She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) (12 page)

            “OH SHIT, DUDE, SHE’S GOT A GUN! LET’S GET OUT
OF HERE!” A teenager with spiked, blonde hair shouts as he begins to sprint
toward the large black truck from his position at the right of the bay window.

            The other young man starts to run without
looking backwards, pulling up his pants as he goes, his curly hair whipping in
the wind.  May follows him with her pistol all the way to the truck, pretending
that she is going to shoot him on the move.

            As the blonde teenager gets to the truck, he
throws himself into the driver seat, grabbing the gearshift, and putting the
vehicle into drive.  The truck tires begin to squeal as the curly-haired young
man dives into the back, grabbing tightly to the side.  May closes her eyes and
shuts the drapes as the truck speeds away, enjoying the victory of winning her
life back, and the blessed silence.

The OBDAT - Chicago

            “They did all that for a case of beer?” 
Lorabell asks with a stunned expression, looking up at May on the LCD display
with satisfaction, knowing that a subject holding a gun is a big win. 

            “Yeah, agent Burton was able to work out a deal
with them where they would play the most offensive song they could find on
their iPod through the bass speakers.”  Maxwell states with a degree of pride. 
“That was ‘Freak on a Leash’ by Korn…  She looks really pissed!”  He admits
with a bit of guilt as he watches May from his comfy, leather chair on the left
side of the OBDAT control panel.

            “She drew her weapon and used it in anger;
that’s a huge win for us!” Lorabell celebrates with a prideful smile.  “Don’t
worry about her; she’s been dealing with these scars for five years, May is a
lot tougher than you think.”  Lorabell reassures Maxwell, detecting his
discomfort with the situation.

            “Okay…” Maxwell says with uncertain eyes.  “What
do you need me to do next?”

            “Oh, look she found the postcard!” Lorabell
proclaims with a smirk, looking back at the LCD monitor of May’s bedroom and
ignoring his question.

            On the display, May is shown standing in her
bedroom holding a burnt postcard of Mount Rushmore.  She looks down at her bed
in shock, putting her right hand over her mouth, not remembering ever having
seen this.  The confused young woman looks around the room with a surreal
expression, as the postcard shakes in the grasp of her left hand.  She is
certain there is no one else in the house.  May experiences feelings of
betrayal and terror that instantly rise up from within her as the image of the
famous monument is burned into her soul… A vision of that horrible day on The
Needle’s Highway driving through The Needle’s Eye; her deepest regret that they
never made it safely to Mount Rushmore… Was Charlie going to propose?  She
snaps back to life, staring down at the burnt paper with a demeanor marked by wicked
suspicion.

            “Where the hell did this come from!?”  May asks,
tossing the postcard into the air and glancing around for signs of an intruder.

            She retrieves her pistol from the bed and elects
to inspect the home further.

            “Where did it come from- indeed?” Lorabell asks
with ironic dissent as she lowers her head onto her clasped hands, allowing her
elbows to rest on the sleek, black plastic of the control panel.         

NED LAWHORN:

            ‘I can’t be that guy,’ Ned thinks to himself as
he sits on his coarse orange and yellow sofa staring at the television.  He rubs
his gray eyebrows and glances down between his leathery hands at his beer gut
that has grown outward over the years.  After this moment of introspection, he
stretches briefly, looking over at his collie that is sleeping in the corner. 

His chest is suddenly filled with
tension as Ned recalls the show he just watched on television; the story of a
man forgiving someone for accidentally killing his loved ones.  Ned breathes in
slowly with the realization that he may be alone during the remaining years of
his life.  His wife was taken down after a brutal struggle with stomach cancer,
and a few years later, their daughter was killed by a drunken bus driver.

            He stands up from the sofa in his small ranch
house, stretching his tall frame to its full height, and nearly touching the
ceiling with his long, pale arms.  His boots are off, giving him the comfy,
relaxed feeling of wandering the house in his socks; like a small child, enjoying
the creature comforts. 

            Ned shuffles into the kitchen and pours himself
two fingers of Jack Daniel’s Whiskey, and swallows it with conviction, as any
good Texas man would.  The whiskey burns his throat and makes his chest feel
unusually warm, but it takes away the sting of losing his little Thelma.  He
sets the whiskey glass down and shuffles into a bedroom at the back of the
house, his royal blue shirtsleeves dangling with the buttons undone.  Soon Ned
finds himself in Thelma’s bedroom, looking at a collection of wood carvings and
leather crafts mounted to her walls or scattered about on white oak shelves. 

            He sits down on the bed, feeling the soft
comfort of the mattress under his worn blue jeans, thinking about the many
nights his little girl slumbered in safety beneath this roof.  Tears spring
forth from his eyes as the recurring helpless feelings return; knowing that he
couldn’t protect her despite his best efforts- is almost too much. 

            Ned reaches down and grabs a length of rope; a
thin, ten foot strip of blue nylon typically used for climbing.  He breathes
out hard and slowly begins to tie the rope into a lasso, moving his hands in
steady, tedious circles as if performing a prayer ritual.     

            His heart rises with warm memories and he feels
as close to Thelma as possible in this moment.  Many years ago, before she left
for school, they were sitting on this bed, tying a lasso.  It was the last
thing they did together… before she ran out to catch the bus.  The old Texan’s
tears come forth naturally now as he clenches the rope tight in his fists,
remembering the bus driver’s smug expression when they released him from
prison.  As a Texas man, a hundred years ago, he could have simply blown the
man away with his Colt .45 Revolver, and that would have been justice…  In
today’s world he would be shunned as a criminal; a crazy person for not being
able to forgive and forget… 

            Ned unravels the rope quickly, letting himself
relax and forget the pain, feeling the whiskey work its wonders.  He rolls the
length of blue nylon up neatly in clockwise, circular loops, and tucks it under
the small bed, beneath the hem of the pink comforter. 

            After a few moments of silent mourning, he gets
up from the bed and makes his way to the master bedroom where he retrieves his
Colt .45 and a small, plastic container of bullets.  Ned tucks the pistol down
the back of his blue jeans and makes his way out to the barn. 

            As he steps out of the house, Ned breathes in
deeply the fresh country air, letting the flimsy screen door close behind him. 
His short gray hair blows delicately in the mild breeze and he enjoys the
warmth of the mid-afternoon sun on his brow.  He feels instantly calm without
the memories of the house bearing down on him.  When he steps off of the rough
wooden deck, the aged Texan feels the soft red sand under his socks and laughs
inside at himself, having forgotten his boots again. 

            Ned shakes off his own stupidity and makes his
way to the tractor that is exactly fifty yards from his usual paper target on
the barn.  He observes the two bullet holes in the black and orange target,
feeling no need to replace it with so few shots to track.  While the whiskey
does wonders for his stress, it obviously is no help for his aim.

            The familiar sound of a Jeep comes rolling down
the drive just fifty-yards away.  Ned turns slowly and a broad grin forms on
his weathered, wrinkled face, lighting up his deep, blue eyes.  The cobalt blue
and white Jeep bounces to a halt next to him, and the welcoming face of a younger
woman is soon smiling at Ned from the driver seat. 

            “Forget your boots again, Cowboy?” Sally asks as
she gets out of the Jeep and closes the door behind her.

            “Yeah, they’re in the house with Jack Daniel’s;
keeping him warm.”  Ned retorts with a loving gaze, admiring her smooth, tanned
skin and white blouse that is half covered by a brown, suede jacket.

            “I just had a long drive,” she begins,
stretching with her arms behind her head, showing off her well-endowed chest
beneath the thin blouse, “maybe we can do some shootin’ another time?”

            Ned smiles like a teenage boy as he admires his
fifty-five year-old girlfriend, her slightly plump little bottom in a pair of
expensive, black Wrangler Jeans.  He looks down at her dusty, black, suede
leather boots, his eyes glazing over a bit in dumbfounded anticipation. 

            “So, Cowboy, how about we lose the gun?” She
asks playfully, brushing her red hair to the side and looking at him with her
light brown eyes.  “Also, the pants; you won’t be needing those!” Sally’s lips
purse together, showing her slightly wrinkled, but still gorgeous, fair skin.

            “Well, I just wanted to get a little target
shooting in; was all…” Ned replies like a shy schoolboy; still uncomfortable
with such a sexually aggressive woman.

            “Well now, don’t you nevermind that target…”
Sally whispers seductively into Ned’s ear as she wraps her arms around him.  “I
have a target that you can hit… All night long, and every time you get in the
bull’s-eye; we both win a prize.” She finishes by kissing him hard, pressing
her mouth onto her lover’s lips with a bonfire of yearning.

            Ned returns her kiss, wrapping his arms around
her as well; his body ablaze with the legendary lust of a preacher’s daughter. 
After a short round of passion on the red sand, Sally grabs his hand and leads
him into the farmhouse, smiling seductively under her smooth, long red hair. 
His breathing becomes shallow with anticipation as they enter the screen door
together, closing the solid oak door behind them.  Ned tosses his pistol gently
onto the sofa, eager for her kiss. 

            Sally presses Ned up against the door, kissing
him with loving desire against the hard, thick wood, feeling it give a bit with
their weight.  As he tries to kiss her more, she puts her right hand on his
chest, holding him against the door.  Then Sally takes a few steps backwards
and removes her suede jacket, throwing it on the sofa playfully.  After the
jacket is gone, she unties the front of her blouse, exposing her breasts in a
sexy, black bra.  She then steps towards the bedroom, beckoning him with her
right index finger and giving her best naughty-girl smile. 

            Ned is officially tantalized and moves toward
her like a bull, grabbing the small of her back firmly and kissing her with red
passion.  The two lovers lock together in a session of intense affection,
enjoying one another in ways that only a seasoned couple can.  They kiss more
passionately as Sally’s lovely round backside gets closer to the master
bedroom. 

            Sally is smiling and enjoying his teeth on her
neck, but her smile soon fades as she looks to her left into Thelma’s old
bedroom.

            “Oh my God, Ned, what have you been doing!?” 
Sally inquires with disturbed frustration as she pushes her eager lover away.

            “What?” Ned asks with surprise as he follows her
gaze and suddenly freezes in place as his eyes locate something unnerving.

            He begins to shake immediately, trying to make
sense of what is happening, as though an icy hand is brushing down his back, leaving
him feeling haunted and betrayed.  Ned gently pushes Sally aside and enters
Thelma’s bedroom wearing a face filled with suspicion.  His fingers reach out
delicately to a length of blue, nylon rope hanging from a roof beam in the
center of the room.  He opens his mouth wide in shock as he sees that the rope
has been tied into a noose.

            “Oh my God, Ned; are you thinking of killing
yourself?”  Sally asks as she steps up next to him with her hands pressed
together in front of her mouth. 

            “No…” Ned replies quickly with an anxious
expression.  “I put the rope under the bed; it was a rolled up like I always
do.” 

            “How much have you had to drink today, sweetheart!?” 
Sally asks with heartfelt concern, appearing defeated and frightened.

            “I… I’ve only had a few fingers of whiskey…” 
Ned says softly with a remorseful demeanor.  “Some bastard must’ve done this; I
put the rope away… I remember putting the rope away!”  He exclaims as his hands
become fists and he stares at Sally in deep shame.

            “There’s nobody for five miles, Ned!” Sally
exclaims as she begins to cry.  “Take it down! Get it down, right now!”

            Ned hops up on the bed with an urgent desire to
help Sally relax.  He unties the rope from the beam and sits down on the side
of the bed with a puzzled look on his face.  As he peers at the rope in his
hands, he remembers Thelma and begins to weep spastically, rolling the rope in
perfec,t clockwise circles.