--Around a campfire, three males are seated. Their relationship to each other can clearly be discerned by their facial characteristics. One is elder, with long white hair. One has darker shoulder length hair. And, one is in his early teens. Three generations of Lakota Sioux.--
The scene swirls and another takes its place.
--The teen peers from his hiding place behind a boulder as several men drag his father and grandfather to a tree and drop ropes over a branch. The ropes are in a hangman's noose. These are placed around the necks of the two struggling men and jerked tight.
They are lifted off of their feet and struggle for air. The younger of the two men swings around and his face comes into view.--
Rafaela lurches forward and bumps her head on the mantel shelf of the fireplace.
"Rafe! Are you alright?" shouts a voice from nowhere.
Reseating herself, Rafe glances back at her roommate, Cheryl. Cheryl is her partner on the police force; and their many years of working together had influenced them to become great friends. Blonde haired, blue eyed, and slightly plump, Cheryl is the epitome of beauty. She is strong, willful, and the only person Rafe trusts with the knowledge of her visions.
"Yes. I'm okay." She answers, rubbing her forehead.
Cheryl asks, “Another ‘vision’?” as she seats herself.
Rafe hesitates. "No. Same one I've had off and on for the last month."
"Maybe you should see a shrink?"
"No! I'd probably wind up more screwed up than I am now."
"Easy. I didn't mean anything by that. I'm just concerned." Cheryl shrugs. "These 'visions' seem to be getting more frequent. And, well, maybe a shrink could, like, maybe help interpret them, or something. -- Forget I asked." She stands. "I came in to tell you, supper's ready."
Rafe scrambles to her feet. "Great. I'm starved. This 'vision' stuff sure has stimulated my appetite." Slipping an arm through Cheryl's, she jokes. "Shall we dine, madam."
Cheryl giggles as the dining room door swings shut behind them.
----------
Three males, three generations of one family, sit around a campfire. The two older men are talking quietly. The teen stares into the fire, ignoring them. It is not long before the two men fade away.
-- The teen sees a white woman fighting for her life. And boy is she good at fighting! Sheer numbers alone eventually defeats her. He watches as she is beaten and left for dead. The car she was driving is ransacked and burned.
Her head rolls and she seems to look directly at him.
"Help me." she whispers.
The scene changes and the same woman is standing beside his grandfather and speaking with other whites. All does not seem to be going well because a soft growl rumbles from deep in her throat. He can tell that, if not for his grandfather's hand clamped around her arm, she would have attacked the man she was speaking with.
The scene shifts again and he sees his father and grandfather being dragged to a tree. Just as a noose drops over his father's head, he starts to cry out. A hand clamps onto his shoulder, freezing him.
Before anything further can happen, he turns his head to see the same white woman. She does not look at him but at the scene beyond. He turns back to it just as the rope around his father's throat lifts him off of his feet. --
He blinks and looks across the fire to see his father and grandfather watching him carefully.
"He begins early." his father says.
"Yes. And from the look of him, it was not good, this vision." his grandfather replies.
From across the fire, the teen answers, "Part yes, part no." He looks into the fire again. "There was a white woman." He gets no further as his father's chuckle breaks his concentration. The teen's gaze lifts to him, unknowingly full of anger.
"Do the white women intrigue you so much that you now have visions of bedding one?" the father asks, then looks at his father. "My son is growing up."
The elder silences him with a look. "Let him finish." he says.
The father nods and both men turn back. The teen’s gaze locks with his father's; he continues, "The white woman was not mine to have. She is a fighter. A warrior, I think, among her own people." He shakes his head. "At first, I see her beaten and bleeding. -- Asking for help." He stops as the scene replays itself. "Then, I see her standing beside you, grandfather, and arguing with Mr. Russell. Something said has angered her and the growl of a she wolf comes from her throat." He stops and raises his head. The anguish in his eyes causes his grandfather to lean closer to the fire. His look is piercing.
"What else?" he prompts.
"Nothing." the teen replies, but cannot look him in the eye.
His grandfather leans back. "The last part of your vision concerns your father and me. Does it not?" he questions. The teen's head snaps up at his words.
The father looks from his son to his father and back. He leans forward. "Tell us. Do not let fear stop you." he tells his son.
The teen stares at him for a long moment.
"I see the two of you being beaten and hanged by whites." he says boldly.
The grandfather leans into the light. "You see us die? Or, were we merely at the point of death?"
"What do you mean?" the teen asks.
"I mean: Was there finality to the scene, or was it as though something else was about to happen? Think carefully before you answer."
The teen's eyes drift again to the fire. He looks inward. "No, there was not a feeling of finality. Again, the white woman was there. She was kneeling behind me, watching. She did nothing, but I remember the look on her face and the sound which slowly came from her throat." His head snaps up and he stares at his grandfather. "It was the sound of a she wolf. The same one I heard when she stood beside you, grandfather, before Mr. Russell."
His grandfather nods decisively. "It is the same white woman I have seen in my visions of late then. She, too, had the growl of a she wolf." The teen's eyes widen in surprise and wonder. His grandfather straightens and pours the last of his coffee into the edge of the fire. "It is late. We have a long trek back in the morning. Get some rest, Daniel. Goodnight, Joshua." He stands and moves to his blankets.
No more is said as the three prepare for sleep.
----------
Rafe stands at the window in her Captain's office looking out over the city. A hand lifts and she runs her fingers through her short auburn locks, brushing her bangs off of her forehead. Her emerald green eyes are troubled. Behind her, sits a very harassed looking gentleman.
"Are you positive you won't reconsider and take just one more case?" he asks.
"I'm sure, Captain. If I don't get away from here, something is going to give. You've got the shrink's report in front of you. He and I, both, agree." She turns and grins slightly. "Besides, you old slave driver, I haven't had a vacation in three years."
He leans forward and slaps her file shut. "I know. But, do you have to take all three months worth of vacation time at once?!" he protests vehemently.
She shrugs. "That was the shrink's idea. I was only going to take a couple of weeks. He insisted three months, or he would take me off the force for an indefinite period -- or assign me to a desk."
Captain Laskett looks back at her. He can tell what being behind a desk would do to her. He sighs in defeat. "Okay. I'll approve your vacation. I'd rather lose my best undercover cop for three months rather than -- God knows how long. Make sure your partner has everything you've got on your current cases, then, get the hell out of here, before I change my mind."
"Cheryl has everything she needs." She grabs her purse out of a chair on her way past, but turns back in the open doorway. "And captain. -- Thanks. -- We both know I need this."
The door closes softly behind her.
Her captain grimaces, thinks, 'Not a good sign. She usually leaves here pissed off and slams the door.' he shakes his head in frustration and returns to his paperwork.
After making sure Cheryl has the number of the place she will be staying at in the Badlands, and saying her farewells, Rafe closes

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Les Shaw
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 06.01.2013
ISBN: 978-3-7309-0705-4

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