Furies- Thus Spoke

by O'Brian Gunn

  Adam presses a button on his key fob, unlocking the doors of his car. “I don’t understand why those people persist in their sin. If they aren’t concerned with the risk to their souls, they should at least be concerned about the risk to their health.” He stalks as he mutters to himself, shaking his head as he steps off the curb.

  “Adam?” The familiar voice whirls him around. The familiar face stops him.

  “Suzie.” His agitation disentangles itself from the muscles of his forehead, untwines from his intestines. “Such a blessing to see you.” He holds his hand out.

  “You, too.” They shake. “You live here now?”

  Adam looks back at the apartment building and a spark of his smothered ire stokes back up. “Oh, no, I was just...” He dismisses the rest of the sentence with a sweep of his hands. “It’s going to make me upset all over if I dive back into it.” He rests his back against his car. “How have you been? Parole and everything going okay?”

  She nods, thick violet and neon pink dreadlocks bound at the crown of her head swaying. “Absolutely. I’ve been seeing someone lately who’s been a massive help in keeping light in my life, creating a healthy space where I can generate positive change.”

  Her joy is infectious. “That’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, so’s she.”

  “Is this a...a therapist.” Adam loosely crosses his arm.

  “Girlfriend. Her name’s Amala.”

  The response vaccinates the joyous disease, heaps cinders on smoldered emotions. “Oh...Suzie, I thought that you were fully giving your life over to God when you were released from prison.” He pushes away from his car. “I don’t want you to—”

  “Adam.” His uttered name locks his words behind his lips. “ I appreciate everything you’ve done for me since I got out, but we both know that it takes more than a parole officer with a heart of solid platinum and a mountain of good intentions to keep people like me from going back in. Be one-hundred percent honest with yourself: is all that Amala’s done to help me, to help you help me, totally eclipsed by the fact that she’s gay?”

  He shuffles his stance. “What exactly is it that’s so fantastic about this...woman?”

  Suzie pretends not to notice his verbal stumble. “She’s a damn A-O she-ro, for one thing. She can create, like, these teleportation portals. Uses them to help people in the neighborhood get to and from work, kinda like a ride-share service, only faster...and free.” She gestures at the building in front of them. “She also helps people move, helps the elderly residents get to and from the supermarket and their doctor’s appointments. She even saved a bunch of people in that shooting at Northwest Dominion Community College a few months ago.”

  Adam clears his throat. “Sounds like she’s...like she’s doing the Lord’s work.”

  “She asked if I could introduce her to you, Sovereign, I mean.”

  Adam jerks his head back, confusion layering his features. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I told her you’re my parole officer, and she sees you on TV; thinks you’re Superman come to life.”

  “You didn’t tell her my beliefs about—” He swallows. “About her chosen lifestyle?”

  “Our lifestyle.” Suzie gnaws off the words. “No, I don’t want to disappoint her.” She eases hands on hips. “I don’t have to tell you that the world is changing, Adam, but I do feel I have to help you when and where I can just like you’re helping me.” She cleaves her eyes to the side a moment before sliding them back to him. “Why is it that you’re willing to save the souls and support the lives of former criminals, but at the same time you still act like almost everyone who’s anything but...normal and Christian are vile demons from the pits of Hell?”

  Stillness and silence.

  “You’ve gotta decide what your philosophy’s gonna be now that you’re a hero, Adam. Saving lives is different from savings souls. With souls, you’ve got time to lead the person back on track. But with lives...” Head shake. “You don’t have the luxury of time when it comes to lives, you can’t ease your way into things and get a sense of someone’s intentions while they’re tumbling out of a burning building.” Shrug. “As far as you know, you might have already saved a gay person’s life.”

  Adam raises his palms in front of him. “I love all of God’s children, Suzie, I truly do; sinner and savior alike. I agree with you that Amala’s decision regarding her sexuality doesn’t demean what she’s done for you or anyone else she’s helped. What I’m struggling with in my soul, what I’ve always struggled to wrap my mind around ever since my parents first sat me down and talked to me about homosexuality and gender confusion is why certain individuals who...identify as members of that community are so extravagant in their displays.” His face twitches as he struggles to keep disgust off his face.

  “The word flamboyant is used to describe the gay community for a reason. And I can see where you’re coming from, but you and people who look like you don’t have a history of needing to hide who you are, of having to wall off an entire part of yourself when you’re out in public out of fear for your life.”

  He drags fingers through his hair. “I know that nor—that heterosexual people have it much easier in the world, but is there truly such a need to always, always essentially shout in everyone’s face to make yourself seen, to make yourself understood?”

  “I’m guessing you don’t personally know any gay people, at least not any who are open.”

  Eyes to the building where Perry lives. “That changed a few minutes ago, actually.” Eyes back to Suzie. “I don’t want gay people to die from HIV, and I don’t think they have themselves to blame for the endless turmoil and mental torment they endure when they share their identities with other people. I just want to help bring the flock home to God. But maybe...maybe God is telling me that just as he’s changing the world, His shepherds have to change how they tend to His new flock.” His eyes slip shut as he exhales. “I have to remember that shepherds not only lead and guard the flock, they feed the flock as well. Maybe it’s time for new spiritual nourishment.”

  Suzie takes a step forward, reaches for his hand, squeezes it. “And that’s exactly what you’re providing, Adam. You just need to make some tweaks to the recipe.”

  “Sometimes I don’t know if God has broken me and is putting me back together in a new spiritual form, or if I’m whole again and everyone else around me is shattering and being recreated with a clean heart.”

  “If you’re broken, you have to be open to receive the people God puts in your life to help bless and renew you. And if you’re whole, you have to be open to the people God wants you to bless and renew.” Shrug. “And most of the time, the people on either side of the equation aren’t at all who or what you think they should be.”

  Noir sits on the curb with a black cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He bobs his foot, arms wrapped around his knees. He takes the cigarette from his mouth, blows smoke, and scratches around the bandage on his neck. “The hell is takin’ ‘im so long?”

  “He had to get a van with heavily tinted windows.” Leo sits behind him cross-legged in a cone of electric light on the steps of Perry’s apartment building, a glittering force field sphere buoyed between his hands.

  Noir looks over his shoulder. “The hell for?”

  Leo glances over at Giorgio leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Exposure to the sun’s rays at certain hours of the day does horrors to my skin, as does extreme cold.”

  Noir stares as smoke trickles past his lips. “Princess. Anything else you allergic to?”

  Giorgio continues to stare down the street. “We have a five-hour ride ahead of us, maybe I’ll tell you on the way there.” He looks at Noir and flashes him a condescending smile that lasts a solid second before it flutters from his face.

  “Whatever.” Noir brings the cigarette to his lips and watches Leo squeeze the shimmering silver-blue orb between his palms, the muscles in his forearms cording. The sphere
remains intact...for seven seconds before disintegrating into winking shards that vanish as they fall. Leo starts again. “Perry’s little pep speech change your ways? You were all set to walk out an hour ago.”

  “It’s not as if I have anything else to do but brood and sulk in your absence.” Lids slide halfway over yellow-green eyes.

  Noir flicks the cigarette butt and watches as it spins end over end into the street. “Any wonder why we’ve become such fast BFFs?”

  A full-sized police van turns the corner, busted headlights flaring over the three waiting men. It grinds to a noisy halt at the curb and the engine is cut. Detective West opens the groaning door and pops his head over the roof. “Let’s roll, party people.”

  Noir stands and rubs at his chin as he inspects the vehicle. His raw burst of laughter cascades down the street.

  Giorgio takes three hesitant steps forward, wincing all the while. “This absolutely has to be the most grotesque vehicle I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He looks at Perry and gestures at the eyesore on wheels. “I wouldn’t be caught alive in this malformed monstrosity.”

  Leo brushes past them and opens the side door. It cracks open a foot and grinds to a halt. He forces it open the rest of the way. “At least it’s clean on the inside.” He gestures to the interior. “After you.”

  Giorgio rolls his eyes and gets inside...carefully. “My brain must be more decomposed than I thought.”

  “Ah, com’on, deadbeat. Slap on some chrome platin’, hydraulics, and a coupla subwoofers on this bitch and we’ll be ridin’ in true style.” Noir hops in behind Perry and leans back as he adjusts his seat back. “How ya like me now?” He bobs his head to his own mental beat.

  Perry reveals a small grin as he slides back behind the wheel.

  Leo gets into the decrepit vehicle and almost closes the door before getting out again and looking down the street.

  “Do you have to go tinkle again?” Giorgio leans forward from the backseat.

  A female voice.

  “I’m not too late, am I?”

  Brown skin, tight curls. The smell of lilac and...the faint smell of something burning.

  “Is Adam here?”

  Leo looks inside of the van and finds a lack of help. “Adam, uh, Adam took off a while ago.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “Are you his backup?”

  An outstretched hand. “Bisset.”

  “Leo.” They shake. Leo gestures inside of the van. “That’s Noir, in the back is Giorgio, and Detective Perry West will be our chauffeur for the evening.”

  Bisset waves and forces a smile. “I don’t really know if I should—I mean, since Adam isn’t here maybe it would be better if—” She looks to the side and appears to listen. She looks down for a moment before looking back up. “Let’s go.” She climbs in. Leo slides the door shut behind her before climbing into the front passenger seat.

  “Thanks for helping us out, Bisset.” Perry starts the van and clicks on the radio. David Bowie’s “Heroes” bleeds from the speakers.

  Shrug. “Nothing on TV but reruns.”

  The van slides into drive and putters down the street.

  Silence except for the squeaky seat springs each time they roll over a bump or dip.

  “So...” Noir rubs his palms over his jeans.

  Three heads turn and a pair of eyes look at him in the rearview mirror.

  “Who’s payin’ for gas?”

  FADE OUT

  Thornebriar - Now

  THEY execute the plan under cover of darkness.

  Charles Johnson maneuvers the family van from the driveway, lights flashing across the kitchen window as loose gravel crunches beneath the tires. He shifts gears and starts down Pleasant Street.

  “We should turn back.” Anita glances in the mirror at the reflection of the diminishing house. “We should turn back now, Charles.”

  Charles reaches over and grabs her hand. “That’s just your nerves taking over. I’m going to need you to keep it together.” He looks back in the rearview mirror at Miguel and Annabelle. “We all do.”

  “We’re gonna escape and everything’s gonna be fine, Mom.” Miguel sticks his head between the driver’s and passenger seat.

  Anita sips in a deep breath. “Sit back and put your seatbelt on, Miguel.”

  He smiles and complies.

  A newly waxed black truck gleams under the streetlight and rolls to a stop next to them. A middle-aged man beams as he waves a hand out the window. “’Ey there, Charles. Pretty late to be driving, don’t you think?” He nods at Anita.

  “Hey, Ty. We all suddenly woke up with a hankering for ice cream; thought we’d go down to the Swift Mart and pick up a few pints.”

  Ty’s smile relaxes at the edges before fully unfurling again. “All of you woke up at the same time with the same craving?”

  Charles shrugs and smiles. “Guess that just proves we’re all related.”

  Ty nods as his eyes flick to the young Johnsons in the back. He pats the outside of the truck door with two staccato smacks. “Well, alright then. Just wanted to stop and say hello before I head home.” He eases away.

  “Hey, Ty?”

  The black truck stops with a slight shriek of bad brakes, rolls back a foot in reverse.

  “Yeah?”

  “How’s this graveyard shift working out for you? Gwen and little baby Stephani probably feel like they never see you.” He reaches for his wife’s hand.

  Ty scrunches his face up. “It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  Anita reaches for Miguel’s hand.

  “But until she can get back on her feet and working again, it’s what I have to do to support my family.”

  Miguel reaches for Annabelle’s hand.

  “You know how it is.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Charles reaches out with his free hand. “Send Gwen and Stephani my love.”

  “Will do, Charlie. You all take care, and don’t eat too much ice cream.”

  They shake hands.

  Ty shivers and his eyes flutter shut. His manufactured smile turns into a genuine one that nearly splits his face. He begins to laugh, fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel. “What did you—Oh, I love my wife. Even when she’s hitting me with her tiny little fists because I don’t want to have—” His eyes widen, his mouth cracks open. “And, oh oh oh, it makes me so happy when Stephani laughs after she poops. It’s so cute. You should come over sometime and I’ll show you.”

  He looks over and sees that the Johnson’s van is turning the far corner. “Am I—” He squints his eyes as a wave of laughter attacks his stomach. “Am I drunk? I’m only this happy when I’m drunk, so I—

  I musht me.” He pauses. “Musht be. HAHAHAHAHA!” He shakes his head. “Gotta call Damon, tell him that they’re escap—escaping.”

  He puts the truck in drive, accelerates—

  —and bumps over the curb and careens into a tree when tears blur his vision and laughter grips his sides.

  Anita whips her head back at the crunch of glass and metal echoing up the street. “We hit him too hard.”

  “He would have alerted Damon.” Charles presses the gas. “He still can.”

  “Is Ty okay?” Annabelle looks up at her parents.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, baby.”

  “Maybe we should go back and—”

  “NO!” Her mother lowers her voice. “Ty isn’t who you think he is, he isn’t your friend. None of these people are.”

  A wink of headlights ahead.

  Charles starts to lift his hand to wave at Mrs. Devereaux when she suddenly jerks the wheel, pumps on speed, and sends her station wagon barreling into the van.

  A jarring C R A S H !

  The van cuts a tire-scrubbed arc to the side, rubber screeching. Charles corrects the vehicle and the wheel before they both spin out of control. The van vrooms down the street.

  “Is everyone o—”

  His head is whipped backward as Mrs. Devereaux rams the nose of her car into
the back of the van. Charles presses the gas, looks in the mirror, and can barely make out the murder smoldering in the elderly woman’s eyes. She pulls back a bit before zooming up next to them, wisps of silver hair flying loose beneath her scarf. She jerks the wheel with her shrunken wrinkled hands and slams the car into the side of the van, rocking it. She pulls back before repeating the maneuver.

  Anita clutches the door handle and looks back at her children and their terrified faces. “Charles.”

  “A little occupied right now.” He grits his teeth as the van lurches violently to the side again, nearly off of the road this time.

  “Charles, the children. You have to.”

  “But she’s just—”

  Anita reaches over and jerks the wheel to the left as hard as she can. The large van veers over and bulldozes the small car, forcing it across the small parking lot of the post office and straight into a wall. The hood of the car accordions. The little old lady’s upper body is whipped violently forward and the airbag affectionately cushions her liver-spotted head as it inflates with programmed insistence as the seatbelt holds her in its loving embrace. Fluids bleed and blend underneath the car. Mrs. Devereaux does not move.

  Miguel gapes at his mother. “You just killed Mrs. Devereaux.”

  “Miguel—”

  “She was just an old lady.”

  “She was trying to kill us, Miguel!” Her American accent slips away from her tongue. She ignores the inertia pressing them into their seats as they whiz around a corner. “I am so damn tired of people threatening the lives of my family. We are getting the hell out of here, and we’re doing it tonight.”

  Had Anita not been wearing her seatbelt, her face would have gone straight into the dashboard from the van’s rubber-scorching halt.

  She looks out the window at Damon standing in the middle of the street with a half-pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream in hand. He licks the spoon clean and sticks it down in the carton. He lifts the bulging plastic bag in his other hand.