5 YEARS AFTER 2.5 Smoke and Mirrors. Richard Correll

      SMOKE AND MIRRORS

      Suddenly, eyes wide open.

      She took a breath and then held it. Molly didn’t dare move but her eyes scanned the ceiling . The darkness seemed to be hiding something. Her neck craned to the left and the window of her hotel room. There was some feeble light from far fewer street lights and signs that made the blackness turn grey. Yes, just enough luminosity to give substance to shadows. Now, her imagination had something to work with.

      Was he back? That one who had reached out of the car window and grabbed her in Cleveland? Stop. She exhaled. The one who touched her leg in Washington, was he here? Stop. She felt a cold chill caress her ankle. That’s right where he touched you, isn’t it? Imagination ignored the plea and played on. Perhaps it was that girl from the highway that had far away eyes on the road to Huntington. It was like she was listening to music. She had followed you all the way here.

      “Stop,” Molly finally whispered to an empty room.

      She sat upright in the queen sized bed. Her fingers gripped the covers tightly. At any second she was ready to pull the bed linen up as a feeble defense to whatever lunged out of the shadows. We just don’t wake up like we used to. Her breathing felt more controlled now. Primal fear is our passage from slumber. That’s what happens when you’re the prey. Molly’s eyes carefully scanned the room, watching the darkness for anything out of the ordinary. The chair was still a chair. The desk had not moved one iota in the few hours she had been asleep.

      It winked at her. From the corner of her eye she saw it. A reddish hue played the game of there/not there in the shadows. Now you see me now, now you don’t. It was there, Molly watched the black canvas for a repeat, a confirmation.

      There it was. She was on her feet now. Fuck the dark. Her Blackberry winked again.

      Her fingers easily found the plastic case without any enablement of light. Molly had done this so many times. The Blackberry couldn’t resist one more playful twinkle in the dark before her fingers lit up the faceplate. Messages: one. She tapped the icon.

      You have one new message. The screen was black with white lettering. Molly’s thumb tapped the keyboard and cut to the chase as her left hand turned on the lights. It was on messenger.

      I do hope this note from an old friend finds you well. The words took shape on her screen. I just thought it was strange to see General Beauregard’s forces so far into Kentucky territory.

      “What are you up to, General? She heard her own voice from a few hours ago. The answer had arrived. Molly thumbed the two attachments. The first was a map display. A teardrop was hovering over two intersecting ribbons of roadway. The Deacon had been close to Louisville.

      What were you doing there so late at night, my friend? Molly let that thought file itself away as she tapped the second icon on the message, a jpg.

      The picture was crystal clear in the Kentucky rain. A multi wheeled metal machine. Molly tried to access her limited military knowledge and came up blank. Was it a tank? Armored car maybe? Perched on top was a figure facing forward with his left shoulder to the camera. The man’s helmeted head had turned abruptly in the rain to face his photographer. A perfect “O” of surprise and guilt formed on his mouth. Molly’s fingers touched the screen and began zooming in on an emblem on the vehicle’s side.

      There…….right there on the side of…..whatever it was. It was a tree of some kind. Molly’s eyes became intense and a touch wider. She had seen it a few times on flags and uniforms while she was in Huntington, The Republic of West Virginia.

      “Damn.” She whispered. Molly carefully slowed her fingers and became deliberate. The information was saved in her phone with the care of a geologist opening a mummy’s tomb. She turned on her lap top and fished around in her Louis Vuitton bag for a cord. She plugged the cord into her Blackberry and the other into her laptop as it obediently awakened from its electric dreams.

      Molly had suspicions that Beauragard was watching her email and listening in to her calls. If you had the right gear it was a piece of cake to do both. Marshall University was nearby and had a reputation for smart minds and high tech toys. The General had both at his command. The old school information passage was completed. Molly then filed the jpg and map away in the hard drive of her laptop and then replaced the cord in the Louis Vuitton. She reached for her Blackberry and thumbed down the phone directory. It was time to wake some people up.

      They could be listening in. Her lips pursed for a second before her left hand found the secure Blackberry the military had provided. I got to find me a ride, her mouth creased to one side as she counted out her options. The Blackberry purred in her ear and the news desk promptly answered.

      “This is Molly Hunter.” Her voice was all business and crystal clear.

      “Yes, Ms. Hunter.” The man on the night desk vocally snapped to attention. “How can I help you?”

      It turned out he couldn’t help that much. The guy had all the right numbers at his fingertips. That wasn’t the problem. Molly hated the next twenty minutes of call after call. She had to be somewhere and she had to be somewhere now. Every conversation went into elaborate detail of why Molly couldn’t get there.

      “We just can’t do it, Ms. Hunter.” A pilot explained over and over. “I’m sorry.”

      “How can you do it?” Molly pushed. Trying to drag him out of the logistical box he was in.

      “Ma’am, we have commercial helicopters.” The pilot had reached a dead end. “We could fly out and try and pick you up…….”

      “And……?”