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Comment by RONALD FEASEL on June 11, 2010 at 5:17pm

PROLOGUE

He woke up in the hospital room. He stared at the ceiling not knowing how much of his legs were still there. He couldn’t feel anything below his knees. The doctor told him they would save as much as they could. He remembered the night it happened.

He was the leader of a reconnaissance mission when it went south. The bullets had cut through his lower legs and then the firefight. The helicopter and the flight back to the operations base were still fresh in his mind.

He had been on so many missions as a Navy Seal and never been wounded. Now he was disabled and could he cope with that? He had killed many subversives in his career and now what would he do? Sit at a desk and shuffle paperwork? He thought of the many fellow soldiers who had been disabled and now he is one.

The doctor came in with his clipboard. “Good morning Jack.”

“From the knees down huh?” Jack had looked at the result under the sheets.

“Yes but the nerve endings can be attached to any assistive device later on.”

“You mean like some kind of leg extensions?”

“Exactly, but first you have to heal and then you can find out about that later.”

The doctor left and Jack was falling into depression about his future. His commanding officer was going to visit him today and he dreaded the visit. The officer arrived and after good mornings and the usual chat Jack asked about his future with the Navy.

“Here’s the plan. After you’ve healed we’ll have you put on a desk job and prepare you to be a training officer for new seals.”

“A glorified paper pusher huh?”

“You’re a valuable asset to us and we can utilize your experience with new recruits.”

“I don’t think so commander. I need to be active in some way. And I don’t mean sitting at a desk all day.”

“I realize this is a big change for you but we can work something out.”

Jack made a decision after the commander left. He took his disability and left the Navy. He relocated in San Francisco. Rented an apartment and would find something he could do that would not be a desk jockey.



CH. 1 THE UNHOLY PRIEST

He stalked the lady for two weeks he was meticulous and methodical. She resembled his whoring mother who had shamed and emasculated him. The world would be rid of such vermin he thought. It would be the fourth victim in the cleansing.

Today would be the climax of his psychotic thoughts. She was structured and her activity was predictable. Her husband would be absent tonight. He was in a business meeting in Phoenix. The house was compromised with a bug the killer installed in their living room. The killer then gathered information to fulfill the plan. He took the time and patience to do his victim. It was dusk and he was ready.

It was a quiet estate situated on five lovely acres in San Francisco. The house was magnificently built in the colonial style with a rock facade and landscaping accentuating the peaceful tranquility. The morning was perfect as he drove up the driveway to complete his kill. His excitement was building as the distance to the house was diminishing. He was dressed as a priest because the mission was blessed. He wore an all black priest suit and the white collar beneath his chin accentuated the evil grin on his lips. He rang the door bell and the sound played Amazing Grace that personified the occupant’s beliefs.

“Yes.” The intercom spoke in a cheerful greeting.

“Is this Mrs. Robin Templer?”

“Yes, how may I help you?” The intercom seemed impatient yet friendly.

“Mrs. Clarisse Bergman sent me to visit you.”

“Oh, Clarisse sent you, certainly come in.” The door answered with a joyful buzz welcoming the deceitful intruder.

The predator entered and he stood before Mrs. Templar looking saintly with his gentle smile and the crisp uniform. She was wrapped in a pink robe that covered her pajamas and her tousled hair. She hadn’t yet dressed for the day. She smiled back not realizing she had just let a monster into her home. The name Clarisse was extracted from the bug.

“Clarisse asked that I visit you.”

“For what reason?” Robin had no idea why Clarisse sent a priest and her frown revealed her perplexity.

“She wanted you to have a gift.”

“That dear girl what kind of a gift did she send?” Robin couldn’t understand a gift sent by a priest.

“Heaven or Hell!” The unholy priest evoked a startled reaction from Robin. She froze at the remark and felt a chill run through her.

“I’ll get my husband.” Her attempt was in desperation.

“He’s in Phoenix dear.”He grinned and his eyes telegraphed pure evil.

Robin ran for the front door with her pink robe chasing her movement. She felt the cold hands grip her neck pulling her backward. Her legs flew off the floor as she was pulled into his chest. The grip tightened cutting off the precious air. She kicked and struggled but her life started to drain away and her strength weakened. I’m going to die, oh God help me. Then a warm glow filled her mind and she felt love and safety. A majestic figure reached out for her. She knew who it was and she joined his hand.

Robin entered her new life. She had a pleasant smile as the killer stared at her. He then cut off her wedding finger and using red lipstick and wrote WHORING BITCH on her forehead.

The killer left the house with a feeling of satisfaction and exhilaration as he walked to his car. A man was walking toward him with a toolkit in his hand. The unholy priest asked him as he approached. “Can I help you?”

The stranger just smiled and reached into his toolkit and withdrew a Rugar automatic pointing at the killer. “You’ve performed your last rites.” Before the unholy priest could respond he went to hell. The killer looked at the unholy priest spread out on the driveway and a slight smile formed.

÷÷÷

Detective Sampson had checked the crime scene thoroughly and was talking to the crime scene director. The serial killer’s body was lying on the driveway with the small hole in his forehead. Mrs. Templer was in the house stretched out on the floor in her pink robe. The car driven by the serial killer had been checked for evidence. The house had been dusted and any evidence gathered and labeled.

“This is weird.” Detective Sampson said to the director.

“I agree, the serial killer being killed.”

“It looks like a vigilante killing.”

“What do you have on this serial killer?”

“This is his fourth killing. The M.O. is always the same, dressed as a priest and strangulation of woman. He’s tagged The Unholy Priest.”

“Someone knew about him and ended his priesthood.” The CSI director answered.

“Evidently the priest’s killer knew he had already strangled the victim and caught him when he was leaving.”

There wasn’t any evidence left by the killer of the priest. Sampson ran a check on the modis operandi of any serial killers that had been killed this way and found out that three other serial killers had been killed the same way.

A .22 caliber shot to the head. The bullet used in these killings was an ice bullet. The slug simply melted after causing the complete destruction of the brain mass. The three other killings of serial killers took place in Los Angeles, Tucson, and Arizona. The vigilante killer had mobility. The vigilante killer had information that the law enforcement didn’t have. How the killer knew about these serial killers was a new twist to the murders.



A killer killing serial killers had been discovered

































CH. 2 FAST JACK

He was moving along smoothly as the wheels clicked over the separations in the sidewalk making a sound like a train slowly hitting the separations of the rails. Jack was a striking figure in his wheelchair. A fit specimen with a short crew cut dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with odd stainless steel caps just below his knees adding to his total look of curiosity.

His lower legs had been shot off and the caps on the end of his stumps caught the attention of passerbys. His upper body was muscular with his arms displaying his strength. He had a square jaw and was an attractive man, his head topped with pure blonde hair. Judging from his arm length he would be six feet two and weigh two hundred and twenty pounds if he still had all of his legs. The smell of trash wafted in the air casually stinging his olfactory senses. The shadows seized the deserted street in darker contrast to the moonlit night.

The two gang members had been watching Jack for a few minutes from the dark alley smoking their noxious weed, their exhaled smoke drifting out into the moonlight. Jack saw the smoke as he wheeled past the dark alley across the street. The two noticed that the man in the wheelchair was alone and he would be an easy mark.

Both were dressed in ganger type outfits and had the usual tattoos denoting their gang affiliation. They wore oversized colorful pro football jackets with baggy jeans hanging low on their buttocks. Tattoos were on their hands and necks looking like they had black vines slowly growing up their bodies and their heads were next to be covered by the vines.

This was going to be easy, they thought, as they headed for Jack. They crossed the street passing a car without tires sitting on the pavement, stripped of anything that made it a car. The wheels looked naked without the tires with the rims sitting on the pavement. The sight added to the danger prevalent in the neighborhood.

“Hey man, you get around in dat wheelchair man.” The larger of the gangers took the lead. Jack didn’t respond but just kept pushing his wheelchair “Hey man, I’s yakin at ya.”

“Fuck off, punks,” snapped Jack. Damn junkies, I’ll probably have to deal with them.

The two gangers looked at each other and grinned. “Hey bro we need some cash.”

Jack stopped his wheelchair and wheeled it around facing the two punks, “You boys better get home before you get hurt.”His eyes revealed his look of defiance.

“Youse a smart mouth muther for a dickhead in a wheelchair.”

“Try me,” Jack shot back. Jack knew that they were going to mug him.

The large one reached and pulled out his switchblade snapping the six inch blade and it sounded like someone stepping on a twig. “You’ll need more than that.” Jack laughed at the switchblade as the moonlight bounced off the cutting device catching what little light was available.

This angered the punk and he jabbed the blade forward adding a slight dip to his hand aiming for Jack’s throat.

Jack was faster than Mohammed Ali thrusting a jab as he grabbed the punk’s wrist stopping the blade six inches from his neck. He pulled the wrist and blade down and to his right causing the punk to fall forward. Then Jack hit him hard with an uppercut knocking the ganger to the ground.

The other punk froze as he watched his bro being pummeled to the hard concrete. He then reached for his blade, but as he did Jack threw a three point Ninja star and stuck him in the forehead. The other one got off the ground bleeding from the mouth. The ganger pulled a gun from his hip, as his hand was swinging to get a shot, Jack thumped his elbow against his side, a wrist gun strapped to his forearm snapped into Jack`s hand. The sound echoed in the still night from Jack’s Sig Saur. The wrist gun instantly stopped the assailant’s life forces and he dropped lifeless to the ground. The bullet was well aimed at the ganger’s forehead.

The quiet was deafening as Jack stared at the two on the ground. The blood was coloring the black pavement with a black pool of life exiting each man’s life.

÷÷÷

As the confrontation was happening a window watcher caught the action on a video camera. He was a video hobbyist who often would film the street from his apartment window. He kept an eye on the street always ready to film anything that happened. He saw the drama unfold and anxiously grabbed his camera off the window sill knocking his coffee on the floor. He steadied his aim and filmed the entire confrontation and then he called 911 and the local TV station.

The San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) was talking to Jack and the video man. Other tenants were there being awakened by the shot and the sirens announcing the arrival of the men in blue. The TV van and the anchor woman were going to interview Jack and the watcher after the police were finished,

A policeman was talking to Jack. “We reviewed the video that the witness took and you definitely acted in self defense.”

“Had no choice officer.”

“You have a permit to carry a gun?”

“Yes sir.”

The TV station aired the broadcast the next morning on the early news.

Morning News-KJTV31-(SAN FRANCISCO)

“This is KJTV31 speaking to Jack Frazzel who was attacked by two assailants. The video tells it all. Your lighting speed and deft maneuvers displayed by the video footage were deadly and you dispatched the assailants readily. Mr. Frazzel you must have had training to react as quickly as you did and you used a Ninja type devise to thwart one of the assailants. Your reactions from your wheelchair were amazing. What kind of training do you have?” as he thrust the microphone in his face.

“I’m an x-seal retired from the Navy.”Jack was shy and the reporter noticed his shyness.

“It’s obvious the way you defended yourself. It was dangerous to take on two but you didn’t hesitate.”

“It was my training, I acted instinctively without thinking.”

“From the video it was evident they meant harm.”

“Yes, I had no choice.”

“As you can see, Jack Frazzel defended himself from certain harm. We are grateful for the witness who filmed this; this is Connie Brinks from KJTV from San Francisco, more news at seven.

÷÷÷

The interview closed, Ron Papasinsky was watching the telecast from his private detective office as he was finishing a case his agency had closed. He thought that was impressive for a guy in a wheelchair; he was fast and methodical defending himself. I might have a job for him.

Ron called the police and got Jack’s phone number. Ron knew the police well as he had worked with them on several cases. Jack agreed to come by his detective agency. Angie his daughter asked when Jack was coming to the agency, she was impressed watching the video. She also thought what an attractive man and yet shy. Since she was disabled the man in the wheelchair had riveted her to the TV. She was anxious to meet this man,

she liked what she saw.

Comment by The Ancient One on February 19, 2010 at 7:05am

The Hug
Tess Gallagher

A woman is reading a poem on the street
and another woman stops to listen. We stop too.
with our arms around each other. The poem
is being read and listened to out here
in the open. Behind us
no one is entering or leaving the houses.

Suddenly a hug comes over me and I’m
giving it to you, like a variable star shooting light
off to make itself comfortable, then
subsiding. I finish but keep on holding
you. A man walks up to us and we know he hasn’t
come out of nowhere, but if he could, he
would have. He looks homeless because of how
he needs. “Can I have one of those?” he asks you,
and I feel you nod. I’m surprised,
surprised you don’t tell him how
it is – that I’m yours, only
yours, etc., exclusive as a nose to
its face. Love – that’s what we’re talking about, love
that nabs you with “for me
only” and holds on.

So I walk over to him and put my
arms around him and try to
hug him like I mean it. He’s got an overcoat on
so thick I can’t feel
him past it. I’m starting the hug
and thinking, “How big a hug is this supposed to be?
How long shall I hold this hug?” Already
we could be eternal, his arms falling over my
shoulders, my hands not
meeting behind his back, he is so big!

I put my head into his chest and snuggle
in. I lean into him. I lean my blood and my wishes
into him. He stands for it. This is his
and he’s starting to give it back so well I know he’s
getting it. This hug. So truly, so tenderly
we stop having arms and I don’t know if
my lover has walked away or what, or
if the woman is still reading the poem, or the houses –
what about them? – the houses.

Clearly, a little permission is a dangerous thing.
But when you hug someone you want it
to be a masterpiece of connection, the way the button
on his coat will leave the imprint of
a planet in my cheek
when I walk away. When I try to find some place
to go back to.

Comment by Ron Samul on December 4, 2008 at 5:58pm

Victor, thanks for joining us. You also came in during the Novel in a Month Contest and we were all writing through November. Thanks for joining us and I would love to read some work. Be well.

Comment by Every Writers Resource on October 15, 2008 at 10:24pm

We are asking writers/poets to come to our message boards and help us continue stories and poems. I recently attended a writing workshop where everyone was interested in doing a continued story. You know 1 person writes a paragraph, and then another and then another. Each person has to take write one to two paragraphs and then the next person does the same. We have a section and 2 stories started on our message boards www.everywritersresource.com/messageboardsforwriters

Comment by Victor Barker on August 4, 2008 at 2:58am

I meant to add a piece here about opening a novel but it seems to have gone to my home page blog! I don't quite understand these sites yet!

Comment by Victor Barker on July 29, 2008 at 2:05am

Yeah, I just joined the group. Surprised to see so few member so far, but like you said writers are a pretty solitary breed. But anything I can do to help I am very happy to do.