“Tibby... you’ve been receiving things like this for about a month now. This is the first... dead thing that you have received but—” He stopped abruptly and glared at the blonde beta who was hovering nearby, “Carolyn you can stop pinching me now. I told you before that she deserves to know.”
Gary opened the leather padfolio that he had set on the table upon entering the conference room and began to pull pieces of paper from it. He began to lay them out on the table so that I could see.
They were old documents that had clearly been photocopied, because I could see the worn edges of the original printed onto the paper. One of the pages was a picture of me as a child, one of the few that I remember taking. I was twelve and staring glumly at the photographer. Dressed in my nicest dress because I was going to a wedding.
Even looking at the picture made me nauseous and I pushed it away, looking at the next picture. It was a picture of a symbol, the same one that was tattooed on my wrist. Finally, there was a copy of my original birth certificate before the court changed my last name: “Tabitha Williams”, “Born September 21st”.
I couldn’t believe that these things had been coming in the mail for over a month and no one had told me. I had been living my life blissfully unaware that the boogeyman was on the prowl again. I opened my mouth to curse at the people in front of me when all of the phones in the room pinged simultaneously. Including mine.
I pulled the device out of my pocket, unlocking it, and I was greeted with a news headline.
I read the headline once, and then again. Suddenly my stomach clenched tightly and I ran for a nearby trash can, gripping the edge tightly as I vomited.
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“Ican’t believe thatthey are even considering a retrial. It’s like they are trying to let this fucking monster walk.” My blood ran hot as I paced back and forth inside of Aria’s office, stepping over stacks of file folders and other land mines that were littered across the floor. It had been less than an hour since the news had broken and I’d gotten into my car and drove straight to Aria’s office. I couldn’t sit still and the pacing was the only thing keeping me from screaming. Trembles of a rage that I hadn’t felt in a long time rippled over my skin. Even just the thought of that smug bastard getting out of prison after murdering thirty-two people made me want to put my fist through a wall.
“They have no choice but to retry,” Matteo was sitting on the couch in the corner, looking completely calm as he scrolled through different news articles on his phone. “It looks like the original prosecutor on the case was having an affair with one of the jurors during the trial. His wife found out about the affair last month and blasted it all over her social media and ever since then Jordan has been pushing for a retrial. What a dumb ass.”
“This is why we do specific jury selection,” Aria grumbled. “If you think you want to sleep with a juror or are already sleeping with a juror you don’t pick that juror. That is law school fucking 101.”
I was barely listening to her rant, “A retrial means that we have to put the witnesses back on the stand and have them re-give testimony.” The memory of multifaceted green and brown eyes that were reminiscent of a jasper stone and a blood-curdling scream filled my head. I couldn’t imagine watching her go through a trial again.
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9 years ago...
“Our goal is to extractas many members of Hezekiah Jordan’s people as possible.” Special Agent Daniels, the agent in charge of this op, stood at the front of the rocking humvee. Ten of us were sitting on the hard metal benches, five of us on each side. We were all dressed in long-sleeved black shirts, black cargo pants, bulletproof vests, and we carried M4 carbines outfitted with rubber bullets. If we needed to use deadly force, our Glock 19s were strapped to our hips.
“Sir, what if they refuse to go with us?” Oliveras, the greenest agent in the humvee, asked. Having just graduated from Quantico he spent most of his time riding his desk or fetching coffee for his senior partner. This would be his first real operation with the San Francisco branch of the FBI.
“Then you focus on the ones who want to go. Get them out first. We can force the others later if we have time.” Daniels instructed, looking irritated at having even been asked.
The FBI had received intel just three short hours ago that Hezekiah Jordan’s online presence had taken a troubling turn. He had filled the website that he curated to bring in new members with posts about how kings and leaders used to be buried with all of their worldly possessions, including their wives and children. This, by itself, was a red flag in our system. The FBI monitored hundreds of potential terrorist groups across the United States and Hezekiah Jordan’s cult had been high on that list for over a decade. Thanks to the Patriot Act we were able to monitor his internet searches more carefully and three hours ago he had searched ‘how much rat poison does it take to kill a human being’. The bastard knew that we could see what he was searching online, and he was basically waving a red flag and mocking us. Even with all of the above information, the operation had still almost been denied by the higher-ups.
“Everyone got their night vision goggles? I don’t want to see any flashlight beams.” Daniels asked and we all held up the goggles and waved them like kindergarteners.
“Good. Let’s get through this op without shit going awry. Coombs, what do I think about shit going awry?” He asked one of the agents sitting on the bench closest to him.
“You do not like it, sir!” The agent shouted in response.
“Damn straight, let's keep this shit as smooth as Skippy peanut butter. Get in, get these people out, and get home before the last call. Am I clear?”
“Yes sir!” We all barked in unison.
The humvee suddenly jerked to a stop and we all unloaded from the back, jumping into the dirt at the top of a hill that overlooked the compound. Hezekiah Jordan’s compound was located at the very edge of the bay area, surrounded by golden hills and a marshland that had dried out with the warm summer months, leaving the heavily cracked ground in its wake. The compound was fully fenced off, but we watched as a small figure dressed in a white nightgown darted inside of a gap in the fence. We slipped in through the gap after her—silent as ghosts.
As the figure headed towards the center of camp, the smell of smoke began to fill the air. My team leader made hand motions for us to keep an eye out and as we silently rounded a building we were faced with the beginnings of an inferno. The long building in the center of town was on fire. The sound of windows shattering broke through the silence and sent fire exploding high into the air. This sound was followed by screams, muffled by the roar of the fire, coming from inside of the building.
The figure who upon closer look, was actually a teenage girl, stood with her back to us and her head tilted upwards as she took in the scene before her. She seemed like she was frozen in time, her feet glued to the dirt ground underneath her as her body was silhouetted by the inferno that was lighting up the night.
“Teams one and two, start searching the surrounding buildings, three, four, and five, start moving in towards the flames, and see if anyone is inside. Nilsson, grab the girl.” We moved on our orders, splitting away from each other. The girl was beginning to walk towards the building as if she was in a trance and I could see that she was barefoot. Her long curly, red hair was braided down her back and the braid swung as she reached a hand out to the gate that would lead her directly into the garden of the burning building.
