The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey (8 page)

Blindly feeling about on the floor, Mr. Sanders eventually happened upon the black box that he was searching for. Scooping it up, he placed it under his arm and held it securely. Crawling partially out the back window, he handed it to John.

“Take this. You’re going to need it,” he said.

John looked suspiciously at it and asked, “What is it?”

“Ask Sofia. She’ll tell you,” he answered and then began to climb back in, moving towards the front seat again. Hitting at the front windshield, he hollered back, “Now go. Get into the woods and stay far away from here, you hear me? Never return to Labor as long as you live.”

“Wait. Mr. Sanders, come with us,” John cried out.

“I can’t,” he said, kicking out the shards of glass from the windshield. “I’m going to be with Helen now, John. The people that know us believe she’s dead, but we’re the only ones that are alive, boy: the four of us. I don’t want you to say anything more about it. Now go on. Go and live!”

With his eyes burning from the smoke, acting as a camouflage to the true reason for the tears that he was shedding, John crawled through the windshield of the stranger’s vehicle, and assisted Sofia
inside.

As much as he desired to see that the old man was safely escaping to some other part of the planet, John felt an intense anguish in his heart, as he knew that they had to leave him behind. They had to keep moving.

As Sofia crawled in behind him, John looked back, wondering why the old man had gone through so much for them. He had broken all the laws of the City. He had sacrificed everything he had for their safety.

Pulling his legs out through the frame of his windshield, Mr. Sanders sat on the hood of the transporter. Looking back through the series of windows, he shouted, “Go now, John. Take Sofia away from here. Liberty awaits you! But, mind yourselves, children: stay away from the red Xs. Sofia knows what I’m talking about. Heed the warning young ones! Stay far away!”

“Mr. Sanders,” returned the cries of the youth from the smoky veil. “Thank you!”

Sliding down from the rear of the stranger’s vehicle, John fell on to the grass, soft at his feet, just outside the gaping wound of the Highway. The air was cool and fresh. Taking Sofia by the hand, John helped pad her fall as she dropped down beside him, taken aback by the beauty of the land. Freedom was so close, but they did not have the time to savor its sweetness. They began running towards the thicket ahead, making haste to leave the world of Labor forever behind
them.

A strong breeze blew through the opening of the wall, clearing out the smoke and allowing for an instance of clear visualization. The glimpse was brief. One final picture of life was captured in the old man’s mind. It was of a young couple, pure and alone. It looked like Helen Mae and Henry Eugene Sanders. They were sprinting into the woods, never to return. They took a moment to look back over their shoulders: their last view of Labor and all its horrors. They were frightened, and yet determined.

Entering into the dangling vines and thick brush at the edge of the tree line, the Savior glistened off the tears that were flowing down their cheeks, and then, like magic, they disappeared.

Wading through the rubble and debris of the local devastation, searching through the blackness of the smoke and dust, Mr. Sanders sought out a vehicle that would get him back to the
apartment.

With the increasing multitude of rescue worker units and Security Force members trying to control the scene, he attempted to creep within the darkened areas along the edge of the Highway. Perhaps, he thought, commandeering a vehicle when he was further away from the crash site would be more conducive to maintaining an air of
anonymity.

Looking back, the distance that he had already traveled was difficult to determine, especially with all the flashing lights and piercing sirens making an onslaught on his senses. The old man knew that he had to be patient if he was going to make it through this to the end. Placing his hands in his pant pockets, he continued the long stroll home.

The smoke began to thin. Although still hazy and mildly suffocating, the screeching and flashing was quite a ways behind. The old man now felt safe enough to secure for himself a transporter without looking suspicious in the least.

Stepping into one of the empty machines from the dark side of the walkway, he slid into the driver’s seat. Starting up the engine, he pulled out onto the asphalt road and continued towards his end goal: the long-awaited meeting with Helen.

The apartment lobby was cold and dim as Mr. Sanders walked through the glass doors. Scanning his eyes at the terminal, as he had done several thousands of times in the past, he looked upon the color-changing screen. The elevator car appeared, the doors slid open and he entered in.

The air felt still. Much more stale than it usually did. He was quite surprised that there was no Security Force detail waiting to arrest him. Upon reaching the top floor, Mr. Sanders stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, all the more perplexed that he was free to make his way unmolested to his own little pad. But, before heading to his place of communion with Helen, he had one more task to complete before everything would be finalized. Kneeling down beside the elevator’s retinal scanner, he pulled off the underside covering. Tinkering with the wires inside, the red glow upon its face turned green. The doors would remain permanently open, putting the elevator permanently out of commission. As he walked away from the sabotaged terminal, he chuckled to himself with an anticipatory giggle.

Once inside his familiar abode, he found everything exactly as he had left it earlier in the day. There was no ransacking of the rooms, no law enforcement officials waiting to place him in handcuffs. There was not even a message left for him in the
mail-shoot.

Although no one was yet present to perform the operation, he knew that he was about to be taken from the world of the living. At the moment it was merely a game of torment, but he was not going to be playing along. He knew that the Security Forces would soon be coming, tearing through the door with their weapons drawn. They knew very well that he had taken the children. But what he had done with them he would never divulge. They would not be getting any information from this old man, he thought to himself. The plan was already set in motion, and Helen was waiting for him.

The teakettle had just begun whistling, and the steam floated skyward from its spout. Mr. Sanders took it up in his hand, pouring himself one final cup of his favorite drink. A dab of sweetener dribbled into the liquid as he stirred the mixture with a fine, silver
spoon.

After placing the cup on a small porcelain plate, he pulled out one of the kitchen drawers, placing it on the countertop. Reaching his hand inside the empty recess, he withdrew a matte black, L-shaped object, which he immediately dropped into his pant pocket without giving it a second look.

Setting the cup and plate down upon a finish-worn area of the dining room table, he sat down to the tune of creaking and cracking of the old chair. It had long been nearing the end of its tenure. To his surprise, set upon the placemat where Helen used to sit, was a pair of shoes: one belonging to him, the other, a smaller sized, black boot that appeared to be the type of foot-covering worn by the school-aged youths.

Downstairs, the darkness of the apartment entrance lit up with flashing lights and the sounds of screeching cars, as several units of militarized Security personnel burst through the doors, making their way up to the elevator entrance. The retinal scanner was filling the room with its flashing crimson strobe of light. Realizing that it would be a futile effort to try to fix the system, the Commander rerouted his unit to the Security Stairwell. Taking up tactical positions outside the building, dozens of similar units surrounded the apartment complex. Every possible exit was monitored. There would be no escape for their prey.

Lifting the teacup to his lips, Mr. Sanders closed his eyes, allowing his taste sensation to go unhindered. The liquid was warm and sweet as it went down his throat. With the young couple away, as far as he was concerned, it was the last good thing in the city with any worth.

The weapons’ metallic chatter, clanging against the belts and harnessed gear strapped across the chests of the State’s agents, moved with a rhythmical chime as they ascended the steps in their orderly fashion. Opening the door of the top floor, the lead man stepped out of the way, allowing the rest of the unit to enter into the hall. Gracefully moving in formation along the dark side of their pathway they took up their appointed positions, stacked man-on-man alongside the walls outside of apartment eleven-ten.

With the familiar red flashing of the retinal screen, the Commander knew that the only way to get to the old man on the other side was to destroy the door. Gesturing towards it with a quick hand signal, another agent untied the straps on the back of the agent standing before him. Removing a steel-black, cylinder with two circular handles, he made his way towards the apartment entrance. Bracing his feet on the floor, the agent cocked his arms back and prepared to breach the room. The Commander took a step back, giving a soft knock on the entry door to the apartment directly across from Mr. Sanders’, at which point the light streaming through its peephole blacked out.

Setting the cup down upon the table, Mr. Sanders sensed that he was not alone. Removing the black object from his pocket, he pointed it in the direction of the hallway entrance. There was nothing more to fear. He would soon be going on a permanent trip… with his dear wife.

“Watch over them, Savior. They’re just children,” he whispered.

Splintering wood and metal debris exploded into the apartment as the black suited men outside poured into the living room. The cracking of the weapons sent multitudes of projectiles hurtling through the smoke-filled air, embedding hot metal into the walls around the old man as his body fell limp to the floor.

The Security Force agents’ shouting echoed throughout the hallway as they seemingly filled every corner, room and orifice of the apartment, securing its premises.

Particles of drywall and wood crumbled under the thick, rubber soles of the boots of the Force Commander as he made his entrance into the room. Lifting up the visor of his helmet, he knelt down beside the battle-torn corpse. The pooling blood around Mr. Sander’s head and torso was well advanced, and had created a tiny river that flowed towards his stretched out arm and the cold, blued, unloaded pistol that he held in his hand.

Drops of crimson life dripped from the handle as the Commander lifted the weapon up, admiring the detailing.

“Have you ever seen one like this before?” he asked one of the agents standing at his side.

“Nothing like that, sir.”

Opening up a plastic bag, the Commander dropped the handgun inside. A smeared trail followed along its path as the firearm slid down its clear walls. Wrapping up the opening and placing it into a security pouch dangling from a thick, black strap at his waist, an expression of ponder lighted upon his face.

“I wonder where he secured a weapon like this?”