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Authors: M.B. Julien

BOOK: Anthology Complex
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In the car, while they are driving, Mainor asks Jackson about where she
was before she came here. Jackson was a patrol officer who was in the right
place at the right time while a convenient store robbery was in progress. She
was right near the location when she got the call and was able to stop the
criminal before he could get away. What she didn't know at the time is that she
had just arrested a man who was wanted for several murders. The assassins that
these large drug operations have, he was one of them.

 

Mainor slows down and pulls up to a curb. About a block down, on the
other side of the street, there is a man nicknamed "Rock" who is
talking to a few of his associates. Mainor tells Jackson to look up far ahead,
and when he sees that she sees Rock, he says, "These are the people we are
going after. Not these guys specifically, but they will get us the bigger
fish."

 

Jackson asks if they are drug dealers. Mainor tells her that the one who
looks like he's explaining something to the others, that he's a
"lieutenant" in the organization, however Mainor is incorrect. Rock,
whose real name is Terrell Bell, has slowly begun to separate himself from the
organization after what he believes what a betrayal on his superiors' parts.

 

Mainor tells Jackson not to worry, that they have Ryan and others on
their side. Weeks before, Mainor and Ryan were given permission to lead a unit
that would help decrease crime, mainly homicides and drug trafficking, after
the murder of two young children. The last thing Mainor says to Jackson before
he starts the car to go back to the station is that she doesn't have to dress
so nice. "We're only stopping bad people, nothing else."

 

I had a dream, but now I'm awake. At first, I can't remember what the
dream was about, but after a few seconds it all comes crashing down. In the
dream I'm in some kind of jazz club. On the stage there are performers
performing a song. I'm sitting way in the back watching them. The only person I
pay attention to is the female singer, who after a while I realize is Lynne.

 

She's singing softly, what about I can't remember, but her appearance,
even more than her voice, is what's most appealing to me. White dress, a light
in her eyes. For a moment I black everything else out and the only thing that I
know for sure that is real is her beauty. Despite the fact that it's a dream,
and despite the fact that beauty is simply an idea and perception, for that
moment I feel as if I could hold the beauty she possesses. That I could find it
somewhere and keep it safe.

 

There's a knock at my door and when I answer it, it's the large woman
who lives on the third floor. She hands me an envelope and tells me it was
accidentally put in her mailbox.

 

It looks like more junk mail so I throw it in the trash. I put on my
shoes and start my travels to my parents' home. Walking across the parking lot
I notice Lynne's car. It's empty. I walk up to it and look in the driver's seat
to see what she may have been doing the last time I saw her. There's nothing
there of any significance, but as I'm walking away I notice she is sleeping in
the back seat. I wonder what she is doing there, but I don't wake her up. I
continue what short distance I have traveled so far.

 

It is said that in his heart a man plans his course, but it is the Lord
who determines his steps. If you were alive centuries ago you might have met a
philosopher who believed that each person is responsible for giving their own
lives meaning and purpose. In a dream connected to the thieves from New York,
I'm at a point where I can't figure out what to do with my life because my
partner has died and the anger I felt has begun to fade away. After some time,
I find myself in a third world country attempting to find peace and help those
who cross my path in my search to find fulfillment in life again, but not the
kind of fulfillment that required anger.

 

Sometimes I'm locked and it's hard to get in without a key. That doesn't
stop everyone though, some people like to force me open by kicking me down.
Sometimes I'm not locked, however, and people just simply walk in.

 

I used to get annoyed with people knocking on me, but that doesn't
happen anymore because no one lives here now. I also used to hate when people
would look right through me to see what's on the other side.

 

Here comes the narrator. You probably know this person as the
storyteller. Opening the gate. Climbing the steps. Now the storyteller's hand
is on my doorknob, and now I'm open for everyone to see what's inside. The
storyteller walks into the parents' home and now the storyteller's hand is on
the other doorknob and is now closing me and eventually I will say
"shut."

 

Chapter 48:

NAMELESS IDENTITY

 

Overhead, the street light hangs motionless upon the air, and across the
parking lot, inside apartment 2C, the echo of a distant sob comes willowing
across the living room and every thing is green and submarine.

 

There is not a single light on in the apartment, and if you go past the
living room and open the door on the left, you would see Lynne sitting down on
the floor with her back against the wall. You would hear her crying but you
wouldn't be able to see the blood and the bruises. Eventually she would get
tired, and she would fall asleep.

 

Sometimes our dreams can turn into nightmares. Plans we saw so clearly
become blurry, and for some of us, the blurriness causes us to forget what the
dream originally was. The dead dreams may stay dead, but some of them might
turn into nightmares to drag you down, and if you die before you wake...

 

Watching the news I see a national story about several men with
influence who were found dead in their homes. Not too many details as it's an
ongoing investigation, but it's nice to know that there are other cities out
there that also suffer from the wrath of mankind. That it's not just ours and
it's not just us.

 

I turn off the television and now my entire apartment is dark. Many
nights I'll find myself sitting in a dark apartment left alone with my
thoughts. You watch as your eyes adjust to the lack of light. There is someone
inside of you. You battle them often, and sometimes you don't even realize it.
There's someone in my head, but it's not me.

 

Derek turns the corner and makes a motion to Wallace that lets him know
that there are police officers in sight. Wallace passes on the message to the
others as Derek disappears into an alley. A police vehicle pulls up to where
three men are standing.

 

Frank Mainor and Tim Ryan get out of the police vehicle and walk up to
the three men, one of the three men being the one who shot and killed one of
the two sisters. About a block away, Rock is sitting in a parked car watching
the event, and somewhere in the other direction, Mya Jackson exits her vehicle
and is now following Derek on foot hoping that he will either lead her
somewhere or she will have the chance to talk to him in hopes of flipping him,
the latter being influenced by his age.

 

Rock takes out a phone and begins to call his boss. Not the person in
charge of the organization, but the one who talks directly to that man.
"Yo, they back."

 

The man who is second in command who just received a phone call from
Rock then calls his boss, and the two discuss how the constant appearances of these
two cops is not good for business. Things were a lot easier when the city
accepted that crime would never go away, but now there is an entire unit
dedicated to stopping these crimes. The man in charge begins to explain why you
only take the shot when the enemy is the only one in the cross-hair. If you
take enough innocent lives, people will notice.

 

Mainor, taking a bite out of his sandwich, asks one of the three men
what they think about their city's basketball team. One of the three men begins
to explain how the roster was too imbalanced, which then prompts Ryan to agree
and move the conversation over to the critiquing of those who manage the team.
The owner, the coaching staff.

 

Mya, who is still following Derek, watches as Derek begins to enter a run-down
apartment building. As he puts his hands on the doorknob, there is a car honk
that grabs his attention. Derek recognizes the car and begins to walk towards
it. Mya remembers the license plate number and would later try to look it up
but she would find bad information. If she would have seen who was in the car,
she would see that it was Spider.

 

After the car drives off, Mya goes to the building that Derek was about
to enter and writes down the address. Mya would tell her associates what she
had found out, but they would all joke about how following a kid is not the
job. Merils, who sees what Jackson can become provided she is under the right
wing, tries to save her by explaining to the others that the entire
investigation could be in that building, that in this line of duty you never
know what the key may be to unwrapping a crime. In his heart, however, Merils
knows that Jackson wasted her time.

 

Mainor and Ryan, after having a thorough discussion about sports with
three men who they suspect were involved in the killing of a police officer,
get back in their vehicle after realizing Mya is not around and head towards
the station. On the way there, Ryan says, "We got nothing." Mainor,
"What?"

 

"We got nothing on anyone. The big fish, the guy running this whole
thing, we don't know his name, we don't know what he looks like. He's a fucking
ghost, and if he ain't, we might as well be chasing one." Mainor replies,
"Don't worry, we're smarter than them." After a few seconds of
silence Ryan says, "You know it wasn't smarts, we just got lucky."
Mainor replies, "I know." The drugs they had previously seized should
have been credited to random luck as opposed to talent.

 

Mainor says, "Even if we don't know much about him, we know what he
does and we know who he associates himself with. All we gotta do is climb that
ladder and we will eventually get to him." Ryan replies, "Only thing
is we won't stop these guys with just dumbluck."

 

One of the three men says, "Why you still got that gun? They can
match that shit up if they get it." The killer replies, "You really
think they could take this shit off me? Them cops too dumb to even notice what
is going on around here." One of the three men who has not spoken yet
finally says, "Yeah that was them other cops. These niggas that just
rolled up just now ain't dumb."

 

The killer asks him what makes him so sure they aren't dumb, to which he
replies, "When two white cops roll up you know they do it because they
just hate us niggas, when two black cops show up you know they do it because
they look down on us and expect better, but when a black and a white cop shows
up, and they are as cool with each other as them two were, and they ain't all
up in our business hittin' us and shit for no reason, and they fucking actually
respect us and talk about sports, that's when you know somethin' ain't right.
Them bitches are plannin' something and they ain't dumb enough to let little
shit come between them and the job."

 

Chapter 49:

1947

 

And then I woke up. I just had a dream where inside the dream I had a
memory. A friend and I are hammering nails into a wall when he asks me if I
remember that one time Jason accidentally nailed his index finger to the wall.
I laughed and told him that I did, because I actually did. The thing is, while
I remember Jason, there was never actually a time when he nailed his own index
finger to the wall in this reality.

 

What this dream suggests is dream memory, that we can have thoughts of
memories that never happened in our reality in the dreams that we have. This
idea is the very first thing that propelled me to believe that our dreams are
simply other versions of our lives.

 

As I'm writing down this dream, I run out of space and realize that I am
writing on the last page of this particular composition notebook. Marked number
five-hundred, this means I have five-hundred composition notebooks completely
filled. Five-hundred notebooks each with two-hundred pages, give or take due to
the fact that I've ripped some pages out and have added some from quickly
scribbled-down notes.

 

I start to look for a new composition notebook to continue writing down
my dream but can't seem to find one, however, I am positive there is at least
one around here somewhere as I always have an extra.

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