Chapter 7: But Only The Statues Remain Silent

This is fiction. Any resemblance between the content of this story or any of the characters depicted herein and real persons or events is highly unlikely and purely coincidental.

"These allegations are false!" Gordon Henderson faced a throng of reporters. In his mind, a throng had to contain at least twenty cameras and at least seven satellite trucks. He stood two steps above the wide concrete upper deck. The last fifteen steps waited behind him, separating him from the courthouse entryway. The venue had been moved to Billings, Montana. This was a disaster in the making.

"Isn't it true that videos of staff members sexually abusing the clients were emailed to the Attorneys General of Montana and thirteen other states?" Jessica Ramsey stared at the high-powered lawyer. He stood mute, rolling his eyes. "Mr. Henderson, then can you tell us why Dr. Arlington was trying to cure homosexuality when it has been accepted for over a decade that it is not a disease?" She thrust the microphone toward him, digging for a response, challenging his ego.

"It is futile for me to try this in the court of public opinion. Until further notice, all communication will be through press releases." He turned and climbed the remaining steps and entered the courthouse. Gordon ignored the reporters who chased behind him. Crossing over to the security station reserved for officers of the court, he escaped into a limited access area.

Jessica turned back to face her cameraman. "After last night's revelations by World News Network investigative reporter Anne Birch, a nationwide conspiracy was uncovered. Video provided by the group calling themselves the Rainbow Warriors detailed the rescue of sixteen children and adults who were reported to have been sent to Madison River Sanatorium to cure them of their homosexual tendencies."

The on-site producer instructed Jessica to turn slightly and look back up at the courthouse. It would allow graphics insertion during future broadcasts. He was impressed; this was his first time working with Jessica.

"A vehicle fire at the Madison River Sanatorium yesterday led to the authorities discovering its staff had been detained and the patients were missing. WNN has confirmed that the video shown last night on World News Network was sent to law enforcement agencies across the nation. The Montana State Police and the FBI have instituted a nationwide hunt for Dr. Gregory Hugh Arlington. Unsubstantiated reports indicate that every computer printer in the facility was printing documentation in the forms of pictures and orders signed by Dr. Arlington. This is Jessica Ramsey of the World News Network, reporting from Billings, Montana."

Her cameraman signaled the shot was a wrap. Jessica turned off the wireless hand mike. She waited for the cameraman to secure his equipment and place it into standby mode. Together, they walked back to the World News Network satellite truck.

Gordon Henderson entered the consultation room. There waiting for him was Robert Darcy. Bob served as the president of Lamp Unto My Feet, the nonprofit agency who owned and funded the Madison River Sanatorium. Strain was evident on his face. "Gordon, get me out of here."

"Bob, stay calm." Gordon set his briefcase on the table. From inside he retrieved stacks of stapled papers. He gave one packet to Bob. "I've managed to convince the judge you're not a flight risk. You will need to use the equity in the lumberyard to secure your bond." Bob looked up at Gordon. The lawyer nodded his head. Then he looked back at the packet. "This is beyond our backyard. Subpoenas have been issued to examine the Lamp's finances, meeting notes, and any documentation relating to the sanatorium. I have a friend who saw part of what was printed." Gordon stopped until Bob meet his gaze. "Be honest with me Bob, did you have any knowledge of what was going on out there?"

Bob stared at Gordon, then shook his head no. "How could you even think... ?" He looked at the papers then turned, looking up at Gordon again. "No, Gordon, I never knew."

"As the attorney representing the nonprofit, it is a question I had to ask." Gordon sat down opposite Bob. "This is beyond fixing by using friends of friends. We are looking at multiple federal, state, and local jurisdictions." Gordon produced a packet from a sealed pocket in his briefcase. "Kidnapping, civil rights violations, all three versions of the Mann Act, not to mention corresponding laws and court tampering charges from thirteen states."

Bob hung his head and grabbed his hair with both hands. "They told us it was a drug treatment facility."

"Did they ever present that to the board in writing?" Gordon was disgusted. He had known Bob for the last seventeen years. Today, he did not know if his old friend told the truth.

"Wait," Bob looked up, "it was the week after the first CAP testing centers opened. The trustees had to vote to let that doctor apply to purchase, store, and administer methadone." A tiny moment of hope flashed from Bob's eyes.

"Are you sure?" Gordon was pressing the speed button for his office. "I need to talk to Kelly," he said, and looked back at Bob.

"Yes, I remember we made jokes about scoring high enough to audition for the next episode of Average Joes."

"You may have just saved your ass, Bob." Gordon turned his attention back to the phone. "Kelly, remember when the paralegals all got CAP tested during the first week the testing center was opened?" The corners of Gordon's mouth started to turn up and form a smile. "I need you to photocopy all of the Lamp Unto My Feet records from that month up through their last meeting."

"Gordon, have I been released?"

"Your release is scheduled for 4:00 PM this afternoon. At 4:15 I and Trevor Barnes together will rush from the front door to the waiting limousine." Gordon tapped the back of his cell phone. "My associate, Kelly Garcia, will escort you to my SUV where your wife Judy will be waiting."

"Bless you Gordon. I don't think I could survive here overnight."

It had to be a dream. Three things led him to that conclusion. First, there was a sense of safety. The last time he felt like this was the week before his mom disappeared. The gnawing at his muscles, that early stage of withdrawal that would force him into a ball, was abated. Finally, his ass didn't ache.

More sensations began to flood into his mind. The mattress cradled his form. He did not lay on the thin dank vinyl one on the floor. He wasn't cold. His cell, the whole sanatorium, was usually cold. Light began to filter into the space. He was beginning to wake up. Michael Powers fought to stay asleep. The reality in this dream felt good.

With the light increasing, Michael realized he was losing the battle to stay asleep. He was awake but not lying on the thin mattress. A wisp of escaping air brought to his attention that the top of the bed was lifting away. The lifting lid exposed three men staring at him.

"Hello Michael," the man on the right dressed in black was speaking, "I am Jason Grant." He looked at the people standing at Jason's right. The man in the middle wore green. The one on the end was dressed in gray. "Standing next to me is Jacob Kennedy, and on the end, Edward Polanski."

Michael remained absolutely still, he was aware he had an erection. The staff enjoyed sadistic games. Any moment he expected Rollo or Chad to show up with the flyswatter and chastise him for the stiffy. He decided to play mute.

Commander Kennedy lifted Michael easily from the medtube. The boy shivered and then began shaking his head no. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Michael could only manage a whisper. "Am I going to a treatment room?"

"No," Commander Kennedy answered.

Michael decided to take a chance. This giant looked like he could break Chad into pieces. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe."

Studying the face of his protector, Michael found he couldn't contain his emotions. He leaned in and started to cry. He didn't count the doors they passed through. Eventually, the giant put him in a chair.

"This is where you're going to stay for a few days." Commander Kennedy walked over to a little kitchenette. He returned with some tissues. "Wipe your eyes." He pointed behind Michael to the left. "The bathroom is behind you. The microwave will provide you with any finger foods or nonalcoholic beverage you ask for. There is a sink to rinse items in and all the garbage goes into the recycle drop."

Michael looked over and scanned the kitchenette. He identified the microwave and the door with the recycle symbol.

"How about we start you with a cheeseburger and French Fries?" The commander walked over to the microwave. He repeated the order. "What type of drink?" He turned and looked back at Michael.

"Could I have," Michael searched his memories for a favored taste, "a root beer?" Michael winced, expecting a reaction.

There was a ding. The commander carried a tray to the table. "One replicator special," he placed the tray before Michael. "Salt, pepper, ketchup?"

"Mayo, ketchup please."

Jacob walked back toward the microwave. Michael inhaled the aroma of the food. He could only stare at the bounty before him. Hands placed squeeze bottles of mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup on the table. "Eat," the commander instructed.

The root beer tasted good. Michael squirted a large dollop of ketchup next to his fries for dipping. He swirled some mayonnaise on the bun. He took a bite. He looked at the commander and waited until the commander signaled for him to eat more.

"In this package," Commander Kennedy placed a paper bag on the table, "are some pajamas. You have a choice as to whether you want to be dressed or not." Commander Kennedy crossed back and placed a similar order.

Michael sat, staring at the bag of pajamas on the table. He definitely was no longer in the tan room with the bars on the windows. The floors, walls, and even the ceilings appeared to be a polished dark gray stone with a satin finish. Commander Kennedy sat down and had two burgers on his plate with the fries. He also placed a pitcher between them and took a sip of his drink.

"They always said if we ever escaped they would hunt us down." Michael looked up, pleading into his giant protector's eyes. "Can you tell me this place is safe from them?" The commander was chewing. "Can they just sneak in here and take me?"

The commander swallowed. He took a small sip, before he answered the boy's fears. "Michael, you are on the moon."

"Mia, do you think the AI would let me replicate a bottle brush?" Marsha whispered at the table while the littlest girls were waiting for breakfast pastries.

Mia turned and looked at Marsha. "The glassware usually gets recycled."

Marsha leaned in real close, whispering, "I think I have a yeast infection."

Dropping her fork, Mia turned to glare at Philip. "Oh master," she put both of her hands on the table, helping her to stand. "Did you forget something?" She walked around to where Philip sat. Tina's three little ones rushed to their seats. They cut off Mia's approach on Philip.

Philip stared at Mia. He then made eye contact with each of his women. Something was wrong; he wanted to survive, "Yes." He hoped the admission would cover his ass.

Mia stood behind Philip. She pressed her bare breast into his back. She ran her fingernails, softly down his chest and into his chest hair. She rolled her fingers achieving a good purchase. Then she tugged.

"Papa's in trouble." The middle child broke the tension. Lucy's voice sounded lyrical, almost pixie like.

It was the littlest girl's turn next. "All the mommies look happy." Lena had witnessed mechanical aspects of sex. The AI man had convinced her that sex was only for the grownups. She understood that everybody felt good afterwards. The mommies always said Philip made them happy.

"Mamma Mia is staring at Mamma Marsha," Laura noted. "In science, Miss Prescott said to always observe before you report."

Philip quickly clicked through the facts. Marsha was talking to Mia, Marsha's cunt felt like it had grains of sand in it this morning, and Mia is pulling at the chest hair. Sub-vocally, Philip called the AI for help in analyzing any clue available.

<I can add an analysis of Marsha's bodily fluids that have been passed into the recycler.> Philip was sure the AI was dragging this out, prolonging his discomfort. <She is suffering from Candidal vulvovaginitis, commonly referred to as a yeast infection. If she had the standard set of health nanites, the yeast infection would not have progressed this far.>

Marsha had yet to have her initial medical scans. Philip wondered how he could have missed this. He had a good idea. Marsha, once free from her repressive father, unleashed a more wanton libido than any of his other women. He arranged for her to be scanned immediately after breakfast. Philip reached up and touched both of Mia's hands.

"I need to take Marsha to the med bay for a checkup." After Philip's announcement, Mia stroked the area where the abused hair was attached. She kissed Philip the top of the head. "My mother was wrong, I am trainable."

"Lena," he looked across to his youngest daughter. "Can Mamma Marsha take you for your follow-up treatment?"

Lena looked over at Marsha. "I think so."

Once her pastries and milk were finished, Lena put her breakfast tray on the counter. She walked over to Marsha. "Are you ready?"

"Yes Lena." Marsha stood up. The little girl took her hand and led her to the front door. Lena described how to get to the playground, her school, and where the closest lift was. It seemed Lena could talk for hours. Marsha really listened, as the little girl's perspective was very entertaining. About the time she started talking about which of Philip's toes was the best to tickle, they arrived at the med bay.

"Hello, Lena," the voice belonged to a woman in dark blue coveralls, "ready for your next checkup?"

"Yes Dr. Salami," Lena hugged the doctor.

The doctor adjusted Lena's bangs. "Who came with you today?"

"This is Mamma-Marsha." Lena pointed at Marsha. "Daddy-Philip says she needs a checkup too."

Marsha recognized the look that sponsors get when an AI is speaking to them through their implants. The doctor lifted Lena and placed her on the edge of an open medtube. Lena leaned back and swung her legs up. She blew a kiss at Marsha. The doctor closed the top.

"Lena's going to be okay, right?" Marsha was getting nervous.

"Yes," the doctor reached out and took Marsha's hand. "Last week she broke her right femur across the growth plate. It's what's referred to as a type five fracture. They are really rare." She turned Marsha toward an open medtube. "We're monitoring Lena to make sure that both growth plates are growing equivalently." The doctor patted the medtube, showing Marsha where to sit. "This is the first time a break such as this has been corrected in conjunction with the Confederacy medical advancements." Marsha took her position and swung her legs up. "Lena is providing a medical baseline."

The lid started to close. "Wait," the lid stopped, "I have a yeast infection."

The doctor leaned down close to Marsha. "Your sponsor forgot to have your initial medical check performed." The doctor spoke reassuringly, not in a whisper. "You have heard of medical nanites?"

"Yes," Marsha looked away from the doctor. "Though I have to confess most of what I read was probably wrong."

"You will sleep for about fifteen minutes. During that time a complete physical will be performed. Your yeast infection will disappear." The doctor smiled and the lid slowly closed.

"Canadian Border Services Agency, North Portal, Saskatchewan, how many help you?" The woman on the phone was at the same time professional, polite, and exuding confidence.

"There is a midnight blue Land Rover Discovery approaching the border on US Highway 52. The driver is Dr. Gregory Arlington. He has several warrants for his arrest from Montana." Janice Montgomery never knew investigative reporting to be this exciting. Riding in the unmarked van following the doctor stimulated her sense of excitement.

"I suggest that you contact the US Border Patrol in Portal, North Dakota." The Border Services agent was trying to be helpful. "There number is area code 701 –," Janice looked over at Anne Birch. She was still on the phone with US Border Patrol. "As long as the purported fugitive is on US soil, we will not and cannot interfere."

"My associate is on the phone with them." The turnoff for the municipal airport passed quickly by the window. "With all of the budget cuts down here, we thought it best to call you folks."

The call ended. The camera crew finished their third double check of their equipment unit. Three cars ahead, the Range Rover Discovery puttered ahead. The dark clay parking lots of truck stops, which lined the road, seemed to blend into the pavement. After passing Clark Street, three marked North Dakota State Trooper units pulled in behind the van. A tractor-trailer blocked the next road up. The driver was kneeling, looking under his front bumper.

Once they passed the end of the disabled tractor-trailer, the state troopers accelerated, passing the van, two on the left, one on the right. Up ahead, several units pulled out from Makee Street, blocking US 52. The lights and sirens began to flash and wail. The trailing trooper who passed on the left stopped the car directly behind the Discovery. The van stopped. The cameraman and Anne bolted from the van door. Janice watched as they rushed forward.

"Take this," the producer handed Janice the smaller camera, "head around to the left. See if you can get a wider angle, hurry."

Janice spotted a fifth-wheel camping trailer with a ladder on the back. Climbing to the top, she found an indoor-outdoor carpeted patio, surrounded by handrails. The state troopers had blocked the progress of the Discovery. They were crouched down using their patrol cars as cover. She could see Anne along with her cameraman filming behind the patrol car that had stopped the traffic flow, about one hundred feet from the inner perimeter.

"This is Lieutenant Bhatia of the North Dakota State Police, shut the vehicle off." Her voice, amplified through the megaphone, demanded attention. "Toss the keys outside the window."

The Discovery sat idling, the rear taillights shining red indicating that someone pressed down the brake pedal. There wasn't any other response.

Janice could see additional officers as they crept into positions behind the troopers. She had no experience except movies and television to draw from. This looks like overkill. She counted thirteen troopers and border agents from this angle. There had to be at least that many more on the far side.

"I repeat. Turn your vehicle off. Toss the keys out of the window." Lieutenant Bhatia repeated her instructions.

There was a pause. The taillights never went out, but for a flash, the backup light came on. Seconds later, the window rolled down. The brake lights went out. An object flew out and hit the ground.