Sonant

by A. Sparrow

  Netbook propped on his knees, John sat in a wooden chair in the one corner of the study that had not been consumed by Cindy’s tsunami of house listings, neighborhood demographics and inspection reports. Even the fancy, ergonomic mesh-back chair that Cindy had co-opted from him was piled with presentation folders and open house flyers.

  When they first bought the house, this study was to be his personal domain, with Cindy happily relegated to a desk in a guest bedroom. Unemployment changed everything. Cindy took on extra clients. With the extra work came clutter and Cindy expanded her territory out of the bedroom, into the laundry room, the kitchen and now, John’s study.

  John harbored no ill feelings over Cindy’s encroachment. How much space did he need to manage a job search, particularly when pickings were so slim? He was happy to forfeit his space to the one productive member of their household. The end of a table and a drawer in the credenza were all he needed.

  He kept the boys close at hand because of the ruckus that had erupted in the house since Donnie and Tammie’s return. There were all sorts of strangers about and Cindy was always out running errands. John wasn’t sure who all these people were or why they were here. The deliverance ceremony wasn’t going to be till tomorrow night at the earliest.

  He had assembled a platter of sliced fruit with smoked Gouda and cracked pepper thins, nodding and smiling at every unfamiliar face. Odd, that he had never seen any of these folks in church.

  After going through the motions of basic hospitality, he had retreated to the study with boys, their toys and a mug of tea. A blank notepad and a pen made him feel like he was ready to do work, but mostly he surfed the web. Only after he had exhausted his legion of favorite political blogs, hobby forums and browser games did John even dare peek at his Gmail.

  As expected, it was just as devoid of prospects as it had been all week. There was a note from his mom, some jokes from his cousin and spam from a penis enlargement company. Facebook and LinkedIn proved no better, just the usual narcissists flaunting their lives.

  The final step in his routine was to check the job-search sites. He actually hit some pay dirt at Monster.com. A search focused on Ithaca pulled up three electrical engineering jobs. Two positions were almost local—from firms in Oswego and Syracuse—but both were entry level, one actually specifying a preference for a recent graduate.

  The third position, designing “sustainable solutions to infrastructure and facility challenges” was genuinely intriguing. It sounded right up his alley, but it was based in Delaware, a place he had never considered moving, with Cindy or alone.

  He looked up from his laptop to find Nigel curled with his Legos, working on a multi-colored monstrosity that looked like a cross between an asteroid and a potato. He was all alone.

  “Nigel? Where’s Jason?”

  Nigel’s head swiveled. “He’s right … he was just here, pwaying. I don’t know where he goed.”

  John burst from his chair.

  “Stay in the room!”

  He rushed into the den, startled by the size of the snapping, roaring conflagration in the fireplace. Flames lapped out into the room, threatening the knick-knacks and picture frames on the mantle. The room sweltered and swirled with smoke.

  “Jesus, who built this fire so big?” He went over and opened the windows.

  Donnie entered the room, carrying a pair of cardboard boxes. “I assure you, it wasn’t Jesus.”

  “But it’s all pine wood. It’s burning way too hot.”

  “The hotter the better, for our purposes.” Donnie set the boxes down on the coffee table. “Right now it’s all pine and hemlock, but we’ve ordered a cord of apple wood to be delivered. It’s got to be kept burning day and night, until the deliverance is complete.” He called into the next room. “Tammie!” He waited, but there was no response. “Now where did that girl run off to?”

  “I think she’s helping out Jerry and Rand. You didn’t happen to see Jason, did you?”

  “Oh sure. He’s in the kitchen.” Donnie ripped a box open. “Ah, these are beautiful. Hand-dipped. Pure beeswax. Just how we like them.”

  A log popped and hissed and spat fire like a dragon. A flake of glowing ash escaped the flue and drifted into the living room. John squashed it between his palms like a fly.

  “Listen, Donnie. I’m a little nervous about our boys being around this fire. Any way we can tone it down a little?”

  “This fire’s got to be kept angry or else it’s no use to us. But don’t worry, your children won’t be here for long. Their grandparents are coming to get them, as we speak.”

  “Oh? That’s news to me. I thought Gram and Gramps were going to Florida.”

  “Flight’s cancelled. They’re delaying their trip. It’s all just been arranged. Cindy can tell you all about it.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I think she’s out front with Mac.”

  As John veered towards the dining room, Little Jason came trotting in, hand to his mouth.

  “There you are, you little bugger!” John swooped in to intercept him, lift him off his feet and plant him on his hip. “Jay-jay! What’s the deal with you running out on us like that? You were supposed to be playing blocks with Nigel.”

  Jason sucked on something brassy and glittering. Slobber ran down his chin.

  “What have you got there?” John tugged on his little arm. Jason had a hollow point cartridge in his fist, 9mm in caliber, jacketed in a layer of hard metal.

  “Jeezus!” He pried the bullet from Jason’s hand, and the little boy began to scream. “Where’d you get this? Huh? Where’d you get this?”

  “Da fwor.”

  John stomped into the dining room. A sheet of greasy canvas covered their cherry wood table. Handguns and machine pistols were arrayed across the canvas in various states of disassembly, amidst a clutter of wire brushes, cloth wads and oil canisters. Four men, all burly and bristly, looked up at him. He was certain he had never seen these faces in church.

  “What the heck is going on here? Don’t you realize there are children in this house?”

  The men looked at him blankly and kept on cleaning their guns. There was an odd uniformity to their grooming—close-cropped hair, dress pants, sports jackets—as if they were all conforming to the same institutional dress code.

  “I found this!” He slapped the bullet on the table. “In my child’s mouth!”

  “Sorry about that,” said a sandy-haired man, pronouncing ‘about’ like ‘a boot.’ “Musta dropped one.”

  “Who are you people?”

  They looked at each other and then focused on the one who had spoken. “Friends of Mac,” he said. “Just here helping out with security.” He did that ‘oot’ thing again.

  “Is Mac here? Where is he?” One guy nodded towards the driveway.

  John kicked open the door and burst outside, still carrying Jason on his hip. Mac was leaned back against an old Camaro. He seemed to drive a different car every day. Cindy, slouched across from Mac against her car, straightened up abruptly as John approached.

  Something about the scene reminded John of high school, in a bad way. Did they think he didn’t know about their affair? He was at the point now where he was almost done struggling with the question of whether he cared. He was not so sure he did. He knew it wouldn’t last. Cindy would come back to the fold. They would switch churches, and then Cindy would stray off again. That had been her pattern. It was how Nigel and Jason happened to have two different fathers. It was how she and John met.

  “Someone needs to tell me what’s going on here,” said John.

  “What … what do you mean?” said Cindy, stretching her lips into the smile she usually saved for prospective clients.

  “All these people running around our house … who the heck are they?”

  Mac stepped forward. “Oh, they’re just some colleagues of mine from Toronto, come down to help. I hope you don’t mind.” Mac displayed the toothy grin that he seemed to think was charming, bu
t the one dead, gray tooth ruined the effect. “Folks from the congregation won’t be coming over till tomorrow. We’re holding Friday mass right here.”

  “That’s nice, but what’s with all the guns? Isn’t deliverance supposed to be all about candles and prayers?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Mac. “But … the guns are here just … for safety. It’s alright, okayed it with Donnie. You never know with these deliverances. Spirits are one thing, but there are some whacked-out people out there who might resort to violence.”

  “Safety, huh? I just fucking plucked a Luger bullet from Jason’s mouth.”

  “Language!” said Cindy fiercely, prying Jason from his arms.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just a little discombobulated. Have you seen our dining room table? It’s like a gun show in there.”

  She smirked. “Oh, it’s okay, hon. It’s just our own little security umbrella. Mac was kind enough to invite his buddies down to help us.”

  “I’m just not comfortable with the kids being around all these guns. Did you hear what I said about Jason and the—?”

  She fluttered her lids and shook her head. “Not an issue. Mom and Dad are coming down this evening. They postponed their flight. I’m trying to talk them into taking the kids down to Disney World. Wouldn’t that be nice? The boys would just eat that up. If they agree, maybe next week one of us could meet them in Orlando and fly back.”

  “Another couple days, this will all be done and we’ll all be out of your hair,” said Mac. “Donnie’s promised that he bringing the big artillery to bear.”

  “Cindy. Nigel’s in there all by himself and there’s guns on the table and a fire about to spread from the fireplace and burn down the house.”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, give me Jay-Jay. I’ll go sit with Nigel. They’re just guns, John. And Mac’s friends are trained security specialists.”

  Cindy put Jason down and led him by his hand back to the house. He was still sobbing about the bullet John had taken away. Mac stayed leaning on the hood of his car, arms folded in front of his leather jacket, his steely eyes regarding John with an expression that seemed bored as much as amused.

  “Good gal, that Cindy of yours,” said Mac. “She’s just awesome.”

  “Oh yeah? In what sense?”

  “What? You’re her husband! I mean, you should know. Her … energy. The way she puts her whole heart into everything she does. It’s a shame you all have to put up with all this trouble. I mean, who would have thought you’d run into demonic possession way out here? What are the odds?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m more worried about the bullets.”

  “What? Oh no … don’t you worry. My guys … like Cindy says, they’re professionals. They’re licensed to carry in two countries.”

  “Why the heck does a church pastor need his own militia?”

  “Militia?” Mac’s lips peeled back and his smile grew even toothier. “Nah, this ain’t no militia. It’s just … security. That’s all. “It’s for … other business interests of mine. A side business.”

  “I’d appreciate it if they kept those things holstered while they’re in the house. If they really need to clean their weapons, have ‘em do it in the garage.”

  “You think we’ve got a thing going, me and Cindy. Don’t you?”

  The question startled John. “What? Listen, Mac. Now’s not the time to talk about this.”

  “I can tell … from your attitude … your body language. There’s something missing. You don’t have that respect for me as a pastor. I know. I got a talent for sussing people out. But let me tell you, that Cindy is a virtuous woman. Our relationship is strictly professional and spiritual, nothing more.”

  “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now. I mean. I don’t really care what … what you—”

  A small, white Sentra turned onto the main road. Blue smoke poured from the tailpipe. Silver duct tape adorned the right, rear fender. It was Aerie.

  Mac turned to look. “Hoho! Looks like the hell house is fixing to rock. Those little devils better enjoy their raves while they can. Once Donnie sets up and does his thing, they’re gonna. He’s pulling out the heavy artillery this time. And we got twenty-five parishioners coming over tomorrow for the intervention.”

  “Twenty-five?” John sighed. “I guess I can roast some chickens and potatoes, buffet style.” He thought about some of the rougher characters who attended their church—the tea party activists. They would be the first to show up at something like this. “No alcohol. And there’ll be no more guns, I hope.”

  “That’s up to them,” said Mac. “Between our survival courses and end-of-days planning. I like to think our folks are pretty good at taking care of themselves.”

  “Golly Mac. I wish you’d just tell these people to leave their guns at home. I thought deliverance was supposed to be about prayer. The more weapons people that show up, the more likely someone is to use one.”

  “Nobody’s pulling a gun unless there’s due cause. We ain’t a bunch of yahoos.”

  “It’d be better if they didn’t have them. It’d remove the temptation.”

  “This is holy warfare, John. There’s no telling what we’ll run into. We’ve got to be prepared for anything. What we do all depends on that band of demonics across the way. If they behave, then so do we. We certainly won’t use any weapons on them for anything but defense. But you gotta admit, defense can be defined pretty broadly in a situation like this. One could argue that this music, if you wanna call it that, is a form of assault in itself.”

  “I don’t like the way you’re talking … not at all,” said John. “What are you saying? You’re gonna go after them, even if they’re just playing music?”

  “I said no such thing. This is Donnie’s show. But me and my friends and the good folks from the church will be there to provide backup if he needs it. That’s all.”

  Jerry and the interns appeared at the end of the cul-de-sac between the foundation holes of two houses that never got framed, Jerry’s camouflage contrasting starkly against a bright yellow front-end loader. He and Rand dragged bulky, wheeled contraptions behind them that, from a distance, looked like roly-poly robots. Tammie walked hunched under the weight of a bulky pack frame.

  “Excuse me,” said John. “I’m going down to see if they need help.”

  “That Jerry, what a freak show!” said Mac. “I wonder why Donnie puts up with him.”

  John hustled down to the end of the driveway, keeping his eyes fixed through the veil of trees that screened the hell house.

  A lithe figure stepped out of the Sentra, a bounce to her step, as if she had arches made of springs.

  Aerie. She was alone and without her bass.

  John was mightily attempted to thrust up his hand and shoot her a quick little wave, but feared Mac might be watching. He suppressed the urge. He strolled down the lane, past headless mailbox posts and sprinkler systems sprung out of the ground like mangled veins from flesh.

  The thought of all those guns put him on edge. He couldn’t bear the burden of knowing, while Aerie and her friends remained unaware of what was to come.

  Jerry raised his hand as John approached. He looked all slumped and sluggish. He and Rand had been out in the woods all day, having just called Tammie to come out and help them carry.

  As he got closer, John could see that the robots were just modified shop-vacs. Motion detectors were mounted in place of the toggle switches, and the hoses were connected to funnels hot-glued to cheap, battery-powered CD players. These were supposed to be demon traps.

  “Any luck?” said John.

  Jerry looked at Rand and grinned, wearily. “You tell him.”

  “We almost got a turkey,” said Rand.

  “A what?”

  “A wild turkey must have come up and pecked at the boom box,” said Jerry. “It got away, but seems it lost a couple tail feathers in the process.”

  “No demons, huh?”

  Jerry shrugged. “If n
othing else, we figured out what kind of music repels them.”

  “Oh?”

  “The weirdest, most cockeyed music I could find. Beefheart. Zappa. Pascoal. Apparently, it’s not weird enough.”

  “The turkey seemed to like it,” said Rand.

  “I don’t know. Wasn’t like it was trying to mate with it. That dang bird was out for blood.”

  “Let me help,” said John. He took a pair of motorcycle batteries from Tammie.

  “Thanks,” she said. “When Jerry called me to come out and help, he neglected to mention he wanted a pack mule. Get some fresh air, he says.”

  “If I’d’ve told you, you wouldn’t’ve come out.”

  “Prolly not,” said Tammie. “You’re right.”

  “It’s back to the drawing board, then,” said Jerry. “Recharge these batteries. Figure out what’s drawing all the juice. The suction’s supposed to stay off until something comes near and we only had ‘em out half a day. Must be a short.”

  “I’m … or at least I used to be … an electrical engineer. I could have a look.”

  “Sure. I’d appreciate any suggestions. I’m thinking the batteries don’t push enough amps, or maybe some deal with the AC/DC converter.”

  “These batteries do seem a little wimpy for these big motors,” said John. “You know, I used to mess around with solar panels. We could try hooking one up.”

  “Solar! Now that’s the ticket,” said Jerry. “We wouldn’t have to haul these damn batteries back and forth.”

  “Don’t you need some sun for solar?” said Rand, glancing up at the overcast.

  “We stick to south slopes, we’d get plenty, huh John? All we need is a couple hours a day.”

  “Yeah, minimum. Though, we could still generate under clouds as thin as these.”

  It had been a year since he’d even looked all the gear he kept in his garage. He had once hoped to work up something worth patenting. He had messed around with thin films in college, and had stumbled onto some materials with some startling efficiencies. That had all gone by the wayside with his job.

  “You know, some friends of Mac’s showed up while you guys were out. They brought guns. Lots of them.”

  “Yeah, well. I don’t think guns are gonna be much use against these things.”

  “Not for the demons,” said Tammie. “It’s to protect against those people from the hell house.”