Authors: MICHELLE LEE
The air is heavy and humid. It is so wet I can’t breathe easily. Every breath is like drawing air through a straw. It is dark; so dark I can’t see my hand in front of my face, not that I can raise my hands. I’m bond; for a second time. There is a cold metal cuff around my wrist. The cuff attaches to the wall by way of a thick metal chain. The chain is so heavy I can hardly lift my arms. My feet and legs are left free of any restraints, but are too weak to be of any use at the moment.
I can hear water dripping; somewhere. The constant drips; drip, drip, drip, are my only companion and slowly driving me crazy. I don’t know how long I’ve sat here in the dark losing my mind. It could have only been a few minutes or it could have been hours.
Once again I am naked. I don’t know why he keeps taking my clothes, to make me feel vulnerable, exposed, or just to humiliate me. He wants me to know he can do whatever he wants to me. My skin is covered in sweat, causing the all dirt floor to stick to me. The ground is hard underneath me. The walls feel like natural stone. I must be in an old building. Between the moist air and the dirt drying on my skin, I feel like things are crawling all over me. Not being able to see isn’t helping my imagination either.
My head is killing me. I think I have a concussion. I feel dizzy and nauseous, everytime I move my head searching for a sliver of light to appear; to give me the smallest amount of hope, that I was not left here to be forgotten. I have seen no such light and my hope is quickly abandoning me.
My jaw hurts when I try to open my mouth to call out. I stopped yelling a few minutes ago, when I realized no one was coming for me. No one can hear me. My throat is raw from the effort. I have had a fractured jaw from Michael before, and this feels very similar.
My right eye feels swollen shut; not that I can see anything to be able to tell. It is pulsating; matching the erratic beat of my heart. The pressure inside my eye socket feels like someone is trying to remove my eyeball. It isn’t painful, just extremely uncomfortable.
When I lick my lips trying to moisten them I can taste the metallic flavor of blood. The outside of my bottom lip is crusty with dry blood from a new split that runs down the center of it. I can feel an impression of my teeth on the inside of that same lip.
The chains attached to the wall hang loose. I am able to let my arms hang by my side. I bring my feet up under me and use the chains to pull myself up to my knees. I stop to catch my breath and put my right foot on the ground pushing myself all the way to a standing position. Hanging on the wall trying not to throw up for the pain in my head I hear a noise; a distant whistling noise. I try to yell for help, but I can’t make my mouth work. So I just rest my head against the wall and listen to the song the whistler is whistling.
Everyone in the house was gathered in the dining room to watch a video recording of Agents Keller and French interview Shannon O’Rourke. He enters the room in his orange jumpsuit and two corrections officers hand cuff his hands to the table. His feet are already cuffed.
He takes a seat, “Well, ladies, I didn’t think I would see you again this soon.”
Agent French answers, while Keller sits back and watches his every move. “Yeah well we want answers and you have them. We got you a deal, but you have to give us something we can use or the deals off the table, so no bullshit.”
“I want to know what the deal is before I start running my mouth and ruin my reputation.”
“You are looking at 10 years in prison for the counterfeit cash scheme, an additional 90 days and 1,000 dollar fine for the id theft. Let’s not forget the money laundering case. You are looking at fines of $500,000 or more.”
“I know what kind of time and money I have invested in this. What I want from you is how are you gonna help me?”
“Since it’s your first offense on all charges, you will get 30 days plus time served, the lawyers are still working out the amount of money you will be paying in fines, and you will have 7 years probation.”
“Not too bad. It wasn’t my idea to get involved in the money laundering, I was approached and it sounded like a no lose situation. I can give you his name as well, if you can get the amount of fines down to an amount I can handle.”
“I can do that.” French has O’Rourke eating out of her hand. “Now, let’s get down to business.”
Agent Keller hands him a yellow legal pad and tells him to write down all the names he helped Michael Parker acquire over the last three years.
“I would like you to tell us in your own words what happened the night you first met him.” Keller is taking notes as she talks to him.
“I was out, just walking down the street, minding my own business when I feel something hit me in the arm. It felt like a baseball. I grabbed my shoulder, it feels wet. When I pull my hand away, it is covered with blood. I freak out for like 2 minutes, and then I hurry to the nearest hospital.
I get in pretty quick since I’m a gunshot patient. The nurse gets me prepped for stitches and then the doctor walks in. He was in his late twenties, a decent looking guy, but he looked a little off in his eyes, ya know. So anyway he asks questions I answer them. He mentions how lucky I am to have been hit in the arm, and I say yeah, real lucky. If I was lucky I wouldn’t have been shot in the first place. We laugh, he wraps it up and hangs for a minute talking to me more, saying how it was slow tonight.
He asks what I do for a living, and I answer, a little of this and little of that. He laughs saying not to worry he isn’t going to tell anyone; he continues with our conversation saying sometimes he wishes he could just be someone else. He would leave and start everything over. I tell him if he’s serious, I know people who could help him, but it takes a lot of money starting over.
He says he is serious and we exchange phone numbers. I didn’t think I was going to hear from him because he didn’t call for about a month. Then when he called he had a whole new identity he wanted. He knew what to ask for. He got new birth certificates, driver’s licenses, social security cards, credit cards. Everything he would need.”
“Do you remember all the names he used?” Keller looks up from her notes when she asks the question.
“No, I remember most of them.” He is fidgeting in his seat. “Does that hurt my chances of the deal?”
“Depends on what turns up from the names you do give us.” French answers.
Shannon O’Rourke sits in his orange jumpsuit at the table and nods his head. What choice does he have? He picks up the pen and starts to write. When he is done, he is asked to write down the conversation he just recounted for the agents. When everything is finished the CO escorts him back to his cell and the women leave.
Everyone in the room has been quiet watching the interview. Now everyone is trying to talk at once. Where is the list? Did anyone look into his names? Then Agent Fitzpatrick raises a hand and everyone falls silent.
“I sent the names to our computer expert back in DC, she is looking into every one of those names as we speak. When something pops up, she will be in contact immediately. Until then we all have other leads we are looking into, so back to work people. Good work; Keller and French.
Michael watches as all the police, FBI agents, and Brody gather together in one room; around a computer, from his apartment. Shannon O’Rourke is on screen. He can’t hear what O’Rourke is saying, but he knows he is being ratted out.
“That bastard.
I paid him a lot of money, and this is how he repays me?”
Michael stands and looks around his space. He knows it is time to go. Go forever, but he isn’t ready. If he rushes the last part of his plan, mistakes will be made. He doesn’t like to make mistakes. He has obviously made a few already that will have to be taken care of.
Michael always had a plan in place to get rid of Shannon O’Rourke if it became necessary; and it looks like it just did. He picks up his phone and calls his contact at the prison.
“Hello?”
“It’s raining outside.” Michael says.
“That’s too bad, I will grab an umbrella. Thank you for the heads up.”
“You’re welcome, don’t forget to check your windows to make sure they are up.” and then he hangs up.
They do not know each other. They have never seen each other. They met through phone calls set up by O’Rourke. They called each other originally to discuss a drop off of the payment required for Michael’s new ID. The man on the phone was a middle man between O’Rourke and Michael. If there was ever a time that things needed to be cleaned up Michael would pay him 1 million dollars cash. The man agreed, and they came up with the ‘
it’s
raining dialog’ so anyone listening wouldn’t know what they were planning to do.
When Michael says “it’s raining”, he means it is time to take out the target. The window reference is for the man to remember to check the locker they agreed on for payment, or the umbrella. It is simple for them, but anyone listening has no idea what they could be talking about.
With that problem being taken care of, Michael’s thoughts wonder back to Charlie. He doesn’t want to kill her. He didn’t think it would be so hard. When he left the mill he locked her in the basement. Well what he calls the basement; it’s really just a crawl space big enough to stand in, sort of.
“She makes me so mad when we’re together I want to kill her, then when I’m not near her I miss her so badly. I have to stop being a pussy and step up,
be
a man. The man my father taught me to be.”
Tomorrow is Monday, Charlie has been with me for 4 days and we have made no progress. I think she needs a little help reaching her breaking point. I’ve been too nice to her, too soft with her. I need to be ruthless. She should be pretty hungry and thirsty by now. By tomorrow she will be weak and dehydrated. I will not go to her; at least not for a day, maybe more.
When Michael is satisfied with his decision, he goes back to watching the feds for awhile. He watches Brody. He wants to learn everything about him; all his facial expressions, his emotional tics, his body language. You can learn a lot by the set of someone shoulders, the tilt of their head.