The Warrior Chapter One

The Warrior

For the many men who had no choice; for those who had no voice. This is for you.

Chapter 1

The warrior sat on his bed; tears mixed with his sweat and ran down like stinging drips of seawater from his squinting eyes. “How could this have happened?” he prayed, his lips curled in anguish. What a horrific joke, born from some black pit of hell. His soul like a cola which had been shaken came pouring out once more and he bent his head and clutched his hands as his body shook over and over again. Bent over from the waist, he retched dryly, trembling.

Coughing, he finally regained some semblance of self control, if it could be called that. The girl that he loved with his entire heart, his future wife, the mother of his child, the light of his life had…. He remembered their tense conversation.

“We need to talk,” she said, curling up on the couch, her legs underneath her. She glanced at him and brushed the rich brown hair from her pretty eyes.

The warrior sat down next to her, brows furrowed with concern. It wasn’t often she used *those* words. He looked into her face with attention, absorbing every feature.

She looked down and after a pause whispered “I’ve had a miscarriage.”

Love poured out from him as he embraced her closely and held her to his chest. “Oh, honey,” was all he could say as he considered all the things her words entailed. Their baby, the product of their mutual love was lost, and she was in need of his support. She held on to him, her head down.

“Why didn’t you call me? When did this happen?” he murmured, rocking her gently.

“Yesterday,” she replied, allowing the first question to go unanswered. He stroked her head softly as she leaned on his shoulder, allowing his actions to speak for him in the silence. He inclined his own head on hers as they both cried.

After a while he leaned back again, wet eyes shining. “Have you been to see the doctor? I can take you,” he offered.

“No,” she replied softly, sniffling. The warrior puzzled over her answers. Usually she was so verbose that he had a hard time trying to get a word in edgewise. Yes, perhaps it was because of what had happened. That had to be it. Still. Something was not… quite… right.

Last week she had been talking with a friend at work. Women share things and in this she was no exception. Her colleagues there shared a mutual desire to achieve financial success through hard work and long hours at the company. She had been divided in her thoughts over her pregnancy though, both worried and happy at the same time. She and the warrior were both Christians, but she did not look forward to the social ostracism and talk that would be generated in the church when the news finally broke. Added to that was the time she would have to take off from her job. At lunch she shared her concerns with her friend.

“Oh sweetie, listen,” her friend began, flipping her wrist. “You want to hitch your wagon train up to *his*? The one with no career? What kind of future will you have? What kind of life will he provide? And you’re so young. I was in the same situation you were in, and I had it done. I was so glad afterwards that I was not permanently attached to that man.”

The friend did not mention any of the repercussions of her decision, because in order to do so, she might have to admit remorse or regret, and in doing that she might have to come face to face with the possibility that she was wrong in her decision. That was just not going to happen. “Trust me, it’s nothing,” she confided, playing with her jewelry. “You’re in and out in a couple of hours. You can still have a family later if you want to, and you are not saddled down with this guy. Plus, he never has to know.”

Her friend’s words echoed through her mind that week, like whispers in a canyon of doubt. No lifelong commitment. A lifetime of freedom to make other choices. He never had to know. Like the apple in the garden, it all made perfect sense. Thus, the seeds were planted which led to her fateful decision.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, tilting his head as he consoled her. It only took a moment, a glance between them for him to know something was very, very wrong. They had a connection where it did not take much for one to know the other’s thoughts. In that flicker of recognition there was hesitancy in her eyes. She was holding something back.

She did not respond to the question he asked, but she didn’t need to. The wheels were turning, and they led to an inevitable conclusion. “No,” he mouthed the word, unable to even speak, his chin wrinkled as his eyes opened wide in abject horror. She looked down and his world became numb. He shook his head and got up from the couch, steadying himself against the plush armrest. As if in a dream, he turned towards the door in slow motion.

“Wait!” she cried as he got up to leave. She wanted to talk now, but the repercussions of her unspoken revelation were too much to bear.

“Not now!’ he managed to rasp, making a cutting motion to the side with his forearm. His child, their baby, was gone. Dead. And with it, his hopes and dreams for their future life. He staggered out the front door, the enormity of it all just beginning to hit home. He cranked the engine and tore out of the driveway.

No birthdays. No first steps. No bedtime stories. No special occasions or moments of love shared. It was all gone. He reached down and turned off his cell phone. No need for that tonight. He nearly ran off the road on a sharp curve, the tires squealing in protest as they fought the car’s inertia against the pavement. He didn’t care. Smoke plumed in red-lit pinwheels behind the car as it tore off into the night.

The Warrior Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Back at his apartment, the warrior fell onto the bed and cried out to God. “Oh God, I feel so helpless! This whole thing is my fault…. I am to blame.” He struggled with his thoughts, angry with himself as his cries were answered with silence. The warrior reflected on the irony of the situation in his prayers. Before, the choice had been his, but afterwards the choice was not. His breathing filled the empty room and he felt utterly spent and alone. There was nothing he could do that would undo what had been done. The pain in his gut felt like someone had taken an ice cream scoop and removed his intestines.

He waited for God to strike him down, but it would not be forthcoming. Tiny spots on the wall and ceiling stared back at him as he finished his prayers. One thing he knew he did not want was for his girlfriend to arrive. He was not ready for that. She had betrayed him! Cheating with another guy, dumping him, anything would have been better than this. He wondered if God felt as hurt by his choice as he did by hers. He grabbed a jacket and headed for the door.

The warrior left his apartment and began walking. He needed time to sort out his thoughts, and some physical exertion to assist with that. Being a blue collar guy he was used to pushing his body, so he set off into the night. No stars were out; the sky overhead was an overcast darkness. He pushed himself, alternately jogging and walking, with no destination in mind.

Hours passed and the rain began to fall. He gasped with exhaustion as he neared the center of town, the exercise briefly minimizing his deep anguish. The rain soaked his clothes like pain soaked his soul. Bleary eyed, haggard and disheveled, he sloshed under the streetlights, the sky now turning to a dull gray with the approaching morning.

And there in front of him across the street emerged a three story brick building, Spartan in its barren, utilitarian appearance. Black letters near the door clarified through the rain as he approached. “Women’s Health Center,” they read.

The realization of where he now stood startled him. He fell to his knees in the wet grass and began to pray once more, head bowed as tears from heaven poured over him. His thoughts this time were private, personal; shared only between himself and his Creator. Even if his thoughts could be known, words would not suffice to express them. Time passed.

Rufus padded through the wet mud, the earthy wetness of the dim morning alive in his nostrils, fur matted against his body like the hair of a 6 year old schoolboy. He panted with joy- how fun it was to get out of the back yard! As he rounded the corner next to the yard where the warrior kneeled in prayer, something alerted him. He skidded, splishing to a halt- ears straight up, haunches tense. Deep brown eyes darted about. “Ain’t me, baby!” he might have said if he could speak, as his fight or flight mechanism kicked in and he bolted away.

Unknown to the warrior, unseen things were set in motion. Orders were sent. Spiritual forces were dispatched. Angels engaged in silent, invisible combat, the nature of which we lack the capacity to understand on this earth. Inhuman spirits were forced back finally fleeing, but they would return.

The patrol car pulled up to the curb. “Great,” the officer thought as he shifted into park. “There’s another nutcase that does not know how to stay off private property.” He retrieved his clipboard and got out of the vehicle, flipping on the blue strobes. He figured he would take care of it before the workers arrived and had to call to have the trespasser removed.

Tiny particles of concrete separated from one another. Metallic steel bonds also stood aside cleanly dividing. It was such a small thing- although it was certainly not natural. The process continued in a fraction of a second, as molecules of clay, long hardened, became soft along a single plane as thin, transparent forces passed through them.

“Hey buddy. Get up,” the officer ordered, approaching. The warrior did not respond, remaining penitent in his silent cry to God. He did not know it was a police officer addressing him, not that it would have mattered much to him right now. The deputy tapped the clipboard against his free hand- it appeared as if this punk wanted things to go down the *hard way.* He sighed, getting out his handcuffs, ready to give the guy one last chance. He hated filling out paperwork first thing on a shift.

The angels, surrounded by piercingly bright spheres of light well beyond white, sheathed their crystalline swords, their assignment nearly complete. It wasn’t often they were ordered to use them on physical objects. Great wings unfurled as they spread out to protect those nearby.

A deep rumbling came from the building as both the officer and the warrior looked up. The ground all around trembled as if a massive bass speaker was hidden just beneath it. Water puddles in the grass leapt up in small waves as the walls started falling outwards. Detached ceilings and floors crashed down in a mighty implosion of metal, glass, equipment and furniture as a concussive wave of wind and debris forced the men back into the ground. A second later the four outer walls of brick and masonry slammed into the yard with the force of a minor cataclysm. Water sprayed out explosively like a thousand stinging needles. Fortunately, the men were in the 90 degree corner arc away from the building, and escaped the falling wall of destruction.

The officer was stunned, but had enough mind to jump on the warrior, wrestling his hands behind his back as he attached the cuffs. He punched the button on the mike at his shoulder. “Code 999 Bravo. I repeat, code 999 Bravo. The Women’s Health Center has been destroyed. Officer needs assistance. Suspect in custody.”

The Warrior Chapter Three

Chapter Three

It wasn’t long before the grounds of the former Women’s Health Building became a seething mass of humanity. The code 999 which was almost never used was a signal for a homeland security emergency. Cars with flashing lights littered the area from every agency that could get a presence there. The media monitored police bands, and of course every station had to get there first to break the story. By now the weather had cleared although the sky remained overcast. Anchorpersons with their perfect hair and perfect makeup gestured dramatically into the cameras communicating with their national network affiliates. Large boxlike trucks with high antennas dotted the packed grounds like awkward remote control toys among scattered matchbox cars.

The reporter waited for the red light and launched into her spiel. “Yes, we are reporting live from the scene of this morning’s horrendous explosion,” the reporter intoned ominously, her black-lined eyes widening with her presentation. “For those just joining us, shades of the infamous Kansas City bombing have recurred here in this small peaceful southern town. As you can see behind me, the Women’s Health Center has been completely destroyed in a deliberate terrorist attack.”

Meanwhile, the warrior was having problems of his own. He had been praying in the rain early in the morning when somebody asked him to move. As he was getting ready to respond, all hell broke loose and he found himself quickly cuffed and stuffed into the back of a patrol car with no opportunity to ask what happened or why he was arrested. He watched the commotion from inside the vehicle, with officers in different uniforms discussing the matter.

“We’ll take it from here,” said one of the men with the bold white letters “ATF” on his jacket. They had arrived late to the party and were assembled with men from various county and state agencies. Most of the local police were kept busy with the media, who kept encroaching over the yellow crime scene tape, shoving their lights and cameras and asking questions at anyone they could get to.

“The hell you will,” the captain from the state police replied sternly. As they began to debate who would take custody of the suspect, their attention was diverted by a long, black gleaming ATV which pulled up, blue lights flashing from the grill. Two men with dark suits and no sense of humor got out and flashed their ID’s. The captain sighed and rubbed his forehead, squinting, while the others there displayed various levels of displeasure.

It was decided that the warrior would be taken by the FBI for debriefing and interrogation. As the original patrol car was now helplessly surrounded by other vehicles, he was removed to be placed in another vehicle which could make the trip unobstructed. When the officers moved him, the collected media saw the handcuffed warrior and went absolutely nuts.

“Did you destroy the Women’s Health Building?”

“How does it feel to be a terrorist?”

“What did you do this morning? Don’t you want a chance to tell the public your side?”

The warrior ignored the catcalls and attempts to get a reaction. The circus continued after he was driven away. “Officer, that station over there is past the tape- how does that make you feel?”

The small convoy arrived at the courthouse building. The warrior was led directly into the main courtroom where a contingent of smartly dressed professionals waited. He recognized the positions of judge and court reporter. The uniformed man must be the bailiff. A young, gangly man in a suit stood next to him at one side of the courtroom. On the other side was a pair of older gentlemen who whispered quietly as they arranged some papers in front of them. All remained standing until the judge sat down.

The judge settled himself in his chair and addressed the court, directing his attention to the defendant. “You are charged with the crime of domestic terrorism, as well as the crime of depriving women of their reproductive rights, which are the highest of crimes in the list of laws you have broken.” He waved a two page list of printed charges in the air before placing them back on his desk. How do you plead?”

The warrior blinked, confused. The young man next to him whispered “Innocent.” Did the judge just pronounce him guilty before the trial had even started? Why was the trial happening now? Something was just… wrong. It was all becoming very surreal.

He stood and collected his thoughts, then addressed the judge. “Let me make sure I understand this correctly. I’m being accused of destroying a building when all I did was pray in front of it, and the concern here is for the building and the services it provided, and not for the people who died there?”

The judge exploded in fury. “Order! Order in the court! Order!” He snatched the gavel from its resting place and began hammering. Bang! Bang! Bang! “ORDER!”