For Beta Reading Chapter 1

By Therisa Godwaldt

© 2017 Therisa Godwaldt

All rights Reserved

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Chapter One

They took her from us, those 4 juvenile thugs. Our little angel. As I watched them leave the local Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) detachment, making various lewd and crude transphobic comments about my dead child. Find myself asking, how can such young mouths are able spew forth such anger and vile hatred at a child they probably don’t know. Whom they had murdered in cold blood, without any trace of remorse for their heinous crime. Worse, the Canadian criminal system couldn't do anything about it, as these monsters weren't legally responsible for their actions. At the time of this crime, their legal age was 9 years old.

Under the previous Young Offender Act (YOA) and succeeding Youth Criminal Justice Act (YCJA), the minimum legal age a child can be charged with any crime is 12 years old. Although, at the age of 14 years old, they could be tried as adults, given the severity of the crime committed. Provided, they are found mentally confident and understand the seriousness of their charge, before standing trial with a judge. Where their names are legally protected by a publication ban is enforced under the YOA and YCJA. Another layer of justice denied to us. As we suffer in silence for their crime against Cheryl unable to claim our rightful tears for justice.

Still wonder, if the justice system is working for these children, who are convicted of first or second degree murder. As their crimes are erased upon completion of their murder sentence. Serving the first portion of the sentence, in a youth facility, before being transferred to an adult one, for the remainder of it. I know, it’s possible for them to be tried as an adult, as young as, 14 years old, should the judge supports the crown attorney’s demands for this and found they understood what crime they were being charged with, in the appropriate words for their age group.

As for those inmates declared mentally unfit by the court appointed psychiatrists, they will never be fully treated or healed by the system. Only pushed along to the next institution, when they become too difficult for their current facility to handle. Especially, as the Canadian criminal system is regularly condemned by mental health experts for its low and substandard care that it gives to current adult inmates serving out their sentences. Can our youths being fairing any better? One hope so, but experience says otherwise. Thus creating a ticking time bomb for the unaware Canadian society and the police are handcuffed by this. 

Shedding tears, as I remember how Ashley Smith had been failed and betrayed by the Canadian justice, correctional and mental health systems, with her preventable 2007 suicidal death, at the Grand Valley Institution for Women, in Ontario. This very fact, Correction Canada had tried several times to block evidence about these disclosures being publicly aired, on national TV. Only to have the courts reject them. And yet, one could read the daily testimony of the various witnesses, and the results from these various coroner’s inquests had produced. All this, because of a young girl threw crab apples at a Canada Post letter carrier that tragically snowballed, into her suicidal death. 

Despite this, a part of me wants to lash out at these monsters and their parents for the soul destroying pain and anger, they have caused Joan and I. But, I know this won't bring back Brian - I mean Cheryl, to us. Rather it will add more fuel to fire of anger and hate, based on ignorance and the fear of the unknown.

Especially, as I look southward to the volatile United States, and their striping away of the limited protection for their children like Cheryl are experiencing under President Donald Trump. Fearing the next battle for civil rights by the LGBTQ community and its allies, will be a long and bloody war, with many deaths, on both sides. Before both sides regain what little sanity there is.

Scared this sickening madness will spread northward, into Canada, over the coming decade. (As Canada seems to follow the United States, a decade or so later on many issues.) Given most Canadians are conservative, by their very nature, once you scrape away the thin 'liberal' veneer, we project to the world. As a progressive country that supports LGBTQ rights. 

A fear that could become a harsh reality, should the Conservative Party of Canada (CPC) return to power with a strong majority, as the next federal government, having elected a leader, who has very strong anti-LGBTQ with angelical Christian value beliefs. As if the CPC had rolled back the clock to the 19^th century, selecting Emmanuel Travis, who seems out of step, with the current reality of Canadian life.

I know from our personal experiences with Cheryl’s death, these angry vitriol phone calls almost destroyed Joan and I, in their attempt to ruin our marriage. Caustically, they're blaming us, for her death. Even before the police asked us, for our help in identifying the body that used to be our daughter, Cheryl, at the local morgue.  Constantly, they called us, regardless, the time of day, it was. Damned them.

Total strangers, we have never met, yet alone, give them access to our contact numbers for our work, home or cellar phones. Who told Joan and I, we should be ashamed for having such a demonic abomination, as our child, like Brian (their words, not mine). We deserved to be punish by God, Himself, for our corrupting and bringing down the community's moral standard. As they passed their ’holier than thou’ judgment upon us.

Although, am left wondering, who gave them this all-encompassing power to pass judgment on what is right and wrong for the community at large. When they deny the existence of too many groups, in society. The simple answer is, they stole this right and assumed this power, when no one spoke out the first time. Or supported those who did with any great show of numbers.

Never mind, the caller is ignoring this simple fact, it was a brutal and murderous act by these 4 young thugs. They portrayed these boys, as heroic martyrs of mythical proportion, who are being punished by the current political system, for doing 'God's holy work' in killing Cheryl. That they deserved to be rewarded, by all levels of government for this. Talk about hypocrisy. May they burn in their own personal Hell, for all eternity, as far as, I am concern. Silently, I fumed, as my blood boils over at this bull shit insanity.

***

Not sure, why I looked up from my computer monitor when I did. Seeing Jenna Monroe, the company’s head of Human Resources, escorting two OPP officers towards me. Hastily, Jenna motioned at me, to follow her and the officers to the floor's empty conference room. A room at the opposite end of the floor, from my work cubical desk.

The floor goes deadly silent, all around us. As if a cone of silence from the late 1960’s TV show Get Smart, had descended and covered us, like the explosion of an EMP bomb here. Still I see people going about their jobs, doing their normal tasks; as reports are typed and sent out, answering phones and moved around. Even saw several people having animated conversations with other co-workers, over what, I’m not sure.

The stridden ringing of my cellar phone shattered this abnormal silence, as the floor’s normal level of electronic noise returned, once more. Giving me, a very nasty stress headache that threaten to knock me out, from the pain caused by my contracting neck and upper back muscles.

Without thinking, I answered the cellar phone, in speaker phone mode, to the incoming call. Never expecting to expose everyone to the incoming flood of thinly disguised hatred at my family and me. Shutting down the cellar phone, after the male caller started his venomous message, without glancing at the number displayed on the phone. Trying to look away from the pitying looks of sympathy, I got from those, who heard the call. As several shudders of revulsion ran through my body. Cursing myself, for this asinine mistake on my part.

***

Attempting to hide her mascara and tear stained face and bloodshot eyes from everyone, was a highly unusual occurrence. As Jenna Monroe was very image aware of how her slim 5’4” body look. In choosing what outfits and colours that enhance without making her appear frumpy, at age 46. Like her current pale peach coloured skirt suit with a white silk blouse, which highlighted her blue eyes and summer colouring, Her golden brown hair cut, in a fashionable shoulder length bob with ends curled under. Her face tastefully done up with light make-up that drew one’s eyes to it, with its natural beauty.

Jenna’s face blanched, her knees buckled, and her head moved backwards against the conference table’s sharp corner edge. Only the quick action of the male OPP officer, prevented any head injuries or the spilling of blood, by grabbing hold of her body, in his arms. Carrying her in a fireman’s position, one arm around her knees and the other one, her shoulder blades. His female partner placed a chair before him, lowering her unconscious body on it. Placing Jenna’s head between her knees, as part of her fainting recovery position.

Clueless, Edward Lawrence stood there and stared at the OPP officers, as to what had caused these drastic charges, in Jenna’s health and appearance. As if he was watching a foreign language movie unfold before him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Lawrence. Sir, may we have your cellar number, please? We need to trace whomever made that obscene call to you." The male OPP officer asked.

He heard him and saw the officer's open hand gesturing to him, but couldn't connect the reality of these phone calls to the officer's request. Like he was disassociating from the shock of the day's events. His mind retreated into its own little world, far away from the physical reality of the world around him. He saw the officer’s lips moved, but didn't hear anything except total silence before everything went black for him. As he fainted.

Earlier that day…

Corporal Alex Bowman, was running late for his morning shift at the Snelgrove OPP detachment, having forgotten it was his day to pick up that morning’s doughnuts, for the 6:30 am morning staff meeting. Cursing, having missed the entrance way, for the second time, losing even more of his precious time with the ever growing line-up for the drive-thru and the one inside the shop. As the morning rush kicked into high gear for the staff, filling out the morning commuters’ orders. Wishing that the orders could be processed at a faster speed. As he released a frustrated sigh, pulling into the drive-thru line up, knowing it was quicker than the inside one, with just 10 cars ahead of him.

They'll never let me forget this one. He thought about the guys, in the staffroom.

Once more, he started second guessing his recent transfer from the Huronia OPP detachment to Snelgrove. His Huronia mentor had pushed him hard, to apply for the position here, as a step up for his career advancement. Showcasing his ability to work, in both rural and urban environments. 

Thus, he’s driving into this northwest Brampton Tim Horton’s doughnut shop. Well aware of the golden rule that all OPP detachments follow about being late for the daily shift meeting, with the doughnuts. For the next days, it would be his sole responsibility to get them. Until the doughnuts got for the staffroom and other areas, on time. With no excuses allowed, for being late.

Somewhere, someone was looking after Corporal Bowman, as the line-up vanished after 5 minutes. Placing his order for the various variety of doughnuts, as requested by the other officers and departments. Pocketing the receipt and his change for the 3 dozen doughnuts, he drove off. A quick glance at the dashboard clock, showed he had a very faint chance of beating the imposed timeline for before being considered late. But he wasn't going to risk things by getting a speedy ticket this close to the barracks. Rather face the good nature jabs and hazing for being late than risk his career for reckless use of speed to deliver these doughnuts. Somethings aren't worth it. And doughnuts fell into that category for him.

As expected, he arrived 5 minutes before the roll call, but still had to make the various deliveries. A reality that would demerit points for being late to the daily briefing meeting. It was accepted policy that the other departments could wait for their delivery, if the officer was running late that particular morning. Thus, the other departments got their deliveries after the meeting, before he started doing his patrol area for the day. Hitting the civilian and dispatch areas, with their requested treats. Before handing over the day’s doughnut receipt to the daily morale officer, to get reimbursed for today’s pick-up. 

A fund that all members of the detachment paid a weekly fee of $7.50, regardless, if they eat a doughnut or not. Any leftover money was always donated to a local charity that they selected and voted on. Usually, one that helped abused and battered women and their children, in the detachment area to leave their abusive relationship and homes, allowing them to break the viscous circle for the next generation.

Surprisingly, never once did he heard any comments about the lateness of deliveries from these mostly civilian areas of the detachment.

Contrarily to his fear, he and officer Janet Two Eagles were able to start patrolling their assigned area at the regularly scheduled time of 7 am. Sitting in the front passenger seat, a position that they had agreed to alternate on a daily basis, after the first day of their new partnership, three months ago. Treating each other, as equal partners sharing different areas of strengths and skills. Like his slow but growing knowledge of the various streets and highways, in the detachment’s coverage area.

Silently, he reflected on Officer Janet Two Eagles, 30 year old woman and six year OPP veteran. Challenging those, who couldn't or wouldn't accept either her ethnicity, or gender. He smiled, recalling the warnings he had received on his first day, as her former partners tried to smear her, describing her as being a ball breaking lesbian squaw, who ate her male partners for breakfast on a good day. Men, who saw her differences as an excuse for their sexist and xenophobic behaviour. In justifying her, as an obstacle they had to overcome and vanquish to restore their threaten sense of manhood. Instead of accepting her, as part of the emerging mosaic that Canadian society is becoming now.

Of course, the fact she stood taller than most of her fellow male OPP officers, might have influenced this attitude, with a lithe but muscular body of 6'2". Not surprising that Janet towers over the average Canadian male who stands around 5’10”, in her bare feet. But the fact she was stronger and could bench press more than most, prevented many male from approaching her, as a friend and colleague. Their lost, not her’s. 

Behind this tough facade, Alex observed a very vulnerable and caring person, whose liquid soulful brown doe's eyes sparkled with life and humour. The type, one could lose themselves in. He saw a very beautiful feminine face, but a tad too masculine for his liking. Shoulder blade length black hair with red and blue highlights, always worn in a professional bun, as per the OPP officer's guidelines. The OPP uniform covered several tattoos decorated both arms and other parts of her body, which he glimpsed, occasionally, when she was off duty. The significance or the meaning of these symbols was lost to him. Once again, as per the OPP officer’s guidelines, all visible piercing had been removed, except for the twin barbell ones, in her tongue.

If asked, would he date her? Alex's answer would be a qualified 'yes', if she swung that way, but he already knew she didn’t. Still he wouldn't asked her out, while they were served in the same OPP detachment. Also, his fiancée, Jennifer Huston would have a few choice words to say on this matter, as well. Since their wedding was planned for next August. A fact, only Janet and his mentors, in Huronia and Snelgrove knew.  

"Okay, spill it Alex. What has gotten you, into this mood, today?" Mischievously, she asks. Pulling the cruiser, into the oncoming traffic of Highway 10, from the detachment parking lot.

“Nothing. Just thinking about all of those warnings I got, when I was first assigned as your partner, three months ago. How you will have me ‘ballless’ by the time of the first check-in with dispatch. Begging to be reassigned to someone else, who understands, how the way that the world works." He laughs.

"You know, you’ve omitted all of those comments about me scalping you and mounting it upon my work locker, like another bloody trophy for all to see.” A huge grin lit up her face.

“Nope.” The sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I thought that your former patrol partner, Jack ‘Pretty Boy’ O’Keefe was just jealous of my flowing brown locks." 

Pulling down the passenger's visor, looking at the vanity mirror, he began to preen his hair, in a very feminine manner. Destroying whatever self-control Janet had over her bladder, from laughing so hard, as her face redden into a darker shade. Realizing she need a washroom fast, or she would piss her pants. Spotting a McDonald's, she made a quick left hand turn across the empty 4 lanes of highway 10. Promising Alex, she would have her revenge on him, when he least expect it. As she rushed into the restaurant, to use their bathroom from the cruiser. To which, he shook his head and laughed. Silently, he mouthed ‘whatever’ to the disappearing figure of Officer Two Eagles, before calling in to dispatch, updating their current situation with them.

***

For Officer Janet Two Eagles, Corporal Alex Bowman, after her Uncle Paul, was the first man to trust her as a valued person and not a monster to be caged and her spirit broken. Not since 13 years ago, when she left to study biology, at the University of Guelph, in Guelph, Ontario, has she found such a man like her uncle Paul. Who raised her after her mom’s heroin OD, which she discovered her body with the needle still in her arm, in the cheap Hamilton rental apartment that they lived in.

A year later, she was pulled from her grandparents’ care, after several child abuse charges were filed against her alcoholic grandparents by the Emergency Room doctors who treated her. Janet’s body covered in severe cigarette burns to her arms and legs, as her punishment for wearing her grandmother’s clothing, when she was drunk. Had her grandfather caught her, while drunk, he would grabbed the first thing at hand and attack her with it. Not caring if she passed out from the pain he inflicted upon her.

Only sober, did they feel remorseful for Janet’s unconscious battered and bleeding body. Promising her, this was their last time until the next time, they got drunk and caught Janet wearing her grandmother’s clothing, again. The cycle repeated itself. After the second trip to the hospital Emergency Room, did Children Aid removed Janet from her grandparents' care.

At the age of 5, Uncle Paul was granted full custody of her. Over the next 13 years to heal and repair the damage done during her childhood. Teaching her, the old ways of their ancestors, how they honoured those, we call two spirit, now. Telling her, she wasn’t a freak, in wanting to live her life, as a female, instead of her birth gender. She had the right to be happy, in whatever gender, she felt comfortable in. A fact she hid from everyone, but those close to her. Her Uncle Paul even funded her SRS operations, as her 18^th birthday gift, when no one else would help her, as she travelled to Thailand, for it. Especially during this time of fiscal restraints by all levels of government.

A radical notion, given how the Christian churches on the reservation did everything to destroy this part of North American Aboriginal culture. Labeling those, who are two spirit, as being demonic and damned their eternal soul to Hell, for openly expressing their inner self, to the world. In their ignorance, for not following the Christian Church’s binary definition of gender based on their birth appearance. Or that love is just limited between a man and a woman. For those born intersex, the local priest would request an exorcism for the newborn baby from the local Bishop, before blessing the room and the surgical team to operate on the child. Forcefully selecting the gender that they felt best fit the child, regardless what the parents or grandparents thought.    

Like her Uncle Paul, Alex had used magic, around her. Given his gentle but steadfast nature, it had a different flavour to her senses. Similar, and yet different to Uncle Paul’s. It was that difference that left her with a massive headache that lasted several days, like a migraine headache, if she spent too long trying to analyse it. Frustrating her, to no end. A fact, she kept hidden from the world, for fear of scaring people away, or attract the wrong people with her ability to sense magic and its casting. Who would imprison her, to act like a bloodhound to hunt down magic users, whom they would kill them.

She had seen Alex deftly handle his healing touch and comforting words, similar to her Uncle Paul, to those on the edge of the darkest abyss. Defusing toxic and volatile situations, without anyone feeling like they had lost face with the compromise solution worked out. So many times she witnessed Alex doing this, on the road together. Saving lives that others would've lost.

Halfway back to the cruiser, Janet stopped, surprised that she hadn’t really looked at the physical person that Corporal Alex Bowman was. Beyond the fact, he was a Caucasian male with short mahogany dark brown hair and piercing ice blue eyes. She remember him, talking about his weekday 20 km runs, and the weekend marathon runs, weather permitting on the various Caledon side roads around his place.

On those incremented weather days when it was impossible to run outdoors, he did his distance on the treadmill, either, at home or in the detachment weight room. Only using the free weights to fine tune his upper body, unlike most other officers who choice to bulk up their bodies. Believing that bigger is better, when it came to displaying their muscular bodies, on the job. Forgetting they were losing flexibility, in exchange for bulky muscles.

Unlike most men, Alex didn't feel threaten by Janet's height advantage over him, at 5'8", two inch shorter than the average Canadian male. Often, they joked about his need for extreme platform shoes, to reach her height. One thing, he wasn't crazy about wearing and told her so, many times. 

Still, they would make the prefect revenge gift, for her. Chuckling an evil laugh, as she continued back to the cruiser. And she knew the perfect shop to buy the platform shoes (or boots, in this case), too. Only had a few weeks for Alex, to forget about her promise of revenge against him.  Before she bribed one of the cleaning staff, to place the present before his locker door, in the men’s changing room

And yet, she felt a hole, in Alex’s soul. She lacks the proper words to describe it better than that. Although, her Uncle Paul would have them for her. Could this explain, why she suffered these painful headaches, when she examined his soul? An answer she would have to wait, until her Uncle Paul came up to visit her, in Caledon. As she hates having unsolved mysteries before her. Now she needs only to find a good reason to convince Alex to come over to her house that Saturday or Sunday. At that thought, a sly smile spread across her face, like the cat that eat the canary.

***

"Dispatch, this is Echo 12 taking an emergency pit stop for Officer Two Eagles. Over.” Pressing down the talk button, Alex spoke into the mike.

"Alex, if you have hurt Officer Two Eagles, I'll make sure your tour here, is a living nightmare. And that's no idle threat. Do you hear me?” The gruff voice of Elaine Iron Bear threaten him, over the radio's speaker. She learnt of Janet’s abusive past from the local healing circle that Elaine Iron Bear ran for First Nation and Metis women, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation, in the old village of Mayfield. Under the co-operation and funding provided by the Mississaugas of the New Credit First Nation and the federal department of Northern and Aboriginal Affairs.

It left him, feeling bewildered and angered. Trying to work out, what he had done wrong, in the brief 3 month period, as Janet's partner. As he let the radio go silent, before he made the situation worse by making a comment out of ignorance to Elaine Iron Bear. Knowing, many promising careers have died this way.

For the next 5 minutes, Alex tried to figure out where everything had gone wrong and failed, before Janet's return to the cruiser from the restaurant's washrooms. Brooding, he didn't mentioned the conversation with Elaine, to her. Wondering, if he had made a mistake, in transferring out of the Huronia detachment. Not for the first time, this line of questioning ran through his mind. As he shut out all attempts by Janet, to figure him out and to start talking with her. Hoping it wasn't something she had said, before her emergency bathroom break.    

***

The next two hours passed, in an awkward silence, as they patrolled the southeast corner of their assigned region. A part of Caledon that has experienced recent explosive growth, with the dramatic influx of South-East Asian immigrants and people moving north from Brampton and Mississauga, seeking cheaper prices for their new home and the hopeful bigger lot.  

They handed out 5 tickets for excessive speed in a school zone, which doubles the payable fine and the points lost, for these drivers. Along with the usual assortment of minor road and traffic violations, where warranted. When the call came over the radio, warning all units to be cautious and the need for speed, in responding to the possible trans-bashing/physical assault, near the Hickory Road Elementary School grounds, at the corners of Hickory Road and Daniel Street. 

Abruptly, the cruiser made a 180 degree turn, back into the subdivision they had left minutes ago. Janet flicked on the lights as the speedometer needle reached a speed approaching 90 km/h. Grabbing the mike, Janet responded with an ETA of 5 minutes, making them, this call’s primary unit. Followed up, with a rapid request for the assisting units to block all possible exit points, should the assailants attempt to flee the area and avoid arrest.

Her face harden into a grim death mask, as she chanted ‘not fucking again,’ becoming her mantra for the drive to the call area. Alex feared for his life, at his partner’s dramatic transformation. Gripping the passenger door’s armrest with one hand and the center console, with the other. His legs braced against the floor for any possible impact. Promising himself, he would ask Janet, about her manta, once they were safely back at the detachment when the shift ended. Provided nothing else happened today. As he lightly knocked his left hand against his head.

Miraculously, whether by pure luck or by divine intervention, no one was hurt or hit by Janet's demonic driving, in reaching the reported crime scene, in 4 minutes and 30 seconds. A full 30 seconds faster than the ETA, she gave over the radio to the dispatch. Cutting through various residential streets to reach the small park attached to the elementary school's playground. Where a large crowd had gathered around, in a huge human circle, surrounding the assailants and their targeted smaller victims. Upon closer inspection, they lay prone on the ground. 

Quick glance around, Alex noted they would need the mobile command unit and more units for possible crowd control. Also, someone would be needed to contact the nearby elementary school about getting contact information for the parents of the students involved here. That’s one headache he would gladly leave for the senior Supervisor, in charge of the mobile command unit, to address.

Never mind the overtime created from this unholy mess, until the detectives arrived and took command over the case, from them. He let go a soft sigh. Knowing his evening plans were shot for the night. Just hope that Jennifer would understand this and give him, a rain cheque for this evening plans.

“Dispatch, this is Echo 12. We need more help, now! Can we get any possible assistance from Peel Regional at their Heart Lake Village division? Am estimating there is about 100 or some witnesses, not including the 4 assailants and the 7 assaulted victims. From this distance, the witnesses have formed a circle, with the diameter of 12 meters and about 3 people deep. It appears that none of the children involved, either combants or witnesses are 12 years old or older. Would suggest that a mobile commander center be sent here, to co-ordinate the taking of statements and clearing things up. Does anyone know of the responding units’ ETA? Over.”

"Echo 12, this is Elaine Iron Bear, here. We're pushing your requests to the detachment commander. While the other dispatchers are checking into the back-ups' ETA, as we speak. Over."

"Elaine, I fear that this child will need a coroner's wagon, and not an ambulance, when this is done. Over."

"Patience, Alex. You know these requests take time to process, especially when asking another force for help. Hopefully, you'll get some that back-up in the next few minutes. Remember, it goes by the book, here. No Lone Ranger, Alex. You hear me? Over."

"Echo 12, this is Echo 14. We're two minutes away from you. Over."

"Echo 12, Elaine here. The mobile command center has been approved and sent. Along with your request for help from Peel Regional. More troops have been sent and should be learning in the next 10 minutes, or so. Any change in the fight? Over."

"Attention! All units be prepared to move with the arrival of Echo 14. Remember everyone, we’re dealing with children here. Please use the minimum level of force necessary to clean up this mess here."  Commander Donald Frost spoke, the detachment commanding officer.

A few seconds later, Echo 14 and a Peel Regional cruiser with two officers pulled up. After a brief greet and planning meeting, they advanced upon the children. Alex and Janet would take the bat swinging boy, while Echo 14 and the Peel officers would tackle the other 3 boys. Any additional units would be assigned to crowd control and offering emergency first aid to those children that needed it, before the paramedics arrived. Once the crime scene was secured, they would start taking witness statements from the various children still there.

Quickly, with little resistance the officers moved through the outer perimeter of the children, until they faced the inner circle. Shock and revulsion greeted them, at their first sight of the grisly scene they found before them. The officers fought to keep from vomiting. Reinforcing Alex's decision to settle this savage and cruel barbarism, with extreme measures if necessary. Preferring to do so, in a fast and humane manner. Reminding himself, these assailants are only kids. Knowing, these disturbing graphic images and sounds will be haunting his dreams for days and months to come.

Acting on their prearranged plan, Alex circled to the right side of the bat swinging boy, while Janet took the left side. Allowing one officer to attack and the other would be an emergency back-up should the first attack fail. Except the boy wasn't interested in either of them, as they moved closed. Wary of a possible lunge attack, from him, but nothing changed. His body language and face remained in a frozen savage mask.

Another signal to Janet, he took 4 quick strides towards the target, Alex wrapped his muscular arms around the 4’8” wiry blonde hair boy. Forcing the bat to drop from the unexpected contact, as his grip tightened like an anaconda squeezing its prey, in a death lock hold. Driving the boy downwards, in the ground, where he laid stunned and motionless from the sudden impact. Taking advantage of this opportunity, Alex reach behind his back for the handcuffs, as he forcefully pulled the boy's wrists backwards. Cuffing him, before the boy could attempt to another attack by squirming out of his hold and picking up the bat again. Roughly he jerked the boy up, warning him, not to do anything stupid or he'll pay for it. As he frogmarched him towards the newly arrived OPP mobile command center and the 4 new OPP and 2 Peel Regional cruisers.

Looking around, he noticed the other 3 boys had been subdued and placed in separated cruisers, as well. But Janet wasn't seen to be around, by him. From the distance, he heard someone crying and being violently sick.

The other officers couldn’t look at the small body that lay before the feet of Alex and the bat swinging boy. He wanted to cover the mutilated body with a blanket, offering it some sort of dignity that death had denied the child, in a very public way. Such an act of mercy would contaminate the crime scene.

In a forced clinically detached manner, he observed the young body before him. Multiple brutal swings of the bat had savagely destroyed the skull, with blunt force trauma, leaving no part of it spared, from the attack. Worse, all of the clothing had been stripped away, either by ripping it or cut away by a knife. A later search of the boy produced a small bloody jackknife, in one of his jean’s back pockets. In direct violation of the school’s strict no weapons allowed policy.

Across the chest, someone had carved out the hate filled words ‘fuKKKing tranny’, in a bold jagged manner like those one sometime sees on a Halloween jack-o-lantern. The triple 'k's, a hateful reference to the Ku Klux Klan. Even more grotesque, to Alex's sense of righteousness, was the mutation of the child's groan region. The child's genitals had been hacked off with a blunt knife and carelessly tossed away. 

Looking down, Alex noticed his pants and shoes were covered, in the child's blood. As well as an area with the diameter of 1 meter around the child’s body. Further away from the body, the contents of a small child’s wallet was scattered over a short distance. Later they would be used by the police to identify and contact the parents, as they started their investigating into this grisly death.

As Alex was prepared to leave the crime scene, when he heard for the bat swinging boy speak, for the first and only time, in his presence. His disturbing words made Alex question his oath as an OPP officer, whether his reluctance to use force against the child was justified. A question that he has no answer for, except to shake his head. This child’s words troubled him, in the degree of hatred to spoken by someone so young of age.

“You know, I've done that freak, a great mercy by killing it. Just think how many heterosexual Christian men and women, I have saved today with my act of charity." He gloated.

"Considered yourself, very lucky that I arrested you and not one of the other officers, you little shithead. Otherwise, we would have two dead children, instead of one. For your future reference, if you so much as jaywalk, in my jurisdiction, I'll drop the full weight of the law upon your ass. Do you understand me, shitface? For you have made this personal for me. And I don't like personal." Alex spoke, his jaws clenched in frustrated anger at the boy. Leaving the boy crying, at his promised threat.

Later, he found out the boy's name was Albert Morris, son of Stephen Morris. A rich local businessman with deep roots, in the national white supremacy movement. His racial purity and anti-LGBT views have been soundly rejected by the local electorate, numerous times in federal and provincial elections. Usually, managing to secure the hard core voters of a 150 ballots cast for him. Although, in recent elections (provincially and federally) has shown a dramatic upwards spike in the numbers of ballots cast for him and his Keep Canada Pure party (KCP) from 150 ballots to 600.

An extreme right wing party that openly opposes all immigration, except from these countries, they identified as being truly ‘white’ and ‘Christian’ like Germany and Norway and all LGBTQ’s rights. Demanding mandatory deportation of all refugee claimants, immigrants and foreign born Canadian citizens who are charged with a crime, to the country of their birth without having a hearing to oppose this. Regardless, how long they have lived here or how dangerous the country they are being deported to, like the civil war mired Syria.

They call for the reinstatement of all Sodom laws that have been almost decriminalized since 1969, by various federal Liberal governments over the years. The mandatory stopping of all schools, colleges and universities from teaching anything that they viewed as encouraging homosexual or transgender expression and/or displays of it. Should the teachers and professors continue violated the new laws, they would face mandatory harsh prison sentences in forced labour camp, repairing and expanding Canada’s infrastructure.

Even if this meant the KCP’s proposed changes would violate the current Canadian Constitution and the division of federal and provincial powers. That would change, once the KCP control Parliament and implemented its various changes throughout the political and judicial systems. Canada would be, a strong healthier country for this.

Just thinking about Stephen Morris made Alex want to vomit, as he thought about his younger brother, Christopher, who had been born Christina. Who last month had completed his SRS journey with bottom surgery, at a Colorado private clinic paid, which the province of Ontario paid for it.  Prior to that surgery, he had decide against getting a penis created, after discussing this with his family and fiancée, Natalie Johnson. The possible benefits didn’t outweigh the complications that this last stage has. Until they made more advances in this area, he was happy with his body, as is.

***

“Two Eagles. Bowman. Get over here, now.” The voice of Lt Commander Aaron Fitzpatrick boomed across the crime scene, turning all heads there.

Alex handed over the cuffed child to a nearby OPP officer, before heading to the mobile commander unit, where Lt Commander Fitzpatrick awaited him and Janet. Along the way, he avoided several fresh landmines that hadn't been picked by those, who walked their dogs here. Muttering to himself, what's the point of having a by-law, if it not enforced? As he tried to remember the last time, a fine had been written out for not picking up after a dog, in a public place. Sadly, he couldn't. Leaving a sour look upon his face.

Arriving at the command unit, seconds after Janet, as they exchanged puzzled looks about the request to be here. Entering, they walked to the west wing of the unit, where Lt Commander Fitzpatrick’s office was. Before they could knock on the doorframe to announce their arrival, a gruff male voice told them, to enter and be seated. As an afterthought, he asked one of them, to close the door as well. He waited for them, to be seated, before he began.  

“This morning, we received a call from a young student here, on a cellar phone, telling us about the fight that started as a trans-bashing incident. Never realizing it would escalate so dramatically and quickly, into a case of murder, like it has. For those of you, who don’t know the bat swinging boy, is Albert Morris. The son of Stephen Morris, and leader of the KCP party. I don’t need to tell you, how this complicates manner for us.”

Two silent ‘oh fuck’ greeted this information.

At that moment, Lt Commander Fitzpatrick looked older than his 48 years. His face ashen and heavily marked by stress, having spent the better part of the last hour talking with the OPP senior staff about this case. On how they were going to handle the local and national press, the parents of the children involved, and the rank and file of the OPP officers here. Once it was found out that Albert Morris, the son of Stephen Morris had brutally killed and mutilated a transgender student of the same school he attended. Knowing the storm was about to unleash it’s fury upon this quiet sleepy rural town of Caledon, in a very ugly way. He just hoped to ride this bucking steering to the end, without getting gored first. Marking the end of his policing careet.

Right now, the Lt Commander wished he had retired, three months ago, when he had reached the combined age and years served adding up to 65. Sitting in the backyard, drinking a local craft beer, as he planned the upcoming Victoria Day long weekend, to open up his Halliburton cottage for the summer.  Instead of having this dirty bomb placed upon his plate, whether or not he liked it. Knowing only heartache awaits them, before this case was resolved.

“As of now, only the three of us are aware of this critical information. The crime scene unit has found, what we think is the identification of the child that Albert Morris has killed.” Holding a series of clear plastic bags, whose tops sealed with red tamper-proof plastic with “police evidence” stencilled in white lettering. Selecting one of the bags, he tossed it to Officer Janet Two Eagles. “Here’s the list of contact numbers for the murdered student, Cheryl Lawrence. I want this done quickly and quietly. I want your reports on my desk, tomorrow morning before roll call starts. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.” Both Corporal Bowman and Officer Two Eagles replied. As Janet started to write down the contact information into her notebook, for later use, at the detachment, before handing back the sealed plastic evidence bag to the Lt Commander. He saw the look of surprised puzzlement on Corporal Bowman’s face, but chose not to say anything.

“Dismissed!” They saluted the LT Commander, before leaving his office, closing the door behind them.

***

After the departure of Bowman and Two Eagles, Lt Commander Fitzpatrick pulled out a small silver cellar phone from a hidden pocket in his uniform jacket. Unlocking the phone, he touched a preprogrammed key that dialed a secret number, known to 12 other people, within his coven. Alerting them, the approaching winter storm was here. The call terminated after the second ring, without any message left, or it could be traced back by any technology. Fearing he may have signed the death warrants for Corporal Bowman and Officer Two Eagles. Replacing the phone back, into its secret hiding spot.

Walking back to his desk, he opened the bottom drawer and pulling out the small unopened sealed 350 ml bottle of 10 year old Scotch that he placed here, 6 years ago. Knowing this day was coming, when he needed the liquid courage found within. He poured about a shot glass worth, into his strong black coffee, before replacing it back, in the drawer, which he closed and locked up. A moved he despised but the darkening clouds were growing stronger with each minute. He could feel its evil touch gripping his soul, like a vice as several violent shudders past through his body.

Telling his aide that he didn’t want to bother, unless the OPP Chief Commissioner, himself, Walter Georges, showed up at the mobile command unit, from the downtown Toronto OPP headquarters.

Over the next hour, he took several small sips of the fortified coffee, as he reread the preliminary injury report of the students attacked by Albert Morris and his 3 friends. A small but rapid growing hard knot, in his stomach threaten to consume him, in the darkest despair. Refusing to believe what his eyes were seeing on the printed pages, before him. With a frustrated sigh, he got up from behind the desk and started pacing around the office. His mind breaking down the various children’s injuries, into two separate categories, like those components needed for a dark blood spell, to be casted by the head of a black coven:

*       Death of an innocent child (may occur at the other 5 sites, as well).1

*       Mutilation and castration of an innocent child (may occur at the other 5 sites, as well).

*       The blood spilt from 5 innocent children (in various manners, the last required 6 sites for the spell to be cast. Of which, only one site has been confirmed, at this time).

*       Attempt to create a female body from a male one (although, not yet reported).

*       Six injured children were used to form a shield of Solomon, around the dead one (at all 6 sites, for the spell to be effectively cast).

*       Using an innocent to cast a dark spell (may not be limited to one site only).

^{1 The italicized writing within the ( ) are LT Commander Fitzpatrick’s own notes.}

The last part, scared him the most. Last time something this like happened, World War II broke out, after several Nazi tainted covens had cast similar black spells to guarantee the early rapid success of the Nazi’s explosive advances throughout Europe, prior to their became bogged down, in Stalingrad, Russia during the winter of 1942. That time, it took the sacrificial death of several million innocent people and the destruction of 13 white covens, before this blackest of nightmares was halted, but not totally eliminated, by the victorious Allied forces, in Europe.

A fact most of the Allies leaders had fought hard to conceal from their own respective citizens. Scared, a group of disgruntled with their country’s leader would attempt something similar to gain power for themselves. A fact that materialized by numerous black magic coupes, in several South American and African countries, during the late 1960s and early 1970s. The most famous one, was the 1973 coupe, led by the US backed General Augusto Pinochet, who overthrew Salvador Allende, the democratically elected leader of Chile, and his socialist government. Pinochet's reign of unholy terror only ended, when the last member of the original black coven had died, in December 1989, from mysterious causes, removing the final leg of Pinochet’s power base. Allowing for the democratic transition back to a civilian elected government, in Chile.    

Only now, they had a small mid-range powered white coven, without any major sort of governmental or corporate sponoured backing. The coven comprised of 13 Sorceress/Sorcerer level spell mages, with an apprentice Shaman and an apprentice Sorceress (who hadn't faced her final transformation test, yet). Plus, about a dozen non-magical volunteer supporters, who acted as human “batteries” for the coven’s Sorcerers and Sorceresses, when their magical reserved dropped to a dangerously low level, threatening their lives. All knowing, if called into battle, they may never return, again.

Their magic mostly limited to defensive or shield spells, which hampered their ability when attacking their objective. To succeed, they need to get lucky and operate with surgical strikes, on the targets they attacked. Otherwise. The Khmer Rouge’s killing fields will seem like a pale shadow of the death and social destruction that Cambodia experienced during the mid-1970s, to what could happen here, in Ontario, now.

Downing the remaining fortified coffee in 3 gulps, before he headed out for the night, from the mobile command unit, to the OPP Snelgrove detachment to collect his car, for the short drive north to his rural farm estate, on Old School Road, east of Highway 10, in the old village of Victoria. Praying history will forgive him, if he was right about this. In regards to the degree of danger that we will face, before it was resolved. One way or another.