Flynn

Chapter 1: Sentenced

Sentenced for life. The blaring sirens still ring in my ears as I faintly hear the judge declare the Man’s sentence. Guilty. I know I tried my best to fight for this man and preserve his innocence, but I’ve failed, and the jury decided it best that he is found guilty. He was declared an accomplice to a brutal mass murder and heinous act performed by a cruel man issued the name “The Bull”. The Bull’s real name is Santigo Marco-Florez, but he earned his tag as “The Bull” after he was suspected of many brutal crimes committed for no reason.

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My name is 1st Sergeant Marcus Flynn and I know that this “accomplice” is innocent. My accomplice is Fred Dundee. He is a very respectable and calm mannered man, but he has one problem. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia 5 years prior to this incident. That was enough Probable cause to assume he was an accomplice. Yes, he was in the area at the time, because his hobby is photography and he was using a set of binoculars to observe nearby wildlife. I know this because I’ve been friends with his family for 3 years. I’ve actually been out with him for vacation, and he did then the same as he did at the crime scene. It was inconvenient that he would be in the area where this nasty crime took place.

I, however, was actually there where the crime was committed. I had to be, as I was called in from my base in California to help fight in this huge standoff against The Bull. I was in position with my sniper rifle when saw that he was alone. The Bull has a very particular way of playing out his crimes. He prefers to act alone, fearing that another person would ruin things or rat him out. Though he prefers to work alone, The Bull has many resources and access to high level people.

I was assigned a position at the top of the nearby Water Tower that overlooks the whole city of San Diego. The Bull was making an attempt to sabotage Mexico’s last Water Supply. A normal person would be concerned about being on a source of water while a water supply is attacked, but this tower has been dry for 15 years and I know it is a safe place to be. I believed I was in the right mind to determine that this was the best place to be. I could see The Bull clearly.. That cheeky son of a…

“Flynn!” It’s the Prison Warden. Clearly I need to sleep more, because my daydreaming has gotten really bad recently.

“Yes?”

“Do you understand what I just said?”

“No, I am not in my right mind today. I apologize.”

“All right, make sure you get some rest after this. I was explaining how in regards to the enormity of the crime, this man will be given no option of bail.”

My mind goes blank. I don’t know if it is a conscious decision or not, but it’s how my body reacts to hearing this. I don’t know how long I’ve been blanking, but when I come to, the warden is just looking at me. It feels almost inhuman, because his eyes aren’t moving. They even look a bit…

Black.

⤘

It is now the day after the trial. Since the process for Fred has been completed and he is now being ushered to his place of life-long lonesome, I get my things from the coat rack two doors back from the room I was being told this information in. I brought my brown casual trench coat that my friend in the Corps bought me. As I slide it on, I feel some weight in the right pocket. It’s strange because out of habit, I put everything heavy in my satchel. Confused, I reach my hand into the pocket and feel the usual things at first. Gum, tissues, a pen, sticky notes, work phone charger, and … a polaroid camera.

I’ve only ever USED a polaroid one time in my life, and it was when my ex-wife wanted a “vintage” photoshoot of her. I know this isn’t the same camera though, because it has several engravings on it. Sayings such as “Film and family is my fruit”, “I’m okay”, and a name…. Oh my God.

Hurriedly I pull the film out of the camera hoping for … something. Sure enough, there is one picture already developed on top of the unused film.

“Hey puto”. There is disgust and insult in the voice. I hurriedly stuff the picture back into my pocket and leave the camera in the storage locker I’d been assigned. The voice is The Bull being transferred out the doors and into a maximum security prison no doubt. “I’ll find you one day, and you’ll regret you even saw me”.

“You can go ahead and try”, I say trying to act casual and not disturbed. After he passes, I grab the camera and the rest of my things and turn left out of the door and walk down the hall and past three open interrogation rooms and out the front doors.

As I walk down the steps of the prison, my heart is beating frantically. I don’t know if it was more seeing the camera and picture, or The Bull threatening me that caused it. I walk across the street and into the parking garage where I was forced to park on such a busy Friday. I spot my Black 1967 Chevy Impala and get in. Once situated, I reach into my pocket once again. Just feeling the film makes my skin crawl. I don’t take the film out, but instead the Camera. I scan around the camera for any more clues, but I still only spot the one. Engraved just under the eye piece is the name

Fred Dundee

Chapter 2: Confusion

Alright, here’s how all of this played out from the beginning. The police have been collecting evidence on the crimes of Santigo for years now, trying to obtain a warrant to search his current home. He moves “homes” a lot as to not have the people in the community become familiar with his face. He knows that the police have been investigating him for a long time now, so he is smart about where, how, and when he will play out his crimes.

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Now, when I was atop the water tower and waiting to see if The Bull was going to harm anyone, he played this crime out the same way he had with any other. It was only him, and he drove his reinforced black hummer into the building. He loaded it up with weapons and explosives as normal. Judging by the look of his puffy jacket, I knew he had some serious body armor on. Since The Bull has high level sources from very selective and private places, he was equipped the highest tier weapons and armor. My task as I was laying there was to engage him and “take him out” if he harmed anybody. The rest of the armed forces that were sent here are either taking cover, or are attempting to infiltrate the building.

The Bull is smart though and layed out claymores at every entrance so nobody can get in. Now, as the other men were rationalizing the best way to get in, I noticed a glimmer off atop a hill directly across from me. Alarmed, I scanned over to the spot and focused on whatever was causing the glare. I couldn’t see exactly who it was, but I was prepared to engage in case it was another sniper that was assisting the Bull. That was until I saw the Camera tripod. Next to the man was a large camera on a red tripod. It was then that I knew exactly who it was.

My good friend Fred Dundee picked a very inconvenient time to be surveying the landscape. Since police were scurrying about everywhere, I knew Fred would unluckily end up involved in this. Right as Fred turned to his camera to take a picture, there was a huge BOOM as one of the claymores that the SWAT team didn’t see exploded. Nobody was hurt, but that opening of the building collapsed and blockaded itself. Obviously Fred heard this enormous sound, and immediately gathered his things, and after dropping his camera lens a total of 3 times, he finally managed to grab the illusive lens and began running away. Well, since there were police everywhere, I knew he would look guilty.

⤘

The thing that still has me wondering, is how he got that camera into my coat… I watched Fred run, whilst also watching the confrontation unfold and plume of smoke rising out of my right peripheral. With no other options, I’d assume he ran past my car to get to his own. Fred is a very intelligent man, and apparently he knew he would look guilty. He must have spotted my car and knew I was there at the scene. Knowing I was a good friend, he had to have stashed his camera in my coat through my open window.

⤘

Now that I’m alone in my car, I take the photo out of my pocket once again (with gloves of course as to not disturb the fingerprints). With my hand trembling, I observe that the picture is of Fred Dundee, but with one big glaring piece of visual evidence. Fred had no physical evidence for his side of the story during his cross-examination, and therefore his hired counsel had a tough enough time fighting for him. I wish so badly that I could go back in time and give this photograph to the judge as hard proof that Fred is innocent. That photograph showed Fred grinning with his trademark smile and holding a picture that he took of an ocelot that is stamped with the date and time the photo was taken. In the background is his camera and no weapon of any sort. The biggest piece of evidence is that the picture wasn’t taken atop the hill that he was on when I saw him. I recognized the place he took it at too.

He was a 45 minute drive away from where the crime took place. Since he had no car, and was caught on foot, that means he walked or ran. The picture was stamped August 15th, 2005 at 1:33 p.m, while I saw him pull out his binoculars atop the hill at 6:45 p.m. Since the 45 minute drive is mainly on the highway, it would take him about 5 hours to walk at an average pace from where he took the picture, to where I saw him. This is hard proof that Fred only arrived to the location he was caught about 12 minutes after he got there. If he WAS helping The Bull (who began his attack at about 4:30 p.m), why would he show up 2 hours into the crime? Also, why would Fred show up with no weapons of any kind. Even if they used his binoculars as an observation argument, Fred had no radio, cell phone, or any other men around him that he could contact.

⤘

Fred prefers to be alone with nature because it calms his schizophrenia. Before he was diagnosed, everybody thought he has a common mental issue called ADHD. He would always want to get up and walk the halls in school, and as in some cases of ADHD, people thought that he always listened to music to help him focus. In reality, Fred needed music to drown out the whispers he was hearing. At that young age of 15, the whispers were not violent or threatening, they were just annoying. The reason he always wanted to walk the halls in school was because he knew that some of the weird things he saw in class were not real and that he was imagining them. Fred is and was very aware of when his schizophrenia was acting up, so he could control how he reacted to the voices and visions. One example of the things he repeatedly saw, was the teachers pencil cup filled with used scalpels. Since he was in his right mind, he knew that that couldn’t be the case in a school. It was pretty much impossible for a teacher to have such a thing in a school zone.

Now Fred is 28 years old, and his condition has gotten worse. He hears more voices, threatening voices, and the things he's described to me that he has seen are beyond words. I’d prefer not to go in depth about it because I can honestly hardly bring myself to think about it. Regardless of the worsening condition, Fred has talked to me about his solutions and healthy coping mechanisms. One method his family suggested. His Aunt Violet was the one who stepped up with that idea. She suggested that when he was feeling his condition act up, to ditch all forms of communication in order to be certain that the voices he heard weren't real and didn’t have a tangible source … In addition, she suggested to do what he loves in a quiet place. Fred then set his mind on photography. He could travel anywhere he wanted, choose the atmosphere of the pictures, and ensure he was in a safe place.

Violet was worried about him as a boy, and wanted him to talk to her about what was happening in his head. Since he would never tell her because he was afraid of scaring her, she pursued a therapy career in order to learn how to help him. His Aunt then proceeded to earn her therapy degree when Fred was 22, about one year before Fred was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Obviously she played a role into his diagnosis, and eventually cracked Fred into venting everything that he has heard and seen, to her. She was completely flabbergasted and insisted that he get checked up in a hospital. Fred knew how to handle what was going on, and told her no for over a year. Eventually, to make her happy, Fred agreed to go with her to a hospital. This may have been his biggest mistake, and most likely led to his eventual arrest seven days ago. If Fred hadn’t been diagnosed, the jury wouldn’t have had anything to argue. Most of their points eventually led back to his diagnosis and his past. Had Fred not been diagnosed, he might have walked free.

Chapter 3: Chaos

I still remember the chaos of the day the Bull attacked. It went like this…

I remain laying in my position under a safety bar atop the Water Tower as I scope out the water facility for anymore potential threats that I can warn the SWAT team about. Simultaneously, I glance over and catch glimpses of the poor Fred Dundee being attacked and pinned down by patrolling policemen. They show no mercy, assuming he was assisting the cruel Santigo in his sabotage mission. Two policemen are armed and aiming at Fred with their standard issue M16 rifles. Four more men are pointing tasers at him. He currently has three men holding him down each from a different angle, and the other six men have surrounded the whole episode taking place. All men have on body armor, riot

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Another HUGE explosion just happened. I couldn’t see what caused it because I was in the process of panning back to the confrontation… All I see now is a plume of smoke, fire, and men running around in a way I can only describe as a swarm of bees. Some are running towards the “hot zone” while others run to cover. My radio is going berserk, and I put in a few of my own words to ask if anybody was injured and if I should engage. Radio Silence. All I hear next is

“Do it”.

Fueled with adrenaline, I hone in and begin to control my breathing, thoughts, sounds, and intentions. I expertly draw in my scope to exactly where my intuition tells me The Bull is. My gut tells me that he would in the farthest corner of the first floor, because there are no doors except the one that leads into the room, and there is nothing that can explode and kill him by accident. There is only one window that looks into the room, but it is about 10 feet up from the ground outside and has a metal shoplifting-proof cover on it. The only person that can see where The Bull is, is me. I have a perfect view into the room. I just wait intently until he comes into view of the window.

It’s been about 3 minutes, and I finally catch a glimpse of movement in the room. I stay focused on the window, as policemen and SWAT members still continue moving around and trying new ideas all around the outside of the building. I see a sleeve move past the corner of the window followed seconds later by the whole Facade of The Bull himself. My crosshairs are right over his throat. He has on thick body armor that covers his heart, and a military style helmet that protects his head. A calculated throat shot will break his neck and kill him instantly. My rifle is chambered in .223 green tip, so it will have to be a very precise shot. The green tip will ensure that the bullet pierces the metal cover if it hits it, so I don’t need to worry about that. I can’t have any sounds, wind, or anything else disturb me while I exhale for the shot, or it won't kill him. I could potentially miss all together. If this happens, I don’t know what security devices The Bull has, so he could trigger an explosion, or take the whole building down, or start killing men. I’m not willing to take that risk.

The Bull’s back is turned to me, and he is slightly right of center on the window. I’m aiming directly at the bottom of the skull and right in line with the spine. He seems to be having a conversation on his disposable cell phone, so he isn’t moving much. The wind is still, and my breathing is controlled. The situation is perfect for a precise shot. Mentally prepared, I exhale and hone in on the exact point that I need to shoot at. I’m 250 yards away, so I’m prepared for an eight inch drop with no wind influence. My sights are right at the top of his head since I know from police encounters and descriptions that his head is 9 inches tall from crown to jaw. I ease onto the trigger, and start to squeeze. “POW”. Not only did I hear the click of the trigger and shot as the gun began firing, but a shout as well. A shocking and threatening shout…

Chapter 4: The Future, or is it the Present?

It’s now been a year since the events of the trial of Fred Dundee. Flashbacks of that day still come back to me. I vividly can see images of the back of The Bull’s head, the look on Fred’s face as the police tackled him while running away, the sound of the bullet being fired, and the voice. I can still hear what it yelled at me as I attempted to kill The Bull. I don’t know who the voice came from, but I remember vividly what it sounded like. Sometimes I still feel like I actually hear it…

The shock from hearing a yell during almost total silence caused me to flinch and slightly offset my shot. The bullet impacted the wall inside the room right in front of The Bull. It did hit him though. It clipped his lower neck, but didn’t hit deep enough to cause permanent damage. As my heart pounded from being shocked unexpectedly, I saw The Bull duck down and press a button on his phone. As it turns out, that wasn’t a phone. What looked like the antenna of a satellite phone was actually the cover for the triggering button for a massive setup of explosives. As soon as The Bull pressed the button, he ran out a back door of the building as fast as he could. I assumed it was because he was afraid… little did I know what he had planned.

He got about 400 meters away before the entire building was encased in flames caused by an eruption of fire and debris. The shockwave from the blast shook me to the core and knocked a few trees down that were about 50 meters away from the building. The Bull was knocked off of his feet and fell flat on his face. Conveniently as he fell, a large piece of concrete from the building flew over his head. Had he kept upright, the piece would have killed him and finished the job that I should have finished myself. He laid there for a minute or two and then got up to his feet and continued running. Eager to finish him off, I aim my rifle at him and squeeze the trigger. Click.

“Huh?”

I squeezed the trigger again and my gun did the same. It just made a click noise and fired no bullet. I know I filled the clip entirely, and the safety was off, so why didn’t it fire? With my adrenaline still running rapid and me having to consciously control my shaking, I quickly inspect my rifle for any problems that may have caused the misfires. As I rotated the gun around, I found no external damage or problems, so I take apart the rifle. Right as I remove the upper receiver, I see the terrible truth as to why my gun won’t fire. In the heat of the moment that I attempted killing of The Bull in the room, and when I heard the voice in my ear, is when the problem occurred. Right after the shot, when the bolt carrier comes back to load in another bullet to the chamber, the carrier smacked a metal piece of the water tower I was on as I flinched. I had been a safe distance away from it, but as I flinched, I must have moved that way and impacted the metal. This force bent the bolt which caused the pin the be offset from the primer of the bullet. When I tried firing the second and third time after The Bull started running, the pin to just punch holes in the casing of the bullet.

The power needed to bend a bolt is so huge that I couldn’t bend it back if I tried my hardest. Seeing that situation in front of me as I laid atop a water tower and was in the process of stopping a lethal man, it killed me inside. I swear I could hear what sounded like the Bull taunting me inside my own head. I was so infuriated with the situation I was in, that I just left the broken gun where it lay, and climbed down the tower. One-hundred and fifty steps later, I was at the bottom. The picture that I saw at the bottom of the tower infuriated me maybe even more than that of the events played out atop the watertower. My head was buzzing with emotions, my body shook with anger, and it sounded like every person in the world was yelling directly into my ears.

The building was obliterated. All that remained there was a couple of support beams that were now supporting nothing, rubble, and bodies. There were so many bodies… I’d say almost a hundred. Each body mangled in a different way and each face twisted into a permanently terrified expression. Every police car was caved in by pieces of building, and little fires were scattered everywhere almost expressing the anger of all of the dead people I saw. The noise in my ears was searing, and the thoughts swirling in my head become overwhelming. I started seeing horrible images rapidly flash in my peripherals, and then I blacked out.

Chapter 5: The End is the new beginning

That’s all I remember until I woke back up in the back of an ambulance. As I came to, it sounded like church bells were ringing in my ears. My whole body ached, and I felt so frail and powerless. I lifted my head to inspect my surroundings, and I saw the usual things in the back of an ambulance. There was nothing weird that that caught my attention. I was almost relieved that I found myself in a “normal” situation, until I saw myself. In a security mirror at the back of the ambulance, I could see myself, the stretcher I was on, as well as the IV pumping into my very … very burned body. They must have been pumping morphine into my body, which is why I felt numb and couldn’t feel the pain of the burns and bruises.

It was then that I could hear the faint sound of talking. I glanced up into the mirror once again after inspecting my tainted body, only to now see two EMT’s facing me and talking. I tried to ask what had happened, but my voice was too hoarse to be counted as words. The pain of attempting to speak was almost unbearable. I tried a total of three times before I started viciously coughing. They were deep and painful, hoarse coughs, and every time my abdomen contracted, pain shot through my whole body like powerful electricity. Trying to resist the coughs was almost more painful than the act of coughing itself. It took about 5 minutes to gain control over my body once again and stop the coughs. I took a deep breath and tried my best to ask the paramedics what had happened, and what they saw when they got to me.

They managed to decipher what I had said, and they began explaining the situation slowly. I focused as much as I could on what they were saying, and tried to overcome the ringing in my ears. They told me that I had had a panic attack and my brain became overwhelmed and shut down. They explained that they estimated I had been on the burning hot asphalt for about 30 minutes before one of the policemen on scene was able to contact an ambulance.

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How could that happen? From what I had seen, everybody on scene was mangled and very much dead… For somebody to have escaped from an explosion so powerful that it violently ripped apart all who were near it, would just be insane. Confused, I asked how that could have happened. I told them the events that had played out that day from the very beginning, and explained that I had been atop a nearby water tower with my rifle, and saw the events play out. They seemed shocked and confused, so I followed it up with another question. I asked what would happen with all of the other bodies that were scattered everywhere at the crime scene.

There was a long pause as the two men stood there with wide eyes. They then went on explaining that after I was cleared in the hospital, I would be sent to a mental facility for a checkup on my mental health. He stated that most of the details that I had described hadn’t actually happened. He believed that the reason I had blacked out was from a mental condition being overwhelmed… I started disagreeing with him and saying that I was positive that everything had happened, and that The Bull had managed to run away and we had to find him. Another long pause.

“The Bull was killed in the explosion that you saw. Every policeman, SWAT member, and anybody who was at the scene had found cover away from the building after they triggered The Bull’s claymores. It had become a lethal situation, so they set up explosives around the building. From what you saw, The Bull was in fact holding a satellite phone in the room. The military had acquired the number for that phone from one of The Bulls sources of products. They had been talking on the phone with The Bull, trying to get him to stop the crime and stop killing people. As they were talking, they drained the water from the facility and moved it to a private U.S storage for temporary containment. The Bull flat out told them “No” despite 4 warnings, and even threw out insults at the men on the phone. Once the men heard the shot of your rifle, they triggered the explosives and blew up the building with The Bull inside of it.”

I had no words. I didn’t believe a single word he said until he said he would call a man that was there at the event. The man picked up in three rings, and he said the exact same thing as the paramedic. I wanted to just lash out with all of the emotion that was trapped in my head, but trying to do anything while in this state was beyond painful. Frustrated and depressed, I laid my head down and slept until we arrived. The paramedics told me I could sleep because they had checked for a concussion, and I didn’t have one.

We reached the hospital where I remained for one week until my burns healed. Throughout my stay, I daydreamed a lot and kept hearing what sounded like people yelling at me. Following the trial, I was sent to The mental facility. I talked with a nice lady for about two hours. She just nodded and wrote down the things I said. After I finished telling her everything that had happened, and everything happening in my head, she left for five minutes and when she began explaining the situation, I broke down. She explained that she was certain that I had a bad case of schizophrenia. That was why I heard yelling, saw things that weren’t there, and I was in denial about it.

I was confused. I had never had a problem with any of this until I was confronting The Bull. She then explained that such conditions can be triggered by major stressful events. The denial, she said, might have caused me to believe that Fred was the one who had schizophrenia. She said that I wanted to believe that it was somebody else who had the problem when in reality, I was making up scenarios in my head because of overreacting.

15 minutes later

“I saw The Bull at the station!” I exclaimed “He yelled at me and called me names!”

“I talked with Fred two days ago and he described how he saw you getting your things at the station, but noticed that you seemed panicked. He tried to say hello, but you just mumbled something back at him hurriedly. Fred was found innocent after 5 minutes of the jury discussing the crime. He brought his camera as evidence and proved he couldn’t have been a part of it.”

“So I have a bad case of schizophrenia, and am hallucinating and hearing voices that aren’t there?”

“Yes. The ringing in your ears and the yells you heard are a result of the condition. Once your brain started reaching its limit, you started hallucinating vividly and “saw” things such as the bodies, The Bull running away, the triggering device in his hand, so on and so forth.”

“I don’t understand though” I exclaimed, “I remember that when I was in the courtroom, they kept using Fred’s schizophrenia as an argument as to why he was guilty”.

“They did mention schizophrenia, Mr. Flynn, but they were referring to your diagnosis. For the opposing argument, they pulled your health documents and found that you had been diagnosed with schizophrenia about 5 years ago. They then tried to use that against you”.

“NO! That was when Fred was diagnosed. I remember it!” I retort, completely confident in my side of the debate.

“Mr. Flynn, Fred came with you when your Aunt Violet took you in the mental hospital when your symptoms got worse. I know this might be a lot to process right now, but I promise you that I’m telling the truth. What is most likely happening right now is a common side effect of schizophrenia that isn’t very rare. Memory loss is common with schizophrenia patients, and oftentimes, memories are disturbed and altered. Your mind had associated the hospital trip and diagnosis with Fred, and you convinced yourself that it was him who experienced the life that you experienced. Most likely what is also happening is that everything you remember about Fred’s life is being tied in with yours. It could take days or even weeks to stabilize the condition and try to help you get your memory back. We will try our best to help you, Mr. Flynn”.

Chapter 6: …

Now, we are up to the present. I’m laying in my personal mental hospital room and writing the story of these events that changed my life forever. Whether it’s a good or bad thing, I don’t know. My Aunt Violet is beside me, sleeping, and I am wearing my favorite comfy sweatpants and Packers hoodie. The lady that makes sure I’m okay everyday told me that if I feel at home and comfortable, that my brain could stabilize and go back to almost how it was. I’m writing this because it is supposed to help the brain process the real events happening and help you get passed the doubt and confusion of anything that is happening. By laying out events on paper, it gives your brain more time to process things and remember when things happened, and what actually happened as opposed to what was hallucinated. I suppose I can leave this here… I’ve reached where I am now, and have no more story to tell. If any other major things happen though, the nurse made me promise to write more…