Furies- Thus Spoke

by O'Brian Gunn

  “Yes?”

  “Aza Softly with the Dominion Voice. Can I ask a question?”

  “Of course, but only if I can ask one first.”

  “Shoot.” His voice booms pleasantly.

  “What kind of vocal training allows you to throw your voice like that? It sounds like you’re using a microphone.”

  A smile in the distance. “I’m one of the soldiers in the army you speak of. I guess you could call me the bugler.”

  “Your blessing magnifies your voice.”

  “Yes. Now, may I ask my question?”

  “Of course, Aza.” He rubs a flaming hand down Maggie’s shoulder.

  “How much are they paying you?”

  The church rings hollow.

  A rapid series of blinks. “I’m—I’m sorry?” Nervous chuckle. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do. This is all a stunt, something set up by the church to try to bring people back to God, except this time, the church brings God to the people. You’re another charlatan, Mr. Kensie.”

  A rumble of retorts.

  Sovereign holds up his hands. “No, no, please, let’s hear what this man has to say. Elaborate, Mr. Softly.”

  “You’re mixing fear and hope and pouring it into these people’s hearts. Those who believe have renewed faith because they think you’re a herald of the Second Coming while those who don’t believe are wondering if there was some truth to all the biblical rhetoric they’ve brushed off all these years.” A stabbing finger. “You’re a fake, Mr. Kensie.” He strikes a hand through the air. “Actually, you aren’t entirely. I saw the shiny flames just like everyone else and I do believe you are something...you’re an Alpha-Omega, like me. But you’re not my commander, you’re more like my brother.”

  Sovereign leans heavily on the podium, his mouth inches from the microphone. “And you are a thief and a corruptor, Brother Softly. You take the gift the Almighty has given these people and you twist and tarnish it. You seek to turn their eyes from the light. But I have news for you, brother, I have enough faith for you and for them, and there’s plenty left over inside my heart. I will not allow you or anyone else to let this congregation stray from the path to Heaven.”

  “AMEN!”

  “I am the Sovereign of God—”

  “YES!”

  “—and you are fighting in this war whether you realize it or not.”

  “HALLELUJAH!”

  “Don’t let the Devil fool you, pull the wool of slaughtered lambs over your eyes. Even if I am delusional, it’s the best delusion to have. I have delusions of victory!”

  “VICTORY!”

  “Divine glory!”

  “GLORY!”

  “Of God’s love and grace!”

  “LOVE AND GRACE!”

  Aza Softly cries out, but his amplified tones are obscured behind the oceanic swell of call and response.

  “Why did you become a detective, Mr. West?” Caulley stands by the window looking out at the prison yard as inmates play basketball and lift weights despite the bitter chill lacing the air. “Of all of the professions in the world, why this one?”

  Perry tucks his pen away. “I’m not here to answer your questions, Preston.”

  Preston scratches at his nose with his thumbnail, hands held awkward in the handcuffs. “What about you—Torv, isn’t it?”

  Jill adjusts her stance “I hate mysteries. Not knowing something eats at me...like a cancer. I don’t know why you are the way you are, and that bothers me.”

  “Keeps you up at night?” He walks to the middle of the room.

  “Not anymore. You’re where you belong now.”

  “You people ever feel vulnerable in the field?” Preston divides his glance between the two of them as he steps away from the window and shuffles closer to them, chain linking the cuffs on his ankles singing out a jingling refrain. “There’re individuals out there who can take a bullet and keep coming at you.” He holds out his manacled wrists. “Some bad guys can snap these things like straws of hay.” He drums his fingers together. “Think about how much safer the streets would be, how much safer you’d be personally, if you had an Alpha-Omega or two on the force.” Pleased smirk. “Couldn’t stand it if I were you.”

  Perry drapes his jacket over his arm.

  The prisoner looks the man up and down, wry smirk twisting his lips. “Do you know why I asked you that question earlier, West?”

  “The one about my re—”

  Caulley explodes into motion. He folds into himself while corkscrewing his upper body halfway around, aims a tight elbow at the detective’s midsection, chains jingling all the while. Perry quick-steps back, dropping his jacket to the ground and snapping out a sharp kick at the prisoner’s head. The bigger man crumples into a roll under the blow. He braces bare palms against the linoleum floor and sweeps his massive legs out, catching the detective at his ankles and spilling him onto his shoulder. Breath heaves out.

  Caulley scrambles to Perry, all dragging legs and quick-clawing hands, and pinches his head between bicep and forearm. He flexes. Perry chokes, struggles, flails.

  That’s when Jill reaches up for the hairstick twined into her blonde locks, yanks it free along with a cascade of glossy hair, and rams the sharpened piece of wood precisely into Caulley’s exposed carotid artery.

  A bit of blood splashes both detectives as Caulley releases Perry and slithers back on elbow and feet, wry smirk fracturing into a quivering one as red liquid trickles down his neck. He reaches up and pulls the hairstick out. And plunges it into the other side of his throat. Still, he maintains his smirk. Stab. Smirk. Stab. Smirk.

  Still.

  The detectives look at each other as the COs rush in like a uniformed tide.

  Jill looks from the blood spotting her hand to the large corpse. “Please tell me he didn’t want us to do that.”

  Perry really wishes he could.

  The car’s headlights flash once before it lets out a polite beep as Adam activates the alarm. He steps onto the sidewalk into the flow of pedestrians, offering anyone who makes eye contact a quick warm smile. Recognition lights up in the eyes of some, breaking through the brief haze of confusion and they point, request a handshake, or offer a “praise the Lord.” Others share the same expression of recognition, except they offer sneers instead of smiles. One woman feels the need to stop and ask him if he’s ever considered speaking to a therapist. Adam tells her that praying to God is all the therapy he needs.

  He takes the scorn and the adoration in equal strides.

  His mind flickers back to when he was thirteen and his parents told him that there would be people who would persecute him for his faith just as they persecuted Jesus. “Let your faith be your armor and let God sort out the rest,” his father had told him. “Some people simply do all they can to resist the word of God.”

  His mind flickers forward into the past to when he first became a parole officer. He’d wanted to focus on parolees who had found God in prison and were transitioning out of two prisons, one of the body and another of the soul.

  Adam remembers the scoffing, the barely restrained laughs, the poorly concealed looks of disdain. He also remembers when those expressions shifted to ones of barely restrained amazement when his efforts proved successful.

  The memories fill him to the brim with courage and conviction, radiating out of his eyes and thrumming through his every step. Let them question his sanity. He knows The Most High has him in the cradle of his never-ending love and mercy.

  He pulls open the door of the coffeeshop, scans the floor and sees the young woman with thick brown and blonde curls. She waves and beams at him. He walks over to her table.

  “Cheryl, how are you?” They shake hands.

  “Great, Adam.” She gestures at the laptop on the table. “Just trying to find work.”

  “Excellent! Any calls back so far?”

  She nods as she takes a quick sip of coffee. “Even set up a few interviews.” She sets the cup
on the table. “But there is another job I was thinking about applying for, but I’m not sure if I’m properly qualified.”

  “Oh, really? Which position?” He leans his elbows on the table, folds his hands together.

  She stares at him for a moment before responding, uncertainty glazing her gaze. “I was thinking about being a minister.” A beat. “Like—like you.”

  Adam fights to keep his expression under control. “A minis—Cheryl, I admire your drive and your commitment to spread the word of God, but...” Hands open. “I hate to say it, but right now you need to focus on getting a job that pays you. That’s part of your parolee agreement.”

  She looks as if he told her she has to go back to prison. “Adam, you’re supposed to help me get my new life on track. You of all people should understand my decision.”

  He starts to reach for her hand, stops and curls his fingers into loose fists. “And I do, I truly do, Cheryl. But right now, you need to think about getting your daughter back, getting her life on track. I absolutely love the fact that you want to be minister, but right now, the system isn’t set up in a way that that’s considered a valid form of employment.” Head shake. “I’m sorry. I’m doing my best to change things, but it’s a slow process.”

  Cheryl shrugs. “At least teach me how to do what you do, teach me how to be like Sovereign and get people riled up and encouraged about the word of God. Help me become a holy vessel like you.”

  It’s there in the middle of Tia’s Teas & Coffees that Adam wholly understands the concept of the word ramifications. It’s at that moment he also understands why superheroes cling so tightly to their secret identities.

  Perry hold his phone to his ear as he steps out of his car, rolling his eyes down and giving a subdued wince at the dried blood spatter soaked into the fabric of his shirt. “Know it doesn’t improve our public reputation, but I think we got all we were going to get out of Caulley.” He listens as he walks from car to the inside his apartment building. Loosely stitched eyebrows. “This has gone all the way the mayor?” More listening. “Commissioner Moskovitz, I ca—we can handle this.” Clenched fist as he steps into the elevator. “How ‘bout if I work with the FBI instead of just handing the case over to th—” He reaches over to stab the button for the fifth floor. “I’m not disagreeing that they have better resources, and I’m not disagreeing that the Johnsons could be anywhere by now.” The elevator smoothly climbs higher as his mood steadily drags lower with each passing floor. “Alright.” He lifts his free hands in surrender. “I’ll get the case file together to hand over tomorrow.”

  Walter is sitting at the kitchen table when Perry opens the door. His years of experience interviewing witnesses, suspects, and criminals make it easy for him to see that Walter is in the middle of an emotional battle, one raging just underneath his skin, digging trenches into his facial expression, setting off small explosions in the form of fidgeting fingers, claiming casualties in the form of aborted thoughts tearing holes through his mind and hemorrhaged hesitation leaking from an uncertain gaze.

  “‘Ey.” The word drops from Perry’s lips with a bit of his own apprehension.

  Adam drops a bit of his apprehension as Bisset finishes her account. He takes her hand. “It sounds like you were able to handle everything fine on your own.”

  She looks down, then up. “I shouldn’t have taken all of those pills. I could have killed myself.”

  “But you didn’t. You know now that you can take care of yourself when you need to.”

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t, Adam, I didn’t take care of myself. The Dragoness was there to help me.”

  Adam pulls his hand away a bit. “The Dragoness was—She gave you comfort?”

  Nod. “She just held me. I resisted her at first, but...” Sigh. “She’s right, we need each other.”

  Adam gives her hand a tight squeeze. “No, Bisset, that’s the Devil talking to you, twisting your mind. You don’t need The Dragoness at all. For anything.” His eyes dance through hers. “Where was Seraph during all of this?”

  “The sun had just gone down.”

  “What did The Dragoness say as she held you?”

  “Nothing, she was just there. She rubbed my back and held my head on her shoulder.”

  Slow blink. “Strange, she’s never shown signs of compassion before.”

  “In her own way, she has.” Bisset looks down, looks back up.

  Walter looks over at Perry closing the door behind him, sets mail, keys, wallet, and lip balm in the bowl on the table by the door. “Hey.”

  Perry sits down next to him. “Looks like I’m not the only one who took a haymaker to the metaphysical face.” He doesn’t pause when he rests a hand on Walter’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You okay?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Adam studies his palms. “I don’t know, Bisset, I—”

  She holds up a hand. “You can call me Seraph for now.”

  “There’s a lot happening. The public knows that I’m Sovereign, I’m starting to gather followers...” He looks up with distress. “There’s so much for me to do, so many people depending on me.” He wipes his hands down his face. “I have to do it.”

  “Creating a child isn’t something you have to do, it’s something that you want to do.” Pause. “Does Maggie know how strongly you feel about all this? Why you want to have a child?”

  Sunset starts to slide in.

  “She does, but...It’s less like our faith is being tested and more like our faith is being defined, chiseled into something we’re both trying to recognize. ”

  “You’re undoubtedly and mightily strong, Adam, but you’re still a man, still human. You don’t have to prove your strength to anyone, including yourself. People look at you and know that you’ve been touched by God. His light is spilling from your pores, your eyes, every fiber of your being.”

  “But still, I can’t fail.”

  “You’re not infallible.” A hand on his cheek. “You’ve got to find it in yourself to fly away from this limited scope of belief. Elevate your mind to match the level to which God has elevated your body.”

  Walter elevates his head to look the other man in the eye. “I can’t stay here, Perry. I really want to, but...but it’s just not a good time for me.”

  Perry slides his hand up from shoulder to neck, massaging it. “Mind if I ask why not?”

  “I just got out of a relationship; not in any way that’s typical, but it’s ended.” Breath puffs past his lips. “And I’m starting to fall for you.”

  The massaging continues.

  “I don’t know if it’s mutual, but I do know it’s not healthy. For me, at least. Not right now when I need to be working on myself by myself.”

  The massaging slows to a stop. Perry withdraws his hand. “Bad timing, I guess.”

  “Yeah.” Walter starts to reach for Perry’s hand on the table, stops. “And I feel like I might be interfering with your work.”

  The detective smiles. “If anything, you’re helping.”

  “And now it’s time that I help myself.”

  “Don’t wanna get in the way of that.” Perry looks down into his lap, wipes a hand down his mouth, sniffs. “Glad you’re stepping outside of your fear.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” Seraph leans forward and takes his hand.

  The man breathes, sits, contemplates, and bounces his foot. “I’m afraid that God will no longer find me worthy…that He’ll take away His blessing, take away His shining light.” Adam closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath, letting it out in a low sigh.

  “Maybe the reason you’re so eager to have a child isn’t only to ensure salvation for the next generation, but to also plant the seed while it’s still spring, while you still have your blessing.”

  A nod. “Is that wrong?”

  The sun’s final ray slips away.

  Bisset’s eyes ignite green-gold and her posture changes to something liquid and feral.
She takes her other hand and caresses it down the back of Adam’s. “It’s only wrong that it’s so right. A child is a stamp, a representation, or a footprint. But you have to remember that sometimes children are the exact opposite of their maker. The child of the Sovereign of God could be the Antichrist.” A slow smile. “Light and darkness inhabiting the same flesh, something I know nothing about.”

  Adam looks confused at first, then he notices the lack of sunlight in the room. He snatches his hand away with a sneer gnarling his lips.

  The Dragoness leans back in her seat, crossing her legs at the knee and resting an arm across the back of the chair. “I’m not the only one in this abandoned house of worship with two sides. In public, you couldn’t be more courageous, more commanding. But when the flames are extinguished and the enraptured eyes vanish, you’re a quivering little boy, afraid and alone.”

  “Like Seraph said, I’m still a man.”

  A slender hand flaps at the air. “Don’t get caught up in her wayward wisdom. She has a tendency for downplay. You’re more than a man, Adam, you can feel it. Maybe the little angel is jealous of you because you’re closer to God than she ever was.”

  “We share the same light.”

  Her lips spread. “If that’s true, then you should have sensed it when that light fled this body.” She leans forward. “It should have left your skin freezing.” She peers. “Did you feel anything like that, Adam? Did feathers tickle your cheek as Seraph left? Did your soul cry out as she fled?”

  Walter elbows him in the ribs. “Not crying over me, are you? I know I’m the catch of a lifetime, but, damn.”

  Perry’s face lights up. “I won’t lie, I was startin’ to feel a lil’ sumthin’ for you, too.” He lifts his head to look the other man in the eye. “You’re a great guy, Walter, and I think you’re a helluva lot more capable than you think you are.” He leans forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Glad I’m still able to help someone in this city.”