Good and Evil : Freeland - Part Two (9781628547375) Read online

  A thin, delicate woman in her early-thirties stepped through the horizontal tornado style doors to near the stumbled squad. Her streamlined suit revealed a strong contrast to her flowery yellow hair. A mite blended from that of her genetics, she appeared fruitful with photo-worthy, satin green eyes. Darkening in the all-around light, they were a mysterious assortment of love, shame, and hate. Each one of the feelings could spring out at any time. It was eerie how she could control each feeling with little resistance. This often confused her emotional patch.

  The name Madrid DeSpain followed her since she was a little girl. Her parents had drowned in the Mediterranean Sea. Afterward, the closest surviving relative took her in and sheltered the bereft child. During the third war of the worlds, many families sank to great depths in all the seas of the world. Their only hope for survival was to swim as far away from the fires, stemming from the Middle East, in a time of total annihilation. Madrid was violently ripped from her newfound Spanish settlement when a crew of dark angels cast her to Trendago. All that she had repressed could easily be filtered out in any defense she opted.

  Treach kept close eyes to her cunning diversity, a beckon arising from her self-willed determination. Nevertheless, Madrid still couldn’t see clearly through deception. Her hair often stood on end to give away a deep concentration. The past was her fear the seven years of darkness hadn’t erased.

  Her bleach-bright, yellow hair flowed in a choppy wind as she stooped over at the waist to coat Treach with a black straight jacket. Her candid eyes held him in a loom of lust. Their embrace was a security he hadn’t held onto since birth. The straight suit tightened in back, a constriction he no longer felt. All outer-stimuli sank to the sanitary floor. He was in an estranged bliss. Immoral thoughts clogged the youth. With the powerful angel graced in beauty ahead, he followed by the bend of her forefinger, motioning him in her direction. To the lock-and-shock, electric raindrop zone he was escorted as a harmless puppy, seduced by stronger knowledge.

  The lifting door had rubber foam sprayed upon its entire width. The walls, six feet extended, were also painted protective for the treatment side of this secluded hallway. Once inside, a plenitude of metal coils, evenly rowed, provided a floor.

  “Treach, you are going to hate this more than any nightmare you have ever envisioned. I have to leave you here now, though. Your therapy has commenced. God bless your strength. This is going to be your worst-lived nightmare.”

  Her words brought him out of his mesmerized state. “Wait! What is going to become of me? What did I do wrong? Please, don’t let anyone hurt me!”

  Madrid remotely shut the heavy cage door and departed. Her job was complete. Suddenly, Treach turned angry; the crybaby was left stranded. “Stupid, dogmatic tramp! Thanks for nothin’. Yo, I can find my way, alone! Welcome, killa!”

  The light, flickering walls closed in an inch as he played the tough guy again. Lessening in width, the twenty-four inch walkways on both sides of the fifteen-feet-long aisle of mass coil got thinner. He looked around for a way out. With the utmost security measures, this hall was inescapable no matter how sapient the defense. Treach felt wounded and deadened by his own malice.

  Still too young and hostile to understand, he began screaming, already consumed in wrath. “Whoever is controlling this trap is next in line to death! Don’t worry; it will be slow and painful. No one puts me under stress! You started this mess. My girlfriend, Lacey, was purposely thrown from your capture to plunge helplessly to her death. How would the authorities look at that? Punk, wall-breath!”

  The walls closed to an eight-inch gap. Already forced on the windy springs, Treach listened intently as a buzz of generators hummed an echo inside the tightly drawn quarter. A livid stain of blue and white flashed through a sudden fog that emerged from the floor, leaving his black eyes dilated and less transitory in sight. An optical kaleidoscope sent Treach harshly to the floor. A loud thud, existing sparks, symptomatic quivers, and electrically charged wetness kept him on his discolored back. The black, vinyl straight suit was merely a conductor for all electricity to take away his malice. A feeble child arose from his tale, a self-concluded story of sagacious proportion. He had arrived, the belittled boy society had ascertained to be the lead man of incrimination. His fate enriched, it was a near-second erasing that got him to stand up a man instead of belaying the soil his body’s decomposition, let alone that of his brush with Nostradama in wait of an eternal incarceration. A stout fear conveyed the message from God; his conscience received it to open a full mind. The stage, still empty, was angrily anticipated. He wanted more than anything for the power of God to leave him in this second life. He smartly figured the third was going to be much worse.

  Bonnie was out doing her normal rounds, checking on the adolescents to make sure none were feeling down. Her enthusiasm, from years of hard work, enabled her to hold the position of supervisor of this massive treatment development. It helped that her world had been shared for a short while with Chester Baumkegen, the creative being that spent long hours originating and modifying DSOH.

  Her straw-brown hair framed a narrow, well-tended face. A bit ashen at times, it always revealed the truth of the character inside. Thin, wispy, black eyebrows kept in light her extravagantly fierce ice blue eyes.

  Treach was still going through lights-out when Bonnie reached him. Through the looking glass, she peeped in wonder if this form of avenge was appropriate for such a young, misled child. His exterior was an ambient light of manipulation, too clean and pure in complexion for any environmentally-reared murderer to portray.

  Feeling sorry for the young Shagranian by ethnicity, Bonnie, in a professionally pretty way, entered the partition with a thousand protecting eyes upon her and scooped the listless child into the comfort of her arms. The embrace sprang him into several more angry spasms. The last time he had been held by a woman, she was forcefully thrown from his life.

  Eventually, the violent jolts ended. In her lap, his head held traction. He was out, for the remainder of his strength had

  dissipated.

  Now easier to maneuver, two lemon-colored magistrates were called upon their course of duty to escort young Treach to the sub-dungeon of lucid thoughts, where the most ornery disciples of all that was bad were forced into despair. This place was the under-underground, below what was reckoned as the bottom floor. The assumed base floor consisted of a recreation room and an art class as well as a study room and a weight-training quarter. Off against the far wall was the virtual Pilot’s Tower game for the best-behaved adolescents. Each day, the kids would be chaperoned to these positive-behavior inducing sectors to fill their minds with useful knowledge. Yet going below this region, the next layer down, Treach was cast a helpless imp, confused by means of a torturous nature. He would begin thoughts of rue toward taking the life of another as well as many others. He was shifted into reconciliation with the second set of laws in human nature. These spiritual laws were imposed as the seven years of darkness had reached its light.

  The stairwell tunnel to downstairs was long and dark. As a snake’s belly is smooth and slick, so was this sloping corridor. The walls were a shadow of senseless scales shuttering fluently with air conditioning. It was a bit relaxing, considering where this path was to lead. Once out into the light of the next sub-division, the surrounding walls were of plain view as sandy silver and homely as the disparaged Lamish. They didn’t excite any sensations; hence, they were flat without any unexpected protrusions. Also like the Lamish, the hallway was lofty.

  After spitting the three people out at its end, the walkway opened onto a delta perfect for sightseeing. The environment held within it an attempt to restore grace within the on-looker. A planetarium nestled in the corner to expose mid-cast water fountain statues of angels and blowfish sprouting arrays of cataracts up through the glass-domed ceiling. The return was a choreographed display of lucid springs, a persuasive watery collage of
peaceful animations. Each flicker of light bent Treach’s mental intake, where it was introduced as a relaxing overseer, away from a life of pain. Treach peered into the reflecting blue-green lagoon of collected foam and thought a moment of tranquility had taken him away from reality. It was a majestic sense to cast himself far away mentally from the harshness of what would be his eternity. In a fraction of time, he had prepared his mind for the darkness of the sub-dungeon. Negative eight, on the sub-behavioral scale, had been altercated. This hell of down below was the consequence of his external negativity. One is surely foolish to have gone so quickly in count past negative eight.

  Nevertheless, this was the special treatment he was now forced to abide. Tipped upside down, Treach tucked to his chest the tight, spiral-mop dreadlocks in wait of the plunge through an endless dark hole in the floor. Afterward, it would be covered with a rubber mat to default any assumptions that it ever existed.

  The chute accepted his size, thoroughly digesting his body with the greatest of ease. Treach hit the bottom headfirst, and then stood to allow time for his pupils to adjust. It didn’t matter; there wasn’t any light down there, anyway.

  In mode of the unseeing, he walked blindly through the pitch of black before him; his purpose was to find a constant environment away from the cold-hotness of the current placement. A quick step forward, and his head met the solidness of metal pipe. To the concrete floor he fell as a goose egg started to form. He reached through the black and rubbed his aching temple. This wasn’t much fun at all, but this room didn’t hold any comparison to the pain of the shocking hell hall. Neither could it relate to the pain of his aching abs of phantom skin that his neurotransmitters were attempting to accept as his own.

  Chapter 3

  Three-peat Championship

  The Rumor Mill Bobcats were going to their third straight championship playoff. The days leading to the final game were full of high school spirit. That whole week was actually called spirit week, where each day the students fitted themselves with agreed upon outfits. On this day, two days before the big game, everyone had on something similar to the opposing team’s mascot. More than half of the spirit squad wore nooses and stained themselves with mock blood to signify that the championship was going to be a slaughter. This made the Bobcats exasperated. Anticipation got them even angrier. Two more days of holding these feelings inside were driving Drake and Treble insane. At lunchtime, they jumped in Treble’s mom’s truck and headed to the top of RM Mountain, a mere two blocks from the school. Once at the top, Drake stepped out of the passenger side of the truck to shout over the edge of the lookout.

  “Loveland Bulldogs, you are a bunch of pansies! You will never beat us in the playoffs! We already kicked your tails twice this year!” The words trickled down the side of the sheer cliff and sprawled outward once at bottom. They echoed back to fill Drake’s ears with pleasure.

  Treble threw a rock as far out as his arm would allow. Joining Drake in a pre-victory chant, they ranted on about the upcoming battle. Together, they did a high-five and danced, arm-in-arm, in a tight circle, overlooking the vastness of a busy city. Nearing the edge of the crag, Drake decided to try something crazy. Adrenaline kept his sights on aim. Treble tried to hold him back, but something goaded Drake to be stupid.

  Their facial expressions had changed from having fun to total seriousness. Drake took several steps backward while keeping both eyes straight ahead. He spoke in a tone that gave Treble the chills.

  He said, “This is it. I am going to do it!”

  Several times before, there had been multiple instances of people daring the towering ridges of RM Mountain, but none had ever actually plunged forth their courage. A lot of them had sat, dangling their feet over the edge to challenge the height. That was as far as anyone had gone. Drake was now determined to change his fear.

  Previously, both Drake and Treble got out of the truck to lock the hubs in before four-bying to reach the peak of their location. Halfway up, Treble had to shift into four-lo; the red dirt was stealing the tires’ traction. Looking straight into the sky, halfway up the vertical incline, a rush of adrenaline caught each of them off guard. They were scared, yet curious. The truck stopped again after bouncing across an off-level rut. This was where most were forced to reverse back down; that was even scarier than going up the half-pipe of a slope. Red dust blanketed the charcoal exterior of the truck as Treble bit down in the rut while spinning the back tires. He paused for a second to allow the tread to feed as he popped the clutch, let off the brake, and stomped on the gas pedal. The roof of the cab met Drake’s head a couple of times. He was jouncing all over while Treble gassed the truck and laughed from beneath the comfort of his five-star seat belt.

  The dust settled down a little further from where it had been kicked up. Once at the top, Treble hit another wheel crater, finally landing on all fours. He was worried his mother was going to skin him for mistreating her truck.

  “What if this is it?” Drake addressed Treble.

  “What?” Treble was perplexed.

  “The answer to our seven years of darkness.”

  “No one is supposed to ask questions about those seven years. Haven’t you been listening in school? Our sins were supposed to be erased in that time frame, and the re-birth was supposed to blind us for our second chance.” Treble smirked with surety that, this time, he was going to be okay.

  “What did you do?” Drake asked while stepping into the reins of a parachute.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Or you don’t want to tell me?” He buckled the harness, cinching it tight between both legs. “Gosh, this thing is racking me.”

  “Look man, I don’t want you to jump.” Treble changed the subject. “They say that by doing acts, as you are about to try, you are taking your own life into your hands. This is something Brody would do, and just look where that got him.”

  “I am not Brody, nor will I ever be. God has different plans for me.”

  “I know you’re not. I am just using him as a reference, but you are committing suicide. I’ve heard that those who take God’s plan out of his hands and put it into their own will be punished forever by being cast into purgatory, the inner-darkness. That’s where Brody is waiting for his judgment. Then it’s on to the searing piths of Nostradama. You are my friend. I don’t want you to do this.”

  “Sorry, Treble. I’ve already landed peacefully on the fifty-yard line just in time for CP English. See you back at school.” Without hesitating, Drake sprinted for nearly seventy feet as he sprawled out while leaping into the air. The goggles sucked tight to his face as gravity pulled him downward. Along the way, he screamed out the victory chant. “We are the Watusi; we are seven feet tall. We fight the Nairobis; they are no match at all. Their camels may eat us, but they will never beat us. We are the Watusi; we are seven feet tall. Ungowa, ungowa, ungowa!”

  Treble jumped into the truck and braved the rutty trail at a whiplash speed. Once at bottom, he met Drake and the rest of the high school on the fifty-yard line. Everyone cheered and roared as, in mid-air, he lit a blue and white kerosene-soaked Bulldog player doll, donning another parachute on its back. Everything went up in flames, including the chute. Slowly trailing a black line of smoke, the doll offset the contrast of burnt yellow in the backdrop. Now everyone was pumped for the playoff championships.

  One of the hotter cheerleaders—Brody had a pet name for her, but everyone else called her Abby—swam through the crowd to meet today’s celebrity face-to-face. The first thing she did was whisper something into his ear, followed by a peck behind that same ear. Drake looked around with a cocky smile on his face.

  “What did she say?” Treble dragged him away from the

  celebration.

  “She said she wants you and me to find her later. She wants to share something with us… at the same time.”

  “You dirty dog. What abou
t Brody? You know he still writes her letters, and he has told us that she is his life.”

  “Brody won’t be coming back for a long time. I won’t tell if you don’t. Besides, I think she has wanted to make out with me way before Brody; I just happened to be taken at the time they started going out. Abby is confused and highly vulnerable. This is the best time to make our move. We can thank Brody for leaving the door open.”

  “I feel bad for Brody, man. Would you want him to do this to one of us?”

  “He has! Besides, he will get over it. Just think: we could put the lip smackdown on one of the hottest chicks in school.”

  “When?”

  “When, what?”

  “When has he done anything to us?” Treble asked after thinking hard about the question.

  “You remember; that one time when we were night swimming at the terraces with Meredith Ping and Tanner’s cousin, Tara Cox. Remember? Tara wanted him, but he knew I wanted Tara. I already called dibs the moment we saw her bathing on the terrace as the moonlight danced upon every one of her hot curves. I still have fantasy-filled dreams over that. Screw him!”

  “That doesn’t count. Tara came straight up and told Brody and I that she wanted us to keep you away from her that night. He wasn’t with her, anyway. She was still going out with, and madly in love with, Seth Rollins.”

  “Well, whatever the case, I got blocked, and now I am going to give him a little payback.”

  “I don’t know. He isn’t even here to defend himself. I wouldn’t if I were you.” Treble suddenly grew a conscience.

  “I thought I knew you better, Treble. Is this the same person who said he didn’t care if Brody died or not?”