Friday, August 22, 2014
Beach Trip (Blogophilia 26.7)
Fluffy white clouds surrounded him as he drove down 316 towards home. Blue sky reminded him of Sarah’s soft eyes at the beach cottage. He relaxed a little and smiled.
He must have been eleven or twelve then. It wasn’t much of a house, just three room of concrete block with peeling white paint. The first night they had slipped away from Mother and ended up on the dock. Sitting quietly next to each other, they marveled at the purple and gold streaks stacked on top of each other as high as they could see. She wore thin, white blouse that night with nothing underneath. Small breast were just visible. Her lavender scent was masked by low tide. They knew they should be doing something, but having no idea what it was. She turned towards him, damp blonde hair framing her soft eyes.
“How it would be good to take a boat out there on the sea. Get away from Mother”
“Can I go?”
“If we can find one. I’ve never sailed, though. And I have to get away from Mother’s prying eyes long enough.”
Leaning in to Jeremy’s arm, she whispered, “The lonely sea prevails when all seems lost.”
Almost as soon as the words were out, yelling about a belt came from the house and they went inside. They couldn’t risk being caught together.
At least it was a sort of pleasant memory. Not many of those.
The first test had gone much better than he expected. The stump disintegrating into sawdust and splinters and he was there to enjoy it. Now he had to work on the remote detonation methods. There were a couple that would work well. He would try several without explosives first. He might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid
He saw the “Welcome to Gwinnett County” sign come and he slowed for the change in speed limits. He began to think about how the trap should be set up. A traffic light turned red. A sign pointed to the right saying Police Headquarters. He turned almost involuntarily. He’s here, why not?
He passed the County jail. He couldn’t remember if he had been in this one. Nah, he didn’t think so. There was a parking lot across the street. The Toyota magically found a space where he could watch the comings and goings without being noticed.
The cold, concrete monolith rose like a weed in an old cow pasture. No spirit or passion exuded from the façade. Flanked on three sides by the jail, lie a Terra Cotta army he had read about once. The concrete itself wanted to do battle and he was the enemy scout. It didn’t surprise him the buildings were as cold as the people inside. Cops have no humanity, no souls. It will bring pleasure to bring such a travesty to the ground.
Cameras were peppered everywhere. It even looked like the traffic on the street was monitored. If there was a blind spot, he couldn’t find it. Would they recognize a threat as it came down the road? He couldn’t be sure. He could pull into the public lot and go in for a while, then leave another way. How would he get a second car in without being noticed?
A security hut sat on a short drive just off the public parking lot. A trim young recruit stood guard, checking credentials of those entering. Very routine, a car would drive up and stop. With a salute the guard would lean in with his clipboard to speak to the occupants. Papers would be passed and information transferred. Another salute and the car would turn into the larger lot behind the building. Is this a weak link? He assumed the papers were various authorizations for business. How difficult would it be to get past that?
A black Crown Vic turned into the lot. It looked like the picture Murray’s car he had at the apartment. But the driver was a woman and he couldn’t see if there were any passengers. His wife, maybe? Or was it just another pig? It really didn’t matter. He knew he wasn’t going to include his family members on this project. Making the same sin as the pigs did wouldn’t fix the world. The punishment has to be meted to the perpetrators.
He could see the security desk through the glass of the front door. Citizens with complaints or compliments trudging through the metal detectors like cattle in a slaughterhouse. Humiliating wand searches and surprise detention awaited them. He had seen it too many times. You go in and never come out, kept on some trumped up transgression, another piece of fuel for the pigs. A cross stitch of “Abandon all hope, all ye enter here” probably hangs on the wall inside.
After a few minutes he had seen enough. This wouldn’t be the best place, too light and bright. There were too many eyes. Seclusion and darkness is needed to fight dark and evil. Murphy at least, was a homicide detective. It probably would be best to get him in the field.