hear over all the other noise. They lock eyes for the tiniest forever. He rushes a dozen urgencies into that narrow channel. You don’t have to do this. You’re worth more to me than all the forests this outfit can slaughter.
Her look is even thicker with messages, all of which come down to the hardest of nibs: Douglas. Douglas. What they do?
. . .
THEY START AT THE BODY nearest the sheriff’s feet—a woman in her forties, overweight, with blond-tipped hair and last year’s stylish glasses. An officer comes up behind her, holding a paper cup in one hand and a Q-tip in the other. The sheriff’s voice is calm. “Do not resist. Any threats toward us will be considered an assault on a police officer, which is a felony.”
“We’re locked up! We’re locked up!”
A second officer comes alongside the one with the swab and paper cup. He reaches down and restrains the woman with one hand while tipping her head back with the other. The woman blurts, “I teach biology at Jefferson Junior High. I have given twenty years to teaching kids about—”
Someone off-camera shouts, “You’re about to get schooled!”
The sheriff says, “Release yourself from the tube.”
The teacher sucks in her breath. There’s shouting. The officer with the swab brings it down into the woman’s right eye. He struggles to get a little more into her left. Chemicals pool under the lid and stream down the side of the woman’s tipped-back face. The woman’s moans are pure animal. Each one rises in pitch until she’s screaming. Someone shouts, “Stop it! Now!”
“We have water for your eyes. Release yourself and we’ll give it to you. Are you going to release yourself?” The assisting officer tips her head back again, and the one with the swab spreads it into her eyes and nose. “Release yourself and we’ll give you cool water to rinse with.”
Someone yells, “You’re killing her. She needs a doctor.”
The cop with the swab waves toward his backup. “We’re going to use Mace next. It’s much worse.”
The woman’s screams collapse into bleating. She’s too sunk into her pain to release. Her hands can’t find the carabiner to unclick it. The two communion servers proceed clockwise to the next person in the ring—a muscular man in his early thirties who looks more like a logger than an owl-lover. He clamps down his head and clenches shut his eyes.
“Sir? Are you going to release?”
His broad, strong shoulders curl inward, but the black bears on both his arms keep him splayed. The assisting officer fights to bend back the man’s head. Leverage is with the police, and when a third officer steps in to help, the neck is soon crooked. Getting the eyes open is not as clean. They work the swab into the eyelid slits while locking the great head. Concentrated pepper slops all over. A thimbleful gets up his nose, and he starts to choke. The camera slashes around the room. It hovers on the window outside, where the crowd of protesters on the lawn chants with no clue what is happening indoors. The choking sounds are broken by an officer. “Are you going to release? Sir? Sir. Can you hear me? Are you ready to let go?”
Someone yells, “Don’t you have a conscience?”
Someone shrieks, “Use the bottle. Squirt their eyes.”
“This is torture. In America!”
The camera turns dizzy. It bobs like a drunk.
WORDS POUR OUT of Douglas as the cops disappear behind the pillar. “She’s asthmatic. You can’t use pepper spray on her, man. For God’s sake, it’ll kill her.”
He leans hard to his right, against the pinch of the black bears. He sees the officers flanking her, the uniformed man bending down from behind and taking her head in a loving embrace. Gangbanged in the eyes by three guys. The sheriff says, “Ma’am, just release your arms and you can walk away. It doesn’t have to hurt.” The woman past Mimi retches.
Douglas shouts Mimi’s name. The officer with the swab cups her neck with one hand. “Miss? Would you like to release?”
“Please don’t hurt me. I don’t want to be hurt.”
“Then just release.”
Douglas wrenches almost double. “Let go!” Mimi’s eyes lock onto his. They flash crazy and her nostrils quiver like a snared rabbit’s. He doesn’t understand the look, some kind of prediction. Her eyes say: Whatever happens, remember what I tried to do. The police tip back her beautiful head. Her throat opens onto a gurgled ahhgh . . .
Then he remembers. He can move. So easy: he fumbles