The M1 Theory by Brian Hesse (ebook reader below 3000 txt) 📖

She was seeing double, and only hoped she wasn’t aiming at the phantom shadow version of the towering man. He isn’t going to give me a second chance if I miss, she thought.

 “Don’t you move sir. I will shoot.”

 “It’s time to meet my baby!” he exclaimed, as he moved slowly toward Sandra, still kneeling on the floor, spent of all the necessary energy to stand upright.

  Sandra fired five times, just before losing consciousness.

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 “Wake up sweetie, come on wake-up darling,” came a voice that seemed to be coming from the blaring light directly in front of her. Sandra felt as though she was outside of her body, like dense clouds floating effortlessly toward the blaring yellow sun.

 “Come on now, napping time is over,” Sandra felt cold soft hands touching her face. She struggled to open her eyes, squinting against the bright lights reflecting blindingly against the bright white hospital room’s walls.

  “Hey there babe,” came the familiar masculine voice of Eric. This seemed, to her pleasure, to revive her back to full consciousness, and the less than comfortable world of reality.

  “Hey sweetheart,” she stated, not believing her own ears. She always thought pet names for partners were silly and childish but, as she thought, I never had a real romantic partner before.

  “You did a stupid, but brave thing,” he continued. “I think you are in some hot water with your chief,”

  Before she could say anything in response, she heard the gruff deep voice of her boss coming from the other side of the bed.

  “Well, I will leave you two alone to talk. Be back later love.”

  When Eric, and the attending nurse cleared the room, the chief began, “First, I am so glad you are alive Sandra. Now that that is out of the way, “Your suspended with pay until further notice.”

  Sandra did not have the energy to fight with the order. Even if she did have the strength, she thought later when at home on leave, she would not have fought with her usual crafty protestations. She knew that going to Mr. Marlow’s home was a sure way to losing her job. She was just grateful that she was not fired. Her ego was boosted to soaring heights with that thought. For once, in a very long time, she felt invaluable to the department.

 “I got it chief. I will be a good girl from now on. Scouts honor.” She held up her two fingers in the salute as a sly cat like grin crossed her full lips.

  Just as he was leaving the room, he turned to her and said with his own sly smile, “good job detective.”

The Second Experiment

  Just five blocks from Sandra’s apartment, where she has spent the last month on leave pacing the floor and making love to Eric, when he was available, sits Charlie’s Dinner. A local hole in the wall with a floor that has, as proud patrons will tell you, more grease on it than the french fryer. Today was Thanksgiving, November twenty third two thousand seventeen. This was sure to be the busiest day of the year. Charlie’s was known to be a refuge for that fringe population, always finding themselves alone on the holidays. The homeless looking for a cheap meal, the drug addicts, prostitutes, and the lonely singles all had a place of honor at Charlie’s Dinner.

 “How about this booth in the back?” asked Thomas, pointing to the booth next to the double swinging doors of the hot greasy kitchen.

 “This would be fine. Thanks, Thomas,” replied Kathy, taking her seat opposite him.

 “Well it looks like Charlie’s is full of the lonely souls of the city on yet another Thanksgiving,” he stated, with a slight chuckle.

 “Well, we have each other this year.”

 Thomas felt a feeling he had difficulty describing rise within his chest. It felt like a knot was stuck in his throat, as he looked into the hopeful eyes of Kathy.

 She is just a test subject, he repeated to himself in his over worked mind. Several times repeating this phrase seemed to have the desired effect of washing away any residue of guilt that may still be lingering.

 Before losing his nerve, and before increasing his chances of being seen with her, Thomas stated, “can you go to the counter and fetch a waitress. I just want to hurry and get back to the house.”

  Kathy smiled, no doubt, according to Thomas’s egotistical vision, thinking about having me for Thanksgiving.

  As Kathy was passing him, Thomas pressed the button on the black receiver box, hidden within his long grey overcoat. He watched as she doubled over at the waist and buried her forehead into the palm of her left hand. As quickly as she maneuvered herself into this position, she straightened and slowly walked, with blank expression, to the long counter, busily occupied to fuel capacity by those patrons who enjoyed the atmosphere of the stool sitting section. Thomas watched with delight as she grabbed a steak knife from a patron’s plate, still dripping with A1 steak sauce. She raised the knife, and stabbed the man in the throat. Blood jetted in bright spurts of blood, as the man fell to the floor in a growing puddle of his own blood. Patrons, first stunned, like deer under the intense glow of a large spotlight, began darting out of the only visible front exit. One patron, a young woman, as Thomas guessed, in her early twenties, with long blonde hair, wearing a mini skirt and tight yellow colored blouse, slipped in the puddle of blood as she ran for her life toward the front exit. Kathy, or the empty shell of what was once Kathy, jumped on top of the screaming girl, and plunged the knife into her right eye. The blood did not squirt like the man’s neck, but streamed in a small river of copper smelling dark blood.

 Thomas decided it was time to break the signal and mentally record the results. If his theory was correct, another push of the green button on the box would cause an immediate cessation of the violence. As several large men from the adjoining table jumped on Kathy, Thomas casually walked past the bodies, just a few feet from her and the two men. She managed to wriggle her way from underneath her restrainers, and jumped to her feet.

 Thomas looked in horror as Kathy plunged the knife in his direction. Just in time, he managed to dart backwards, the pointed end of the knife striking the outer pocket of his jacket. He could feel the knifes teeth catch the small fibers of the material, making a slight ripping sound, like the sound produced when quickly opening a zipper. Before she could lunge at him again, he pushed the button on his box, causing Kathy to stop dead in her tracks. Thomas watched the blood caked catfish from SamsList run the blood-stained knife across her thin throat, causing her own blood to jet into the air, mingling with the blood of her victims. Thomas walked quickly from the Diner, and returned home to record his observations.

It’s a Blood Bath in There

 “You know, this may not work,” stated Sandra, lying with her head on Eric’s chest, outlining the shape of his nipple with her fingernail.

 Eric sat up in bed resting against the unpainted and undecorated plaster wall of Sandra’s multipurpose efficiency room. “What do you mean, Sandra. I thought we were hitting it off perfectly.”

  Sandra sat up and considered Eric’s eyes. She saw an expression of preemptive heart break pass over his face, like a man bracing himself for an all too familiar situation of rejection.

 She continued in a soothing tone of voice she learned to use during her brief stint as a student over the phone mental health counselor at the college. “I’m just being honest my dear. My career has never allowed me to get close, and right now I am feeling very close to you.”

She watched as Eric’s expression transformed from one of alarm, to one of conquest. Like a man who just scaled an insurmountable mountain peak, Eric realized that both have surpassed that basic stage of brief animal lust, and have now ventured into the second stage of deeper, more meaningful, companionship. Of course, with a lot of lust also, he thought, as he felt himself becoming aroused and wanting more.

 “I feel the same way, Sandra. I have never had a meaningful relationship in my life. I can’t get you out of my head.”

 Now was Sandra’s turn to scale that insurmountable mountain top. She felt an unfamiliar, yet exciting, warmth fill her body from head to toe. She felt the exhilaration of stepping through that boundary that separates sex for the simple sake of release, from sex that merges two souls into one.

  “Well, Happy Thanksgiving Eric, you ready to cook my goose again?”

  “Oh yea, but how about a little music to go with this meal,” stated Eric with a laugh as he reached across Sandra and turned on the night stand clock radio.

 Eric and Sandra listened as every local station broadcasted, they reported as, the Diner Bloodbath.

 Eric’s arousal was extinguished, like a bucket of cold water thrown on a budding flame, as he watched Sandra’s eyes sparkle as she listened to the broadcast.

 She turned to him excitedly and stated, “That’s right down the road from us. I need to check this out Eric. Come on, let’s go!”

 Eric sighed deeply as he clumsily dressed. The small apartment’s room darkened just a bit, and seemed to grow smaller, as he considered that Sandra’s earlier jest may just be correct. This may not work, he thought, as they walked out the door to Charlie’s Diner.

 “You will have to wait here my dear,” she said, as she kissed Eric on the cheek and headed toward the yellow police tape, flapping noisily in the cold breeze. She recognized the slumped over sloth like posture of her partner, Detective Ralph Klinger, just inside the front entrance of the Diner. As she opened the door, she was greeted by the sickly smell of burnt cheeseburgers, old grease, worn plastic booths and, what she perceived as, massive amount of spilled blood.

 “You’re under suspension. If the chief knows you are here, your done for,” stated Ralph, as he gently grabbed her arm and ushered her to an unoccupied corner of the Diner.

 “First of all,” she replied, grabbing his hand and applying just enough force to make him feel his finger joints creak under the pressure. “If you ever touch me again, I will break your fingers clean off your hairy palms.” Secondly, I am just a regular customer, who just so happened to walk in on yet another scene of good old American senseless brutality. Thirdly, you will clear this place, so I can do my job, and help you catch a killer.”

 Ralph began his customary protestations but stopped himself in his tracks. He was no stranger to being cut to pieces by Sandra and he knew she was right. There was no point in arguing with her. If anyone can find a clue it was her. She proved this some countless times before. He stepped aside and without another word, gestured for everyone to clear the Diner.

  “You have five minutes, and then I call the boss,” he stated, as he herded the other officers out of the room.

  Sandra slowly walked to toward the three bodies lying on the dirt stained linoleum floor, her focus gazed on the body of Kathy Brier. She guiltily whispered to the victims, forty-seven-year-old, John Edwards, and twenty-three-year-old Cindy Lakes, “Sorry, you two but the answer lies with your killer, and not you.” Sandra realized, as many of her colleagues would not, that the answer is to be found with the killer, not the victim. She laughed as a thought flashed briefly across her mind, as she stepped on her tippy toes to avoid walking in the thick soupy coagulating pools of blood. She