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Pamela
Posted On: 04/21/2015 07:23:38

April 21

PAMELA

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

Oh my gracious. Victoria was shocked at Pamela’s flushed face, squinting eyes. Seeing the depth of anger on Pamela’s face, she panicked. Had she had made a terrible mistake?

 

Pamela shielded Victoria from Helen who stood nearby, staring at the confrontation between the two women.

“You damn well know what you did here tonight. Now I know it too. I’m not going to call you my mother. I don’t know if you ever were. I know I’ve had a lifetime of you. So did Daddy. You and me. We’re done. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re packing.”

****

Telepathy.

With the speed of light, the group of men became aware he was behind them. Words dropped in mid-sentence, sensory perceptions were exacerbated. They pulled away to allow him to reach the bar. Why, they didn’t know. They knew he wasn’t one of them, at best an intruder. What had possessed Pamela to invite him? He was a stain, a distraction on the resplendent ball. He must be shunned, asked to leave.

And they’d admit to their closest confidant, he frightened them.

To a man, they knew of him. Powerfully built, he was a government-sanctioned killer. A dreg on society. Would he kill again? Who would he kill? How did he decide who would live and die? They knew there would never be world peace until governments stopped recruiting legions of killers—like Seth.

One man remained at the bar when the others stepped away.

Thaddeus.

Seth rested his forearms on the bar, studied him. Thaddeus, the spear point of the attack. The enemy.

Seth sensed it. A foreboding of doom. All he had gained could be lost. Pamela would evaporate into a mist and his demons would return. He’d walked into a trap. There was no escape.

He could change the script. Accept Thaddeus’ taunts. Bite his lip. Hold back his ingrained response to tear the heart out of the enemy. Could he do it? He didn’t know. He knew the outcome if he failed.

“I would like two glasses of Pinot Noir,” Seth said.

Removing his elbow from the bar, Thaddeus stretched himself to overcome his ingrained habit of a perpetual slouch. More important he wanted to top Seth’s five-ten stature.

“Permit me to introduce myself.” Thaddeus prided himself on his University of Oxford training to enunciate each syllable in a word. “My name is Thaddeus Franklin Oliver of the TXP conglomerate. I am chairperson of the ball.”

“Sir,” Seth said, as if addressing a wet behind the ears second lieutenant from officer candidate school and a “newbie” to combat.

It was a gentleman’s smirk, mildly offensive, on Thaddeus’ face. “I have been informed that you are Pamela Brighton’s escort for the evening.”

Seth nodded, rested his hands on the two wine glass stems.

“Mr. Collins, I believe.”

“Seth.”

“Yes, of course, Seth. You do have an invitation to be here tonight?”

“Do I need to show it to you?” Seth mocked. He realized he was slipping deeper into the trap.

Thaddeus laughed. “No, I suppose not. Otherwise, why would you be here?” Thaddeus and the men surrounding him snickered.

Holding the wine glasses, Seth said, “If you will excuse me.” The steel trap door on the cage was closing. He needed to escape.

Thaddeus held up his hands. “Please, Mr. Collins. . .excuse me. . .Seth. How could I have ever forgotten such an . . .unusual name. Seth, don’t leave. My apologies if I have offended you. You’re a guest tonight. I want to welcome you and to know you better.”

Several men in the group snickered again.

“Surely you will not deny me the opportunity to meet my responsibilities?”

Surrounded by the men, his back to the bar, Seth heard the steel cage door slam shut.

Trapped.

The bartender stepped away when Seth returned the wine glasses to the bar. Others began to gather around the fringes of the crowd. Pamela remained with her mother on the far side of the immense ballroom.

Seth dropped his arms, returned to his combat mindset. The men who surrounded him would not attack him. They were older, soft men with giant intellects and thin skulls that would shatter from a single blow. Nor would Thaddeus attack him. Such brutish ways were beneath his pompous manner. No, their assault would be psychological. Taunt him into making a mistake—destroy him.

Sweeping his hands to acknowledge the men that surrounded him, Thaddeus said. “Tell me Seth, have you have met any of these gentlemen?”

Seth said nothing, focused instead on Thaddeus’ eyes signaling an attack.

Pointing to a gentlemen with silver hair who stood several inches north of six feet, Thaddeus, said, “Seth, this is Theodore Collingsworth of the Dentforth Group. Theodore, you must employ what, three-hundred-thousand employees around the world?”

“Closer to four,” Theodore said.

“How many men do you employ, Seth?”

Seth remained silent, but he was no longer alone. Surrounding him, he saw their faces. The marines who had fought and died alongside him. The nineteen year-old kid who died on his first day in combat. The new dad who begged Seth not to let him die. The young female medic who cried she’d never be called “Mom.” All of them returned to protect Seth, cover his flanks. That’s what marines did.

Seth saw the first suggestion of frustration in Thaddeus’ eyes. Thaddeus pointed to a short, fat man with pasty skin. “Paul, you must have ten billion dollars in your investments.”

Paul waved his fingers suggesting a higher amount.

“How much money do you have, Seth?”

Seth smiled, said nothing. He was winning the battle. Thaddeus’ face reflected frustration he was losing the fight to anger Seth.

“Perhaps, Seth, you made a mistake being here tonight. Maybe you misread the invitation. You belong in some bar in Hunts Point in the Bronx. Oh, and don’t worry about Pamela. We are such special friends. I’ll see that she gets home safely.”

Seth clutched his fists. He had taken Thaddeus’ toughest punch and remained standing. He wanted to speak but choked on his words. Thaddeus was a little, insignificant man, no taller than the heel of his shoe. The dead marines cries of “Ooh Rah” rang in Seth’s ear.

Clearly unsettled that he had failed to generate a response, Thaddeus looked at the group of men for support, reinforcement. He was, after all, chairperson for the International Alliance for World Peace. Men at war had thwarted his years of effort to help achieve a world at rest. He was one of them, Seth. A mercenary who wallowed in the death of innocents. The impoverished who could not escape from Seth’s barbaric weapons of war. It was Seth and his ilk that had driven terrorists to assassinate his brother in Cairo. There must be an accounting of Seth’s high crimes against humanity.

Seth reached for the wine glasses.

Pamela saw the gathering of the guests. Seth, no other explanation. She sprinted as fast as her gown would allow to rescue him.

Thaddeus’ grim face announced his coup de grâce.

“Tell me, Seth, How many innocent women and children did you and your men kill?”

Seth’s head exploded with images of dead marines cries of anguish for the label of war criminal. The young female medic who died shielding two Iraqi children demanded retribution.

“You black-hearted son of a—”Seth never finished. He body slammed Thaddeus hard to the floor.

“Seth,” Pamela screamed.

TO BE CONTINUED



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Viewing 1 - 1 out of 1 Comments

04/21/2015 18:17:38


winterdog wrote:

Uh Oh..

You're right on. Now how in the heck is Seth going to get himself out of this mess?

JB




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