on it. What we got back shows a number of very strange sequences the docs have never seen before. They said both the number of and type of variant sequences all act to conclusively exclude that DNA as coming from the same person who gave that sample in Oct 2019. It's kind of impossible to become a totally different person in under a year, isn't it? Have to say John, I was damned relieved …” Cook trailed off again, waiting for a reaction, but John was impenetrable. Cook went on. He swore this would not be any more painful than it needed to be, and he would stick to that, despite what he suspected was the truth. “John, those sequences are so weird the docs came to believe the kit samples had become tainted, making the identification of anyone unreliable since that one profile looks like it could be of…” Cook paused, “non-human origin. Artificial even… But that is impossible, isn’t it? The docs certainly think so. Mutating man-made genetic material has the makings of a bad horror movie, not a real life criminal investigation. So … it must be compromised in some way.” “Then, there was the bruising patterns. Most odd. Some of them - they were so large around the wrists, neck, across the chest, that they HAD to have come from a weapon or tool or physical restraint of some kind. They were just too big to be anything else. But the shape was all wrong. No tool we know of could make this kind of thing - at least that we found in the Heath home. What was weirder is that the force needed to leave that bruising but not break the bones must have been so calculated. So… perfect. The only thing that makes sense to be that precise is an expert making skin to skin contact. But that doesn’t make any sense at all with the size of those bruises. And, usually, someone who sets out to cause the sheer amount of pain and damage from using that implement to sodomize the man doesn't care much about a broken bone or two. But then, there was a whole other set - small. Shape of maybe a small hand. Another bit of evidence for multiple assailants - which I guess goes to the docs thinking it was some kind of gang assault trauma…” “The other weird thing about Heath was that tox found a moderate dose of clonazepam in his system. Enough to keep him basically tranquilized through the night. I know that users use, and Heath was a user. But there was never any evidence that Heath abused benzos. Yet, they are there, bright as day. Now, the doc said, and of course, they are right - that someone faced with a traumatic experience like perhaps a gang rape and physical beating, can do nearly anything to try and cope in the first hours and days. Trying to bomb yourself certainly isn’t unheard of. Still...” "It is just so goddamned neat, John. Perfect. Every questionable element has a wholly reasonable explanation. Questioning the reasonable explanations of the irregularities makes the questioner sound like a crackpot latching onto conspiracy theories. The rest of the case is so wholly reasonable that no sane mind would question it as being legit." Cook's eyes bore into John's. "So perfect… Could you shed any light on this?” John took a breath, his shields on overdrive. "Well, Sir, I don’t know. I haven’t seen or heard of a lot of your specific evidence. But, as for me, if you are questioning my whereabouts that day and night. Well, as has been proved, the only time I have ever been to their home was as was witnessed by the US attorney. I even had to Google maps the address that first trip since I didn’t know where they lived. “Sure, I had my reasons to hate Jeff Heath. Colonel Dougherty is trying to piece together how he sent that guy after Gabriel. I sure as hell do not know how he found us at that restaurant, and I hope you know I'd never endanger Gabriel if I had a hint that something was going down. I would never endanger people I care about out of some petty revenge like going after a man who was going to be arrested and spend long decades in jail the very next day. Besides, it was an incredibly tall order for me to organize the operation logistics, make the offer to Brenda Heath, get her to safety hours away, take hours to get back, and be at home in time for the op execution conference. Add to that some wild beating … it just breaks the back of the possible. “But, if you do doubt it, you can track my movements with my cell and my Jeep and the rental. Gabriel and Brenda can also attest to my movements. As for Heath’s home, I can only speculate, but remember that he was running a criminal enterprise out of it, and he is quite expert on our methods. That was why you had such trouble making a case in the first place and needed outside eyes to get in. And I am certainly no expert in DNA, but I can assure you and would testify in a court that I have never raped or had unconsensual sex with anyone in my life. I would consent to a polygraph on it. On all of it. And as you said, the kit is not a match to my reference sample. "My gut says that the forensic docs may be onto what is real. That Heath did have some kind of traumatic encounter with multiple assailants sexually violating him and beating him. Perhaps it was some sort of retribution for some action. We know some cartels can do ghastly things to members as punishment. Someone like Jeff Heath, we both know it would probably have totally shattered him. We have seen much stronger people than him leveled by that kind of encounter. Like you said, it can break anyone. Again, speculation, but perhaps in that shattered state, his mind concocted some fantasy from pieces that we can prove he did see - like me and my friends on Saturday at the show. We know something made him angry enough to try and hurt me and Gabriel.” "Are you quite sure of all of that, John? Anything else you need to add to your testimony and evidence, no matter how small?" “No” “John, were you in that house Monday night at any time after ten pm?” John looked straight ahead and for the first time in his career, he finished lying and misdirecting about a case with one more lie. “No.” “John, I have to ask one more thing… would you be willing to submit a current DNA sample?” John’s eyes cut to Cook. For the slightest of moments, Cook swore he saw the hint of pain there. “I’m sorry Sir. Under the circumstances of what I shared with you on the MRI’s I have to refuse. They would step in and make sure it never happened anyway even if I did.” “I see. Then I have to accept that, don’t I? And, you are probably right. I don’t even have any circumstantial evidence that would hold up to compel a new sample to exclude you from this… How could I…" Cook trailed off and glanced away. "I can't... prove... that…… you………...” In John's augmented perceptions, Cook's voice and movements slowed to the point where time itself seemed to grind to a halt. It was all there - the unspoken truth between them that they both knew. John could see it in the older man's face. He could hear it in his tone, the slight sheen of nervous sweat, his raised heartbeat. The words he wasn’t saying. The words he was. The judgement, the disappointment. And… the fear. The all-pervasive fear. Cook was afraid of his reaction now that-- Cook knew. Cook knew what he had done. John knew Cook couldn’t prove it. He had made that impossible for anyone. What Cook actually knew as fact didn't add up to even reasonable suspicion legally. It would have sounded like conspiracy theory but… that didn’t matter. Not to him. Cook knew the truth, and John... didn’t blame him for what he was going to do. Cook would do what he thought was right. And what he was going to do was the only avenue he had open. The images started flashing again - A tiny man, broken, bloody, barely breathing, lying on the ground. Lining up, a fist pulling back. Eliminate the Threat. A tiny man, broken, bloody, barely breathing, lying on a bed. The tiny man held up by his hand, realization in his eyes, a thousand blows, a thousand choices, coming home to roost. "Please… do it.... please do it…” A tiny man, broken, blood pouring from his side, barely breathing… lying in a mangled lump of metal that had been a car. The tiny man, broken, pleading for the lifeless to move. "Please…" A giant… what am i… broken, bleeding, barely breathing. The part of him that was Detective Declann was lying on the ground. Looking up and seeing a fist pull back. A thousand choices, a thousand blows, coming home to roost. "Please…" But it was too late. There was no Gabriel to stop this fist. No way to deflect it. And deep down, as John watched the metaphorical final blow begin to fly, as Detective Declann lay dying, he heard the refrain again. "Please… do it.... please do it…” A single large tear flowed out of John’s right eye and his hands began to shake. Cook trailed off and glanced away. He stared at the blank projection screen for a full minute, a minute of absolute silence before he finally crossed the Rubicon. He never looked at Declann as he said, “John, I’m sorry, but you know what I have to say next, don’t you?” John’s voice cracked as it took everything he had to hold his emotions in check. “I can’t come back can I?” Disappointment dripped from Cook. “No. I’m sorry, son. You can’t come back.” The tractor slammed into his car. The fist made contact. A silent scream. John and the Predator felt the other part of them crumple. “Firstly, since you can’t answer my questions about your health, I cannot be certain as to your fitness to serve. I can’t be certain that THIS won’t make you drop dead of a heart attack in the middle of an arrest. No matter how healthy you may seem now, what I know you can do from that video … I cannot get any kind of medical exam I can trust that will give me those answers that you are medically fit to serve. “And second, while I may not give two shits about a wife-beating, drug-dealing cop who has been implicated in enough crimes to put him away forever, I VERY MUCH DO GIVE A SHIT about trusting the men and women who work with me who represent me and the office I hold. Trusting the judgement of every single one of them to act in the best interests of the citizens and this office. Trusting their judgement to protect and serve EVERYONE, even the most guilty of the most heinous and personal crimes. “John, I can’t trust that you won’t lose it again, especially where Gabriel is involved. I can’t trust what you would do if your sense of justice is offended because of some legal ruling we may not like. I can’t trust that you won’t take the law into your own… I can’t trust that you won’t… John, I would rather die than lock you up, but you know I would if I needed to… If I could prove it...” Cook paused for a moment before he kept going. He didn’t want this to go on anymore. He didn’t want to torture a very good but very troubled man. Troubled in ways he now understood that he could barely imagine. Even if he could prove it, Declann needed help, not prison - even if a prison could hold him. Cook doubted there was any cell that existed that could hold John without his cooperation and when the moment came that that cooperation ended, John Declann would be dead from dozens of bullet wounds trying to escape. There was only one thing to do, one thing he could do. He offered the way out-- “Son, let me tell you what I see. Sometimes a case is so big, has so many working parts, is so dangerous to the investigator, that it changes you by working it. An officer winds up being burned up by bringing others to justice. “I see someone who had been thinking about retirement earlier this year, and then the accident kind of brought those thoughts front and center. I see a good man who gave it one more try because trying to help people was his life. But it just wasn’t meant to be for that good man to come back. He landed in the middle of a case bigger than all of us and somehow - god knows how - he worked that giant case alone. But it took its toll. Especially after the physical threats to his - to your family. Well, Gabriel is close enough, and if I read my tea leaves correctly, he will be family soon enough…?” John, totally defeated, just nodded his head yes. “You can’t be the officer you need to be with such a threat against your loved ones being on your mind. A threat against the people you love is enough to pull any officer off a case. Because it can compromise your judgement. It can make you overreact. It can make you do things…” Cook paused for the words. “Things that you would ordinarily never do. Things that are foreign to your normal character. Things that only very unique kinds of pressure can make you do. Things that you would never forgive yourself for if you did them. “I am so sorry, John, but that is the way it has to be here. I will write you the best final evaluation I can. I will give you every praise you justly deserve from a lifetime of good, honest work. But, I will also endorse your request for early retirement. Phrase it however you want along those lines and I will sign it.” John couldn’t speak. He just nodded his ascent again as another single tear dropped. “John, I had a talk with Warren Dougherty earlier today. He knows… Well, he knows that in my opinion: the threat against Gabriel and what happened over the last 7 days has compromised you. You may not think you need it, but I think you need to be protected from any vestiges of the cartel that may be out for revenge. One low-level lone wolf popped up in a sushi restaurant parking lot. God knows where another might pop up. And if that were to happen... then you need to be protected from yourself.” Cook stood up, walked over, and put his hand on John’s. “Son, look at me.” John seemed to have to use all of his strength to look up. The heartache Cook saw made him nearly gasp. It would be inhuman to let this go on anymore. “I saw that speech you gave at the bodybuilding show. No matter what THIS… this transformation has done to you, you are family to me. Take the administrative leave and sort things out. Sort yourself out. Sort this… this accident out. Sort out this new man you have become. And when you have, I want you to know that you will be welcome in my home and with my children and grandson. I would trust their lives to the man I used to know as John Declann. I still feel that strongly about the man you are now in your heart. You just have to find that man again. No matter what… may… have happened, I cannot show you how I truly feel about you more deeply than that.” Cook came close and embraced John as hard as he could. John returned it, as hard as he dared without hurting the older man. They held the embrace for a long time. When John finally broke it, he reached into his briefcase and took his BCSO badge and offered it to Cook. Cook held up his hand and instead pointed to the table. “Just leave it there. I know they have your weapon down front.” John nodded and placed the badge on the table in front of him. Cook placed his hand on John’s shoulder for a moment. He lingered, taking a deep breath and then walked slowly toward the door as if the life had been drained from him. John was like a zombie as closed his laptop and pulled out the flash drive. As soon as he did, all of the memory inside the laptop scrambled - the virus and tapeworm Gabriel had used in the hospital for his medical records melted every bit of data on the drives of his laptop just as easily. Just in case… He switched the scramble device off, nearly slumping as he did. All my fault… Cook had not been through the door more than a couple of seconds before Colonel Dougherty came in. John looked to the man for direction and in return Dougherty pointed toward his chair, while he took Cook’s old position. “I am so sorry John, I know that was very difficult for both of you. If I had known this was the way this case was going to turn out, I would have never asked you to keep working it for me. But, John… what I have to tell you, this isn’t going to be easy for me either. Goddamn it …” Dougherty paused for a moment and collected himself before he went on. “John, as you know, you are on a 60 day administrative leave from the moment you leave this room… Dougherty stumbled and swallowed as John looked up to him. “John, I cannot keep you on either.” A giant… what am I… broken, bleeding, barely breathing on a bank of machines in the ICU… stopped. John felt his heart rip as one of the only things on earth that meant a damn to him - a piece of him - faded and died. "God John, this hurts more than you know. But I've already gotten preliminary word from the prosecutors. I told you before, you are my best agent, maybe the best agent in the entire fucking government. Given all of the circumstances and that the assailant is going to recover, odds are very good you're in the clear as far as criminal charges. Clear case of self defense of you and your loved ones from a drug cartel hit. It is just… John, if you shot and killed him, ironically, they wouldn't bat an eye. Open and shut. "But, you didn't. It is the way you did it… that kind of assault will always hang over you. Sooner or later, I will be gone and even then, I can’t shield you from the politics and the optics. The brutal nature of it will be used against you, justified or not. You are just too vulnerable to the weapon of words from a defense attorney or an up and coming politician looking to ‘make their bones.’ They said resignation or retirement is the best course of action for the Air Force and you…” Dougherty sighed and kept going. “You took down a threat to the civilian population of the United States, domestic enemies, exactly as the oath says. You’ve sacrificed your whole life for us. I am just… disappointed. Disappointed that I missed the signs. Disappointed that I put you in a position that made you vulnerable to this. Disappointed that you couldn’t tell me what you... John, you deserve to get away from all of this. You deserve to take care of you instead of others. You’ve earned it. More than that - you need to take care of you. BUT - if you don’t want to hang it up completely--” Dougherty sighed. He had his orders… “I put in a call to that old buddy I told you about when you told me you and Gabriel York - the gay one from my old combat unit. His name is Dan Sexton, and he is now a unit commander in Army Intelligence. I read him into the op and he understands what happened and what you are capable of. He asked me to give you this...” Dougherty reached into his portfolio and pulled out a government-issued military plane ticket. He handed it to John. “Two months from now, when your administrative leave is complete and your separations from Federal and local law enforcement are final, you have an interview with him about a position in INSCOM, the civilian wing of Army Intelligence. That group … they will not care about the assault. In fact, some of them would consider that…” Dougherty stopped what he was about to say and changed gears. “John, what those men and women do is very different than anything you are accustomed to. It is important work, but it is... not for everyone. OK? I will not blame you if you choose not to avail yourself of this. But, I think you should at least find out what they can do for you, and you for them, if you want to have one more chance to serve your country. But it is your choice. OK?” John again just nodded in reply. He felt numb. As if he were on auto-pilot, he looked down and took out his Air Force badge and ID and lay them next to his BCSO ID. John stood and was about to leave, when Dougherty said, “John, can I ask you a very personal question? And promise me, you won’t be angry because I am asking because I care very deeply about you.” John looked over to him with an expression that was unmistakable - More?!? Hasn’t there been enough... Dougherty paused, “Please John…” John sat back down heavily into his chair and silently shook his head yes. Dougherty took out his own laptop and opened it to the two flashing messages, one about Gabriel and one about him. He turned the screen so that John could see it. Reading it, John allowed himself the smallest twinge at the irony. Through all of this - he had not known until that moment what the project in which he was “Subject 0001” was actually called. “Project - Resurrection” At the death of his career he finally found out what they called him. “Resurrection.” “John, you do not have to tell me what this is. If I know you, you won’t tell me anyway even though I have top secret clearance. I cannot get past this. I do not know where to look. But I know things are never classified like this without a reason… John, please answer me. Does York have anything on you or is holding something over you in some way? This … this doesn’t seem like you. If there is something, I would like to help if I can.” John looked up. He knew Dougherty’s question really was from the heart, so he answered it from the heart. “I cannot tell you what that is or what it means. All I can tell you to answer your question is… I love Gabriel York with my heart and soul. The only thing he has on me are those two things, and I freely gave them to him. Just like he freely gave his to me. I appreciate why you asked me that Colonel, but if you trust me at all, trust one thing. I love him.” Dougherty nodded. He closed the machine and gathered his things. Then Dougherty did something that truly left John in awe. The Colonel snapped to attention and crisply saluted John. “If there is anything I can ever do for you, anyway I can help you...” John stood to tower over Dougherty and pulled him into a hug as deep as the one he had offered Cook. Warren patted John’s back as best as he could in affection as they held the hug for a few seconds. Then Dougherty pulled back. “You can stay here as long as you like. Just leave it all on the table and I will get it later.” Dougherty patted John on his mid back one more time before he took his case and portfolio and left the room, closing the door behind him. John sat in the chair for a moment. He closed his eyes and breathed, trying to center himself. But as soon as his eyelids snapped shut - they invaded again. The sights, the sounds, the smells. Only it was just the one anymore... Eliminate the threat “Can you handle it? I Don’t Think So… “ Eliminate the threat “Problem is … I’m not satisfied.” Eliminate the threat “Cum boy” Eliminate the threat “Beg for it, you fuck, or I’ll punish you myself.” A piercing loud high pitched hellish scream… A muffled barely audible hellish scream… “I do not want to go through this alone…” An inhuman, hellish scream as he felt more pain than he thought possible… The screams… The screams… The screams... John began to tremble to the point of shivering as he felt it again, that small, worthless little man squirming again in his hand... or was it on his cock... So light… so fucking small… so nothing. They’re all so fucking small… Jeff Heath flying through the air in the parking lot…or was it… the tiny broken assailant impaled on his cock… or was it... John Declann thrashing and screaming tied to a bed… Squirming in his hand, squirming on his cock. Bashing their heads into asphalt, ripping their asses to blood. Blood. Both of them, all of them, none of them - as John lay screaming, heart racing, barely breathing, strapped to that bed... John opened his eyes. But, he couldn’t stop seeing them. He could never stop seeing his … his victims. All three of them. The two he had broken and the one who had died - died in agony, died in every way that mattered, strapped to that bed eight months ago, the part of him he just felt fade away. Oh God... What am I? What have I become? As if in answer, a memory from a childhood history class popped into his mind. When Lord Charles Cornwallis surrendered his army at Yorktown Virginia to end the American Revolution, the British surrendered their regimental colors to a song - “The World Turned Upside Down.” John felt the irony of that song more than he had anything in his whole life. The world was upside down. The world was broken and upside down. He didn’t save people anymore, he…. The world was upside down and broken. John Cook was right… Goddamn he was right, but for all the wrong reasons. He was upside down and broken…. Desperate, John reached out to the one thing left in his life that let him know he was still human. A tiny doctor 80 miles away. John felt his hard little arms around his neck and a gentle kiss. "You do good work, babe…" He heard a woman restored to life somewhere he would never know hugging his waist “Just remind that man of yours everyday how lucky he is to have you…" "Nah. I have been and always will be the lucky one..." John wept as he felt a tiny sliver of light. He had a promise to keep. It was time for him to remind Gabriel how he felt about him. And … and it was time to tell Gabriel what he had done. Not just what he had planned. What he had really done and said and thought. He needed to tell him everything. He needed to know that maybe … maybe there was some way out of this pit he was sliding into. He needed to hear that giant of a little man tell him - he was still someone’s hero despite everything he had done. John wiped his eyes, collected his personal cell and keys and the plane ticket, and stood. He slowly walked to the door, but as he got there and turned the knob, he paused. He turned back one last time and looked at those two badges laying on the table. So much of his life was tied into that star and shield. Part of his broken heart lay next to them too. So many years, so many people he cared about, so much he tried to do for them. So much he wanted to do. But he couldn’t anymore. He was upside down and broken. As soon as he closed the door - that life was gone forever. He would leave them all here and take with him the faces … the broken faces. Just like that. A fraction of a second. A fraction of a second took his legs away from him. Two minutes of agony gave him his legs back at the cost of who he had been. Twenty seven seconds almost killed the attacker. And then… then thousands of seconds in a night of horror. And now - another fraction of a second moment was here. A broken spine. A shattered life. A fractured world… The world turned upside down. The world shattered and broken... John needed to do something before he left. He walked back to the table and in another fraction of a second it was done. Finally finished, John exhaled and opened the door. He ducked down to leave and slowly pulled the door shut. Sergeant, Detective, Deputy - all gone now. For the first time since he was 21 years old - John left a law enforcement building as a civilian. He walked out the building door into the setting Colorado sun slowly lowering behind the mountains. He got into his Jeep and pulled away, shattered and broken, another fragment of his soul left behind in that room. *** Warren Dougherty returned to the empty conference room to collect John's things. It was all here, just as he'd seen when he left. Except for one thing. Laying on the table was something new, the remains of a solid glass ball that looked for all the world like it had once been a big shooting marble from his childhood. Somehow, the marble had developed cracks all through it, like a shattered windshield. It had been perfectly cleaved in half, with one hemisphere each positioned on top of the star and shield badges respectively. Dougherty picked the halves up and fit them together. The seam between them disappeared for a few moments as he held them together, looking at it. He allowed the two shattered and broken pieces to fall apart again in his hand. John Declann never did anything without a reason. Maybe he should ask John Cook if he knew what it meant. 9 4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ToolShedCub Posted February 10, 2021 Share Posted February 10, 2021 OMG!!!! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
WrestlejockCT Posted February 10, 2021 Share Posted February 10, 2021 Holy....that was INTENSE! Amazing chapter! 1 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
cregssatx Posted February 10, 2021 Share Posted February 10, 2021 Absolutely painful, but beautiful end to chapter 8. Thank you. The beginning? of the journey back to balance, maybe, or the hope of it. 3 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
photoguy Posted February 10, 2021 Share Posted February 10, 2021 Fantastic. 2 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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