Podcasts about mirandized

Although the police said he was not arrested, he was Mirandized and held for a while in a way that would appear to most people to be an arrest. https://www.lehtoslaw.com

Welcome to this super-charged, explosive  episode of Light ‘Em Up.We're currently being downloaded in 119 countries.  We tackle the topics that touch your lives!On this episode we examine how our First Amendment (freedom of speech) and due process rights can be stripped from us and violated in a rapid series of cascading events that ultimately put our freedom and liberties in grave jeopardy.We travel to Michigan to speak with our special guest, Alison Reedy, the mother of young Dillon Reedy.The following events unfolded at Huron High School in New Boston, Michigan on December 8th, 2021.This is a case that every parent of any school child anywhere across the nation should be extremely concerned about.Imagine sending your 14-year-old son to school in the morning and by the afternoon he's been arrested, never Mirandized (according to his mother) taken in hand cuffs to the juvenile detention facility where he was processed into the system and issued a state (juvenile) criminal ID number — and forced to submit to a mugshot — ALL for something he did not do.The fact pattern showed that in a brief conversation with another student in class, Dillon was accused by the classroom teacher of making a terroristic threat to “shoot up” the school.The teacher incorrectly overheard what she thought was a threat. She later allegedly admitted that she never herself felt threatened, according to Alison.From there, common sense went AWOL.Dillon was “in big trouble”— the school secretary said to his mom — when she called to inform Alison to come to the school immediately.  Wrongfully accused, wrongfully charged.   Let down by a host of adults who should have been able to understand the difference between a credible threat and one that was not credible.This is a textbook case of a “rush to judgment” by over half a dozen school, municipal and county professionals and politicians, as well as the Huron School Board, any of which should have known better than to proceed with this case.Initial news reports regarding this incident were defaming, libelous and salacious and most importantly WRONG! Alison maintains that the county prosecutor was “rogue” … as the county was in possession of evidence that exonerated her son — yet, they chose willingly to suppress and overlook those crucial facts.“Negligence on all sides, a biased expulsion hearing and two off-record plea deals,” Alison stated.No one desires to see any violence on any school campus.  However, this zero-tolerance policy for even uttering the words “shoot” or “gun” is an unconstitutional kneejerk reaction by the legislature and has led school administrators to make rash and very costly decisions concerning student discipline.The truth matters.  Facts matter.  Dillon Reedy's rights matter!If this happened to our guest and her son, certainly it can happen to you and your family.  After hearing the fact pattern in this case you'll ask yourself:—      Is this America?—      Is the First Amendment still intact and applicable?—      How can abuses such as this take place, everyday across our nation?Tune in to hear all of the explosive details. Follow our sponsors:  Newsly & Feedspot.You can follow Alison on Facebook.  Her group is called:  My Son on the Alter.To vigorously defend against these false allegations this process has been a tremendous financial burden to her and her family.  On top of the legal bills, she is attempting to raise funds for her son -- who maintains a 3.6 GPA -- so that he can realize his dream of going to college in Utah for computer science.Link to the GoFundMe Page. We want to hear from you!

Of Funerals and Families; Part Two. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.” A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic. Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been screwed over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me. They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan. Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time. She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was; until Havenstone. Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. "Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was; an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts. Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy; I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation. "What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact. "Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'. "I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch. "That gives us; twenty-six minutes," I offered. "Why all the hostility?" led the charge. "A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied. "That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter. "I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her. Yes; there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?' "Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly. "Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed. "Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?" "That thought shouldn't even be;” she stated. "Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen." "Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued. "Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him; I'm not going to tell you why." "The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left." "You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted. "I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her. "Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded. "By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction. "She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters." "You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered. "Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin. Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future. "What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation. Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh. "That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood." "Why are you in charge; a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at; just about everything?" Javiera came clean. "Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention. "A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true." "So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely. "Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two." I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco. "Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out." "No," a dry chuckle. "I'm; not good; getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that." "If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me. "Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it. "Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause. "You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath. "Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to screw me in prison. I knew those things. "I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though." "How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence. "I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives." "But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now. "No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. "They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished. "Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all. "I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison." "I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened. "I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous." "Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me." "Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt. "No," I sighed. Wham! The Charlie Horse from Hell! "That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried. "Ah; we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm. "Oh." Long pause. "I; I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault. "You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile. "Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law." "It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement." "I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me. "He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy. "I mean Really fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. "I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion; with fourteen dead bodies attached to it." "Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded. "Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless. "Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft; punishing lawbreakers. "I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited. "If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded. "The eight other bodies at the house;” Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest; Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates." "Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information. "Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded. "Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into." "Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her. "Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would. "The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded. "It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun; enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight." (Holy Cross) It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers; no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good. The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt; my Father's Sister; was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close; so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously. Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing. The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality. A limo driver came to take Stella away. "I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her. The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right. Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes; no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself. The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt. Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future. She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened. I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing; no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it; 'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort. "Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman; Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug. Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite. One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her; green rose? Who made green; probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself? The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came; the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down. "This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna; I thought it was Brianna; made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant; meant; 'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion? The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe; oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. "Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for; " "Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle." "Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family." He took a deep breath. "I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters. "Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me. He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair. "Wow, Unc; that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" "After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added. He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong. "You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man." "They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. "Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred. "You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed. "I think you need a breath mint; and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean; really mean. "We are not done," his eyes narrowed. "Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries." "We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows. My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface. "That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing. "You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back. "Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me." "First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related; kin; O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?" "Knife?" he blinked suspiciously. "Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him. I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that; while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him; "What; how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble. "Brother," Brianna stepped up; shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look. I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern; "Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place." "I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason; not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite. "How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer. "10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries." "Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. "So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it." "Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed. It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in; I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am. "Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon; the knife; jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work. Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some screwed up people; dead and alive. "Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access. The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her depths, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior. "Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor; I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me. "I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue; with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck. If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane; turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was; Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was screwed. Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy; to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum  and  Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups. The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets; they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though; it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up. If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me. The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans. The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad. "Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of; " "I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian; Ottawa, I thought; stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. "I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth  and  Sky "That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment." Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked. "Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be;” I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set. The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak. "We wish;” she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today. "Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. "We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me. "My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena. "I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place. "You are the male Head of an Amazon House; how?" Selena questioned. "My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained. Really smart girls; really, really smart girls. "You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.' "Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I? On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age. "It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly. "May I see?" I inquired. Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoes, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandage was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about. I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg. "I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood. "If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?' "Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. "I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar; who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch; aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul. "How; how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now." "Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely. "Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'." "How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere. I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives. "I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage; after I was condemned, not before." "You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh. "No; no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women." She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic. "I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory." "But you like us," she observed. "I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade. As he was from the Earth  and  Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble. I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E and S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly. Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive. A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire; so it would hurt them both; training, Seven Pillars style. "Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly. "May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant; some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm; screw you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer. "I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact. "Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in. "Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done." "Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality. I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them; emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia? "Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be; well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive. They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner. "Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake. In Old Kingdom Egyptian he said; "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti. "It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue; or a close proximity," she smiled. Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication. We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace. The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake. "I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed; something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that; relative of yours qualifies as human." "I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do; that?" Whoops; jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy. "I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that; those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age; you wouldn't be alone," I sighed. "Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you." "When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be; " "Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again. That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real; working out, girls, books, literature and art; things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth. Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt. "Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while. "For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether." "Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate." Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look. "We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one. "Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way. "My family believes in tough love," I muttered. "What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next. "Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are." "It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered. "And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him." "He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped. "Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit; clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera. "What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him. The poor bastard looked perplexed. "I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?" SA Street wasn't done yet. "They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet Another really clever lady. "Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way. "Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you." "I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is so wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street. "Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap. "Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood." "You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. "You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology; male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more. "Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded. "No," he snorted. I kept staring; and staring; and then the idea began creeping in. "Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him. "Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit. "Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty." "What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired. "Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. "My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted. "Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes. "Yes. Six hours; every day unless duty intervenes," she said. "Right; so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked. "Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath. "Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several." "Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are." "You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan." "Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole; kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion. (The wake) Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end. "Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess. "Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr. "Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up." "I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth  and  Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out. "We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cáel?" Hayden murmured. "Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater." "I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious." "With me?" I asked. "Of course with you," Hayden growled. "With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence. "What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm. "Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause. "Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed. "Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me; don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me. "Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name. "You agree with me?" I blinked. "Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you; okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself. Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood. "You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. "No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her." "I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully. I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me. "We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." "Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one j

Of Funerals and Families; Part Two. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.” A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic. Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been screwed over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me. They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan. Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time. She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was; until Havenstone. Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. "Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was; an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts. Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy; I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation. "What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact. "Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'. "I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch. "That gives us; twenty-six minutes," I offered. "Why all the hostility?" led the charge. "A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied. "That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter. "I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her. Yes; there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?' "Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly. "Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed. "Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?" "That thought shouldn't even be;” she stated. "Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen." "Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued. "Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him; I'm not going to tell you why." "The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left." "You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted. "I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her. "Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded. "By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction. "She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters." "You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered. "Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin. Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future. "What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation. Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh. "That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood." "Why are you in charge; a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at; just about everything?" Javiera came clean. "Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention. "A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true." "So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely. "Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two." I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco. "Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out." "No," a dry chuckle. "I'm; not good; getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that." "If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me. "Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it. "Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause. "You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath. "Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to screw me in prison. I knew those things. "I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though." "How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence. "I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives." "But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now. "No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. "They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished. "Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all. "I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison." "I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened. "I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous." "Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me." "Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt. "No," I sighed. Wham! The Charlie Horse from Hell! "That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried. "Ah; we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm. "Oh." Long pause. "I; I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault. "You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile. "Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law." "It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement." "I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me. "He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy. "I mean Really fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. "I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion; with fourteen dead bodies attached to it." "Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded. "Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless. "Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft; punishing lawbreakers. "I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited. "If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded. "The eight other bodies at the house;” Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest; Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates." "Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information. "Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded. "Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into." "Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her. "Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would. "The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded. "It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun; enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight." (Holy Cross) It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers; no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good. The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt; my Father's Sister; was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close; so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously. Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing. The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality. A limo driver came to take Stella away. "I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her. The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right. Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes; no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself. The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt. Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future. She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened. I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing; no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it; 'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort. "Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman; Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug. Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite. One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her; green rose? Who made green; probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself? The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came; the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down. "This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna; I thought it was Brianna; made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant; meant; 'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion? The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe; oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. "Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for; " "Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle." "Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family." He took a deep breath. "I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters. "Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me. He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair. "Wow, Unc; that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" "After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added. He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong. "You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man." "They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. "Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred. "You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed. "I think you need a breath mint; and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean; really mean. "We are not done," his eyes narrowed. "Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries." "We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows. My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface. "That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing. "You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back. "Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me." "First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related; kin; O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?" "Knife?" he blinked suspiciously. "Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him. I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that; while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him; "What; how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble. "Brother," Brianna stepped up; shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look. I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern; "Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place." "I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason; not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite. "How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer. "10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries." "Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. "So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it." "Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed. It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in; I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am. "Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon; the knife; jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work. Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some screwed up people; dead and alive. "Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access. The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her depths, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior. "Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor; I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me. "I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue; with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck. If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane; turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was; Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was screwed. Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy; to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum  and  Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups. The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets; they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though; it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up. If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me. The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans. The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad. "Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of; " "I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian; Ottawa, I thought; stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. "I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth  and  Sky "That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment." Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked. "Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be;” I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set. The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak. "We wish;” she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today. "Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. "We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me. "My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena. "I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place. "You are the male Head of an Amazon House; how?" Selena questioned. "My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained. Really smart girls; really, really smart girls. "You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.' "Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I? On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age. "It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly. "May I see?" I inquired. Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoes, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandage was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about. I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg. "I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood. "If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?' "Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. "I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar; who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch; aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul. "How; how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now." "Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely. "Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'." "How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere. I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives. "I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage; after I was condemned, not before." "You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh. "No; no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women." She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic. "I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory." "But you like us," she observed. "I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade. As he was from the Earth  and  Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble. I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E and S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly. Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive. A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire; so it would hurt them both; training, Seven Pillars style. "Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly. "May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant; some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm; screw you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer. "I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact. "Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in. "Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done." "Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality. I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them; emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia? "Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be; well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive. They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner. "Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake. In Old Kingdom Egyptian he said; "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti. "It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue; or a close proximity," she smiled. Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication. We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace. The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake. "I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed; something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that; relative of yours qualifies as human." "I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do; that?" Whoops; jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy. "I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that; those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age; you wouldn't be alone," I sighed. "Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you." "When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be; " "Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again. That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real; working out, girls, books, literature and art; things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth. Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt. "Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while. "For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether." "Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate." Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look. "We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one. "Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way. "My family believes in tough love," I muttered. "What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next. "Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are." "It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered. "And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him." "He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped. "Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit; clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera. "What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him. The poor bastard looked perplexed. "I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?" SA Street wasn't done yet. "They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet Another really clever lady. "Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way. "Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you." "I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is so wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street. "Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap. "Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood." "You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. "You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology; male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more. "Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded. "No," he snorted. I kept staring; and staring; and then the idea began creeping in. "Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him. "Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit. "Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty." "What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired. "Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. "My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted. "Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes. "Yes. Six hours; every day unless duty intervenes," she said. "Right; so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked. "Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath. "Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several." "Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are." "You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan." "Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole; kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion. (The wake) Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end. "Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess. "Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr. "Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up." "I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth  and  Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out. "We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cáel?" Hayden murmured. "Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater." "I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious." "With me?" I asked. "Of course with you," Hayden growled. "With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence. "What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm. "Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause. "Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed. "Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me; don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me. "Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name. "You agree with me?" I blinked. "Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you; okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself. Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood. "You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. "No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her." "I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully. I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me. "We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." "Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one j

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..

Heaven & Mercy calludeA Spring Break 14-part Novel.By FinalStand. Listen to the complete episode at Steamy Stories.*Anyone can be who they want to be; the challenge is being who you need to be*Can Zane go 24 hours without sex?My journey to the Dining Hall this Wednesday was enlivened by carrying, bridal style, a sophomore named Courtney while playing out a scene from Tristan and Isolde. I had Rhaine, Joy, and Mercy as escorts/minders, but Rhaine was now defining her responsibility as keeping me from misbehaving, not stopping me, and the other students from having fun.Tristan and Isolde was some kind of chick-flick taken from a Wagnerian play so technically it wasn't on the ‘banned' list. With me was the added bonus that it wasn't homo-erotic (being a guy in a romantic relationship with a girl, in the play) and that I could actually carry Isolde in my arms.A larger than normal crowd had gathered for my dutiful performance and while I generally received rave reviews, I did catch a few girls talking about redoing the skit with a Sampson and Delilah theme. I pledged to avoid girls with shears like the plague. We bunched up around one of the entrances to the Dining Hall as I finished our script and carefully placed her back on her feet.Among the scattering of applause and the press of bodies, I felt Mercy stumble into me. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in surprise, and her breathing was coming in ragged gasps. My answer came when I looked over her shoulder and saw Rio, looking very casual but pumping her arm rapidly against Mercy's back.When we got into the food line, Rio smirked and began sucking her forefinger which was sticky and slick.“Seriously, in the middle of the crowd? You just couldn't resist?” I teased her.“Next I'm sticking in the butt plug,” she whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “I have it in my book bag and I'm jumping her after BA. Do you want to help?”“I'd rather face dismemberment than break Iona's schedule,” I sighed quietly.“Some He-Man you are,” she giggled. “You'll go five rounds with Gorman but Iona has you pussy-whipped.”“If I have to go, I could hardly pick a better woman,” I responded, and wrapped an arm around Iona's waist and rested my hand on her hip.“Yes, Zane?” Iona looked up at me with an exotic combination of innocence and genius.“Rio reminded me how lucky we are to have you with us,” was my answer.“Oh, that's nice,” Iona beamed up at me. “I thought it had something to do with Rio putting her hand under Mercy Chaplain's skirt.” I chuckled and Rio grumbled.“I have glasses,” Iona stated, “I'm not blind.”“Did anyone else notice?” I inquired.“No. I think Rio was pretty smooth, but if experience has taught me anything, it is Rio who is going to be the troublemaker, not you, Zane,” Iona stated calmly. “I was paying attention to her.”“Oh, Cordelia wanted to know if you could come by the Science Club today around two-thirty and help us with a little problem we are having,” Iona inquired.“What's the problem?” I asked.“Why didn't Cordy ask him herself?” Rio questioned.“I don't know the answer to either of those questions,” Iona admitted.“It is illegal, illicit, and off the record,” Rio pronounced.“No, it is not,” Iona battled back.“Trust me, I've done my share of things I didn't want the authorities to know about and this stinks of that kind of stunt,” Rio explained.“I'll be with Zane; nothing will happen. Besides, we are the Science Club, not an international criminal syndicate,” Iona told Rio.“I'll be okay,” I promised Rio. On the other hand, the Science Club wasn't all flowers, bells, and puppy dog tails.They hacked the school's computer systems, had illegal internet hook-ups, and were re-wiring a dorm floor for my personal pleasure, and Rio's criminal instincts were more often right than wrong. We were able to get our seats and enjoy most of breakfast before Iona nudged me.“Don't you ever answer your messages?” Iona inquired.“I have them all automatically forwarded to you,” I countered. “It seemed like the sanest thing to do.”“But you don't even know what's going on in your life,” she worried.“Darling, I have you to keep me from falling off the face of the Earth. I trust you to keep me on an even keel. Besides, someone hacked my phone yesterday so I'm not sure how safe I would be without you,” I enlightened her.“Someone hacked your phone?” Iona gasped. “Any idea who?”“Cordelia; she put herself at the top of my Handmaiden's list. I didn't mind, but the fact that she did it means it could be done,” I told her. Iona shot an angry glare in Cordelia's direction.“Don't worry about it, Iona,” Rio joked. “Have you known anyone to mess with Zane and not pay for it eventually?”“That doesn't mean I like it,” Iona kept glaring. I tapped her shoulder, then led her gaze to me by tugging on her jaw.“Let it go. In the social hierarchy, we are freshmen, despite any accomplishments. Trust me, I know: There are some fights you don't get into until you are ready. Cordelia likes you because you are useful but don't try her patience too far or she'll break you.”“I don't like it. This is high school all over again,” Iona grumbled.“The major difference,” Rio pointed out, “you have a sick psycho like me and a stud like Zane who have your back. We've left you alone once and that was only in hopes you would get out from under the hammer that was falling on us.”“Oh, we were told about your conversation with the Chancellor. I liked what you said,” I told her thoughtfully, “but I believe Rio and I could have done it better.”“Who would you have quoted?” wondered Iona. I exchanged a fanatical look with Rio.“THIS is SPARTA!” we shouted in unison, “and then we would have kicked her desk out the window,” I added.Iona sighed, looked down at her tray, and grinned while half the dining hall gazed our way.“You two are nuts,” she chuckled.“Ninja Urban Terrorists,” Rio and I declared together, “that's us.” The rest of breakfast passed without incident or too much Humor.It is not the Distance; It is the Weight on your BackGetting out looked to be a bit less friendly as Rhaine, Joy and Mercy added two other girls to their entourage.“Zane, Rio, Iona, we have a duty for you,” Rhaine announced. “You will carry our books, on your knees, and on the sidewalk.”“Well, Kemosabe, do we ignore them or kick their asses?” Rio looked to me. “Man, here I am without my hate-mallet too.”“I'm going for benign indifference,” I informed Rio. “Rhaine, we already have an assigned Handmaiden duty and we are not required to partake of any task that would result in our physical harm.”“We let Christina get away with it because we were isolated and new, but that's not the case anymore,” I explained. “You break the rules and we'll defend ourselves.”“Then we are taking you to the Chancellor's office,” Rhaine declared loudly. At this time my two buddies were despairing over the lack of appearance by our allies but I tend to have more faith in the fairness of Human nature.“Civil disobedience,” I advised Iona. To Rio, I explained, “Make yourself dead weight.” Rhaine's Traditionalists came forward and we three fell to the ground.“Get up,” Joy demanded of Rio.“Nope, not going to happen,” she gleefully shot back. Joy gave Rio a strong nudge with the foot.“What are you doing?” a cold calm voice pierced the setting. It was Coach Dana Gorman.“I, what, we are doing what Rhaine told us to do,” Joy stammered.“Kicking a student is grounds for dismissal,” Dana informed Joy. “Physical violence is only acceptable in self-defense, and only when withdrawal is not an option.”“Coach Gorman, we were told, ” Rhaine began.“Ms. Ritchie, the Board of Directors can alter the Handbook whenever they wish, and if they ever say that bludgeoning another student merely because they disagree with you is permissible, I'll be sure to let you know.”“Yes, Mam,” Rhaine gulped.“You three, stop loafing about and get to class” Gorman addressed us. “We can all hope you flunk out your first semester, but until you do, I am required to make sure you are in your classes at the appointed time. Now go!” she grumbled to Rio, Iona and I.“Yes, Mam,” Iona and I said as we stood up once more. Rio merely growled. We quickly parted Rhaine and company, then headed to class. Soon enough, Christina and her crowd appeared around us.“What tree were you bitches hiding behind?” Rio griped. That did not get her a pleasant response.“Rio, they were always with us,” I said, putting a hand on Rio's shoulder. “They also sent people to get Coach Gorman and others to get Ms. Goodswell in case things went bad. Cappadocia and Wilhelmina were rounding up the troops in case Rhaine tried to force us. By keeping the field clear of obvious forces, we resolved this fight in a way that didn't make us look bad.”“You got all that while talking to Rhaine and watching every sane FFU girl running away from us?” Rio gawked.“If an ally betrays you, they will stand by and watch. If you don't see them, assume they are fighting elsewhere on your behalf, or so the saying goes,” I related.“That sounds like dark matter, you know it is there because you can't see it,” Iona nodded, “but you see its effects.”“Essentially,” Christina remarked.“I'd like to know one thing,” Faith inquired: “Have you slept with Coach Gorman too? She seems to have joined our side very suddenly.”“She's not on our side and she's not our friend, but I did outline how this fight would work. If they break the rules, we break the rules, and chaos ensues. If the Coach keeps things fair, Rio and I will go down by our own faults or succeed on our merits, Christina will still beat Rhaine, and this year might not suck so much for the average student, freshmen included,” I said.“How do you jibe following the rules with having a different girl in your bed every night?” Hope taunted me with a hint of seduction. Heaven looked equal parts embarrassed and sensually hungry.“I don't believe he has a woman in his bed every night,” Christina corrected.“Expecting Zane to sleep alone is like putting a lion among your sheep and expecting to eat lamb next season; theoretically possible, but it goes against his nature,” Hope laughed.“I have not had a woman in my bed every night,” I sniffed indignantly.“Yeah,” Rio rallied to my defense, “there was that night you barred Barbie Lynn and, actually, I think that was the only night, though he didn't sex me up that first night on campus.”“I think it is safe to say that the female student body has made good use of Zane's time here amongst us,” Chastity noted, as she lightly slapped my shoulder.“Well, in case anyone cares, I'm going to a church function tonight and stopping by the Kappa Sigma house on the way back. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish up some Biology reading and go to bed early,” I declared.“And if you find a girl in your bed when you get in?” Hope teased.“He'll assume it is a day ending in ‘y',” Iona snickered.“Et tu, Iona?” Christina stated loftily.“In that case, please spread the word,” I muttered darkly. “I'm coming home and stealing Iona away to my lair for some much needed discipline and loyalty reinforcement.” Iona remained still while the other girls looked around.“Seriously?” Faith wondered.“I play around a lot but never with Iona,” I explained. “If she doesn't lock her door, she's mine.”“Iona, I'll help you barricade the door,” Heaven offered. Iona didn't say anything but the look she shot Heaven clearly stated ‘don't you dare!'The Research Partnership“Zane?” Virginia Goodswell requested my attention as I approached my English class.“Hey, Teach, I'm ready to have my head stuffed with learning,” I grinned.“That's good, because we are choosing Authors and Works today, along with project partners,” Virginia instructed.“So, Ms. Goodswell, who is my boy Zane partnered up with? Or is there going to be a Thunder Dome match to figure that out?” Rio beamed with failed innocence.“Ms. Talon,” my teacher sighed, “it is a volunteer process, and I'm not sure any girl in my class wants to work with Mr. Braxton.”“Zane, when the feeding frenzy begins, jump for the ceiling lights,” Chastity joked with me. At least I hoped she was joking. The ladies wished me luck and we parted ways. After taking our assigned seats, Virginia went over our latest lessons and then introduced us to our semester project. The first thing to decide was the partnerships.“Before we partner up,” Virginia asked the class, “would any of you consider teaming up with Zane Braxton to get this done? Hands please.” Multiple hands flew up. Virginia looked over the class, nodded, and said, “Thank you.” She looked it over, “Raven, Barbara, and Céline, each of you give me the reason why you don't want to work with Zane.”Ms. Goodswell had chosen the three girls who hadn't raised their hands. Barbara and Celine didn't want to work with me because they were afraid I would rape them the moment we were alone, “sigh”. Raven's answer was that she was afraid that my lack of a structured education would make the paper more difficult.Raven Thorpe was awarded the 'honor' of working with me, a designation she groaned over, and other girls glared at her with jealousy. After class she attempted to shoulder past me but I tapped her arm.“Can we talk for a second?” I inquired.“Don't you have to scurry off and take care of your schedule?” she replied blandly.“Can you stop being a bitch for fifteen seconds so we can figure out which author we can work on?” I snapped angrily. She pulled up short as if she expects to be pimp-slapped next.“Okay, who do you have in mind?” she requested. “And if you say William Shakespeare, I am going to smack you with my book bag.”“I was thinking the political works of Edmund Burke,” I suggested. Raven blinked.“Seriously, I didn't think you even knew who Edmund Burke was, much less that he was the father of modern conservatism,” Raven congratulated me. It was almost like she wanted to pat me on the head and give me a doggy bone.“I was thinking of concentrating more on his works during the American Revolution, but if that's what you are more comfortable with, we could cover his later period works instead,” I offered.“Good point, Zane. Let's talk it over during lunch,” Raven suggested.“Zane,” summoned a female voice from outside the classroom.“Go on,” Raven smirked, “enjoy your disproportionate level of abuse.”“You act like I have any choice in the matter,” I shrugged.It was of little consolation that Raven made it ten more feet from the door when she got snatched up too. This time out, my mistress got to point to a feature on her body and I had to give it a flattering description, I know, my life is utter hell.I had no idea where the Science Club met; I even began to get the sinking feeling they carefully controlled any information about themselves, sort of like a secret society, or the CIA.Paige & the Science Club“Hello, I'm Paige,” spoke this girl, who apparently materialized out of the ether. I'm not paranoid; I've spent the past two years in a region where you have to be alert because Tigers are common and I say this girl freaking ghosted me, Man.“I'm with the Science Club. You will come with me right now,” she smiled like said predator cat trying to disguise herself as a white rabbit.“You are albino,” I noted. She had long white hair, alabaster skin, and a red shadow to her eyes. She was also the only girl to date I'd seen with the dark blue jacket that was part of our winter uniform. She also had a jaunty blue hat and white stockings instead of socks.“You have eyes,” she rolled hers, “now come along.” I started to follow her.“So what is this meeting about?” I asked.“It isn't a meeting; we require you for something,” she replied.“What is it?” I became more cautious.“It is a surprise,” she mocked me. “Stop wasting my time and come along.”“Cool, I'm out of here.” I grinned, turned, and left. Paige staggered and seemed unable to grasp my departure.“Where are you going?” she snapped tartly.“To Archery Club,” I replied, while still walking away.“But, but you said you would come,” she stuttered.“Am I a person? Are you?”“Yes and yes,” she replied with irritation.“Are you an idiot or a child? Because those are the only reasons to forgive your spoiled behavior,” I turned and said. Paige glared. “So you assume you are smarter than me and can be rude to someone who is doing you a favor.”“We are the ones doing you a favor,” Paige snapped back. “Now we want you to repay us.”“Did you discuss payment when you did me the favor of rewiring my room? No? Good, because if you had, I would clearly be suffering a form of amnesia,” I gave back. “If you want something, you can ask as a friend or you can offer me something that makes it worth my while. Now go back to Cordelia and tell her you have returned alone because you were so much smarter than me. If you could only 'speak friend', ” I continued walking away.“Wait,” Paige called out nervously. “I, I, ” and I could almost hear the wheels turning. “Speak friend and enter.” I stopped in midstride.“So you read through my school records and know my top ten influences,” I turned and responded. We stared at each other for almost a minute until she finally gave up and put on her sunglasses. I retraced my steps back to her.“Favorite member of the Fellowship?” I tested her.“Legolas,” she responded. I scoffed and she had the Human decency to look embarrassed.“Ha,” I scoffed again. “Horny girls go for the elf; the marrying kind goes for Aragorn.”“Who is yours, then, wise guy?” she volleyed.“Boromir,” I declared my allegiance.“Ah, of course; the veteran warrior in a doomed struggle; he forsakes his honor only to redeem it in a hopeless fight, perishing in the arms of his brothers,” Paige retorted. “I thought you would have gone for Aragorn, the Uncrowned King.”“Hum,” I winced, “my second choice was actually Frodo but that would have sounded gay.”“You can't be gay; you are not clever enough to conceal that,” she stated.“See, now you are sounding like Saruman the White,” I teased.“Let me guess: because I'm an albino,” she grumbled.“You are an albino? I was talking about your facial hair and that arrogant, know-it-all vibe you've got going on,” I joked. Paige stared at me, suddenly speechless, finally taping her chin.“At least you didn't call me Gollum,” she admitted.“Nah; too much hair and not enough skin slime,” I explained as I ran the back of one finger over her cheek. She flinched slightly.“Are you going to, please, come with me now?” she asked much more politely.“Are you going to have sex with me?” I grinned.“WHAT!?!?” she squawked.“Just joshing you,” I smiled. “You are far too pretty to be interested in me. Let's go.”I'd clearly unsettled her because she didn't say another word to me until we were going downstairs in the Clegger Science Building.“Do you really think I'm pretty?” she asked as we finished the last set of stairs.“I must confess I find most women attractive, but you are far prettier than most,” I replied.“Do you still want to have sex with me?” she said in a casual voice. I took her hand and placed it on my heart. “Hah,” she snorted, “I get it; your heart is beating so yes, you want to have sex with me.”“I was going to say that a steady heartbeat indicated I was telling the truth, but someone keeps insisting they are smarter than me,” I teased her. Am I really asking for another sex partner? What's wrong with me?Her reaction wasn't what I expected it to be and then I realized that she still had something over on me, the reason for me being here. Bitch. She opened a door into a dark room and ushered me in. There appeared to be about ten ladies in the room, playing with a variety of electronics.“Delivered as promised,” Paige called out.“What did he hit you with?” a short caramel-skinned girl inquired.“Fellowship of the Ring,” Paige grinned. Mother-fuckers!“Did he offer to have sex with you?” Cordelia asked playfully.“Yes. And not only gave me a 'pretty' but also a 'far prettier'.” Paige gave me a smug look.“Ha, ha, ha,” I muttered. Idiot me forgot that psychology is also a science, and the reason we don't have a chess club at FFU was also evident; the Science Club devoured them.“Come on, Zane,” Cordelia batted her full lashes at me. “We need a little favor and it won't take fifteen minutes.”“Couldn't you simply coerce me into doing this?” I stated. “I'm sure this whole rigmarole of making me think I'm doing you a favor has to be making things more difficult.”“We are all friends here,” Cordelia smiled.“No, if we were all friends here, Iona would be at my side,” I scolded her. “I admit you did a great scam getting me in this room, but you aren't nearly as good at lying to my face as you think you are.”“Iona, ” Paige started to say.“Don't!” Cordelia snapped, then took a deep breath. “If you threaten Iona he will hit you, no,” she corrected, “He'll hit me,” Cordelia reasoned out.“There are eleven of us,” another girl, Pandora Jaspers, stated, somewhat angry and confident.“I've seen him fight, Pandora. I saw him drop Mercy Chaplain. I've seen him fight Cappadocia Davis and Coach Gorman too,” Cordelia said coolly as we stared at one another. “Unless we curl up in a ball on the ground, he'll beat us down. We'll hurt him, but Zane can take more pain than we can because he cares about her.”“On that note, I'm gone again. Good going Paige; I'm sure you can think of something to make your sisters understand,” I shrugged and moved for the door.“Zane, I need you to strip down and let us attach a series of video and biometric sensors so we can create a 'Virtual Zane' for a little project we are working on,” Cordelia blurted out.I had to think hard about this; not because I didn't want to do it but because I had to figure if this was an honest play or another convoluted turn of the screws. I turned and looked at Cordelia.“There was no way in hell you ever thought I was a professor and you miraculously materialized outside my first class with the knowledge I was actually a freshman, damn, Cordelia, can't you just ask for stuff?” I berated her.“If you ask, you depend on another to get what you want; if you deceive, you win or lose on your own abilities,” she shrugged. “Besides, I did ask you to kiss me; remember?”“Good enough; where do you want me to stand?” I responded.“Wait,” Paige gawked. “Now he is doing it.”“Alright ladies,” one girl grinned. “Everyone pay up. I told you we should simply ask him.”With that, I stepped over to a table and began stripping. Slowly the girls around me stopped what they were doing and openly ogled me. I guess the real me was better than the video.“Aren't you curious about what we are going to do?” Pandora inquired.“You are probably going to tell me that I'm posing naked because it is easier to dress an 'uncluttered' form, or something to that effect, but really, I like Cordelia and Iona is one of my two best friends,” I mulled it over. “Besides, in case you missed it, I've seen all your faces.”Once they took that bit of news in, things went along smoothly, though they had some debate amongst themselves on whether my cock needed its own 'reference point', a sensor attached.The amusing thing was, when the girl running the computer imaging asked me to keep my penis still, I had to reply that certain reactions weren't under my control, which caused a rather awkward moment. When I was finally finished there was another quiet interlude as I got dressed.“So,” Cordelia wondered, rocking back and forth on her feet, “if we need more, data, could we get you to come back?”“Sure,” I smiled back, “you know where I live, and you certainly know what my digits are. Cordelia, I want you to consider that if something happens in my room that ends up on the web that betrays the trust people have put in me, I'm not going to come after all of you looking for excuses. Are we clear?”“Is that a threat, Zane?” Cordelia beamed playfully.“Cordelia, I'm always one step away from being tossed out of here on my ass, so those who chose to trust me and take up my cause are doing it because they are decent folk. I'm not like most people; I can't afford to toss friends away like most of the rest of the people in this room seem to be comfortable with.”“Or what,” Paige smirked, “you'll beat us up?”“No, Paige. I value trust, so if you take that away from me, I'll find out what you value and take that away from you,” I stared at her intently.“I know what you are going to say, Paige,” Cordelia jumped in, “and Zane being expelled will only mean that he has no other distractions from dealing with us and he'll still have people inside the school all too willing to help him.”“Zane, how about if something is done, we give you an off switch for various sections?” Cordelia offered.“Sounds great; let me know how the project works out, but now I have to go to Archery,” I replied, before slipping out the door.“How did he know we were going to wire his room?” I overheard Paige whisper to Cordelia.“You don't seriously think he came here solely because we tricked him, do you?” Cordelia answered. “He knew we would try something and he wanted us to know that he knew.” Yes, I had bumbled into the message I'd wanted to get across despite myself.Does Anyone Want Me Here?I had escaped school with a double date for Thursday Night (Chastity and Hope), then stopped by the house to plead with Aunt Jill to let Rio stay for the weekend. I gave a rational case, a compassionate reason, and then fell down on my knees and told her I really, really, really wanted her to stay. Something in that last argument made Jill relent and I phoned the good news to Rio.All that groveling resulted in me making the Festivities Committee Meeting by only two minutes. I swept into the room abruptly and as the story of my life goes, everyone stopped talking and looked at me. A quick scan of the room told me that two of the eight women knew to expect me, or at least some guy, while the others clearly assumed I'd lost my way.“Can we help you, young man?” an older woman with hair mostly turned to gray.“Welcome, Glenn,” Mrs. Wellington said. “Ladies, Pastor William has asked us to introduce Mr. Braxton to the good works of our Church.” There was a pause.“Thank you, Mrs. Wellington, but no one alive calls me Glenn anymore, and I'm not old or accomplished enough to be Mr. Braxton, like my Father or Uncle Tim. My teachers call me Zane.”“Oh, you are at the University?” a third woman asked politely. She was asking if I went to the University of Virginia.“No, I don't go to U V; I go to FFU, it is a long story,” I replied with trepidation.“I have a daughter at Freedom Fellowship,” one of the women responded with concern.“What is her name?” I tried to be polite, what were the odds?“Pandora Jaspers,” Mrs. Jaspers answered.“Seriously? I've done Handmaiden duty for her, and today I saw her at the Science Club,” I sighed with relief.“What did she have you do?” yet another woman inquired intently.“I helped her create an umbrella walkway when it was raining so that all the students could get to class without getting soaked,” I informed them.“Have you been to 'camp'?” a sixth woman hinted at something.“Camp, no, I can't say I've ever been to a camp,” I evaded, because I had no idea what they meant.“That's enough, ladies,” Mrs. Wellington said. “We have business to take care of. We can worry about Mr. Braxton's confusion at a later time.” Oh, they think I'm gay. Camp = Gay camp where fundamentalists are sure I could be cured of being homosexual. I try not to laugh.“Mr. Braxton, I want you to sit at the chair there,” Mrs. Wellington pointed to a chair away from the table, against the wall. “I want you to take personal notes for the members, things that don't go into the official record. Doreen Saxon,” she indicated the gray haired woman “is our secretary. She takes the official notes of the meeting, so pay attention.”The Meeting for the first of September was called to order, the record of attendance including the difficulty of my name, they kept trying to call me Glenn Braxton while I politely asked for Zane. They went with Glenn. The rest of the group worked out like this:Rochelle Wellington was Chairwoman, Kendra Bainbridge was our Treasurer, and Doreen Saxon was the grey-haired Secretary. The rest of the group consisted of Claire Baker, Theresa Geiger, Columbia Jaspers, Heidi Moulin, and Sahara Penny, the Pastor's wife.As the meeting progressed there was little I could do but watch the group dynamics at work. For starters, Bainbridge was at Wellington's throat; they clearly didn't like one another. The other was an oddity; no one interacted with Sahara Penny. I wasn't sure if it was her non-white heritage (Middle Eastern of some sort), her meek nature, or some past sin, but I decided to take advantage of it.I got up quietly and began walking around the table.“Glenn,” Mrs. Saxon asked, but I ignored her because, damn it, how many times do I have to tell them my name is Zane? I walked over and knelt by Sahara.“Zane,” Mrs. Wellington addressed me, “are you looking for the bathroom?” Bingo!“No, Mrs. Wellington. I was hoping to get some background information on the current discussions as well as contact information for the group. Since the rest of you are treating Mrs. Penny like she has the plague, I figured she would be the perfect candidate to tell me what is really going on here,” I grinned at her. “It is always the quiet ones who know the most.”And everyone stopped talking. Sahara not only looked shocked and frightened to see me, she looked like she wanted to sink under the table when I told the rest of them my reason for being here.“I assure you, Mr. Braxton, we are fully including Sahara in the process,” Mrs. Bainbridge snorted indignantly.“I will gladly accept your reprimand if you can please tell me the last five words you said to her since I arrived,” I requested, with as much innocence as I could beg, borrow, or steal.“I asked her about the children's clothing for the Nativity this year,” Kendra said after a long pause.“That was Claire, not Sahara,” I corrected her. “It is in my notes, but I'm sure Doreen can corroborate my recall of events.”“Well,” she said testily, “I'm sure I said something to her.” Silence.“I apologize for disrupting the meeting. I'll crouch here quietly and conference with Sahara while the rest of you complete the business of the day,” I told them, then turned back to Sahara. “Now, what the heck is up with the live turkey at the Thanksgiving celebration?”In the end, I gathered my information, the meeting concluded its business, and the room emptied until it was me, Sahara, Kendra, and Rochelle.“A Christian gentleman would apologize,” Kendra informed me.“Well, I guess that makes us both poor Christians, because a good Christian woman wouldn't have lied to me,” I calmly replied. Kendra gaped like a fish out of water.“Rochelle!” Kendra snapped to the Committee head.“Zane, you apologize to Kendra right now,” she commanded me, without much passion.“Kendra Bainbridge, I apologize for my rude and uncalled for behavior,” I said with a bow. Neither woman had expected me to fold up like that, so all Kendra could do was huff and storm out of the room.“Thank you,” Sahara whispered, as she touched my hand.“I don't always know the right side to fight on but it is usually by the side of the person being bullied,” I grinned. “It is the Christian thing to do,” I added with a wink.That left me with Rochelle Wellington: MILF, Lance the asshole's Mom, and wife of the Mayor.She looked like she wanted to stand up but couldn't. Me, I had a Sorority meeting to get to, I missed dinner so I had to grab something first, and why in the hell was I even thinking what I was thinking? I sat down beside her.“What's wrong?” I began. She looked at me, tired and somehow forlorn.“You wouldn't understand, Mr. Braxton, Zane,” she sighed.“Try me; the worst that could happen is, I give the expression that every teenager gives an adult when something important is being said but we are too caught up in our own lives to understand.”“Oh, good point, young man,” she sighed, “but I'm afraid I don't have anything even remotely interesting to talk about.” I waited patiently. “I'm feeling sorry for myself. My baby is leaving the nest and it has been so long since I've been alone in the house, I don't know what to do with myself.”“Lance is an only child?” I wondered.“Oh, no, he is the youngest of five,” she responded with sadness. My jaw dropped and she stared at me.“What, did you start having kids when you were ten?” I gawked.“What?” she sounded confused.“I have a hard time believing you are forty, much less the mother of five grown children,” I stammered. At first Rochelle was embarrassed and a bit uncomfortable, but slowly the compliment seeped its way into her psyche.“I, I have a home gym,” she suggested as an answer.“Well, whatever you've been doing has worked. Your husband is one lucky guy, and I hope he appreciates you and all you do to look, act, and feel so young,” I wowed her.“I'm not feeling all that young right now,” she slipped back into her depression.“Where does it hurt?” I changed my focus.“I don't know what you mean?” she asked.“People keep their stress in different places; the back of the neck, the mid-back, shoulders, or temples,” I informed her.“I'm not comfortable talking with you about that,” Mrs. Wellington replied warily.“Sure,” I said popping out of my seat. “I apologize if I crossed any lines,” and I made for the door.“Wait, Zane, I apologize. I'm tired and a bit cranky. I know you didn't mean anything and besides, I'm sure you already have a girlfriend,” Rochelle admitted.“Please don't spread this around, but I have several girlfriends at the moment. They know about each other, I'm not going to lie about my sex life, but they are usually interested in different things,” I told her.“You have, multiple girlfriends, different things? Like what kind of different things?” Rochelle spilled out her confused thoughts.“Some women like sexual contact,” I related, “while others like romantic time together, and still others want companionship.” There was another long pause.“But you are at Freedom Fellowship University, ” she trembled.“I've never taken a student's virginity, if that's what you are asking,” I answered.“Oh, I understand. I've taught all my children that they should be virgins on their wedding day,” Rochelle said with some pride.“I have to disagree with that,” I shocked her, “but that is one of the reasons that women are better than girls.”“And how would you know this?” She now turned in her chair to face me, trying to sound affronted but coming across as deeply curious.“Um, I've had sex with girls in their teens and women in their forties, and women know more, pace themselves better, and generally have better bodies,” I explained. “Teen girls need a few more years to fill out.”Rochelle was utterly speechless, and part of that had to do with the fact that I was being frank and honest, yet not openly coming on to her.“You must not think much of me, then,” she mused, “teaching my children my views on virginity.”“Where did you get that from? If anything, you are proving yourself to be an intelligent, warm, caring, and compassionate woman and mother, who happens to look like she's less than forty years old,” I added. “You did what you thought was right. I can't argue with that.”“Well, good,” she replied.“Now for my part, I was taught that a real man gives his lover multiple orgasms and he should never reach fulfillment before his partner does. Any man who does so is being selfish,” I stated.“How did you come by this, thinking?” she inquired with a small voice.“Um, I've had sex around five hundred times with thirty different partners,” I told her, “so I've not only learned from very good teachers, I've field tested their ideas.”“How can you possibly consider yourself a good Christian, Zane?” she accused me.“Compassion, respect for all living things, and forgiveness, that's what I believe in and what Christianity stands for in my eyes,” I explained.“The Bible is clear on sex and the sanctity of the marriage bed,” Rochelle insisted.“Mrs. Wellington, everything after the death of Jesus is conjecture. We both accept that Jesus was the Son of God, but after he dies, who is to say who was being touched by the Divine, who was building on JC's teachings, and who was simply making stuff up,” I held up my hand to stop Rochelle's protest.“The Catholics have a thousand Saints, most of whom we don't hold to be divinely inspired. You chose to believe that virginity is a girl's sacred duty, but I don't recall Christ saying anything on the subject. You can certainly quote later Gospels or the Old Testament, but that makes it your choice, not the Word of God,” I finished up. Another long pause followed.“I keep my stress in the top of my shoulders,” she suddenly said. I stood up and moved behind her, deciding to not question her changing opinion of me.“It helps if you take off your jacket,” I suggested, then helped her shimmy out of it. She tensed up as my hands weighed down lightly on her shoulders so I kept my touch gentle.Two minutes into the massage, I began squeezing harder and harder, moving my palms back and forth over her bra straps from upper arm to neck.“Rochelle,” I whispered into her ear, “I am going to rotate your shoulders.” I rolled over each shoulder one at a time but when I finished, I pushed her slowly forward until she was resting her elbows on the table and held her head on her upturned hands.When I went back to the massage, I worked her over harder and extended my reach from her mid-back to neck. This was clearly a case of begging forgiveness instead of asking permission. I took my time, relaxing her to a completely detached state. When I brought her back to reality, I was kneeling beside her and tapping her on the arm.“Rochelle? Are you okay,” I asked in a gentle, caring voice. Dreamily, she turned her head from its resting place on her arms to look at my eyes straight-on and mere inches away.“What, huh?” she muttered.“How do the shoulders feel? Has your stress gone away?” I inquired.“Yes, yes,” she popped up, alert once more. “It feels really good, in fact. I haven't felt this way in years,” she added with a smile.“I think it is time for us to go,” I suggested. “Can I help you with your jacket?”“Of course,” she nodded. “Thank you for helping an old lady out.” I held it while she put in one arm after the other but when I settled it on her shoulders, I stepped in and held her there for a moment while I pressed myself against her so she could feel how I felt about 'old ladies'.Rochelle froze when she felt my cock, rigid in my slacks, pressed against her ass. I was unsure if I'd gone too far when she pushed ever so slightly against me.“I've got to be going. I will see you on Sunday but I'm home all weekend with one of my girlfriends in case you need me,” I informed her.I slipped out before she could respond because not only did I have a Sorority function to attend, I also needed to figure out where I could score some Viagra because I clearly had no common sense where sex was concerned. Besides, Sahara was obviously in need of attention because Pastor Bill wasn't giving it to her, and Bainbridge was lashing out due to years of sexual frustration, I repeat: I have no common sense.Every One Like a Fingerprint to MeWhen I was racing to get to the Kappa Sigma House, I hardly expected to be met by one of their pledges and absolutely no one else. After I sat down in the den and the pledge, Tina, got me a soda from the kitchen, we found ourselves staring at one another.“So, I'm here on the correct night; right?” I asked.“Yes, you are, Zane,” she bubbled with anticipation.“Where is everybody?” I prodded her.“They are taking care of Sorority business but they will come get us when they are ready,” she grinned. I knew I was missing something but I didn't know what it was.“Is it hot in here?” I wondered.“Yes,” Tina said after a bit of concentration.“Tina, can I have some Advil? I'm getting a headache,” I yawned.“Okay,” Tina responded, still happy, and still sitting down.“Ah, fuck, you drugged me, didn't you?” I groaned. I doubted I could still stand and then proved my doubts as I slid off the chair. “Damn,” I slurred. Tina walked over to me, took my drink away, and gently maneuvered my body to the floor.“If it is any consolation, I was selected as the pledge most likely to seduce you,” she stated with real sympathy. I might have smiled at her, I wasn't sure, but I definitely passed out.Cough! Someone plunged cleaning detergent underneath my nose and fired me back to consciousness. Holy Mother of God, I'm cold, my wrists and ankles hurt, I'm outdoors in the woods illuminated by torches and surrounded in a semi-circle of bare-footed figures in ankle long brown robes and black hoods.I was cold because I was naked and my limbs hurt because I was suspended on a cross, not a 'T' cross but an 'X' cross. I certainly know some kinky, fucked-up people.“Zane,” a modulated voice addressed me, “you are on trial before Kappa Sigma for your treatment of one of our sisters. You have abused the trust of one sister by seeking romantic relations with another. What do you have to say for yourself?”“If the question is that I had relations with Leigh, then had a similar encounter with Paris, then I confess. In my defense, I never sought to deceive either one and will make amends if permitted,” I promised.“Sisters, we have heard his defense. Will any of you vote in his behalf?” she intoned. No one stepped forward.“Zane, we will give you one chance to save yourself. If you fail, you will be shaved bald and painted in a permanent purple dye.” I assume that means seven days on Human skin. “If you can pick out the woman you have wronged, beg her forgiveness, and are forgiven, you will go free.” I was getting pretty nervous since they were all totally covered except for their toes when the 'leader' nodded and the girls all opened their robes to reveal string bikinis in a variety of colors.Their faces were still covered, though that wasn't really a problem for me anymore.“Choose Leigh and Paris, beg their forgiveness, and you may be pardoned,” the 'leader' commanded.“That's not fair,” I answered right back, “because they are not before me now.”“Think carefully,” the girl with the modulated voice cautioned me.“No, seriously; I'm looking at Josephine, Maria, Cynthia, Sarah, Ferrara, Petra, Yvette, Tawny, Jersey, and Monique,” I named them left to right.“What?” Sarah gasped to her assembled sisters. “Do we have name tags on?”Behind me, I heard snickers turn into giggles, Leigh and Paris. Tawny stepped forward.“How did you know?” she inquired, clearly not the girl with the modulated voice.“Ah, Josephine has a birthmark on her ankle, Maria has the darkest skin tone, and Cynthia's breasts don't angle down the middle or to the side but somewhere in the middle.”“Sarah has slender thighs and her calves curve just so below the knee; Ferrara always paints her nails in these crazy patterns; Petra scrapped her knee backpacking two weekends ago; Yvette, has that tattoo over her right nipple; Tawny, you have a slender neck, a, 38C chest, and a strong swell from your waist to your hips; Jersey is the tallest and has that scar she got in a boating accident in high school; and finally, Monique has the perkiest nipples and the most slender calves,” I recited.Man, even the crickets went quiet after that.“Zane, did anyone help you with this test?” Tawny finally asked.“Nope.”“How could they?” Leigh came to my defense. “You didn't make the line-up until thirty minutes ago.”“Jersey, go check his phone log,” Tawny directed her sister.“I'm getting really cold,” I whispered to Leigh. She looked from my eyes to my waist with sympathy. Jersey walked out of the light but quickly returned with my phone.“His last call was at 2:10 p.m. but he did have a data download at 6:45, it seems to be a bunch of women's names and phone numbers,” Jersey relayed the information to them.“It is my church group, I swear. Honestly, they are all married women in the Festivities Committee that bastard of a pastor assigned me to,” I pleaded.“No phone calls?” Tawny persisted.“No phone calls,” Jersey confirmed.“Okay, Zane, how did you know who we were with our faces concealed?” Tawny wondered.“Is that a serious question?” The deafening pause was its own answer. “You are women; I pay attention to women and to me, each female form is as exacting as a fingerprint. Until now I thought all of this was a joke,” I related. “I mean, if you wanted to scare me, you would have given me something difficult to figure out.”“And you picked all this up at one party?” Tawny sounded bewildered.“Have I mentioned how much I like women?” I reminded her.“But you brought twenty women with you; you always had a woman by your side. How?” Tawny still struggled to understand.“I repeat: have I mentioned how much I like women? I see nothing wrong with being with one woman and looking at others, but I believe it is wrong to be with one woman and thinking about someone else,” I explained. “You should always appreciate the one you are with.”“Um, does any sister believe Zane has earned a reprieve?”For two seconds no one reacted, then Jersey stepped forward.“He knew about my scar,” was her excuse. Five more stepped forward right after that and all had done so by the tenth second.“Very well Zane, you are forgiven,” Tawny announced. Yay, me! “But I have one other issue to address. Zane, I can't have you cutting a swath through my girls so I'm going to demand that you stick to one and only one Kappa Sigma per semester.” I stared at her until she finally had to question me. “What?”“I wish you would stop treating me like a child,” I chuckled.“What makes you think I'm not being serious?” Tawny growled.“We've kissed. You can tell a lot about a person in the way they kiss, and you are very caring and thoughtful,” I told her. “Why would I be out here in the woods naked if I didn't trust you?”“You kissed him!” yelped Leigh. Tawny smirked as she looked at her.“You left me alone with a naked Zane in your room; he looked cold and lonely,” she told Leigh. I was cold and lonely because Tawny tossed Leigh out of her own room and then wouldn't let me get dressed, but only Tawny, Christina, and I knew that.“Besides, Zane, you are naked in these woods because we tricked you into our house and spiked your drink,” Tawny pointed out.“Ah, but would I have been dumb enough to take that drink if I hadn't first trusted you enough to show up, wait, that didn't come out right,” I mumbled.“Are you agreeing to my terms?” Tawny teased.“Nope. I prefer to hold to the illusion I'm living in the Free World,” I declared. “You can certainly tell your sisters what to do because they volunteered for this but I only hang out here because all of you have been so nice to me. If I've been a poor guest, I'll just leave, because I'm not going to pretend I like one sister less than another.”“Zane, you are deep in the woods, tied to a cross, and the only people who know you are here are all bound by Sacred Oaths of Sisterhood, Blood, and Secrecy,” Tawny stated sweetly, as she came up and stroked my cheek. “You aren't in the best place to be dumping us.”“Good point,” I agreed defiantly. “Maybe I should wait to get on my high horse when I can actually get on a high horse, but I'm still not going to take it back.”“We could always keep him in our secret basement,” Monique suggested. When everyone looked at her she added, “Hey, he liked my nipples. Finding a guy who is good with nipples isn't as easy as you would think.” Huh, what? I had a definite feeling I was losing control of events.“You have a secret basement?” I gulped. “I didn't know you had a secret basement.”“Well, duh,” Paris snickered. “It wouldn't be much of a secret if you knew about it.”“We are not keeping Zane chained up for our amusement,” Tawny warned the girls. “We specifically changed the Charter back in '02 so that we can no longer keep men on the premises for more than forty-eight hours.” Yay?“We also can't leave him here,” Tawny continued. “I'm sure Christina will have search parties out looking for you before sunrise.”“I'll stay out here and stand guard over him,” Leigh volunteered.“No,” Tawny scolded Leigh. “We can't let him get fucked to death either.” Leigh looked truly heartbroken.“I think we have to let Zane get off this time,” Tawny sighed.“I was trying to get him off,” Leigh grumbled.“Give it a rest, Leigh,” Tawny demanded. “Paris, give our guest something to drink so we can wrap this up.” Paris disappeared behind me, then reappeared with a glass of water.“Drink up,” she smiled beatifically.“Just promise me I'm not going to wake up in some landfill or tied to a lamppost somewhere public,” I groaned.“Drink it down right now and you might wake up next to me,” Tawny challenged. Needless to say, I drank and quickly, because I'm an idiot who keeps too much blood in the wrong head.When I woke up, I was back in the Sorority house with a different sweet pledge smiling at me and that smell of ammonia in my nostrils. She handed me a folded piece of paper.I said 'you MIGHT wake up next to me' the paper read. 'P.S. See you and the Ladies at our Halloween Bash.'“What's your name?” I asked the pledge. This time the home was filled with the noises of occupancy.“Larissa,” she giggled. “So, are you Leigh's boyfriend?”“Ah, no; I'm community property; the other sisters hand me around like a box of chocolates,” I joked.“Really! That is so great,” she bubbled with excitement. “I can't wait until I get initiated. I want you to make me scream the way you had Leigh singing.” Does no one get my jokes?“Larissa, I am sure you will pass your initiation, no sweat,” I told her as I stood up, feeling a bit drunk. Larissa walked with me to the door and gave me a quick peck on the cheek as I turned to head for my car. I made it to campus with seconds to spare. The crawl up to the Solarium was done in relative quiet, though Barbie Lynn decided to sample my tonsils before letting me up.Not two steps inside the door my phone rang.“Hello, is this Zane Braxton?” this familiar voice greeted me.“That would be me. What can I do for you this night?” I responded.“This is Felicity Tolliver. I wanted you to know that I had dinner with Rochelle Wellington tonight and I think having you on her committee has really improved her mood,” she informed me.I reached the top of the landing and nearly dropped the phone. Iona sat nervously on my bed, which she had made up because I never do it that well. She was wearing lingerie that definitely made her whole form much more feminine.“Felicity, Rochelle and I talked mostly, plus I showed her some techniques to help alleviate stress,” I related, “but you can tell her it was a pleasure to work with such a vibrant and beautiful woman. You two are a lot alike.”There was a pause, then,“I'll tell her that,” Felicity said.“I will be at my home in case she needs something this weekend. I would like to see both of you, as would my Aunt,” I offered.“That would be nice,” she sounded upbeat.“We could also discuss getting some FFU girls coming over to your place and the workshops you could teach on campus in October and November,” I suggested.“That sounds great too,” Felicity agreed. “I would like to spend some time at FFU and having some girls know where Lance's house is would be nice. When do you want to meet?”“How about after dinner, say 8 o'clock?” I suggested. “You can bring Lance.”“After dinner is fine but Lance has a church workshop on Saturday nights,” Felicity sighed. Oh hell, does this woman even get taken to first base? “He's always so busy with his fraternity at school, the Young Christian Men's Republican caucus, and the Christian Men's League at church.” Does this guy spend any time with women at all?“Consider it a date,” I replied. “Now I have a very good reason to go to bed, so good night.”“Good night,” she parted in a friendly manner, which allowed me to hang up and start undressing as I approached the bed. I looked down at my bed buddy once I'd stripped down to nothing.“You look lovely, Iona,” I greeted her. “What do you want to do?”“I'll do whatever you want,” Iona said with a tremor in her voice, looking down at her lap. She looked stunning in her burgundy bra and panties, which were far more lace than substance. I felt the hand of, Christina (?) in all this.“Thank you, Iona. What I really want is to lie down, you beside me so that I can look into your eyes and gently trace lines along your body, and then I want to go to sleep with you in my arms. That's what I really want.”“Really?” she perked up in surprise and relief. I crawled under the covers, holding them open so she could join me.“I like this a lot,” she murmured, as she settled in at my side, snug in the covers. I shifted to my side and cupped her chin before exchanging several soft kisses with her. Afterwards, I did as I told her I would; my hand caressed her body, avoiding nipples and pussy but doing my best to get everywhere else. I elicited sensual moans and ticklish giggles.When I had forced her to push me off so she could catch her breath, I felt I had given Iona what she wanted, and more importantly, what she could live with. I sat back and stared at the Moon through my glass roof. Iona's smiling face slowly invaded my view.“I give up, Iona,” I pleaded. “Right now I want some sleep.”“That's okay. I will sit here and watch over you,” she sighed.“That's, that's a little creepy, actually,” I confessed.“I've watched all of the Twilight movies so I know what secretive romances are all about,” Iona explained.Unfortunately, I knew little of the Twilight series of movies. I knew it involved vampires and werewolves and some chick named Bella but I'd never actually seen any of that. Had I known it involved a 100-year-old vampire breaking into some teenager's room and staring down at her while she slept, I would have been much more concerned, but for now I went to sleep.A lesson in wh

Attorneys representing Adam Fravel, the man accused of the murder of Madeline Kingsbury, have filed a series of motions in an effort to change the course of the case and secure a dismissal of the most serious charge he faces. Fravel is currently charged with first-degree and second-degree murder for Kingsbury's death, a case that has garnered extensive media attention.* Fravel's defense team is determined to shift the legal proceedings due to their concerns about the case's high-profile nature. They have requested a change of venue, contending that "a fair trial for Mr. Fravel cannot be accomplished in Winona County" because of the overwhelming media coverage surrounding the case. This motion raises questions about the impartiality of a local jury. One of the pivotal arguments made by Fravel's attorneys pertains to the grand jury's indictment. They argue that the grand jury lacked sufficient evidence to establish premeditation and intent, which are essential elements for a first-degree murder charge. This motion seeks to challenge the basis of the charges against Fravel. In addition to the dismissal request, the defense is aiming to prevent the state from seeking aggravated charges against Fravel if he is found guilty. They assert that the factors presented by the prosecutors are not applicable to Fravel's case, indicating a desire to limit the severity of potential penalties. Furthermore, the defense is seeking to exclude certain pieces of evidence from the trial. They aim to block any testimony related to Madeline Kingsbury's medical history, mental health, or statements made to therapists or counselors. These measures are taken to ensure that the case remains focused on the facts and circumstances directly related to the alleged crime. One particularly noteworthy motion pertains to a statement referencing another high-profile murder victim, Gabby Petito, made before Fravel's arrest. The defense argues that Fravel was not properly Mirandized, raising concerns about the admissibility of this statement in court. Another aspect of the defense's strategy involves challenging the validity of the data obtained from Fravel's phone between March 31 and April 2. They allege that law enforcement's statements used to obtain the warrant for this data were based on false information, aiming to exclude this potentially incriminating evidence. These motions will now be subject to the judgment of a judge who will rule on them at a later date. A contested omnibus hearing is scheduled for March 19, where key decisions regarding the future of the case may be made. As legal proceedings continue, the focus remains on ensuring a fair and just resolution for all parties involved in this high-profile murder case. Want to listen to ALL of our podcasts AD-FREE? Subscribe through APPLE PODCASTS, and try it for three days free: https://tinyurl.com/ycw626tj Follow Our Other Cases: https://www.truecrimetodaypod.com The latest on Catching the Long Island Serial Killer, Awaiting Admission: BTK's Unconfessed Crimes, Delphi Murders: Inside the Crime, Chad & Lori Daybell, The Murder of Ana Walshe, Alex Murdaugh, Bryan Kohberger, Lucy Letby, Kouri Richins, Malevolent Mormon Mommys, Justice for Harmony Montgomery, The Murder of Stephen Smith, The Murder of Madeline Kingsbury, and much more! Listen at https://www.truecrimetodaypod.com 

Attorneys representing Adam Fravel, the man accused of the murder of Madeline Kingsbury, have filed a series of motions in an effort to change the course of the case and secure a dismissal of the most serious charge he faces. Fravel is currently charged with first-degree and second-degree murder for Kingsbury's death, a case that has garnered extensive media attention.* Fravel's defense team is determined to shift the legal proceedings due to their concerns about the case's high-profile nature. They have requested a change of venue, contending that "a fair trial for Mr. Fravel cannot be accomplished in Winona County" because of the overwhelming media coverage surrounding the case. This motion raises questions about the impartiality of a local jury. One of the pivotal arguments made by Fravel's attorneys pertains to the grand jury's indictment. They argue that the grand jury lacked sufficient evidence to establish premeditation and intent, which are essential elements for a first-degree murder charge. This motion seeks to challenge the basis of the charges against Fravel. In addition to the dismissal request, the defense is aiming to prevent the state from seeking aggravated charges against Fravel if he is found guilty. They assert that the factors presented by the prosecutors are not applicable to Fravel's case, indicating a desire to limit the severity of potential penalties. Furthermore, the defense is seeking to exclude certain pieces of evidence from the trial. They aim to block any testimony related to Madeline Kingsbury's medical history, mental health, or statements made to therapists or counselors. These measures are taken to ensure that the case remains focused on the facts and circumstances directly related to the alleged crime. One particularly noteworthy motion pertains to a statement referencing another high-profile murder victim, Gabby Petito, made before Fravel's arrest. The defense argues that Fravel was not properly Mirandized, raising concerns about the admissibility of this statement in court. Another aspect of the defense's strategy involves challenging the validity of the data obtained from Fravel's phone between March 31 and April 2. They allege that law enforcement's statements used to obtain the warrant for this data were based on false information, aiming to exclude this potentially incriminating evidence. These motions will now be subject to the judgment of a judge who will rule on them at a later date. A contested omnibus hearing is scheduled for March 19, where key decisions regarding the future of the case may be made. As legal proceedings continue, the focus remains on ensuring a fair and just resolution for all parties involved in this high-profile murder case. Want to listen to ALL of our podcasts AD-FREE? Subscribe through APPLE PODCASTS, and try it for three days free: https://tinyurl.com/ycw626tj Follow Our Other Cases: https://www.truecrimetodaypod.com The latest on Catching the Long Island Serial Killer, Awaiting Admission: BTK's Unconfessed Crimes, Delphi Murders: Inside the Crime, Chad & Lori Daybell, The Murder of Ana Walshe, Alex Murdaugh, Bryan Kohberger, Lucy Letby, Kouri Richins, Malevolent Mormon Mommys, Justice for Harmony Montgomery, The Murder of Stephen Smith, The Murder of Madeline Kingsbury, and much more! Listen at https://www.truecrimetodaypod.com 

Attorneys representing Adam Fravel, the man accused of the murder of Madeline Kingsbury, have filed a series of motions in an effort to change the course of the case and secure a dismissal of the most serious charge he faces. Fravel is currently charged with first-degree and second-degree murder for Kingsbury's death, a case that has garnered extensive media attention.* Fravel's defense team is determined to shift the legal proceedings due to their concerns about the case's high-profile nature. They have requested a change of venue, contending that "a fair trial for Mr. Fravel cannot be accomplished in Winona County" because of the overwhelming media coverage surrounding the case. This motion raises questions about the impartiality of a local jury. One of the pivotal arguments made by Fravel's attorneys pertains to the grand jury's indictment. They argue that the grand jury lacked sufficient evidence to establish premeditation and intent, which are essential elements for a first-degree murder charge. This motion seeks to challenge the basis of the charges against Fravel. In addition to the dismissal request, the defense is aiming to prevent the state from seeking aggravated charges against Fravel if he is found guilty. They assert that the factors presented by the prosecutors are not applicable to Fravel's case, indicating a desire to limit the severity of potential penalties. Furthermore, the defense is seeking to exclude certain pieces of evidence from the trial. They aim to block any testimony related to Madeline Kingsbury's medical history, mental health, or statements made to therapists or counselors. These measures are taken to ensure that the case remains focused on the facts and circumstances directly related to the alleged crime. One particularly noteworthy motion pertains to a statement referencing another high-profile murder victim, Gabby Petito, made before Fravel's arrest. The defense argues that Fravel was not properly Mirandized, raising concerns about the admissibility of this statement in court. Another aspect of the defense's strategy involves challenging the validity of the data obtained from Fravel's phone between March 31 and April 2. They allege that law enforcement's statements used to obtain the warrant for this data were based on false information, aiming to exclude this potentially incriminating evidence. These motions will now be subject to the judgment of a judge who will rule on them at a later date. A contested omnibus hearing is scheduled for March 19, where key decisions regarding the future of the case may be made. As legal proceedings continue, the focus remains on ensuring a fair and just resolution for all parties involved in this high-profile murder case. Want to listen to ALL of our podcasts AD-FREE? Subscribe through APPLE PODCASTS, and try it for three days free: https://tinyurl.com/ycw626tj Follow Our Other Cases: https://www.truecrimetodaypod.com The latest on Catching the Long Island Serial Killer, Awaiting Admission: BTK's Unconfessed Crimes, Delphi Murders: Inside the Crime, Chad & Lori Daybell, The Murder of Ana Walshe, Alex Murdaugh, Bryan Kohberger, Lucy Letby, Kouri Richins, Malevolent Mormon Mommys, Justice for Harmony Montgomery, The Murder of Stephen Smith, The Murder of Madeline Kingsbury, and much more! Listen at https://www.truecrimetodaypod.com 

Attorneys representing Adam Fravel, the man accused of the murder of Madeline Kingsbury, have filed a series of motions in an effort to change the course of the case and secure a dismissal of the most serious charge he faces. Fravel is currently charged with first-degree and second-degree murder for Kingsbury's death, a case that has garnered extensive media attention.* Fravel's defense team is determined to shift the legal proceedings due to their concerns about the case's high-profile nature. They have requested a change of venue, contending that "a fair trial for Mr. Fravel cannot be accomplished in Winona County" because of the overwhelming media coverage surrounding the case. This motion raises questions about the impartiality of a local jury. One of the pivotal arguments made by Fravel's attorneys pertains to the grand jury's indictment. They argue that the grand jury lacked sufficient evidence to establish premeditation and intent, which are essential elements for a first-degree murder charge. This motion seeks to challenge the basis of the charges against Fravel. In addition to the dismissal request, the defense is aiming to prevent the state from seeking aggravated charges against Fravel if he is found guilty. They assert that the factors presented by the prosecutors are not applicable to Fravel's case, indicating a desire to limit the severity of potential penalties. Furthermore, the defense is seeking to exclude certain pieces of evidence from the trial. They aim to block any testimony related to Madeline Kingsbury's medical history, mental health, or statements made to therapists or counselors. These measures are taken to ensure that the case remains focused on the facts and circumstances directly related to the alleged crime. One particularly noteworthy motion pertains to a statement referencing another high-profile murder victim, Gabby Petito, made before Fravel's arrest. The defense argues that Fravel was not properly Mirandized, raising concerns about the admissibility of this statement in court. Another aspect of the defense's strategy involves challenging the validity of the data obtained from Fravel's phone between March 31 and April 2. They allege that law enforcement's statements used to obtain the warrant for this data were based on false information, aiming to exclude this potentially incriminating evidence. These motions will now be subject to the judgment of a judge who will rule on them at a later date. A contested omnibus hearing is scheduled for March 19, where key decisions regarding the future of the case may be made. As legal proceedings continue, the focus remains on ensuring a fair and just resolution for all parties involved in this high-profile murder case. Want to listen to ALL of our podcasts AD-FREE? Subscribe through APPLE PODCASTS, and try it for three days free: https://tinyurl.com/ycw626tj Follow Our Other Cases: https://www.truecrimetodaypod.com The latest on Catching the Long Island Serial Killer, Awaiting Admission: BTK's Unconfessed Crimes, Delphi Murders: Inside the Crime, Chad & Lori Daybell, The Murder of Ana Walshe, Alex Murdaugh, Bryan Kohberger, Lucy Letby, Kouri Richins, Malevolent Mormon Mommys, Justice for Harmony Montgomery, The Murder of Stephen Smith, The Murder of Madeline Kingsbury, and much more! Listen at https://www.truecrimetodaypod.com 

This week we're replaying a classic episode where your hosts Steve Lowry and Yvonne Godfrey interview Ian Alexander, Katrina Taraska, and Joseph Preiser of Goldberg & Goldberg (https://www.chicagomedicalmalpracticefirm.com/).   Remember to rate and review GTP in iTunes: Click Here to Rate and Review   Episode Details: Chicago trial lawyers Ian Alexander, Katrina Taraska, and Joseph Preiser of Goldberg & Goldberg share how they successfully represented 25-year-old model Irma Sabanovic's grieving family after Irma drove her car over an unmarked curb and drowned in the Chicago River. In May 2011, Irma drove her Ford Focus to Goose Island to pick up her boyfriend from a late-night performance at a nightclub and got lost on a dead-end street bisected by the Chicago River. Due to the City of Chicago's failure to maintain barriers or provide warnings to motorists --despite knowledge of a similar incident that occurred more than a decade earlier -- Irma unknowingly drove her car over the curb and into the water. After an extensive search, her body was discovered nine days later in her vehicle. At trial, the defense attempted to blame Irma for her own wrongful death, insinuating she was drunk, driving impaired, and not paying attention. In May 2016, a Cook County, Illinois jury awarded Irma's family $13,890,000 in damages, delivering the #6 verdict in Illinois in 2016.  View/Download Trial Documents   Guest Bios: Katrina M. Taraska Originally from the East Coast, Katrina M. Taraska grew up in a family of seven in Peoria, Illinois. Her mother was a language teacher proficient in French, Italian and Spanish who devoted her time to the enrichment of the lives of her students while teaching at area schools. Her father, a dedicated pathologist, was one of the four original founders of the Midwest affiliate of St. Jude Children's Hospital, which provides care to children with childhood diseases. Unique to Ms. Taraska's chosen career in personal injury law, she was the victim of a propane gas explosion, in which a commercial building collapsed on her, her mother, her brother, and a close family friend. The explosion left Taraska with extensive second and third-degree burns early in her life. She was hospitalized for 3 months, during which she underwent skin grafting of her arms, legs, hands, and chest. Incredibly, a year prior to the explosion, Ms. Taraska's father and a reconstructive surgeon opened the only downstate burn unit in Peoria where she was successfully treated despite the severity of her burns. It is this life-changing event that has played a significant role in Ms. Taraska's career of representing the injured. After graduating from law school Ms. Taraska has successfully represented clients and their families in complex litigation. In 1995, Katrina Taraska began practicing law in downstate Illinois where she grew up. In 2000 she became a partner with a Peoria law firm where she enjoyed the privilege of advocating for her clients in their respective claims for personal injuries, medical negligence, worker's compensation, and employment discrimination. She frequently appeared before the Circuit Court of Peoria County, Illinois, the Illinois Department of Human Rights, the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, the Social Security Administration, the Department of Employment Security, and in the United States District Court for the Central District of Illinois. In 2009, Ms. Taraska joined the Chicago law firm of Goldberg & Goldberg, where she continued her professional experience as a Plaintiff's lawyer in tort litigation. As a focus of her practice, she concentrates on representing individuals and their families in catastrophic medical malpractice and wrongful death claims. Her cases have involved spinal cord injuries, brain injuries, complications from surgical procedures, cardiovascular injuries, birth injuries, interventional radiology, infections, negligence in the diagnosis and treatment of injuries involving alleged abuse and neglect, gynecological and obstetric injuries, and products liability cases. Ms. Taraska also represents individuals involved in transportation accidents (railroad grade crossings, motor vehicle accidents, and semi-truck collisions), as well as premises liability claims, and injuries from assault, battery, and false imprisonment. Throughout her career, Ms. Taraska has been active in professional organizations including the Peoria County Bar Association, the Illinois Trial Lawyers Association, the American Inns of Court (Abraham Lincoln Chapter), the National Employment Lawyers Association, and the Chicago Bar Association. She has been a guest writer for the Peoria Woman Magazine and enjoys mentoring younger lawyers in their professional endeavors. Ms. Taraska is a member of the Catholic Church and is active in the service of those individuals in need in the local community. Read Full Bio   Ian R. Alexander Mr. Alexander concentrates his practice on representing the victims of catastrophic injuries in the areas of medical malpractice and complex personal injury litigation. Mr. Alexander first joined Goldberg & Goldberg in 1999 and became a partner in 2004. Mr. Alexander has tried to verdict and/ or settled numerous medical malpractice, product liability, aviation, railroad, construction negligence, and other complex personal injury cases. Mr. Alexander has been appointed to the plaintiff's steering committee in the litigation arising out of the Amtrak-Bourbonnais Train Disaster, the Hinkley Air Disaster, and the Oshkosh Mid-Air Disaster, among other litigation. Mr. Alexander has published articles regularly on issues pertaining to medical malpractice litigation. Mr. Alexander was raised in north suburban Chicago and attended the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. He received his legal education at Tulane University in New Orleans, Louisiana. Mr. Alexander is admitted to practice before the Illinois Bar and the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Illinois. He is also a member of the Federal Trial Bar. Mr. Alexander is married and has two children. He resides with his family in Highland Park, IL. Read Full Bio   Joseph Preiser Born in Chicago, Illinois, Joseph M. Preiser grew up in the suburbs of Oak Park and River Forest. Joseph's father, a personal injury attorney, unintentionally set Joseph on a path toward a career in law. From an early age, often unbeknownst to his father, Joseph read his father's books authored by prominent trial attorneys including, Gerry Spence, Robert Shapiro, Irving Younger, and Vincent Bugliosi, sparking Joseph's interest in law and justice. After graduating from Oak Park-River Forest High School, Joseph attended the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. While pursuing his undergraduate degree, Joseph began to hone his skills as a trial lawyer by participating on the University of Illinois' Mock Trial team. During his senior year, Joseph's team won the Regional Mock Trial Championship and competed in the Mock Trial National Championship in Des Moines, Iowa. In 2006, after working for a year at a large Chicago law firm, Joseph received an Honors Scholarship and enrolled at Loyola University in the Juris Doctorate and MBA programs. While attending law and business school, Joseph worked as a judicial extern for Cook County Circuit Court Judge Thomas L. Hogan and as a traffic prosecutor for the City of Chicago, where he prosecuted over 185 bench trials to verdict. In 2009, Joseph graduated with a joint J.D./M.B.A. degree. While earning his degrees, Joseph obtained recognition on the Dean's List, was a participant on the Health Law Moot Court team, assisted at Loyola's Business Law Clinic, obtained his M.B.A. with honors, and became a Beta Gamma Sigma Honor Society member. After graduation, Joseph immediately went to work for the Cook County State's Attorney's office as an Assistant State's Attorney. In his first year, Joseph authored and filed more than 30 appellate briefs in the Illinois Appellate Court, First District. Notably, Joseph authored the State's brief in People v. Tripp, a matter of first impression in Illinois, in which the Appellate Court agreed with Joseph's position and published an opinion in his favor. Joseph also argued on behalf of the State before the Illinois Appellate Court in People v. Primbas, an animal cruelty case that resulted in the death of a Rottweiler, where the Appellate Court again agreed with Joseph and published an opinion in his favor. For the following four years, Joseph worked in the Traffic Division where he prosecuted DUIs and represented the victims of automobile crashes. During his time in the Traffic Division Joseph refined his skills in the courtroom, prosecuting over 600 trials to verdict including 14 jury trials. In recognition of his performance and dedication, the Alliance Against Intoxicated Motorists awarded Joseph with a Certificate of Recognition and Achievement. In late 2014, Joseph was assigned to the State's Attorney's Office's Felony Review Unit. During his time, he spoke to victims of crimes, Mirandized and obtained statements from violent offenders, reviewed evidence, and provided consultation on charging decisions to law enforcement agencies throughout Cook County. In 2015, Joseph joined Goldberg & Goldberg where he continued his practice as a civil trial lawyer with a concentration on representing the victims of medical malpractice. Joseph is involved in all matters related to the trial of these complex civil litigation matters, including taking and defending depositions, drafting and arguing contested motions, attending court, and assisting on all of the firm's catastrophic medical malpractice and wrongful death claims. Joseph has specialized knowledge in Illinois Traffic Law and crash investigations, particularly as they affect victims in car crashes, motorcycle crashes, and pedestrian injuries. Dedicated to the needs of all of his friends and clients, Joseph is willing to lend his assistance on any law-related matter. Joseph relishes the opportunity to work with and learn from the other talented lawyers at Goldberg & Goldberg. Joseph appreciates the firm's devotion to their clients, their comprehensive commitment to preparation, and their unrelenting fearlessness in the courtroom. Read Full Bio   Show Sponsors: Legal Technology Services - LegalTechService.com Digital Law Marketing - DigitalLawMarketing.com Harris Lowry Manton LLP - hlmlawfirm.com   Free Resources: Stages Of A Jury Trial - Part 1 Stages Of A Jury Trial - Part 2