But Only The Statues Remain Silent

This is fiction. Any resemblance between the content of this story or any of the characters depicted herein and real persons or events is highly unlikely and purely coincidental.

"These allegations are false!" Gordon Henderson faced a throng of reporters. In his mind, a throng had to contain at least twenty cameras and at least seven satellite trucks. He stood two steps above the wide concrete upper deck. The last fifteen steps waited behind him, separating him from the courthouse entryway. The venue had been moved to Billings, Montana. This was a disaster in the making.

"Isn't it true that videos of staff members sexually abusing the clients were emailed to the Attorneys General of Montana and thirteen other states?" Jessica Ramsey stared at the high-powered lawyer. He stood mute, rolling his eyes. "Mr. Henderson, then can you tell us why Dr. Arlington was trying to cure homosexuality when it has been accepted for over a decade that it is not a disease?" She thrust the microphone toward him, digging for a response, challenging his ego.

"It is futile for me to try this in the court of public opinion. Until further notice, all communication will be through press releases." He turned and climbed the remaining steps and entered the courthouse. Gordon ignored the reporters who chased behind him. Crossing over to the security station reserved for officers of the court, he escaped into a limited access area.

Jessica turned back to face her cameraman. "After last night's revelations by World News Network investigative reporter Anne Birch, a nationwide conspiracy was uncovered. Video provided by the group calling themselves the Rainbow Warriors detailed the rescue of sixteen children and adults who were reported to have been sent to Madison River Sanatorium to cure them of their homosexual tendencies."

The on-site producer instructed Jessica to turn slightly and look back up at the courthouse. It would allow graphics insertion during future broadcasts. He was impressed; this was his first time working with Jessica.

"A vehicle fire at the Madison River Sanatorium yesterday led to the authorities discovering its staff had been detained and the patients were missing. WNN has confirmed that the video shown last night on World News Network was sent to law enforcement agencies across the nation. The Montana State Police and the FBI have instituted a nationwide hunt for Dr. Gregory Hugh Arlington. Unsubstantiated reports indicate that every computer printer in the facility was printing documentation in the forms of pictures and orders signed by Dr. Arlington. This is Jessica Ramsey of the World News Network, reporting from Billings, Montana."

Her cameraman signaled the shot was a wrap. Jessica turned off the wireless hand mike. She waited for the cameraman to secure his equipment and place it into standby mode. Together, they walked back to the World News Network satellite truck.

Gordon Henderson entered the consultation room. There waiting for him was Robert Darcy. Bob served as the president of Lamp Unto My Feet, the nonprofit agency who owned and funded the Madison River Sanatorium. Strain was evident on his face. "Gordon, get me out of here."

"Bob, stay calm." Gordon set his briefcase on the table. From inside he retrieved stacks of stapled papers. He gave one packet to Bob. "I've managed to convince the judge you're not a flight risk. You will need to use the equity in the lumberyard to secure your bond." Bob looked up at Gordon. The lawyer nodded his head. Then he looked back at the packet. "This is beyond our backyard. Subpoenas have been issued to examine the Lamp's finances, meeting notes, and any documentation relating to the sanatorium. I have a friend who saw part of what was printed." Gordon stopped until Bob meet his gaze. "Be honest with me Bob, did you have any knowledge of what was going on out there?"

Bob stared at Gordon, then shook his head no. "How could you even think...?" He looked at the papers then turned, looking up at Gordon again. "No, Gordon, I never knew."

"As the attorney representing the nonprofit, it is a question I had to ask." Gordon sat down opposite Bob. "This is beyond fixing by using friends of friends. We are looking at multiple federal, state, and local jurisdictions." Gordon produced a packet from a sealed pocket in his briefcase. "Kidnapping, civil rights violations, all three versions of the Mann Act, not to mention corresponding laws and court tampering charges from thirteen states."

Bob hung his head and grabbed his hair with both hands. "They told us it was a drug treatment facility."

"Did they ever present that to the board in writing?" Gordon was disgusted. He had known Bob for the last seventeen years. Today, he did not know if his old friend told the truth.

"Wait," Bob looked up, "it was the week after the first CAP testing centers opened. The trustees had to vote to let that doctor apply to purchase, store, and administer methadone." A tiny moment of hope flashed from Bob's eyes.

"Are you sure?" Gordon was pressing the speed button for his office. "I need to talk to Kelly," he said, and looked back at Bob.

"Yes, I remember we made jokes about scoring high enough to audition for the next episode of Average Joes."

"You may have just saved your ass, Bob." Gordon turned his attention back to the phone. "Kelly, remember when the paralegals all got CAP tested during the first week the testing center was opened?" The corners of Gordon's mouth started to turn up and form a smile. "I need you to photocopy all of the Lamp Unto My Feet records from that month up through their last meeting."

"Gordon, have I been released?"

"Your release is scheduled for 4:00 PM this afternoon. At 4:15 I and Trevor Barnes together will rush from the front door to the waiting limousine." Gordon tapped the back of his cell phone. "My associate, Kelly Garcia, will escort you to my SUV where your wife Judy will be waiting."

"Bless you Gordon. I don't think I could survive here overnight."

It had to be a dream. Three things led him to that conclusion. First, there was a sense of safety. The last time he felt like this was the week before his mom disappeared. The gnawing at his muscles, that early stage of withdrawal that would force him into a ball, was abated. Finally, his ass didn't ache.

More sensations began to flood into his mind. The mattress cradled his form. He did not lay on the thin dank vinyl one on the floor. He wasn't cold. His cell, the whole sanatorium, was usually cold. Light began to filter into the space. He was beginning to wake up. Michael Powers fought to stay asleep. The reality in this dream felt good.

With the light increasing, Michael realized he was losing the battle to stay asleep. He was awake but not lying on the thin mattress. A wisp of escaping air brought to his attention that the top of the bed was lifting away. The lifting lid exposed three men staring at him.

"Hello Michael," the man on the right dressed in black was speaking, "I am Jason Grant." He looked at the people standing at Jason's right. The man in the middle wore green. The one on the end was dressed in gray. "Standing next to me is Jacob Kennedy, and on the end, Edward Polanski."

Michael remained absolutely still, he was aware he had an erection. The staff enjoyed sadistic games. Any moment he expected Rollo or Chad to show up with the flyswatter and chastise him for the stiffy. He decided to play mute.

Commander Kennedy lifted Michael easily from the medtube. The boy shivered and then began shaking his head no. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Michael could only manage a whisper. "Am I going to a treatment room?"

"No," Commander Kennedy answered.

Michael decided to take a chance. This giant looked like he could break Chad into pieces. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe."

Studying the face of his protector, Michael found he couldn't contain his emotions. He leaned in and started to cry. He didn't count the doors they passed through. Eventually, the giant put him in a chair.

"This is where you're going to stay for a few days." Commander Kennedy walked over to a little kitchenette. He returned with some tissues. "Wipe your eyes." He pointed behind Michael to the left. "The bathroom is behind you. The microwave will provide you with any finger foods or nonalcoholic beverage you ask for. There is a sink to rinse items in and all the garbage goes into the recycle drop."

Michael looked over and scanned the kitchenette. He identified the microwave and the door with the recycle symbol.

"How about we start you with a cheeseburger and French Fries?" The commander walked over to the microwave. He repeated the order. "What type of drink?" He turned and looked back at Michael.

"Could I have," Michael searched his memories for a favored taste, "a root beer?" Michael winced, expecting a reaction.

There was a ding. The commander carried a tray to the table. "One replicator special," he placed the tray before Michael. "Salt, pepper, ketchup?"

"Mayo, ketchup please."

Jacob walked back toward the microwave. Michael inhaled the aroma of the food. He could only stare at the bounty before him. Hands placed squeeze bottles of mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup on the table. "Eat," the commander instructed.

The root beer tasted good. Michael squirted a large dollop of ketchup next to his fries for dipping. He swirled some mayonnaise on the bun. He took a bite. He looked at the commander and waited until the commander signaled for him to eat more.

"In this package," Commander Kennedy placed a paper bag on the table, "are some pajamas. You have a choice as to whether you want to be dressed or not." Commander Kennedy crossed back and placed a similar order.

Michael sat, staring at the bag of pajamas on the table. He definitely was no longer in the tan room with the bars on the windows. The floors, walls, and even the ceilings appeared to be a polished dark gray stone with a satin finish. Commander Kennedy sat down and had two burgers on his plate with the fries. He also placed a pitcher between them and took a sip of his drink.

"They always said if we ever escaped they would hunt us down." Michael looked up, pleading into his giant protector's eyes. "Can you tell me this place is safe from them?" The commander was chewing. "Can they just sneak in here and take me?"

The commander swallowed. He took a small sip, before he answered the boy's fears. "Michael, you are on the moon."

"Mia, do you think the AI would let me replicate a bottle brush?" Marsha whispered at the table while the littlest girls were waiting for breakfast pastries.

Mia turned and looked at Marsha. "The glassware usually gets recycled."

Marsha leaned in real close, whispering, "I think I have a yeast infection."

Dropping her fork, Mia turned to glare at Philip. "Oh master," she put both of her hands on the table, helping her to stand. "Did you forget something?" She walked around to where Philip sat. Tina's three little ones rushed to their seats. They cut off Mia's approach on Philip.

Philip stared at Mia. He then made eye contact with each of his women. Something was wrong; he wanted to survive, "Yes." He hoped the admission would cover his ass.

Mia stood behind Philip. She pressed her bare breast into his back. She ran her fingernails, softly down his chest and into his chest hair. She rolled her fingers achieving a good purchase. Then she tugged.

"Papa's in trouble." The middle child broke the tension. Lucy's voice sounded lyrical, almost pixie like.

It was the littlest girl's turn next. "All the mommies look happy." Lena had witnessed mechanical aspects of sex. The AI man had convinced her that sex was only for the grownups. She understood that everybody felt good afterwards. The mommies always said Philip made them happy.

"Mamma Mia is staring at Mamma Marsha," Laura noted. "In science, Miss Prescott said to always observe before you report."

Philip quickly clicked through the facts. Marsha was talking to Mia, Marsha's cunt felt like it had grains of sand in it this morning, and Mia is pulling at the chest hair. Sub-vocally, Philip called the AI for help in analyzing any clue available.

"I can add an analysis of Marsha's bodily fluids that have been passed into the recycler." Philip was sure the AI was dragging this out, prolonging his discomfort. "She is suffering from Candidal vulvovaginitis, commonly referred to as a yeast infection. If she had the standard set of health nanites, the yeast infection would not have progressed this far."

Marsha had yet to have her initial medical scans. Philip wondered how he could have missed this. He had a good idea. Marsha, once free from her repressive father, unleashed a more wanton libido than any of his other women. He arranged for her to be scanned immediately after breakfast. Philip reached up and touched both of Mia's hands.

"I need to take Marsha to the med bay for a checkup." After Philip's announcement, Mia stroked the area where the abused hair was attached. She kissed Philip the top of the head. "My mother was wrong, I am trainable."

"Lena," he looked across to his youngest daughter. "Can Mamma Marsha take you for your follow-up treatment?"

Lena looked over at Marsha. "I think so."

Once her pastries and milk were finished, Lena put her breakfast tray on the counter. She walked over to Marsha. "Are you ready?"

"Yes Lena." Marsha stood up. The little girl took her hand and led her to the front door. Lena described how to get to the playground, her school, and where the closest lift was. It seemed Lena could talk for hours. Marsha really listened, as the little girl's perspective was very entertaining. About the time she started talking about which of Philip's toes was the best to tickle, they arrived at the med bay.

"Hello, Lena," the voice belonged to a woman in dark blue coveralls, "ready for your next checkup?"

"Yes Dr. Salami," Lena hugged the doctor.

The doctor adjusted Lena's bangs. "Who came with you today?"

"This is Mamma-Marsha." Lena pointed at Marsha. "Daddy-Philip says she needs a checkup too."

Marsha recognized the look that sponsors get when an AI is speaking to them through their implants. The doctor lifted Lena and placed her on the edge of an open medtube. Lena leaned back and swung her legs up. She blew a kiss at Marsha. The doctor closed the top.

"Lena's going to be okay, right?" Marsha was getting nervous.

"Yes," the doctor reached out and took Marsha's hand. "Last week she broke her right femur across the growth plate. It's what's referred to as a type five fracture. They are really rare." She turned Marsha toward an open medtube. "We're monitoring Lena to make sure that both growth plates are growing equivalently." The doctor patted the medtube, showing Marsha where to sit. "This is the first time a break such as this has been corrected in conjunction with the Confederacy medical advancements." Marsha took her position and swung her legs up. "Lena is providing a medical baseline."

The lid started to close. "Wait," the lid stopped, "I have a yeast infection."

The doctor leaned down close to Marsha. "Your sponsor forgot to have your initial medical check performed." The doctor spoke reassuringly, not in a whisper. "You have heard of medical nanites?"

"Yes," Marsha looked away from the doctor. "Though I have to confess most of what I read was probably wrong."

"You will sleep for about fifteen minutes. During that time a complete physical will be performed. Your yeast infection will disappear." The doctor smiled and the lid slowly closed.

*****

"Canadian Border Services Agency, North Portal, Saskatchewan, how many help you?" The woman on the phone was at the same time professional, polite, and exuding confidence.

"There is a midnight blue Land Rover Discovery approaching the border on US Highway 52. The driver is Dr. Gregory Arlington. He has several warrants for his arrest from Montana." Janice Montgomery never knew investigative reporting to be this exciting. Riding in the unmarked van following the doctor stimulated her sense of excitement.

"I suggest that you contact the US Border Patrol in Portal, North Dakota." The Border Services agent was trying to be helpful. "There number is area code 701," Janice looked over at Anne Birch. She was still on the phone with US Border Patrol. "As long as the purported fugitive is on US soil, we will not and cannot interfere."

"My associate is on the phone with them." The turnoff for the municipal airport passed quickly by the window. "With all of the budget cuts down here, we thought it best to call you folks."

The call ended. The camera crew finished their third double check of their equipment unit. Three cars ahead, the Range Rover Discovery puttered ahead. The dark clay parking lots of truck stops, which lined the road, seemed to blend into the pavement. After passing Clark Street, three marked North Dakota State Trooper units pulled in behind the van. A tractor-trailer blocked the next road up. The driver was kneeling, looking under his front bumper.

Once they passed the end of the disabled tractor-trailer, the state troopers accelerated, passing the van, two on the left, one on the right. Up ahead, several units pulled out from Makee Street, blocking US 52. The lights and sirens began to flash and wail. The trailing trooper who passed on the left stopped the car directly behind the Discovery. The van stopped. The cameraman and Anne bolted from the van door. Janice watched as they rushed forward.

"Take this," the producer handed Janice the smaller camera, "head around to the left. See if you can get a wider angle, hurry."

Janice spotted a fifth-wheel camping trailer with a ladder on the back. Climbing to the top, she found an indoor-outdoor carpeted patio, surrounded by handrails. The state troopers had blocked the progress of the Discovery. They were crouched down using their patrol cars as cover. She could see Anne along with her cameraman filming behind the patrol car that had stopped the traffic flow, about one hundred feet from the inner perimeter.

"This is Lieutenant Bhatia of the North Dakota State Police, shut the vehicle off." Her voice, amplified through the megaphone, demanded attention. "Toss the keys outside the window."

The Discovery sat idling, the rear taillights shining red indicating that someone pressed down the brake pedal. There wasn't any other response.

Janice could see additional officers as they crept into positions behind the troopers. She had no experience except movies and television to draw from. This looks like overkill. She counted thirteen troopers and border agents from this angle. There had to be at least that many more on the far side.

"I repeat. Turn your vehicle off. Toss the keys out of the window." Lieutenant Bhatia repeated her instructions.

There was a pause. The taillights never went out, but for a flash, the backup light came on. Seconds later, the window rolled down. The brake lights went out. An object flew out and hit the ground.

Bhatia gave additional instructions. "Place both hands outside the window. Open the door, using the outside door handle; do not pull your hands back through the window under any circumstances. Then step out of the car."

Ever so slowly, Janice could see a short balding man as he followed instructions. It took almost a minute. Once he was in the final position, he looked up.

"Back away from the vehicle until I tell you to stop."

Janice took the opportunity to zoom in. It was definitely Dr. Arlington. She watched as he backed away from the Discovery.

"Stop! Drop to your knees." The lieutenant never changed her tone.

Dr. Arlington looked north to Canada. Janice could see he was whispering, "So close, so close."

He was then made to lie face down. Three troopers approached him with guns drawn. He was quickly hand cuffed. Additional officers approached. Two unarmed officers hooked their arms under Dr. Arlington's arms, then dragged him to a nearby car. The car then sped into an inspection bay at the border-crossing complex. The large doors rolled down and eclipsed any view of him.

Janice, Anne and the cameraman were questioned about how they were able to follow Dr. Arlington. Being unable to answer came not from refusing to divulge the secret, but from the fact that Janice did not really know. Once the Land Rover Discovery passed them heading north on US 52, Anne pointed it out for them to follow.

It turned out that the Land Rover belonged to one of Dr. Arlington's neighbors who was on vacation in Martha's Vineyard. Anne implied her researchers were very thorough. To prove this, she verified the doctor's secret network connection between the sanatorium and his home. This surprised several the law enforcement representatives making the inquiries.

Dr. Jasper Franco opened the file on the rescued subjects he had been counseling. "In the last three weeks, I have worked with each of the individuals. Of the sixteen individuals rescued, ten of them now score less than 6.5. Four of them have sponsor level scores. Two of those individuals increased their CAP score. The final pair cannot be tested yet, they are both thirteen."

"One third of the individuals are what would be classified as homosexual or bisexual. The other group would be classified as late bloomers or asexual individuals." He opened Michael Powers' file. "I spoke at length to this young man. The AI confirms that even accounting for his recent malnutrition and abuse, he had never started the third stage of puberty." An outline of the stages appeared for all the parties to review. "Michael's pubic hair has just started to darken and his voice is 'cracking'. Evidently, his father became aware he was participating in what young people refer to as 'grab-ass'. Though the males in the room may deny it, wrestling around expressing dominance and I believe the term is, 'scoping out' other boys is very common. It is not a precursor to any adult sexual behavior, yet some males find it embarrassing to recall or admit participating in such behavior."

Listening to the briefing was an interesting collection of powerbrokers. Vice Admiral Victor Kristoff stared across the table at the Department of Evacuation and Colonial Operations representative Ilse Cavendish. Miles Chandler, the head of DECO, had sent the hatchet woman. Fleet Admiral Jason Tucker was beginning to have difficulties with Chandler's department. Director Chandler had a tendency to be a CAP score elitist. To him, the sum of the sub-scores defined the individual. To Victor's boss Jason Tucker, the Director of Naval Operations, there was a non-quantifiable essence within each person that could not be expressed on a scale of 0 to 10. There was more to the two men's professional schism, but this was the most obvious point.

Exactly why Nicholas Christos sat in on this meeting puzzled Admiral Kristoff. Why intelligence would have one of their more capable operatives involved baffled him. Intelligence rarely bothered with these disposition hearings; this signified there was a joker in the deck. Further, with Nicholas were the de facto leader of Samuel Cassel's pet commandos, Lieutenant Percy, and their newest naval acquisition Colonel Reynolds to his right.

That left Brigadier General Raymond Stewart as Harry McCoy's heavyweight Marine voice at the table. Stewart would've been decried as a war hawk based on his viewpoints. He was pushing consistently for more combination breeding/training colonies.

The rescued individuals had become virtual poster children, emphasizing the need to protect both volunteers and potential concubines. For the majority of volunteers who were parents before their extraction, and some who would become parents after their extraction, the concept of this level of betrayal to a child was inexcusable. The list of the sanatorium employees' names and the parties responsible for either sending or supporting that place circulated among the extraction teams. This led to a new pastime. It consisted of novel ways to terminate anyone on that list.

Admiral Kristoff was operating under a set of unique orders. "Do right by them." Usually Jason Tucker spoke with his subordinates, building a consensus quickly and firmly. This morning, Fleet Admiral Tucker had issued a direct order.

Dr. Franco finished his briefing. Admiral Kristoff knew the content of the report based on a summary given him by the AI. He paid the most attention to Franco's observations. The experience that these individuals shared adversely affected their self-esteem. Now that they were in a stable, supportive environment, some of their CAP sub-scores showed a measurable positive change. Dr. Franco was sure that, with continued support, the individuals could make gains.

"I therefore suggest," Dr. Franco closed his folder, "that these individuals continue to receive support and counseling." The doctor looked at the individuals at the table. He turned and looked at Nicholas Christos.

"What is DECO's position?" Nicholas turned to Ilse.

"It is the position of our department to follow standard extraction procedures." She turned and looked at Victor.

"Those fourteen who have been tested have requested to remain with the Confederacy," Ilse Cavendish announced. "They will be entered into the appropriate pools. The minors will be returned."

"No!" Victor looked, seeking the individual who spoke with such power. He saw Nicholas with his hand on Lieutenant Percy's arm.

"Nicholas, control your people," Ilse quipped. She reflected her boss's disdain for people with lower CAP scores.

"Fannie and Marty are going to be fostered with me until they reach maturity." Priscilla Percy bored her gaze into Ilse. "I promised them I would not _send them back_ to the people who abandoned them to that place."

"We all know this is coming to a vote." Ilse stared back at the lieutenant. "Each involved department will receive a single vote. Whereas the Naval representative may support your wishes, DECO will have the support of the Marines." She smiled and looked at each person at the table. "If there's a stalemate, our practice is to follow procedure."

Nicholas laughed. All eyes at the table turned toward him. "Only three of the departments here were involved."

"Nice try Nicholas, anytime a person is taken from Earth DECO is involved." Ilse laid the sarcasm on thick. "Yes, Intelligence ran the operation. The Navy supplied a shuttle. It was Marine personnel charging through the place."

"General Stewart, I need to ask you a question." Nicholas spoke calmly. "Exactly what is the status of the Marines assigned to testing centers?"

"They serve as security at the centers." Everyone could tell the general was sub-vocally communicating with an AI. "They also operate as contacts for intelligence operatives, servicing drop and pick up points."

Nicholas posed another question. "Even though they maintain their rank with its privileges, they effectively report to which department?"

There was another pause before the general replied. "As long as they are assigned to the Intelligence Service, officially they are not part of the Marine command structure."

"Therefore, Brigadier, how do you think the Marines' will vote?"

With his eyes now locked on Ilse, the Brigadier answered. "I believe the correct procedure would be for us to abstain."

An hour later, Lieutenant Percy escorted her adopted son and daughter into their new home.

The circuit court in Billings, Montana became the center of the news media's universe. An abandoned bus was found at Lewistown Municipal Airport. Inside were items easily traced to the Madison River Sanatorium. It began to erode away the Swarm-Confederacy strangle hold on the headlines in the continental United States. Speculation on the whereabouts of the sanatorium's victims had the talking heads spinning. How that would complicate the case caused those same commentators to spit out varied opinions.

On the moon, sixteen people waited for justice to begin grinding away some of the chains that bound them. The victims were placed in groups of four to six to watch Dr. Arlington begin his journey through the judicial process. Briefings for the sponsors and concubines laid groundwork to address adverse reactions. Dr. Franco had concerns about the possible gamut of reactions that could be manifested by the survivors when they saw their abusers, even in custody. He advised that they might range from anger to withdrawal, tears to hysteria. Dr. Franco suggested the supportive household members be willing to listen and provide comfort.

Philip's rule about concubine dress had been bent due to the subject of the gathering. Marsha felt strange in the sundress. Michael wore simple green coveralls. The two thirteen-year-olds looked like they belonged on south beach. Sarah's sundress hugged her curves.

Other victims' families were gathered to watch the proceedings. Across the apartments on the base play-dates were organized for children under twelve, removing these impressionable kids from the specter of the proceedings, not to mention the possible reactions. Even a few of the kids over twelve volunteered to help with the little ones. Tina had taken her girls over to Bubba and Clem's place.

Marsha Reynolds nee Powers was sitting next to her brother Michael; his sponsor Clem sat on the other side. Also in the living room were three other victims of the sanatorium. Marty, who had turned thirteen during his stay at Madison River, clung to Priscilla. Fannie, the lieutenant's other ward, leaned into Edna, one of Priscilla's concubines. Sarah had claimed Bubba's lap. Whenever Arlington's face appeared suddenly, she turned her face into his shoulder.

"This is Jessica Ramsey for World News Network." The logo for the network spun away revealing the reporter. Dr. Arlington's picture was in the lower left corner, the words 'Dr. Depravity Sadistic Sanatorium' defined the portrait above. "This morning at 10:45 a.m. Mountain Time, Dr. Gregory Arlington is scheduled for arraignment. He faces multiple counts of kidnapping, false imprisonment, rape, child molestation; the complete list of two hundred and sixty-four charges is available on our website. I'm hearing reports of a caravan leaving the detention center."

Cameras tracked the van carrying Dr. Arlington as it traveled to the courthouse. Streets leading to the secure entrance were blocked off. Protesters surrounded the courthouse waving signs. The vast majority sought vengeance and retribution; a small group of carried an anti-gay message.

The van disappeared into the underground parking garage. Marsha took the time to check how Michael and the others were handling the situation. Marty leaned forward. Priscilla stroked his back. Fannie appeared to be the most relaxed person in the room, she seemed to be soothing Edna. Sarah had remained motionless sitting in Bubba's lap. Michael held both Marsha and Clem's hands.

The next forty-five minutes ratcheted up the tension. Once it was confirmed that the doctor was in the courtroom, an audible sigh crossed the room. Mia and Philip offered refreshments to everyone. The talking head experts were tuned out. They were waiting for the coverage to go back to Montana.

"Cameras are not allowed in the courtroom." Jessica's voice refocused everyone's attention to her. "As soon as Dr. Arlington makes his initial plea, it is believed he will be denied bail. Switching back to Anne Birch, who's with retired Chief Bailiff Roger Stormcloud, Anne."

"Thank you Jessica." Anne was sitting at a table with an older man. "I'm sitting with Roger Stormcloud who retired as Chief Bailiff two months ago." She turned to look at Roger. "Chief Bailiff Stormcloud, what is the procedure for handling a notorious personage such as Dr. Arlington at this particular courthouse?"

"First my dear, call me Roger."

"Yes Roger."

"He'll be led to a waiting room next to courtroom 506A from the secure elevators that connect to the court house holding area. His level three bulletproof vest will be removed. Appearing before the judge in the vest could be prejudicial." A map of the fifth floor showed the route. The arrows showed that Dr. Arlington would be led along the lane on the south side of the building to a secure bank of elevators. "Normally initial arraignments are held using a video link to the detention facility. I guess the severity of these charges required that he physically stand before the law."

Anne gave the public some additional information. "We've been given access to the internal security cameras on the fifth floor." The top half the screen showed a hallway lined with doors on both sides. On the bottom was another hallway, windows on its left, a few hallways to the right. It appeared to run the entire side of the building, as a full-length window was at the end. "Roger, exactly what are we seeing here?"

The image changed from just Anne and Roger to a split screen. They were on the right half and two hallways moved to the left side. "Before he enters the hall you have here on the top left, the bailiffs on duty will put him back into the bulletproof vest. There is an anteroom shown on the floor plan. He will enter this hallway from the door farthest away in this picture." The door-lined hallway took prominence as Roger continued. "The window lined hall leads to the bank of elevators. The bailiffs refer to the view as a last glimpse of freedom."

"I can understand, with the volume of anger that this case has generated, the need to keep Dr. Arlington and his alleged conspirators in secure custody." Anne reflected part of the information to set the context for the question. "Why place him in a bulletproof vest?"

"Justice needs to be served. Sometimes people want to circumvent that. The defendant is placed in body armor that will prevent him being injured by assault rifles." Roger turned and looked over at the director he had met earlier. "I guess that's why we don't have footage from down in the parking garage. There's always a chance and the actual weakest link is the twelve foot walk from the building to the van."

Anne was seen nodding her head. "We're going back to Jessica Ramsey for an update."

Jessica Ramsey pulled her finger away from her left ear. "We have learned from our in-court observer, William Jessop, that Dr. Gregory Arlington has pled not guilty." A picture of the defendant took up the left side of the screen. "He has been denied bail and remanded into custody until the trial. If his attorneys choose to appeal the decision and fight for bail, the fact that Dr. Arlington was arrested while attempting to escape into Canada will be very detrimental."

Marsha heard a tiny sob. Looking over, Sarah had buried her face into Bubba's neck. Marty and Fannie had moved very little. Michael's hand that held Clem's looked white from the death grip.

"As you can see, they've made the turn to the longer hall." Roger was speaking. The last hallway expanded to fill the screen. Ever so slowly, Dr. Arlington started becoming larger as he approached the elevators.

Without warning, Dr. Arlington flew backwards between the two bailiffs behind him. Their combined movement looked like the bowling pin action on a six-nine-ten spare. Reflective particles chased after the doctor. In years to come, people would swear they could see parts of the fire exit door through the center of Dr. Arlington's upper chest. Most of that was based on exaggerated rumor rather than the true grisly effect of the fifty-caliber slug.

Dr. Arlington was struck just above his sternum. The body landed back down the hallway, coming to rest where it first entered the glass-lined hallway. Though his body was much closer to a camera than he was when he was shot, it was not obvious that the largest neck muscles withstood the hydrostatic shock and were the only tissues that kept his head attached. An investigation later determined that the killing shot was fired from a three-story building over on Seventh Street, 2000 feet away.

Dr. Franco did not expect that his patients would witness their perpetrator's murder. There was an unseen benefit to this violence. He decided he could use the events that unfolded. In the eyes of the victims' caregivers, this swift justice was appropriate. However, the same caregivers surprised him by insisting they invest the time to try to heal the emotional scars the victims carried.

*****

Reverend Powers heard the young man knock on his office doorjamb. Edmund Hollister, though not as jovial in the spirit as Billy Wesley, showed initiative and tended to be thorough. He looked up from the sports sage. He needed a break. his Cowboys still hadn't replaced Joe Pendleton. Edmund walked in holding a sheet of paper. The reverend asked, "Anything interesting?"

"It's from Dean Donald Claudie of Lubbock Brotherhood University, it's about a hundred and twenty miles west of us." Edmund handed the paper to the reverend. He continued to convey the message in the email. "There is going to be a symposium discussing the ramifications of the United States' Confederacy policy, and you are invited to attend the ordination of the graduating Divinity students."

"Please inform the dean that I would be blessed to attend the ordination." Reverend Powers looked up at Edmund. "I will also lend my voice and my story. Let him know that I also wish to be able to use Michael's story. There are dangers hiding in these liberal courts and over reaching leftist civil servants."

"I am sure they will wish to discuss Marsha and the Confederacy." Edmund tried very hard not to pity the reverend.

"Thank you for trying to shield me." He smiled at his assistant. "My mind is more focused. I fear for Marsha's soul...." He wiped at his eyes. "Add to the reply that if they wish this, I will grant his campus media an interview."