Thrill Seekers

Behind the Person Street Cafe, detectives from the Fayetteville Police Department were hastily darting about the scene, desperately trying to log as much evidence as possible before the rain came down like divine forgiveness and washed away whatever guilt that may have been left behind. Even if the weatherman hadn’t predicted it, and there wasn’t a seemingly endless torrent of clouds haunting the city, they could still sense it. They could physically feel the storm coming their way. Only they couldn’t fathom its size or the mayhem it would bring. Nor did they know the anguish that would be left in its wake. Across from the café, Anya Vindrell got out of her Lexus and surveyed the street in both directions. Looking first with her eyes, then turning her head, she mentally took a picture of downtown Fayetteville in all its dreary splendor. To her left was the Cumberland County Courthouse. This was the place where the area’s finest degenerates and homegrown sociopaths were taken to receive there due process and subsequently be thrown in jail. It was the place where justice was daily made a mockery of by side dealing public defenders, money-hungry private lawyers, and publicity seeking district attorneys. The four storied structure, built with the same lifeless gray stone with which most of the city was raised, loomed menacingly over the parking lot, striking pangs of despair into anyone brave enough to step in its shadow. Reckless drivers, child support seeking mothers and custody seeking fathers all said silent prayers before stepping across the ever so inviting threshold of Fayetteville’s abattoir of injustice. Further up the street, adding to the perpetual hopelessness was the controversial Market Square. Built inside a circular junction at the heart of the city was a structure once used to buy, sell, and sometimes-but always mercilessly-hang slaves in broad view for the citizens amusement. Now, the very building that was the epicenter of Fayetteville’s prosperous slave trade still stood as a reminder. To some it was revered as the epitome of hard work, its very existence the reason for the town’s affluence. To others it was symbolic of the heartless bartering of souls, the fact it remained erect a show of bigoted arrogance and a boot to the face of those who’d worked so hard to rid the city of racism.