Читать книгу The Reluctant Savior - Krystan - Страница 18
Оглавлениеchapter 9
Neo-Nonsense
Portland, Oregon
October 26, 2002
It was just after 9:30 on Saturday evening when Blood, Buzz, and Big Bear finished loading the trunk of Buzz’s ’92 black Ford Mustang, piled in, and headed west on the Sunset Highway toward Beaverton. It was a typical October evening in Portland, overcast and about 55 degrees. The lights from the fancy homes on the hill twinkled above them as they approached the tunnel that passed through the mountain and on to the western suburbs. It was only about nine miles to their destination, but at the moment, they all wished it were farther. No one in the car was a stranger to petty crime, but this time Damien’s orders were far more serious, and they were all a bit edgy.
“Hey man, pass me a beer,” Big Bear, who was sitting shotgun, called back to Blood, the sole occupant of the rear seat.
“Better all have a round,” added Buzz from behind the wheel. “I think we need to lighten up here, it’s not good to be nervous.” Buzz knew that showing any sign of weakness was not cool, but he rather doubted that there would be any accusers in the car tonight. His own heart was racing, his knuckles white as they tightly gripped the wheel. “Cornell exit?” he asked his copilot.
“Yeah, exit right, then left over the freeway.” Looking down at his map, he added, “You’re gonna make another quick left onto NW 158th, then your second right onto NW Blueridge. Got that?”
“I think so,” Buzz replied nervously. “Ok, I’m on 158th, where do I turn after Blueridge?”
“Second left is the target street, NW Foxborough. It’s a U, which comes back out onto Blueridge. Their house will be on the left, set back in the trees, just as you start to bend back toward Blueridge. Cut the lights when you see the mailbox and park on the street. House number is 114.”
“Almost there. Gimme another beer. I’m gonna need it tonight for sure,” he added as Blood passed another forward. “Ok, see the mailbox? Lights-out, guys.”
It was about 9:50 as Buzz parked the car at the curb and started on his second beer. “Blood, you got the video cam?” he asked, looking back over his right shoulder.
“Yeah, man, no problem. Right here in my pocket,” he smiled, patting his right coat pocket.
“And the girl…you sure she’ll be there?”
Blood smiled again. “Yeah, pretty sure. My friend that knows her says she doesn’t go out much. Just studies a lot. No dog either, in case you’re worried. Dr. Q left earlier for some weeklong seminar in San Diego, so coast should be clear.”
“Ok,” Buzz assented, still a bit nervously. “Bear, you bring the gasoline and the matches. I got the clothes and the ties. Five more minutes till ten, then it’s party time! You guys drink up!”
*****
Mariah Quitan shifted her position on the couch and adjusted the reading light over her right shoulder. She had been lying on the couch reading for the last two hours, struggling with Rupert Sheldrake’s “A New Science of Life,” a book that her father, Mazen, had recommended that she peruse. It seemed rather complex to her, but her father, now achieving considerable renown as a quantum physicist, touted it as germinal thinking and yet another peg in the coffin of reductionistic scientism. Mariah absolutely adored Mazen and stood in total awe of his remarkable grasp of the emerging and very exciting field of quantum physics. In fact, just this afternoon he had left for San Diego to deliver a paper on some esoteric subject even more confusing to her than her current struggle with Sheldrake’s “morphic resonance.”
Mariah was always a bit uncomfortable when her father was not at home, especially in the evenings. Even at nineteen and a freshman in college, she still felt uneasy and somewhat vulnerable in his absence, especially now with the US-Iraq hostilities going on and the overall anti-Muslim sentiment that was escalating throughout the US. Mazen assured her that their neighborhood was perfectly safe and that she had nothing to fear, but he did suggest, just for her peace of mind, that she be certain to lock all the doors and windows before going to bed. He always said that when he had to be out of town, but even so, she was still a little edgy, especially the first night he was gone.
It was times like this that caused her to miss her mother, Anya, more than ever. Even though she had been gone almost eight years now, both Mariah and her father still longed for Anya’s company. She had been a gentle, kind woman with a strong spiritual sense about her. She loved her family and was a very devoted wife to Mazen. Fortunately for them both, she was a great cook, so there were always delicious meals for family and friends, of which there were many. Life had been good for them in Iraq, right up until the day of her mother’s tragic death while attending a religious service at their neighborhood mosque. Some sort of dissenting rebel group detonated a bomb just as the congregation had assembled for prayers, and over forty people died, including Ayna. It was a complete and senseless shock to Mazen and young Mariah, only eleven years old at the time. Even to this day, they both still pondered what it is that reduces humans to killing and maiming others. Her father’s view as a quantum physicist was that people fail to realize their own connectedness to all of creation. Falsely, they perceive others with different cultures, beliefs, and religions as somehow inferior and misguided, thus creating a sort of adversarial relationship often resulting in disdain, hatred, and even killing.
Not long after losing his wife, and no doubt to get away from all that reminded him of her brutal demise, Mazen sold their home, left Iraq, moved to America, and took a teaching position at Portland State University. His PhD in physics and germinal research in quantum physics had brought him some international recognition, making it relatively easy for him to find a position in the United States. He purchased their present home in Beaverton several years later, and Mariah had spent her high school years, and now her first year at PSU, living there.
She was a pretty girl, rather petite in stature, with long black hair and soft brown eyes. It had been hard for her to adapt to the American culture, and she had remained rather quiet and somewhat introverted. She was extremely close to her father, as he seemed the only secure presence in her life. When she graduated from high school, it only made sense for her to continue her education at Portland State, where her father was and where it was easy for her to continue to live at home. Her father’s zeal for the “new physics,” as he called it, excited her and heralded a new era where the antagonism between science and religion might now begin to heal. The primacy of “consciousness” as a unifying creative force inspired her, and the connectedness of all life in the “zero-point field” brought further encouragement.
It had been extremely difficult for her to come to terms with the events of 9/11 and the current escalating tension with her homeland. The talk of possible weapons of mass destruction that dominated the news made her physically sick, as she somehow intuited that the United States might soon choose to invade Iraq in hopes of locating and destroying such weapons. “God Bless America” had a very hollow ring to it these days, as the country she had now grown to love seemed intent on invading the land of her birth. Mariah knew in her heart that more bloodshed was not the answer, but she felt utterly helpless as an upcoming war seemed to loom on the horizon. Her Muslim faith had always been a source of comfort and stability to her, as it had been for her mother, and its hijacking by religious extremists intent on jihad was just as wrong in her mind as the American retaliation in the name of their god. She worried a lot about the present anti-Muslim hysteria that seemed to be sweeping the country and felt insecure being labeled some sort of subversive extremist simply because she was a Muslim when, in reality, she was the complete opposite.
Tonight, as she lay on the couch, reading and watching the fire dancing in the fireplace beyond, these thoughts returned to her mind, causing her to feel an oppressive heaviness in her soul. Her optimism, stemming from the newly discovered sea of energy uniting all of life, was now being overshadowed by a painful divisiveness that seemed to cloud these new scientific discoveries. Religious extremism, no matter what form, was really no different from the arrogant and godless mechanistic world of science that was now in the early stages of being uprooted for good. She only wished that the same would occur in the present sectarian religious community, which she hoped would likewise crumble and give way to a new, inclusive faith in the oneness of all life and the God essence in all of creation. Heavy thoughts for a young girl, she realized, sitting up and dog-earing the page where she had left Dr. Sheldrake’s musings concerning the ‘nonlocal morphic field.’ That will have to do for tonight, she mused to herself, getting up from the couch and going over to turn off the gas logs in the fireplace. She knew it wasn’t that cold, but there was just something about the dancing flames confined within the brick perimeter of the hearth yet free to release their inherent energy that brought some peace and resolution to her intellectual struggles.
*****
Buzz, Blood, and Big Bear were out of the car now and stealthily approaching their target. Fortunately for them, the house was quite private, set back in the woods about 150 feet from the curb, with the only streetlight being several houses down on the opposite side, offering no illumination at all to the Quitan home. Buzz was still quite nervous. He had been ok with some of their petty escapades in the past, but this was major league, go-to-prison-type stuff. Perhaps he was the only one of the three with even a shred of conscience remaining, as both Blood and Big Bear seemed fairly oblivious to any feelings of fear or guilt.
There was a long curving driveway leading to the front entry garage on the left of the home, and the three were now passing by the side of the garage, making their way through the trees toward the rear of the house. It was a two-story home, but there appeared to be some sort of vaulted den at the back, with a large brick chimney. There was a flagstone walkway around the den leading to a huge stone terrace, beyond which the ground quickly dropped off to a creek below. Landscape lighting around the periphery of the terrace and in the trees illuminated wooden steps down to the creek. Two sets of French doors, one on either side of the large brick hearth now visible through the windows, opened out to the terrace. From their position in the woods to the left of the den, the three men had a good view through the windows into the large vaulted room.
A young girl was just getting up from the couch in front of the fireplace and walking toward it, as if to turn off what appeared to be gas logs, which had been providing a glowing ambience to the softly lit room. A rather-bright reading lamp was still on near the couch, where she perhaps had been reading. Buzz looked over to his two companions and whispered, “That must be the daughter. Pretty cute. Wonder how she’d look without those pajamas!” A somewhat-sadistic smile had begun to spread across his face as that thought began to supplant his earlier anxieties. “This could be better than I thought,” he added with a slightly forced chuckle. “How do you guys think we should get in?”
Before anyone could answer, however, Mariah headed to the left set of French doors, opened one side, and walked out onto the terrace. It was supposed to have been a full moon that night, but unfortunately the overcast skies left only a faint white glow where she had guessed it would be. The lights in the trees beyond the terrace illuminated the gurgling creek below, and she always enjoyed watching it flow by, then cascade down a three-or-so-foot drop as it meandered its way on through the forest. The stones in the creek bed at the bottom of the small waterfall rumbled as the water rolled over them, a sound that Mariah found quite relaxing. Her bare feet had now dissipated their warmth to the flagstone beneath them, causing her a slight shiver. 55 degrees was not exactly warm, and with no housecoat, she decided to head back inside and snuggle up in her warm bed for the night.
Not believing their good fortune, the Three Bs watched, crouching in the shadows from their vantage point in the trees just to the left of the illuminated terrace. Buzz signaled that he would take the girl and motioned for the other two to follow through the open door.
Just as Mariah’s hand reached for the doorknob, she heard a crackling sound in the woods just to her right. As she turned to squint into the darkness, there was a blurring quick movement, and before she could react, a gloved hand grabbed her left elbow from behind, while another tightly covered her mouth. She sensed a strong man tightening his grip on her and felt herself being shoved through the door into the den beyond. There were other dark figures accompanying him, which she now began to see more clearly as she began to struggle against the grasp of her initial captor. She tried to scream but couldn’t, nor could she free herself from the viselike arms that had engulfed her. This was it—her worst nightmare—but it was no dream. Absolute terror filled her thoughts just before her body became limp and she lost consciousness.
“Jesus, Buzz!” shrieked Big Bear, “you didn’ go an’ kill her already now, did ya?”
“Hell no,” Buzz retorted. “She just fainted. Maybe my glove was too tight over her mouth ’n nose. She’ll come around. One o’ you guys find the kitchen and get me some vinegar. A sniff o’ that should bring her back in no time. Hurry up, will ya? We ain’t got all night here!”
Soon Blood returned with a bottle of apple cider vinegar in hand. “Here ya go, Buzzard—hope it works!”
“Don’t worry, it will,” Buzz smiled as he twisted open the cap and placed the open bottle under Mariah’s nose. In just a couple of seconds she winced, groaned, and slowly began to open her eyes. “Hey sweetie, welcome back to hell!” Buzz laughed as he removed the open bottle from under her nose. He could see that the young girl was still struggling to comprehend what was actually happening to her. She tried to focus her eyes, and then, almost as if she really didn’t want to see, she closed them again. “Come on now, darlin’,” Buzz exhorted, “we got work to do here.”
Mariah was fixed in a state somewhere between outright terror and complete disbelief. Who were these big, burly tattooed strangers in her home? Where did they come from? What did they want with her? Many questions but no answers at the moment. She glanced around nervously, wondering what would happen next. She sensed malevolent intent but was uncertain as to whether they intended to rape her, maim her, or just plain kill her. She was too terrified to focus, and so just continued to lie there helplessly, shifting her eyes slowly from one of her captors to the next.
Buzz continued, “You see, we’re gonna make a little internet movie here for all your men friends over there in Iraq. Show ’em what their women are really like underneath all that crap they make you wear. Show ’em what’s gonna happen to more of their women if you all don’t get the hell outa our country. You follow me, sweetie?”
Mariah’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to hold them back but just couldn’t any longer. A mix of terror and shame flooded her entire being as she listened to Buzz’s threats. How could anyone sink to such a level of vile vindictiveness? She hadn’t ever been anything but kind and courteous to anyone she had met in this country. She didn’t deserve to be humiliated like this. And what about her father? He would never get over such shame brought to his family.
“Hey, you in there, little bitch?” Buzz queried. “We’re about to have a party you won’t soon forget, you little sand slut! What I need from you right now is one o’ them silly ‘jibjab’ things you Arab cunts cover up your head with. You got one o’ them?” He sneered down at Mariah, flexed his left bicep, stretching the large black swastika tattooed prominently over his upper arm, and added, “Or am I gonna have to refresh your memory a bit?”
Mariah recoiled from his grasp and stammered, “Hijab, you mean hijab?”
“Hiccup, jibjab, whatever the hell you call it—I need one now!” Buzz retorted. “We gotta have just the right outfit for this little movie here.”
“In my room upstairs. Bottom dresser drawer are several. I will get one for you,” Mariah added as an afterthought, hoping for any opportunity to escape. As she started to get up, Buzz immediately halted her progress.
“Like hell you will!” he snarled. “Bear, get up there and bring us one o’ them hibjib things. Black one, if you can find it.” As Bear walked through the kitchen and toward the front stairway, Buzz reached down, grabbed Mariah by one arm, and jerked her up and to her feet. “Now, little lady, you get this straight right now. We ain’t playin’ no games here.” Reaching into his pants, he retrieved a six-inch black pocketknife with a silver button on the side. As he pressed it, a gleaming silver blade snapped into place, which he placed ominously close to her neck. “You do exactly as we tell ya and nobody gets hurt. Try any funny stuff, and this nice white carpet’s gonna have more red than a candy cane. You read me, princess?”
With the razor sharpness of the blade so close to her throat that she could almost feel her skin separate under just the slightest pressure, Mariah’s eyes filled with tears again. Sobbing and shivering, she managed to reply, “P-please d-don’t hurt me. I will d-do as you a-a-ask. P-please p-p-put the knife away. W-what do you wish from me?”
“Now that’s a bit more like it,” Buzz sneered as he retracted the knife blade. “An’ really, I’m the least of your worries.” Smiling over at Blood, who was just a few feet to his right, he added, “Now, my pal Blood here—I won’t even tell ya how he earned that name, but I will tell ‘ya this: he ain’t got a kind bone in his body. I mean, I don’t even turn my back on ’im, ’least not for long. An’ Bear up there? Why, he could crush you faster than one o’ them big boa snakes! So yeah, sister, you just do exactly what you’re told, an’ we’ll all enjoy the party here.”
Grinning at Blood again, Buzz added, “Now ol’ Blood here’s got a little bag with some clothes we picked out just for your first movie! Wadn’t we thoughtful?” he added mockingly as he reached into the bag and pulled out a sheer, floor-length black negligee with a plunging V neckline, lacy bodice, and open in front from slightly above-navel height all the way to the floor. “An’ just wait till you see the back,” he grinned before placing the gown back in the bag. “Of course, we added…what is it you ladies call them…accessories? Yeah, that’s it, some accessories to finish out the look! Even a little script in that bag somewhere, just so you’ll know exactly what to say. Why, darlin’, you do a good job o’ this, and hey…the Academy may just be breathin’ down your neck come next Oscar season!” Buzz was having fun now, actually enjoying Mariah’s obvious fear and discomfort. All the better to teach them damn sand niggers a lesson once and for all, he thought.
Bear returned from upstairs, bringing a black piece of cloth that he hoped was what he was supposed to retrieve. “This the head thing?” he asked, looking over to Mariah.
She looked up briefly, nodded her assent, then lowered her eyes back to the floor. She could only imagine where this was all going, and the possibilities were sickening to her.
“Ok, good,” Buzz replied. “Is there a bathroom down here somewhere, princess? And don’t get any ideas; Bear here will escort you.”
“There’s one just off the kitchen,” Mariah added hesitatingly. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Well, just go in there an’ take this little bag Blood has for you. Take off your PJs and put on what we brought in the bag. Our guy at PSU told us ’bout what size you were, so stuff should fit close enough. I want you to put on that head thing when you’re done with the other, then come back out. Meantime, we’ll get the fire goin’ in here again an’ make the lights nice ’n romantic, if you know what I mean. Pretty simple. Hard part for you is gonna be to act like this was your idea, and that you’re enjoyin’ yourself! We want you to look good on that A-rab TV station—All That Jazz, or whatever you call it. An’ don’t forget, little missy, what I got in my pocket.” Looking toward her breasts, whose nipples had somehow inexplicably hardened and were pushing against her rather-flimsy nylon pajama top, he added, “It won’t be your neck I cut first either—that’s way too quick. Maybe I’ll start with those perky little nipples o’ yours I’m seein’. Yeah, that’d be a lot better. Much slower and way more painful.”
Mariah blushed and quickly covered her breasts with her hands. No man had ever seen her or talked to her like that. She was mortified and appalled at the images which her mind was presently conjuring up. Weakly, she reached out, grabbed the bag, and headed to the bathroom, accompanied by Big Bear.
As she reached the kitchen, myriad thoughts of escape raced through her head. She was no match for the giant hairy man next to her for sure, at least not physically. Maybe he would tell her a little more about their plans for her, however, so at least she would know what she was going to have to endure. As they neared the bathroom, Mariah paused, looked softly at Big Bear, and whispered, “So, mister…uh, Beeg Ba-ear, do you know what is to become of me tonight? I am so frightened and would like to know that at least.”
Bear hesitated, then spoke quietly. “Well, lady, we’re plannin’ on gettin’ even with all you Muslim people by havin’ you wear that head thing of yours ’long with all the sexy stuff we got in this here bag. Blood’s gonna film you comin’ onto Buzz and me, then us fuckin’ you—him first, then me, then both together, you know, sandwich-style. We thought we’d finish up by jackin’ off all over your face and that jihad scarf o’ yours. That should get your people pretty hot when it hits the web! There’s more, but I can’t tell you any of that.”
Mariah tried desperately to retain her composure, but the blood in her veins suddenly felt like ice water. If she had let herself, she could easily have doubled over in angst. There was a vicious tightening in her solar plexus, and she felt her heart almost pounding its way out of her chest. Stay calm, she told herself, just stay calm. But she couldn’t. She had never even been with a man before, and the thought of these two barbarians savagely plundering her carefully preserved feminine virtues was just too much to bear. Something had to be done, but what? Acting had never been her forte, but it looked like tonight would be her debut, one way or another. Might as well give it my best effort, she reasoned. I’ve got nothing to lose.
Looking back over her shoulder at Bear, she managed her best pseudo-seductive smile and coyly responded, “Well, Mr. Ba-ear, from the look of these clothes, this will be a very sexy night, yes? I just hope you beeg men are up to it,” she pretended to tease. Then Mariah did the utterly unimaginable. She reached back with her left hand, gently stroked Bear’s crotch, and whispered, “Well, you certainly don’t want to be outdone by your friend Buzz, do you, Mr. Ba-ear? You know, it’s going to take me a little while to get all this stuff on and look my best, so if you’ll just wait patiently right here in the kitchen, maybe I’ll do a little something to give you a bit of a ‘head’ start before we go back in with the others.” Mariah looked down at Bear’s crotch and licked her lips sensuously, all the while thinking to herself, I SHOULD get an Academy Award for this! These men are so utterly stupid!
Bear’s demeanor shifted rather dramatically. A delightful scene darted through his brain, activating a rather-primitive response from his groin. He was a big man, but sometimes, strangely enough, needed a little “extra attention” to perform his best. He had been a bit worried about it, honestly, so Mariah’s offer gave his marginal ego the boost it needed.
“I like the sound of that,” he whispered back. “You don’t take too long in there, though, hear me? I know Buzz, and he’ll be back here before very long, wantin’ to know what’s holdin’ things up.”
“I know,” Mariah assured him. “Just be a little patient for a few minutes and I’ll make it well worth your effort!”
With that she slipped into the bathroom, locked the door behind her, and collapsed on the toilet. She had to do something, but what? These men were savages and would kill her if she didn’t do as they said. Glancing up to her left, she suddenly had her answer—the bathroom window, of course! It was only a couple of feet wide, with maybe only a foot and a half of height, with the window fully raised. Bear certainly couldn’t fit through there, but she could. With a quick smile to herself, she undid the latch and flushed the toilet with her left hand to cover up the sound of her right hand raising the window. Before the toilet had refilled, she quickly popped the screen off. Then, in a stroke of pure strategic genius, she called softly to Bear, “Mr. Ba-ear, are you there?”
“Of course I’m still here,” came a gruff response from outside the door. “You ready yet?”
“Oh, not yet, Mr. Ba-ear. I’m having a little trouble attaching the back garter to my stocking, but there, I have it now. Just a few more minutes, ok?”
“Oh shit!” Bear replied. “I hear Buzz yelling for me now. Let me just tell ’im you’re almost ready.”
Bear’s last words fell on deaf ears, however, as Mariah had already climbed up on the toilet, slipped through the window, and fallen to the ground on the other side, which fortunately was not far below the window. She knew she had only a few minutes before they would discover her missing….
“Bear, what the hell is holding her up in there?” Buzz growled impatiently. “She coulda dressed for the damn Oscars by now!”
“I dunno. I heard the toilet flushing. She was probably so scared she had the squirts! Anyway, she called out and told me she had the garter belt and stockings on, and was just getting to the other stuff—you know, the gown, those fancy earrings, the shoes, and stuff. Said she would be out in just a minute.”
“Well, she damn well better be. Get back in there and make sure she finishes soon. We can’t hang around here all night. Besides, I got myself all worked up for a little of that young Muslim pussy—I’m gonna cream my pants here pretty soon!”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Bear concurred, smiling to himself at the “heads-up” she had promised him first. Once he was “up,” his cock was huge, and he relished the thought of stuffing it into that tight little twat, or better yet, maybe even her ass! He gave himself a few preliminary strokes as he headed back to the bathroom.
“Hey, you done yet?” he yelled from the kitchen. No answer. “You hear me in there? You about ready for Little Bear here?” he smiled, looking down at the growing bulge in his pants. Still no answer. “Fuck!” he muttered out loud. “What’s that little bitch up to in there?” He tried the door handle—still locked. Damn, now he began to worry. Buzz would kill him if something went wrong. Better cover himself. “Hey Buzz!” he yelled back to the den. “The door’s locked and she ain’t answerin’.”
“Jesus,” Buzz swore as he got up from the couch. “Blood, come with me. You’re good with locks. She’s locked herself in there and’s probably too scared to come out!”
By now, Mariah, barefoot and in her pajamas, had crept around to the front of the house. Remembering that she hadn’t yet locked the front door for the night, she quickly pushed it open and, hearing cursing coming from the kitchen just one room away, immediately flipped on the entry hall light, reached to her right, and hit the emergency symbol on the alarm keypad. Flipping off the light, she slammed the door and ran across the street toward her neighbor’s house.
“Goddamn!” yelled Blood, who was just in the middle of picking the lock. “Where the fuck is that siren coming from?”
“Holy shit!” yelled Buzz. “Somebody set off the alarm. The cops’ll be here any minute! Damn it! Blood, get the gas and pour it around the kitchen. Throw those paper towels there on the floor and whatever else you see that will burn. Turn on that gas oven, torch the gasoline, and run like hell for the back door! Too late for the car. Head down the back to the creek and we’ll follow it out of here. By god, we’re gonna accomplish at least part of this mission, or Damien will cut our balls off before the whole group. Run!”
As Blood lit the gasoline on the floor, the kitchen was quickly engulfed in flames. Looking back over his shoulder as he reached the patio, he saw and heard a huge explosion coming from the center of the house. “Oh yeah!” he yelled, heading down the steps to the creek. “Gotcha, you Muslim bitch!” he screamed as he joined his other two accomplices. All three men began running as fast as they could in the dark along the creek bed. Stumbling and cursing, they made it about a hundred yards from the house when they looked back and saw a huge plume of smoke and flames through the trees. Fire trucks with blaring sirens were rapidly approaching, and no doubt police as well. Blood had slipped on a rock about twenty feet back and had fallen face-first into the creek. Big Bear had a nasty collision with a tree limb, which had slowed his progress considerably, and Buzz had fallen down the steps on the way to the creek, ripping a large hole in the knee of his pants. Together now, the three misfits lay gasping for air on the creek bank, downstream from the house.
As usual, Buzz was the first to speak. “What the fuck happened in there?” he asked, looking as bewildered as the other two. “One minute I’m lyin’ on the couch, strokin’ my cock, thinkin’ about that sweet little pussy I’m about to get, and next thing I know, I’m runnin’ like hell down the fuckin’ creek in the pitch-black night! Who set that alarm off? Was there a keypad in the bathroom? She couldn’t have gotten outa there, could she? Did that bathroom have a window? Jesus, Bear, tell me you checked it out before you put her in there!”
Bear squirmed uncomfortably on the wet creek bank. “Uh, it was kinda dark in there, and, uh…I don’t remember seein’ no window. She was actin’ pretty friendly, though, not like she was gonna’ try somethin’ crazy or nothin’ like that.” He stared down at his feet, remembering the promise Mariah had made him just before closing the door. Hell, for all he knew right then, that bathroom could have had another door in it! His mind had been on something far more pleasurable, but he wasn’t about to tell Buzz that.
“Dammit!” Buzz growled. “If that girl got away, we’re good as dead. We didn’ wear no masks or nothin’ ’cause I was plannin’ on torchin’ the house with her in it when we were done with her. Shit! If she’s alive, she can identify all of us, and worse than that, my fuckin’ car’s still parked in front of her house! We’ve gotta get it outa there, and fast! Maybe with all that commotion goin’ on with the fire trucks an’ all, no one would notice if one of us slipped over there an’ moved the car. What d’ya think, Blood?”
“I think for sure I ain’t doin’ it!” Blood replied without hesitation. “It’s your car, man; you better go and get it.”
“Well, that’s a friend for ya,” Buzz mumbled. “There’s a park and a lake just down this creek a ways, so you guys go on down there, and I’ll try to slip back, get the car, and meet ya back there in about an hour or so. Bear, you still got your cell?”
Bear reached for his pocket. “Yeah, man, it’s still in there.”
“Good. If I’m not back in an hour, call Damien, tell him what happened, and maybe he won’t be too pissed to leave you there! I gotta give this a shot or we’re all fucked!”
With that, Buzz turned around and headed back toward the house.
*****
Mariah sat nervously in the Moores’ living room. Looking out the window across the street, she watched as a consortium of fire fighters attempted to keep the fire that engulfed her own home from spreading into the woods and endangering the nearby houses. Thankfully, Miriam, Joe Moore’s wife, had been at home this evening, even though her husband was out of town on business. She had been shocked when Mariah appeared at her front door, clad only in her pajamas, screaming something about men trying to rape her. Moments later, her house had inexplicably burst into flames, and now the two women watched in stunned silence as the pumper truck doused the Quitan home with seemingly endless gallons of water. It was clear to them that the damage would be extensive, but Mariah was so thankful to be alive that she could focus on little else. There were police in her yard, apparently responding to the alarm that she had set off, but there was so much confusion that no one seemed to know exactly what to do other than to put out the fire. Mariah was in a state of almost-complete shock, sitting on the couch, wrapped tightly in Miriam’s robe, shivering, and still breathing heavily from her race across the street. Miriam didn’t know what to think, and seemed content just to console Mariah and wait for her to settle down.
All of a sudden, Mariah began sobbing uncontrollably. Finally realizing that her home was about to be totally destroyed, she cried out, “I have nothing left…it’s all gone…all our things, everything that was special to us…all gone. I have nothing to wear, nothing to eat; even worse, I have to tell my father of this. He will be devastated. He loved our house—said it reminded him of Ayna, my mother. Oh, those horrible men…”
Miriam leaned over and put her arm around the sobbing girl. “Now honey, don’t you worry. All your friends in the neighborhood here will help you get through this. You can stay here as long as you want, and you can wear some of Ginger’s clothes. She’s about your size and far away at college; she won’t be needing what she left behind anytime soon. When you’re able, I’ll let you borrow my cell phone to call your dad. I’m sure he will want to return right away when he hears the news. What men are you talking about? Who were they?”
“I-I don’t know, really,” Mariah continued to shiver and cry. “They came in through the den door in back, just as I was about to lock it and go to bed. Said they were going to make an internet movie of them raping me dressed up in provocative clothes with my Muslim headdress on. Some sort of humiliation to my religion and my country. I escaped out the bathroom window and set off the alarm before they could carry out their plan. I guess they decided to burn the house instead. They were very tough-looking, with tattoos of swastikas and things like that—must have been some sort of white-power, Aryan-type gang. They were probably planning to kill me when they were through, because they didn’t even bother to conceal their identities. Even though I lost all my things, I am so grateful they didn’t harm me. They were so hateful…” Mariah stopped in the middle of her sentence as she noticed the black car parked on the curb near her home. “I’ve never seen that car here before! I wonder if it might belong to them and they haven’t been able to get back to it. Miriam, can you get one of those policemen out there? I would like to talk to him now.”
“Sure, honey, let me see if I can get one of them to come over here for a moment. Now you just try to calm down till I get back.”
*****
It had taken Buzz about ten minutes to work his way back up the creek toward the house. As he got closer, he caught a glimpse of what was left of it through the trees. Smiling to himself, he could see that the roof had almost completely burned off, and that part of the back den had caved in. The flames had apparently gutted the middle of the house, where the kitchen was, and then spread out in all directions. Some of the fire was still burning, but it looked like the firemen were getting it under control. There were two fire trucks there, plus a couple of cop cars. He noticed his own car parked slightly away from all the hubbub, seemingly unnoticed. As he approached the edge of the woods on the far side of the house, his foot slipped into a dark gully, sending him sprawling to the forest floor. “Fuck!” he muttered to himself. “Can’t see shit out here!”
Pulling himself back to his feet, Buzz felt into his pocket for the car keys. He hoped he hadn’t lost them in one of his many recent falls. Surely they hadn’t fallen out! Hmmm…there’s the switchblade. He reached a little farther, then…aaahhh…there they were, just at the very bottom of the pocket. “Good!” he mumbled, calculating the distance from his present position to the car. About thirty yards, he estimated. He didn’t see any policemen, and the firemen were still busy wrapping up the last of the fire. He decided that the best plan would be to follow the woods to the street, then casually and unobtrusively walk toward the car, unlock it, and drive away as if nothing were wrong. Anything else would draw too much attention, he reasoned.
Deciding that it was worth a try, Buzz crept through the woods until he reached the street. The car was now just ten yards to his right. Still no sign of any police near the car. He couldn’t remember if he had locked the doors or not—probably not, he guessed, as that was not his usual practice. He had the key ready in his hand, just in case, as he began to walk slowly and deliberately toward the car. Twenty feet, ten, five…his hand reached for the door. It was unlocked! His pulse quickened as he glanced right and left before quickly opening the door. No one noticed…unbelievable! Relief flooded his awareness as he moved the key toward the ignition and turned on the engine. The motor engaged with a low custom muffler-type revving sound, and he reached for the gearshift.
It was just at that point that he felt something cold and hard pressing against the back of his skull, quickly followed by the command, “Turn off the engine and get out of the car.”
Four Months Later
Judge Frances Walker looked down over the tops of her glasses toward the counsels for the plaintiff and the defendants. The trial had been going on for several days, and since it involved rather politically sensitive issues, particularly in light of the post-9/11 tensions with Iraq, there had been a huge amount of media attention. She had excluded the TV cameras from the courtroom, but the atmosphere was highly charged nonetheless. Portland, a city renowned for its liberal thinking and home to several extremist groups, was now under national scrutiny. The Northwest Neo-Nazis had filled the courtroom with tattooed bikers and put on quite a show for the press. At the same time, Portland’s Muslim community had expressed outrage over this seemingly blatant attempt to ridicule their religion and cultural values, to say nothing of this threat to the freedoms granted to them by the US Constitution. The time had finally come for the closing arguments, and Judge Walker wanted nothing more than to wrap this case up and get all these strange-looking people out of her courtroom. Motioning to the plaintiff’s counsel, she requested that the closing arguments begin.
Winston Merriweather III was almost a household name in the Portland legal community. Merriweather and Merriweather had been handling criminal cases in Portland for over fifty years now, even though WM Jr. had now largely retired and left most of the cases to his son, WM III. Winston was himself in his late forties now, graying a bit at the temples, and probably a few pounds heavier than he would have liked. He looked every bit like a successful attorney would be expected to look, however—dark suit, starched white shirt, conservative tie, wire-rimmed glasses, nice haircut. His trademark neatly trimmed beard, also graying a bit now, was somewhat of an anomaly, but it gave him a very powerful appearance and a force most other Portland attorneys did not look forward to reckoning with. He had taken the Quitan case for several reasons, not the least of which was his desire to rid Portland of these sort of radical groups who found nothing better to do than prey on upstanding citizens like the Quitans, whose only “fault” was not belonging to the “chosen” social, political, and racial genre. Winston detested their white supremacist attitudes and their total disregard for the law. He had hoped to use this case to make a strong statement to groups like NNN, reflecting that the law would not tolerate their tactics or condone their bigotry. In addition, he happened to be a great admirer of Dr. Quitan and an avid follower of his research and publications. In Winston’s mind, there was no man less deserving of this sort of treatment than Mazen Quitan, and he had intended to do his very best to right the injustice that had been perpetrated upon him and his daughter.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, “we have shown clearly beyond any shadow of a doubt that on Saturday night, October 26, 2002, the three defendants seated before you, Ralph “Buzz” Henderson, Barry “Big Bear” Hartman, and John “Blood” Stimmel,—all members of the gang known as the Northwest Neo-Nazis—entered the Beaverton home of the plaintiffs, Dr. Mazen Quitan and his daughter, Mariah, intent upon forcing Ms. Quitan to make a pornographic and religiously inflammatory internet film, gang-raping her, and then burning the Quitan home to the ground with her in it. Ms. Quitan’s unwavering resolve, keen mind, and ingeniously engineered escape are the only reasons she is sitting here before you today and these men are charged with aggravated assault and arson, rather than rape and murder. Ms. Quitan’s own firsthand testimony along with the gasoline can found at the scene of the crime, covered with fingerprints from all three men, AND the arrest of Mr. Henderson as he later attempted to move his car from the scene of the crime make it abundantly clear that these men were involved not only in the assault of Ms. Quitan, as she has described, but also in the burning of the Quitan family home. I urge you to recommend the maximum penalty available to you by law for these atrocious acts, which would have been far worse were it not for the uncommon valor of Ms. Quitan. The prosecution rests its case, Your Honor.”
Judge Walker, looking down from the bench at the two attorneys and their clients, spoke briefly. “Thank you, Mr. Merriweather.” Shifting her gaze toward the defense attorney, Albert Marrazzi, she added, “Mr. Marrazzi, are you ready to begin your closing statement for the defendants?”
“Yes I am, Your Honor,” replied Mr. Marrazzi as he rose to face the jury. Unlike his counterpart, WM III, Albert Marrazzi was short, a bit rotund, and had fairly long gray hair that he slicked back in a sort of pompadour. His appearance was not as dapper as Mr. Merriweather’s, nor was his posture as erect and formidable. He seemed to be perspiring rather freely and had removed his coat to be a bit more comfortable. As he prepared to address the jury, he seemed undaunted by the plaintiffs’ closing remarks. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, “the esteemed prosecutor has, in fact, proved nothing. My clients are not on trial here for being members of an unpopular organization. This is a free country, and it is no crime to belong to any group that you so choose. My clients’ misfortune was only being in the wrong place at the wrong time. To summarize our previous contentions, Mr. Henderson’s car coincidently quit running right in front of the Quitan home on the Saturday night in question, at approximately 9:00 p.m. His friends, Mr. Hartman and Mr. Stimmel, were in the car with him. Mr. Henderson had borrowed the gas can from Mr. Stimmel a week or so earlier, when he noticed that the fuel gauge in his car was not functioning properly. He had neglected to fill the can, but kept it in his trunk for emergencies. When his car stalled on Saturday night in front of the home in question, he got the can out of the trunk and rang Ms. Quitan’s doorbell in hopes that she might have some gas for a lawn mower or something like that, which he could borrow to try to start his car. She told him that she would check, and to come around to the side of the garage. In a moment, as the garage door was raised, she came screaming out of the garage, saying there was a fire in the kitchen and to run, since they had a gas stove and she was afraid that it would explode. Barely had she stated those words when a large explosion came from the center of the house and both of them ran off into the woods in different directions. Mr. Henderson must have dropped the gas can in the garage, where the police found it. With all the commotion, his two friends got out of the car and ran away, wanting to get away from all the noise, police, fire trucks, etc. I don’t know what Ms. Quitan was doing in the kitchen to start a fire, but to concoct this ridiculous story is preposterous. When Mr. Henderson recovered from the whole fire-and-explosion ordeal, he returned to his vehicle and tried to start it, hoping that it had stalled for some reason other than being out of fuel. It is not a crime to run out of gas or ask for help. There was a policeman in his back seat who erroneously arrested him when he returned to the car. My clients are totally innocent of all charges brought by Ms. Quitan, who apparently must have been doing something inappropriate in her own kitchen, caught her house on fire, and fortuitously found some unfortunate men in need of a little help that she could pin the blame on, rather than face her father’s anger for her own misdeeds. We rest our case and hope the jury will not be swayed by allegations which have no basis in fact, Your Honor.”
Judge Walker looked over to Mr. Merriweather and asked, “Any additional argument, counsel?”
“Oh yes, Judge Walker,” Winston Merriweather quickly replied as he rose to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let me remind you of several key facts the defense has conveniently overlooked in their closing argument. First of all, three of the defendants’ fingerprints were not only on the gas can found at the scene of the crime, but also on the sliding door at the rear of the home, which is in complete accordance with my client’s story of how they entered the home. Next, the alarm which was received first by the alarm company, was not a fire alarm, but an emergency panic alarm—corroborating Ms. Quitan’s story that she escaped from the bathroom window, circled around to the unlocked front door, and set off the panic button on their security system. The fire alarm, also received by the security company, was a full three minutes later. Third, the officer who was in the back seat of Mr. Henderson’s car noted that he started the vehicle without difficulty. Also, the log at the impound lot listed the tank as half-full upon arrival. Finally, the organization to which these men belong, the Northwest Neo-Nazis, makes no secret of their disdain for Muslims and has sworn publicly to avenge the WTC bombings last year. They have expressed their ‘mandate’ to expunge the United States of America of all ‘foreign’ religions and cultures, and most recently have highlighted the Iraqis and all Muslims as targets of their ire. It is totally consistent with this mission that these three men preyed upon Ms. Quitan on the night of October 26, 2002, and no doubt would have left far more devastation in their path were it not for the courageous actions of their victim, Ms. Quitan. Again, I urge the jury to disregard this incredible fiction concocted by their attorney, stick to the facts in the case, convict these three men, and place them behind bars, where they cannot continue with their avowed mission of retaliation and destruction against innocent and undeserving US citizens. The plaintiff rests its case, Your Honor.”
“Very well, gentlemen. As it is Friday afternoon, this court will dismiss the jurors to their chambers to reach a verdict and reconvene Tuesday morning at 9:00 a.m. The jurors are instructed not to discuss the particulars of this case with anyone and to reach their verdict solely based upon the evidence presented to them during this trial.” With that, Judge Walker rapped her gavel on its sounding block, pronounced the court adjourned for the day, arose, and left the courtroom.
The three defendants arose, handcuffed and clad in orange prison attire, and glared menacingly over toward Mariah and her father. As they walked past them, Blood hissed, “You’d better get the hell out of this country before you lose more than your house! If we don’t get you, our brothers will,” he sneered confidently and unrepentantly. “We’re gonna teach you sand rats a lesson—blow the hell out of you and your country just like you did to us. Trust me, you’ll get yours!” he growled as his attorney motioned for silence and directed the three men out of the courtroom and away from the Quitans, who seemed visibly shaken by Blood’s remarks.
Mariah looked nervously over to her father and spoke quietly. “Father, I am so sorry you have had to go through all this. I just wish it had never happened. I loved our home, and now it’s gone. I think it was wise on your part just to sell the lot and rent for a while. These men are horrible, and there’s no telling what their friends will do to us if they go to prison. I’m just tired of worrying about it.”
Dr. Quitan was a tall handsome man in his midfifties. His dark hair was graying a bit now, but he still had a certain youthful energy about him. His skin was darker, in typical Middle Eastern fashion, and his brown eyes revealed much about the intense nature of his personality. He was a scientist to be sure, and one whose curiosity literally knew no bounds. Yet there was more to this man, much more. There were hints of the pain and suffering that he had experienced, still evident in his countenance, although largely overshadowed by the intensity of his vision. There was also a certain compassion there, and a far deeper than average understanding of human nature, both good and bad. His research into the realm of quantum physics had convinced him of the presence of a greater organizing force—a primal consciousness, if you will—that served to connect every aspect of creation and provide a common bond between all forms of life. This realization made it hard for him to be very provincial in his thinking, but rather more universal, and, as such, more tolerant of diversity. Today, however, he was looking visibly exhausted, and readily concurred with his daughter.
“I’m tired of it too, Mariah. You know, I thought I would never get over your mother’s death, and I probably never will. This just adds more loss—our home and everything we had, now gone. The prejudice and hatred in this world never seems to stop. It is hard for us to live in America right now. For a while it seemed like heaven, compared to Iraq. But now, with September 11 and the radical Muslim terrorism going on, there is a lot of prejudice toward our country and our religion. I feel like there is no longer any place we can go and feel safe again. And this trial seems to have dragged on forever—almost two weeks now. I just want it to be over, and for these men get what they deserve. I am just so grateful that you were not harmed by them. If they had succeeded, I would have lost everything…my wife, my home, and my beautiful daughter. Life can be very difficult sometimes. My work tells me of the underlying energy field that unites us all, but what I experience is sometimes far from that. It seems that there can be no harmony, no connectedness, no peace on this planet.”
“Father, I know it’s hard for you not to be discouraged. Few people have seen the world as you see it, but the time is coming that they will. Quantum theory will someday bring about the unity that seems so elusive now. You must continue with your writing and research—this world desperately needs your knowledge. We will get through this and there will be a brighter day for all humanity. You’ve inspired me to follow in your footsteps, and I am very excited to be learning just a fraction of what you already know.”
Dr. Quitan leaned over and put his arm around his daughter. “Mariah, I still sense Anya’s presence with me every single day. Sometimes when I look at you, or listen to the words you speak, it is almost as if she were speaking through you. There is no death, Mariah, only a transition to a higher frequency. The underlying energy of life is eternal, and it is only from the perspective of this world that events and beings seem temporal. Beneath the surface of these bodies we inhabit is a sea of energy connecting all of life at the most basic level. Time and space are illusions of the mind, human constructs. Life is, in its essence, unrestricted by either. This is what keeps me going through all the difficulties I have had to face in this life. My mission here is to bring the good news of a reunion between science and religion. Life is all-inclusive, never exclusive, as many of our religions would have us believe. Even those three men who sat across from us as adversaries are really part of us, as we are part of them. Ultimately, the pain we inflict on one another is only pain we inflict upon ourselves. If people would ever wake up and see the true nature of our existence, all this killing and harm to one another would stop. I would love to see that day before I leave this planet,” Mazen smiled wearily as he hugged his daughter. “Come on Mariah, let’s get some dinner and go back to our apartment.” With that, father and daughter walked arm in arm out of the courtroom and off into a world that seemed totally oblivious to the quantum world of Dr. Mazen Quitan.
Four Days Later
Courtroom 4B was one of the larger rooms in the municipal courts building in downtown Portland. The walls were nicely paneled in a dark mahogany, and on this particular morning, the sunlight streamed through several large windows on the east side of the building—a bit of an unusual phenomenon for Portland in February. It was almost 9:00 a.m., and the courtroom was already packed. Although the media had been excluded, they were in the halls and outside the building in force. The Quitans had taken the MAX (Portland’s area transit system) into downtown to avoid driving, and were besieged by reporters as they walked up the steps of the court building. Opting for no communication before the verdict, they quickly made their way into the building, up to the fourth floor, and to the plaintiff’s table. Already seated across the aisle were the three neon-orange-clad Neo-Nazis, still looking as angry and menacing as they had the previous Friday. Many of their fellow NNN members were seated in the gallery behind them, and the Quitans’ side of the gallery was filled to capacity as well. Given the tension throughout the country with the Iraq war, this case had particular significance, as it seemed to represent what was probably far more widespread hostility and prejudice toward the Muslim community as a whole. Whereas few people openly condoned the alleged actions of these men, many felt that it was a sort of renegade justice being served in retribution for the acts of 9/11. The NNN group was not favored among Portland residents, but in this instance, had achieved a sort of grassroots popularity for their bold efforts to right the wrongs of the terrorist acts against the US. Anti-Muslim sentiment had almost reached a group-hysteria level, and secretly many people thought that the Quitans had received their just reward for practicing an “anti-American” sort of religion. Everyone present eagerly awaited the jury’s verdict.
The jury had already entered the room, and the bailiff announced for all to rise as Judge Walker followed. As she entered, indicated the court was in session, and rapped the gavel on the stand, the crowd took their seats and looked toward the twelve jurors. The judge looked over to a middle-aged African American man, dressed in a three-piece business suit, who was the jury foreman, and asked, “Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?”
The gentleman fidgeted somewhat as he opened a folded piece of paper in his hand and looked toward Judge Walker. “Yes we have, Your Honor.”
Judge Walker briefly ran her eyes around the courtroom, pausing to look at both plaintiff and defendants. “And what is your verdict, Mr. Foreman?”
Clearly a bit nervous, the foreman saw out of the corner of his eye the three large orange-clad defendants looking menacingly in his direction, then slowly replied, “We find the defendant Ralph Henderson guilty of aggravated assault, and the codefendants, Messrs. Hartman and Stimmel, equally guilty as accomplices. We also find all three defendants guilty of arson in the burning of the Quitan home, Your Honor.”
Almost immediately, a mixture of growls and cursing emanated from two of the defendants as well as the large group of NNN members seated behind them. The sole and very noticeable exception was the third defendant, Buzz Henderson, who sat motionless, with his head down and his face buried in his hands, where no one could see his reaction.
Immediately the judge rapped the gavel and called for order in the court. “Very well, Mr. Foreman. Will the defendants please rise?” As the three orange-clad men got up from their seats and stood, handcuffed before the judge, two glared directly at her, while Buzz continued to hold his head down and stare at the floor. “Gentlemen, you have been tried in a court of criminal law and found by a jury of your peers to be guilty as charged. Your sentencing will take place in this courtroom two weeks from today.” As she raised her gavel to signal the end of the proceedings, Judge Walker was stopped with the gavel in midair by a sound coming from the plaintiff’s table.
“Your Honor…”
The sound came from Mariah Quitan, who had risen to her feet. As the judge hesitated, gavel in the air, looking over toward her, she repeated, “Your Honor, I have something to say.”
Judge Walker glared at Mariah and stated unhesitatingly, “Ms. Quitan, this is highly irregular. The time for any statement from you is well past.”
Mariah glanced down at her father, who was totally puzzled by her behavior, and whispered, “Father, you may not agree with me, but this is something I have to do. I hope you understand.”
Looking back up to the judge, she continued, “Your Honor, I am aware that I am completely out of order here, but I have to say something that is very important, if you would please give me just a brief moment.”
Judge Walker looked at Mariah with an expression somewhere between aggravation, puzzlement, and utter curiosity. “Very well, Ms. Quitan, if you insist, but please make it brief.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. This will only take a moment. I waited until now to speak because I wanted the defendants to know what it felt like to be convicted of crimes that would cause them extensive imprisonment. I wanted them to know how it felt to have hope taken away and nothing to look forward to other than a life behind bars.” As she spoke, Mariah moved away from the plaintiff’s table and now stood directly before the defendants. Buzz had raised his head now, with tears clearly visible on both cheeks. Bear and Blood looked harshly at her, wondering what it was she had to tell them. Mariah continued, “All three of you were excited about having some sort of revenge—humiliating, raping, and murdering a young girl you hardly knew—calling me a Muslim whore, when in fact, I was no more than an innocent virgin following in my father’s footsteps, trying to make the world a better place. My father and I are no more responsible for 9/11 than you are for whatever steps your country will take to devastate the Middle East in retaliation. Hatred, killing, and revenge can only bring about more of the same. As a quantum physicist, my father has taught me that we are all connected by an underlying energy field, so that hurting another person or place is in fact hurting our own selves. We are United States citizens, just like you are. Other than the American Indians, everyone here came from another country, including yourselves. That has created the strength and diversity we proudly call America. People here come from all over the world to call this country home. The United States has always stood for tolerance, freedom of speech, and religious freedom. It is an organization like yours—riddled with hatred, malice, and bigotry—that is un-American, not simple people like my father and me, who quietly practice our religion and strive to make our community and nation a better place to live. I respect the legal system in this country, and am pleased that it found you guilty of the crimes that you committed against us.”
Mariah paused for a moment and moved squarely in front of the defendants.
“But that is not why I am speaking to you and to this court. Someone has to stop this endless cycle of retribution. It clearly won’t be terrorist groups like al-Qaeda, or even governments like the United States, and most certainly not groups like the NNN. It has to start with people like you and me. I can’t begin to tell you the grief that you have caused our family—every possession we had was destroyed by the fire you set. If you had succeeded with your plan, you would have brought even more suffering and pain to one of the world’s most brilliant scientists, who, unbeknown to you, had already lost his beautiful wife and my mother to a similarly senseless terrorist act. Look at me, all of you,” Mariah snapped with an uncharacteristic fierceness in her eyes. “I am a kind, loving young girl that your prejudice made into some soulless monster worthy of humiliation and death. I have never done harm to you or anyone else. Right now you should get down on your knees and thank God that you only succeeded in burning our home. If you had killed me, and I were not standing before you right now, you would most likely have received the death penalty rather than an extensive prison sentence. But here is something you didn’t count on…something that you can be even more grateful for,” Mariah added as she turned and faced the judge. “Judge Walker, before you sentence these men, I wish to drop all charges against them. I understand that this is highly irregular, but I would rather be responsible for their redemption than their incarceration.”
Swirling back around, she touched Buzz on the shoulder, as the tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. “Buzz Henderson, you put a knife to my throat and threatened bodily harm to me.” As her own eyes began to fill with tears, Mariah struggled to continue. “I forgive you for that. Please forgive yourself. Look inside and see who you really are—a divine part of the consciousness that connects us all. Wake up! Be the person you came here to be, not some pawn of these hateful organizations. I see your soul and know that God is within you and that you are perfect!”
Mariah raised her hands and wiped the tears from his cheeks. As her eyes met his, she spoke softly words that he would never forget. “Make this horrible event count for something good. I believe in who you really are. Go from here and become that person,” she smiled, as if she had known him for eons. As Buzz returned her gaze, a smile came over his face, and he felt a strange and wonderful connection that he had never before experienced in his life. A sense of utter gratitude poured over him as he looked into Mariah’s eyes and began to remember….
Mariah turned to Big Bear and Blood, who were completely taken aback by the events unfolding in front of them. “You too,” she added softly. “I forgive you as well…please make that count for something. Be grateful that you did no more harm than you did. Look around you at the presence of God everywhere and be thankful. From this moment on, let love guide you—not racism, bigotry, or even religion. Feel the energy that connects us all and celebrate your freedom!” Then looking out toward the group of Neo-Nazis seated behind the three men, Mariah continued, “If anyone is guilty here, it is all of you. Your organization collectively dispenses racism and hate. The three men on trial here would never have contemplated such an act were it not for their somewhat inexplicable need to conform to group mores such as yours. Why don’t you take a long, hard look at what you are doing in the world? The very person you persecuted is standing here before you and forgiving you for what you have done. Would the world really be a better place if you had succeeded in murdering an innocent young girl? Is it a better place because you burned the family home of a brilliant scientist who has done more to unify this planet than all of you in this room put together? Do you feel that much better now that we have no earthly possessions, not even the photo of my deceased mother, which my father and I treasured? I hope you realize that I have forgiven you not because you deserve it—you definitely don’t—but rather because God is within all of us, even the seemingly most undeserving. I am here, as are you, to uplift those around me, not bring them down. It is my hope and fervent prayer that this will provide you with an opportunity for self-reflection, and that each one of you will realize that you are part of the divine nature of God—here on this planet to reflect the light, love, and beauty that is in each of us. I challenge you to look beyond your caricatures of people to the unlimited potential in everyone, regardless of race, religion, sex, or nationality. Adolf Hitler was the personification of evil, not good. Why don’t you find some other figure to emulate that would have a more positive effect on the world? Jesus Christ, Muhammad, the Buddha, Lord Krishna, the Dalai Lama, Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela…the list is endless. I challenge you right here and right now to look at life and people differently from this moment on. Wake up and be a beneficial presence on the planet,” Mariah exhorted them as she slowly rotated her gaze from left to right, making direct eye contact with as many in the group as she possibly could. Heads dropped, eyes lowered toward the floor, and an eerie silence swept over the room as she walked back to the plaintiff’s table and her completely bewildered attorney, who now felt compelled to speak.
“I apologize for my client, Your Honor,” he began, but was quickly interrupted by Judge Walker.
“Don’t even try, Mr. Merriweather,” she spoke with an air of almost total amazement. “In all my years as a judge, I have never experienced anything like this in my courtroom…. I think I need to just let this be.” With that, she looked to the defendants and stated, “Gentlemen, the charges against you have been dropped. You are free to go. Bailiff, please release them!” Then looking to the audience, she added, “Ladies and gentlemen, today you have witnessed a very unusual event. We live in a world of prejudice and unspeakable crimes committed against one another. This morning, in my courtroom, you have witnessed a beautiful example of forgiveness and grace. Think carefully about what you have seen and heard here today! Court is dismissed.”
Mazen Quitan stood and embraced his daughter. “Anya was here today,” he smiled, trying in vain to hold back the tears. “Her compassion lives on through you. Thank you, Mariah. I couldn’t have done that. I knew that it was the right thing to do, but I just wouldn’t have had the courage to do what you did. To believe things in theory is one thing, but to live out those beliefs in your own life is another entirely different task. I let my human anger and pain overrule my divine nature, which should have offered forgiveness as you did. There is no death, Mariah, only transformation. Your mother was with you today in this courtroom as much as she was physically with us back in Iraq. Her spirit would not let us condemn these men, even though a similar act of terrorism cost her life. We are on the verge of a quantum leap forward on this planet, and I truly believe that what you did here today will have repercussions that neither you nor I can begin to realize at this moment.”
By now Mazen was flushed with excitement and beaming with pride at his daughter’s bold response to the NNNs. Perhaps more than any other, he knew the positive effects on the entire planet that could be brought about by just one person in alignment with the all-knowing consciousness of life. At this point, he had no idea of what exact results would ensue, but he knew beyond any doubt that they would be far-reaching and exponential.
As the Quitans made their way down the aisle and out of the courtroom, Buzz, Big Bear, and Blood were just having their handcuffs removed. Blood smirked at his companions and whispered, “Jesus, we were lucky on that one—I thought we were headed to the slammer for sure! That’s one strange chick, all right. Good thing for us she’s half-nuts like her old man, or we would have been down for the count. Let’s get outa here, man…I need a beer!”
“Yeah, me too,” seconded Big Bear. “All this courtroom crap’s left me dry as a bone! I never been so glad to get outa anywhere in my life. Come on, Buzzard, let’s find some brewskis!”
Buzz nodded his assent, but secretly wondered if there was anything on the planet powerful enough to alter the trajectory of his two friends. While Mariah had been speaking, he could think of nothing more than his prior plan to humiliate, rape, and murder her, yet there she was, literally snatched from the jaws of death and yet offering them forgiveness for what they had done. Didn’t make sense. Nothing that had happened made any sense to him at that moment. He only knew that something that she had said had made him feel remorse for what he had done, and it had been a long time since he had any kind of feeling like that—in fact, any kind of feelings at all, really. He wanted to talk to her, to thank her, and to find out more about this energy field she was talking about, and what she meant by her statement that “we are all one.” That made no sense at all. He knew that he was a far cry from whatever she was and that they had absolutely nothing in common. Still, her words haunted him. He would find a way to speak to her, if nothing more than to just tell her that he was truly sorry for what he had done.
Big Bear and Blood, on the other hand, seemed strangely oblivious to everything that had been said and done there. As the three men left the courtroom, for two of them at least, locating a couple of beers seemed to be a higher priority.
