The door creaked as an old man opened it. He had gray hair. Wrinkled skin. He had a cane in his left hand. "So. What did you learn in class today?"
Taylor swallowed. "I learned that aerodynamic accelerators actually energize air."
The guy opened the screen door that separated them and beckoned for Taylor to come inside."
He was led to a kitchen. An old woman was in there making jam. She was obviously quite practiced at it. She turned when they entered the room. "So this is the boy my girls love the music of. We're gonna help you any way we can."
He was instructed to sit down, so he did so. He was served a slice of blueberry pie, given a fork and told to eat while they told him all they knew about Kitler and what he was doing.
Kitler, as a boy, was home-schooled by his stepmother, whom he hated. She loved music and always tried to teach him to sing or to play an instrument. Because of all of that, he hated music and vowed to put an end to any and all music that he heard.
In 1979, Kitler joined the Army. He had a nervous breakdown during a ceremony to honor the President of the United States of America. He was given a dishonorable discharge from the military.
Once he had recovered enough to be released from the mental hospital, he had gone on a search for other people who did not like music. He was sneaky about it and many people who wouldn't have if they'd know the true cause, joined up with his effort.
It was small at first. Maybe 20 people backing him in everything he did. But he slowly began to usurp power from everywhere he could.
When he had about 500 people with his forces, all trained personally by him, he began to go around to record companies trying to find out some information. When they wouldn't give him that information, he broke into the companies. If he found someone who might tell or wouldn't help him out, he killed them. Blood had filled the hallways of many a company, including Mercury.
The police did nothing. Well, not quite. They tried, they died. Kitler was strong in both body and ideals. His mind was only strong in the sense that insanity made it so. He couldn't be trusted for a second.
Once he broke into these record companies, he had stolen listings of where the recording artists would be and when, and had grabbed the tapes of artists who were trying to get into the business. That's where "until tomorrow" came in. They were this old lady's girls. Apparently K.D. was her great-niece, and they had all spent a lot of time up here.
His thoughts turned to Alisa. He wanted her to be here. He didn't want her to be in that prison with her soul threatening to die. He felt the same about the others, but Alisa was so special to him now. He felt as if she was him. She filled him with such joy even in times of despair. She was his angel of a sort.
The old couple. She was Pat. He was Roland. They told him he should get some sleep. He was led up to a small bedroom. After doing his nightly business, he lay down in the bed. He soon fell asleep and that sleep was quite troubled.
He was back in Alisa's dream. Only this time, he was a charred body. He was lying next to her, quite happy although burnt. Then Kitler came along, pulled them apart. Kitler pulled Alisa into the pit. Taylor was left to sit there, Alisa looking down on him from her dark angel form.
He awoke. Cool sweat dripped off his face onto the blanket below. Sleep was not an easy thing to come by nowadays, and here it was being stolen from him. He only wished he knew who was stealing it.
He wondered how things were going to work out that he could save everyone. How?
He awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon cooking. He hopped up from the bed, slid into the clothes on the chair next to him and wandered downstairs. Pat offered him a plate filled with delicious-looking food and pulled a chair out from underneath the table for him. He sat and devoured the food.
A glass of juice was placed to his right. Orange juice. Freshly squeezed. It was delicious as well. It seemed to be the best food he had ever had. The best meal. Hopefully not the last meal.
Pat sat down next to him. "Taylor, have you come up with a plan yet?"
He chewed a bit. "No. I have no idea what I could do, let alone what I will do."
Pat signed and clenched her hands together. "Well, I've got an idea that might work, but it's very dangerous."
If breaking out was tough, breaking in would be hell. Security was most likely a lot more tight. If they didn't beat him to death, they would probably drown him, or burn him.
He had gone down to FBI headquarters to explain things about what happened in the camp. They had implanted a small device in his arm. It was a tracking device. He would go back to the camp, they would follow him. If the device was damaged, they would enter. If it was not, they'd wait until a certain time, and then sneak in to assassinate Kitler.
His next day was filled with packing his clothing with non-perishable food items. That night he would go back.
Johnny picked him up at 7:00PM. He drove him back to the taxi service building, and pointed the path out to him. Taylor was given a pair of wire snips and a pair of hedge clippers. Someone had staked out the building earlier to discover that the fence was now electric, with the box on the outside. He would have to open it, snip the correct wires and get in there as quickly as possible, all in the dark.
Down the path. The mile was quick. The river. He dared not get back in. Instead he ran as low as he could to the ground. He saw the fence. He snuck along it slowly. The box. It opened easily. The wire snips. They said the red wire. There were two red wires. He took a deep breath and slid the snips around both wires.
He squeezed the handles together. Nothing seemed to happen. Cautiously he touched a hand to the fence. No shock. He touched harder. No shock. He breathed a sigh of relief.
The hedge clippers. He put them to the fence right behind where a tree would cover the hole. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. The fence rolled out of the way just a bit. He climbed in.
Which window was it? He didn't know. He ran quickly to the building, sneaking along the side, glad for his dark clothing. His foot hit something. He cautiously touched it. The pillows. This had to be the room. He dug a note from his pocket and tossed it through the bars. Then he waited.
A moment later he heard the bars being lifted up from their spots in the window. Two hands stuck their way out. He grabbed the hands. They pulled him through, slowly, but surely.
Once in, he glanced around the room. The until tomorrow girls were crowded around him. His parents were asleep in the corner. He hoped they were asleep. Zoe was in his mother's lap sucking her thumb. Alisa was....where? He didn't see her?
Melyssa put a hand on his shoulder. "They took her right after you left. We haven't seen her since. We don't know if she's alive."
He clenched his jaw to the point that he started shaking. He shook it off. No. This couldn't be happening. Not Alisa. Not his angel. He had to see her soon. But for now, he had to help out the people here, explain things to them. Have them explain things to him.
He passed out what food he had on him and a canteen of water. It was rationed out and thoroughly enjoyed. He didn't have any as he was still full from the last meal that Pat served him. A whole chicken filled with stuffing. Mashed potatoes. A delicious gravy. Fresh vegetables. Strawberry cheesecake for desert. He'd eaten most of it.
And now it was time to sit, wait, talk, explain.
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