The Devil's TransAction - Coming Soon

Chapter 1 – Moonbeam in the Dark

The door flew open.  A giant-sized cop maneuvered his way into the interrogation room.  He dropped a thin folder that glided like a wet feather and landed in a quiet skid.  Not heavy enough for gravity to notice, it failed to produce the situational gravity he was hoping for.

Scott Shannon had no idea what was in the folder but was able to hear the new cop grumble at the first, “We got his motive right here.”  Big cop growled at the folder and then at Scott’s face.  His nose hairs fluttered inside his flared nostrils.   

With his hands cuffed to the table, Scott Shannon had no idea what motive they thought they had and therefore didn’t bother to react.  That seemed to make the hulking cop angrier.  His swelling deltoids hoisted his shoulders and cocked his bulging arms into a striking position with Scott’s neck at the focal point of their desire.  His forehead knocked the light hanging over the table.  Shadows flittered about, and dust sprinkled off the swinging lamp.  The cop jabbed his stubby calloused finger onto the folder and raised his voice, “And this is why you crushed her head.  Isn’t it?...  Isn’t it?”

“No,” Scott protested, “I told you.  I was sleeping.  I had nothing to do with this.  Nothing.  I swear…”

“Shut up.  We looked at your record.  You raped your wife.”

“That was thrown out.  Look at the whole record.  Yeah, she accused me of it, but it was thrown out.”  The folder in front of him was too thin to tell the story.

“On a technicality.”

“Lying’s not a technicality.  She admitted she was lying.  I never raped her.  She admitted she was lying.  You know that…”

“Why, why would she lie?  It doesn’t say anything about that.  Nothin’.”

“Read the whole thing.  She lied, she got caught, and they didn’t even give her a slap on the wrist.  Not a thing.  It’s because she’s a lesbian.  She’s just trying to destroy my relationship with my son.”

“Why?  Why wouldn’t she want her son to have a relationship with his father?”

“Because my wife is a nutcase, and she’s trying to turn my son into a girl.”

“That’s why you killed your wife’s girlfriend?  I didn’t even see that.  That’s even more motive.  Hah,” he grunted.  Giant cop’s nostrils snorted like a winded bull.  Scott could feel hot hot air baking his face.

“Is she dead?”  For one second, Scott sounded more concerned that the woman, who shared a bed with his ex-wife might be dead than afraid he’d actually go down for her murder.  He was pretty sure they had absolutely nothing that could connect him to the murder.  However, the sum total of his alibi was, “I was home alone, sleeping.”  That’s when they busted through his front door at about four in the morning.  He wasn’t anywhere near the crime scene.  Perhaps because he was already sleeping, he seemed even more offensive. 

Nevertheless, he was sure his ex-wife was behind the whole thing.  She’d already accused him of rape.  During the investigation of the alleged rape, which never happened, Scott was only allowed four-hours of supervised visits per week with his son.  That investigation lasted for over nine months.  It was embarrassing and emasculating, but his ex-wife loved every minute of it.  His pain was her synthetic narcotic, and she was its junkie.

Even after she admitted she made up the whole thing, she still sought to inflict more and more pain at any cost.  They didn’t do a thing to her.  She accused him of raping her, tried to ruin his name, and she didn’t even get punished for any of it.  The judge actually apologized that she had to go through all of it and even sort of blamed Scott for being the reason.  He had nothing to do with it, but the fact that she even said he did, apparently meant he was obviously guilty of something.  Why else would a woman accuse a man of raping her?

At that time, Scott wasn’t yet aware that she was trying to turn their son Sean into a girl named Sky – that came later.  At least he thought.  He didn’t discover her nefarious scheme until after she got herself shacked up with the girl from her son’s daycare center.  She was the skank who was later replaced by an even grubbier chick from her lawyer’s office.  The second one called herself Moonbeam.  She claimed to identify as some sort of witch or something.  She looked it too.  Woe to the person who climbed into a bed with her without being under the heavy influence of some powerful potion of narcotics.  Moonbeam had a short boy’s haircut and pimples on her face.  Barely freed from puberty’s hormonal disturbances herself, she was trying to make sure his son never reached it.  Granted, she was a psycho even nuttier than his ex-wife, but that didn’t mean Scott wanted to admit he wasn’t actually sorry the broad might finally be on the way to dust.  He surely wished for her death numerous times.  While making a secret wish wasn’t illegal yet, he had to hide his real thoughts.  From his experience in the courts, he knew they’d throw anything at him, as long as it made him hurt. 

He was confident that Moonbeam was the reason his ex-wife Charlotte started to accelerate her social experiment of destroying his son’s life.  He might say their son, but Charlotte considered him their daughter.  Even still, he pretended he didn’t want the witch to die as best he could, but it was getting harder and harder every second.

Scott’s fury grew silently as the cop refused to answer his question.  He glared at Scott intimidatingly.  So, Scott asked again.  “Are you saying Moonbeam’s dead?” 

“You sound like a f#$ken moron.  Whodahellis Moonbeam?  You killed Sarah Maple.  You don’t even know the name of your wife’s girlfriend?  What the f#$K kind-a man are you?”  He knew it from the days of court, but he just couldn’t remember it under the light.  If there was chance it might have worked, he’d have repressed her right out of existence.  He’d have tossed her into a black hole of blissful ignorance if he could have figured out how to create one, but he wasn’t a witch.

With all the strength of character he could muster, he hid his secret desire to celebrate the asymmetrical justice of the whole thing.  He felt bad about that, but that crazy moon bat was using witchcraft to turn his normal boy into a girl – the freakin’ nutjob had it coming.  It was the stupidest and most evil thing he could ever imagine an ex-wife doing to a man.  Claiming he raped her or blaming her girlfriend’s murder on him was rotten to be sure, but brainwashing his son into pretending he was a girl was beyond the pale.  It was like when beatnik pervert Alan Ginsberg told all good Americans, “We’ll get you through your children.”  Even in the 1950s, there was this super sinister undercurrent of tabooed perversion brewing.  That it was ignored by the polite crowd of castrated get-alongers was the only reason we no longer allowed degenerates to be drawn and quartered.

In a perfect world, all three of those chicks would have been executed in the public square – Salem-Witch-Trial style.  In a Monty Pythonian fashion, they’d dunk them under the water to make sure they didn’t sink.  If they floated instead, they’d burn them at the stake, simply because wood also floats.  In the old days, America was super-efficient at dealing with its problems.  No longer.  Instead, America started slapping a grievance tag on all its problems and then subsidizing its problems with special privileges and money from the Treasury.  The leftists decided what was once normal was officially evil and what was once perverted was the only true normal.  Normal people were branded as the enemies of all that was “good and unholy.”  God needed to die, just as Nietzsche had prematurely declared He had.

While it was true that Scott hated them for what they were trying to do to his son, he was not going to kill them.  That wasn’t his style – Scott was too physically small to make it through a prison sentence with his butt muscles intact.  He did temporarily defeat them in court, at which point they were no longer allowed to force his son Sean to pretend he was Sky, the little girl with a penis tucked under his skirt.  They were no longer allowed to dress him up as a girl, enter him into beauty pageants or make him go to dance class in tights and a tutu.  He didn’t have to go to school and ditch the girl clothes his “mothers” made him wear and then beg his teachers not to call him Sky while at the same time begging them not to tell his “mothers” that he was still going by the name Sean.  The kid was traumatized at every turn, but then the judge who gave him the favorable ruling retired.  Another judge took the case over and threw out all of the former judge’s rulings.  It meant he was back to court over every little thing.  The judicial system was a joke.

Sean was continuously pressured to become the Sky.  Were Scott not there to fight for some sort of custody and therefore to have influence on his son, his son would be nothing more than a cultic trophy to a coven of lesbian witches.  With everything he’d been through with these witches, Scott wasn’t at all surprised to find himself in that interrogation room with hot light in his face, but he was still furious. 

Even though his son was eventually old enough to see and understand that pretending to be a girl was NOT normal, Sean was yoked with anxiety all the time.  The people running the school were more afraid of the “mothers” than they were of the final judgment that was coming for their having aided and abetted a couple of witches in their efforts to recruit a little boy into their cult of death.  And it was a cult of death.  Charlotte, his ex-wife, had repeatedly scolded Scott for calling her daughter “Sean” because Sean was apparently his “dead name.”  Dead name is what they called it.  In other words, Charlotte considered Sean dead and reborn in the image of their false gods.  Scott knew his son was an unsuspecting pawn on the chessboard battle between truth and deceit, but Sean wasn’t really unsuspecting.  He knew what they were doing, he knew it was wrong, and he wanted it to stop.  Eventually anyway.  At first, Sean was just a baby and a toddler.  He was too young to have any idea that they were lying to him.  Once he was no longer a toddler, he cried in his father’s arms many times, begging Scott to make his “mothers” stop what they were doing.  Unfortunately, Scott’s hands were tied up by court orders issued by a judge who wanted nothing more than to make him shut up at any cost.  Sean needed to be dead so that Sky, the penised little girl, might live.  It was a death cult.  There was no other way to describe it.

Sean hated his mothers.  They knew it too, but they blamed that all on Scott.  Especially once Scott had earned his split custody of Sean.  Supervision during his time with his son was no longer needed.  Charlotte and Moonbeam were still so vindicative, they forced Scott to pick Sean up at the police station.  And then to return the boy to them there.  They wanted to make like they were so afraid of Scott that they couldn’t imagine being in his presence without police officers there to protect them.  It was all absurd.  Scott was a hundred and thirty-five pounds soaking wet.  Meanwhile, Moonbeam sported a butch-lesbian butt the size of Alaska in the shape of Texas.  Like the cop in front of him, she had to turn sideways just to squeeze through some doorways, and others still weren’t large enough.  And God forbid she’d just finished feeding.

The cop hadn’t broken his stare.  Scott asked again.  “Is she really dead?”

“I don’t know.  But I saw the crime scene.  If she’s not, she’s going to be wishing she was the second she wakes.  You really did a number on that woman.”

“So, she might still wake up?  Then she’ll tell you it wasn’t me.”  Maybe.  He said it as if he really wanted her to live.  No part of him actually did, but he didn’t want the cop to know that.  He didn’t want God to know it either, but He did.  Either way, Scott knew he had to play the game.

“Your wife says it was you.  She came in while you were killing her girlfriend and scared you off.”

“My wife is crazy, and you all know it.  Every one of you knows it.  You guys are the ones who figured out she was lying about the rape.  Remember?”  It might not have been those particular cops, but it was another local police department.  It all had to be in the police reports, but those reports were definitely not in the tiny file in front of him.  Even still, it was their police station where he had to meet his wife half the time to pick up his son.  While he assumed they all figured she was crazy, maybe it was just her way of planting the seed that he actually was violent and needed to be feared.  He'd thought too much about it in the past, but before that moment, it was all just hypothetical.  Nothing but questions without answers in a world where logic had been ruled irrelevant by the New York State Supreme Court.

The cop answered, “That might be so, but, hey Joey, hand me that murder weapon.”  Even though she wasn’t dead, they were calling it a murder weapon.

A plastic covered baseball bat was handed through the doorway to the giant.  There was blood all over the portion used to hit a baseball.  “We found this when we searched your house.  We’re running your fingerprints.  Guess you didn’t hide it well enough.  What do you wanna bet they match?”

Scott stared at the bloody bat with sweat forming on his brow.  The plastic was sticking to the wet blood. Charlotte was going for broke this time.  He hesitantly raised his eyes to the giant hovering over him.

He felt like David against Goliath, but with his hands cuffed to the table, he needed to sling words of wisdom so profound that the man would crumble and shatter in the midst of an incontrovertible truth.  Unfortunately, Scott didn’t have those words.  Shaking his head in disbelief, his voice squeaked, “It’s not mine.  I’ve never seen it before.” 

Goliath scoffed, “Yeah, we’ll see.”  He grabbed the bat, turned and maneuvered his way back out of the interrogation room.  He was so large, he drove everyone else out in the process.  He shut the door, and Scott was alone. 

Scott lowered his head and began to pray with tears in his eyes.  He and God had been pretty close over the past five years.  Never before that though.  He’d grown up an atheist.  Nevertheless, as soon as life seems worse than death, a man will try anything.  God had led him through the false-rape-accusation trial, through the supervised visits with Sean, through the agony of not knowing what hell his son was going through during his essential absence from his son’s life and through the years of litigation to prevent his son from being gender mutilated into a girl.  Only with God’s help, he was able to use the court to temporarily halt the administering of hormone treatments and then being forced to dress like a girl.  Apparently, Charlotte was still willing to do and say anything to convince the world that it wasn’t her who was crazy. 

A part of Scott wanted to give up – he’d been through so much – but the other part knew that his son would be destroyed if he did.  That’s what kept him going.