Nightcrawler (11 page)

“Yeah, well, you'll have the rest of your life to read about it in your padded cell. That is, if they don't take away your reading privileges.”

The Reaper sprung like a cat, surprisingly nimble for a man of his size. He reached out to grab her as much as he got his range on her, then threw a murderous right cross.

Sabrina had a remarkable capacity for fearlessness. She would always credit her father for the way he had raised her, and her Heavenly Father for giving her the courage to face the unknown. Vern Brooks had enrolled her in swimming and ice skating classes as soon as she learned to walk, and got her into a rock climbing group when she was in grade school to help her overcome the natural fear of heights. He wanted his daughter to succeed in everything she put her mind to. He wanted to remove any obstacle to her success that might prevent her from realizing every dream.

Her biggest dream at this stage of the game was whipping the Reaper's butt for throwing her out a window and blowing up her bedroom. She had close to an eidetic memory and remembered how the Reaper had come at her last time. She dodged the right cross, bobbed underneath the outstretched arm and threw a left roundhouse kick at the side of his face. She did not make full impact but staggered him so he threw the left jab she was waiting for.

She knew that many boxers dropped their right hands ever so slightly when throwing the left jab. Her father, a lifelong boxing enthusiast, showed her the tapes of how Max Schmeling had spotted this in beating the legendary Joe Louis. She always looked for that, and spotted it when the Reaper beat her up before throwing her out the window. As the Reaper threw the left jab, she immediately sprang up with a second roundhouse kick. The steel toe of her left boot smashed directly into the man's temple, sending him sprawling backwards in a tangled heap.

“It's all over, Branko,” she said as she saw the glassy look in his eyes. “Hand over the detonator and nobody gets hurt.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” the Reaper pulled the detonator from his pocket and showed it to her, a modified remote control device. “If I am captured, my enemies in Serbia would spare no expense in having me killed in prison.”

With that, the Reaper pressed the red button on the device.

The Governor of New York met with the world press the next morning in a globally-televised news conference. The President of the United States had called him shortly after the aborted attempt to use a WMD on the crowds attending the Fourth of July celebration. The Coast Guard had recovered body parts along the East River amidst the debris from the gas-filled blimp that had exploded harmlessly above the harbor. DNA testing revealed that those killed in the blast were Dalibor Branko, Callen Marlowe and Sheryl Harrington.

Federal and State authorities announced that a call received by hero cop Hoyt Wexford confirmed that the victims of the blast were key members of the Octagon. Homeland Security had contacted INTERPOL, who verified that the DNA sampling matched that of Dalibor Branko. He was listed as missing in action at the end of the Serbian War, though INTERPOL had a warrant issued for his arrest in association with war crimes and crimes against humanity. Homeland Security said they would be wrapping up their investigation but considered the case closed.

“It is with great satisfaction that I am able to assure the people of the great State of New York that the threat posed by the terrorist organization known as the Octagon has ended. We have been informed by Homeland Security that these terrorists were working in conjunction with Al Qaeda, and the President of the United States has given me his personal assurance that no stone will be left unturned in uncovering these connections and bringing these criminals to justice.”

“Numerous issues had arisen as to the status of the members of the Octagon that have been taken into custody. They have been identified as members of the LGBT community, and questions have been raised as to their civil rights having been violated during our investigations and law enforcement procedures. Let me assure everyone everywhere that the State of New York does not and will discriminate against any individuals regardless of race, creed, color or sexual orientation. By the same token, an attack on our citizens is an attack on the State itself. We will not hesitate to bring anyone to justice regardless of their orientation, and no one will be spared regardless of their status in our community.”

“Finally, Officer Hoyt Wexford of the NYPD has testified as to the invaluable assistance in this case provided by the citizen known as the Nightcrawler. Although these are still unresolved issues related to the Nightcrawler in regard to this case, I hereby declare that all City and State charges and warrants against the Nightcrawler are being dropped. There are questions that have been raised that only the Nightcrawler can answer, and we ask that he step forward without fear of reprisal so that these matters may be addressed. In the meantime, on behalf of the people of New York, I express my gratitude to the Nightcrawler in helping end this terror threat.”

Sabrina Brooks had been seen falling from the sky into the East River shortly before the explosion of the blimp occurring in the air space over Lower Manhattan. A group of people celebrating the holiday along the harbor managed to rescue her from the water. They recognized her from newspaper photos and assumed that she had been kidnapped by the Octagon but managed to escape. She begged them not to call the police, and instead they carried her to a nearby vehicle and brought her to Bellevue Hospital.

“Well, not that I enjoy seeing you in a hospital bed, but I can't help but think this'll keep you from doing any more Nightcrawling,” Hoyt looked at her after the televised broadcast of the Governor's speech had ended. “At least for the time being.”

“I think I've learned my lesson,” Sabrina smiled reassuringly. “The doctor said I won't be able to walk without crutches for a while.”

“That won't be a problem as far as you coming to my award ceremony on Saturday. I'm personally going to wheel you out there.”

“You're sweet,” she blew a kiss at him.

“Do that again,” he said, hopping out of his chair and leaning over her. She kissed him on the lips, and they gazed lovingly into each other's eyes before he sat back down.

“Say, what's that thing by the pillow near your head?” he pointed.

“What's that?” she asked, reaching around so her hand touched against a small object. She picked it up and her eyes widened at the sight of a small velvet box. “Oh, Hoyt! I—“

“Not to worry, it's a friendship ring,” he assured her. “I just thought I'd make it official. I want you to be my girl.”

“So what did you think, Silly Billy, I
wasn't
your girl?” she said, slipping the ½ carat diamond ring on the platinum band onto her finger. “Ooh, how pretty!”

“Well, sweetheart, I've got a ton of paperwork waiting for me at Police Plaza thanks to that mysterious friend of yours,” he got up again, coming over to kiss her before taking his leave. “I'll come back before closing if you're not asleep.”

“Yeah, well, you better make sure they wake me up,” she warned him.

The press was on hand when Pastor Mitchell arrived at the Christian Adoption Center on the Bowery that Friday morning. It had become a topic of discussion as the LGBT community continued to protest what they considered the Center's discriminatory practices. The Pastor took the opportunity to provide a definitive response on behalf of the Christian community.

“Christians recognize love as the greatest gift from God bestowed on humanity through our Lord Jesus Christ,” the Pastor proclaimed as microphones were held towards him while cameras rolled. “The only distinction we make is between spiritual love and sexual desire. Although it is not ours to judge as to the nature of the love between individuals, platonic or otherwise, we do believe that the institution of marriage is the exclusive domain of a man and woman. This is not to deny the rights of any two individuals or an attempt to interpret or define their relationship. Our society has numerous legal recourses to protect the legal interests and social benefits of individuals, and we would fully support all efforts to further establish and define the rights of two people who have entered into a lifetime partnership, regardless of sexual orientation. We just ask that you respect the sanctity of marriage. Give unto Caesar that which is Caesar's, and give to God the things of God.”

“We have also been asked to clarify our statements as respects our adoption policy. Once again, we do not question the rights of individuals or partnerships in our American society. However, as Christians, we contend that a child is God's gift to a man and a woman as a blessing of a natural family. Though we do not attempt to distinguish between relationships between two people, we would err on the side of caution where the well-being of a child is in question. If a relationship between two individuals is defined by its sexual orientation, then we believe that too many questions would be raised before entrusting the care and well-being of a child to persons in such an environment.”

The interview went viral on the Internet, getting over a hundred thousand hits on You Tube. Christian activists around the world downloaded the clip, using it as an evangelical tool for their personal and Church ministries. It served to qualify the donations that were made by wealthy philanthropists, who were at first concerned over the LGBT backlash at the Church barbecue picnic. They were able to justify their gifts to the ministry by pointing out that the mission statement was a well-phrased credo rather than a reflection of right-wing conservative jargon and knee-jerk bias. Pastor Mitchell, as usual, downplayed the interview and gave the credit and the glory to the Lord Who gave him the words to speak.

Rita Hunt had taped the interview and played it back several times throughout the course of the day at the end of her first week at the Center. She received a modest salary as the manager for the facility, and had her hands full setting up an administrative system as best she could. She was satisfied with the fruits of her labor by the end of the afternoon, and yawned and stretched as she prepared to close it down for the weekend.

She had just logged off her PC when a young woman burst into her office and plopped down in the modest armchair before her desk. She threw her arms over the sides of the chair and kicked her feet out in front of her, dropping her head forward before wrinkling her brow at Rita.

“I think we've put this off long enough. Dinner's on me.”

“Maybe if it falls in your lap,” Rita grinned.

It was great to see Sabrina Brooks up and around again.

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Nightcrawler
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