Fatal Attraction: A Fictional Narrative

the balusters, and lowered himself to the ground. With the deftness of a big cat prowling an African savannah, as silently as possible, Roger Nelson sauntered with great care along the side of the house to the front. But when he checked for the lookout, to his surprise, he was not there. He had deserted his post and the door was unguarded and open. Great! Roger thought. He was pleased at this turn of good luck for his mental gifts were noticeably and inexplicably compromised.
Aided by moonlight and recollection from previous visits, Roger worked his way cautiously to the front door porch, stepping on wooden planks he knew won’t whine. At the door, he listened for sounds from inside the house. But apart from the rustling of dry leaves under
“But one can hope . . . but like Glen Close in Fatal Attraction you won’t stay away.”
“You flatter me. She’s a great actor. But this isn’t a scene in a movie and I’m not acting. You’re going to keep this date.”
Agent Powell told Sarah and Roger to put their guns away. Firebrand Sarah objected, citing her Second and Fourth Amendment rights. Agent Powell, though, chose to ignore Sarah’s rant and naiveté. The bespectacled agent also frowned and the crew-cut spoke: “You’re harboring a fugitive and national security risk.”
Agent Powell told Sarah and Roger to shut up and come with them. They complied and followed the agents out the door. Agent Powell didn’t really need Sarah, but she was a security pawn against any untoward move Roger might contemplate. Sarah and Roger were handcuffed and led out the house into a vehicle, where Sarah orchestrated a silence-breaking question: “Who the shit is this Powell?”
To which Roger replied: “An ultra-patriot who believes the end justifies any means—if it saves lives.”
“The ticking time bomb argument . . .