Red's CD Project: Afterword

Note: Maybe this will only be interesting to me, but I thought I'd jot down what's in my head and see what you all think. Sorry it got a little long. 


“The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.” – Stephen King

Seventy-five days and roughly 14,000 words later, I return to this quote that I used to introduce this project. Of all the things Stephen King could be talking about, he’s discussing writing. I’ve never found a more accurate statement about this dirty little habit that I’ve little or no intention of kicking. Sitting in front of the blank screen with a couple words or maybe a sentence or two tickling the synapses in my brain is terribly scary because once I start I never know where I’m going to end up. Doesn’t it get better as the lines start to add up? Usually, but that is not always the case.

I’d say nearly every time I sat down to type on this project during the last 12 weeks that I experienced some level on anxiety. At first, it was did this story have the legs to make it through 38 sections. If so, was there anything about it to warrant such an endeavor. Gradually, that fear subsided and gave way to a new one. Do I have enough sections left to fit what I want to put in here? I never totally conquered that one, but it did get blocked out by one all encompassing fear. Am I going to screw this up?

No wonder writers are notorious drinkers.

In the beginning…

So where did this story come from? Unlike some of the other things I’ve posted on here and many other things that haven’t appeared that have kicked around my brain for years, this story seemed materialize from thin air. In fact, many of the historical tidbits and religious connotations that appear later are things that I would never have predicted writing about.

But, the statement that this came from nowhere is entirely accurate. It was stirred to the forefront by the first song lyric I used from The Band. For those that don’t want to look back – Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble. Ancient footprints are everywhere.

I guess I was a little like a bride looking for something old. This little line made me think about the fall of Rome. Then I started thinking about the fall of other great civilizations and other significant historical events. I came to one unscientific and unverified conclusion – every generation something big happens, and that big event includes bloodshed.

Well, what if one family was indirectly responsible for these events? Like it was their calling to stir the pot. How was that torch passed? The Glock family was born (without their complete lineage fully realized in my mind).

Early on, I hit one minor stumbling block and one I still might have to work through. The world theater from the end of WWII in the 1940s to now has been relatively quiet. Sure, there was Vietnam, the Gulf Wars and the terrorist attacks of 9/11.

So what the hell did Hal’s father do? I went with the assassination route. I almost think that I have to go back and work on this. Part me almost thinks that Hal’s father was a failure. While many this assassination attempts were successful, did any of them cause any real devastating global events? My uneducated answer is no. Maybe I am wrong with that. Although, I think Hal’s father was allowed a pass, because Hal’s grandfather had been very successful in steering Hitler toward his madness.

The lyrics and songs

I found the use and importance of these lyrics to vary in importance depending upon the lyric and the section. By halfway through the story, my vision of the story was shaping up and thus I started to skim the songs for lyrics that matched up with what I wanted to write rather than shaping the text by the lyric.

It’s still a fun exercise trying to see how they tie together. At times, I found that song titles or album titles or band names played just as much a part of the text as the lyric I picked out.

I liked this process in that sense. In the edit, I’ll probably pull the lyrics altogether because I am not sure they add that much and they will probably confuse new readers to the text more than they help them.

Essentially, this process was developed to introduce these albums to Snake. I guess the hope is that when he listens to them, he’ll think about Hal’s adventure and wonder about some the issues the story brought up.

Although, I did find it interesting to find dark lyrics even in the brightest of songs.

Oh, God

First and foremost, I am no religious scholar. My Christian knowledge is dependent upon a lot church and Sunday school growing up where I didn’t usually pay full attention to say the least and my English Lit classes where professors would say “notice the religious symbology” and everyone in the class would shake their head as if they understood what they hell they were talking about. My knowledge on the Islamic faith is even less. I had to think every time I wrote whether I should put Muslim or Islamic. One’s a religion the other is the people that follow that religion. I sort of survived by using the cliff notes version of the religion, but as I edit I’ll probably have to take a closer look at their beliefs and customs.

Once I made the connection between the Glock line and the story of Cain and Abel, I became enamored with that “religious symbology” stuff. It’s not accident that Hal kills his victims in a field with a stone. It’s not accident that there was three graves which is symbolic of the holy trinity. Although, I admit that one I sort of lose how the victims represent the branches of said trinity. Other things are more obvious – the snake, the wolf, the fact that Hal’s wife is Mary and she gets pregnant. The spilling the blood of the innocent is religious also and connects with the image of the lamb being slain by the wolf from the beginning of the story.

The field, which the Snake mentions in his comment on the last section, evolved into the big symbol of the story. While some saw the field as evil, I see it as the representation of the continuation of the process. Each generation a new crop grows tall and strong till the harvest comes and it is destroyed. So I guess the field represents society to some degree.

The field also binds the family to Cain, who was the farmer of the two brothers. I always thought it was odd that God favored the offering of the slain animal over that of the grown plant. That choice drives this story. It shows that, at least the Old Testament God, favored spilt blood over creation. Ultimately, this leads Cain to sacrifice his brother. An in the twist, Cain is cast away to Nod with a wife (who’s identity is a biblical mystery, but doesn’t Hal also gain his wife by making his sacrifice). Cain is marked but also allowed to live his life.

It’s easy to get carried away with this stuff once you start. I hope that didn’t become the case here. Most of all, I wanted the reader to question what is God’s role in this story.

So he’s crazy, right

Snake posed the question of Hal’s sanity in one of his comments. Maybe Hal is crazy. Maybe Abdul is also crazy. Maybe it’s a coincidence that their paths cross. The modern world has become obsessed with sanity. One can overlook any act by claiming insanity.

I wanted to run on the idea that there was a time in this world when it was perfectly acceptable to believe that someone was inherently evil or, at the very least, capable of being inflicted with evil. Isn’t that what really happens to both Hal and Addul? Both men catch evil like the common cold and both let it run its course to get well again. Although, I don’t believe Abdul ever reaches that point.

One and the same

Something unattended happened as I started dealing with Hal and Abdul. I realized that they were the same person in opposite realities. Hal is a free man that in imprisoned by a duty to create evil. In order for him to gain everything back that he has lost, he has to perform these tasks. Abdul is imprisoned in a cell, but he’ll lose everything by gaining his freedom.

With that being said, Mary and Misba essentially fulfill the same role for both men. The symbolic nature of the Virgin Mary and the meaning of Misba’s name as innocent one is also unattended, but it’s a fortunate coincidence.

I also feel like that as these two cultures actually do continue to escalate violence in the real world. These two men represent the fact that they’re good and bad men and women on both sides.

Something I continue to ask myself is whether or not Abdul’s turn is due to Hal’s presence or is he a separate pawn in the great plan. Abdul hears the snake and wolf on his own. I don’t believe Hal planted these sounds outside his cell.

Is it bad to like these guys?

Hal and Abdul are two guys that do some nasty things. Yet, we meet them both as vulnerable and broken men. We sympathize with their problems. Even when they do terrible things, we sort of understand why they are doing it.

In the end, this comes down to being able to rationalize motives. The readers don’t look at these men’s crimes as senseless. They are motivated by love, maybe by God, and certainly by being pushed to extremes.

It’s sort of like the question pretty much everyone asks when they hear someone does something heinous – “How could anybody do such a thing?”

That’s the question everyone hears, the question not verbalized and maybe not even consciously realized is “Could I ever do such a thing?”

Hal and Abdul are the answers to how normal people with their societies can be pushed to that extreme. The story’s answer to the second question inevitably is “yes.”

What’s next

Well, Mr. King compares writing a story to digging up a dinosaur. I’ve framed the ground where the skeleton is buried. Now I need to get out my toolbox and the brushes to start working out all the details.

Maybe in another 75 days or so, I’ll know exactly what I have here.

Red's CD Project Part 12

Note: Well, this is the end. I won't say much here because I think I'll type up an afterward talking about the entire project in the next couple of days. I may do that instead of a 1,001 album list this week. Snake still needs to do an encore for last week anyway. I hope you've enjoyed reading this journey half as much as I have enjoyed writing it. 

Disc 2

Track 16
Redemption Song
Bob Marley and the Wailers
Legend

Won’t you help to sing these songs of freedom? Cause all I ever have redemption songs.

The two days to follow similar attacks were successful in both New York and Los Angeles. The country’s three biggest cities were cast into turmoil with the police force in each decimated. The National Guard was stretched thin. Crime waves swept through the cities like the evening tide over a sandy beach.

Even worse, hate spread like wildfire. Fingers pointed everywhere. Angry families of the slain formed mobs that marched through the cities burning and pillaging everything and everyone.

Finally on the third day, Abdul stood up via a taped speech delivered to NBC news. Hal watched alone and in silence in the living room. Mary was still packing things at her parents’ home. When the broadcast ended, Hal went to a drawer and removed the letter. It was late afternoon and a steady spring breeze blew across the farmyard.

Hal walked down the gravel lane that led to the barn thinking about how Abdul had looked on TV. Abdul had rambled on and on until he brought out the pictures.

He held one up to the camera.

“For this, I do this.”

He put the picture down and lifted a second.

“For the blood spilt upon this sajada, I do this.”

He flicked the picture away. Abdul took a momentary look at the third picture. His face contorted. The millions of Americans watching thought it was the face of a maniac, Hal knew it as the face of man whose heart was breaking again.

“For her, I declare jihad against the world that let this happen.”

The picture turned to the screen and the image faded away. The news anchor appeared ready to spin the tape. The anchors talked about the man and the possibility of a holy war.
The pictures faded from consciousness of the media and America.

Hal reached the spot in the field and the sun fell behind a cloud. He opened the letter and read.

Dear Misba,

I believe my freedom rests in your hands now my love. I have told you that I am compelled. Hate fuels my dreams through the night. I envision the world burning at my toes and I feel my heart taking pleasure in the flames.

But, when I think of you, I feel the jets of water quelling the heat and I am content. The compulsion for great evil only smolders in the embers of tiny coals instead of in the giant torrents of a mighty blaze.

They are releasing me this morning and I plea for you to meet me the day you receive this letter.

Come away with me then and be my wife. Let us, you and I, flee and leave the night behind. Let us outrun the howl of the wolf and leave the snake’s hiss behind. Perhaps, we will return to the garden and begin again.

Maybe the Christians are right. That freewill exists. We can choose our destiny and not be prodded toward to it. Perhaps, we can prove that true. Perhaps, I can turn this rage into love.

Perhaps.

Abdul

Hal read the letter aloud one last time before taking a lighter from his pocket and lighting it. He dropped the paper to the ground of the field. It curled in the heat before the breeze came along and blew the ashes up. They danced for a moment in a swirl of air and then skipped away across the field.


Disc 2
Track 17
The Wind
Cat Stevens
The Very Best of Cat Stevens

I listen to the wind. To the wind of my soul. Where I end up I think, only God really knows

Hal let the chest’s lid close softly. He snapped it shut and with it all the memories of the past few months seemed to settle out of his mind. The things he did would not haunt him. Oh, he thought every spring he’d be compelled out to the field at dusk to stare at the sunset, but no more than that. Every bit of evil in him was concealed in the wooden chest left to collect dust in the attic. He sat peering out the window and the sun hit the rows made by tiny green plants.

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened and Mary walked up. Her hair was matted with sweat, but she still radiated a glow. The kind of glow only a woman has when she’s nurturing life within her. Hal smiled and watched her climb up.

“Whatya doin’ up here?”

“Oh, I was just putting some stuff away. I got caught up looking out at the fields.”

“Yeah, they look OK?”

“Pretty good.”

“Yeah. They going to grow up in big straight rows then.”

“Yep.”

He grabbed her around the waist and planted a kiss on her lips. They smiled and looked out the window together.

“Yep, they’ll grow nice and tall. The crop will be mighty.”

Mary just moaned in approval.

“Then we’ll knock it all down again.”

They stood in the quiet attic for a few minutes looking at the young crop then turned and walked down the stairs.


Disc 2
Track 18
Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World
Israel Kamakawio’ole
Facing Future

I like the dark and I think to myself. What a wonderful world.

Henry hadn’t been home for years. He loathed the way his passive father had floated through life. His mother had been a quiet, humbled woman. She had died when he was 18 from breast cancer. Henry had left home shortly after and not spoken to his father very often.

Henry had been working his way through medical school in California, but he wasn’t that interested in becoming a doctor. It just felt like something he should do. A week ago, he received a letter telling him that his father had died suddenly of a heart attack.

It had taken him a week to get home and his father had already been buried by then. He opened up the old farm house and thought about all the memories of growing up there.

On the kitchen table there was a letter.

Son,

If you take nothing else from here, take the old chest up in the attic.

Dad.

Henry thought the letter was odd. Why would his father leave a note for him if he didn’t know he was coming? His father had not expected to have a heart attack. There was no way for him to know.

Henry scratched his head above his ear and then walked upstairs to get to the attic. When he got there, the dust was thick and irritated the scar on his cheek. He’d been in a bar fight a few weeks ago and a guy cut him with a broken bottle leaving a long curved scar on his cheek.

He found the chest at the top of the stairs and decided to have a look inside before he took it anywhere.

He popped open the old, rusted locks and the musty smell of a long sealed container burst into his nostrils. On top of a heap of artifacts was a white envelope. Henry opened it up and inside was a letter.

Son,

Yet. It’s a small word my son. In fact, as I write this you are not born yet. But you will be and even though no one has told your mother and I the sex of the baby, I know you will be a boy. See, there is a promise in the word ‘yet’.

It’s a promise that brings you here, hopefully many years from now. It’s a promise that is fulfilled generation after generation.

It’s now come to you. I am sure you don’t understand. But you will. You haven’t seen or done anything in your life like this. At least, not yet.

Hal Glock

June 1, 2009

Henry put the letter down with his eyebrows curled. On top of the heap of stuff was an old Polaroid camera. He put his eye to the shutter and a gruesome scene started to play.

After a few minutes, Henry put the camera down. His stomach turned and part of him wanted the heave himself down the steps toward the nearest toilet. But he stayed still. After a couple moments he looked out the window. He could make out the long straight golden rows of the fall corn harvest in the field behind the barn. A grin crept up at the corners of his lips.

Red's CD Project Part 11

Note: While the chaos in the world starts to heat up, Hal's world starts to slow down as we wind down on our little tale. When I edit this out, I'll probably expand these sections some, but I think this conveys enough to get the point across. Three songs left after this to conclude this project. 


Disc 2
Track 13
What Sarah Said
Death Cab for Cutie
Plans

And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time

Hal stood before the window watching the parking lot as Agents Robinson and Mick escorted Abdul to the black SUV. Abdul’s arms swung back and forth at his sides, his chin was up. The SUV door opened and he disappeared into the backseat that was shielded by tinted windows. Hal had Agent Robinson’s business card slid between his fingers on his right hand. Lifting it up, he read it one last time before dropping it into a metal wastebasket next to a large gray file cabinet. He had spun a tale about Raheel being very dangerous for nearly a half an hour to Robinson while Abdul was being discharged. It was all lies, but it would focus the FBI on a dead man rather than staking out Abdul’s apartment. Not that they wouldn’t keep an eye on Abdul, but it was pretty clear after six weeks in prison that the man had neither the political clout to raise a fuss in the Muslim community nor the violent inclination to mastermind terrorist attacks. At least that last part Hal had made the agents believe. “A model prisoner,” Hal trumped and that the man seemed to learn from the follies of his past. Neither was really a lie. Abdul regretted a lot about his past. None of which had to do with any of his involvement in the Muslim community. As far as being violent, well, he hadn’t been that violent when he came to the Jacobs County Jail. He didn’t even appear violent as the agents took him away.

Hal knew that fact would change. For that, Hal felt a twinge of regret and guilt. He had done some terrible things over the last week or two. All of which were done to complete one goal – push Mr. Abdul Mushi over the brink.

Hal walked back to his desk and pulled out a white envelope from the top drawer on the right side. The envelope was sealed shut and addressed across the front. There was no return address. Inside were three Polaroid pictures and a small scrap of paper with one phrase scribbled across it.

“We’ve cast the first stone”

Hal turned the envelope in hands not worrying about his fingerprints. Knowing the man who received this letter would never turn this envelope over to the authorities. He wouldn’t trust them. In fact, he’d suspect them. While those thoughts brewed under his rage and grief, he’d concoct a plan. After that, Hal didn’t know what would happen. Hal’s role in the grand scheme of things was over. He had set the pieces in motion and now it was up to them to keep going.

He took the envelope over to the out-going mail bin located near the front desk and buried it a couple letters down. From there, it would be sent out to the world. Before walking away, he noticed another letter lying on top of the stack. The handwriting was scribbled and a little hard to make out, but he saw that it was addressed to her. Looking around, he grabbed the letter and placed it in the inside pocket of his suit.

When he returned to his desk, Hal turned his thoughts to another letter he was composing. The Word screen on his computer was blank except for one line.

“I, Hal Glock, am writing to inform the department of my intention to resign as Dectective for Jacobs County.”


Disc 2
Track 14
Days of Wonder
The Wallflowers
Rebel, Sweetheart

Days of wonder spent out there killing time. Now this may not leave a mark on me, but I sure as hell was there.

Three weeks later, Hal sat among brown boxes stacked sporadically around the living room of his parent’s home. It was late afternoon and his hands were black from grease. Planting season had hit full stride, but his Dad’s old tractor was still sputtering. Over the long winter, rats had made hash of the electrical system. Hal had fooled around all morning and the early afternoon before giving up. He called Evan’s Tractor Supply and they were sending a guy out as soon as possible, which could mean an hour or two days considering every farmer in the area was fighting with machinery to get the crops in.

He clicked on the old TV set, which amazingly still had a turn dial on the front and no remote. Hal would change out sets with the one from his house as soon as the crops were in. Despite it being only 4 p.m., a female news anchor’s face, which was straining to hold the most serious grimace, appeared on the screen.

“Again, the facts of this situation are not fully available,” the anchor said.

The screen changed to a scene of a pile of rubble and smoke.

“What you’re seeing now is the scene at Chicago’s largest police station. Earlier today a van drove into the front doors and moments later an explosion ripped through the building. We’re being told that hundreds of people involved in the daily operation of the station were inside including uniformed officers, detectives, clerks and countless other citizens.”

Hal reclined against one of the boxes he was previously filling with some of his parent’s old stuff.

“We’re being told that at least three other stations around the city have been attacked in a similar fashion. We have been trying to get crews to each scene but traffic around the city has been stalled and air-traffic has been completely stopped by order of the Governor.”

Hal was stunned. He didn’t need anyone to tell him who was responsible. Hal knew. He was just surprised how quickly Abdul had created a plan and found people to help him carry out the plot. Hal had picked wisely.

He remembered then the letter he picked off the pile from the outgoing mail the day of Abdul’s release. He hoped he could find it among the disaster scene that was his attempt at moving. He had never read and had meant to bury with her out in the field.

He rifled through a few of the boxes he had brought from his old place, but didn’t see it. He remembered putting it in his suit pocket. He just had to find the box with all his old clothes. Before he could find it, he heard the front door open and he forgot all about the letter.

Hal walked out to the kitchen to greet his visitor.

“Oh, have you seen the news,” Mary said while putting two paper bags of groceries on the kitchen table. When the bags were down, the small bump under her green blouse was visible.

“Yes, I was just watching it on the TV.”

“Isn’t it just horrible,” she said and wrapped her arms around him. “How could anybody do such a thing?”

“Sometimes they just do, baby. Sometimes they just do,” Hal kissed her forehead forgetting all about Abdul and the bodies buried out in the yet to be planted field.


Disc 2
Track 15
Carousel
Buckcherry
15

Baby you know that you saved me

They packed up more of his parent’s stuff that had accumulated over the years the rest of the day. No one came to repair the tractor.

They had cleaned out both bedrooms the day before and unpacked their own stuff from their former home. They both felt like the move was all about making a fresh start. Mary even liked the idea of him not working for the department. She always thought that the pressure is what led Hal to do some of things he did. She was sort of right, but mostly wrong.

About 9:30 they dropped down in front of the TV with bodies and minds too tired to do much else.

“You know Ma thinks I am crazy to come back to you,” Mary said.

“I bet.”

“She’s just looking out for me.”

“I know it, but she doesn’t have worry.”

“Doesn’t she.”

Hal turned to her and put his hand to her stomach. He smiled.

“Mary, my days of hurting people are over. “

She let a tear slide down her face. A news bulletin jumped burst onto the screen that had been showing a rerun of a sitcom and distracted them. The same anchor lady looking a little more tired and struggling more to keep her composure came onto the screen.

“The Mayor has ordered a curfew for the city of Chicago beginning immediately. He is pleading that citizens comply as the police force is currently decimated. The President has ordered in the national guard, but with roads still blocked with traffic they have been slow to reach the places they are needed.”

Scenes of the Chicago skyline with flames visible in several places came onto the screen. Hal guessed the news station had rented a boat to get the shot.

“Rumors are running rampant that an underground extreme Muslim group may be responsible,” the lady anchor continued. “Already, enraged citizens have congregated and retaliated. At least three mosques have been set on fire.”

The lady anchor paused then with emotion almost seeming to overcome her. The next brief look said that she thought they deserved it.

“I apologize, but my husband worked for the police department for 10 years before switching careers. We had a lot of friends in several of these buildings. I have hard time finding my composure and any sympathy for those responsible for this.”

The lady anchor shuffled papers on the desk in front of her hoping that most of the audience would forget what she just said.

“We’ll have more on this story on you nightly news at 10.”

“Oh Hal, I can’t watch this stuff anymore tonight,” Mary said resting her head on his shoulder.

He kissed her head.

“Let’s go up to bed then.” He got up and turned the TV off and the room went dark.

Red's CD Project Part 10

Note: I am having to spend a lot time thinking about sequencing as I close in on the conclusion of my story. It's hard when you know you only have so many parts left. You don't want to make anything feel too rushed or out of place. The last two sections here are one's that I've thought about for quite awhile. I wanted some emotion to really leak out in those parts. 

Disc 2 

Track 10
Change Your Mind
All American Rejects
Move Along

It’s just your doubt that binds you. Just drop those thoughts behind you. Change Your mind.

“So what will you do now?”

Abdul stood and turned away. His lawyers had won his release. It would become official in 24 hours when the FBI escorted him back to his home. This was unexpected turn and one that forced Hal to move forward a bit faster than he expected.

Hal’s cell phone exploded in the holster he kept on his belt buckle. Both he and Abdul jumped at the sound. Hal looked at the number and answered.

“Mary?”

“Hal we need to talk.”

“Can it wait? I am working right now.”

“Okay. When?”

“I am going to need a week or two before I’m ready.”

“Hal.” Mary sounded irritated on other end.

“I am not ready yet.”

“Fine.” The line went dead on the other end. Hal folded his phone over and returned it to its holster.

Abdul spun around slowly.

“Who’s Mary?”

“My wife.”

“Wife? Hmm.”

“We’re separated right now.”

“Is that your fault?”

“Mostly.”

Abdul seemed to lose interest and dropped back down on his cot and stared up at the ceiling.

“Do you love her Detective?”

“More than anything.”

“Are you going to get her back?”

Now it was Hal’s turn to go quiet. He avoided the subject of Mary in his mind even more than he had when any of his coworkers had brought her name up. Abdul sat up.

“Detective?”

“I’ve come to realize when you lose everything that you care about, you’ll do anything it takes to get it back.”

“If it’s gone for good?”

“Then, I suppose that’s when a man has nothing left to lose.”

They both fell silent. Never had Hal wanted a hiss or a howl to sound out in his life to break the honesty dwelling in the room. For the first time, he and Abdul were two men talking as men.

“They call mine, Misba.”

“Yours. I didn’t know you were married.”

“I am not, although she very much wanted to be a long time ago. I was stupid not to accept that. Now, I guess you could say we are separated.”

“You love her then.”

“More than Allah. I realize that now.”

Hal felt his hold over Abdul slipping. For these few moments, he almost wanted to let it go.

“Where do you go now?”

“I am going to go to her. I have decided that is what is best. We will leave here and find happiness while it still lasts in the world.”

“That’s admirable.”

Abdul shrugged and met Hal’s eyes with an honest stare.

“What does Misba mean?”

“It’s means innocent in Arabic. It is a beautiful, is it not?”

Warm blood pumped through Hal’s veins and he remembered his duty. His intention was not to be friends with this man. Inside the wolf stirred and the blood of the lamb touched his lips.

“What if the world were to take her away?”

Abdul didn’t hesitate.

“Then I would make that world pay.”


Disc 2
Track 11
Stage Fright
The Band
Greatest Hits

The moment of truth is right at hand, just one more nightmare you can stand

Hal parked across the street from her home. It was mid-afternoon and a warm spring breezed wafted from the street into his open window. He thought about calling Mary about this morning’s conversation, but he knew he couldn’t. He was too on edge. His hands were shaking and he felt the compulsion to continually rub and scratch his face even thought it did not itch. He watched the small brick house and saw no movement behind the windows.

Hal turned on the CD player, keeping the volume down as to not draw too much attention. Mick Jagger began to sing.

“I told you once and I’ve told you twice. You’d better listen to my advice…”

She came into view in the distance. She wore a blue garment that covered everything and a yellow scarf wrapped neatly around her head and under her chin. She was carrying a brown paper bag that appeared to be full of groceries.

“I’m sorry girl but I can’t stay. Feeling like I do today...”

As she drew closer, he could see why Abdul loved her. She was tall and even in the unflattering Islamic garb he could tell that she had nice curves.

“I’ve told you once and I’ve told you twice. Someone’ll have to pay the price...”

She was a block away when he pulled the ignition to kill the engine and the music. The keys jingled as he slid them clumsily into his pant’s pocket.

She was two houses away from her own when he opened the car door and stepped out. She did not notice him. He crossed the street with weak knees that made him almost teeter over as she climbed the steps.

“Excuse me, Miss.” He squeaked out like a middle-school boy asking a girl out onto the dance floor.

She seemed to float in the air as she turned to him. Her eyes startled him. They were big and dark with a thin circle of almost purple around the pupil. Her face was calm and never lost that serenity even in the end.

“Miss…” he stumbled to find the words. She was a beautiful, but that was not causing his nerves to jump into high gear.

She put the bag of groceries on the stoop and came to him. Standing right in front of him, she put her finger to his check and traced along his shaving scar.

“For the past week, I have dreamt of you,” Her voice was low, but soft. “But not of you, but of this.” She spoke and traced the scar again.

“Except you were not a man, but a giant wolf chasing me through a field. I’d run until my legs started to hurt and I’d turn to see you at my ankles.”

“You have to come with me,” Hal said so far under his breath that he wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

Her eyes moved to his and they almost forced him to his knees to beg for forgiveness.

“You have to, I can not stop it now,” Hal choked out in fear that he’d start crying.

Her eyes never left his.

“I know,” she said.

Ripping his eyes away, he wiped at his brow and pointed across the street.

“There’s my car.”

“I see.”

They walked across the street and he opened the passenger door for her. He came around the front of the car and dropped behind the wheel. He turned the engine and the last chorus of the Stones song softly hit the speakers.

“This could be the last time. Maybe the last time. I don’t know. Oh no…”

Hal flipped the sound off.


Track 12
Into the Ocean
Blue October
Foiled

I’m cold as cold as cold can be

She stood before the last of the trinity of graves with the sun setting in the sky in front of her. She removed her scarf allowing the long curls of her brown hair to hit her shoulders.

She had not spoke the entire quiet drive. She only hummed a few times so low that he could not make out much of a tune.

When he parked behind the barn, he pointed to where they were going and she immediately opened the car door. She glided straight out while Hal retrieved the stone from the fresher of two recently covered graves.

For a few minutes, she stood before the grave looking down at the cold sod. Then she looked to the sky and raised her hands ups. To Hal’s surprise, she began to dance. Moving without effort in front of her soon-to-be resting place, she twirled and spun. Her arms moved smoothly and invitingly. The dance lasted quite awhile and by the time she finished, she was breathing very hard and tears were resting in the corners of Hal’s eyes.

She finished again facing the grave. She turned her head to him who had moved right behind her.

“Do you wish to say prayer?”

“My dance was my final offering. I believe it pleased Allah very much. Now, you must make your offering.”

Hal wiped away snot that was leaking from his nose as she turned back to the sunset. Above streaks of purple raced from the horizon across the sky. They looked like huge bruised fingers trying to reach into the world.

Hal brought the stone down once and she fell to the soil. That was all it took and all he had left.

He fell to his knees feeling the years of unease, of anger, of hate, of evil drain from him and soak into the ground with Misba’s innocent blood. Off in the distance, a rumble came from a storm not yet visible.

Red's CD Project Part 9

Note: Well folks we continue our slow descent into hell with a couple interesting pieces this week. When I go back through and do an edit of this when its finished, I'll probably need to add a some time between the beginning of the story and these segments, especially the second one here, to make it a little more realistic. 

Disc 2

Track 7
Radio Nowhere
Bruce Springsteeen
Magic

Just searchin’ for a world with some soul

Abdul woke with a scream and sweat beading at his brow. He jumped from his bed and looked up toward his window. The sky outside was a dark purple and transitioning to a blue. In his dream, there had been a sajada – a beautiful one with vibrant green and blues and an intricate design. He knew that prayer rug. It was the favorite of his close friend’s Jaleels. One his mother had given him before he left for America.

Jaleels was an Iman, the leader of Abdul’s mosque, and a peaceful man. A man that nobody, even Christians, could find reason to dislike.

Jaleels had not been in Abduls dream, only his sajada. It was laid out on a muddy turf and in the distance the sun was peaking off the eastern horizon. In front of the rug was a gap in the ground, a hole that dropped down and out of sight of his dream’s eye.

In the middle of the rug was a pool of thick, red liquid. It was blood and as his dream zoomed in, he could see that it was smeared all over of the rug.

“They got him,” Abdul whispered thinking of the dream as he stood in the cell. “They got him.”

Tears burst to his eyes as he fell to the floor in prayer.

“Allah, please hear me,” Abdul wailed. “Please, I beg answer me.”

The cell, the jail, everything was silent.

“Not my friend. Please Allah, comfort me,” Abdul begged and pressed his nose to the floor.

Minutes passed and it grew lighter outside of his cell window. There was not even a clock to tick away the seconds as they turned to minutes.

Then it started up.

“Hssss.” It came from outside the cell yet echoed off every wall and bounced around Abdul’s ears.

“Hssss.”

“I hear it now,” Abdul said raising his head. “I hear it well.”

For all these months, Abdul had ignored the obvious answer to his separation from Allah. The infidels were silencing his God; they were muting him from answering Abdul’s prayers. There was only one cure for this disease.

“Jihad.” Abdul said and stood up.


Disc 2
Track 8
Square One
Tom Petty
Highway Companion

Last time through I hid my tracks. So well I could not get back.

Mary didn’t think she was going to make it this time. She awoke and felt the urge swell up in her belly and then rush toward her throat. She only managed a quick glance at the red numbers on her alarm clock, which read “5:01” in big numerals and “a.m.” in small letters in the right hand corner, before she made a dash from her bed to the door. Down the hallway and into the bathroom, she switched the light on and made a dive for the toilet as a stream of vomit shot out from behind her lips. That was all that came out, but she wretched for a good 10 minutes. Tears ran down from her eyes and her hair fell in front of her face.

After lying next to toilet for several minutes, she managed to stand up and get to the sink. Above the sink was a mirror and she saw how bloodshot her eyes looked. She washed off her face and fumbled for her toothbrush.

“That’s three mornings in a row, Mary,” the voice made Mary jump and drop the toothbrush into the sink.

“Jesus, Mom.” Mary picked up the toothbrush and continued to scrub. Her mother wearing a pink nightgown and a pair of bunny slippers was standing in the doorway. Her wrinkles and frazzled hair from sleeping made her look 10-years older.
“You know what this is, don’t you?” Her mom’s eyes studied Mary.

“Mom.”

“Look, don’t you think you at least should get it checked out.”

“I suppose.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“No. Not yet.”

Disc 2
Track 9
Coconut Skins
Damien Rice
9

Tell them God just dropped by to forgive our sins and relieve us our doubt.

The first splashes of orange hit the eastern horizon and Hal looked down at his watch. He could feel fatigue in his bones and sleep tempting his eyes to close. It had been 10 minutes and the guy still hadn’t stopped praying.

He called it “fajr” meaning pre-dawn and begged him the entire drive back to allow him to perform this rite before meeting Allah.

At the time, Hal figured the prayer would take a couple seconds and he’d take care of business quickly and then get some sleep before going into work. Instead, the prayer dragged on and on, as the man knelt on top of the brightly colored rug he had brought along. Hal still thought it funny, but this man seemed absolutely prepared for this moment. It’s like at any point in his life, the man thought that death might come to his door hours before sun up, threaten him at gunpoint and drive him to the middle of nowhere. He begged to bring the rug and clutched it to his chest the entire drive here.

It was as admirable as it was absurd.

Up and down, the man went while chanting lines in Arabic. Every time, he stood up Hal thought it was finally time to end this. Instead, the man burst into a line and fell back to the rug.

Finally, the man stood looked to the right and said “Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah.” He turned to the left and repeated the saying. Then he turned around and faced Hal.

“What did that last part mean?”

“Peace be upon you and God’s blessings.”

“Hmmm. That took a little longer than I would have liked.”

“Prayer is an offering to Allah. We do it at least five times each day. Do you not wish to please your God? Do you not make him an offering?”

“Well, my man, there’s only one kind of offering that guys like me make that God seems to take much notice of.”

A peculiar look came over the man’s face.

“Qabil?”

Hal smiled.

“You bet.”

Hal thrashed forward bringing the stone down on the right side of the man’s face above his eye. Hal heard a crack and a popping sound. The man fell to his knees on the rug, his eyeball dropped on it moments after. The man let out screams of pain.

“Doe Allah hear you now? I think he does and I think he meant this to happen.”

Hal brought the stone down three more times on the back of the man’s head till he was silent. A pool of blood formed on top of the rug.

Hal walked over to his car and retrieved the Polaroid camera he kept in there for crime scenes. He snapped a couple shots like he had his first sacrifice then rolled him into the hole. He half expected the earth to burp after receiving its meal.

He filled the hole and then went up to the house to get an hour or two of sleep.

Red's CD Project Part 8

Note: This was one of the harder parts to get down. The second section here I was trying to be careful and precise with what was being said. Then I was just blocked on the last section. Hopefully it turned out OK. 


Disc 2
Track 4
Nearly Beloved
The Wallflowers
Rebel, Sweetheart

You play your fiddle, baby, I’ll play dumb

They both wore dark suits and straight, solid-colored ties. Hal thought to be completely cliché the pair of agents should have been wearing oversized sunglasses even when indoors. The taller one, Mick, wore his short hair gelled firm to his head with each dark strand precisely combed into place. He was too tan for Illinois in spring. Hal figured he shelled out hundreds of dollars a year for tanning beds or that fake stuff people spray on their skin to turn it orange.

The other guy was older, up to 15 years, than his partner. He was a black fellow whose stomach ballooned out in front and who went by the name Robinson. He was balding and clearly tired of his job. He sat across from Hal while Mick stood.

“We grilled him for two hours and got nothing useful,” Robinson said while lifting a styrofoam cup of coffee to his lips. Chief was at a luncheon for local officials leaving Hal as the highest-ranking member of the staff for the two FBI guys to pump for information. “Have your or anybody else around here heard him mention this Raheel character? It could be very important.”

“Sorry, guys I really haven’t spent a minute with him since he was transferred in. What’s the big deal about this Raheel guy? Isn’t Abdul the one you want behind bars?”

Mick paced on the other side of the desk.

“Raheel dropped off our radar three days ago,” Mick said with a clear fidget. “We don’t like that. We don’t like that at all.”

Hal leaned back suppressing the small ball of nerves settling in his gut.

“Look, when a guy like this goes under you don’t see him till he’s flying a plane into a building or driving a van full of fertilizer into a daycare center,” Robinson said calmly and coolly. He was much more used to the pressures of the job than the younger Mick.

“Didn’t you say there was a sign of a struggle at his apartment? Maybe someone took him,” Hal walked the line knowing where that lead could end up.

“Unlikely,” Robinson said and drank again. “We think it was staged to throw us off his trail.”

“I’d love to help where I can boys, but I don’t really think anyone here knows anything,” Hal said.

“You’re the ranking detective on staff?” Robinson asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, why don’t you get to know our boy a little better. See if you can’t get him talking about this Raheel, a little. Maybe we can get a better idea of their connection, maybe get a glimpse of what might be going down.”

Robinson stood up. Hal jumped to his feet, almost in attention.

“I’ll give it a try.”

“You could save a lot of lives,” Mick jumped back into the conversation.

Robinson eyed his partner for a moment before handing Hal a card.

“Just call that number if you find out anything.”

“Alright, then.”

Hal shook Robinson’s hand and then watched them walk away.

“I sure will let you know. I tell you exactly what you want to hear.” Hal whispered slipping the card into the inside pocket of his sport’s jacket.


Disc 2
Track 5
Your Heart is an Empty Room
Death Cab for Cutie
Plans

And start new when your heart is an empty room

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Hal had brought a folding chair in and set it up outside of Abdul’s cell. Sitting cross-legged on the cold steel, Hal stared between the bars at Abdul, who sat upon his cot. Abdul’s eyes were fixated on Hal. He held a brooding, heavy glare piercing out at everything. It reminded Hal of a pack of starving dogs that the force had found caged out in country a few years back. Their owner had been an elderly man who lived alone in a small shack. When the man died in his bed, no one knew. It was weeks before his body was discovered. His six dogs were frantic when they saw the policemen arrive. If any of the officers had let them out right away, the dogs would have torn every inch of flesh from the man’s body before moving on. That was the same look that Abdul’s eyes carried. He was close to where Hal wanted him, but not quite there yet. Anger blended with reason and calculation is what Hal wanted, not just hot rage.

“How did you say you got that cut on your face,” Abdul finally said.

“Shaving? Why does it matter?”

“It’s looks too deep to be an accidental cut. It has a funny shape to it.” Hal forgot that Abdul had studied medicine in an earlier life. “It’s looks like someone carved it on there. Like it was some sort of mark or reminder or a bad omen.”

“Just a sharp blade and an unsteady hand, I am afraid.”

“Hummph.” Abdul went silent again.

“You know those FBI guys want me to pump you for information on that Raheel guy.”

“They got everything I know. I’ve nothing to hide.”

“Really?”

“I barely know the guy. I’ve spoken with him maybe a half dozen times over the last five years and it’s been a year or so since the last time. He’s just somebody with the same colored skin and same set of beliefs, so we must be best friends, right?”

“Do you think he’s up to something?”

“Possibly. I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Raheel loves attention. If he were up to something, he’d broadcast it loud enough for everyone to hear. Disappearing would be too hard on him?”

Hal smirked and let the topic drop. While scratching behind his ear, he leaned forward and indicated that Abdul should come closer.
“You know those FBI guys just like to get in the way.”

Abdul crinkled his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aren’t all you guys the same?” Abdul asked. “All you law guys?”

Hal made his face as serious as he could.

“No fucking way, my man. Those FBI guys, they are just tools for the politicians. Every perp they catch, every drug bust, is only done to further some suits career in Washington. They aren’t catching criminals. They are making them. It’s all a show. They aren’t the police force.”

Abdul moved to right in front of the bars of the cell and fell to his knees. It was the posture of a man close to prayer. A Christian man at least, a man like Abdul would be putting his nose to the ground for his praying.

“Have you ever thought about who is really in control of this country?”

“How do you mean?”

“Think about the police force that spans this nation. Thousands of men and women all trained the same and armed. They are on the streets of every village, town, city and metropolis. Every person runs to them for help, for answers, for order.”

“So?”

“So what if we were finally able to give it to them? What if every department in every corner of the map worked together to eliminate the vermin of our society? We’ve already rounded up hundreds of thousands of them and caged them. Those would be easy to destroy. The rest – the dissenters and the troublemakers – well those people could just start disappearing.” Hal said this final sentence with his finger pointed outward.

“Disappearing?”

“Oh, I was just coining a phrase.”

“Your people wouldn’t allow this. Your laws forbid it.”

“We are the law, Abdul. We are the people. In every community, we’re there with family and friends that love us and support us and trust us. If we say this is right, they’ll agree.”

“What of your FBI?”

“We’ll they do pose a problem, but like I said they are nothing more than puppets of the politicians. No politician is going to oppose the police, it would be political suicide.”

“So the police are the one’s to stop?”

Hal grinned.

“You can’t stop it. It’s too late for that. All you can do is fight in every way you can think of?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Abdul looked confused. Hal shook his head and stood up.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? Where do you think you’re going to go when we finally let you out of this cage?”

Hal spun and walked away, he thought he could almost hear a hissing sound coming from the man he left back in the cell.


Disc 2
Track 6
Maybe It’s Just Me
Butch Walker
Letters

It’s not a contest of who’ll try harder. Or who’ll cross the finish line.

Hal left work that day early and drove out to this parent’s farm. He stopped at the house and popped the trunk. He pulled out the chest that still caused him some repulsion to touch. That was the human side of him screaming at the grim facts contained inside. He carried it upstairs to the attic back to where it had resided for decades earlier.

After that, he went out to a shed and retrieved a shovel. He walked back behind the barn and found a plot of earth that was obviously freshly covered. He had been careful to find every piece of hair or fragment of bone and threw to the bottom of the cruelly dug grave before refilling it.

He stood at the edge of the muddy turf and faced south and then stepped off a hundred feet. There he sunk the shovel’s head into the field and started to dig. It was cool out creating an odd sensation as his muscles started to burn. He went about four feet deep before widening it out.

He stepped out of the hole and then walked north fifty feet back in the direction of the first grave. There he turned west and walked out another hundred feet and began to dig.

The sun was low in the sky when he finished. He walked up to the barn that inclined up to its big sliding doors. He watched the sun sink on the horizon and noting how the two empty holes seemed to cast a shadow reaching toward the barn.

“They’re hungry to be filled,” Hal whispered. “We’re going to satisfy one of you by morning.”

“Did you hear that!” he screamed. “I’ll take care of one of you by the morning.”

Red's CD Project Part 7

Note: We pick up the pitch in terms of pace and violence in this part. I thought about having the first two sections here one long part, but I decided to break them up. This is the start to the quick burn that has to be made to reach a resolution. I have five more parts to go and a lot of things to get done, I hope I've paced myself correctly. 



Disc 2
Track 1
Hands Open
Snow Patrol
Eyes Open

Well, it makes it easier to know exactly what I want.

The thuds started an hour into the drive back. Loud and persistent was the sound of rubber souls banging against the carpeted interior of the Sedan’s trunk. Hal could make out the muffled cries over the hum of the engine and during the breaks between songs of the Rolling Stone’s “Forty Licks” CD he had bought before leaving for Chicago earlier that day. It was the fourth shuffle through the first disc of the album, which contained the songs he really wanted to hear, when the sounds from the back started.

Hal had known this one would put up the biggest fight. The man didn’t seem to hold any sort of job. He was an antagonist like Abdul, but he was much more comfortable with violence and using extremes. Countless members of the local, national and global Muslim community funded him. Even so, he lived in a meager apartment with three rooms a few miles south of the Loop. Hal had waited for three hours inside the apartment for him to return. Hal had broke in easily enough. It was a poor area where neighbors kept their eyes away from peepholes and other people’s business.

When the man showed up, it was a blur of fists and kicks until the butt of Hal’s revolver found the man’s temple.

Still the guy came to when Hal dumped him into the trunk with the man’s hands bound and mouth gagged. Hal gave him another shot, this time between the eyes, which knocked him cold again. That lasted until a few minutes before they were going to pull off the interstate. The muffled screams were increasing in volume and the kicks more panicked.

“Man, this guy just won’t let it go.” Hal said under his breath.

Hal reached over and turned the dial up. His blood rushed through his veins as he sang along. The sounds in the back were drowned out.

Hal sang.

“You better stop, look around. Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes…”


Disc 2
Track 2
What If We Could
Blue October

On a park bench. On a skyscrape. On a mountain. Oh yeah, whatever it takes.

“I look inside myself and see my heart is black.” Mick Jagger’s voice blared as Hal killed the Sedan’s engine behind the barn at his father’s farm. The farmhouse, the buildings and the land were all Hal’s now. At least, it was his until he decided to sell it. To his surprise, everything was quiet from the trunk.

It was nearly pitch black, the yard light was nearly blocked out by the huge, old white barn. Out on the barren surface of the early spring field, a triangle formed of shadow where the light reached over the barn’s roof.

Hal retrieved a flashlight from the glove compartment and drew his revolver.

“This is sloppy.” He scolded himself.

He walked to the back of the car wondering what sort of scene he would find in the trunk. He more than hoped that the man had choked on his gag. Taking one last breath, he balanced the gun and flashlight in his right hand and slid the key into the lock with his left. He turned it until the mechanism clicked.

The trunk burst open, hitting the gun and flashlight out of his hand. Hal fell backward, as the man jumped out. Hal had forgot to bind his legs. The man connected with a kick to Hal’s groin forcing him to his knees. The man landed another kick to Hal’s ribs before making a run for it.

Hal’s hands started searching the weeds for his gun or the flashlight. He found something else first. It was round, hard with a smooth surface. Hal stood and made out the man clumsily trying to run through the empty field. A couple blows to the head had made the man unstable and uncoordinated.

Hal was thirsty for action. In high school, he had been an All-State sprinter. He was to his feet in an instant and after the man. The object in his hand felt like the shot that the big guys put during the field events. Hal, however, had no plans of tossing this object.

Right on the line where the light started to reach over the barn’s roof, Hal caught the man and knocked him down. Hal jumped on top, pinning the man face down to the ground. With the object grasped in his hand, Hal started to pummel the back of the man’s skull and neck.

Hal counted 38 strikes with wet thuds and cracking skull and bone accompanying each one. His hand was soaked in a sticky warm fluid. It squished between his fingers and the object. The whimpering from the blows had stopped after the second one, but Hal’s adrenaline continued to flow.

Off in the distance, a howl sounded.

The cracks and snaps continued.

Hal’s breathing was heavy, almost a growl as he gasped for air.

Hal left the body in the field that night. He walked up to his parent’s house, retrieved the key from a hiding place behind a windowsill with his weapon still grasped in his hand. Once inside, he switched on a light. Blood soaked his sleeve up to his elbow. A smooth gray stone, stained red, twice the size of his fist was in his hand. He had to peal his fingers off it. His grip had been so tight.

He slept in his old room that night. He slept well and took care of the body in the morning.


Disc 2
Track 3
What Goes On
The Velvet Underground
The Best of the Velvet Underground

What goes on in your mind? I think I am falling down.

Misba,

Our people should never have come to this forsaken land. That much is clear to me now. I am sure the Americans have sealed their deal with the devil with the blood of our people. I plead for you to leave before they get to you, my innocent one. I fear, though, that there is no escape even in the safest haven or the holiest of lands.

I, a man humbled before Allah, feel compelled to move in ways completely foreign to my being.

Misba, I am compelled.

All night, the snake hisses now. The bars of this cell shrink around me. When I close my eyes, when I dream, I see the teeth barred and the blood dripping till it flows like a river. Terrified and repulsed, I am yet thirsty. The howl calls me.

I am compelled.

Abdul

Red's CD Project 6

Note: Kind of a quick couple of scenes here to wrap up the first disc. I didn't get a chance to do this yesterday, and I am sort of under the gun a little today, but I think it turned out OK.


Disc 1
Track 16
Open Your Eyes
Snow Patrol
Eyes Open

Every minute from this minute now. We can do what we like anywhere.

The jail smelled like a grade school classroom after some snot-nosed brat emptied his stomach all over his desk. It was the odor of day-old sweat, aging-filed paper and the generous use of cleaning products trying to mask everything else out. It sank into the nostrils until eventually you didn’t notice it until you smelled it on your clothes when you made it home.

Hal found he had missed it during his short hiatus. A dispatcher by the name of Kathy Ferguson sat behind the desk inside the front door and greeted him with a surprised smile. Captain William O’Hurley, a devout Irish-Catholic that kept a cross and a bottle whiskey in his top desk drawer, pleaded with him to head back home. Hal shrugged him off. This was where he had to be.

After the usual questions following a death in the family and some more discussion centered on his coming back too soon, everyone left him alone.

Once he felt all the eyes leave him, he retrieved the file that was the sole reason he had returned to the jail. Opening it, he was greeted with the dark mug of the man sitting in a cell not more than 100 yards away. He flipped it over and started scanning the pages for family names, friends, and any significant acquaintance. It wasn’t as detailed or thorough as Hal would have liked. The boys in Chicago were providing the Jacobs County Department only the need to know kind of stuff. But there was a sizeable list of names, some with pictures, of people to keep an eye out for in the community just in case one of Abdul’s friends decided to pay an impromptu visit.

His jotted them down with any information including addresses, phone numbers and places of business in a note pad he used when an actual case came his way.

Studying the list, Hal finally settled on three names and circled them.

“That will do,” Hal whispered.

It was time for him to make a short road trip, but before he could leave, he had one more person he had to see.


Disc 1
Track 17
I Will Follow You Into The Dark
Death Cab for Cutie
Plans


If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks. Then I’ll follow you into the dark.


“They told me of your father’s passing,” Abdul said remaining balled up on the cot in the corner, he knees pressed up against his chest.

“Did they?”

“I would have expected you to take more days off.”

“I couldn’t stay home any longer. I guess you could say it was driving me a little nuts.”

“What happened to your face?”

Hal reached up and touched the pad of gauze on his right cheek.

“Oh, just a shaving accident.” Abdul stood up, the light from the window hitting his face. Dark bags sagged under his eyes and his brown skin seemed two shades lighter. “You look like crap.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Feeling guilty?”

“No, no. That’s not it all.”

“Maybe you’re starting to see the big picture.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Abdul came closer.

“Maybe you’re finally seeing and hearing the things in your soul that you’ve always tried to silence.”

Abdul made no answer, his eyes only glared back from the other side of the steel bars.

“I can tell you how we’re going to do it.”

“Do what?” The words came out from behind his clenched teeth.

“Well get rid of all you towel-head bastards, of course.”

“Has it started?”

“Not yet.”

They talked for several minutes before Hal slipped away from Abduls private cell with beads of sweat on his forehead and a sneer curling on his lips.



End of Disc 1. Please insert Disc 2. Thank You.

Red's CD Project Part 5

Disc 1
Track 13
9 Crimes
Damien Rice
9

And is that alright? Yeah. Give my gun away when it’s loaded. That alright. Yeah.


Hal read.

“I, first son of Adam, toiled in the fields with nothing that grew filling the uneasy urge in my stomach. I felt compelled. I heard the snake slither in the weeds. When the fruit on the tree was ripe, I heard the wolf in the thicket. My brother’s flock was restless. The Lord came. Our offerings were ready.”

There was dizziness in Hal’s head as time bent on itself and the words appeared in live action across his vision.

“I was wroth as we stood under the bright sun. Abel beamed, full of the Lord’s love. He was favored. I heard the snake’s hiss. I felt the thorns of the thicket tear at my skin. I was compelled. Abel smiled. Could he not hear the wolf’s growl?”

Hal grinned.

“I planted my brother in the dust and the dirt. He will not grow. His blood stained the grains of dust red and my heart eased. My stomach ceased to hurt. I do not hear the snake. The wolf has moved on. It grows late and the Lord shall come soon.”

The phone rang, but Hal ignored it. He was hungry, but he did not stop to eat.

“The Lord cast me away to the land of Nod. The Lord allowed me a wife of my choosing. I took Abel’s wife. She was suitable. I am content.”

A putrid smell came from the open chest, but Hal did not close it.

“My wife has bore a son. I have named him Enoch. He is restless and rarely sleeps. I believe he hears the hiss and the howl. I see the mark, although my wife denies it. We have built a city in Nod, I believe Enoch shall destroy it.”

Hal read the rest of the day and very late into the night. The book passed through the generations. Name a historical atrocity and line of Cain was behind it in some form or fashion. It ended with his father’s stirring of chaos and confusion during the Civil Rights movement by the assassination of key figures. While he was quite successful, he attempted to sway nearly 150 other attempts that failed for various reasons.

Hal placed the book back in the chest at 2 a.m. It disappeared when it touched the bottom and the pile of artifacts reemerged. He was tempted to look through those, but instead he closed the chest.

Hal needed his rest. He had a lot of work to do.



Disc 1
Track 14
Promise
Butch Walker
Letters

Well I fumbled for a pencil. And my I’m so sorry pad

Misba,

I do not know why I write this. I have intended to keep my promise to spare you the pains that have become of me. I have dearly wanted to save you and your family from any suspicion, but I am afraid that my sending of this will only incriminate you. The police will read it that I am sure. They will ask you what you know of me. I beg tell them only the truth.

You must believe that I did not do what they claim. I have been a loud voice in a restless time. By banishing me to this rural jailhouse, I am silenced for the time being. My captors know I am innocent. They will soon let me go, but will continue to watch.

But all of this is not why I write. For so long, I have depended upon you as my spiritual beacon. I have been troubled. I have prayed long hours and all for nought. I do not believe Allah is listening to me. My whole life, I felt his comforting presence in my prayer.

I am troubled.

Coldness settles over this cell. Something terrible lurks around. I feel it inside. Last night, I heard a snake from outside my window hissing. I did not know such snakes lived in this area of the country.

Yours,

Abdul


Disc 1
Track 15
From the Bottom of My Heart
The Wallflowers
Rebel, Sweetheart

From the bottom of my heart comes a cold dark feeling. There is eminent death to the promise I’m keeping


Hal nicked his cheek while shaving the next morning. Blood squirted out like it was trying to run away from his body. For ten minutes, he held a towel to his face and it turned a deep red.

Finally, the blood stopped and he finished his duty of ridding his face of the dark stubble peaking through his skin. Afterward, he jumped into the shower. He sang an old Stones tune that he hadn’t heard in years as he soaped up. He couldn’t think of the name of it though.

After 15 minutes, he shut off the hot water and wiped off the clouded mirror. Blood had bubbled on his cheek again. He wiped it away revealing the long curved scar that looped just below his eye to his jaw. He didn’t think he had cut that much of his skin, but this looked deep enough that it might leave a mark. Blood came to the surface again and he fumbled for some gauze and tape. He would have to keep it covered for a while.

He nearly laughed. He remembered his dad having a similar scar on his cheek. Hal never asked where it had come from.

The name of the song popped into his head.

“Sympathy for the Devil,” he said aloud to himself and the rest of the voices hanging around his head. He sang it word for word while he put on his suit. He finished it up when he found his service revolver draped over a coat hook near the front door. He had always been careless with his gun.

He started to sing again.

“Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste. I’ve been around for a long, long time. …”

Red's CD Project Part 4

Note: I sort of rushed through the last part. I still like how this tends to turn from where I think it is going. Enjoy.


Disc 1
Track 10
Overweight
Blue October
Foiled

But are we scared to take the ride? Or dare to look inside?

Hal picked up the note, almost knowing what it said before he read even a word. The paper shook in his trembling hands. It was the hall pass to hell. It was the permission he was looking for. It was the incentive, the purpose for his plan.

He studied the letter one last time.

Hal,

When this is all over, call me. Then we can start again.

Love,

Mary.

He released the paper and it floated in the air. Then it caught a current of air and glided across the room till it hit a stronger current and changed direction. Finally, it found the floor, and so did his knees as he collapsed in grief and relief to the floor.

The paper looked like ashes skipping the air. It looked like dust coming off the rubble of a tall building. Hal bent over and embraced the chest, it had a cold, haunting touch. Yet, clarity hit him in a rush.

Lifting his head, the name came from deep inside.

Abdul Mushi

Hal grinned as the plan tickled in the synapses of his brain.

Disc 1
Track 11
Sweet Jane
The Velvet Underground
The Best of the Velvet Undeground

And anyone who ever played a part. Oh wouldn't turn around and hate it!

"It means Servant of the Reckoner," Abdul Mushi explained his name and spat on the floor of his cell.

It was three weeks earlier that Mushi had been transfered to a cell in Jacobs County jail from the boys up in Chicago. Mushi was suspected of helping a terrorist group carry out a few small acts of violence.

It took Hal about five minutes to know that Mushi was full of shit and had the backbone of a jellyfish.

"Well, I bet nobody up there or down here reckoned you'd end up here," Hal quipped on a slow day when he decided to visit the jail's most famous resident.

Abdul was an instigator, that was for sure. But he was more like the kid that yells fight on the playground rather than the one going out and brawling with the biggest boy in the class.

"You can't hold me forever. I may be Muslim, but I know my rights," Abdul growled, but had muffled a little bit of laugh at Hal's joke.

"Maybe not. It's not really our call," Hal said. He had read up on Abdul since his arrival and knew that he was the leader of a very vocal, but peaceful Muslim group in Chicago.

"Hmmph." Abdul turned his back to Hal. "I have done none of this. None of it."

"Then they'll set you free."

"You think," Abdul turned around, his accent growing thicker. "This is why people hate America. You go on and on about rights, but as soon as something happens, you snatch up rights like children's hands in a candy jar. I am not a vengeful man, but this makes me wish hate upon you."

"I've done nothing to you," Hal backed away even though the metal bars were between them.

"Yet. You have done nothing yet."


Disc 1
Track 12
Green Eyes
Coldplay
A Rush of Blood to the Head

I came here with a load. And it feels so much lighter. Now I met you.

Hal put the memory of the Abdul Mushi out of his head for the time being. He had a family history lesson in front of him – a lesson of a family like no other.

He opened the chest and the chest was almost completely empty. All the artifacts that had rested in there before were gone. He looked to the door and wondered if Mary had taken them, and thought it unlikely. She would have had to carry things out all day long. There was a magic, a mystery to this chest.

He reached his hand to the bottom and found a large volume with a wooden cover. There was one word, written in what he thought was hebrew, across the front.

The word was "Qayin"

The image of the wolf was there also gorging on a sheep. He flipped open the cover to a title page also written in hebrew. He nearly put the book back thinking that it was little use to him if it wasn't in English, but then the words changed.

"The curse of the Wanderer." was on the top line. Underneath was the line, "The mark of evil, as placed upon the line by the Lord."

Hal gulped and turned the page.

Red's CD Project Part 3

Note: The lyrics really helped move this story along this week and moved in the direction that was starting shape in my head. A fortunate history search also helped create a nice little connection in the first section here. Enjoy!



Disc 1
Track 7
Everything
Buckcherry
15

Your eyes. Never close your eyes. Open up your mind and you can have everything.

His grandfather had died the year that Hal’s father started his Pre-Med courses at the university. But Hal’s father had kept countless pictures on the walls of their farm home. Even though, Hal had never met Herman Glock, Sr., he knew the face staring back in the old black and white photo.

After hanging up the phone, he had been drawn back to the chest and the picture. Right underneath the picture was a small hardcover book that Hal didn’t initially notice.

He knew he shouldn’t let Mary see him so shaken and still wearing the suit from his father’s funeral the day before. But he needed to solve the mystery of the familiar looking man standing next to his grandfather in the photo.

He turned the photo over. He first noticed a very faint date wrote in black ink – 1 Nov. 1918. Underneath in much clearer blue ink was written ‘pg. 206.’

Hal sat confused for a minute before remembering the book under his grandfather’s photograph. He picked up the book with the white jacket and big, bold black letters written across the front. Hal’s stomach churned.

It was titled – “Mein Kampf” by Adolf Hitler.

Hal nearly dropped the book as he looked back at the photo. He wanted to heave. Instead, he flipped the book to page 206. It was an English translation of the book. He started reading and flipped back a few pages to figure out the context.

After a few minutes, he discerned that Hitler was discussing his recovery from temporary blindness in the fall of 1918. It was in the hospital that Hitler found out about the end of the First World War. It was in these pages that the seeds of Hitler’s hate begin to grow. At the bottom of page 206, two paragraphs were highlighted.

“The more I tried to achieve clarity on the monstrous event in this hour, the more shame of indignation and disgrace burned my brow. What was all the pain in my eyes compared to this misery?”

“There followed terrible days and even worse nights – I knew all was lost. Only fools, lairs, and criminals could hope in the mercy of the enemy. In these nights hatred grew in me, hatred for those responsible for this deed.”

Hal shivered. Herman Glock, Sr. had been in medical school when WWI started. The war thrust him into active service as Germany’s brave men came back from the frontlines in pieces. Hal’s father had told him all about this.

Herman Glock, Sr. had been alone to deal with this turmoil and his other new responsibilities. His parents had been casualties of the war.

Hal knew what had happened. Herman Glock had been working in that hospital when a passionate young, blinded soldier was wheeled in. He knew enough about medicine to know the blindness would pass, but something inside clicked. This man was exactly what or who Herman Glock had been looking for.

When Germany surrendered, it was Herman Glock who whispered it to the blind man in his bed. The days and nights that followed as the soldier’s vision cleared, Glock filled the soldier’s ears with the shame and hate that all Germans and probably all Aryans should feel. He never pulled a trigger. He simply loaded the gun.

In the mid 1930s, Herman Glock Sr. moved to America, married a young, beautiful woman and bought a farm in the Midwest. He never practiced medicine again. He didn’t have to.

Hal dropped the book and the photo in the chest and dashed to the bathroom. He only barely made it before wrenching out yellow-brown bile into the toilet bowl.


Disc 1
Track 8
Move Along
The All-American Rejects
Move Along

When everything is wrong, we move along (Go on, go on, go on, go on)

“Oh, you just look miserable.”

Hal wanted to say that she didn’t look too great either, but didn’t have time as Mary crossed the threshold and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her breasts pressed tightly against his chest.

Her face was as pale as his had been after he mustered the strength to rise from the bathroom floor and stared into the mirror above the sink. He had quickly disrobed, showered and changed into a pair of sweat pants and a black T-Shirt.

Mary was wearing a pair of jeans, a sweater and apparently no bra. She just kept talking without releasing the embrace.

“I just had the worse feeling about you since waking up. I didn’t know what to do. I told you I wouldn’t come back. But I had to see you. I don’t know why.”

“Mary, I don’t understand what you’re blabbering about. I am fine.” That would have been a lie a few minutes ago, but with her there in his arms he did, in fact, feel fine. He felt....

“I just can’t explain it right. Something was just wrong. I could sense it all balled up in my stomach. All I could think about was my dream and you. Look at you.”

She moved her shoulders back and ran her hands through his still wet black hair.

“But now…” Her words stopped again.

“But now. I feel …”

“Right” they both said in unison.

In a blur of moments, the front door slammed, clothes went flying and they somehow progressed through the entryway, through the kitchen, past the living room where the chest still ominously sat and into the bedroom.


Disc 1
Track 9
You’re All I Have
Snow Patrol
Eyes Open

There is a darkness deep in you. A frightening magic I cling to.


Goosebumps teased their way to the surface of Mary’s skin. She was standing in only her pink panties in the living room. Three feet away on the floor was the monster from her dreams.

The wolf.

It had been real in her dream. It was chasing her and everyone she loved. The blood was dripping from its fangs and no matter how fast she ran it gained on her. It was on her heels when she awoke that morning in a scream.

Right after that scream, Hal popped into her head and that had brought her back to the man she had damned to hell only a couple months earlier.

He was soundly asleep after their session of love.

But this wolf wasn’t real. It was carved into the top of an old chest. She dropped into the recliner beside the chest. Her gut told her not to open it. Her heart screamed the same. So she just sat there and traced her finger along the carving of the wolf.

It didn’t seem so scary in the light of the day, didn’t feel so wrong. In fact, there was a peace in it. There was a truth that was refreshing. She needed the wolf. They (whoever they were) needed the wolf.

She thought of Hal and sighed.

Minutes later and fully clothed, she scribbled a message on a piece of paper she found on the end table next to recliner. She left the note on top of the chest covering the wolf and walked out the front door.

Red's CD Project Part 2

Note: I made a change in the first part concerning the date that Hal's father wrote him the letter. I didn't want Hal to be that old. Anyways, I hope this keep everyone interested.


Disc 1
Track 4
Marching Bands of Manhattan
Death Cab For Cutie
Plans

Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole.

Putting the beers on the end table whose top was cluttered with magazines and a stack of newspapers, Hal reclined back in his chair, his eyes heavy by the time his head hit the cushioned headrest. Minutes earlier, he hadn't been tired at all.
He pawed through the rubble on the table to find the remote for the television, but his initial failure to find it left him even more weary. He took a swig from one of the beers and relaxed in the chair.
Like a light blinking off with a flip of a switch, he was out. For eight dreamless hours, he snored in a sleep comparable only to death.
When he awoke right before daybreak, he felt better than he had since before Mary left. His body felt lighter like all the sorrow and sadness that had collected the last two months had poured out during his sleep and now he was empty. Not happy, but not sad either.
Then he thought of the chest sitting on the floor of his kitchen and a new emotion – dread – filled him like water from a faucet turned on high.

Disc 1
Track 5
God Says Nothing Back
The Wallflowers
Rebel, Sweetheart

Open up these graves, let these bodies talk

He dragged the chest from the kitchen to the living room, placing it in front of the chair where he had slept. Before opening it, he took a drink from one of the very warm beers and contorted at the taste of the flat, stale ale.
His father had spoke of fate and destiny in his letter. Only now did that seem ironic to Hal. He had never known his father to worry about either. As a farmer, he had only been concerned about crop yields and livestock nutrition. Neither of those depended upon fate, but on hard work, weather and luck. The chest had spooked his father out of his dying dementia. It had effected him so much to write him a letter almost 30-years earlier. This all terrified Hal.
Eyeing the chest, the wood almost seemed rotten. Deep scars slashed through the grooves of the corner. If not for the brass handles on each side, he would have had a handful of slivers trying to carry it by the wood.
Inhaling one long breath, he snapped back the lock and opened the lid again. His father's letter was gone, but his eyes were instantly distracted by the massive collection of objects inside. On top, glistening for him to look at was the sight from a shotgun. A voice inside told him to pick it up and to take a look.
Closing his left eye, he put the sight up to his right eye. The image inside was in black and white. There was a parade running through the streets of a town, a man and woman rode in a car. He'd seen this before.
"Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country." The quote shot through his mind as the bullet tore through Kennedy's head.
His father had been in Dallas on November 22, 1963 with some college friends. He had told Hal so years later.
The image changed in the sight. It was New York in 1965. Malcolm X was bleeding on the floor of an auditorium. His father went to New York during that week to see where his father had landed when he migrated from Germany.
Then there was a hotel in Memphis and Martin Luther King was walking up the stairs, standing outside his room. His parents had met in Memphis in 1968.
Hal was getting dizzy.
What followed was a history lesson in assassinations and assassination attempts. Robert Kennedy, George Wallace, Gerald Ford, John Lennon. They stopped at Ronald Reagan on March 30, 1981. The day Hal was born.
But his father didn't do these things. There had been investigations and arrests made. Some of the killers had fessed right up to doing it. He knew his father had been in the same city during many of these events, but it was coincidence.
Then a thought occurred to him.
"Evil doesn't always pull the trigger." He whispered it. His father had said this once when they were watching the news on the first Gulf War. George Bush was on the screen explaining the tactics of the campaign and the words slipped right out of his father's mouth. Hal was no more than 10-years-old, but the statement sent shivers up his spine.
He put the sight down and saw the next item in the chest. It was an old photograph of two young men. He made out his grandfather immediately, even though he was very young. The man standing next to him looked eerily familiar. He picked up the photo and started to turn it over, but sound filled his ears and shock caused him to drop it.
The phone rang loud through the apartment.


Disc 1
Track 6
Pale Blue Eyes
The Velvet Undeground
The Best of the Velvet Underground

Thought of you as everything. I've had but couldn't keep

"Hello" Hal strained to wipe the fear from his voice.
"Hal? Is that you?"
"Yes, Mary. I am just..."
"You don't sound so good."
"Well...umm...it's been a hard week."
"I know it has."
They spent about 30 seconds listening to each other breath.
"Is there something you needed, Mary?"
"No, I was just calling to see if you were O.K."
"I am O.K."
They were quiet for another 30 seconds, hoping the silence would speak for each of them.
"I was thinking maybe I'd stop by for a little while. Do you have to work?"
"No....No... I mean. Mary stuff is just going on. I don't know if I can handle it."
"I think I should come over. I'm scared for you."
"Scared?"
"Yeah, I had the most terrible dream."
"Dream, Mary what are you talking about?"
"I don't know. Can't I just come and see you?"
"I'd like that."
"I'll be there in a half hour."
"Mary."
The line was dead. Hal put the receiver down and looked over to the chest.

Red's CD Project Story

Note: The Snakester and I have been working on a side project to create CDs for each other from music that we've picked up over the last couple of years. We decided to reveal the songs in a post. I've actually had the CDs made for about a week, but I've struggled finding a creative way to post them. The following sort of came to me when I sat down just to do a free writing. Sort of like Smoking Guns, I just started this without really knowing where it's going to end. But I thought it was interesting. For your information, I made two CDs with a total of 35 tracks, so this will obviously be and ongoing project for me. I'll probably try to do one once a week or so. I hope you enjoy.


“The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.” – Stephen King from On Writing.


Disc 1
Track 1
When I Paint My Masterpiece
The Band
Greatest Hits

Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble. Ancient footprints are everywhere...

Hal dropped the old wooden chest to the floor of his kitchen and left it sit. He walked over to the sink, grabbed a used cup from the counter and filled it half full with water. He drank it all down in three gulps. A window over the sink peaked out on the backyard, masked in dark except for for a few feet halfway back where the yard light reached over the garage. He didn't have to see to know that the early spring ground grass was still a burnt, dry yellow from the previous late summer, but that the soil under was saturated and soft.

Spinning away from the window, Hal watched the wooden chest. It was naturally a gray tone, but years of dust and dirt had stained it an even more dreary gray. Inlaid on the rounded top was an intricate design of a family crest. It featured a wolf rushing into a bush and hundreds of small birds fleeing in fear. Blood appeared to drip from the wolf's fangs.

Hal refilled the cup, the shake in his hand returning.

His father had told him the chest would be in the attic. That it was Hal's responsibility now. It was his turn. He didn't know what his babbling father, weary and demented from his long bout with Alzeihmer's disease, was talking about. But after his father's funeral, he climbed the stairs of his parents old farm house and found the trunk right where his near-crazed father had told him it would be.

Hal had not the guts to open the chest. The first time he touched it, he swore he heard a thousand voices filling the attic. They came in a symphony of sound so complex that he couldn't make it out. He only felt a sinister evil stir in his heart.

Now the trunk was sitting on his kitchen floor. After several minutes, he mustered the courage to open it.

Bending in front of it, he was overcome with a sense of dread, a sense that this was rite taken by hundreds before him. One that led to impending doom. The trunk was ancient – a relic of not one world's past, but many.

He pulled back the brass snap on the front and lifted. A million voices screamed in the stale air sealed inside releasing into the open atmosphere. Even the air can't stand being near this, he thought.

On top, an envelope sat with his name scribbled in his father's hand. He grabbed it quickly and shut the trunk without seeing anything else. He dragged out a chair from the table a few feet away and dropped down.


Disc 1
Track 2
Flirting with Time
Tom Petty
High Companion

I've done all that I can do, now it's up to you

Hal,

I write this because I have to. It's a letter we're all doomed to write before we're done. You are six months and a day old as I scribble this out. You're lying only a few feet away in you're crib napping when you probably should be awake. Your mother has ran to the store. I don't have much time to explain. But I don't need to. The chest speaks for itself. Inside, you'll get your answers. You'll find what you've been searching for your entire life.

Son, all men are destined for something. Each destiny balances out the great equation. This inevitably means that some men are destined for evil, for acts that ravage humanity. Our family has been fated for this from the beginning of time. The chest will show you that. Now, quickly put away this letter. Put the chest away for tonight and go to bed. Tomorrow, my son, tomorrow you find out more about destiny.

Yours,

Herman Glock, Jr.
October 31, 1981


Disc 1
Track 3
Wisemen
James Blunt
Back to Bedlam

Look who's alone now. It's not me. It's not me.

He replaced the glass of water with a bottle of beer. Actually, he replaced it with two beers – one for each hand. He handled each bottled by its cool, thin neck like he was trying to strangle the nectar inside out. The house was empty and cold. His wife, Mary, had moved out two months ago. They had only been married for two years.

He loved her. Loved her more than anything else, but his life was unsettled. He was restless and unbearable. He hated his job as a detective for the county police.

Three months into the marriage was the first time it happened. He was leaving for another long, boring day on the job. In Jacobs County nothing ever happened. Even when it did, there wasn't much detective work involved in finding out who done it. Criminals around here weren't smart. All he did was file papers and play solitaire on his computer. It frustrated him way beyond being able to stand it.

Mary hadn't woke up in time to pack his lunch. It didn't bother him that much, he rather liked picking up fast food. But when she staggered out from the bedroom into the kitchen, he backhanded her across the cheek. She fell into a ball on the floor, him standing over her too shocked to yell at her or apologize. He left and he pounded his fists into steering wheel when he got in his car.

That night he brought her flowers and begged forgiveness.

What he didn't want to admit was that he had felt better than he had in years the rest of the day. What he did became a habit. He pushed the acts like a user pushes an addiction until she had enough. She left him alone, moving back with her parents. He missed her terribly.


(To be continued)