When Saint Goes Marching In Read Free Page B

he reached the top floor. The elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor and a red light flashed, prompting him to put in his access code before entering. He leaned over and quickly punched in his seven digits, placed his hand up to the scanner for identification and heard the familiar computerized voice greeting, “Welcome, Dr. Saint Aknaten.”
    The doors opened, exposing an area that looked like something from a futuristic sci-fi movie. Saint stepped out and nodded to the men who sat on a long, sleek black leather couch with their laptops and cell phones open and ready for use. The rounded, tinted glass walls allowed brilliant light into the area without causing too much of a glare. Saint’s feet sunk into the high grade, light gray carpet as he approached his office. Several East Indian men talked in their native tongue as he rounded the final corner.
    “Hello, Dr. Aknaten,” one of them said in a thick accent.
    “Good afternoon, Ratash. Good afternoon, Tamal and Yajnesh.”
    The other two men waved and smiled. “Good afternoon, Dr. Aknaten.”
    Saint opened his office door and quickly made his way to his heated, black leather chair surrounded by a clear, half-moon shaped desk. Out of his window, directly behind his desk, he could see the highway. At night, it electrified him with all of the bright lights, usually red from bumper to bumper traffic during rush hour.
    Saint paced the floor as he gathered his thoughts. It was his typical routine before he would speak. He looked briefly down at his desk, admiring the gold framed picture of his Queen and his two Princes. The smell of the nag champa incense still filled the room from the previous day. After a few minutes, he unzipped his bag and retrieved his laptop. He removed his sunglasses and left his office to go to the large conference room with its large black double doors. He entered to find James and his constituents engaged in small talk. “Excuse me gentlemen for my tardiness. I deeply apologize for being late. Thank you for waiting for me,” Saint said humbly as his heavy footsteps clapped against the floor.
    Everyone nodded as James stood up. Saint took a seat right next to him.
    “Gentlemen, we can begin now. I called this meeting because of the dire situation going on in Missouri that I brought up to you all yesterday. Mr. Richard Clayman was brutally attacked. His wife was tied up and sexually assaulted. This seemed like a remote situation until similar crimes in surrounding areas also took place. All that is known is that the perpetrator seems to work alone. He is a white male, approximately 5’9” and 180-190 pounds. He wore a mask, but his eyes and the skin surrounding them prove his race. Everyone that he has targeted has been a white man married to or dating a Black woman. The police refuse to acknowledge the racial connection, saying it is random.”
    There were sighs from the men as they shook their heads in disbelief.
    Saint immediately zoomed in on the photo James brought up on the large screen. It was a picture of Mr. Clayman.
    Saint drummed his fingers on his thigh, itching to blurt out what he felt deep within. “He knows this man,” he observed. “The person doing this is befriending these people in some way first. He isn’t just running in. These are premeditated. He has killed several people.” Saint kept staring at Mr. Clayman’s picture. “We are dealing with a serial killer who targets white men with Black women. His victim is lucky to even still be alive, as well as his Queen.” Saint clenched his teeth as quick, blurry flashes of the bloody assaults ran through his mind.
    “We also need to offer more asylum to young Rainbeau men who are being harassed. I have been reading stories daily from men as young as fourteen being tormented by their family, friends and strangers for dating a Black girl. Some have even been kicked out of their homes, hospitalized and have nowhere to go because they won’t relinquish the relationship,”