Turner

May 25, 2010
April ___ 2001


Dear uh journal notebook thing,


I haven't found out where I am yet... I woke up in the middle of um, nowhere. It's getting dark. I'm bleeding a lot, I don't know how either. I'm not even gonna try finding my way out of here tonight. Tomorrow's the date. I don't know the date. Actually, I can't remember.


Turner


**********


It was a late October evening for Turner Ramrack, but it had been a strangely normal day also. Too normal, Turner thought. On his way home from work he had decided to take the back roads and get home to his family faster, but what he didn't know was that this would be a turning point for his future.

The road seemed to stretch painfully long through the forest. It was getting darker with every taunt of the gas gage. A loud obnoxious ring rolled through the car. Turner kept his eyes on the road and extended his arm in the passenger seat blindly as he looked for his cell phone. Failing at this he glanced back and forth from the empty road to the dark seat beside him. Turner kept this up for about five minutes and then found the trust to glance longer at the seat. By the time he realized that the phone was in his jacket in the back seat he brought his full focus back to the road. The black night was settling all around the dull beams of light shining from the head of his car.

“Ah, I'll just call back in a little,” Turner mumbled to himself. A loud spurt of rings fled through the car and rang through Turner's ears just as his sentence faded into the car's rumbling. Must be work, Turner thought. Turner slowed down hoping his arm might be able to reach. It did. He received the phone and brought it to his ear. “Turner speaking,” he responded.

“Hey, you left the door to your office open. And yeah I just wanted to ask if you did that as a new fashion statement or something… This is, uh, John by the way,” John spoke slowly and casually.

“Wait what? I shut my door right as I left. Is Sharon still there?” Turner's tone was now troubled and John could hear there was no forgetting to shut the door, in Turner's routine.

“Uh, lemme check,” footsteps and doors shutting and opening again sang softly in the background. “Nope, but..” John trailed off. Another door opened. “Uh, Turn your office is a complete mess. What the hell did you do with this place?” John asked, laughing silently.

“What's going on. My office is clean as can be. I locked…” Turners voice trailed off, and John could tell there had been no locking today.

“Didn't you have a picture of your wife on your desk in that, uh, pretty frame thing? Oh and your mail is everywhere,” John had emphasized the last word with much honesty.

“Yeah I did. Okay, I'm coming back to my office. See you soon,” Turner ended the conversation. Turner was puzzled as to why his office was a mess. The car progressively slowed down. And Turner stopped the car completely on the side of the road and tried to think of a reason for the latter.

Turner's upper lip raised to the left and his eyes swept back and forth from one gage to the other on his dashboard. Turner raised his head slowly to the sound of a car flying down the road. There had been no sign of a car since Turner had taken that one left turn that changed his whole life. He furrowed his eyebrows and turned his head so he could have full view of the road behind him. A new 2003 Model Mercedes-Benz C-Class 3.0L Sport 4MATIC AWD raced by him he had to blink again to see if he actually just saw a Mercedes drive by him on a back road in upstate New York.

A few minutes had passed before the car was now flying backwards gracefully and stopped right in front of Turner's car, just before the bumper. Turner was in shock as the man jumped out of his car slyly and appeared at Turner's door. Turner had half expected the man to say, 'Hello Mr. Anderson'.

“Hello, Mr. Turner.” Sun glasses at night, Turner thought to himself. “Get out of the car. Please.” the man asked rather quickly. Turner glanced at the lock on the drivers side door, without moving his head. Damn it, Turner thought without expression. His eyes flicked back on the steering wheel, then to the keys. His mouth shut forming his lips in a tight line. “Sir.” the man had no expression and did not question for a response but demanded one. “Step out of the car, please,” the man said emphasizing each word slowly. Second time, Turner thought. Turner raised his hand and paused before touching the handle. Why am I doing this, Turner thought shaking his head. Turners fingertips touched the door handle and his fingers slid into the inside of the handle and then lightly pulled not putting much effort. I shouldn't be doing this, Turner thought.

“Get out of the car,” the man repeated slowly and calmly seeming to lose patience but not showing it too well. Third time, Turner thought. Tuner grasped the handle and slowly pulled the hinge towards himself and then pushed the door open. The man took a step back his heels clicking on the fresh tar. Turner took a step out of the car and stood up next to it trying to hold his composure.

“Mr.Turner,” the man said tilting his head to the right and doing this sort of greeting nod.

“Do I know you, sir?” Turner replied becoming concerned over the situation he now put himself into.

“No. You may or may not know me momentarily though.” the man suggested. Turner became uneasy and left his eyes focused on the road beneath them, then his judgmental nature kicked in and his eyes observed the man head to toe. Italian shoes, Turner thought. New Italian shoes. Black suit pants, a black coat meant for a funeral, a dark demonic almost, red tie done neatly. Ear piece indicating to Turner he was an agent of some sort. Dark hair with color unknown for it was dark, slicked back with new shades covering his eyes. Everything is new, Turner thought.

“What do you mean?” Turner finally spit out.

“That was pretty straight forward Mr. Turner,” the man took a long pause and finally said, “Come with me if you will.” Welcoming? Turner thought. The mans heels clicked against the tar again.

Click, click, click, they clicked again and again as the man walked to his car slowly sitting inside. Turner crinkled his face and walked to the passenger side of the car with no motivation telling him to do so, nor holding him back. He sat in the car.

“They'll be here shortly,” the man spoke quietly feeling Turner's uneasiness.

“Who?” Turner asked loudly. A bunch of mumbling rang from the ear piece in the 'agent's' ear and suddenly a big black van bigger than a Hummer, drove by and pulled up in front of the Mercedes. Them, Turner thought. A few minutes had passed before the 'agent' stepped out of the Mercedes and walked over to the van. Turner found this to be his cue to get out of the car and either go to the van to meet 'them' or to run like hell. Plan one sounded better for the outcome of Turner's health. But before Turner could do anything, in a flash the passenger side door flew open and two big men appeared and grabbed Turner forcefully and aggressively. Turner flailed his arms and legs in defense making an attempt to get away with a thousand things running through his head, there was one thing that stuck out the most though. Why me and what the heck do they want?

“Just calm down and do what you're told,” one of the men said.

“It'll be better for your own health that way.” the other man added. They both pushed Turner into the van where Turner found four other men sitting around one fold up metal chair at the end of the van by the back door. Turner squinted as his pupils adjusted to the bright light at the end of the van. The two big men had slammed the door shut and he could hear them locking it.

“Boy he's young,” one of the men with hair as white as the first snow, whispered a little too loudly to the man at his right. Well, his years are progressing to an end, Turner thought.

“That doesn't matter,” the agent sitting to Turners right, snapped back quickly. Turner opened his mouth and then closed it again and exhaled trying to understand all of this a little better.

“Mr. Turner,” a man to the right of the aging fossil said slowly, “please. Take a seat,” he said casually. Turner sat down in the terrifying metal chair at the edge of the van. No cuffs, no rope, no duct tape, no nothing. They haven't done none of that to me, so what do they want? Turner thought.

“Four years in the military, eh,” the man to the right of the living fossil said as he was examining a big pile of papers. Turner was at a struggle for words.

“Uh, yes sir.” Turner finally spit out shaking his head a little to the left once he finally spoke.

“He speaks!” the man sitting next to the agent, on Turners right, had exclaimed. Turner had some words to say at that moment but for one he had remembered what his mother use to tell him, “If it's not nice to say than it must not be worth saying.” And also if he didn't want to die tonight it would been best to have a clean mouth.

“Now Mr. Turner, there is one question and one question only that we would like to ask.” the agent said.

“Or demand,” said the driver in the front seat of the van.

“Oh aren't we just hilarious,” the fossil shouted back at the driver. The driver slowly slid down in his seat, hiding his face from the mirror above the dash board. Turner thought he heard someone mumble an, “I thought so” but he wasn't too sure from whom.

“Well,” the agent mumbled to himself trying to remember his thought process.

“The driver was correct I must add,” the man in the passenger seat at the front of the van noted. He turned his head back and looked at Turner. Bulged lines of skin were wiped across the mans hair line. He seemed to be in his twenties.

“Yes the driver might've been correct, but some things are best said at other times,” the fossil replied calmly and nicely. The scarred man sighed loudly and sat back in his seat looking straight ahead of him.

“Where do you work?” the man sitting next to the agent asked calmly, also looking at files. My files, Turner assumed and thought to himself. Turner didn't answer. After two whole minutes had come and gone, the agent got up off of his seat and walked over to this metal silver suitcase sitting behind the passenger sides seat. The agent stood next to the suitcase and messed with some locks on it, kneeling down.

“Mr. Turner. We need your cooperation. Things may not be too clear at the moment, but we need you to answer these questions, or somethings will be changed,” the agent emphasized the 'will' in his sentence.

“Make me.” Turner taunted. The fossil's eyebrows were raised and his expression seemed grim. The agent turned to look at Turner, still kneeling on the ground, now with the suitcase open.
With Turner's metal chair, directed toward the light and to his left, with the fossil sitting furthest away from Turner and only one seat separating them. Sitting in that seat separating them was the the calm middle aged man who had talked earlier.

Suddenly the man sitting to Turners right who he could barely see, jumped up quickly and hand cuffed Turners hands around the chair. Turner stood up and then fell back down now knowing the chair had been planted to the bottom of the van.
NOTE: The scarred man does not want Turner to join their society thing because he doesn't want Turner to have to go through this. ESPECIALLY IF HE WAS TO HAVE A CHOICE... <---- MAYBE?

NOTE: The man with the scars on his face was a man that was in Turners situation, except he refused to join, so they whipped him and beat him. And Turners sees this, 1) on his face in the van [1997], 2) When Turner goes to the shower after working out he sees that same man showering, and he sees how his back is covered in whipped lashes. [This happens later in the story when Turner is actually apart of this “Secret Society”. 3) Turner ends up talking to the man.

NOTE: The reason why everyone in the van is being nice to the scarred man is because he was told this was his mission, and it was difficult for him to watch Turner have to go through everything that he had to go through. Also because some of the people in that van had been the people who had beaten him and forced him to join...
To Be Continued...
ALL OF THE ABOVE IS FROM 4 YEARS BEFORE THE LETTER A THE BEGINNING OF THIS DOCUMENT. SO IT IS 1997 IN THE ABOVE. AND IN THE LETTER AT THE BEGINNING IS OBVIOUSLY 2001.
PLOT:
****He's driving and then this car is in front of him and they tell him, “You can either join us or die.” [Join their secret society thing I mean] And then he gets this new identity and has to leave his pregnant wife and is then [based/living] in Portugal and then a few years later he's on this mission in America, and he runs into his wife who thought he was dead from what she was told was a car accident from the very night I am explaining above. And then he has to choose between work and romance. Oh and he was in the U.S.A. during 9/11 while his “squad” was sent to Germany. And so then he's captured through his “profile” which the muslims found through him being with his [thought to be widowed] wife [which he was told to never talk or be close to or else..] And then he got kinda like mugged by some muslim terrorist knowing about the secret group that he is in, hence the first letter starting the story.****

By the way the “Secret Society” thing is this group of professional men who train and protect America from terrorist and they're secret and out of the U.S. because if government knew of them then they would be denied because the United States already has a military. And that is why we haven't had more terrorist attacks because this group of people protected us from them. [This is all for the story and not real, I pinky swear]





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Taylor T. said...
Jun. 5, 2010 at 8:36 am
Please, commemt on this piece. I would really appreciate the criticism. Thanks!
 
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