yes, Judge Walker,” Winston Merriweather quickly replied as he rose to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let me remind you of several key facts the defense has conveniently overlooked in their closing argument. First of all, three of the defendants’ fingerprints were not only on the gas can found at the scene of the crime, but also on the sliding door at the rear of the home, which is in complete accordance with my client’s story of how they entered the home. Next, the alarm which was received first by the alarm company, was not a fire alarm, but an emergency panic alarm—corroborating Ms. Quitan’s story that she escaped from the bathroom window, circled around to the unlocked front door, and set off the panic button on their security system. The fire alarm, also received by the security company, was a full three minutes later. Third, the officer who was in the back seat of Mr. Henderson’s car noted that he started the vehicle without difficulty. Also, the log at the impound lot listed the tank as half-full upon arrival. Finally, the organization to which these men belong, the Northwest Neo-Nazis, makes no secret of their disdain for Muslims and has sworn publicly to avenge the WTC bombings last year. They have expressed their ‘mandate’ to expunge the United States of America of all ‘foreign’ religions and cultures, and most recently have highlighted the Iraqis and all Muslims as targets of their ire. It is totally consistent with this mission that these three men preyed upon Ms. Quitan on the night of October 26, 2002, and no doubt would have left far more devastation in their path were it not for the courageous actions of their victim, Ms. Quitan. Again, I urge the jury to disregard this incredible fiction concocted by their attorney, stick to the facts in the case, convict these three men, and place them behind bars, where they cannot continue with their avowed mission of retaliation and destruction against innocent and undeserving US citizens. The plaintiff rests its case, Your Honor.”
“Very well, gentlemen. As it is Friday afternoon, this court will dismiss the jurors to their chambers to reach a verdict and reconvene Tuesday morning at 9:00 a.m. The jurors are instructed not to discuss the particulars of this case with anyone and to reach their verdict solely based upon the evidence presented to them during this trial.” With that, Judge Walker rapped her gavel on its sounding block, pronounced the court adjourned for the day, arose, and left the courtroom.
The three defendants arose, handcuffed and clad in orange prison attire, and glared menacingly over toward Mariah and her father. As they walked past them, Blood hissed, “You’d better get the hell out of this country before you lose more than your house! If we don’t get you, our brothers will,” he sneered confidently and unrepentantly. “We’re gonna teach you sand rats a lesson—blow the hell out of you and your country just like you did to us. Trust me, you’ll get yours!” he growled as his attorney motioned for silence and directed the three men out of the courtroom and away from the Quitans, who seemed visibly shaken by Blood’s remarks.
Mariah looked nervously over to her father and spoke quietly. “Father, I am so sorry you have had to go through all this. I just wish it had never happened. I loved our home, and now it’s gone. I think it was wise on your part just to sell the lot and rent for a while. These men are horrible, and there’s no telling what their friends will do to us if they go to prison. I’m just tired of worrying about it.”
Dr. Quitan was a tall handsome man in his midfifties. His dark hair was graying a bit now, but he still had a certain youthful energy about him. His skin was darker, in typical Middle Eastern fashion, and his brown eyes revealed much about the intense nature of his personality. He was a scientist to be sure, and one whose curiosity literally knew no bounds. Yet there was more to this man, much more. There were hints of the pain and suffering that he had experienced, still evident in his countenance, although largely overshadowed by the intensity of his vision. There was also a certain compassion there, and a far deeper than average understanding of human nature, both good and bad. His research into the realm of quantum physics had convinced him of the presence of a greater organizing force—a primal consciousness, if you will—that served to connect every aspect of creation and provide a common bond between all forms of life. This realization made it hard for him to be very provincial in his thinking, but rather more universal, and, as such, more tolerant of diversity. Today, however, he was looking visibly exhausted, and readily concurred with his daughter.
“I’m tired of it too, Mariah. You know, I thought I would never get over your mother’s death, and I probably never will. This just adds more loss—our home and everything we had, now gone. The prejudice and hatred in this world never seems to stop. It is hard for us to live in America right now. For a while it seemed like heaven, compared to Iraq. But now, with September 11 and the radical Muslim terrorism going on, there is a lot of prejudice toward our country and our religion. I feel like there is no longer any place we can go and feel safe again. And this trial seems to have dragged on forever—almost two weeks now. I just want it to be over, and for these men get what they deserve. I am just so grateful that you were not harmed by them. If they had succeeded, I would have lost everything…my wife, my home, and my beautiful daughter. Life can be very difficult sometimes. My work tells me of the underlying energy field that unites us all, but what I experience is sometimes far from that. It seems that there can be no harmony, no connectedness, no peace on this planet.”
“Father, I know it’s hard for you not to be discouraged. Few people have seen the world as you see it, but the time is coming that they will. Quantum theory will someday bring about the unity that seems so elusive now. You must continue with your writing and research—this world desperately needs your knowledge. We will get through this and there will be a brighter day for all humanity. You’ve inspired me to follow in your footsteps, and I am very excited to be learning just a fraction of what you already know.”
Dr. Quitan leaned over and put his arm around his daughter. “Mariah, I still sense Anya’s presence with me every single day. Sometimes when I look at you, or listen to the words you speak, it is almost as if she were speaking through you. There is no death, Mariah, only a transition to a higher frequency. The underlying energy of life is eternal, and it is only from the perspective of this world that events and beings seem temporal. Beneath the surface of these bodies we inhabit is a sea of energy connecting all of life at the most basic level. Time and space are illusions of the mind, human constructs. Life is, in its essence, unrestricted by either. This is what keeps me going through all the difficulties I have had to face in this life. My mission here is to bring the good news of a reunion between science and religion. Life is all-inclusive, never exclusive, as many of our religions would have us believe. Even those three men who sat across from us as adversaries are really part of us, as we are part of them. Ultimately, the pain we inflict on one another is only pain we inflict upon ourselves. If people would ever wake up and see the true nature of our existence, all this killing and harm to one another would stop. I would love to see that day before I leave this planet,” Mazen smiled wearily as he hugged his daughter. “Come on Mariah, let’s get some dinner and go back to our apartment.” With that, father and daughter walked arm in arm out of the courtroom and off into a world that seemed totally oblivious to the quantum world of Dr. Mazen Quitan.
Four Days Later
Courtroom 4B was one of the larger rooms in the municipal courts building in downtown Portland. The walls were nicely paneled in a dark mahogany, and on this particular morning, the sunlight streamed through several large windows on the east side of the building—a bit of an unusual phenomenon for Portland in February. It was almost 9:00 a.m., and the courtroom was already packed. Although the media had been excluded, they were in the halls and outside the building in force. The Quitans had taken the MAX (Portland’s area transit system) into downtown to avoid driving, and were besieged by reporters as they walked up the steps of the court building. Opting for no communication before the verdict, they quickly made their way into the building, up to the fourth floor, and to the plaintiff’s table. Already seated across the aisle were the three neon-orange-clad Neo-Nazis, still looking as angry and menacing as they had the previous Friday. Many of their fellow NNN members were seated in the gallery behind them, and the Quitans’ side of the gallery was filled to capacity as well. Given the tension throughout the country with the Iraq war, this case had particular significance,
