The Rising Darkness…

 

A backlash is rising in the United States.  A backlash against social progress.  Against freedom.  Books are being removed from school library shelves on order from state governors – all such books now have to be screened by state-appointed overseers - and people are being threatened with criminal prosecution for voicing opinions and self-expression.  Public expressions of gay or trans identity, like drag shows are now being criminalized.

The M.O. of this reactionary movement is to fan the flames of transphobic fear, branding transsexuals as freaks and those who try to help trans youth by providing them with needed therapy as child molesters out to sexually mutilate defenseless children.  As always, these right-wing fear mongers invent an insidious left-wing agenda aimed at destroying or perverting our society.  Their own agenda is becoming increasingly apparent.  The right-wing agenda is to control thought and destroy freedom of expression and self-identification for anyone who falls outside the right-wing anti-progressive ideology.

It’s all justified under the false mission statement of protecting children from indoctrination and perversion, and upholding parental rights.  Indoctrination defined as mention of anything outside the ideological agenda propagated by the state, and perversion defined as whatever the state decides it doesn’t like.  In reality, denying trans youth any possibility of needed therapy greatly increases the risk of mental imbalance and suicide.  As for parental rights – states dominated by right-wing politicians are trying to throw parents in jail – even for life - for supporting their trans kids in trying to get them the kinds of therapy they need to stay healthy and sane. 

When state governments can dictate morality to the public, control what we see, hear and read and jail parents when they don’t raise their children according to the state’s official agenda – That is fascism.

The irony is that these banner-waving right-wing activists and the ideologically motivated judges who serve their agenda justify much of what they do in the name of free speech.  According to them, so-called counselors have the right to tell gay or trans youth that they’re mentally ill and that counseling could “cure them”, but educators have no free speech when it comes to having open libraries free from state censorship, or to even say the word “gay” within earshot of a minor.  One librarian was told he couldn’t keep up a quotation from Eli Wiesel encouraging resistance against tyranny.  Now, what agenda does that suggest?

So, what’s the next logical step?  If books and free speech can be criminalized as “child abuse” in the public education system, how long before private education hears the knock of government censors at the door?  How long before public libraries and privately owned book stores can be censored in the name of keeping children safe?  The same goes for radio, T.V., movies and the Internet.  Goodbye, 1^st amendment. If parents can be jailed for life for supporting trans youth…could such parents be executed? Conversely, could the state legally allow parents to abuse, even torture their kids in the belief it will purge them of their unnatural gay or trans tendencies?  Indeed, we’ve seen real child abuse in the conversion camps the religious right has set up.  How long before state borders are closed to prevent the escape of individuals and families trying to flee such policies?

The right wing would like to erase LGBTQ people from the face of the earth and delete from books any and all mention that they ever existed, as anything but maniacs and deviants.  The key to destroying a whole group of people is to keep them invisible.  The public must not be allowed to empathize with them or even acknowledge their humanity.  They must appear demons to fear, never human beings to love.

The short story which follows is pure fantasy.  But, it illustrates one basic fact:  The truth can be repressed, but it has a way of emerging eventually.  Sometimes with a vengeance.

********

EMERGENCE

The near future…

Dr. Clark Wellington looked over the brain tracings printing out of the encephalograph.  “No change at all?” he asked.

“None,” Dr. Robert Carter answered, looking down at the comatose teenaged boy and checking the electrical contacts of the electrodes taped to the boy’s skull.  “No variation over the past 2 weeks.”

“I would have expected to see more activity by now,” Wellington said, holding the X-ray slides up to the light.  “There’s definitely been a substantial growth of cerebral tissue since we upped the dosage of the regenerant.”

“The brain damage was extensive.  Not surprising, considering the shock treatments and experimental drugs you were pumping into him in the conversion camp.   You really believe the brain can return to normal even after this long a coma?”

“The growth of cell tissue proves it, as far as I’m concerned.  His memories will be largely gone, but his higher brain functions will be fully restored.  A complete cerebral re-boot.  Why do you suppose every state in the Southern Confederation has diverted so much money into my experiment?”  His heart raced as he imagined his impending fame.

Carter sighed.  “Because they see this as a potential propaganda coup.  If your theory proves correct…if young Mr. Stephens here really does wake up…fully cured of his transsexual mindset…they’ll finally have scientific proof that transsexuality is purely a psychological aberration and curable through induced coma.”

And, his name would go down in medical history.  “You can take off for the night, Bob.  I want to run some more tests.”

“All right, Clark.  Good night.”

Wellington barely noticed when Carter left.  He studied the readings pensively.  What the devil was happening?  His heart leapt as the readings suddenly spiked, the ink trails swinging wildly across the scrolling sheet, the bio-monitor beeping wildly.  His blood racing with wild excitation, he checked the patient’s heart rate and respiration.  Both were through the roof.  He reached for the intercom button.  He nearly jumped out of his skin as a soft hand touched his shoulder.  He looked up and gasped, wide-eyed.  A beautiful young woman stood before him.  Long, stylish red hair, piercing green eyes and a tight-fitting, revealing dress.  “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.  “How did you get in here?”

“Name’s Calliope,” she said with a mischievous smile, her long eye-lashes fluttering.  “‘Hope you don’t mind, but…I just had to meet the legendary Dr. Clark Wellington personally.”  Her graceful, dainty hands caressed his face.  She laughed softly as her slender arms encircled his neck, her perfume sharp and overwhelming.

He was short of breath, his heart pounding.  “Miss…Miss, I…I have work to do.  I…uh…”  The room began to sway around him, the patient almost forgotten.  It was like a dream.  No woman like this had ever expressed an interest in him before.  It seemed his cutting-edge experiment was making a name for him already.  As she kissed him, the blood rushed to his brain.  He nearly fainted.  He smiled, sweating like a schoolboy.

He almost didn’t notice when she picked up a scalpel and stabbed it into his throat.

***

Detective Sid Garvey looked down at the lifeless body of Clark Wellington and smacked his lips.  “Quite a mess,” the homicide detective commented absently, looking down at the blood splashed across the laboratory floor, Wellington’s eyes open and staring.  And, scrawled in the blood, apparently by the victim’s fingers was what appeared to be a name.  Possibly ‘Calliope.’  “You were seen leaving this room just about the estimated time of death, Dr. Carter.  Any comment?”

“As you said, Detective…quite a mess.   I think the security guards would have noticed blood on my clothing.  And, you won’t find my fingerprints on the murder weapon.”  He gestured at the bloodied scalpel now being dropped into a plastic evidence bag.  “Or, my DNA.”

“Security cameras don’t lie, Doctor,” Garvey said, his frustration growing.  “Apart from you, no one left at that time, and no one entered.  And, the pattern of the wounds clearly rules out suicide.  So, who killed him?  A ghost?”

“I certainly had no motive…”

“We both know that’s not true, Doctor.  Wellington was quite famous, wasn’t he?  Performing medical experiments on the trans kids in the conversion camps.  The Northern Alliance had tried him in absentia and branded him a war criminal.”

“What has that to do with me?”

“Don’t be coy, doc.   You think we haven’t checked you out?  Your sister and her husband fled the state through the underground 2 years ago, with their transie son.  You were investigated at the time on suspicion of helping them escape.”

“And, I was cleared, of course.”

“Of course, or you’d be on death row by now.  But, are you telling me you felt no ill will toward Dr. Wellington, who might have ended up putting your nephew on that table?” he asked, glancing at the comatose boy lying nearby.

“There was no love lost between my sister and myself, Detective.   There’s a reason she’s living in the north, while I’m still here.  I didn’t share her views.  She was breaking the law by helping my nephew acquire illegal treatment, and I certainly didn’t approve.  I haven’t spoken with my sister in 2 years.”

“And, you have no idea who might have wanted Dr. Wellington dead?”

“As you pointed out yourself, Detective…he had enemies in the Northern Alliance.  They may have agents here.  Who knows?”

“Uh-huh.  Well, if you notice any employees here at the Institute who seem suspicious, drop us a line.”  He texted Carter his contact info.  “We’ll be in touch, Doctor.”

“I’m sure you will, Detective.”

***

 FAMOUS BRAIN SURGEON MURDERED

Harrison Blythe switched off the newsfeed on his Q-pad, his hand trembling a bit as he poured the boiling water into his cocoa.  He hadn’t been able to sleep.  Wellington’s murder had put him on edge.  He knew Wellington had been experimenting on the Stephens boy.  Blythe had made quite a name for himself as the state prosecutor who’d convicted the trans boy’s parents of getting their son illegal hormone treatments.  Peter and Sara Stephens had died by lethal injection thanks to him.

He sipped the cocoa, burning his tongue and swore.  He checked the external security monitor screens and noted the security guards at their posts outside the house.  He so wanted this night to end.  Stop worrying, he told himself.  The new security system was fool-proof.  No one could…

“Hey, Harry,” a woman’s voice said behind him.

His blood froze, the cocoa cup shattering on the kitchen floor.  He gasped as he saw her.  His numbness passing, he was in awe of her beauty.  Her piercing green eyes and waves of red hair.  And, that body…a goddess.  “Who…”

“Calliope,” she said with a smile as she unfastened his robe and slipped it off his shoulders.  “I’ve just been dying to meet you, Mr. hot-shot lawyer-man.”  She giggled as she nuzzled his neck.

He swooned, feeling himself growing hard and eager.  He wondered if he was dreaming as he glimpsed the large kitchen knife in her hand.

****

Garvey rubbed his tired eyes as the coroner’s men carried Blythe’s dead body to the meat wagon.  “The pattern of the wounds was the same as on Wellington,” the medical examiner said.

“Figures,” Garvey muttered, lighting a cigarette.  “The security cameras got nothing.  Private security swears no one entered the house.  We had to break in.  All the doors and windows were locked from the inside.”

“Well, there’s no chance it was suicide.”

“And, let me guess…no prints on the knife?”

“None.”

And, no DNA either, of course.  Just like the scalpel.  He didn’t even see much point in checking Carter for an alibi.  If this was the work of Northern Alliance agents, they’d done a damn good job.  He stared absently at the cloudy dawn sky and ran the facts through his mind.  Both murders were obviously connected to the Stephens case.  First, the doctor who’d put the Stephens boy in a coma.  Now, the prosecutor who’d sent the kid’s parents to the death house.  If it was a vendetta…either personal or political…who was next?  Well, the governor was the obvious target.  Ralph Gianelli had led a flaming, bible-thumping anti-trans crusade that had swept him into the governor’s mansion.  The public fervor surrounding the Stephens execution had scored him a lot of points with his base.  And, a lot of enemies in the north.

He flipped open his phone and called his old buddy Joe Cassidy.

“What’s up, Sid?” Cassidy said, his face appearing on screen.

“Joe…you’re pretty high up on the governor’s security detail.  Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”

“Well…keep this under your hat, Sid, but…I think our beloved governor’s got a screw loose.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, the last time I checked in with him at the mansion, he said he didn’t want to be disturbed because he was entertaining a lovely young lady.  I saw him pouring two glasses of wine over the vid, but…there was nobody else visible in the camera’s frame.  When I checked with the house guards, they said no visitors had been admitted.  They swear he was alone.”

“Did this ‘lovely young lady’ have a name?”

“That’s the really weird part.  He actually seemed to be talking to his imaginary friend at one point.  He called her something…sounded like ‘Calliope.’”

Garvey felt his blood running cold.  “When was this?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“Christ.  Joe, listen…tell them to get some men in there, fast!  Break in if they have to.  Now!”

“I can’t go against the Governor’s order.”

“Dammit, Joe, the governor’s life is in danger!  Do it now!”

“This has to go through channels…”

Garvey swore as he ended the call and switched to the police dispatcher.  “This is Garvey, badge 117.  Get me on a sonicopter to the Governor’s Mansion now!  Screw the warrant, screw the commissioner!  This is a code red.  I’ll take full responsibility.”

***

“Detective Garvey, you are in violation of state air-space!  Change direction at once, or you will be fired upon!”  The voice boomed from a half dozen security drones hovering around the Governor’s Mansion.  His heart pounding, Garvey ordered the robot pilot to hover close to a window at the top of the house.  Drawing his gun and raising the copter’s hatch, he leapt head-first, glass shattering around him as he heard the crackle of the drones opening fire.  Groaning as he tucked and rolled, he came up running and bounded through the corridor as the thundering explosion of the sonicopter blasted through the window behind him.

He froze as he came upon the governor.  Gianelli lay dead in a pool of his own blood.  Crouched over him was a beautiful young readhead.  Clenched in her hand was the bloodied shard of a broken wine bottle.  She looked up at Garvey with a wild, hateful snarl, her eyes flashing, her teeth bared.

He fired twice.  He gaped, his heart frozen as she vanished into thin air, the glass shard falling to the floor beside the governor’s body. Numb, he knelt by the corpse and picked up the shard.

“Freeze!”

He looked up as two men burst in, guns drawn and trained on him.  He reflexively began to stand.  It was then he realized he was still holding his gun.  Their muzzle flashes were the last thing he ever saw.

***

Robert Carter ran the brain tracings on the comatose patient through the A.I. in direct comparison with 3 recent news reports – The murders of Dr. Wellington, Harrison Blythe, and the governor.  The 3 sharp spikes in brain activity coincided with all 3 incidents.

Closing out his PC, he walked into the lab and looked down at the comatose boy, opening and reading his file.

Cal Stephens, 16.  Since infusion of experimental cerebral tissue regenerative compound, subject displays level of neuron activity unprecedented in medical history.

He closed the file.  Arcane theories flitted through his mind.  Theories he dimly recalled reading about years ago in books long since burned in fiery night rallies presided over by the late governor.  Terms like psychokinetic manifestation.  Astral projection.

They tried to destroy you, Calliope, he thought as he looked into the boy’s face.  But, you’re still in there, aren’t you?  They wouldn’t let you be born.  But, you just had to emerge somehow.