Green Neon

360.

I flip a few more pages with the knife blade. Page 38 is begging attention as it seems to be  bookmarked with a neon green sticky flag. In pencil is written, 'call me as soon as you're established at this number'. I take a picture of the note and number and wrap up my forensic inventory. I ask the Fire Captain where the remains of the vehicle will be transported and thank him for his emergency response; they have had a busy day.

Processing the collective data from the insurrection while heading back towards the Capitol building I remember that I have been walking with the use of both legs, and using my once paralyzed right arm as any normal person might. That my attention was so completely focused on the task at hand leaving little bandwidth to experience the 'miracle' is both phenomenal and bewildering to me. In a 'doubting Thomas' moment of monumental curiosity, I run a few tests to ensure I am not waking from a deep dream. Without considering a scientific protocol I spring into a sequence of stretches, martial arts moves and yoga poses, all demanding range of motion, flexibility, strength and balance. A passing government employee eyes me suspiciously as I complete the test but so overjoyed with the results, I merely smile in return of their glare.

The cleanup is in full operation at the Capitol. If there is one thing that stands above all other characteristics defining our American experiment in Democracy, it is that we are resilient. We WILL get up, dust off, clean the mess and get back to work. I chuckle with the thought that if this isn't an amendment, it should be.

Security, however, remains on high alert. I call AK to get a more detailed report and to exchange notes. His cell phone goes to voice mail. Inside the building local Paramedics have established a triage area and are busy tending a line of customers, some still bleeding, others suffering from conditions ranging from shock to dehydration. There is a foul odor hinting of fear permeating the interior atmosphere. It is my experience that with prolonged exposure one adapts to this olfactory insult much too quickly. I look for Agent Kirkpatrick in the usual places coming up empty with each search. I ask an officer assigned to temporary security duty if there are any CSI agents on this floor and she tells me that as far as she knows, they are all downstairs.

It is information I find of interest and decide to pay a visit to the holding cell, manned by Sergeant Carothers. The elevator is disabled so I take the emergency stairs as far as I can until I meet face to face with another officer who informs me that his orders are to allow passage to no one, regardless of rank. I show him my ID and he apologizes by saying that he will make a call. Once his conversation is complete he tells me an escort will be here monetarily to act as guide. Now I am VERY interested.

Several long minutes pass until a knock on the steel door indicates that my escort has arrived. The heavy door opens and a Capitol Security officer greets me and asks that I please follow.

Again the smell; Fear, blood, urine, hatred, smoke.

The officer leads me past the cell that formerly held Shoemaker and Sheener and is now filled to capacity with what I can only speculate are the surviving members of the River Kats. There is an identical cell beside it housing another triage operation, all told there might be close to twenty captives - all needing varying levels of attention.

In the tiny office of Sergeant Carothers, there is an executive meeting taking place among four officers, including Agent Kirkpatrick. As I enter the room, all dialogue ceases and heads look downward.

The first thing I see is a pad of neon green sticky flags on the desk belonging to Sergeant Carothers.