Furies- Thus Spoke

by O'Brian Gunn

  His front door erupts in an explosion of splinters, brass, and wood.

  The platinum fucker stands in the demolished doorway.

  The Rapist drops the phone from his jaw, a spike of pain forcing him to snap it shut. He knocks a chair over as he teeters back, holding his hands up, boulder biceps bunching underneath his tight shirt. “Hold up, man, you can’t just come in here like that. Thisisagainstthelaw!”

  “And raping someone isn’t?” Sovereign walks into his house. His fists curl and flash-burn silver-white. “You should have cleaned up your wound before you returned home, or at least traveled by car. Your blood trail led me right to you.”

  “He—He—he wanted me to. You didn’t see his face, the way he walked.” He snatches a butcher knife from a cutting board and brandishes it in a quivering hand. “You didn’t see his face!”

  “But I heard his screams.” Sovereign knocks the chair out of the way and steps closer.

  The Rapist looks at his chest before stabbing him.

  The blade snaps clean off in the middle.

  Sovereign grabs the wrist of the hand holding the knife, twists sharply, and hears the snap of bones sing out in harmony with the man’s cries of agony. He grabs the man by the shirt and plops him down in a chair. The Rapist cradles his wrist, biting down on his bottom lip as his face contorts in pain.

  “Da—dafuq are you?”

  “I’m Sovereign, and that’s more than you need to know.” Sovereign squats down until he’s eye level with him. “Why did you do it?”

  “Someone paid me to do it, mess with his breeder confidence.”

  “Who?”

  “Some guy named Herman. He had me watch Ryan for a few weeks before I went through with it.”

  Sovereign frowns. “Why in God’s name would anyone want you to do something like that?”

  The Rapist shrugs, eyes screwed up in pain. “I don’t know. He paid me five thousand dollars. I didn’t ask too many questions.”

  “You’re demented, the both of you.”

  “I know, man.” He pauses, his expression shifting the slightest bit. “Can you help me?” Massive chest heaves.

  “I can’t, but I know someone who can.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small Bible and a cross. “You’ve been targeted by the Devil, cursed with two afflictions...at least. You knew what you were doing was wrong, but your love, your destructive love of money made it all clear.” He puts the cross around The Rapist’s neck. “But God will direct your newfound clarity to the truth, the only truth.”

  He opens the Bible and prays over the whimpering, quivering, crying man.

  Leo rubs his palms together and listens to the faint opening of John Coltrane & Johnny Hartman’s “Lush Life” coming from the neighboring room.

  “Nervous?” Marlon sits across from him.

  “No, I...” He lowers his eyes, smiles. “A little.”

  “Glad you decided to come back and give this anotha shot.” He crosses his legs. “I’d much rather we do this in a regular group session, but some o’ the others were a little shaken by your first visit. I figure if you and I have some one-on-one time, we can ease you into this before bringin’ you back into the fold.”

  A nod. “It’s fine, I understand.”

  “So tell me what’s been goin’ on in your life lately.”

  “Well, I took a leave of absence from my job; felt it best I give myself time to get control of my curse before I go back.” He runs his hand over his scalp. “Since I don’t know how long that will take, I need to bring in a regular paycheck to keep from using more of my paid time off than necessary. I may have to go back to waiting tables.” He laughs to himself. “God, haven’t done that since college.”

  “Any luck finding anything?”

  “The positions either don’t pay enough or are in a work environment where I can’t risk a flare-up.” Head shake. “Can’t risk the exposure, either. I hear that not all of the experiments being performed on A-Os are entirely voluntary. Might find myself shoved into the back of a windowless van some night.”

  “Awful.” Marlon shakes his head. “Have you been practicin’ your abilities, tryin’ to control ‘em?”

  Leo’s eyes narrow slightly. The air burns in a thick blob of silver-blue in front of a book on the table. The small force field pushes against the book until it tumbles from the table. “Getting a grasp on reducing the size of my fields and manifesting them for longer periods of time.”

  Marlon nods. “Seems like you’re gettin’ the hang o’ this.”

  “Yeah.”

  “...Still hate yourself for bein’ an A-O?”

  Leo rubs a hand across his jaw and doesn’t respond for a moment. “I—” He exhales frustration through his nose. “I realize it’s just a matter of me accepting this thing I have, this thing I can do, but I don’t know why I can’t do that.” He looks at Marlon. “Why can’t I do that?”

  “I ain’t no psychologist, but maybe it’s not just your A-O gene you’re havin’ trouble acceptin’.”

  A crease in his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe all o’ this is tied up wit’ something else.” Marlon inscribes circles in the air with twirling index fingers. “What else is goin’ on in your life that could be holdin’ you back?”

  Leo blinks, lips parted and eyes lowered as he presses his mouth closed. “I yelled at my parents.”

  “What about?”

  “They sheltered me when I was growing up. I know they had the best intentions for me when they did it, but when they cut me off from a part of the world that I would have to eventually grow up in, it...stifled something in me, something that should have been strengthened over the years.”

  Marlon scratches his knee. “I don’t follow.”

  “Do you know how difficult it is to grow up as a biracial kid?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “So you would rather have had it rough growin’ up? Had people starin’ at you and sayin’ stuff outta the sides of their necks?”

  “No.”

  “’S what it sounds like to me. Leo, you gotta understand that your parents did you a mercy by shieldin’ you from all that mess. It wasn’t a failin’ on their part, and it doesn’t make you weak, makes you blessed. Now what the hell’s weak about love? Sometimes it takes more strength to look past somethin’ that’s starin’ you in the eye rather than face it and acknowledge its existence.”

  Leo lifts his head.

  Marlon continues. “You’re a biochemist, so you have to realize that things have layers, that there are these—these tiny, indelible connections that make up a molecule or a cell or whateva. Same thin’ with us. We’re connected to our parents through our blood, our noses, our hair, our personalities, our allergies, our smiles.”

  A grin tilts Leo’s lips. “You’re saying I’m blaming my parents for being an A-O, for hating a part of myself.”

  A nod. “You’re so wrapped up in self-loathin’ that you haven’t stopped to take the time to figure out the root source o’ the emotion.”

  “But I love my parents. I mean, I genuinely love my parents.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m positive.” The words burble out around a small laugh.

  “But why? Why do you love your parents? Do you love ‘em because you have to, do you love ‘em for makin’ you feel weak, do you love ‘em for givin’ you an active A-O gene?” A shrug. “Why, Leo? Why love?”

  “I can’t explain it. I don’t think it’s something I can put into words, even though it’s burning inside my brain.” He licks his lips. “I think about them and how they’ve been there with me, been there with each other through so much and no one left. No one got tired and just threw in the towel like so many other couples do.” Head shake. “No, I take that back, they did get tired, but they never gave up; not on each other, and not on me.”

  “So why do you feel this way about ‘em now?”

  He swallows. “They g
ave me everything I needed, but now I...I feel like they left the job half-done, left me without a core component, something they knew I’d need eventually.”

  “That likely wasn’t done on purpose, Leo. They had no idea their son would become an Alpha-Omega, that you’d feel like you needed hardship to survive in your life.”

  No sound.

  “Know what you gotta do now, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Gonna be difficult, harder than splicin’ genes with a butter knife.” Marlon grins, corners of his eyes wrinkling.

  “Yeah.”

  “But ya gotta do it.”

  “...I know.”

  Time is suspended in silence.

  “What else?”

  Leo looks at Marlon. “What do you mean?”

  The other man spreads his hands. “Somethin’ this life-changin’ can’t be centered on one thing. What else about your bein’ an A-O rubs you the wrong way?”

  “Thought you said you weren’t a psychologist.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re starting to sound like one.”

  Shrug. “Either way, I’m here to help. But let’s focus on you, what else about who you are is keepin’ you from bein’ who you wanna be?”

  Leo scratches at his head. He looks away. He rubs his hands together. “I’ve always struggled with my identity, figuring out who I am.”

  “Okay, keep goin’.” Marlon interlaces his fingers and leans forward on his knees.

  “I was at a point where I felt I was finally living a life instead of just trying to build one. When I found out about my gene, I was right back at square one feeling hollow, like joy forgot my name and address.”

  “Your A-O gene smashed through every brick of your diligence.”

  A nod of agreement. “I’ve been thinking about making an appointment for a consultation at the Johnson Family Boundless Joy Clinic downtown, seeing if they can help me find my way back.”

  “Nothing wrong with reachin’ out for help, takes a lotta strength to do that.”

  Leo scratches at his scalp. “I just want things to be how they were. It wasn’t the most favorable situation, but I made the best of it.”

  “Why can’t you make the best o’ this one?”

  He scratches at his scalp. “Too old.”

  “’S a cop out, Leo.”

  Leo snaps his head up. “You don’t know me.”

  “From what you’ve told me, you really don’t even know yourself.”

  He shakes his head and scoffs. “There’s only one person in my life who knows me.”

  “And who’s that?”

  The sun rises on his face. “Francie.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  Nod.

  “She doesn’t care how many heritages I have swimming in my blood, she doesn’t care that I’m a genius, she doesn’t care that I’m an Alpha-Omega. She cares that I hate zucchini, she likes it that I listen to the radio while I’m taking a shower, and she doesn’t mind that I keep the light on to read while she sleeps next to me.”

  “Francie’s your lifeline.”

  “I love her. Maybe more than I love myself.”

  “And if she weren’t in your life?”

  Leo glances at him before studying the healing stab wound on his palm. He lifts his eyes to Marlon. “If Francie weren’t in my life, I might have aimed that pair of scissors at my heart.”

  Bisset shakes her head again, attempting to rattle the voice from her brain. “I doubled the dose of my medication and I still can’t get your voice out of my head.” She walks faster down the sidewalk, squinting to focus on the house numbers as she passes.

  “You can’t block the truth, Bisset.” The Dragoness’s disembodied voice blots the inside of her ear. “No matter how many pill bottles you empty, I’ll still be here, inside. Seraph and that tottering old fool want to change the very foundation of who you are. Why can’t you see that?”

  “Probably because you won’t let me.”

  “I agree that my methods are extreme, but only because they have to be. You can’t give anyone a gentle nudge anymore, you have to shove them off the cliff. The services I perform, that we perform, are necessary and you know it.” Her voice softens. “I am who you naturally are just as you are who I naturally am. You have to understand that you, Seraph, and I are one and the same. Three points that form a single, perfect line that never ends.” A chill shudders down Bisset’s spine. “Extricating me from your soul will be like hacking off an arm. And for Seraph, it will be the equivalent of slashing off one of her wings.”

  “You’re desperate.”

  “Not for my safety, for yours. You think your mind is twisted now, just wait until I no longer exist, until I’m no longer there to counter Seraph’s advice. If she is the superego, then I am the id. One cannot and should not exist without the other. Balance is required.”

  Bisset’s hands curl and she clutches at her head. “SHUT! UP! JUST SHUT UP!” Her throat feels raw as she heaves air.

  The Dragoness is silent.

  Bisset is silent.

  The street is silent.

  After a moment, the frazzled woman gathers the filaments of her sanity and continues down the sidewalk.

  2156 Saint Paul Street.

  A modest affair coated in yellow paint with a small table and set of chairs arranged on the spacious porch. Bisset walks up the walkway, up the front steps, and feels something stirring below her feet. It resonates deep in her chest behind her sternum. She stops and curls her fingers at her chest. “Seraph?” A force propels her.

  She knocks.

  No answer.

  She knocks again.

  No answer again.

  She looks out at the street in anticipation. She walks to the edge of the porch to peek around the corner and sees that the garage sits empty, waiting just as she does.

  She sighs and runs a hand through her curls. Eventually, she sits down in one of the chairs and waits. She rocks and waits and rocks and waits and her eyes drift shut until—

  —there is a hand shaking her shoulder.

  “Miss?...Miss?”

  Bisset jerks awake, arms coming up protectively. A man with brown-blond hair and blue eyes. There is a silver-white haze wavering around him that vanishes when she tries to focus on it.

  “Can I help you with something, miss?”

  Bisset’s eyes flick up from the muted glow at his chest to his eyes. “Are you Adam Kensie?” She removes a stray curl from her face.

  “Yes, I am. Can I help you?”

  “Adam Kensie, the Sovereign of God, right?”

  Adam frowns. “Did someone from the church send you?”

  She nods her head. “Bishop Martin.”

  Confusion melts. “Oh, well...What can I do for you, Miss—”

  “Bisset, Bisset Torres.” She takes a deep breath. “What do you know about exorcisms?”

  FADE OUT

  Dominion City - Century Heights - Office of the Johnson Family Boundless Joy Clinic

  LEO tries his best to swallow his nerves as he sits and fights the urge to squirm in the lush confines of the fine leather chair. Anita and Charles Johnson sit across from him, both with generous smiles heaped on their faces and patience powering their serene stillness.

  "Take all the time you need, Leo." Anita nods her head with a measure of reassurance. "We understand that not everyone is so willing to open up about what brings them to our offices."

  Leo swallows and nods, blinking a few times and wishing he could blink away the haze obscuring his mind. He thinks about Francie, thinks about experiencing joy and happiness, genuine joy and happiness unfettered by the chains of what if. He thinks about what his life would be like to exist in a perpetual state of bliss, one where he loves himself for being an A-O, one where he has nothing but pure confidence in his ability to find a job and take care of himself and Francie, one where he feels nothing but pride when he thinks about the way his parents raised him. It's enough to force the w
ords from his tongue and lips, to speak his truth. "I want to get to a place where I've made peace with the fact that I'm an A-O." He lifts his head and looks the two in the eyes. "I want to learn how to be optimistic while still being in touch with reality. I...I want to find myself at peace. I’ve been making some progress in the last few days but..." His knuckles pop as he rolls his fingers into fists. “It never seems to last.”

  Charles unlaces his fingers from the knee of his crossed legs, rests them on the chair's armrests. "We appreciate you opening up to us, Leo. The first thing I want to do is reassure you that we have nothing but your absolute best interests in mind. I also like to tell our potential patients that I have an extensive background in clinical therapy, so it's not as if it's only my A-O abilities that qualify me to do what my family and I do."

  Leo nods his understanding.

  "During consultations, we also like to ask why people choose to come to us rather than a traditional therapist or consider medication," Anita asks.

  Leo flicks his eyes to her. "Honestly, I'm not sure I have the patience required to work through the steps of traditional therapy." He grimaces as his hand goes pins and needles for a bare second before releasing an involuntary tic of energy, setting the scar on his palm to tingling.

  "That's quite understandable." Charles rubs fingertips over the leather of the armrests, lifting his eyes from Leo’s hand.

  "Well, let us tell you a bit about what you can expect if you decide to allow us to help you unlock your bliss." Anita rests her elbows on her knees and leans forward a bit. "On the day of your appointment, our son, Miguel, and daughter, Annabelle, will be here since our ability only works when we're all together." She holds an upraised palm to the plush reclining chair with a lengthened seat across from them. "We'll have you stretch out on the chaise longue with some soft music of your choice piping through a pair of earbuds while we surround you. Miguel and I will place our fingertips on your temples to close the circuit and start the process."