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Chapter 4: Race Riots in Denver
SHADOWS AND LIGHT (An End Times Preview)
A novel in the making on Before It’s News
Dear readers,
Chapter 4
11/23 5:23 PM
Mitch stretched his legs against the plush, first class leather seat, enjoying all the room the palatial quarters of the aircraft allowed him. He had only flown First Class once before, and that had been for a special political story. As with all media outlets in recent years, the budget had tightened, and Mitch found himself booked on the busiest flights, usually squeezed between a fat woman and a screaming child. Although he still felt a disconcerting unease about this Mr. Migen, he was grateful that the mystery man had allowed him to travel the skies with such comfort.
As if reading his thoughts, Mr. Migen walked down the aisle and sat down next to him. Mitch recognized the man from when he had boarded the flight and briefly introduced himself. Then he had disappeared without a trace. Mitch hadn’t liked his first impression of the man, and his opinion had not improved.
Mr. Migen was short, with close cropped black hair, the color of obsidian. His features were hard, his grey eyes flint. He seemed to be a man who always got what he wanted whatever the cost. His careless studying of Mitch made him think that whoever this mystery man was, he was used to manipulating people with the sort of political savagery that scarred DC.
It was safe to say Mitch hated the guy even more the second time meeting him than he had upon his brief initial encounter.
Migen stretched his legs, as if the entire aircraft belonged to him. Mitch wondered what would happen if he asked the mystery man to go find his own seat.
“Enjoying the flight, Mr. Anders?” Migen asked through a yawn.
“It’s nice. Thank you.”
Migen eyed Mitch and smiled narrowly. “You don’t like flying do you?”
No, actually it’s just that I don’t like flying with you, Mitch thought to himself but bit his tongue. “It’s part of the job. Flying first class definitely makes it better.”
“Excellent. Listen, it’s going to be very important that you follow me at President Boehner’s Grand Gala tomorrow night in Denver. You will want to see what I have to show you. I promise you, Mitch, it will do wonders for your career.”
The way the mystery man said those words, like honey rolling off his tongue, like butter that might have hidden an undercurrent of bile, made Mitch blink in confusion. He chose to respond to the odd request with silence.
“And your cameraman, I already spoke with him. He will need to be with me as well. The story of the century goes down tomorrow night.”
“What are you talking about?” Mitch blurted.
Migen rose to his feet without looking at Mitch. “You’ll see. Tomorrow night. Enjoy the rest of your flight.”
* * *
11/24 :515 AM
Deborah Millsmith finished mopping the polished marbled floor. She paused for a moment, brushing back her dark hair, staring up at the grand domed ceiling of the Denver capitol building. She had worked as a janitor here for the better part of thirty years. And now, due to the ongoing recession under Obama, she was told next week would be her final paycheck.
Not that it mattered anymore. With the deaths of Obama and Biden, she doubted the already dying economy would survive much longer anyway. At least, she thought as she proudly gripped the wood of her mop handle, she had been able to prepare the building for the incoming Federal Government. No one could ever say she wasn’t a patriot.
Her mom had called her last night, in tears, wailing over the deaths of the President and Vice President. Then, this morning, her dad had called her about all the economic woes cascading like a sick domino game across the world in the wake of the terror attack. Deborah hadn’t understood most of what her Dad had ranted about, and she could not grasp why her Mom was so saddened by the deaths of the President and Vice President. After all, her mom had screamed in rage at the television set when Obama had been re-elected in 2012.
She shrugged, splashing her mop into the yellow bucket on rollers, and pushed her cleaning supplies smoothly along the marbled floor. I suppose I’ll never understand my parents, Deborah thought with an inward sigh.
As she reached the rim of the rotunda, two men approached her, dressed in what looked like very expensive business suits.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“President Boehner will be standing here this evening, ma’am. We need to know if you are a loyal republican or democrat?”
Deborah stared at the two men in confusion. What sort of question was that? “Uhh–”
“We assume you’re a democrat since you’re hispanic? You voted for Obama?”
Deborah shook her head, “Well, yes. I mean no. I voted for him in 2008, but my mom would have had a heart attack if I had voted for him in 2012. I’m sorry, what does this have to do with anything?”
“Consider it a social experiment. Please don’t take this personal.”
The two men, in unison, withdrew their silencer equipped pistols from their breast coats and shot Deborah three times in the face. She crumpled to the squeaky clean floor in a mess of splattered blood.
* * *
11/24 8:17 AM
Mitch watched the hotel TV with grim fascination. The breaking news story of a murdered Obama supporter, some Hispanic woman who was the chief of janitorial services at the Denver Capitol Building, was being covered by every news network in town. And across America.
Mitch grimaced at the headlines.
Obama Supported Murdered: Suspicions Directed Toward Republicans
Attack On Everything Obama Stood For Reflected in Denver Shooting
Mitch shut the TV off and groaned. His boss had warned him about this. The nation was in an emotional tailspin and it appeared the media wasn’t helping.
A loud, hard knock on his door scattered his thoughts.
“Who is it?”
“Mitch, you better get out here!”
He recognized Gary’s voice. Mitch jumped from the edge of the bed and yanked open the door. Gary, face pale, grabbed Mitch’s shoulders. “We’ve got to get out of here now!”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Huge riot of African-Americans and Hispanics. Tearing this hotel apart. The entire business district in downtown Denver is going up in flames. Like the LA Riots back in the 90’s, only a hundreds times worse!”
Mtich felt dizzy. Events were catapulting so fast he barely had time to think.
“Gary, have you spoken with management? Is there a safe way out–”
“You two better come with me,” It was the mystery man who suddenly appeared out of the corner of Mitch’s eye.
The uncanny way in which Mr. Migen appeared unsettled Mitch.
“I have a helicopter waiting on the hotel roof. I wouldn’t suggest you take your chances below–”
As if to punctuate Migen’s words, a scream and shattering glass broke the stillness. It sounded like it came from the floor beneath them.
What the hell was going on?
“Follow me,” Migen whispered as he walked down the hall toward the nearest elevator.
Mitch exchanged a glance with Gary. What he saw in his cameraman’s eyes did not surprise him, for it burned in his own: fear. Cold, hard fear. As much as Mitch didn’t trust Migen, his chances of surviving a race riot driven by the assassination of the first African-American President ever elected in history, followed by the Hispanic woman’s murder — seemed to be odds that were stacked against him.
God only knew what would happen next.
“We better go,” Gary urged.
Mitch swallowed and nodded, grabbing his briefcase and toiletry bag from the hotel room.
That’s when all the lights blacked out.
Shadows And Light: Read Chapter >> 5
I’m glad you are not making a video of these, if you did someone would take clips and try to make it look like a false prophecy.