I Am Chosen

Catalyst

Captain Bryce stood at the front of the briefing room, facing the u-shaped table with the members of the multi-agency response team seated around it. Behind him, a lowered screen showed a projection of a note written in a barely legible script.

"Okay, listen up," the captain began. "The writer of this note claims to have intimate knowledge of the Chosen Killings. This could be an accomplice of Declan Crowe, we don't know. While this person did not provide an identity, he or she did include details in this letter that were never shared with the press. What was also included... was a list. A list of names that are purported to be the next victims. The names on this list are relatives of current victims. The author of this letter is telling us that the Chosen Killings are targeting entire families." Bryce gave a second for this to sink in, then continued. "The letter was unsigned, dropped at the local post office. We'll have the seal tested for saliva and a handwriting analyst will go over it shortly."

"Could be a diversionary tactic," Sergeant Kahlke from Vice said.

"Maybe but we're not taking any chances," Bryce answered. "I spoke to the Chief this morning... PHPD will handle notification and protection for the names on the list while the task force continues its investigation. God willing ladies and gentlemen, maybe we've caught our first real break."

Brad Graham was just starting to feel normal again.

Though there were still times when he heard some piece of news and reflexively reached for the phone to text Percy... only to have the grim reality of his sister's murder come crashing down on him.

A great void now existed in Brad's life where Percy used to be. They had grown up close. Percy was always the smarter one, always focused on her grades while her older brother was screwing off. She could be bossy, boy could she be bossy, but that strong will ended up serving her well when she decided to become a lawyer. Mom and Dad had been so proud. Percy's success played a large part in motivating Brad to apply himself, to work hard, though he chose the blue collar route. Eventually he became successful in his own right, though Dad had already passed by then and Mom was in the final stages of dementia. In their grief, Percy and Brad had drawn even closer.

And then she was killed-stabbed with one rusty half of a pair of scissors by a homeless man on the courthouse steps. A witness said he had muttered "I am chosen" before plunging the blade into her throat.

Brad had spent a long time wallowing in remorse. Slowly, painfully, he had gathered the courage to face the world again. Now, getting back to work helped Brad to focus on something beyond his grief. With the refinery in turnaround, however, he had figured on having the next few weeks off... until his manager Harvey asked if Brad could assist in the catalyst changeout.

During turnaround, catalyst inside the reactors was dumped so that inspection and repair could take place before the new catalyst was introduced. In order to clear out all of the remaining residue, it was necessary for someone in a clean suit to go down inside the giant reactor with a hand broom and dustpan. Because the environment within the reactor was inert, consisting mostly of nitrogen, oxygen was supplied to the worker via a hose. Typically, outside contractors would perform this kind of work, but a lack of availability had led Harvey to ask if Brad could sub in. Years ago he had cleaned out reactors for a previous employer so Brad harbored no reservations in accepting the offer. Plus, he would get paid time and a half.

So, here he was, working his way down the hard ladder inside the reactor while his buddy Phil stood at the top, feeding the hose. A radio within the headpiece of Brad's clean suit carried the voice of Harvey, who sat at the operations center in a trailer a quarter mile away. From his computer, Harvey was monitoring Brad's oxygen flow. A camera affixed to the outside of Brad's headpiece provided a visual on one of Harvey's monitors. "Everything's lookin' good here," Harvey said. "I'm just glad this isn't the old days," he continued, "before cameras and all this technology... the catalyst cleaners would have to sing to let everyone know they were still breathing. I've heard you sing, Brad and it ain't pretty."

Brad began to sing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Terribly.

"Oh Jesus what have I done?" Harvey asked.

Chuckling, Brad reached the floor of the reactor. He looked up at Phil who was just a distant silhouette, and gave a thumbs up. He set aside the bag of cleaning supplies, pulled up the manway cover in the grate, and climbed down into the very bottom of the reactor to start cleaning the support tray.

"So, boss man, what song would you like to hear next?" Brad asked as he removed cleaning supplies from the bag.

"Oh I don't know, how about-" Harvey's voice cut off.

"You there?" Brad asked, pausing in his work. "Come on, tell me what you wanna hear."

"I am chosen," Harvey's voice answered flatly.

Brad paused in his work and straightened up, shocked and amazed that Harvey would be insensitive enough to say something like that after what had happened to Percy. "That's not funny," Brad answered, his blood beginning to rise as shock turned to anger.

"Do you hear me?" Brad called into the mic, his voice rising.

Calm down. Maybe you misheard him. Take a deep breath--

Brad went to do just that, only to find that there was no oxygen to be had.

"Harvey! Air!" Brad wheezed. He fought for another breath only to be denied yet again. His lungs and throat tightened as he doubled over.

Reserve. Each cleaner carried a reserve canister with five minutes' worth of air. He pulled the canister from his belt, detached the hose and attached the canister. But when he tried to start the air flow...

Nothing.

Oh God oh God oh God oh God...

Harvey had handed Brad the reserve canister. He had... sabotaged it. How? How could Harvey be one of those mindless-it didn't matter. Waving frantically up at Phil, Brad forced himself to think. Consciousness was slipping, his body going into panic mode. Get up, get out!

Scrambling, Brad shoved his way up out of the manway. He stumbled to the ladder and climbed frantically, his body turning to rubber, all feeling abandoning his arms and legs. Starbursts lit up Brad's vision, his world went topsy turvy and the next thing he knew he was falling off of the ladder. His mind and body barely registered the impact before oblivion overtook him.

Slowly, Brad opened his eyes and stared into the face of a man; a stranger.

What the hell happened?

The man's uniform identified him as a police officer. He was asking if Brad was okay. Slowly, memory returned. Brad realized that he was breathing... and, he was out of the reactor.

"We got him," the officer said loudly. "We arrested your boss, got the air flowing again. You took a hard fall but the medics are here."

Brad could tell that something was very wrong with his back, and he couldn't move his legs. Nevertheless, the most important thing was...

He was alive.

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So... somebody actually didn't die for once. I hope you're all not too disappointed. I'm sure there's more loss of life on the horizon. See you all in one week!