The Untrackables: Zhang Rule

                                                                          Chapter One

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“Fairly soon; I’m going to die.”

I could stand the solitude, were it not for the abyss of loneliness.  It’s like someone has emptied my cup and left me not a drop to drink.  I suppose you look at these chains and shackles and presume that I have received justice and deserve my aforementioned loneliness.  But, you don’t know my story as of yet.  I am not imprisoned for some heinous crime or transgression of the law.  I have not harmed or offended any persons or damaged properties.  Only, my Constitutional rights have been violated by the powers that be and I chose to stand up for what I believe.  Then, merely by undying love did they manage to capture me.  Perchance, if you permit me to tell my tale, you can judge for yourself whether or not I be deserving of such an incarceration as this.

It was a terribly damp night that my wife and I chose to attend the movie theater.  I remember thinking that it was so wet outside for it to not have rained in a fortnight.  I suppose you think it odd of me to use such a term.  My mother, being of Austrian descent, used it quite often.  She married my American father some thirty years ago.  They created my sister, Carley, some two years afterward.  In their fifth year of marriage, I was produced.  For legal purposes, they agreed that I would be their last, yet my mother would not totally succumb to government tyranny.  I am called Aquila by those who know me best.  As I am in captivity, I am at liberty to reveal to you my birth name: Jeffrey Lawson.  As you can see, I am of medium height.  But, my mother would say that I am short for such a tall man.  I agreed to disagree.

As I was saying; my wife and I had attended a showing of one of our favorite classics.  We chose a small theater in a small town in Texas, quite naturally to avoid an abundance of devices.  It’s always wonderful when you don’t have to look over your shoulders constantly like we do in the big cities.  But, as we exited the building, I noticed a vehicle, typical of the ones that they drive.  With gas prices toppling the nine dollar mark, practically nobody drives sports utility vehicles anymore, except them.

We walked along the narrow sidewalk towards our filthy motel room.  It’s nearly impossible for “our kind” to stay anywhere nice that’s rated above half a star.  We were always prepared to self-fumigate our room.  The closer we got to our place, the more I realized that the vehicle was slowly following us.  I knew it had to be them so I made my wife aware of their presence, warning her not to turn around.

I apologize for not introducing her earlier.  My wife’s legal name is Emily Lawson, McGregor by birth.  I and our loved ones call her Priscilla as you may have anticipated.  I think she is the loveliest little thing that God placed on our green earth, though I am quite biased.  She’s a bit shorter than me, just enough to have to stand on her toes to kiss my lips, which I love insanely.  Every time she wants to convince me to do something, she kisses me in this manner and I concede defeat.  Truth be told, one look into her eyes is enough to get the job done.

I am not her first spouse, though she is mine.  Her first husband was a decent enough fellow until he discovered that she was one of “our kind”.  Before they had even been married a year, he tried to turn her over to the authorities and she fled.  The government allowed her husband to get an annulment based on her status.  I met her six months later, hiding out with a small gathering in what I call the real Smallville of Kansas.  I led them to our group in Utah where we convene on occasion, though we spend most of our time traveling the country, incognito.

“What should we do, Aquila?”

I turned my head slightly to determine their position and proximity, “There’s an empty alley just a ways up there.  I believe it leads to a neighborhood.  When I say go, we’ll take off running.  Okay?”

“Alright,” she clenched my hand with her moist palm.  I could feel her shivering nervousness.

A hesitant drizzle began to fall upon us as we approached our detour.  I couldn’t help but wonder who had tipped them off about our whereabouts.  Had we missed one of the readers and not registered, revealing what we are?  I hadn’t the time or information to fully answer my own question.  I exhaled slowly as we drew near our turn.  Our lives would be in jeopardy once the chase began.  I couldn’t bear to go on without my Priscilla by my side.

“Alright, Priscilla; we’re nearly there.  Remember, no matter what happens to me…”

“Keep running.  I know.”

We took a few more steps and nearly passed by the alley.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

“Go!”

We turned right and sprinted through the alley, Priscilla in front.  Three suited gentlemen exited their vehicle and pursued us while the driver attempted to cut us off on the opposite side.  Fortunately, the fence door was open and we passed through easily.  I closed and locked it behind us to slow down our trackers.  It worked…temporarily.  They hopped the fence and continued pursuit, which was quite impressive in those suits.

We managed to extend some distance between us and them with a series of random turns and passages.  We slowed our pace to a fast walk, believing ourselves to have created a safe lead.  It was in that moment that the SUV darted towards us.  I tackled Priscilla out of the way and landed on top of her.  The vehicle crashed into a tree behind us.  I tried to get my wife up; but her knee was sprained and she couldn’t walk.

“Leave me here, Aquila.”

“Never.”

“Remember the deal?  No matter what happens to me…keep running.”

“That was for you.”

“Incredible,” she was furious at me.  “There.”

“Where?”

She pointed, “Look, there’s a tree house.  The driver’s unconscious.  Hide me in there and keep running.  You can always come back for me.”

“I don’t know.”

We heard voices yelling in the distance.

“There’s no time.  The trackers are coming!”

I lifted her up and carried her to the tree.  She got a boost from me and managed to crawl inside.  We heard the voices approaching.

“Climb inside with me.”  I scrambled up the tree.  “When they go past, you can double back and get the car.  Make sure you get our things from the motel.”

“Alright.”

“And maybe the ice bucket for my knee?”

“Of course.  Only, I’m not sure about leaving you behind.”

“I’ll be fine, Jeff.”

“Jeff?  You only call me that when you’re extremely worried.”

“Of course, I’m worried…about you.”

 “I think I should stay.”

“Jeff Lawson, if you don’t get your butt back to that motel…”

“Alright, alright; I’ll go.  Just don’t look at me that way.”  I tried to push the door open.

“Wait until they pass by, Einstein.”

“Oh, yeah.”

I waited until I heard the voices pass us.  After another three minutes, I stole a peek.  No trackers.  I scurried down the tree and headed in the direction we had come from.  I didn’t know the area well, so I located a nearby street sign: Chestnut Drive.  When I arrived at the motel, it was obvious that someone had been through our stuff.  They must’ve ransacked our room while we were at the movie.  Luckily, I parked the car a couple of blocks away for just such emergencies.  I seized some of our clothes amongst those scattered about the floor.  We always kept our valuables in the trunk.  I paid the bill and made my way to the car.

I had difficulty finding the road until I saw the smashed SUV.  It was completely empty.  I supposed they may have called in a new vehicle, so I proceeded at a snail’s pace.  I finally found the tree house and pulled up next to the old oak.  I stood on top of the hood and whispered for her.  No answer.  Perhaps, she’s asleep; I thought.  I climbed up into the tree house; no Priscilla.  Where was she?  Why would she leave when she knew I was coming right back?  I pulled my mini flashlight and searched the room for clues.  There was a padded brown envelope by my hand.  I opened it and a disposable phone fell out with a note.

“We have your wife,” I read to myself.  “Expect a call in the morning.  Until then, she’s ours.”

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Featuring the hit poem: 'The Doors'

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The Doors

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It happened, perchance, as I happened by,

A luminous red door caught my eye.

I stood entranced, it shone like light,

Against a winter’s darkened night.

I chose to relinquish and so ignore,

This door I’d never seen before,

This door, this door touched naught the floor,

I thought not strange, of this I’m sure.

 

But then, it rattled with fiercest noise,

This door which had been feigning coy.

It whispered to me, “Come quite close”,

This door, beforehand comatose.

Upon inspection, I examined this door,

This door I’d never seen before,

This door, that I should now abhor,

Until a voice cried, “Theodore”.

 

This small, still voice, no more no less,

Which sounds proverbial, quite coquettish,

Singing my name as the Sirens sing,

Could compel me to do most anything.

“Come and see me, sweet Theodore”,

Came a voice from the door not seen before.

I turned the knob in search of her.

What should I find? Another door.

 

This door of blunt, unpainted oak,

This second door, some loathsome joke,

Was mocking me as I stood without,

Would I go on? This door did doubt.

I thrust and heaved this oaken door,

“Come see me, please, dear Theodore”,

It was the voice, the voice of her,

Which made me open this dull door.

What did I find? A third new door,

That was it and nothing more.

 

I turned to leave, but then not quite,

This door enhanced with brilliant white.

A thing most beautiful, I dare not touch,

Too pure and innocent, this door was such.

But then I heard the voice of her,

Calling for her sweet Theodore,

Moaning behind this unscathed door,

This door I’d never seen before.

I nudged with a finger, nothing more.

What should I discover? A fourth new door.

 

This door of iron was rusty and cold,

Smelled of aging metal and rotting mold.

With frustration, I turned to leave,

But something detained me, forced me to cleave.

It was the louder, quickened voice of her,

This voice that I could not ignore,

This voice that I should so adore,

That made me shove this iron door,

But that which I was looking for,

It was not there; another door.

 

This fifth new door, engulfed with smoke,

Burned with fire, so I should choke.

Unbearable heat, I dare not touch,

This door, this door; it was too much.

But then it shrieked, the voice of her.

Pleading help from her dear Theodore,

I removed the very cloak I wore,

To open this oppressive door,

To save the one who I adore.

But did I find her? No, I’m sure.

Another door.

And nothing more.

 

This other door concealed in ice,

My curiosity would not suffice.

My wrath could now not be appeased,

The voice of her did taunt and tease.

I had to see this coquettish whore,

This voice which I should now abhor,

It pierced my ears as none before,

Behind this frozen, congealed door.

She laughs at me; I can’t ignore,

This voice now mocking Theodore,

I threw my shoulder through the door,

But did I find this wretched whore?

No, it’s just another door,

My spirit weakened; my soul was tore.

 

A seventh door of crystal glass,

Transparency was rather crass,

That I should see, but still see not,

Enamored me to that very spot.

This final door suspended in space,

Revealed her voice, but not her face.

I realized then, what was in store.

I had not recognized before,

No handle on this crystal door,

A detail that I had ignored.

I turned to flee, please feet explore,

But then I faced my frozen door,

Prohibiting my path as once before,

To either side, the iron and oak door,

The luminous red becomes the floor,

The ceiling of white, I can’t ignore,

The smoky door, it seeps and pours.

I hear the voice, the voice of her,

It trickles through that crystal door,

And as I lay on the luminous floor,

I looked to the voice and did so implore,

“Won’t you please help your Theodore?”

The voice, it laughed with such abhor.

“Let me out, you wretched whore!

Open this infernal crystal door!

This door I’ve never seen before.”

This voice then faded, the voice of her,

She forsook her darling Theodore,

For another man at another door,

Who didn’t know what was in store,

From doors he’d neither seen before.

She left me on that luminous floor,

Trapped by her inane deceitful doors,

To open not one, ever more.

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