Invisible Defense

By Stephen Pierce

In a collision of past and present, truth hides in plain sight. Invisible Defense weaves this notion together in a bizarre love affair turned murder that leads to an even more bizarre legal defense for Justin Alexander-human spontaneous involuntary invisibility.

    Justin, a self-made man fro

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Pierce
• Release date: Feb 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088089767

Stephen Pierce

For nearly three decades, Stephen Pierce has either reported on the newsmakers or served as a spokesman for them. When the opportunity arose that allowed him to trade all that in to pursue a simpler life, he grabbed it with both hands. He now lives in a quaint rural setting in East Texas with his wife and two dogs, and not too far from children and grandchildren. When he's not busy trying his hand at novel writing, he is attempting to be creative in the kitchen, garden, or workshop.Stephen began his writing career as a journalist in the United States Air Force, which allowed him to write about military life in Louisiana, Spain, Saudi Arabia, and California. He succumbed to the enticement of a traditional newspaper gig and landed at a daily newspaper in Northern California. He worked his way up from the copy desk to associate business editor. The lure of journalism eventually gave way to the necessities of life, so Stephen switched gears to marketing and public relations. Bookends to this career focused on communications were jobs stuffing hams, selling carpets and kitchen cabinets, managing a restaurant, and running a county fair. Along the way, he earned degrees in public affairs, industrial technology, and public administration. All this eclectic experience means Stephen has plenty of real-life experiences to draw upon to build the characters for his writing. His first foray into novel writing is Invisible Defense.

Book preview

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Contents

Chapter 1

Call me Ishmael.

Herman Melville had the perfect beginning for a novel. A simple sentence with an exotic name that foretold of the adventures ahead. If that were my opening line, it would read, Don’t laugh. Yes, my name really is Clark Tiberius Solo. It doesn’t take much of an imagination to figure out what inspired my parents. It was 1977, and their little boy was born during an epidemic of Star Wars fever.

I’m sure Mr. Lucas never intended to elevate our family name, but George and Mary Solo couldn’t help but swell with pride. Bigger than life, Harrison Ford gave their surname rugged good looks and a sense of adventure that was the envy of all the other accountants. With a name full of adventurers, my nerdy parents—mostly at the insistence of my father—endowed their firstborn with their secret ambitions. Hindsight, being what it is, they probably should have named me Ahab.

CLARK LEANED BACK IN HIS BROWN FAUX LEATHER CHAIR and stretched out his short legs on the edge of the disheveled bed. He quietly read aloud the latest start to his someday novel. After several minutes of pondering his prose, he told his little furry audience, It doesn’t look like this is the day I am going to become a famous author.

An apricot poodle, whose cut made her look like a miniature Ewok, lifted her head and shrugged slightly before returning her tired little orb to its former sleeping position.

Hey girl, it’s not that bad, Clark laughed as he scratched the sides of her fuzzy face.

Clark closed his laptop and glanced at the bright green numbers on the nightstand that said he should have been asleep several hours ago.

Come on.

Lexi jumped off the bed and followed Clark down the hallway. A purple princess nightlight gave evidence that a little girl once dominated life in this house. Not so much anymore. Aliens had replaced his little Lana sometime after she found out boys were no longer yucky. That was only a few months ago, although to Clark it seemed like a lifetime.

Fixing the touchy-feely stuff was her mother’s specialty. Lois had this special way of getting Lana to open up. They would have their little private talks—filled with whispers, infectious laughs, and sometimes tears. They really enjoyed being with each other. His job was to be the superhero; after all, it was in his name. He could leap tall sofas, stop a speeding bicycle, and rescue damsels in distress from many creepy-crawly creatures. Not anymore. Not since Lois gave up hope.

If life was fair, Lana would still have two parents. It would fill birthdays with amazing memories of her entire world coming together to celebrate a monumental achievement—surviving another crazy year. But life wasn’t fair. There was nothing fair about holding the hand of someone you love and crying that it is okay to die. There was nothing fair about having to tell the love of your life that she no longer had to endure the agony created by a couple of rogue cancer cells. Life was absolutely not fair.

Clark stopped at Lana’s door. A faint snore of a braces-wearing mouth breather interrupted the silence in the room. Another shred of evidence that life for Lana was not fair.

Out on the tiny cement pad of a patio, Clark quietly studied the starry night sky while Lexi explored the grassy patch affectionately referred to as the backyard. It amazed him at how insignificant those little twinkles of lights made him feel.

Clark looked down to see the familiar doggie pose.

Good girl. Lexi is a good potty girl, he praised.

With that nightly chore complete, the two strolled back inside to find their respective pillows.

Chapter 2

NOTHING FELT FAMILIAR AS SHE STRUGGLED to open her eyes. Her other senses told her this was not her home. A staleness lingered in the air. The light from the window was on the wrong side of the room. Her outstretched arms could identify that she was lying in a bed, but she did not feel her soft cotton sheets and fluffy white comforter. Instead, her delicate skin could feel the pilling of cheap bedding that had long since outlived its usefulness. There was a time when this would have been her standard, but that time had long faded into a distant memory.

More images came into focus. A round ceiling light cast a dingy golden glow around a swell of insects that had made the alabaster bowl their final resting place. Shadows and light dispersed across the ceiling, bringing attention to a tie-dyed pattern of water stains. Her attempts to see more of her surroundings met with resistance. She could not figure out why her head, her entire body, felt so heavy—why the world seemed to be in slow motion. A few more blinks and everything went black once more.

When her eyes opened again, she could see her surroundings were awash in light from a bay window. Her limbs moved a little easier, and she found the strength to prop herself up to one side. To her alarm, a man stood on the far edge of the room. She couldn’t see who it was, only a silhouette of a large man with broad square shoulders.

Who the hell are you? her brain screamed.

No sounds emerged. She felt her lips moving, but nothing more than a startled gasp came out of her mouth. Still, it was enough to garner his attention.

Good morning. I trust you slept well, the silhouette said. It’s okay if you can’t answer just yet. I bet you’re hungry. Let me get you something to eat.

She could see the man reaching for something outside her narrow view. A few minutes later, she heard a knocking sound. The man-shadow stepped out of view and a door opened. She listened intently. She couldn’t decipher the hushed tones of their conversation. Then the door closed, and the man walked back into her view.

I know this ain’t much, but it technically qualifies as a hotel continental breakfast, the man said.

He placed a rustic wooden tray with wrought iron handles on the bed and lumbered back to his place in the shadows. She strained to identify the man from the shadows, but to no avail. She could not see his face. He wore a black felt hat pushed low on his forehead.

As she propped herself up more, she could see he had brought her a container of strawberry non-fat yogurt, two slices of buttered toast, a little plastic tub of grape jelly, a paper cup filled with black coffee, and some packets of fake sweetener and powdered cream. She reached for the coffee first, opting to drink it without adding whatever flavor the package of unpronounceable chemicals claimed to produce. Her taste buds regretted this decision after one sip.

She looked around the room and confirmed what her other senses had told her. The surroundings looked like a diorama from one of those history museums depicting a turn-of-the-century bedroom. In other circumstances, she might have enjoyed this step back in time. Not now. The only thing she could think about was the need for answers.

Why am I here? her brain screamed. Who is this man? Why do I feel so weird?

After your breakfast in bed, you might want to freshen up a bit. You’ll find clean clothes and some of your personal things in the bathroom. You are free to walk about the room, but please do not attempt to leave. My kindness has its limits.

With those instructions coldly laid out by the man from the shadows, a door opened and closed. Her heart sunk when she heard the metal clunk of a key turning in a lock.

Chapter 3

THE ONLY THING WORSE than going to bed alone was waking up alone. Yet it wasn’t the cold sheets of the queen-sized bed where Lois used to lie that made Clark feel alone. It was the thought of facing the day without his wife, his partner, to help him deal with life’s challenges—big and small.

Dad! You forgot to get milk again!

Clark stumbled toward the squawks, struggling to get his soiled robe to comply as he entered the kitchen.

Just eat your cereal like popcorn, and wash it down with orange juice, he offered with a yawn.

What he thought, however, was something different.

What’s the big deal? A guy would have just done that. Why don’t girls have practical logic? Lois should be here. She knows how to be a girl. I don’t.

After several long seconds of silence, Clark could see the eyes roll back into the head of his former little girl, and somewhere from deep inside this alien creature erupted a sigh that sounded something like Fine! This had become the new normal for this solo parent of a teenaged daughter. Clark wanted the aliens to return his little girl. Clark wanted Lois back, too.

What’s on your calendar for today? Clark asked.

Uh? School? the alien replied.

Really? They have school on Tuesdays now? Clark countered in that dad way that never comes across as funny. What about after school?

Nothing.

I don’t know how my day is going to unfold. I’m covering the Justin Alexander trial. Who knows where this case will go, Clark shared, most likely only with himself. Are you okay on your own for dinner?

Yeah, I’ll find something.

Okay, sweetie. Have a great day and stay out of trouble. Love you, Clark said in an almost too perfunctory manner that Lana couldn’t help but notice.

Yeah, the same back at you. You won’t even know I’m here, Lana mumbled as Clark strolled back to the bedroom to get ready for work.

Lana didn’t understand why her onetime cool dad was now so out of her reach. How did he become a stranger in her life? As a reporter, he spent his day talking to people, connecting with them, and writing stories about their conversations. Yet Lana hadn’t had a genuine conversation with her dad-roommate in months.

It would be easy to blame this distancing on her mother’s death. But that was three years ago, and he had been his typical dad superhero self the entire time. Well, until recently.

Through all the trials of cancer—the bouts of nausea, the episodes of uncontrollable pain, and the gut-wrenching emotional roller coaster rides—he endured with a consistently calm voice that never failed to comfort her. She knew he created this facade for her. He never let her see him cry, but occasionally she heard muffled sobs from behind his closed bedroom door. When special days ticked past on the calendar, he never burdened her with his loneliness. Instead, he asserted himself as a rock-solid pillar who would always be there for her.

After her mother’s funeral, he used that familiar calm voice to paint a picture of a happy life for just the two of them. For the most part, Lana thought he had done everything he could to keep those promises. He seemed to go out of his way to plan weekend outings—hiking through the hills, exploring some out-of-the-way natural wonder, the occasional museum, or braving every twisty, turning roller coaster ride their stomachs could handle. No holiday went unnoticed. Decorations, candies, and cookies galore made those special days something any little girl would remember for a lifetime.

It wasn’t just the big things. Her dad was attentive in the little things as well. The homework. The school plays. The dance recitals. And when the time came, he even did the dreaded girl shopping. He deferred to finding an online video that Lana could watch in private to explain how to manage her entrance into womanhood.

He wasn’t even timid when it came time to buy Lana her first training bra. With all the experience of a guy, he rummaged diligently through rack after rack of bras in search of something small enough for his budding daughter. After spending too much time and fearing the pervert police would soon take him away, he worked up the courage to ask the sales associate where he could find a training bra. She gave him no pity.

This is the women’s area. You should be looking in the little girls’ section. Clark didn’t let her indignation phase him. He thanked her and trotted off to where she told him to go.

Most importantly, Clark and Lana ate breakfast together every morning, no matter how hectic life got. It was their special time—just father and daughter. It wasn’t the same as the one-on-one talks with her mother, but that didn’t matter to her. She enjoyed how they used to share their lives and make plans for their next grand adventure. Back then, Lana thought their worlds were in a synchronous orbit.

That was until things changed and he suddenly became Rules Dad. Rules Dad wouldn’t allow boy friends to be in the house when he wasn’t there. Rules Dad required boys taking Lana out on a group date to come inside and introduce themselves. Rules Dad had become the fashion police, a post where he was totally out of his league. For as long as she could remember, her dad’s wardrobe consisted of khaki pants, plaid shirts, and loafers. He was even more inept at understanding hair and makeup. Clark combed his short black hair, at least what he had left of it, once a day, whether he needed it or not. Lana yearned for a trendy hairstyle, not the same long straight hair she’d had since she was five years old. And without proper makeup, Lana felt like she was nothing more than a pasty white zombie plodding her way through school.

Breakfast somehow became edict time. Rules Dad would say, No daughter of mine is going to wear that to school. or You are wearing too much makeup. It makes you look like you are working the streets. Lana would protest. Clark would insist. Lana would run off to her room crying, only to comply to Rules Dad because she had no other choice.

Lana dreaded the confrontations with Rules Dad. For a while, she resolved to just come to the breakfast table adhering to her father’s homely standards. After a few weeks, though, Clark caught on to Lana’s makeover routine. The girl who left home plain morphed after first-period gym class. That ended up with him raiding her bathroom like it was some sort of Columbian drug bust.

Breakfast conversation virtually dried up. No point in making plans if you can’t be seen in public.

This wasn’t Lana’s only troubled relationship. Lana’s best friend since her daycare days had moved away. Maggie had been the rest of Lana’s world. If Lana wasn’t with her dad, she was with Maggie. Maggie would even come on adventures with her and her dad. Whenever Lana needed a project partner at school, it was Maggie. She was part of her dance troupe. They did church youth group together. It was Maggie who gave her the courage to go out on dates. Technically, Maggie was just a text away, but that was not enough to fill the void.

Everyone Lana cared about seemed to be abandoning her. She felt scared and alone.

Chapter 4

LANA HAD ALREADY LEFT to catch the bus for school when Clark returned to the kitchen that Lois designed. The teal backsplash and orange appliances were her choices, overruling his recommendation for something a little less bold. They compromised with the dishwasher. The model they wanted only came in basic black.

His wife had hoped to recreate for Lana the same nostalgic memories she recalled growing up with her aunt. Clark could still see his little Lana, dusted in flour and standing on her purple step stool, helping her mom bake chocolate chip cookies. Lana would giggle wildly as Clark tried to eat the cookies practically right from the oven.

You be careful with my Daddy, she would scold him in that endearing silly little girl way.

The couple bought the mid-century modern place shortly after Lana was born. The fixer-upper wasn’t much to look at back then, but that was all they could afford in the city. Dozens of honey-do projects later, the funky house slowly transformed into a comfortable home and a tribute to Lois’s quirky sense of style. Everywhere Clark looked, he could see her handiwork.

Sitting in the breakfast nook, he quietly nibbled at a bowl of dry apple cinnamon cereal while he glanced through the morning paper. In some ways he appreciated the solitude; it was certainly less confrontational. In the silence, he could hear the pulse of the kitchen clock tick away the seconds, the slapping of wet dog tongue as Lexi groomed her paws, and the movement of neighbors strolling along their street in the Outer Mission neighborhood.

What he couldn’t hear was grumbling. Lois had many noble qualities, but she had her kryptonite. The passionate reporter loathed being scooped, even more so if the competition failed to meet her high journalistic standards. From the solitude of the kitchen, bursts of that’s not what he told me or you need to check your facts would interrupt the morning read.

All that silence quickly became too loud for Clark. He filled his insulated coffee mug and left for work. Not that Clark would admit it to anyone, but he felt scared and alone. The two most important people in his life were beyond his reach. His soul mate and baby girl had been his entire circle of confidants.

Chapter 5

A STEAMY HOT SHOWER cleared some of the fog from her mind. If the date on her watch was accurate, three days had passed since she last saw her high-rise condo. The bruises on her wrists and elsewhere told her the man meant what he said. Still, she did not understand what he wanted.

She recalled being on her balcony, lamenting over everything that had gone wrong in her life. She was toying with the idea of skipping town, her go-to strategy when she could no longer control her world.

Someone knocked at the door. She hadn’t heard from the doorman, so she didn’t immediately answer. She stepped into the bedroom, waited, and listened. Soon the sounds of footsteps getting softer led her to believe the person behind the knock had left. She returned her attention to her lamenting. She decided it was time to disappear again. Hopefully, she would not be doing this alone this time. She went to the back of her walk-in closet, pulled out her escape suitcase, and placed it on the bed. Just as she was about to open the lid, she felt someone grab her from behind. A strong pungent odor smothered her face, and everything went black.

Those memories gave her a vague clue of what had happened, but she didn’t understand why he abducted her. What plans does he have for her? Is this man from her troubled past? Was he another piece of her manufactured world that was crumbling around her, beyond any hope of repair? Where did all this go wrong? The headlines of the society pages were a good place to start. But then again, if she were honest, she would have to go back even further.

She had always had the privilege of appearance. Her wholesome look portrayed a sense of innocence, despite the reality of her actions. Her ability to use this skill to her advantage was endearing to her family when she was a young girl. After a while, though, she was not sure when, her beautiful facade melted away for them. Somewhere along the way, the innocent-looking girl with all the beaus became what her mama called a slut who manipulated all those poor unsuspecting boys. That’s not the way she saw it. Yes, she dangled the possibility that they might get what they wanted. She just ensured she got what she wanted first.

However, things changed after she began working her charms on the awkward son of a sheriff. He differed from the other jocks in the tiny Oklahoma town she once called home. He lacked the typical arrogance of overly praised athletes. Genetics gave him the desired muscular build, but not a comparable strength of character. He was as pliable in her hands as his thick, wavy black hair.

The high school romance started when the big, strapping football player pursued her—over the strong objections of his father—for all the typical reasons adolescent boys seek out beautiful girls with larger-than-life reputations. She teased his lust. Like with all the other boys, she never completely gave into it. She relished how her social status changed when she paraded about on his arm. Whether at the school or anywhere in town, people treated her differently when she was with the star of the only exciting thing happening on a Friday night.

She perfected on him her innate ability to trade her affections—real or contrived—for more tangible rewards. Long conversations on cozy moonlit nights made her embraces even more effective. As her skills developed, she progressed from getting a pack of cigarettes to a pair of jeans until one day she convinced this otherwise strait-laced 16-year-old boy that he needed to steal her a souped-up Mustang as a present. It took her several weeks to move the idea in his head from wouldn’t that be cool to this is how I can make it happen.

He was supposed to receive his love reward in the back seat of the new ride, but his daddy figured out what had happened too quickly. The sheriff threatened to lock her up on charges of criminal conspiracy or something like that. She couldn’t recall. The angry father made other accusations to muddle her recollection of the encounter.

It didn’t matter. She had acquired a new skill that needed perfecting. She learned how to disappear.

Chapter 6

CLARK HAD BEEN A REPORTER in some fashion since high school. The stories hadn’t changed all that much. He was just better at asking questions and not as accepting that any one answer was the answer. His first banner headline came when he was a junior. The student body president took to the school board a simple request to adjust the height of some speed bumps in the school parking lot.

We are not asking to remove any speed bumps. Not one. All we are asking for is to lower two speed bumps to the height of all the other speed bumps. These two speed bumps are causing cars to bottom out. Several students have reported the need for costly repairs that they cannot afford on part-time high school jobs. He read the statement verbatim from his prepared and principal-approved script.

The first school board member to respond began her comments with what Clark knew was going to be the quote of the night.

First of all, I want to go on record that I am opposed to removing any of the speed bumps.

Friday morning after the article was on the streets, Clark learned his first practical lesson of journalism: freedom of the press is not absolute. His instructor informed him she had been informed via the principal, who had heard from the school superintendent, who had heard from a certain school board member that the school board was the publisher of the high school newspaper and should be treated as such.

I was told we can’t make school board members look stupid, she explained.

I reported what she said. It’s not my fault she’s stupid, Clark rebutted. Her silent shrug told Clark that she had already lost this argument.

Fast forward twenty-some years and Clark is a court reporter for the largest daily newspaper in the San Francisco Bay Area. The assignment before him today was a murder trial where the victim and the accused were cut, so it seemed, from the same dirty cloth. Justin Alexander was accused of shooting Robert Keagan at a restaurant in the city.

The motive lacked originality. The accused and the victim were unknowingly sharing the same lover who was squeezing both men for a lavish lifestyle beyond her reportedly starving artist means. The not guilty plea was the final non-surprise. The only interesting twist that this case offered was who was representing the defendant.

Chapter 7

CLARK REMINISCED ABOUT THE FIRST TIME he saw Greg Vernier in action. He was a small-town lawyer fresh out of the local public defender’s office. Clark was a reporter for the same foothill town, the kind of place where the elevation exceeded the population by nearly three-fold. The case seemed open and shut: a known thug picks up a road-hard woman at a seedy bar who turns up dead in a local creek the next