The Murderer Page 9

  Again, at the top of his lungs, James let out a shriek. "Murderers!"

  Chapter 6—Desperation

  Again, the police questioned James for hours. He had repeated many parts of his story dozens of times. The entire story of his stay had been repeated a full three times. He told them of his concerns. He mentioned Sir Anthony who would not be pressing charges, after all, now that James Findlay was no longer allowed in the conference.

  He emphasized the part about the burley man, and the fact that the conference officials refused to detain him.

  "Two young people are dead. I was drugged. And I was kicked out of the conference before I ever became disruptive. All because I was talking to other delegates, giving them information that could save the world. That was what we were here for, after all—to save the world from climate changes."

  Before evening, James had a chance to make a phone call. Only one person was on his mind—his brother, Adi.

  He gave his brother a brief version of the story. "Yes, Moira has been brutally murdered, and they suspected me, at first. Now, Philibert Viardot is dead, likely from the same people."

  "Jimmy, please stop," said Adi. "Come back, man. You did the best you could. This isn't worth dying for."

  "You've got to be kidding," said James. "Billions are going to die, and you want me to shut up and come home?" He paused for a moment, bit his lower lip, then said, "I'm sorry. I know if Mom were still here, she'd want me to pack it in, but I'm sure Dad would've said stick to it. No, this is too important. I will never give up as long as I breathe."

  "Oh, Jimmy," said Adi, pleading, "Don't get yourself killed. I couldn't stand the thought."

  "Know this, Adi. I love you, brother. And it's because I love you and the memory of Mom, Dad and my sweet Moira—I've got to see this through."

  Two hours later, the police let James go. The officer who escorted him to the front reassured James that they investigate all mysterious deaths, even those caused by aliens and boogiemen. James wanted to punch him in the nose, too, but restrained himself.

  Again, he felt more alone than ever. Philibert was dead, so he couldn't stay at his apartment. He took a taxi back to his own hotel. There, the night clerk gave him another room. But James could not sleep.

  The next day, he left the hotel early. He grabbed a quick bite to eat and then asked a taxi driver where he could buy a bullhorn at this early hour. The driver did not know of a place that would be open, but he did have a friend who was selling a bunch of things. One of those he was certain was a bullhorn. An hour later, James stationed himself outside the conference with a fresh battery pack and his portable loud speaker.

  From across the street, James greeted the arriving delegates with short statements about the Ice Age, the good things about global warming, how warmth reduces storm strength and the statistics prove it. He had only been at it for twenty minutes when police showed up to ask him to stop.

  "We will arrest you," said one of the policemen.

  "Why?"

  "For disturbing the peace."

  "Go ahead. Arrest me. The health of the planet is at stake. You want seven billion people to die, but can't stand for me to talk about it? You're as bad as these idiots."

  Before James could raise the bullhorn to his mouth, both policemen held his arms and handcuffed him. Then, they took him to the nearest police station.

  Chapter 7—Fait Accompli

  A warm breeze blew through the window just as Adi Findlay awoke. Somehow, the breeze did not seem to be a good omen. He had started each day with a little light stretching and exercise. Today, while he went through his routine, he watched the morning news.

  "In Paris, the world's climate conference concluded its business, narrowly passing the international agreements set forth in their agenda. The successes of the conference were marred by the death of one of their delegates. Mr. James Findlay of Caledonia was found dead in his hotel room from an apparent suicide. He had lost his fiancée a few days earlier, had gone mad, and then attempted to disrupt the conference, before his untimely death. Police are still investigating the death of his fiancée, Moira Ferguson."

  "Damn!" said Adi and slammed his fist onto the top of his dresser. "Suicide my arse!"

  Chapter 8—End of the Warmth

  Hector was now an old man. He spent many sleepless nights, thinking back at the conference and his own fear of getting involved. Now, his nation had become burdened with eight million English speaking refugees from Canada and the United States. His own people were outnumbered by more than ten-to-one. Illness was spreading. People were looting for the little food that remained. Camps were being organized into food production units, but some resisted being told what to do.

  Sonoran military had already killed twenty-eight thousand in an attempt to keep order. As bad as things were here, they remained much worse in other countries. Mexico had taken the hardest hit, suffering the onslaught of more than 150 million refugees—people that Americans in the southern United States had refused to help. Seattle, Washington stood half empty. Chicago and New York were entirely abandoned. Boston and Philadelphia, too. Washington, DC was being maintained, but only by brute force. Water mains were in a constant state of disrepair. Streets needed near daily sweeping to clear the new layers of snow, especially in summer.

  International infrastructure had been largely decimated. There were pockets of fully functional civilization, owned by the rich elite—the psychopaths James Findlay had described. For the most part, those pockets kept to themselves, never offering aid to the dwindling humanity around them. For decades before the catastrophe, they had stockpiled food and other resources, frequently using taxpayer dollars. Now, those taxpayers were discarded like some worthless, diseased cattle.

  Hector told his grandchildren and great-grandchildren the story of James Findlay. He compared him to young David fighting Goliath. He also compared him to wise Sisyphus who was not wise enough to avoid the wrath of the gods.

  Rumors came occasionally of uprisings against the psychopathic elite. Outrage at the lies they had told—the fear of warmth they had promoted. Early on, they had tried spraying the air with the use of commercial and military aircraft—microscopic particles of aluminum, strontium and barium. These were found only partially effective in reflecting sunlight back into space. They did add to the cooling effect, but they also trapped some of the infrared which might otherwise have escaped into space. Their earliest efforts were inadvertently warming the planet. Then they developed more sophisticated reflection schemes that produced the maximum cooling effect. In 2021, the Holocene was officially over. Now, in 2061, the new glacial period was nearly complete. The last vestiges of warmth had been sucked from the planet. The liars could not be held accountable, because the rest of humanity was too busy attempting to survive.

  Hector remembered the words of Lord Acton, but their meaning gave him no solace. "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men."

  The meaning was clear to him, now. The most unashamedly selfish are the ones who conquer others against their will, who kill those who stand in their way, or lie about the troubles of the world in order to distract others away from their own crimes.

  Hector was already promoting for a peaceful and orderly form of anarchy—zero government. He sensed that he would never accomplish it in his own lifetime, but perhaps he could plant the seeds of its wisdom. Perhaps some could find a way to make it work, despite the temptations of greed and the lust for power.

  "Sir James," whispered Hector. "I will remember you. I am ashamed that I did not do more to help you when I had the chance. But I will tell your story. Perhaps in another ninety thousand years, when this glacial period ends, we can do a better job. Perhaps we can recognize more easily the signs of selfishness in the seats of power."

  “The End”

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  Enter the Risk

  Chapter 1

  We hadn’t been married very long before I noticed Brent’s preoccupation with being “the man in the family,” as he had put it. Today was one of those days when I wished he didn’t feel so threatened when problems or difficulties arose.

  “Brent, it’s ok to admit that we’re lost. We should have been there two hours ago. Let’s just stop somewhere and get some directions,” I said. I immediately regretted saying it.

  “We aren’t lost! I just took a wrong turn. We’re gonna get cell and GPS back any minute and I can figure out where we are.” He didn’t even glance over toward, but instead gripped the steering wheel more tightly.

  I wish he wouldn’t worry so much about his image. To me, he was very much a man. He was there when I needed him, made me feel safe when I was scared, and was always ready to help me with whatever I needed.

  I knew he was hopeful about the cell phone reception, but I wasn’t. We were in the “boonies” – a shortcut he took had taken us deeper into the rural area and we were now on roads that weren’t well paved and were labeled “FM 1493” and the like.

  I wanted to stop at the next sign of civilization. Fortunately it was summer, so the days were very long but it was beginning to get late. It would be dark within the next hour or so, and I didn’t want to wander these roads at night. It’s not that I am scared of the people or the animals, but there aren’t streetlights on some of these country roads, and they aren’t kept up very well. It would be so easy to have an accident.

  As we sped along, I spotted a small sign on the right-hand side of the rode. It read “Dogwood Estates, next right.” Brent saw it, too, and before I could say anything he announced that he would be taking the next right. We took that right, but still didn’t see any signs of civilization. I began to worry that Dogwood Estates was a housing development that hadn’t been built, but Brent was kind of touchy so I didn’t say anything.

  Finally, at about 8:45 pm, we spotted a gated community ahead and to the right. It had high brick walls and an ornate cast iron gate that was open. Slowly we pulled up the gate, and then noticed the sign:

  “Enter at your own risk. You are responsible for any injury or damage that occurs within this community. No visitors after dark. Gates closed from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m., no exceptions. Curfew begins at 9:15 p.m. and lasts until 5:00 a.m, no exceptions.”

  I laughed. “Did you see that?” I asked Brent.

  He laughed, too. “Yes, I did. What are they keeping in there, a bigfoot or something?”

  We pulled in through the gate, and found a beautifully landscaped group of homes. The lawns were all impeccably kept, the streets were clean, and there were beautiful dogwood trees everywhere. I noticed several couples talking to each other in their driveways, but no children. That was a bit odd in my opinion.

  As we drove through, Brent tried to find someone he was willing to ask for directions. The roads were laid out in a strange fashion. You almost had the sense you were caught in some kind of a maze. I remember thinking that I was going to pull this place up on Google Maps later to see a satellite view of it. I was certain it would be something like a labyrinth.

  While we were wandering around in our car, we noticed people staring at us. It’s a nice car (gorgeous, if you ask Brent) but not enough make someone stare. It must be because they hadn’t seen us in the neighborhood before.

  Finally Brent spotted a man about his age using some hedge trimmers. Brent pulled the car over and called out to him to get his attention.

  “What can I do you for?” asked the man in a pleasant voice. He was about forty years old, wearing a dark t-shirt and cargo pants, and seemed harmless enough.

  “Yeah, we took a wrong turn and are trying to find out way back to I-20.” I noticed Brent made it into a statement rather than a question.

  “Oh, man, you are a ways off. Um, it’s getting awful late, and I’m terrible at giving directions. You should go back to the front gate. There’s always a security guy out there and he can help you better than I can.” He smiled, glanced at his watch, and went back to trimming.

  Brent looked at me. “You see why I don’t ask for directions?” He gunned the engine a bit (to my embarrassment) and started looking for a good place to turn around. Poor Brent got lost in the neighborhood, but honestly it looked like it was designed to confuse people. We finally found our way back to the front gate. It was closed.

  Brent rolled down his window as an oversized security guard dressed in all black marched over to our car with large flashlight in his hand. It was beginning to get dark, and a feeling of concern swept over me. As I looked out the passenger door, I noticed an elderly couple walking by and intently staring at our car. I smiled and waved. They didn’t wave back, but rather talked to each other. Then they stopped, as if waiting to see what the security guard was going to do.

  “The gates close at 9 and curfew starts in about 10 minutes. You too need to prepare for curfew.” The guard just glared at us.

  “Listen, we just pulled in here for directions. We don’t live here. I need some directions to I-20, and then we’ll leave.” Brent replied. I could feel his tension rising. I kept quiet.

  “When you pulled in that gate, you agreed to our rules. Now turn your car around and find someplace to stay until tomorrow.” Brent got ready to pull out his cell phone to call the police (I assume) but he angrily threw it down when he realized it said no reception.

  “You don’t have a right to keep us here like this.” Brent stated this as a fact.

  “What are you gonna do about it?” the guard replied.

  “Where are we supposed to find someplace to stay? We don’t live here. Please, it would be easier for everyone you to just let us out.” I threw in my two cents worth. Brent looked at me worried.

  “That isn’t my problem. It became your problem when you didn’t take the sign seriously. Now turn around and deal with it.”

  That’s when the elderly couple walked up. The elderly man put a hand on the guard’s shoulder. “Listen, Pete, I can fix this problem for both of you. Mary Lee and I will take them back to our place until morning.” The older man turned to Brent and smiled. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get this all straightened out. Let us take you back to our place.” His wife stood beside him, looking quite pleasant. When the older man looked back to the security guard, he nodded his approval. He then walked over to the front of the car and stood there, flashlight in hand and his arms crossed.

  Brent and I looked at each other. The couple didn’t seem like serial killers, and we weren’t going to get anywhere with the guard. Brent unlocked the back doors and the couple got in.

  Chapter 2

  They introduced themselves as they guided us to their home. His name was Jim and his wife was Mary Lee. They had been living here about a year, and Mary Lee said they just loved it here. Jim didn’t seem so enthusiastic, however.

  After just a few minutes we were in their driveway. Brent parked his car in the driveway, and we all got out. It was getting dark fast, and Mary Lee was in a hurry to get inside. They opened up the front door to their beautiful two-story home and welcomed us in.

  “Come on in, you two. You don’t want to get caught outside after curfew. There is some weird stuff that goes on out there,” said Jim as he threw his car keys in a dish near the front door.

  “Jim, now don’t be silly. Could I talk to you too for a minute?” she asked, motioning us toward the kitchen. “Don’t pay any attention to the strange stuff Jim says. He has … dement
ia, and he gets weird ideas about things some times. He’s harmless, of course – just a bit eccentric.” She got quiet when Jim walked in.

  “You warning them about me, Mary Lee?” asked Jim playfully.

  “We really appreciate you two helping us out, but we just want to get back on the road,” said Brent. I nodded in agreement.

  “Oh, I’m sorry but the gates are closed,” arid Mary Lee. “You want be able to go anywhere until morning.”

  Brent looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t mean we can’t leave,” he said as he turned back to her.

  She looked embarrassed, but more like she was embarrassed for us. “My dear, the gates are closed. We brought you here so you could spend the night and leave in the morning.”

  Jim was getting a drink of water from the refrigerator. “That’s not why I brought them here. I brought them here to keep ‘em safe from those crazies out there.”

  Mary Lee blushed. She halfway turned toward Jim. “Now Jim, we’ve talked about this. You are just confused.” She turned back to us. “We have a nice, clean spare bedroom with its own bath. We’ve got some clothes we can loan you, also. Let me show upstairs,” she said as she left the kitchen.

  Brent looked at me and shrugged. “I need to use the bathroom, anyways. Thank you.” He followed her upstairs. I decided to stay and talk to Jim.

  “Crazies?” I asked him. He smiled at me. “Yes. There’s a bunch of weirdos that get out there at night and mess with stuff. They’re all dressed in black, and some of them don’t have faces. I don’t know. Mary Lee says I’m confused, but she’s the one that’s confused. It’s like this whole ‘Ohhh, the gate is locked!’ So what if it’s locked. They don’t have a right to keep you here.”