Darkness Reveals

Yves sits, exhausted and worn down from the recent events.  The small workstation, no longer cluttered with gadgets, seems to taunt her.  Jimmy told her, after the forcible shut down the Gunmen sold off their remaining possessions for money to live on as well as to track her down.  It was more of a sentimental gesture than she wanted to admit, and one she wished she’d have known about sooner. 

Now after the funeral she sits in the darkened warehouse.  She remembers them fondly.  And although she never really had a chance to bond with the three, she felt as though she knew them well enough from the surveillance tape footage.  When she’d first started making copies of their internal cameras it was solely for her benefit.  Even though they were a bit more of a ragtag team than she liked to associate with, she couldn’t deny they had some interesting ideas.  And some of those ideas turned out less disastrous than she imagined they would be. 

She’d watched every minute of those tapes, some of them more than once, with increasing interest.  Thinking on it now, it was heart wrenching to get to know them in this way, to learn of the intricacies of their devotion to their cause.  And after the fact of their death, it made her even more distraught that she never really took any steps to get to know them better.  Somewhere along the line, through literally mountains or tapes; somewhere between the everyday trials and tribulations she’d fallen in love. Maybe not with the men themselves but at least with what they represented.

***

“What we won't do for the constitution.” 

“Yeah, like having a roll of tape shoved up our kazoos, at least it feels like that.”

“We’re not gonna let this injustice stand.  We’re gonna stop these corporate goons from doing to the American people, what they did to us last night!”

“Yeah right.”

“What’s the matter, Byers?”

“The matter is that we don’t have the proof.  Without proof we’re nothing more than conspiracy mongers.  Without proof all we can do is cry wolf.”

“Don’t take it personally man, they strip searched all of us.” 

“Eleven years we’ve been putting out this paper.  Think about it.  Have we really made a difference?  Is America a better place to live because of our efforts?  This story would have garnered national attention.  It would have forced E-Con Com to halt the production of the Octium chip.  It would have protected the civil liberties of millions of Americans.  But without proof…”

“Well we can still speculate can’t we?  We’ll call it editorial commentary. 

“For whom? Last week’s issue had a circulation of 2,824.  We’re preaching to the converted.”

“Readership doesn’t matter, man.  It’s the impact on the black ops that counts.  They read it, too.  The guys at the NSA and the CIA, they tremble every time we put out one of these babies. 

“You think the people at E-Con Com are trembling?”

***

She’d watched that one alone at least ten times.  She just kept rewinding it again and again.  How had she been so close to them and never taken the time to get to know what drove them against seemingly unbeatable obstacles?  She’d had so much time before.  And now it seemed her supposed protection of them was all for nothing.  She’d tried to keep them safe, but as with most things when you try to keep a person away from something it only makes them want it more.  And these men, they wanted it so badly they often took the wrong road and got hurt in the process.  Not to mention putting their own butts on the line to get the story.  

***

“Melvin, it’s Alberta Pfeiffer.”

“Do I know you?”

“It’s just like I pictured it.  Ah, and there’s Richard, ‘Ringo’.  Though I wish you’d cut your hair. And you must be the new one, Jimmy.  I love your smile.  But John, your words have stirred my soul.  So principled, so strong.”

“You’re one of our readers?”

“From the first issue, twelve years ago.  Haven’t missed one since.  Which is why I’ve come to you.”

“As a last resort, believe me.  Mrs. Pfeiffers’ son, Douglas, is on death row in Texas , awaiting execution.  I’m his attorney, Jeremy Walsh.”

“He stands convicted of murder.  He’s not guilty.  I know every mother says that about her outlaw son but in this case it’s true.”

“And you want us to prove it?”

“I want you to talk to him but that’s asking a lot.  Lately Douglas refuses to talk to anyone, even me.  I can’t get in.  The only person he’ll have a visit with is Jeremy here.”

“We have several steps left in the appeals process but Douglas wants to streamline things.  He won’t say why, but he’s been pushing for an execution date.  One could be set as early as next week.”

“Eighteen months ago he pleaded not guilty.  He fought his conviction tooth and nail, and now he says he wants to die and he won’t explain it to anybody.  There’s some sort of conspiracy here, some sort of…I don’t know what.  But John, if anyone can figure it out, it’s you four.”

***

With a few simple words from a woman in need, they were off again, helping without asking a whole lot of questions.  Sure they had their doubts at first, but there was no doubt they were going to do something.  Byers had said it best…they defended the defenseless, and for them, there was no other way.  Trudging forward with no thought as to how they’d survive other than knowing that justice must be served.  It was not just a job to them, it was a duty, and in their hands, there was no doubt justice would be done in the end.  So many times those three cavaliers and their new follower would put themselves in harm’s way for another, inviting to be hurt…and often they were.

And often she was the cause of this hurt.  Many times in the past but no more so than this one last event that ended up ultimately taking their lives.  She knew more than all of them.  Yves Adele Harlow, an anagram indeed…but so much more--a lifetime of secrets were hidden behind that name.  A lifetime of secrets she was sworn to keep until the time was right to take things into her own hands.  She’d hoped to keep the secrets of her past from them forever, but circumstances required she be more open as time went on. 

When Morris Fletcher appeared and devastated them all she ran.  She ran away as far and  as fast as she could.  She told herself she was doing it for them, but she knew it was because she was afraid.  In the back of her mind she imagined they were looking for her, but never in her wildest dreams did she think they actually would.  Why would they?  They’d barely gotten out on top as it was.  Why spend time looking for what was essentially the cause of it all?  But they had grown to care for her and if she was really truthful, they had grown on her too.  The pesky and annoying little geeks had become a part of her life.

Eventually she had become tired of running.  Her common decency started to take over and she turned herself around one day to try and do something about her father’s plans.  Not only were the lives of her boys in trouble, but also the lives of thousands of Americans.  She had to get back and finish the job she started.  Unfortunately it seemed she’d waited too long.  Had she gotten there earlier maybe she’d have been able to stop her fathers plans without her dear friends getting in the way. 

When she returned she found them working as always but something was different.  The spirit was almost gone.  They’d spent the last year tracking her down, totally shut down printing due to lack of funds and a number of other things the scum Fletcher had done to them.  But here they were still fighting, and still searching as the load bore down on them.  She was lucky to have them on her side, she thought.

But now that was over.  They’d done what had to be done and now they were dead.  They were dead because of her, but then again if it hadn’t been for them they’d all be dead, and thousands of others with them.

Yves remembered how she walked by each of the caskets in Arlington .  Even though she had been there to see them die she still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that tomorrow they would not greet her at the door with their paranoid witticism.  Frohike would not be eyeing her as she walked past him and then pretending he was looking for something he dropped on the floor.  Langly’s sometimes adolescent presence would not be there to ping pong half-felt insults with.  And she would never secretly enjoy Byers’ protective and intellectual company again. 

As she walked slowly by each of them she whispered their names, “ ‘Richard Langly’, ‘John Fitzgerald Byers’, ‘Melvin Frohike’, to you I will always be grateful…grateful for so much more than your sacrifice.  I am grateful to have even met such men as you three, and I am less to have lost you so soon.”  She meant every word of it.  As Yves walked away from the three gray vessels Jimmy held her hand tightly.  And the three perfectly folded American flags under his other arm were held even tighter as they walked to their cars.

Now in the empty warehouse, she didn’t remember how she had gotten there, or how she’d managed to drive without getting in an accident.  And sitting in the darkened room where once there’d been life, she clicks on the desk light, turns a new page in her journal and begins to write…

At the start of all of this there were three men.  Some say they were brought together by chance, some say one soul in a vast conspiracy of men found it in their conscience to attempt a reconciliation, still others claim fate was on our side.  All I know is my life was irrevocably changed by these three and their actions. 

Many have come to do their job, but all have failed, overwhelmed by the immensity of it.  But these men continued on with honor and courage, wearing their hearts upon their sleeves.  They fought where they were able and picked up were others left off.  Over a lifetime of kindness, friendship and duty they fought to bring us peace of mind.  They battled to bring us true freedom and pushed for justice to all who were involved.  Self-depreciating and loyal they have been our saviors, giving their lives for each and every one of us and for all those to come. 

And now I find myself staring in disbelief at the evidence of their demise, wishing it were all a dream.  But no amount of wishing will bring them back.  I am faced with the daunting task of going on alone and strangely enough I feel a renewed sense of meaning and purpose in what lies ahead.  If these men, with their undeniable courage felt it fit to give all they had, for a population that never gave them anything in return, that turned their backs on them and their cause, then I think I can find it in me to do likewise.  I will do my best to fill their shoes and give voice once again to their dreams.  I will not let them be silenced, and through my dealings will not let their nobility be quieted.

This story must be told, no matter how painful it may be.  The ache will serve as a constant reminder of the importance of their work and the universality of what they believed in.  Today is the beginning, the beginning of another lifetime of struggle; to realize someday there will be an end to the lies.  And in assuring this conclusion, we will make certain our dear friends will have not died in vain. 

The slim figure outlined by the desk light bows her head, the reality of what she’s written finally starting to sink in.  Then with a fatigued sigh she sets her journal aside.  There is much work to be done and many things to finish before this particular nightmare is over.  Grieving would have to be set aside for another day.