Chapter 3 Thunderstorm (Mystery POV)

Part 1

Your Royal Highness

Don't team up with those who are unbelievers. How can goodness be a partner with wickedness?

How can light live with darkness?

2 Corinthians 6:14

Back in the early 1980's

A staccato of bone-chilling thunder boomed from an embossment of dark clouds agglomerating above the thriving, enigmatic county of Miami-Dade.

In Liberty City, Florida, there were reports of gusty winds so strong it blew people to the ground without apology. In Carol City, a small, local concert was in progress. Nice and sunny skies.

Energetic and upbeat people of all ages and creeds were dancing to the hubbub of pulsating guitars and well-delivered percussion.

A handsome, sleek, local singer danced across the stage like James Brown but came off looking like a young Michael Jackson ala the "Dancing Machine" Era. He was well on his way to superstardom.

And then out of nowhere, thick black clouds slowly and gradually erased any sign of light from the sky.

The sun ceased to exist as the scorching rays inevitably vanished. There was a fusillade of noise, cackling lightning violently striking trees and acres of bushy terrains.

Outrageously deafening thunder sent frightened people running in all directions. Heavy rains spewed from the sky, soaking any and everything it touched.

A group of young thugs with the all-seeing eye, from the back of a dollar bill, tattooed on their backs accidentally stomped over an elderly woman who was desperately calling for help.

She died ten minutes later from internal injuries. A very powerful spurt of wind shattered certain store windows and sent people flying into trees and the pavement.

Hospitals were put on alert. A hospital in Kendall was receiving calls from people being struck by lightning.

Another hospital on NW 95th street couldn't handle the number of people being brought in, soon to be diagnosed with concussions, internal bleeding and broken arms and legs. Patients were arguing with registration personnel and security guards had to apprehend a few belligerently intoxicated men because they didn't have medical

insurance.

Around the entire city of Miami-Dade County, freakish storms were being recorded. News stations, ranging from Channel 6, 4 and 10, quickly sent incessantly confused news reporters out into the violent weather to alert the public to stay inside, to turn off electronics and to lay low until the thunderstorms ran their course.

But there was one woman who didn't care about the lightning and deafening thunder. She didn't care about life or her well-being, especially with a rich baby daddy that cared nothing about her.

The freakish didn't match the hurricane in her heart or the tropical depressions in her sad brown eyes. An empiric woman, she cautiously tried to stop the extrusion of hate spewing from her spirit as she haphazardly drove her Lincoln S.U.V. along U.S.1, pulling on a joint. She normally didn't fancy drugs or alcohol but tonight was different.

The drug kept her in an euphoric state. As much as she tried to remain positive about life and things out of her control, something died inside her heart. Something wicked has curtailed her very soul. She felt it every time she

attempted to do something for herself.

A very selfless woman in public, behind closed doors she was a very disturbed black woman.

The glowing red tip of the cheap joint, laced with cocaine, sizzled in her ears when she hungrily pulled on the joint once more.

Her eyes were blood shot red, hidden behind thick Hollywood-type Bandi shades. The speed limit along the road was legally posted at 45 M.P.H., but she didn't really care.

She was driving at 80 M.P.H. her foot was firmly pressed on the accelerator; she was ducking and dodging slow cars, which she could barely see because of the heavy rains. She totally ignored the fact that she could end her life if her weak, wearing-thin tires decided to slide over slick, rain-swept roads.

She didn't have a clue that her bald tires were of low pressure, and the nail in the back passenger tire gave way to air slowly seeping out into the atmosphere. She didn't know if she was coming or going, but she knew she wanted to get far, far away from this town.

Miami-Dade County. A county that had many of her secrets, secrets she vowed to take to the grave.

But how can I leave when I have unfinished business? I can't just up and go! That would be admitting defeat and I'll be damned if I let the enemy win! The enemy can never win. Oh no, no, no-no-no-no-NO! But then again, unfinished business doesnt equate to my sanity.

On the radio were startling news reports:

A Homestead, Florida resident nearly escaped death as lightning shattered his windshield, sending his Ford Mustang careening off the Florida Turnpike...

A Cutler Ridge resident was blown into a tree, his cane sent up the block and his dentures winding up in the neighbors pool...

I hope he drowns, she thought to herself, her heart black with hate.

Violent lightning strikes the daughter of activist Fred Dryer, the best friend of Bishop Gregory...

Ask me do I really care...I have my own problems. They say there is always someone going through something worse. Who cares what they say! I am not all together in the brain right now. I want to kill something. I want to break things. I want the world to match my heart. My body is Storm Central.

Violent lightning knocks out half of Miami-Dade's power!

Living life in the darkness is a good thing. It's a very noble thing these days. To do what you do to the people you love and deny it when the sun comes up. Someone did that to me once. Convinced me he set the sun. He convinced me he was God. I built a home while he worked. I had complete faith in him! I carried his child to term! It all blew up in my face!

He knowingly lied to me! His promises were hogwash!

HOGWASH!

Over 30,000 people are in the dark...FP&L are working around the clock...