If life throws you melons, you’re probably dyslexic

If life throws you melons, you're probably dyslexic

June 25, 2024

Archie had never seen the outside.

Unescorted.

Unshackled.

Until today.

Today, Archie left the institute with an old suit, new shoes, a written recommendation for a janitor position, and $160 in cash. He was to check into the motel by noon.

He found a bus instead.

Archie was in that half of the class that made the upper half possible. He scored low on all standardized exams and written tests.

He never impressed anyone, at any time, with his mental acuities.

Ever.

But he did impress the police, the warden, the judge, and the jury with his ability to act before others thought he would.

Before others thought he should.

Archie was not impulsive. Rather, he worked two to five minutes ahead of all others. It was almost as if he knew what was going to happen because he traveled ahead in time, made it happen, then waited for others to see what he did.

Today was such a day.

The knife at the first stop cost only $5.

At the second stop, he robbed three people waiting to get on the bus. He tied up one. The other two would never require a bus again.

A Hearse, but never a bus.

All Archie needed to do was wash his hands and remove his bloodied dress shirt. He wore his blazer over his t-shirt until later. With the fancy watch, a few credit cards and ID, and nearly $200, Archie could bide his time.

Archie knew he could sleep.

Without worries.

Without interruptions.

The bus pulled into the last stop for the night. A small depot served food as well as clean rooms for the patrons that wished to continue in the morning.

Archie asked if he could purchase some socks, boxers, and a shirt. He also wanted a toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap. He had the money. The manager had the goods.

No need for the knife tonight.

By morning, the news included the previous day’s murders. The tied up person told a tale of dastardly deeds of vice and savagery (all fabricated) and her defiance in the face of both (she cried and whimpered). Archie would permit such talk because it kept the police looking elsewhere. If he kept moving, such could be the norm.

The new bus arrived, but Archie did not board. He dropped the knife in an open backpack of another. Authorities would wait, then board the bus, hoping to make an easy arrest.

Not exactly the right person. Not exactly for the right reason. But an easy arrest none the less.

And Archie would be somewhere else, doing something else.

But not for long.

For the people who knew Archie, were the people who knew him best.

Doctor Rameriz was one such person.

He understood Archie’s mind and its flaws. Archie could, essentially, see into the future by anticipating the actions or responses of others, but he could not fathom random actions, actions without bearing or merit, that intersected his world.

When the police came to Doctor Rameriz, he wanted in on apprehending Archie alive. He wanted to study Archie for years to come. Doctor Rameriz recommended a methodical search for Archie in cooperation with a series of random “spot checks” for the likes of Archie. The first should, eventually, quarantine his movements, while the second would lessen his options. Together, the days of a free range Archie would end soon.

Without bloodshed.

The Cascade Mountains near Mount Rainier, in the spring, offer a vast array of activities for campers and outdoor enthusiasts alike. Archie discovered this place last fall and managed to winter out the season thinking about his future. Archie enjoyed his solitude. The views, the fresh air, and the wildlife fostered a new appreciation of life in general for him. It weighed heavily on his mind to return to his previous existence. He did not wish to return any time soon.

His four captives did.

Hikers by nature, all federal agents by choice, they were one of the “spot checks” for where Archie might be when captured. Now, they sat, tied to the heavy timbers of the cabin, pulled tightly against the timbers, for the fifth day in a row.

They smell bad.

They looked worse.

But, they were still successful in their job.

Just barely.

By not checking in, they had checked in. Help would arrive, possibly late, but arrive it would.

And that was Archie’s plan all along.

He was too far away from civilization for someone to become hurt by a stray bullet. The only way up here was with a helicopter or a slow climb. The former was more likely, but the latter had its own advantages.

Thus, Archie expected both.

The good doctor expected Archie to expect both. So he planned for a third. Authorities would, indeed, make the climb and would arrive via a helicopter. But, they always would make their presence known by skiing in from above.

The goal was to capture Archie and his hostages without a loss of life. The doctor’s priority was saving Archie first. The commander’s priority was to save his men.

By killing Archie.

At dawn, with the sun in Archie’s eyes, the first wave arrived. The agents kept their spacing and moved quickly to cover the 200 yards of clearing separating themselves and the cabin.

The electric powered chopper, almost a drone, moved faster and dropped smoke canisters and tear gas. It had flash bang grenades at the ready, but did not immediately deploy them.

The first wave indicated a single man moving toward the rear tree line. Police on skis immediately converged on his position, forcing the man to ignore commands to stop.

He was shot to wound, then to kill.

No one questioned if there even was an order.

Falling off a cliff, it would take hours before a positive ID to confirm Archie’s death. The other hostages in the cabin were discovered to be murdered that morning and disfigured beyond recognition. The tools remaining in the cabin included filet knives, a brace and bit, as well as a battery powered belt sander.

All were bloodied and the mess churned a few stomachs and stiffened the resolve of others.

Forensic experts arrived soon after to verify Archie’s DNA and fingerprints on the contents of the cabin. Photographs cataloged the exact location of each appliance, chair, and quilt used.

It was nearly nightfall before the authorities called it a day and departed for home.

The coroner’s report would indicate Archie’s identity by blood type, DNA, physical description, and tattoos.

None of which would be true, according to Doctor Rameriz.

Archie would not have tattoos.

Thus, Archie would not have been at the cabin before or during the attacks.

He would be at the cabin after the attacks.

It would only take a single phone call to verify this hypothesis.

The doctor made the call, purposely mis-identifying himself as an agent.

The doctor waited.

The caller returned the call.

“I have him in custody. What do you want me to do with him?”

The doctor wanted to say, “Hold Archie for me. I will be there in the hour.”

The doctor opted for a different reply. He gave the order, the only such order he would ever give.

Archie was worth more alive than dead.

But only to the doctor.

Thinking about it, the lemonade would have tasted tart. But tart beats no taste any day of the week, twice on Sunday.